Bite me. Actually, don't bother.

I've been meaning to blog about this for a while but I've never really got round to it. Now that I've overcome my inertia, here goes.

I've managed to wade through Stephanie Meyer's overwrought and insipid neo victorian 'romance' series, Twilight. It really pissed off the feminist in me. The misogynist subtext in the book was suffocating. Bella, the female protagonist is the bastion of anti feminism, vacuous and devoid of anything that vaguely resembles a personality. The plot revolves around the submissive 'lion and lamb' relationship she shares with the overbearing Edward Cullen, a caricature of Byronic hero slash teeny bop sex symbol. Bella is so infatuated that she disengages herself from the outside world. The have the stalker-saviour and damsel in distress dynamic going on. How erotic.

I read the second book clinging on to the dwindling and irrational hope that Stephanie Meyer would come to her senses and redeem herself. I couldn't have been more wrong. After Edward abruptly leaves Bella within the first couple of chapters, she disintegrates and enters an almost catatonic state. The only thing that can bring her back from the brink is, yes you guessed it, another boy. Namely Jacob Black. (In the next book he turns out to be a schizophrenic who sexually assaults her. Bella, despite her protests romanticizes the abuse and halfway through thinks she loves him, but I'm just digressing here). During Bella's short lived relationship with Jacob she was endearingly incompetent and we even see a glimpse of a personality. Then there's an inexplicable thinly veiled suicide attempt where Bella jumps off a cliff of her own volition so she can hear Edwards voice in her head. What kind of convoluted message does that send out?

There is an underlying 'forbidden fruit' message but that's pretty much the extent of the literary 'depth'. Besides Edward Cullen being an 'Adonis-like' physical specimen who exudes pheromones, from a literary point of view he is a hollow shell. Now the reader without much difficulty can superimpose her own interpretation of the 'perfect man' over the character. The actual quality of her writing is mediocre and she really doesn't understand the concept of 'less is more'. She embellishes her sentences too much and the plot progression is often stilted and formulaic. Another thing. Glittering vampires? Bram Stoker will be turning in his grave.

I just can't buy into the fanaticism. Two hundred years after Elizabeth Bennet, the early feminist who didn't submit to the patriachal society she grew up in, we have Isabella Swan. I don't mean to sound preachy, but we can't pretend we don't see what's wrong with the story of Edward and Bella. Stephanie Meyer has completely bastardized the story of star cross'd lovers. Personally, I don't want to grow up accepting violence in relationships and abuse while serving up dinner with a smile.

Drowning in irrelevance.

So.
I'm on my eight glass of a self prescribed pick-me-up, namely Gatorade-Coke-Grenadine. Modest Mouse 'Float On' is blaring.
Today, something struck me as I looked down at my hand. (It could be partly attributed to the fact that my vision is faintly distorted due to my aversion to wearing my glasses). It seemed to be at an immense distance. I raised it and flexed my fingers, and ruminated how it's entirely at my command. The mystery is in the instant before it moves, the dividing moment between it moving and not moving when my intention takes effect. If only I could find myself at the crest, I might find that part of me thats in charge. The action seems to start in my finger and not in some part of my mind. There is no stitching, no seam and yet I know that behind that smooth continuous fabric is my real self.

A few excerpts .

A preview of a few characters from my [still!] in progress graphic novel.
Opinions on improvements/alterations would be much appreciated!
Over and out.

Glycerine.

The first few bars of 'Body and Soul' reverberate through my fortress of solitude.The distinctive bite of black coffee lingers. Caffeine and Coltrane give me my kicks.
But somehow I feel insubstantial. Like the monochrome figures I sketch in charcoal.
Everything I create feels so damn contrived.
Your silhouette in my doorway. Smoke and mirrors? I'm my alter ego around you.
You play for recognition. I play in contemplation, could it be you that makes my rendition of the blues edgier, grittier?
I love our jam sessions.

Staying true to the cause.

