Elation and Joy

I've been sleeping in my sister's room for a while now. While my room is otherwise unoccupied. It's given me a new perspective on the biggest menace to our fair city. We must ban autos before it is too late. I have a balcony now but it's pointless to sit there before 2am. Autos, dear diary, must go.

I was also stuck in front of one for about 10 minutes today. I felt like a stunt driver in Road Warrior. I almost went over the divider and almost hit a cow but the desire to get in front of this 3 wheeled smoke machine was just too great. When I finally went past him I felt elation and joy. This lasted till the next signal when the bastard caught up with me. Sputtering, belching thick clouds of gray smoke. I killed him and then set fire to his machine. The coffee tasted a lot better after that. Elation and Joy.

So if I could hit the asshole again I would but I think I've had enough violence for one day.

place holder

Hello dear Diary. It's me. Charlie Brown.

I hope that life will be all peaches and pink teddies one day.
Till then I'll make do with whatever I can get.

I fed monkeys strawberries today.
That was my highlight.
Unbelievably bold fuckers, these monkeys.

Day turned into shit soon after.

I think. Sometimes. Occasionally. In short horrifying bursts of clarity. I don't like it much.

I listen to More of Iron than Blood and I'm happy.

Bangalore police is getting sniffer dogs at the usual drunk driving checkpoints to sniff out narcotics.
I didn't think drugs were such a big problem in Bangalore.

I know I should be here but I wish I was there.

So? Then? What else?

I have crazy fucking dreams on Sunday afternoons. Not every Sunday but the only dreams I can remember are the ones from my Sunday afternoon naps and they are all either bizarre, fucked up or complete nonsense.

Blogging when you have nothing to say is a lot easier than blogging on a particular topic but then there's lots to talk about. I'm just not in a very sharing mood. Things are alright I guess. Mostly, a feeling of restlessness and vague tension like a coiled spring in the pit of my stomach. I need a holiday and its happening soon but not soon enough. That's another whole new feeling. I don't remember the last time I was this excited/ nervous about a holiday. Equal parts almost and a fair amount of tension also. Dear Diary, I don't really know what to say.

So anyway, Mosque Road and Ramzan food got sacked again today. Laziness made her presence felt. It's a long festival but it's not going to happen this year. Is okay.

I might miss Mr. Big also and will have to listen to hazaar stories about the genius of Paul Gilbert and how cool he was and how funny and how I should have been there. Is okay too.

Insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

Mostly, these next few days are going to be torturous. Must maintain calm outer surface at all times. Too much jumping around and shouting like 12 year old who's scored his first goal will destroy the little dignity I have left.

Also,dear diary,full on Sunday evening blues happening. I don't want to go to work tomorrow and spend another day pretending to be busy. I really don't.

Mysore, Sun O))) and the dust of dreams

I can hear voices in the street. Singing. My eyes are sunken. My neck is sweaty. That bud from Mysore was oh so pretty. Sun O))) are not pretty but they do a brilliant job of setting the mood. The constant drone invades my brain and my ears start to hurt. I would lower the volume but that would mean confirmation of an ugly truth. I cease and desist. Compromise. I almost changed the mood but Attila Csihar started his vocal bit. I thought his song on the last Jarboe album was fantastic. On Aghartha, he's just talking.

The new Cable album is brilliant. I've heard very little of this band previously but The Failed Convict has pretty much got me by the balls.

In other news, Harley Davidson is finally entering the Indian market. I'm waiting and watching.

Kaminay was so much crap. Should have seen it in Rex. Sankat City too was mostly crap. But then I've fallen into the habit of watching some really bad films. Saw one last night called Flesh for Frankenstein with Udo Keir as the Baron. It was the most fucked up retelling of the Frankenstein story I have ever seen. Blew my mind.

Also, the new Keelhaul is mad. This is some seriously heavy twisted music.

So, Dust of Dreams is out already. Discussions have begun in earnest about the book. People have finished it and posted the last 50 pages on line. I sneaked and peaked. Couldn't resist. Quick Ben has a death scene but everyone is hoping he escapes. I'm with everyone on this one. There hasn't been enough QB of late. No mention of him in Toll the Hounds at all. And yes, Dear Diary, who the hell is Iskar Jarak? Do I have to go back and start from scratch? And it turns out the Dying God was actually Bellurdan Skullkrusher. Thank you Internet. At times on Toll the Hounds it felt like there were two writers at work. The entire storyline with Gruntle and the Trygalle Trade Guild was very dull and time consuming with a really irritating side story about a cursed village that totally ruined the momentum of the story and it was told in a very pedestrian way. Why was it there? Anyway, the rest of the book was pretty good. It's coming to an end finally. Maybe just another three years.

