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Saturday, March 23, 2013

Ode to the Water of Life

I can't find my voice, there is a void in me
Must hold on to my mind and memories
Defenses taking over, heed to my slights
So must live,
I should find a bottle and hide
and watch it slide down and empty
When my world burns
Therein even the freeze turns to warm lights
Eitherwhichway the goblet stays full
Or I be empty drowning in my own brood
The currency I understand and must
Necessarily swallow me whole
For I am parched, as is my very soul
and there can be no love for me, tenderness even
My respite resides in stale rye, malt or mead.

 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Oedipus Monologue

You shall,
If things are as I see them, you are the first
To whom I would tell my story. Listen then,
My father was a Corinthian, Polybus;
My mother a Dorian, Merope. At home
I rose to be a person of some pre eminence;
Until a strange thing happened - a curious thing -
Though perhaps I took it to heart more than it deserved.
One day at a table, a fellow who had been drinking deeply
Made bold to say I was not my fathers son.
That hurt me;
But for the time I suffered in silence
As well as I could.
Next day I approached my parents and asked them to tell me the truth.
They were bitterly angry
That anyone should dare to put a story about;
And I was relieved.
Yet somehow the smart remained;
And a thing like that soon passes from hand to hand,
So, without my parents knowledge, I went to pytho;
But came back disappointed to any answer,
 To the question I asked;
having heard instead a tale of horror and misery:
How I must marry my mother,
and become the parent of a misbegotten brood,
An offense to all of mankind - and kill my father.
At this I fled away, putting the stars
Between me and Corinth, never to see home again,
that no such horror should ever come to pass,

My journey brought me into the neighborhood where
Your late king met his end.
Listen, my wife:
This is the truth.
When I came to the place where three roads join, I met
A herald followed by a horse-drawn carriage, and a man
Seated therein, just as you have described,
The leader roughly ordered me out of his way;
and his venerable master joined in with a surly command.
It was the driver that thrust me aside, him I struck,
For I was angry.
The old man saw it, leaning from the carriage,
Waited until I passed, then, seizing for weapon,

the drivers two pronged goad, struck me on the head,


He paid with interest for his temerity;
Quick as lightning, the staff in this right hand did its work;
he tumbled headlong out of the carriage,
and every man of them there I killed.

But now,
if the blood of Laius ran in this strangers vein,
Is there any more wretched mortal than I, more hated,
By God and man?
It is I whom no strange, no citizen must take to his house;
I whom none may speak; on me is the curse
That none but I have laid.
His wife! - these hands that killed him have touched her!
Is this my sin?
Am I not utterly foul?
Banished from here, and in my banishment
debarred from home and from my fatherland,
Which I must shun forever, lest I live,
To make my mother my wife, and kill my father...
My father... Polybus, to whom I owe my life.
Can it be any but some monstrous God
of evil that has sent this doom upon me?
O never, never, holy powers above,
May that day come!
May I be sooner dead
and blotted from the face of the Earth,
than live to bear the scars of such vile circumstance...


Sophocles

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Quotes of the Day

I am returning this otherwise good typing paper to you because someone has printed gibberish all over it and put your name at the top.

Unknown English Professor





The artist's only responsibility is his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one.... If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate: The "Ode on a Grecian Urn" is worth any number of old ladies.

Faulkner





Writing is a struggle against silence.

Carlos Fuentes 





What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window.

Burton Rascoe





When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can.

Samuel Lover

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Quote of the Day

I think you are wrong to want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart.

L. Frank Baum (1856-1919)

A Lover Lost

Waiting and watching, praying even
for the clock to tick back to that time
When I could breathe, or even see
My own reflection that speaks to me
But to you, I'd be but your shadow...

Film Ideology

Get them by the heart, and they will empty their pockets... now that's film.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

The Night of the Wandering Mystic

Yesterday was Shivaratri, the night of Shiva, the mystic, the philosopher, and arguably the greatest God of the Hindus. Shiva is the creator and the destroyer, and the embodiment of everything in this universe, good or bad.
Shiva is loved not only because for his great qualities, but also the fact that he has normal human traits such as anger, love, and of course his addiction to marijuana.

