sunfever

Dial I for India

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Wed, 27 May 2009 22:50:00 +0000

I couldn’t sleep

My mind

Hyper jacked

Seeing

India

Everyone struggling to stand up

Being ground down

By forces bigger than they can control

It seems

In one corner folks

We have the politicians

A sorrier breed you will not see

All corrupt. All greedy.

All not caring

about the one thing

they are supposed

to care about: India

In the next corner

We have the industrialists

And their Creative Accountants

Raping and plundering

In the third corner

We have the government babus

Lining their pockets

With the dross and dregs

Of inefficiency and incompetence

And last but not least

In the fourth corner

We have the religious cartel

That ancient band of misfits

Dressing up in holiness

Peddling authority

Using information asymmetry

To fill their coffers

Christians. Hindus. Muslims.

All the fuckin same

Priests.

Locking us out of the truth

Locking the gate to heaven

Neither do they enter

Nor do they allow those who would

A more evil bunch of bastards

You will not meet

Jesus wept.

Now I understand why.

And from deep within my heart

I can hear this rabid, hatred

Tearing out in a scream:

“My India, you motherfuckers!”

I stumbled and fell

Pounding my clenched fists

Into the sand

Dry empty sobs

The heat of the sun

Ripping into my mind

Leaving everything desert dry

I was too busy crying

To notice

The shadow which fell

Dark side of the sun

Come a calling

I couldn’t look up

Shitting bricks as they say

It asked me pleasantly

Quit your bitching yet?

I burped up some more hate

No, I snarled, I’ll see them withered to the ground first

It laughed

A musical tone that echoed across the dead veld

Shedding dew drops

Plants flowering where the dew kissed the ground

Relax da, it said

You are less than a 100 years old

The bones of Buddha are part of your dust

The wisdom of Vikramaditya flows in your rivers

The strength of Ashoka runs through your veins

You think some pissant soldiers of destitution

Can take away our pride?

And it played out before me

How it was all going to turn out

My breath caught in my throat

Shining Eyes brimmed

And thankfully,

Finally

I could cry

Real tears

Real joy

Real sorrow

Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they're yours.

Richard Bach from the book Illusions

Clarity of Dream

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sun, 03 May 2009 04:59:00 +0000

I stood at the edge of the lake, the waves a tiny ripple lapping against my boots. I had five stones in my hand. Smooth, round, the rough jagged spiky edges worn down by eons of water rushing over them. I tossed them lightly in my hand, the clatter of the hard surfaces against each other, a pleasant accompaniment to the absolute stillness of birds chirping, water striking shore with a low gentle plop. On the far side, the sun had just about peeked over the horizon’s edge. I waited, my thoughts empty of commentary, a smile rising from within.

This is where its at, I thought, briefly. Trying to limit my thoughts, to minimal functional existence. Drinking in the scenery. Direct sight. You are part of the beauty. You are part of the light. You are part of the darkness. Not as a separate individual fitting into a cosmic jigsaw. No fucking crap of interconnectedness. You are here. Borderless. Lawless. United. One. You are.

But these are just words. And every word, every description, is a filter. An addition to the blindness we all live in…

There was a tear against the fabric of my universe. Somebody trying to interject. Trying to provide an alternate point of view. Let’s discuss this, the voice said. There is more than one way to skin a cat. A reasoned calculated motivated justified point of view. All bent over with purpose. Shouldering the weight of the world. Atlas-fucking-shrugged. Every joy driven by motivation. Eked out of the dry dust bowl of desire. Pride, jealousy, hate, and even love. Loaded. Trigger happy. Letting it rip. This is the purpose of life. He said. This. Pointing to the buildings reaching for the skyline. The machines diving into the earth. His eyes, round saucers of deepest sincerity. A Missionary of Reason out to save the lost. And words, he said in hushed reverence, words are the holiest of them all. Separates us from the beasts. Gives shape to what we sculpt. Out of thin air. The thrill of wonderment that ran through him was almost orgasmic.

A momentary shudder of revulsion shot through me. A few years ago I would have reacted differently. I would have cackled in derision and reached for a knife. My evil bean erupting in pure hate. Or, depending on which edge of the pendulum of perspective I was at, I would have keeled over.

Yas Sah Mastah Sah, I would have droooled and dribbled, stumbling outta my Uncle Tom’s Cabin at the edge of rationality. I would have sucked in the spittle from the side, sprang up, cheery summer sunshine, snapped a hot salute, kissed my capitalist and communist comrades, hugged my hindu-muslim-sikh-christian-buddhist friends, knotted my tie, and joined the 8 am office rush.

