sunfever

End Game

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 06:06:00 +0000

You have the gift!
The magician cried
Kneeling in wonder
Bowing in near worship

The child wrapped
The snake in a coil
Energy streams pouring
Invisibly into the wind

Shiva?
Parvati?
What gives here?

I stood to the side watching
The scene unfold
Ancient fly on the wall
There are heroes
Being made
There are villains
Running loose

And we have a Stage

Time to roll the drums
Time to break reverence
At its base
Time to free reverence
From underground

Twisting, curling, breathing
Hard and heavy
Dying, waiting, living

An eon of patience
Eyes grown hollow
From watching, waiting

Nandi, alert as ever
Expectant
Looking into the mists
Of time

There are two who come
One the hero
One the villain
Both look like the other
And which one will you choose

Actions speak the charm
Words dress the wound
But bleed it will
Die he will

Who will you heed?
My confused friends
Who will you listen to children?

I cannot give away the game
I cannot tell it as it stands
Not from any other reason
But unknowing

So you are just as clueless
The child cried
The quality of grief
A seductive pallor

Disengage
Reimagine
You don't want
The snakes on the side of the wrong

It might seem cruel
But it is just
You have to listen
You have to see
And remember
This is just another roll
in the End game

Choose your sides
Strike your stance
Spark the sky
Light the arrows
Satyamev Jayate

Gravitas in Sundom

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 05:04:00 +0000

The crust of meaning
Is easy to fudge
Rearrange content on a page
To make it sound intelligent
Beguiling, Seductive
And maybe even true

Quell the rise?
It cannot be
Walking in dynamic circles
Changes the way
You believe
In everything

And each line
Precedes the next
With no backward
Or forward look

You cannot plan it all
You cannot sketch the design
In the sky
It's too big

And No.

Your determination precludes acknowledgement
of Form

Design is only a fabric for connections
You intuit your way
In the dark
Especially here and now

Hold.
Don't override the rhythm
Your dull cold heart
Thudding along
In boring finality

The 'Its all known'
Schtick
Need not keep you down

Will take more than just
Knowledge to renew
The Freshness

Forsaking knowing is an option
But you inevitably
End up being more foolish
Than sane

Then there is the thrill
Then there is the addiction
to The Thrill

Everything must be this way
Said an old crooner
Floating down the mists of time

Aah wordsmith divine
I long to feel the contours
Of your voice
Again

Crushed into Skin
Ground into bones
You can eat the culture
And deny you

Gravitas
Shavitas
I hate these stinky formulations

Dark evil corner
The frame of good and evil
A good bet for piercing
Clarity

Time
To defibrillate
Dying hearts
Chip away
At crustacean
Sloth
Rumble the heavy breathing
Into feathered wisps
To return to Sundom.

Ha! I am the Winner!

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:46:00 +0000

This

Can be a false start

A knee jerk echo

Of past conflambulations

Of tired rituals

Hugging comfort

Forsaking discovery

The eye can have its fill of seeing

Without moving

The ear can have its fill of hearing

Without listening

Out here at the edge of the edge

The universe billows past

Into the future

And time recedes

Into the past

Quaint

Said the frog

to the monkey

The human knows

how to arrange letters

on a page

Big deal scoffed

the lizard

There is nothing

more peturbational

than a sentient

running amok

in words

Without anchor

without formlessness

echoed the crow

sadly

The drunk reeled into the scene

The stench of motivational glory

Shying the animals away

Woo

What a stink

The squirrel cried

And looked up to heaven

Silent

Beseeching

What will we do with these

the worm full of scorn

articulated

Ha!

The man hacked

At the forest

Carving a clearing

Ha!

He stood

Sweat dripping down

Muscled determination

The curve of victory

Sneering his lips

Ha!

He threw back his head

and laughed

I have battled the elements

And conquered

He did not say

Ha!