Now to the night. Keeping awake all through it is said to be particularly good as the vibrations in the air are said to be electric. The ancient Hindus were keen astronomers, and it is said that the planetary positions can explain the energy which is felt on this night. Temples look and feel otherworldly, the people are uninhibited, and there is joy and mirth all around.

And I have first hand experience. What I'll say is music definitely helps!
I am so energized right now that I'm going for a jog!

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Remarkable people worth knowing

Well first post..
Almost all of us like Che Guevara, we've all seen The motorcycle diaries and felt inspired by it, haven't we?

But there's a little story of Che in India which I'd like to share.

http://kafila.org/2013/03/07/when-che-guevara-came-to-india-om-thanvi/

Also, another post about the one of the world's most craziest sportspersons. This guy was a cricketer, a serial  womanizer, and a World War 2 hero; so you can see where this is going!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/2013/mar/05/the-spin-bob-crisp-amazing-life


Welcome

Please welcome a new author and admin to the blog, Adi...

He's a great friend of mind, and a wealth of knowledge. From here on please expect a variety of posts from poetry, all that is rhetoric to a new world of all that is true and beautiful.

A good man once said, it takes a wise man to recognize another...

Once more, a warm welcome!!!

Quotes of the Day


Everything has been thought of

Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to think of it again.

Goethe

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R A W

You don't believe that? I didn't either. Till I saw "Good Will Hunting" followed by the discovery of Diogenes the Cynic.

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Staring

The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that does not require his attention.

Flannery O'Connor

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What pains you

Look for a long time at what pleases you, and longer still at what pains you.

Colette

Where History and Fiction Meet...


Does history and fiction meet? Very often! In books, in theatre, in films, puts a hole in every pocket which is why its wonderful.

There is history, and there is a story. It shouldn't be his story. And the past should not be used as thousand island salad dressing where the salad is your plot. It won't hide the fact that the cucumber (read the human condition) has not been worked on and is left plain bitter. You can always take facts and make a fantasy. Or you can use fantasy to state facts.

Why do thrive in duality. Its the virtue of a write. The quote in the prior post really seems to have inspired me.

Times have changed enough and the world has turn too many times to have any accuracy free of bias and prejudice. No matter how many books by n number of intellectuals would end up shaping your perspective in a narrow parallel than having a free mind or endow a semblance of an imagination.

Stories of the past can be put to modern times, just as well as modern times can be put to the past. Think of those nuances which still lie common to the society of today and that of an era past. No, I would suggest you much on that. Work on it. Use your imagination. Chances are you might just peep into the souls of legends like Alexander Dumas, Charles Dickers, Jane Austen, Maria Corelli and ever Poe. My personal favorites. More? Alright, Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling. Hunting tigers in exotic India turned them to poets and story tellers. Location, Location, Location? Or soul?

What is the brightest fact about the characters mentioned above? Instead of writing about characters idolized by them as I do now, they wrote on characters that were original, with a rich back story and nuances, and set in a highly richly researched atmosphere with a vivid background. Those dates and years that you hates most during History 101 would only play to tell the story and give room to conflict. Either which allowing freedom to the writer, and exploration as well as rhetoric knowledge to the reader. Works!

I'm not saying don't write about Mata Hari if you want to, because she exists and you might stumble for facts. I'm saying be wise and care and know when to juxtapose facts with fiction.

If you are a stranger to those fat books as me, a simple google search works, a light read of wiki and not to mention those ever so good children's books that make the most boring detail of history fun and learning. I did that with sci fi too. I don't know how nuclear power works, nor did I wanted to pose as an authority. A simple children's book titles "Tell Me Why?" sorted me out. If you get interested and desire to take a bigger challenge, move for journals, bios, letters, paintings, portraits, pictures, antiques or worse, choose a word peculiar to that era and cherche and recherché all you like. On Various concepts even. Read books by other writers on the similar timelines of your choosing and there is the prize.