Well for some bizarre reason my afternoon bus trips give me this compulsion to write. And so, I spend an hour drifting off, biro-doodling/ sketching/scribbling away as opposed to a number of far more glum options such as staring blankly out of the window/ engaging in inane conversation/ watching the back of Neogis head as her humidity induced frizz repeatedly bounces up and down over speed bumps.
I'll pass.
At the moment a bunch of toddlers are scraping sticky oreo-drool covered fingers all over the seat and smearing what (I hope!) is neon-y popping candy on my shoe. (Beats me how they manage all the under the seat maneuvering.) This is all a courtesy of 'Lemonade Day' which is our schools excuse to feed toddlers copious amounts of sugar and refined carbs in a bid to keep them happy [AKA managable.] If you ask me it's counter productive, they're more hyperactive than docile.
One thing that's been playing on my mind ... I've been revisiting chick lit [my ultimate pick me up :P] which I consider the candyfloss of the literary world.. Sweet but not intellectually satisfying. I've finally realized what I find so endearing about them. All of them have a female protagonist who I can relate to, I've learned so many lessons from these beloved characters. Like Bridget Jones taught me that it is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces. Or Elizabeth Bennett taught me that the more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense. Or Olivia Joules (yes yes Helen Fielding again :P) taught me that when you walk into a room, don't worry how you look, people aren't judging you, they're too busy judging themselves.
Call me senti/sappy/corny/gushy [I'm considering making slashes my trademark] but that's what I believe.

Musing..

Well.
My anime graphic novel is still in its preliminary stages .. [Okay thats a slight understatement .. its about fourteen pages of smudgy scrawl, character sketches and captions but w/e.]
Anyway.. Now that the initial spurt of impulsiveness/concentration has dissolved a few insights and suggestions would be much appreciated =).
Like what do I call it ?
Also.. Is my take on the 'Chinese' dragon accurate ? And it's not very anime-iish.
Reeelp!

P.S. Excuse the scratchiness of the dragon draft. Cut me some slack. I sketched it in the bus :P

Brevity

Hello again.
Due to lack of time and motivation, this has been my first post in ... months :P.
Lately I've been stalking John Mayer on YouTube and I found a particular video which I highly recommend =).
Over and out.

Sawdust.

When The Killers first exploded onto the music scene they were 'that indie band from Vegas'. Their debut 'Hot Fuss' was a blend of raw talent, slighty eccentric lyrics and infectious instrumental. 'Somebody Told Me' was the single that first propelled them to fame however it was completely eclipsed by their next single, the ambitious 'Mr. Brightside'. In my personal opinion this song is an anthem. Maybe it was their Vegas roots, but their music and videos were infused with melodrama and glitz reminiscent of the 80's. Songs like 'Andy You're A Star' and 'Somebody Told Me' gave the album a slight homosexual air. Somehow that just seemed to add to their appeal. 'All These Things that I've done' had a gospel and film noir feel about it . 'Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine' and 'Glamorous Indie Rock&Roll also definately deserve a mention. The melodic bass lines, memorable hooks and riffs makes the entire album more mainstream. It almost seemed as if they had peaked at their debut.

Thankfully 'Sam's Town' matched if not surpassed the success of it's predecessor. Brandon Flowers [with some added facial hair!] was bringing retro back with his uber cool Rayban Wayfarers. He'd gone from cute skinny indie boy to mature coffee house poet =P.

'When You Were Young' was an apt first single with its booming chorus and nostalgic lyrics. Bones is another unforgettable track with a kickass video to go with it. This album embodies all the idiosyncratic musical sensibilities which are synonymous with the Killers. It's more consistent than Hot Fuss but certain tracks are an acquired taste.

I had hugely inflated expectations of Sawdust. I'd had a preview of the album in the form of the track 'Move Away' from Spiderman 3 and it blew me away.

Unfortunately, most of the album fell short. For the first time in living memory, Brandon Flowers sounded forced, the lyrics lacked conviction or soul. Most of the songs sound re-hashed and similar and they lacked musical intuition. The only real standouts for me were Move Away and Romeo&Juliet [Dire Straits cover].

For the first time I actually have doubts about The Killers.

Back with a bang or something to that effect.

So. I started this blog with sincere intentions. I somehow got lost somewhere along the way. After eight much needed months of leaving my blog dormant, I've had an epiphany of sorts. I'm casting off my trademark pompous writing approach and all the BS and pretense that comes with my signature 'self righteous' tirades. At the moment, this blog is a complete vanity vehicle. I've undermined my own philosophy. As much as I hate to say it.. that makes me a hypocrite, in every sense of the word. I picked issues, I gave my opinion on them and used a few big words. I've realized that doesn't constitute a blog post.

This is a fresh start for 'The Sarcasm Of The Regretful'. Tempted as I am to delete my previous posts, I'm going to keep them close at hand so I'll be reminded to never continue the charade.

Welcome back !

P.S. No I'm not one of those blog mongers who say they don't want sympathy but contradict that by writing a post awash in self pity. If your comment is going to be sympathetic , just don't bother.

Faltering...

Okay. I've been reluctant to post more poetry. But I'm just so glad my writers block is over.

I hope :P .

Here goes.