So....

So basically, the more jobless and bored I am, the more you get to see me Dear Diary. That's pretty much what it's come down to. An uncle of mine is shoulder surfing right now as I type. This is the second time he's doing it and it's really pissing me off. If we were at work I'd complain to security and get him thrown out of the building under the heading of data protection. Unfortunately, we're not at work. Unfortunately, he's a relative.

I'm in the mood for a big fat cheese Omlette and toast but feeling too bleh to cook it.

I like Tom Waits when he's a bit mad and screaming and shouting and I love him when he's telling stories but his mushy side just seems too mushy. Mule Variations is one hell of an album though. It's got some mush but he's mostly at his best right through these 16 songs.

In other news, My Uncle the Wolf has a new ep out and the band has recovered a fair bit from the Down syndrome of their debut. Now they seem like a more grungy/ stoner rock band with some severe Soundgarden and AiC worship which while not being original is still better than ripping Down off. Anyway, Vader on this new ep sounds like a slightly better arranged version of Double Barrel Blues from the debut. Already lapsing into self imitation but I think I'll hold out for the second album. Who knows, maybe they'll blow minds and kick ass after all.

Spending nights at the hospital has to be one of the most depressing feelings ever. It's this atmosphere of gloom that just hangs over everything. I'm sure there are happy stories to be found in these places but not where I was sitting last night.

Anyway, hunger wins over ennui and I'm off Dear Diary. Want me to save you a bite?

some more something

I'm updating a lot more suddenly. No particular reason and its all mostly crap but here I am anyway. Been tripping quite a bit on CRASS and Goatwhore and a bunch of other bands so thought I'd do a video only post with a bunch of you tube links but then I couldn't figure out how to so I'm just going to ramble some more.

Goatwhore's new album which I spoke about earlier as well is fucking intense. Probably their best since Funeral Dirge for the Rotting Sun and some truly awe inspiring riffs on this one. They even go melodic on a song with pretty good results.

Steven Erikson's Toll the Hounds also is pretty kickass. The Malazan Book of the Fallen is now only two books away from completion and some of the stuff in this eighth book will leave fan boys stunned. Anomander Rake is the pivot in this book and while it's populated by a whole bunch of the more important characters it's beginning to look more and more likely that endgame will be played out mostly by Shadowthrone and Cotillion. Can't wait and also can't really believe that I've invested so much time into this. I started reading Gardens of the Moon when I was in college. Damn. I should pat myself on the back.

I'm not the beast they've made me out to be
I've done some good things. Done some good things.
Like you, I've stumbled once or twice
Done some bad things, yes I've done some bad things
My body is a thing corrupt and wrong
It is guilty. Yes, it's guilty
My spirit is the thing that's dragged along
It is innocent. Lord it's innocent

Oh, separate my body from my soul
Oh, separate my body from my soul

Let's go back to how things were back then
When I was younger, when I was younger
Everything was either black or white
It was easier, so much easier
Now everything it looks so grey
I'm older, now I'm older
Show me a man who deserves to die
You cannot convince me, you cannot convince me
Show me a man who deserves to live
You have no evidence, you have no evidence

Oh, separate my body from my soul
Oh, separate my body from my soul

I tried so hard to tell you truths
But I lied to you, Oh how I lied to you
The things that you think you know so well
They are fleeting, Yes they're fleeting
You're the one who told me who I was
You said "You're no one." So now I'm no one.

Oh, separate my body from my soul
Oh, separate my body from my soul

I love Those Poor Bastards. Best band I've found in a long while.
http://www.myspace.com/thosepoorbastards

oh well...

I was told yesterday that all normal people do to fall asleep is turn the lights off, get under their blankets and close their eyes. Turns out I can't do normal very well.