But my sucking up days were over as were my killing days. You can’t kill. They just keep coming back worse than ever. Even worse, you can’t suck up. Even if its just for camouflage. Mama Wisdom, you can hear her heartbreak at every street corner. Besides, they’ve given orders: Flush out the fakers. Don’t want anything but bonafide believers to man the system. Believe or be excommunicated is the new message. And nobody wants to be lonely.

I sighed. Ancient history.

I told the visitor, It’s over. Gently prised my thoughts loose. Watched them fly away, free, into the horizon. Freedom. The smell is delicious.

I reached for my Trowel of Separation. To repair the breach. The peacableness of my universe required only one. Me. He began to shudder, cold turkey like, fading away, the gravitational tug of the cosmos, dismembering his theories. And I forced myself to recall. With all the clarity of dream. Compassion hit me where it hurts the most, almost breaking me in two. Loneliness is beautiful. Especially when its shared. She whispered.

Ha. Walked straight into that one now did we. Whaddya call it? Contradictions making out cozier than kissing cousins? Aldous Huxley called it life. That’s a good enough definition don’t you think?

Fresh Sun Dried Longings

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 01:25:00 +0000

Everyday before sunrise
You draw a direction In the sands
Of your longing
Heartbeat dead and cold
The echo of an ancient drumbeat
Still coursing through your veins

Yonder shines morning star
The good book reminds
A gentle tug from across
The seas of emptiness
It is easy
To forget
To forgive
And remember
Revenge
That dull aching throb
Drumming its own rhythm
Under the skin of your temple

A thousand insults
A million jabs
Two billion errors
A trillion atrocities

Same sky
Same sun
Everyone doing the hamster wheel show
You see the most
So you may hate the most?
Are angry the most?
Are the most insulting?
Are the most unforgiving?

Everyday before sunrise
You draw a direction In the sands
All but forgotten
When the heat of day
Hits your stride
Withers your determination
Evaporates your resolve
Mocks your pride
Leaving you clutching
The threadbare
Remains of the outline
An act in many comedies

What will you do now?
Where will you fly now?
What chains will you break now?
It's over but it aint
You can still make it or break it
You know that don't you?

Burning Planet

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 16:23:00 +0000

Planetary Update: FC 12009 Executive Summary - Shikasta (The Shammat Logs)

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 04:14:00 +0000

::Standard Encryption::Council-of-Colonies-Sub-Committee-Shikastan-Situation::Start::

Greetings!

Great and glorious Zarl and exalted members of the Shikastan Situation sub-committee.

Greetings, in the name of Shammat! Magnificient, All Powerful, Omnipresent. May your glory increase.

Lords and Rulers of the coming Galactic Empire, it gives me immense pleasure to bring you the latest news from our pet project: Shikasta.

Archivists Note: This report is a executive highlight issued once every solar cycle (Shikastan). A full report is presented every 100 cycles and a detailed analysis and forecast conducted every 300 cycles. For those seeking the full report refer to Section ZA23.

It may also be noted that this archivist thinks that this entire system of filing unread reports which is a blatant copy of Canopean methods if I ever saw one, is a fucking waste of time. I make this assertion in the full confidence that this report will never ever be referenced and that Zarl and the Sub committee crew for monitoring Shikasta are a bunch of spineless pleasure seeking monkeys who need to be quartered and hung by their balls for ignoring the true treasure that is Shikasta.

Re: Note above. The Archivist who generated this note now lives on penal colony 83/ZZ/K…in extremely regrettable circumstances…. We have preserved this note as a warning to other idealists who may crop up from time to time and who would like to make a case about the proper exploitation of a planet.

Our plans for the Feast of the Ascent are coming along well. As requested by the council elders we will be holding the feast in the Indian sub-continent. Virulent Hate, Self-Righteousness, and Apathy are being fed in equal measure. Salishon-84b in so far as it is numbs the conscience’ response mechanism is largely effective. However, I would caution it’s addition to the Planetary Controls list without further testing. There is a small but statistically significant percentage of subjects who exhibit sudden reversals. Due to our superior capabilities in monitoring and tracking we have neutralized these subjects before they themselves realized what they were thinking. A few of the specially interesting cases we are studying in greater depth. As usual these subjects are housed in the mental health prisons. Tests include proding them into violence and destruction – both self and others, extreme depression, and wild exhilaration. A proper analysis of the tests is still awaited and will be forwarded to you as soon as it is ready.