The winding grit of cobblestone,
Reminiscing footsteps untrodden,
Mere puppets of flesh and bone
The sparring of the downtrodden.

Ringing true with frigid redemption,
Tormented martyrs betrayed by unforseen deception.
Soaring unto the crumbling disdain,
The wounds of the past evoking pain.
No longer immune,
Raging beneath the waning moon.

Flickering bouts of retribution compelled,
Virtue of camaraderie repelled.
Dispelled perceptions of glory personified,
Sacred passage to heaven denied.

Eons bask in the glow of victories of the yonder year,
Weaving circles upon the blood drenched earth.
Humanity impaled upon a spear,
Scorching the battleground with primitive mirth.

A sombre procession clad in black,
Flanked by the guardians of the realm,
Eternal peace to those slain by the attack,
The lone soldiers helm.

♥Unwritten

Edging into reality where mediocrity and masterpiece collide,
The metophorical divide.

Wisps of sorrow thaw,
Yet there remained an entwining flaw.

A parody of black and white and shades of gray unmistakable.
A love undeniable.

A preconceived structure of shattered dreams.
Unstitched at the seams.

Left tainted in the cradle of illegitimacy.

Namesake

For the first time, I am aimless. I don't know why I'm writing this post. Maybe because I'm drinking cough medicine like tequila shots. Or that "The Kill" by 30 Seconds To Mars is on full volume and is scaring the pigeons on my windowsill. Or everything feels like deja vu.

Okay so as I mentioned before this is a post culminating all my random thoughts.

Maybe I have become my blog title. Eighth grade's over and what do I have to show for it? Textbooks with caricatures of certain teachers (whose names I will choose not to mention :P) doodled on the covers. Test papers (often incriminating evidence) ripped up in frustration ( or in fear depending on how you look at it :P) . Innumerable pages with my name scrawled in grafitti. A shoe with a broken sole ( courtesy of 800m finals). A plastic banana and a red laser gun (Okay , before you jump to any conclusions, they were actually props from our screwed up creative festival class play) .Um, Premkumars grocery bill. Pink litmus paper. A painting of a chicken we did in first term.

Good times.

A Bare Wall

To delve into the fountain of youth,
Is but a journey of spirit and mind,
Befitting one of nature who forsakes dreams, on a quest for truth,
Reality is nauseating, bitter to the taste,
It must be taken with caution, without haste,
For tis haste that is symbollic of waning valiance,
For how can one resist the golden wreath of immortal radiance,
It is an alluring mirage,
Of an eternally striking visage.

There is a striking similarity in the magazines of late.

We are all aware.

An obsession.

Anorexia and bulimia are not non issues.

Contemplating suicide on the basis of dissatisfaction about your physical appearance is not a non issue.

We are human clay. We are all moulded. What we become depends on our influences.

We are dry kindling. We are set ablaze by the power of our souls. We are dowsed by the water of insecurity.

I've seen the ravages of eating disorders through the eyes of a friend.

I've seen people mangle themselves, refusing to age gracefully.

Why must we as human beings, inflict such inhumanity?

Idealism

So.
Its been a while.

I thought in this post I would finally stop playing it safe with all my pessimistic death related opinions.

These are my first steps into unchartered territory.

I'm breaking free.

I'm writing about love.
Or attempting to at any rate.

I'm not going to define love.
That is a daunting task.
And near impossible.

Masterpieces have been inspired by those three words.

It would be simplistic to believe that love is just another emotion like anger or fear.
Love is inimitable.

Who can't relate to love in one way or another?
Yes, unrequited love can make you resentful.
But isn't it worth it just for that one perfect moment, however ephemeral it may be.

Entire empires have fallen to the dust because of love.
Yet love lies at the core of utopia.

The manuscripts of time

Here's the short story I wrote.

The beginning?
Or the end?
You decide.

She was but a pallid reflection.

Ignorance.

Malice.

Spite.

They all breed.

They inflame past fears and reignite previous fires of hate.

They all strangle the faint prospect of hope.

She was smothered by the prejudice.

Every slash cut into past wounds. Every second of self inflicted agony brought her closer to unattainable "divinity".

Forcing herself to delve deeper into her flesh until her entity was blurred and pain was predominant.

Boysenberry against clerical grey of granite.

She wasn't suffering for an idyllic world,

Bittersweet reality had hit.

Expression was her only sustenence.

Yet sexism had tainted that fundamental right.

She etched upon the muslin of the prison blankets.

A part of her very essence literally engraved in her work.

Time can pay homage to her.

Ideas live on.

Why should she have to feign ignorance?

Was it a crime to hold her head high because of the chauvinistic ideals of a crumbling society ?