In other news, Terminator: Salvation is the dumbest movie I have ever seen. The bad shit starts pretty much with the arrival of John Connor (Christian Bale) and continues right till the incredible, unbelievable stupid ending. It started off well enough. Sam Worthington who I've never seen before is a convicted prisoner awaiting execution. Helena Bonham Carter is some sort of cancer stricken scientist who wants to use his body for Skynet purposes. There's a little bit of dialogue and a kiss between the convicted killer and the dying scientist which ends with the line "So that's what death tastes like" which is pretty much the highlight of the entire movie.

You can stop reading this right now Dear Diary. Honestly. Bale makes his appearance shortly thereafter with his copter landing on a terminator and Bale stepping out to put two bullets into the Terminator's head. Head shots kill these machines apparently even though it looks like the bullets bounced off. The Terminators look like some sort of mechanized zombies for the most part and and the fight scenes are the usual loud noisy shakey camera scenes where you can't really see anything. Anyway, Bale finds out that he's number two on the Skynet hit list with Kyle Rees being number one on that list. For those of you who remember, Rees is actually John's father although at this time he's still a teenage boy and younger than John. It takes John a good 15 minutes to come to the startling conclusion that once Skynet kills of Rees then he's pretty much a goner too. Bale looks pretty much like a genius when he comes up with the line "No Kyle Rees and there's no John Connor."

So anyway, the movie carries along on its merry way. Sam Worthington's character is brought back from the dead then dies after an epic fight with the classic Terminator C-800 only to be resurrected so he can sacrifice himself for the greater good cause "everybody deserves a second chance." I've never seen a more unnecessary character in Hollywood but Worthington is pretty good at what he does and seems like he could be an action hero in the same mould as Jason Statham.

The movie ends on an optimistic note and I guess there are another couple of movies before this comes to its end but man, this movie is very fucked. Easily Bale's worst role/ performance ever. Don't know what he was thinking and he looks like he was sleep walking through most of it. I went into this movie knowing it was going to be bad and overblown but even I wasn't prepared for this level of suckage. Terrible.

In other news, playing the new Goatwhore and Anaal Nathrakh back to back is one hell of a trip. The new Goatwhore especially is filled from start to finish with some of the most aggressive thrash/ death riffs I've heard in a while and its a good deal better than A Haunting Curse which I totally loved. The Nathrakh is a complete fucking classic. Enough said.

Another dead goddess

Leela Naidu died today. Probably one of the most beautiful women this country ever saw. Mortality sucks ass.

PFF

how come any time I'm in the mood for some peace and quiet and all I want to do is listen to white light from the mouth of infinity it doesn;t work out? I'm all set. Rolled and ready, in my bathtub, I'vealready played the song. I want to spark when the opening note of miracle of love hits and then I'm engulfed in the noise of autos. zip zap zoom, sounds like there's a dozen of them and they all have modified silencers. Fuck all. The song's started already. Seriously, autos are pissing me off. I think the time has come.

In other news, last night instead of talking about the good old days we lived it. Great fun but I don't want to do it again for at least another 3 months.

In still other news life has gotten a lot more complicated and I've been tripping my ass of on the soundtrack to Gulaal. That's the least of the many complications in my life currently but its the strangest. I'm also really liking Nicole Atkins and country music. I think the time has come.

So I thought I'd feel better after talking about it.
I didn't.

Michael Jackson mar gaya

My very first cassette tape was Michael Jackson's Thriller. It was special anniversary edition of some sort that dad got back for me from Singapore. I remember playing it to death and my cousin and I even used to practice the moonwalk. Michael Jackson really was something else. Thriller and Bad were just two albums that I totally loved and even Dangerous wasn't too bad and I'll always enjoy a Michael Jackson song. His music makes me happy.

Farrah Fawcett died yesterday. I saw The Cannonball Run again recently after years and she was just so effervescent, cute and smoking hot in that movie. Another awesome woman gone and a little bit like Jacko, watching Fawcett on screen I'd just feel happier about everything.

The Big Three O

March 23, 2009 1:18 AM

The voice was the same. Neither inflection nor emotion of any kind. Not cold but a bit detached. “You'll be 30 in a few months. It's coming, you know. The end. What will you do?” Not taunting nor mocking but definitely interested. I hung up when she ran out of questions on the POA to combat my impending doom. This had been happening for a while now. More than a year in fact.