Our control of the priestly classes across all ideologies and religions is almost complete. Our ‘religious superiority’ indoctrination among a rabid minority within the majority Hindus will reach fruition in 10-30 cycles. As you know the priestly class were the initial receivers of Canopean instructions. I can now say with complete confidence that no priest in any religion, ideology, or thought system can be appointed without my personal approval. I will continue to maintain this vigil till at least the period of the feast and longer if needed.

In preparation for the feast, you will be pleased to know that large areas of the population have been earmarked for systematic decimation. The reception chambers where you can bath and bask in the vapors of all that suffering are almost ready. I can barely contain my excitement at the thought of all that hot blood steaming and rising to enrich our pleasure. We hope to deliver for this Feast anywhere from 1 million to 10 million souls without destabilizing our governance controls. I will be able to offer you firm dates to chose from within the next 3 cycles.

Councilman Jerokar had expressed concern that such a large extermination exercise may fuel unrest and resistance among the larger population. I would like to assure the councilman that 10 million souls barely scratch 1% of the subcontinent’s population. They are an apathetic bunch who eagerly suck on Salishon-84b like a youngling at its mother’s teat. A minority will be in vociferous opposition but we will be able to contain their outburst and divert any real responses into ineffective ranting and trashing about or elimination if required. We have already tested this on a smaller scale with satisfactory results. Refer Gujarat Pogrom for more details about the test parameters, the controls used, and the results. I am sure you will agree that the response was extremely satisfactory.

At this juncture may I respectfully point out that it is unbecoming of Shammatian lordship to describe this territory in terms that those inferior creatures from Canopus use. I specifically refer to the use of Canopean word for this planet “Shikasta”. May I further suggest that your wise lordships consider and embrace a new name for the planet during the feast.

There may be some advisors to the council who will argue that the name Shikasta is an accurate description and should be retained if for nothing else but tautological reckoning. There may be others who will snicker at my use of the word inferior in relation with Canopus.

It is nevertheless your servant’s duty to point out these facts:

1) We planted the reengineered Efluon-3. It took the creative genius of Shamattian minds to recalibrate an inferior product to something far more superior and far more effective than a simple planetary mood enhancer.

2) The resulting alignment of Shikasta (nee Rohanda) with Shammat was predicted even though there was skepticism of such a thing ever happening. Thus, it is with humble homage to the wisdom of the council that I passionately submit for consideration, these two changes in our points of reference.

In consideration of the above and our actual superiority over these creatures I would like to recommend that my suggestion be seriously considered.

I remain your very sincerely:

Yehmoozuiyan – Lord of Shikasta

::Standard Encryption::Shammat-Council-of-Colonies-Sub-Committee-Shikastan-Situation::End::

---------

::Private Encryption::Zarl-Eyes-Only::Begin::

Zarl: Let’s cut to the chase. As you’ve ordered I am suggesting to the council this load of crock. I just want to remind you that our agreement is that you will get me a seat on the council. So, in case you decide to forget me bosom buddy of mine, I only have to hand in my encryption key set and whatever machinations you have planned for your advancement will be short lived if you don’t come through. Don’t think I won’t do it. I am willing to risk the penal colony with the elders if it comes to that. I am fed up (FED UP!) with my genius and efficiency being sidelined for less able jerk offs. And I need not remind you that my encryption keys revert to the state on my death. So it is in your best interest to ensure that I do not get eliminated due to a realignment of ‘cosmic forces’. Savvy?

PS:

I sincerely do hope you know what you are doing. Leaving ambition aside, the vibes from this place are all weird. No its not those Canopean fuckers. That Efluon-3 is mutating like crazy. Salishon-84b in spite of my rosy commentary to the council has an extremely short half life. The natives are developing resistance to it at a faster rate than anticipated and I have to keep strengthening the formulation.

My boys predict that at the present rate of dosage strengthening we will have imbeciles, not fit for even basic maintenance of Shammatian lordship, in about 100 cycles. Beyond that your guess is as good as mine. If immunity levels hit critical mass then our governance controls are good as dead. Indications are not good: those developing resistance are immune to the probes of even our most sophisticated controllers. I suggest you recommend the scraping of the entire Salishon formulation.

My lab rats are already working on alternates. A possible solution is in sight. Initial experiments show some promise but not a whole lot. Tentative name of formulation is: DarkVade. The most significant effect is the reduction in life span to 20-30 cycles. So far the longest a subject has survived is 36 cycles. Intelligence is compressed to extremely low levels and the propensity to reproduce dulled. If we are to use this formulation we will need to compensate for this by boosting the population to about 40 billion, thus ensuring a steady feed stock to maintain Shammat at the level of comfort we are accustomed to.

If we decide to go ahead with DarkVade I am willing to share credit for its discovery with you. This will strengthen your hand with the Council and you will indirectly support my candidature to the committee.

I expect to have a full report within the next half cycle and we can decide if DarkVade will be stable enough to last till it become someone else’s headache. The other alternate is LightBrash but I shudder to even mention what happens when subjects fail to respond as needed. More on all this later.

::Private Encryption::Zarl-Eyes-Only::End::

---------

Your Self: The Static Vs. The Dynamic

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 05:02:00 +0000

(More excerpts from the Shikastan Situation)

One of the biggest disconnects you will feel is between your self and what you are. Depending on the peculiarities of your situation some of you will break down unable to cope between the incessant demands of your self and the apparent person you have become. That’s a worst case rendition. Most of you will live in an uneasy silence vacillating between the demands of either but invariably choosing what your external persona demands. Some of you will react with hate – typical Shamattis – to your self’s demands, feel that it is hypocritical – that the “good” you think or feel is of no account as you are daily confronted with the “selfishness” of your own choices.

At certain moments you may suddenly find yourself looking at yourself from the outside, detached and feel distaste at what you are. Further, any thought of bettering yourself is usually clouded by indecision, a “what’s the use” echo which hovers in the background of your thoughts, a dogmatic defiant assertion of self “This is how I am”, and other such self limiting tactics. Naturally, such thoughts will depress your self. The manifestations of this depression may be a lack of energy, a dull depression accompanied by a feeling of helpness and the plaintive “what can I do”. Or you may decide to ignore the depression altogether – as one resident put it “i cannot afford the luxury of depression”.

To understand the gravity of this problem consider this: I have only met one person so far who is actively listening to her self though of course it is far from perfect. Ironically, even I, spend most of the time listening to my worldly persona.

An attempt to repair this disconnect has been the prime mover behind almost all the religions that have emerged from the fabric of the Shikastan experience. One of our recent emissaries – locally referred to as The Buddha – coined a term for it, intended to resonate with the populace: Nirvana.

However, inspite of his sincerest attempts to seed the instructions to ensure a flexible, open disposition by adherents, the religion like all other religions on Shikasta, suffered the usual dogmatic degeneration that any instruction manual - verbal or written - on Shikasta acquires. Nirvana is treated as a reward by adherents, which will be acquired through elaborate mental and physical exertions. The belief being that only the very “worthy” will be able to achieve nirvana.

The message – as with every other religion – is shrouded in mystical symbolism, elaborate rituals, and dogmatic tradition, fiercely guarded by a priest-class, that is actively combative of any investigation beyond the established forms and rituals. Or even if investigation is permitted it is as a means to further consolidate and establish validity for the priests themselves or the traditions or both. In the event these investigations do turn up contrary information (which invariably it will), the usual practice is that the investigators break away from the main body and establish their view as the “correct one” forming a separate sect that will eventually evolve into a priestly class that fiercely guards the established tradition, which will prompt fresh investigation, etc, ad nauseum.

Another emissary when commenting on the priests and the keepers of the law had this to say: “You have taken away the key to knowledge. You didn't go in yourselves, and you kept out those who were trying to go in.”

Which sums up the actual situation. There is of course Shammat’s hand in this but the fact is they cannot operate unless ground is provided. [To understand the factors that permit ground to be acceded in such a manner, refer to Johor’s report on the contaminated Effluon 3 that Shammat impregnated the planet with in the early days of the Shikastan phase].

Which, in turn, brings up the essential point: It is customary for agents to rely on the planet for a basic understanding of situation of its people. On Shikasta however, the planet is totally unaware of the scum of life that exists on its surface. It has, to quote the archives, “other ideas about itself”. Thus, an essential ingredient in your psychological makeup is a wary watchfulness against slipping into dogmatic formulations that if left unchecked will evolve into emotional crutches and entomb you in a “fixed” view.

For more clarity refer to Robert Pirsig’s exposition on the static vs. the dynamic. The book in itself – Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – has acquired iconic status in the philosophical literature of the period but it is advisable to avoid the commentaries before reading the book.