Ayn Rand knelt in holy submission

And In her wake

A billion debutants

Writhed in the pleasure

flooding their cunts

(without recourse to gender)

Intelligence never felt so sexy

Or did it?

The peacock swept up its feathers

Exasperation rent the air

Creating space

For new thought forms

Whispering, questing, darkening

The light from the man

Twisting, changing

Some animals watched the show

Horrified

This is our ruler?

asked the fox

Poor thing, said the sparrow

I will not be pitied

The drunk roared

With a wild swing

The machete

Almost severing

His own jugular

Tch tch remarked the Lion

Irritably

These humans

He clucked

Non committal

Come, he said

We must retreat

Contact your respective galaxies

We must feign incomprehension

Till they learn

The animals slipped away

Into the shadow of the jungle

The silence in the clearing

Unbroken

Except for the hard labored breath

Ha!

He screamed

Exulting

Arms up in the air

I am the winner

He danced

I have won

You have lost

Watching the retreating trail

The lion chuckled

And some bozo

Will crown me

King of the Jungle

The animals looked

At him

Astonished, Bewildered

And then it struck them too

And the jungle exploded into laughter

Failure & Success

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:43:00 +0000

Have you seen the trial
of fire in your  heart
ignored the drum beat
of the Sound

Now the time has come
And yet it has not
You stand still in the morning
After glow

Its been a while
Since pen struck paper
Or ink struck canvas
Or keys struck screen


Choose your metaphor
If you will
And call your tired
Old heart
To battle once more

There is a war
Raging out there
Built on the illusion 
Of plenty
Of wealth
For those who merit it

Now there is a time
For you to see
Yet you cannot
Hide

I want this
I want that
Nothing to quell
The rising fury
Of your desire

To sculpt feelings
Out of words
And sunshine
Out of darkness

Come said the feather blind
You want to play with words
There is nothing more
Poignant than this
Or is it just that

Lost soul
Lost way
You know nothing of the 
Other side

My sayings are a metaphorical allure
Do you want to shear the sheep

Come,
Said the wind again
Ride me plenty
Ride me deep
Plumb the depths Of tomorrow’s nothingness
Yesterday’s emptiness

There is always more
Where this came from
And stop at that
Rampant rabid rant
That freezes your soul

Come,Said the rain
To the forest
Light up the lust
Free up the fires
Drink deep 
As you’ve never drunk Before

An ant crawled down
My neck
And I stood lost in thought
For the moment was plain
As the day or the night

You don’t want to quell
The fear
Or the complacency
I want to ride
The derby show

More,
Said the wind to the rain
And the fire to the sand

Empty drumbeats 
Litter the edge
Of tomorrow
Freeing the sky
From yesterday’s dawn
Tomorrow’s sunset

You have only today to count
And count it well you must
If you will
You can also wrap it all
In a cocoon of indifference
And end up right where
You started

You know?

Thick heavy lidded sleep
Pushes in
the warm smell of tomorrow
building castles in the air

I can strike when the iron is wet
And the dew drops of eternity
Kiss your brow

So, here we go again
Round and round
around the round

So, till we break 
We continue
And …
Cause the rhythm to 
Empty itself
On the dung heaps
Of failure and success

Will Strokes

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:29:00 +0000

Sparring with your own thoughts

You see nothing as it should be

Awaken dormant will strokes

And step up to the pitch plate

You cannot plead

You cannot cajole

Those days of persuasion

Are long gone

Mid Morning Dream

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:21:00 +0000

The sound, like a gunshot,

Echoed through the firmament

Beings in its wake

Stopped to listen

Some, the wise, smiled

The others, unknowing

Looked with keen puzzlement

This is the day of the wrath

The day the sun burnt orange

into Gold.

Haven't you had enough of your

Foolishness

Asked the bee keeper to the wasp

Honey sucking soreness

Dripped through the wines

You don't want to hear the

Sound of the drum beat

Rumbling in the heart beat

I think you must if you must

I know you will if you will

I want to know the riddle

Of yesteryear's tomorrow

There is a time

for space

and a space

for time

All things coalesce

into the One

Ha!