I don't really know. I never thought to question it and even now, this constant talk of my impending demise on reaching the age of 30 doesn't seem like enough reason to ignore. Women can be dangerous in my experience and also harbingers of doom but seldom have I viewed their lot as prophets of destruction.

I went about my life. Generally peaceful, mostly happy. The calls still came. In their own random regularity. I'd ramble about this and that and then she'd talk to me about the end. The Big Three O she called it.

“What are you going to do? It'll all end no?”

May 5, 2009 11:17 AM

I had that dream again last night. I'm stuck, knee deep in thick black ooze and I can't move. For some reason my upper body is as stuck as my legs are. I can't even wave my arms around. The swamp seems to want me. To not let me go. I close my eyes and tell myself I'm dreaming. I pinch myself; I slap myself across the face. I show no mercy, I’m still stuck here. I know this is a dream but I cannot wake up. The trees around me are moving in, closer and closer. The swap gets thicker and I can feel the ooze slipping and sliding between my toes. It is a living breathing swamp...

Feels that way at any rate. It was only the phone call that woke me up. No pre-amble, no polite conversation. "6 months to go GK. What are you going to do? It'll all end no?"

I was thankful for the phone call. It meant an end to the dream. It meant another day of working with 4 hours of sleep to back me up but it was better than sleeping to dream that dream again. It makes my skin crawl and my heart beat slower. I have come to dread the thought of sleep thanks to that fucking dream, the ooze that curls around my legs like a snake and the swamp that threatens to swallow me into its sludge. The dream started on the night of my last entry here Dear Diary. Complete in its form, like it simply dropped into my mind and now has nowhere else to go. I sleep, I'm stuck in the swamp and then the phone call rescues me. Every night, without fail. I know I should just wait for the phone call to escape the swamp but I can't wait that long. It's almost like she knows where I am. It's almost like she's waiting for me to start quivering and whimpering before she deigns to rescue me. I know that's rubbish and it's probably just a coincidence but every day for the last 44 days doesn't really seem like a coincidence. It feels like a plan.

I'm unable to come up with the answers to my life anymore. There used to be a time when I knew all the answers. When GK had simple solutions to complex questions. Today, I don't even know the questions. It's like this dream and that fucking phone call are turning my life upside down but I'm not sure which way is up and which way is down. Sideways? Don't even get me started on sideways. My mom says I have no direction and for once I'm inclined to agree.

gk's dirty dozen

This post was largely inspired by a similar post on a friend's blog. A lot of thought went into it and picking only 12 beautiful women was incredibly hard. But worry not dear diary, you'll always be my number one woman even if I don;t show my face around these parts very often. You know that, don't you? You'll always be my number one woman.

Right at the top, Monica Bellucci is my own personal goddess. I would build a shrine in her name and worship her if I was from Andhra Pradesh but I'm not so I'll be content with this blog post instead.



Barbara Bouchet is simply stunning. The ability to make you melt in your shoes with a careless glance whether in Don't Torture a Duckling or Milan Calibre 9. Just an absolute beauty.



Candice Bergen is still active on TV with Boston Legal but it was the 70s and movies like The Hunting Party and even Gandhi a little later on.



Isabella Rosellini first came to my attention in the 90s comedy Death Becomes Her with Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn. She put both those beautiful women in the shade in her 5 minute role and she's been a favourite ever since. Blue Velvet dear diary, Blue Velvet.


Spending most of her career in sleazy nasty '70s Euro-exploitation did not nothing to dampen Christina Lindberg's effervescence. Just one hell of a hottie.


Another exploitation super heroine but a little bit different. She made her name starring in 70s Jap exploitation movies with the Female Prisoner 701: Scorpion and Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter movies before exploring the world of J-pop. Meiko Kaji is just majestic.



Michelle Pfeiffer as catwoman, Michelle Pfeiffer in Married to the Mob, Michelle Pfeiffer in anything at all....


When I was maybe 7 or 8 years old, I saw this movie called 100 Rifles. It was one of dad's favourites then and it took me a while to figure out why.... Raquel Welch as a gun toting cowgirl. Westerns don't get hotter than this although Welch did.


Natalie Portman might seem like an unusual entrant to this list Dear Diary but she's not. She is just as much a natural beauty as any of the other women listed here. Another stunner whether she's on SNL, Leon or V for Vendetta (although that Brit accent wasn't too happening).