Why did she have to bear the mark of shame?

The gallows were strung.

Yet now she was immortal.

Thank you.

I wasn't looking forward to writing this post because I knew whatever I said wouldn't be good enough.

To all the twelfth graders,

To put it plainly,
We're going to miss you.

We're going to miss all the advice, the support, the guidance.
Everything.
From all of us,
Thanks for being the most kickass batch ever.

God bless.
Good luck in all future endeavors.
And keep in touch!

The eleventh graders have very big shoes to fill.

The pool of society has a shallow end

Yep, theres something completely unexpected that inspires me.

Pathetic as it is.

Shells.

I warned you. Cliché.

In this shallow society everything is about "face value". Literally face value.

If you look at the exterior of a mother of pearl shell, it looks brown-ish, gungy and flaky.

But on the inside it's beautiful.

No this is not a post on shells.

This is a post on how superficial human society has become. With lots of help from the media, the image of beauty has been glorified with celebrities endorsing bulimia. This unattainable "perfection" has been marketed brutally and it makes it seem like everyone must conform and look a certain way to be accepted in society and be successful.

Now just as an example, when I was snorkelling off an island in Malaysia I noticed that there was several 20 year old girls on the trip with us who were under the shelter and weren't swimming. They were indians, from Delhi. When I asked them why they wouldn't come into the water I was taken aback by their answer. They said didn't want to get tanned.
I thought they were scared of the jellyfish =S

Case in point the media in India has influenced people through those BS "fair and lovely" ads.
Watching one of them made me cringe because it showed the level of ignorance and callousness of the marketing team. And to think, this mindless crap lowers many peoples self esteem because the ad implys that a person who isn't fair is doomed to fail. Basically it aims to make you feel that it'll improve you as a person.

It wont.

Now another thing I noticed while snorkelling was all the people of Caucasian descent were burning themselves in the sun. They wanted the exact opposite effect.

In Europe ads for spray on tans are predominant.
I rest my case.

An ode to seagulls on laxative, hippie-goths and egoistic egoheads

I'll start this post on a random note.

Yes, its official.
A seagull crapped on me.

It's good luck apparently.

I'm not going to criticize the seagull.
Maybe it ate some bad fish.
Maybe it thought my jacket was a litter box.
Maybe it didn't like the color of my jacket and wanted to change it.
Maybe it had diarrhea.
Maybe it was on a one hour laxative.

These are all theories.

Oh and today I finally understood "hybridization".
I saw a gippie. Or a hoth.
No it didn't know it existed either.

White painted face, flowery smock, black mohawk, peace necklace.

=S

You learn something new everyday.

A friend gave me an idea of something new to blog about.
Another common human species, namely "The Egoistic Egohead"

Yes lets use a case study.

Lets call this guy "Bob"(random I know but I'm blank and the Bob the builder theme is stuck in my head.)

Well Bob wakes up every morning. Looks at himself in the mirror ( More admiring then looking really). Goes to the bus stop. He believes he's gracing everyone with his presence. Gets onto the bus. Ignores everyone who's a bit weird ( he doesn't realize its not weirdness its called O-R-I-G-I-N-A-L-I-T-Y). Gets to school. Says a couple of cheesy pickup lines to the nearest girl. Throws a few insults at the nearest guy. Kisses his reflection in the school window.

Basically you get the drift..

Now when you hear about "Bob" doesn't someone you know come to mind?

Thats probably because The Egoistic Egohead is a fast multiplying species.

A New Chapter

Today I was faced with a blank page. A blank canvas. A blank screen before I started this post.

A beginning.

A metaphor struck me.

Isn't life just a blank canvas?

We focus on the bigger picture, yet we pay attention to the minutest of details.

The power to paint is in our hands.

Its a daunting feeling that sooner or later you have to stop painting.

For every beginning there's an end.

It's inevitable.

Inescapable.

One word. So many perceptions.

Love.

Just four letters.

Yet its more than a word to everyone. At the risk of sounding sappy I have to say that love has so many memories, so much bitterness and so much emotion associated to it.

There are so many types of love. Unconditional love. Unrequited love. Obsessive love. True love. Love of country. Parental love.

But aren't we using the word "love" too often now?

Love is no longer as sacred as it used to be.

When people get married don't they pledge to stay in love forever? If so, why is the divorce rate so high?

Sometimes love just isn't enough.

The Romeos and Juliets of the world are the microscopic minority.

Love isn't for the weak minded. Love is human nature. Love sustains us.

Without love what kind of pathetic existance would we have?

Number of times I've said love in this post: 17