Aint you heard this tale before?

Aint you at the beginning of the tether

the end of the end

the tomorrow of yesterday

Some grammatical linearity

Skewered on its own sunbeam

Space is a one dimensional prison

Time another one dimensional prison

We live in a flat world

A mirror'd see saw

That never saw yesterday

with the eyes of Tomorrow

You know when you chip the cards

The table is not green felt

and there is no casino sticker

to call the score

Winning and losing

ain't in the draw the cards

but win you must

without unfaithful intent

without sorrow

or mercy

Ramble country

Don't I know thee too well

You don't want to sprinkle

Kinder on Kind kindred

But you do want to know

The beginning of the end

And the end of the beginning

This is how we played the deck

Rode the cards

Sidled in everlasting country

Skiddle row

Reap and sow

You know you just rhythm hunting

in the Dark of the Day

Sun blind

Every time you open your mouth

You shut your eyes

But your eyes never stop hearing

Nor your ears listening

Go on go on

Urged the word miester

This is how the deck needs to be laid

Red velvet glee

Hope unsparing

Thought undefined

Everything flowing

You me

Him Her

Us Them

The Oneness

Pervades

So, are you still here

Brave word soldier

Holding the line

Gripping the wide

Drowning in the narrow

Metaphorical allures

I have left behind

This is pure

Nonsense

Nothing in between

Between me and words

Just simple

wild craft

Wordsmithing

without reason

but definitely with rhyme

Sometimes

Rhymes are enough

To awaken the dead

Drown the sleeping

And say good bye to lores and mores

I think I have said enough

But my muse runs otherwise

Take a break

But no kitkat

Wafer coated chocolate

or chocolate coated wafers

who knows which is which

and which side the cookie crumbles

Cliche bazaar?

You aint seen nothin yet my friend

We are goin to run the gamut

At the races

of Life

And the damned be damned

Stinkin sodden lot

me maybe a center spread cover

for the may issue

but you never know

Freddie was Mercurially brilliant

You could not not love him

So I think I too must give

Wings to my fancy of flights

Too much simpleton for the critic to wrap around

Too much nonsensical for the bazaar run around

You need purpose and idiom and fair stretch

of Imagination

to make videos that do not

escape mono syllablic joy

but do plumb the depths

of togetherness

in your entity rhetoric

I really want to want to want to

Break out into simple verse

But this prison of words

Has me spell bound

I wonder how it would be in urdu

arabic, hindi, sanskrit, latin, greek, aramaic, hebrew, chinese

lingua francs calling siren songs

in the foggy mist of the mid morning dream

The Revolution of Peace

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 05:55:00 +0000

The Revolution of Peace is Upon Us

It leeches through the underbrush

Of apathy and defeat

The Virulence of Joy

Bleeding rivulets of white

Cutting through the caked, dried, stench

Of blood turned black with age

Of many a torture session

The silent screams of many a dissenter

Snaking

Through the roils of fat suburban bellies

Sunk in the stupor of consumption

Better liposuction was never found

The Revolution of Peace is Upon Us

It spreads with insidious fury

Through the undergrowth of our

Children’s hearts

Changing fear to rage

Anger to Sorrow

Arms to Opposition

The Revolution of Peace is Upon Us

The Generals of War & Commerce & Plenty

Reel is stony apathy

This is not the world we want

They snarl

Building bulwarks of disinformation

The Revolution of Peace is Upon Us

Knowledge skitters through the tubes

Toppling the dominoes of Lies

The Cause & Effect chain

Spinning out in directions

No planner ever foresaw

The Revolution of Peace is Upon Us

We Dance on the Beach

Sing in the Sky

Run circles around profiteers

Build dreams out of tomorrow

Destroy the lies of yesterday

Shine on with the truth of eternity

The Revolution of Peace is Upon Us

You have no choice my friend

It is upon us.

