sunday bloody sunday
1452 IST
12 March 2006 AD
some spot under some tree blessed with virgin sunbeams
Barbara complains to Diamond, “You don’t bring me flowers anymore….”
Media is a very comfortable and soothing word to say. My soul feels the touch of redemption, my heart sings the songs of freedom and liberation and my expression reaches the zenith of inspired existence. Thanks to MEDIA!
Someone is laying hopes and placing bets on The India Affect, while others being apologetically Indians since birth, shrug it off as a fad that too will pass off as Bird Flu subsides and dies its age gradually but subsequently.
Borrowed ink does better than original words. What if the entire inspiring ambience surrounding me in an envelope of surrealism fails to trigger my imagination and rekindle my ingenuity? Nothing, actually. The times that I may never revisit, the classics that I may never hear again, but I will still be somewhere more often than nowhere.
I shot the sheriff when the winds of change were blowin’ on the waterfront amidst the chanting of Roadhouse Blues. I thought though the times they-are-a-changin’ and that I am a dreamer but I am not the only one. So I took the long and winding road to the place called Vertigo, and I am on the road again.
Back to the chamber of darkness with a screen of life. Some simulacrum I must say…..
12 March 2006 AD
some spot under some tree blessed with virgin sunbeams
Barbara complains to Diamond, “You don’t bring me flowers anymore….”
Media is a very comfortable and soothing word to say. My soul feels the touch of redemption, my heart sings the songs of freedom and liberation and my expression reaches the zenith of inspired existence. Thanks to MEDIA!
Someone is laying hopes and placing bets on The India Affect, while others being apologetically Indians since birth, shrug it off as a fad that too will pass off as Bird Flu subsides and dies its age gradually but subsequently.
Borrowed ink does better than original words. What if the entire inspiring ambience surrounding me in an envelope of surrealism fails to trigger my imagination and rekindle my ingenuity? Nothing, actually. The times that I may never revisit, the classics that I may never hear again, but I will still be somewhere more often than nowhere.
I shot the sheriff when the winds of change were blowin’ on the waterfront amidst the chanting of Roadhouse Blues. I thought though the times they-are-a-changin’ and that I am a dreamer but I am not the only one. So I took the long and winding road to the place called Vertigo, and I am on the road again.
Back to the chamber of darkness with a screen of life. Some simulacrum I must say…..
posted by humanprojector at 1:33 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home