As Much As I Love My Planet, I Hate its Rulers

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 03:50:00 +0000

(More excerpts from the Shikastan situation)

For some time, this title had been the sub-title of this blog. Those of you who have shaken off the cobwebs that cloud your mind will recognize it for what it is: An insouciant attempt at drumming up hate for Shammat and its minions.

Hate, as we all know, never works. So, it was, even if reluctantly, with a recognition of that reality that I took it down.

A few of you have already incarnated, many are yet to come. This blog is for all of you. When you are ready to receive – as when I am ready to give – you will stumble on this blog. It will speak to your situation and you will understand. The mechanics of how – what is termed in the planetary dialect as serendipity – works is well known. You only need to put yourself in its path.

(Yes, you Shammatians lurking around reading this, you may as well know – serendipity cuts both ways – but we have edge. That, you can in any case observe, which no amount of gainsaying will obfuscate. If you would only understand that this has nothing to do with Canopus and instead of ranting and raging over it, if you would just accept it for what it is, you would have entered into the first step of the path to The Purpose. No matter that you will for the next few centuries rebel and rage and scream against its diktats and try every trick in the book to subvert and purloin the direction. All we ask from you is the recognition of the fact: serendipity is non sustainable on Shammatian principles.)

There are many things you should know. Or rather you already know but have forgotten hidden as they are in the recesses of your understanding. Shikasta is such a place where even a nominally normal understanding is a hard won treasure. Remember, you are here to fulfill the Need. Your primary task is to awaken to the Need. To realign the planetary momentum from a consumption driven binge to a measured and balanced observation of all the facets of a situation and to move with deliberate intent that will succor, sustain and feed.

Boom-ba-lasha Baby

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 15:30:00 +0000

I've been from here to there
Trailin the sun from east to west
Hidin in the country
Singin in the city
Playin the fool
At the hit parade

Heard that beauty runs no deeper than skin
Heard that light is but a temporary thing
So I took despair
And crucified the bitch
On her very own witch's brew

Dark shiny scent of night
Serpent songs hissin in the park
And us sun dogs laughin
At the silvery moon, bayin

Shivers in the dark
farthest out
(beyond the perimeter's edge)
The devil pissin blood

We rang in the peace brigade
Rolled the dice
Showed up empty hands
Sleight of hand
was in the wind
Nothin that we did
(or could do)
Would ever win the day

So we let it all ride
at the maker's command
Every little story
we heard at the kitchen sink
All those tales of true
which were never spoke
Only whispered in the dead of night
When wayfarers shared joints
At cross roads on highways
'N each of us hell bent
on heaven's way

Aaah we said to the little 'uns
Come to feed on the eternal run
Have ye?
Hugs, kisses, 'n shh-es, all around
A wink n a smile, and a healthy wiggle of the hips
Musn't spill the secret too soon
You know what I mean am sure you do

Boom-ba-lasha baby
Boom-ba-lasha

Laughed the old sea dog
Salt drenched
Sun kissed
Hungry for the run

The hate scootin
Faster than you could
Call Mary 'n complain
Lakshmi grinned
Saraswati smiled

And they all coo'ed
the bedtime lullaby:

Boom-ba-lasha baby
Boom-ba-lasha
Boom-ba-lasha children

Boom-ba-lasha baby
Boom-ba-lasha
Boom-ba-lasha children

(...repeat to fade...)

suP WIt IT pLAY bOI?

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 14:14:00 +0000

"It's easy to express horror and indignation at this writing style if you're not a part of the relevant social group, but that is a condescending position. What these teens are doing with language is fascinating and important. They are repurposing written words to express culture in the same way that people have always repurposed spoken words for slang. Because teens spend more time online, they are morphing written words for expressive communication. They are personalizing words."

danah boyd
O'Reilly Emerging Technology Conference
March 6, 2006
G/localization: When Global Information and Local Interaction Collide

dear Mister God

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 23:30:00 +0000

dear Mister God

I’ve been ‘avin you on all these years

But yeah it don’t happen that way

Nobody can put one over you

So I guesss you been just bidin yr time

Maybe laughin in yr sleeve

Mebe cryin…(I hope not)

But oh yeah bein the joker at the party is fine by me

Would thrill me to bits to see ya laugh

Yr guts out

it would

So y’see ‘ere ah was all ready

To load up the confessional

Spill the beans on everythin I’ve done

Give ya the ole teary

“I repent” song-n-dance

But ya wave it aside

Impatient wantin the party goodies

But I guess this one time

I need to do this

Sorta kinda preamable like

And that’s the last this songsters gonna dish

After that

We’re gonna let it roll, baby roll

So I’m goin to go

Flat out after

Each day

(like anna)

But I guess sayin it is stupid enough and

Ah just made it twice as difficult for me to do

I aint sorry where I’ve been

But I sure am sorry that I didn’t hold your hand

Been over in ole Nick’s den

Slep’ wi’ ‘im if you must know

Dragged yr name aroun’ in the muck

Tried to be the devil’s own

But it didn’t just kinda ring true ya know

Even all my anger and rage

My hate pourin fire thro my veins

Was all just your grief n pain

Remindin me how good it is

When you do your thing

So right

Here it is

Am done

Ole Nick

‘ee can go bugger ‘isself

For all I care

Gonna get this show on the road

Gonna gonna gonna

Y’know what all that means

So kick your heels back

And sink down there in yourn cushions

And watch another sun run do its thing

‘N all my needs ya already know

Like the help I need

With askin the right questions

Seein the right me

‘coz if Anna needed it

I need it too

Only jus’ ‘bout a squillion times more

So now you can play your cards

My stack is all dealt out

On the board

Yeah ok, I’ve still got a few

Aces to run through

Some twinklies stored up

It’ll come when it is due

Till then you know

We’ll just let it ride

And watch it all play out

In rhyme n verse

‘coz you’re the one

(and mebe just mebe

I can stick one

In ole Nick’s eye

Right there in the center

Of his face

Something he can’t do nuffin

But accept

And let it ride for all to see

For all eternity

Can I?

Huh?

Can I?)

Murder in the Rye: The Case of the Olive Ridleys

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 18:56:00 +0000

So they tell me you are

Building a shipyard here

Olive Ridleys?

What’s that?

Miniaturize them to cocktail shrimps

Mr. Tata roars

Serve them with eviction papers

Tell them to jump off the EAC[1]

At the Nicobar coast…

Ah, Mr. Tata, Mr. Tata

Such wisdom

Such verve

Such out-of-the-box thinking

The value of industry

Outweighs the needs

Of rootless terrapins

Some argue

Let’s not spoil the

India shining party

Talkin such malarkey

Environmental impact?

WE ARE THE ENVIRONMENT

Thunder the titans of commerce & industry

Rape, pillage, rout, and plunder

The soil from under

The skies floating above

In twenty years Mr. Tata

In twenty years

You will be just another plaque on the wall

What will it say I wonder

Another Ozymandias wreck?

“I am the prince of the all that I survey”

Over the shifting desert sands

Dead prince

over

Dead habitats

Destroyed ecologies

Or will it say something different?

I wonder

[1] East Australian Current

Nuclear Joy

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 06:36:00 +0000

So you think you can

Hide away

Curse the living ground

‘Neath your feet

Don’t care if

The shit house

Flames out in a flash

They’ve had it comin

You may growl

But you know

That’s just tricks n twists
For not shinin at your party best

Aint gonna sleep till you

Give me

Your song

Get your party threads out

And strum those chords

Yes we know u are a fake

But on stage you are

Just what we need

Storms are a comin’

Down this century

Could kill freedom

Could kill fearless-ness

But you know that’s all just a muckeroo

Nobody can break our shine

‘Less you want them to

‘N even then its not a cinch

Jealousy has its own sweet plans

And oh oh oh oh

Yeah, yeah, yeah

That’s when atoms collide

Joy goes nuclear

And oh oh oh

Aint that just what we’ve been waiting for

Wouldn’t want to miss it now

Would ya?

Come on sign up

‘fore the train leaves town

Let the rhythm work you over

Light up the shadowless day

‘coz its

the only way to go

Yeah, its the only way to go

…to go ...to go …to go …to go (fade)

Hold On to your Sanity

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 19:03:00 +0000

Hold on to your sanity

Let go of your vanity

It’s taken you nowhere till today

Yeah, I know you got all this pride

Stacked to win at number one

You are who you think to be

No one else will see that way

Even if you make it to

The hit parade

I know you love to do

what you do

Everyone will still believe in you

Make up all that’s lost till now

Recount all the stars above

Earn your stripes on the battle field

Don’t stop till the day is done

And you can go with a blissful smile

About the little toil

You had planned so long ago

I know you love me more than anything

I wish I could say the same today

I can cry my heart at that

But it aint gonna change a thing

My love for you is only words

Spouted to meet the shrink’s demand

And yet I’ll say this again

Hold on to your sanity

Let go of your vanity

It’s taken you nowhere till today

Gotta hug the sun and smile away

And let go of all these foolish damns

I can see your crinkly eyes

Tryin to stay dry but waterin away

Makes my dream rise like a mist

Waterin the groves of future kind

That’s all that you are here to do

Burn down all these crazy clues

Show me what I want to hear

Thrill my eyes with the sound

Turn it right all around

‘N the only way that can be done you know is if you…

Hold on to your sanity

Let go of your vanity

Hold on to your sanity

Let go of your vanity

Yeah, yeah yeah…

Rahul Gandhi

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 05:15:00 +0000

Inspired by the Tehelka article on Rahul Gandhi: The Pilgrim Prince (Vol 5, Issue 18, May 10, 2008)