Congratulations.

You have just time travelled with your mind.



Writing on Writing to Remember


Alright. What really makes a character? His trait or his aspirations. All of them true. All of them false. In my view, its the goal and the obstacles that are strategically strewn ahead of him.

Is it plot driven character? Or a character driven plot? Could be either. Could be both. Experiment. As long as the content and the matter really matters. To you, and then to your intended audience. Be free to ask questions. Who, What, Why, Where, When and How!!! This is will at least make sure there is a solution to every problem and your character won't walk away leaving you in a block where you might scream "fudge, fudge, fudge". Yes, I'm sentimental to chocolate and the erstwhile whisky. Both...

Ante up and RAISE! En guard and raise hell.

Andy, can be normal or extreme depending on the circumstance. He could be moral or ethical. But does he really need heroic qualities? Would it really help your audience identify with him, knowing that everyone wants to save the day. Sometimes it works, sometimes it won't. Seeing that scenario, why not ante up.

Why think of heroes when there are antiheroes or byronic heroes. Google search that! Why think in the lines of a protagonist against an antagonist when you can have an entire range of characters in the likes of deuteragonist and tritagonists. Wiki that. Before you lose that site forever. Please donate...

So Andy is a film director, but he has no cash on him. After making a few short films he's been lost for a while and the debts are piling up. Should he rob a bank, risk arrest and charge and be behind bars forever? Cliche! Should he have a cancer ridden lover to make it justified. Double cliche. I'd rather him stealing credit cards from family and friends alike, putting all and nothing on that film he keeps talking about; have him turn tyrannical and conflict with every individual there is on the set (because he's inwardly scared of success) including getting caught by those he stole from and getting burnt or worse ostracized until the film turns to be a stupendous journey and the reels and cans are burnt in a disastrous fire. But whatever he salvages still wins him an award with enough respect to have a chance again; alongside atonement. Could be the same film with a bigger budget, or a whole new dimension. I'd avoid stereotypes and caricatures. In my perspective, it is not only close to reality but beyond it and works evermore. The range of motivations and emotions alone keeps it compelling.

Do you ever sit on a chair and rock it back, even though you know with the weight there is a good chance the chair might tip back and chance you a nasty fall? Especially that very moment when it does happen and its hanging midway, nor forward nor back and you have your arms flailing, blood pounding and prepared for that fall! But suddenly you come back relieved. I like that feeling. I'd hold on to that. Hard. Hurts. Cruel. Fate. But. Return

Equilibrium!!!


Quote of the Day


Double living

Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living. The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind.

Catherine Drinker Bowen

Pick Up Line

We should have a 3some,
You, me and the mirror,
Chances are you might be ignored.

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R A W

Stay put, more one liners coming right up. I'm just getting ready to write so just a few exercises. Review please, don't be a silent audience...

Creed

Swallow your pride,
Eat your shame,
Shit your ego out!

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Sorry, I had to write that. Just made sense to me for sometime now...

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Coffee and Cigarettes

Driving on and making miles
No care nor no heed of these times
Even the needle has forgotten numero zero
for the auburn horizon, new worlds;
Staring at the many monuments and
the ever wandering citizens,
Burning cigarettes and coffee brewing
Sugared with the rays of the sun,
Meshed with the songs and the howls
Of them ever faithful prairie dogs,
Never like any other soul,
Each and all spitting against the wind,
Call me a gypsy or caste me bohemian,
For a man lives free only and if,
He lives far from his memories,
Wandering forever simply for his bereft love
In search forever and more,
For the very voice, the call of his soul.


Rust / Mire of my Dreams

Bit by bit, the years go by
Moments fade, each in its own tide,
I have known fate and tasted of its blade,
Rust against the blood on my tongue,
Walking on the thin spire of my dreams
My feet tread heavy, blistered and beat
In a single naked moment of insanity,
This world has reigned in my very spirit
And raked right through my soul,
For I know not happiness,
or misery even,
But bit through my heart,
And turned it to stone.
Living for the last, committed to die,
Where did it go? Where do I hide?