more rambling
Why can’t I make the layout of this journal more refreshing? I have to update some user pictures but the weather has been very distracting and I have been a lout. It’s always good to blame it on weather, isn’t it?
I have been so very socially busy. The house is almost done for the summer party. I feel like Mrs. Dalloway, all ready for her party. I have not decided the guest list or the menu but I am sure it will be simple. I am going for clothes shopping on Wednesday. The budget is 200-300 bucks and I need 2 pair of jeans, 2 tee shirts, another pair of shoes, aqua-di-Gio and then I will be ready to visit Philadelphia. Hurray.
Saw ‘Water’ yesterday and it reassured my faith that Deepa Mehta is one of those rare breed of artists, who will service art come what may. It was very sad, visiting theatre after V’s death. The last movie I saw was with him, in March (Mrs. Henderson’s Present) and at that time on seeing the previews for ‘Water’ we had decided to come together and watch it. Oh, I miss him so much. After the movie, I wanted to tell him that it will be safe to say that Deepa Mehta is in league with Pedro Almadovre (another of our fav. directors). Pedro’s new movie is coming in 3 months. I remember, a rainy afternoon, last September, when me and V went to Drexel to watch Bad Education and came back in tears and then went to listen to Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky at Capital University. Goes without saying we got stoned off our wits later to numb the misery of living.
Last year, we saw Vanity Fair by Meera Nair. Dear, Thackeray would have consumed poison on seeing how whorish Ms Nair had portrayed our Becky Sharp. I don’t even know how can a director do such an abominous thing? On the record, Becky Sharp used her wit, intelligence and beauty in her favour and even if she had to sleep around with a few men, that doesn’t make her a whore? I don’t know why society has been so very unkind to sex professionals aka prostitutes. I mean I personally don’t see much difference between a professional who makes gizmos and a prostitute. They both know what they are doing so why not to respect them. Why are people so deviant and rather coquettish about sex and its related services. Please don’t tell me, its personal.
Sex for me holds the motto Unity In Diversity. Really we all orgasm the same way: black, white, brown or blonde, circumcised/uncircumcised, big/small, shaved/unshaven, top/bottom etc, all of them humping and panting their male organ, trying to point its tip so as to touch the mythical regions of the body like g-spot or prostate gland. You see most of them want to 'put their sausage in a hot oven' but forget that the oven also has its own needs which ought to be fulfilled. Alas, when people get orgasm, that noise, that twitching of mouth, that wetness of the private parts, that movement of limbs and chaotic cries begging to eithet stop or to push harder can harmonise all of us. So why to be ignorant and silent about it?
The west room is getting transferred to the guest room. I am tired of this house and looking forward to my new house with more bedrooms and a staircase which will be decorated in the 20’s French brothel style. Goes without saying that I have been busy shopping at garage sales, yard sales and all. I think it’s in me, dressing and house decorating… guess there can be a gay gene……
Miss Y and I went to the waterfalls today. It was fun; it was like taking a big shower and not having to worry about the stupid details of soap, towels and all. When I die and what ever is left of my body after all the medical studies should be buried at a place near a waterfall: a place where it snows a lot and rains every-day. I wish to be buried with my leather bound copies of Madame Bovary and Maurice and the paper back copy of Tropic of Capricorn.
First two books gave me the life I lead. They liberated me as a human being. You know they were the first unabridged adult books I read and I guess, we all have a little soft spot for our first loves, don’t we. I compare everything I read to the works which influenced me. That’s why see, I always say, I am not a good reader. Tropic of Capricorn was V’s gift for my birthday. Its introduction was written by Anais Nin and I recall in our initial days, when V was not doing drugs, we used to talk of authors and I used to tell him about Henry and June by Nin. I vividly remember that birthday of mine, as 2 days later was my PhD candidacy exam. We both had so much fun that day and towards the end, V was so very comforting in reassuring my weak disposition of nerves that I will pass the exam with flying colours. Goes without saying that with his best wishes I did….
We went to Martini’s in short north and indulged in the sins of gluttony. Then hung around in his apartment at Riverside. The house was a stark contrast to the room which he inhibited before he killed himself. On my way back from the waterfalls, I passed Riverside. I tried not to look at the fifth floor as I knew that some soul is trapped on that floor’s third room on the right. The room with a clean black and white carpet and violin in the bedroom and Armani in the bathroom. Everything goes but the memory remains.
I guess that’s the tragedy of living and dying that we think we live in moments and quanta and we die in a flash. But dear, people die in phases too. When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose them all at once; you lose them in pieces over a long time - the way the phone stops ringing - and their scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in their closet and drawers. Their half chewed strawberries get molded in the fridge.Gradually, you accumulate the parts of them that are gone. Just when the day comes, when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feelings that they're gone forever, there comes another day, and another specifically missing part. I am still searching for those missing parts and accounting for quantas. But dear the laws of conservation (of mass and energy) are not applicable to memories. Just driving by the Riverside Apartments can bring back millions of moments, times, seconds and words; all coloured and vibrant. I ought to get over with this and move on and get laid!!
I have been so very socially busy. The house is almost done for the summer party. I feel like Mrs. Dalloway, all ready for her party. I have not decided the guest list or the menu but I am sure it will be simple. I am going for clothes shopping on Wednesday. The budget is 200-300 bucks and I need 2 pair of jeans, 2 tee shirts, another pair of shoes, aqua-di-Gio and then I will be ready to visit Philadelphia. Hurray.
Saw ‘Water’ yesterday and it reassured my faith that Deepa Mehta is one of those rare breed of artists, who will service art come what may. It was very sad, visiting theatre after V’s death. The last movie I saw was with him, in March (Mrs. Henderson’s Present) and at that time on seeing the previews for ‘Water’ we had decided to come together and watch it. Oh, I miss him so much. After the movie, I wanted to tell him that it will be safe to say that Deepa Mehta is in league with Pedro Almadovre (another of our fav. directors). Pedro’s new movie is coming in 3 months. I remember, a rainy afternoon, last September, when me and V went to Drexel to watch Bad Education and came back in tears and then went to listen to Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky at Capital University. Goes without saying we got stoned off our wits later to numb the misery of living.
Last year, we saw Vanity Fair by Meera Nair. Dear, Thackeray would have consumed poison on seeing how whorish Ms Nair had portrayed our Becky Sharp. I don’t even know how can a director do such an abominous thing? On the record, Becky Sharp used her wit, intelligence and beauty in her favour and even if she had to sleep around with a few men, that doesn’t make her a whore? I don’t know why society has been so very unkind to sex professionals aka prostitutes. I mean I personally don’t see much difference between a professional who makes gizmos and a prostitute. They both know what they are doing so why not to respect them. Why are people so deviant and rather coquettish about sex and its related services. Please don’t tell me, its personal.
Sex for me holds the motto Unity In Diversity. Really we all orgasm the same way: black, white, brown or blonde, circumcised/uncircumcised, big/small, shaved/unshaven, top/bottom etc, all of them humping and panting their male organ, trying to point its tip so as to touch the mythical regions of the body like g-spot or prostate gland. You see most of them want to 'put their sausage in a hot oven' but forget that the oven also has its own needs which ought to be fulfilled. Alas, when people get orgasm, that noise, that twitching of mouth, that wetness of the private parts, that movement of limbs and chaotic cries begging to eithet stop or to push harder can harmonise all of us. So why to be ignorant and silent about it?
The west room is getting transferred to the guest room. I am tired of this house and looking forward to my new house with more bedrooms and a staircase which will be decorated in the 20’s French brothel style. Goes without saying that I have been busy shopping at garage sales, yard sales and all. I think it’s in me, dressing and house decorating… guess there can be a gay gene……
Miss Y and I went to the waterfalls today. It was fun; it was like taking a big shower and not having to worry about the stupid details of soap, towels and all. When I die and what ever is left of my body after all the medical studies should be buried at a place near a waterfall: a place where it snows a lot and rains every-day. I wish to be buried with my leather bound copies of Madame Bovary and Maurice and the paper back copy of Tropic of Capricorn.
First two books gave me the life I lead. They liberated me as a human being. You know they were the first unabridged adult books I read and I guess, we all have a little soft spot for our first loves, don’t we. I compare everything I read to the works which influenced me. That’s why see, I always say, I am not a good reader. Tropic of Capricorn was V’s gift for my birthday. Its introduction was written by Anais Nin and I recall in our initial days, when V was not doing drugs, we used to talk of authors and I used to tell him about Henry and June by Nin. I vividly remember that birthday of mine, as 2 days later was my PhD candidacy exam. We both had so much fun that day and towards the end, V was so very comforting in reassuring my weak disposition of nerves that I will pass the exam with flying colours. Goes without saying that with his best wishes I did….
We went to Martini’s in short north and indulged in the sins of gluttony. Then hung around in his apartment at Riverside. The house was a stark contrast to the room which he inhibited before he killed himself. On my way back from the waterfalls, I passed Riverside. I tried not to look at the fifth floor as I knew that some soul is trapped on that floor’s third room on the right. The room with a clean black and white carpet and violin in the bedroom and Armani in the bathroom. Everything goes but the memory remains.
I guess that’s the tragedy of living and dying that we think we live in moments and quanta and we die in a flash. But dear, people die in phases too. When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose them all at once; you lose them in pieces over a long time - the way the phone stops ringing - and their scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in their closet and drawers. Their half chewed strawberries get molded in the fridge.Gradually, you accumulate the parts of them that are gone. Just when the day comes, when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feelings that they're gone forever, there comes another day, and another specifically missing part. I am still searching for those missing parts and accounting for quantas. But dear the laws of conservation (of mass and energy) are not applicable to memories. Just driving by the Riverside Apartments can bring back millions of moments, times, seconds and words; all coloured and vibrant. I ought to get over with this and move on and get laid!!