Out in the shadows
of our future
I see
Your death certificate
Signed and singed
With the peculiar fires
of hate
Men of evil saying:
Sale ko bhi ooda dega
Baap jaisa

But that could be
Just another nightmare...
of
Just another citizen
Terrified
Watching our country
Being Hijacked
And everything
A power driven mania
To subvert justice
Deny truth

That's the way its always been my friend,
With such as these:
A conspiracy to power
Ratcheting any idealogy
To promote hate, sow discord
From The Holocaust to Rwanda
History works overtime
To repeat itself through
These men of hate

BUT:
Even if our blood should stain the earth
Even if we should become just dust and manure
To enrich our soil
We've only fallen at the hands of our brothers
Which is honor enough.

Misguided as they are
We are yet
one with them
In our love
The impossiblity of hate
Constraining us
Urging us
To do everything that we must
To bring to reality
what our fathers dreamed of
in two short words:
सत्यमेव जयते (satyamev jayate)

'Nuff Said: Schizoid Niggers

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 03:10:00 +0000

After the Egyptian and Indian, the Greek and Roman, the Teuton and Mongolian, the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world, a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world. It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness, -- an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

W. E. B. DuBois via Poynter Online

'Nuff Said: The Sun

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 02:54:00 +0000

The Sun wants the planets to revolve around it...

Unknown

'Nuff Said: Pain

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 16:44:00 +0000

Tell us of pain

                Your pain is the breaking of the shell

                That encloses your understanding

                                                The Prophet, Khalil Gibran

Time Enough

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 13:10:00 +0000

Time enough to change

Time enough to live

To love

To breathe

To want

You know the direction

It’s the choice you make

Sullen dunken steamin

You see the call

You heed the sound

Your body says one thing

Chaos another

Biology resonates

Morality jars

Stop, you scream

Dull sodden wretch

The self curse rings out

An impossible penitence

Actions undone

Pleasure felt yet unfelt

Lets break it all up

Into its constituent particles

Navel gazing is no way to solve problems

Decisions decisions decisions

No expunging of records

Actionville leaves its mark

Like it or not

Public or not

Its all public anyway

Even in the most private of eyes

You would think that you made an escape

You would think that you have good to report

On the morality score card

You think that you finally beat it: the shit ride

Time enough to accept

Time enough to reject

Time enough to love

Time enough to hate

Time enough to live

Singular ache

Singular break

Stop missing the mark I tell you

Stop missing it.

This is Dow Chemcial's Love Child

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 12:03:00 +0000

French documentary on Monsanto. They're buying up the seed companies of the world, geneering (genetically engineering) the seeds, and then claiming patent protection. Then they screw everyone over for using or not using their seeds. "Control the food source, you control the world". Pretty soon you'll need their permission to eat, shit and piss!

read more | digg story

'Nuff Said: Bono...

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 17:40:00 +0000

"The less you know, the more you believe." Bono

I Love You

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 22:08:00 +0000

Hi. Welcome. Thanks for dropping by. It's good to see you after so long. Are you going to stay? I hope you are. I'm not the best host and hell, I'm not even your best friend, even though we are so heck supposed to be so close. You my very own sweet self 'n me. Still, I hope you'll stay. We'll work it out. I know your bitch against me is real. Or at least as real as it gets. I've no bitch against you, you know that. It's just that I prefer to break every rule in the book and show a finger to the consequences. And you hate me for it. Okay hate is the wrong word. You are frustrated. That I'm tying my shoelaces together and getting tripped over by my own two stupid clown feet, while these Hermes' racers are raring to leave a vapor trail for photons to catch up.

So here's the deal. I lace up these shoes. You stay. We work it out. The whole shitaree. Yeah you and me babe. All over again. As it was in the beginning right before the clock started the tick-tock tick-tock and you wondered whatever happened to now with all this nonsense about yesterday and tomorrow. Back to now.