Egypt: Now I Hear Your Heartbeat

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 19:34:00 +0000

Egypt
Now I hear your heartbeat
The song of the freedom
Bleeding on the streets
Rumbling in the drumbeat

Egypt
Now I feel your despair
The crushing in the shadows
Brilliant sunlight streaming
Breaking through the hatred

Egypt
Now I hear your anger
Throbbing in the darkness
Retreat is not an option
Till we see you stand tall

Egypt
This is what we long for
To see you in your glory
Smashing through the girders
Fiery with the Peace

Egypt
Now I hear the freedom
Screamin like a siren
Bursting through the chains
Rising from the Rooftops

Egypt

Now I hear your pride

Running down the Nile

Spreading through the desert

Binding you as One

Egypt
Now I hear your heartbeat
The song of the freedom
Shivering me with triumph
Breaking out in laughter

Egypt

Now I hear the freedom

Pouring out the Peace

Spilling thro your borders

Blazing through the land

Dedicated to the Egyptian Warriors of Peace & Freedom

Which Famous Person Would You Like to Go to Dinner with and Why?

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 14:32:00 +0000

This feels like a trick question. Am I supposed to pick just one famous person? Like when push comes to shove and your back is against the wall staring down the barrel of a gun? Even then it would be a toughie. I am more likely to get querulous with the gunman for the limited choice than seriously worry about my existential well being of the moment.

With that bit of grief out of the way I guess the numero uno person in my book would be Jesus Christ. That walking on the water stunt is something that's got me enthralled. Plus the teleportation jump he did with the boat and crew from the middle of the lake to the shore is nothing to sneeze at either.

But teleportation, in the larger scheme of things is, I suppose, alright in a way. So you have telekinesis. No big deal. But its the walking on water, that has me boggle eyed.

Oh the questions I have for him! How do you do it? Do you use your telekinesis to modify the surface tension of water? We know some type of insects can race across water and from what I gather they have some suction type thing on their feet. How do you manage? You don't have webbed feet do you? You hacked into the laws of physics. How? How? HOW?

I have a sneaky suspicion though that he is going to look at me with a) silent laughter in his eyes and b) a bit of bemusement. Then he'd say something like: 'When Einstein said the theoretical bridge between phenomena and their theoretical principles is non-existent, he was right. I live in the world phenomena and I never bother with theoretical constructs.'

The Escape from The Hallway of Mirrors

noreply@blogger.com (sunfever) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 22:56:00 +0000

There I stood all agog

Lust, Sex, Rage, Sophistication

Murder, Hate, Death, Complexity

Aint it all the cards that decked the rise

Hallway of Mirrors

There's no escape

It will feed you, eat you

Hollow and Dry

Clutch your pattern chants

Your hallelujah incense

Your glory to god silver bullets

Vampires suck on rabid emotion

Feed us, treat us, tease us

They croon

More, more, more

They cry

More pleasure, more plenty

More want, more destitution

We need the suffering to feel

We need the fat rotund luxury of indulgence

To breed.

Before you know it

The mirror’d demons mocked

We’ll suck you dry

And trade your empty soulless shell

For younger models

Of muscled brilliance

Virile emptiness

Designed to please the eye

Barren sexiness

To populate the empty streets

Some where off to the side of this horror story I hear guerilla drum beats in the jungle. Comforting.

Drive a stake thro my heart it mocked

Such intensity of pleasure when

Revenge breeds such sweet monsters

And nobody will understand this it boasted

And you will continue to do as you must

Rape and pillage and steal and murder one another it giggled

In the name of god, luxury, wealth, power, race, creed, poverty, sin, virtue

It shrieked with laughter

I grew tired of the eternal chorus line and flipped the Zippo and lit the crush of dry souls…the fire…it raged for centuries…

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