Sylvia Kristel. when I first saw Emanuelle I couldn't take my eyes off her. Beautiful with a waif like delicate quality to her that is just simply unique. What else to say except that she's another stunner.



Soledad Miranda was Jess Franco's muse and honestly it's not hard to see why. A pox on terrible drivers as her death robbed me off a few more films. In case of any doubt, dear diary, track down Vampyros Lesbos and watch just the opening scene. An unapologetic, erotically charged trip.



Nastassja Kinski is another dove like woman. Like if you held her too hard she might break. Beautiful, delicate and absolutely worthy of worship.



So that's that, Dear Diary. I have half a mind to post a few videos too but I figure that might be overkill no? Anyway, I'll leave you in their august company.

Places to be, people to meet.

Ooty

Ooty was good. The walk on Saturday was the longest in recent memory and the descent into wet clay the most exciting. The food was consistently bad but the company was consistently entertaining.

The International Youth Hostel turned out to be terrible. The rooms were dimly lit with bunk beds and no ventilation. The promised bonfire in the garden proved to be insufficient incentive for us to stay there and so after some lunch, much deliberation and fretting and fuming (which I slept through) we reached Moti Manor. Decent enough for the money we were paying.

Friday evening is where memory's playing a bit of a bastard. I had a terrible headache and for some reason didn't take a tablet. Basically i think everyone got drunk and went to bed. I got up a bit later and threw up. Three times.

Luckily by morning, the headache was gone and coffee had arrived. Terrible coffee. All over Ooty, just terrible coffee and tea. Why? It's a bloody tourist destination and they can;t get their fucking tea and coffee right? WTF! Also, it looks like every single government official in Tamil Nadu is out to fleece the tourist. The demands for ten rupees and fifty rupees seemed unending.

Day 2 was pretty much it. The definition of perfect. Morning coffee was fuck all but it didn't stop me from having two cups. We went to yet another fuck all restaurant for breakfast, ate bread omlette because it was the only breakfast food available and there were simply no sausages and bacon to be had. Who would have thought huh? A former destination of fat British bastards and sixty years after they've gone there's no sign of bacon and sausages and eggs for breakfast. Anyway, the omlette was all right and breakfast was done.

So anyway, Saturday morning we hit the lake and managed to find a half way secluded spot on the banks. It was awesome. The weather was perfect, the grass was green, there were ready mixes galore, wild litchis and all round good cheer and bonhomie.

After the lake and another shitty lunch in Hyderabad Biryani (Empire's very poor and very distant cousin) we set off once again. This time the mission was to find another place that was devoid of all human life. The Panaman mentioned a near mythical place called 7^th mile (probably

from the dark recesses of his childhood memory) and off we went looking. I'm not sure where we ended finally. A walk through the Hindustan Photo Films employee quarters (Indunagar) led us to this unbelievable place.

I know Ooty's filled with tourists and honeymooners and locals out to make a quick buck but the area still has some absolutely beautiful places. You just have to make the effort to look for it. Anyway, look at the pics and feel the splendor of this land. It was a long walk though and at times it became a bit of a trek but we climbed up a hill, came down a mountain, survived close encounters with some really wet clay and finally came to this place that was deemed perfect to sit and rest and recharge batteries. A plain grassy field stretched out before us with horses grazing, a cool breeze blowing and this thick pine tree forest beyond the plains. It was quite awesome.

It was a miracle that the weary travelers were still on their feet by the time they got back to the hotel and there really was only thing left to do on their last night in Ooty. Open that bottle and start drinking.

….we just slept but.

They were six and they were brave

Singular mission, no world to save

Search for the perfect holiday

That was their only aim.

To Ooty they set off, the hills were happening

Escaping the city, always a good thing

2 nights and 3 days the perfect vacation

Moti Manor was our final destination

The lake was great, the grass was green

The litchis were the reddest I'd ever seen

The Panaman and Keitho went fishing

Caught a few hats, and other dirty things

The food in Ooty deserves a stanza

Uniformly fuck all, even Bob's is better

Coffee and Tea, they taste the same

Our Biryanis and Burjis were utterly lame.

The 7^th mile was pretty funky

Long fucking walk but all was well

Didn't want to come back and be a desk monkey

I tell you! This holiday was swell.