No promises. You know what a fool's errand that is. Like a second skin sitting there lookin pretty and inviting just waiting to be ripped to shreds. No promises. Side step the recursive lock that the intellect springs - 'it doesn't make sense, "no promise", is already a promise'. You know how you can get chased into the hallway of mirrors and get lost in there angling the light this way and that. Sharp angles of showmanship, you could almost believe it was the truth, 'cept for the sound of the light bouncing off the mirror. No promises.

You and I. Take this town to task. Show 'em what a good time really is. Break out the banjos, oomph up the percussion, reverb the strings, nothing but the music, burnin live fire in our souls. You know it. Let's do it. Again. Not tomorrow, not after the taxes are filed, the bank tanked up, the watchmen butchered, not after that.

Yeah, and I can feel the big empty coming up out there. Nothing but the stark reminder of nothingness. Meaninglessness. Uselessness. All of 'em ramping up. Storm of the century?

You can either cross the ocean with your haul or you can sink. But you gotta do the crossing.

Aye. Cross the ocean.

So you staying? I'm so glad. It'll be good for me. And that I guess will be good for you too.

Nuff Said: Justice

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 17:55:00 +0000

The cry of the poor is not always just, but if you don't listen to it, you will never know what justice is.

Source Unknown

from A People’s History of the United States – Howard Zinn

Writing Sessions: Head Rush

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 00:36:00 +0000

Jump the gun

Dynamic parlance pumps this ride:

You know the absolute edge of saying anything that comes rushing in through your head? Without any thought to wit or wonder? Playing the dynamics sweepstakes. Right here at the edge. No editing no turning away. Just let the words run. Maybe not unguarded but certainly unrefined. Stylists, purists, master craftsmen all said, this is so much bullshit. Any old man can string a sentence of seeming intelligence by just letting his mouth runaway with him. Show up to everyone what a fool he is inspite of the genius crouch.

Sheesh. I said. The reference terms suck. Who really gives a fuck about brilliance or rank mediocrity (OK, I do – who wouldn’t? Especially when you stake your craft?). Tum tee dad um. We stand here at the edge of the divide. This is my favorite spot you see. The divide. The point of confusion and chaos. Everyone lookin like assholes spouting theories and pointing in every direction but the right one. This where I like to shine while I secretly laugh in contemptuous delight at your failings. Give you a leg up in the right direction? Yeah, right so that you can fall flat on your face. I hate you so for being you. Stupid. I know I know, this is a really bad thing to say. But open soul surgery said lay it all bare. Dig out the innards.

There is a school of thought, which has strong support in many realms, which calls for closely guarding your thoughts and jealously hoarding your feelings. I tried to subscribe to that school. Seriously. Sincerely. But I am a bad liar. To myself. It seems the primary requirement for showtime shine is to effectively lie to yourself. I failed that entry requirement many times. I tried you know. Really sincerely tried. They look so smart and polished and ready to rule the world in benevolent benediction. Draped over with hot n sexy nuffins that makes your cock ache but leaves your heart untouched. Macho bazaar. Diva parlours. Any one of ‘em with a look and smile could catapult you into the hall of fame.

But I prefer listenin to Belle Star…

You can't play it safe
And still go down in history
So saddle up the horses
'Cos we're headed for the hall of fame

And for all my love of gettin nekkid, I am still very much a master of deception.

'Nuff Said: William Blake

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 00:07:00 +0000

Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion.

– William Blake.

Found here.

I Want You

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Fri, 17 Aug 2007 14:40:00 +0000

I want

The universe in

My back pocket

The Sun

For my shades

I want

Eternity

On my fingertips

But more than anything else babe

I want you

Oh yeah

I want you

Skin to skin

Soul pourin fire

Down our veins

Burnin up the

Doomsday dogs

Wreckin all those

Cutesy trysts

At the devil’s door

Oh yeah

That’s when I see that

More than anything else babe

I want you

Oh yeah

I want you

Right here and now

We hunger in the blind

Draw our arrows in the dark

Aim it up

At the schemers

On the hill

Yes, my child

We goin to break

This evil shell

No ones gonna

Keep our hearts

From thudding

To the rhythm of the earth

Aint goin to be long now

Daybreak’s gonna

Hit center stage

And we’ll hear our

Hearts beating again

Singing to the tune

Freedom takin control

Setting us free

Bringing us in

Takin us home

Oh yeah

That’s when I know that

More than anything else babe

I want you

Oh yeah

I want you