Techno Wine

Check out Zerosign's post on the iBar.

A thing of beauty and joy forever.

Words

An upturned matress brought to me this relic on a yellowed bit of paper. Does anyone know who it is by? :

teach me how to
turn my face before the blow
strikes the hooded head
of the bound prisoner
like vinegar on the bleeding lips
of Christ
teach me how to
pretend pain is unfelt unless
I can feel it
blood spurts from
the nose of the deer
teach me the way
to drive hard and fast
into the stationary beast
imagining the sound of breaking bones
is freedom’s love song
teach me to
grind my heart into
sausage stuffing for
the next thanksgiving celebration
teach me to lie
looking you in the eye
while I slit your throat
teach me the devil’s
glorious way
teach me
that everything is useless
and everyone is nothing
teach me
about life
by feasting on death
teach me the secrets
of war

Fault Lines

Someone asked me if I'd gone into hibernation. Well yes. I have. Blogging seems to have lost most of its magic as has my capacity to wax eloquent. I have a new template in the hope that I shall complete the many drafts that wordpress throws up everytime I grudgingly login. For now, thanks to Red for the meme type inspiration.  

Here's what I found out: I'm paranoid, narcissistic, obsessive-compulsive and moderately histrionic and will land up in the seventh hell. Oh Joy!

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The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!

Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Level | Score
Purgatory | Very Low
Level 1 – Limbo | Very Low
Level 2 | Very High
Level 3 | Very High
Level 4 | Low
Level 5 | Very High
Level 6 – The City of Dis | Low
Level 7 | Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge | Very High
Level 9 – Cocytus | Very High

Level descriptions

Take the test

Disorder | Rating
Paranoid: Very High
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Moderate
Antisocial: Moderate
Borderline: Very High
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: Low
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: High

URL of the test

Information 

To The Stars

"The quintessence of anybody is defined by what they are not", she said. Her hair bounced up and down with the certainty of what she was saying. What did she mean? I wasn't very sure. For some reason though, this chap and I followed all her words with the devotion a Pomeranian showed to its mistress counting beads and pearls from the satin sofa she perched herself on.

A strange sort of power radiated from her. In fact it was pure power and like pure things it was evil. It was attractive, strong, addictive and tuned us into slave like zombies. We spent days, hours and what seemed like eons just listening to her. And I wanted to be like her. The curator of a fancy gallery, with her own fashion label, a couple of books with fancy phrases and lots of high teas.

And I feared to admit it. But she was my idol. My star. Some part me knew that it was all pseudo, a gimmick… but some part wanted a part of that stage. That life. Some part of me wanted those stars and their silvery fickleness. Some part of me knew… that was what heaven was about.

Poetry

Hazaaron khvaahishen aisii ki har khvaaish pe dam nikale

Bahut nikale mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikale