tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71761662011-11-22T09:10:38.025+05:30My brain, (if i had one) must be some weird, new age, reincarnation thing ... hmmm, yeah, that seems to be the most likely solution!Jnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2571100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-33037674039940253422007-07-16T17:31:00.000+05:302007-07-16T17:35:45.516+05:30

A lone petal broke away from the flower. Fell into the water. Created ripples among the floating leaves. Making space for itself. Floating, flowing away from them. Making its way to the waterfall.Then appeared a lone leaf from the sea of leaves that were left behind. Floating along. Looking for the same waterfall.The black was darker. The white was purer. They met, but never merged. It was calmly

Jnoreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-37592350359812939882007-04-25T18:16:00.000+05:302007-04-25T18:17:21.575+05:30

Lost in thoughtsFallen into timeSearching for wordsLooking for that simple rhymeGrowing cold and oldStained with death and dustThe spiritless souls wanderIn a morbid drunken lust

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-4955124063147145372007-02-27T18:35:00.000+05:302007-02-27T18:38:59.572+05:30

It’s funny how the things that you think will make you the happiest, finally happen and make you cry.

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-75205016214475477832007-02-02T19:27:00.001+05:302007-02-02T19:27:55.724+05:30

I’m weird. I’m boring. Weioring.I’m shy. I’m dumb. Shumb.I can't talk. To people I know and people I don’t know.I used to do well with strangers. Now I’m losing touch.Sometimes I can't think of a single thing to say.Something I just make excuses for myselfI'm more of a writer than a speaker, I say.And when I’m supposed to write… I have no excuses to make?I stand alone most of the time. I rarely

Jnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-84294080397408161682007-01-25T16:05:00.000+05:302007-01-25T16:07:10.194+05:30

Born. Lived. Loved. Hated. Wasted. Died.

Jnoreply@blogger.com236tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1167303216382689412006-12-28T16:22:00.000+05:302006-12-28T16:23:36.426+05:30

This blog’s becoming a liability.It tells me that I have to keep writing.Even if I don’t want to.Even if I don’t have anything to write.That makes the writing constrained and unwarranted.So when I do have something to say – like today – I fear it will sound unreal.But I will sayWhat I have to sayDependant. Exposed. Lost.That’s how I feel.I know what I want.I know how it can happen.But I won’t

Jnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1166444232586533522006-12-18T17:44:00.000+05:302006-12-18T17:47:12.636+05:30

She wanders awayTiptoeing into the darknessCarefully avoiding the lightOne, two, threeSomething movesShe ducks behind the shadowShe looks up, nervouslyWith eyes barely visibleShe senses something moving againEyes widenWait and watchStrain to listenSinister silenceAnd then suddenlyOut of the screeching darknessA nervous giggle escapesBut ends abruptlyWith a hint of terrorEyes refocusLook for an

Jnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1165323069912019502006-12-05T18:14:00.000+05:302006-12-05T18:21:09.986+05:30

Wish I could read his thoughts, the way he claims he can read mine.Why is she sulking now?Don’t read my mind, you’re killing the fun.Is she bored of me already?Actually, I don’t think you can read my mind.Looks like I’m losing touch. I love it when you try and talk through silence.*Ahem*Did you say something?Er. No. I thought you did.*Naughty smile*Phew, she likes me after all.You talk a lot.*

Jnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1162817011548399762006-11-06T18:12:00.000+05:302006-11-06T18:14:35.616+05:30

They say it's quiet when reality slips free from the hands of imagination. But imagine this. I say this to the next guy I meet: “Hello, what's your name? What music do you listen to? How could I betray you in the worst imaginable manner?” It could be unproductive but still satisfying. It could even be productive. I could get a song that I can listen to 33 times, non-stop. And it wouldn’t be quiet

Jnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1160559890774799802006-10-11T15:12:00.000+05:302006-10-11T15:17:14.673+05:30

* My skin brushes his, while both of us rush out of the elevator. He smells good. He feels even better. But we don’t look at each other.* We have our palms rested on the door, the same door. But it’s opaque and it’s between us. I pull it. He pushes it. We bump into each other and move on.* Somewhere deep in my mind I think about the touch of my chair kissing the edge of my desk. Somewhere deep on

Jnoreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1159879132654875232006-10-03T18:08:00.000+05:302006-10-03T18:10:22.910+05:30

I sit down to explore my mood on paper. A mood that’s hooked on to my thoughts. Thoughts young and old. Playing hide and seek. Lying somewhere in my mind – unseen, unheard. And then one vague thought grows. It grows till it reaches a limit. But strangely, when it gets there, it doesn’t blow up and burst. It doesn’t subside either. It moves quietly through the last inch of nerve. The last

Jnoreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1158754994939679452006-09-20T17:50:00.000+05:302006-09-20T17:56:15.926+05:30

I’m so tiredI can’t sleepI stay awakeCraving for dreamsLooking up at the ceilingHoping to see starsThe lights are offBut it’s not darkest darkMy eyes don’t closeThey want to, but they cantThoughts intrudeThoughts never dieI realise I could sleepBut only if I wouldn’t careThe head goes heavyI yawn againThe more I want peace, the more it dodges meAnd the more I wonderIs everything you never wanted

Jnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1157115070263238972006-09-01T18:18:00.000+05:302006-09-20T17:57:04.726+05:30

Lil J and Big J always dreamt of having a band. And so they did. They started a band called 'Terribly Timely and Fashionably Late'. But they soon realised that it wasn’t for the music that they formed a band. They wanted to make videos more than the music. Videos that inspired music. They decided 'Terribly Timely and Fashionably Late' would be far too long a name for their new video band (you see

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1156341992913932552006-08-23T19:35:00.000+05:302006-09-01T18:23:18.853+05:30

Tie up the stringsLock up the keysKnock out the beatPause the resonanceTake it to the peopleOne foot in the airAnd the other in the groundJumpLand in betweenChannelise a zillion watts of voiceThis sermon of sound

Jnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1154355409351137612006-07-31T19:45:00.000+05:302006-07-31T19:50:54.826+05:30

She has been closed for over twenty five years now.Squaring off against the crowd. Staring blankly at them.There was nothing to give them, nothing to take.Everything echoed back. And the scream was building inside.Nobody wanted to come in. But she was unconsciously looking for an escape.She started thinking of the screams. Heard and unheard. Silent and shrill.Bounded in the stone jacketed walls.

Jnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1153741625319840932006-07-24T17:16:00.000+05:302006-07-24T17:17:05.366+05:30

What if I want nothing I have?What if I only want what I don’t have?What if the things I want are beyond my reach?What if I want this thing more than anything else?What if I don’t have it before I die?What if this thing I crave for doesn’t want me back in return?What if it’s beyond the ‘haves’ and ‘don’t haves’?What if there’s something involved that is completely out of my control?What if I can

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1152790775977318272006-07-13T17:09:00.000+05:302006-07-17T12:23:10.563+05:30

What’s in my headWill never stay up thereWhat’s in my headWill never be Tamed Caged SilencedWhat’s in my head willGrow Devour RattleAll inside my headUntil it’s let outAnd thenIt will Shriek Devastate PushBreatheBloom and Burn outBut what’s in my headWill be in my head only

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1151382198996332672006-06-27T09:51:00.000+05:302006-06-27T09:55:24.753+05:30

IVDeath must be a woman.

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1150465444018866062006-06-16T19:12:00.000+05:302006-06-16T19:17:02.880+05:30

IIIShe calls, she singsThey come, they danceShe pulls their stringsThey are willing slavesBut the one who fascinates herIs the one she waits forAs long as thirteen yearsIn a horrifying, lingering patienceFor that one poisoned kissThe one who’ll follow her to bedThe one who makes her heart resonateThe one who’s destined to sit on the crystal throneThe one who will die for herThe one she’ll kill to

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1149596847458559322006-06-06T17:54:00.000+05:302006-06-06T17:58:31.103+05:30

IIAmidst the murkiness that lingersHidden under the black silken shroudLies her white, translucent porcelain skinSoft and coldHer long wavy tressesBeautiful and intimidatingHer piercing eyesSweet and eerieHer full lipsOnce rosy, now paleNow curved up in a smileSo sharp and spitefulIt could cut across the thickest of skinsThe strongest of heartsThe dead, the living, and those yet to be

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1149251712573008532006-06-02T18:04:00.000+05:302006-06-02T18:06:18.130+05:30

IThirteen ringsSitting pretty on ten fingersNo gold, no silver, no diamonds or pearlsOnly cold, black, icy desireThirteen more stepsAnd she’ll get to her dreamShe sees the tortured, distorted final visageIn a manner no living soul could ever envisionThe throne of crystalBlacker than her heartEmpty, twisted and malformedWaiting for a willing executioner

Jnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1148470565455328132006-05-24T16:38:00.000+05:302006-05-24T17:06:05.500+05:30

She flickers apprehensivelySitting tight, in the middleAs if with a stiff neckThough fully aware of her own frailtyShe glances across the room, cautiouslyThese are testing times for herThe golden glowAmidst the rich darknessEmphasises the stark nakednessEmpathising with her ability to blindly pierce through it allShe flows luxuriously down her sideLike lava flowing down a volcanoCreating soft

Jnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1148303442928526762006-05-22T18:39:00.000+05:302006-05-22T18:40:42.976+05:30

The downpour started.Fortunately or unfortunately.They had to meet.But they were trapped.For a moment.For a lifetime.Wishing.Lighting strikes.They look up at the same sky.A strong breeze blows.Carrying their sighs.The connection is made.He spotted her.In the distance.She looked different.And indifferent.He couldn’t take his eyes off her.But she wasn’t even looking.And then as if by reflex. She

Jnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1147178763167603202006-05-09T18:13:00.000+05:302006-05-09T18:16:03.213+05:30

Unlimited rehearsals.Persistent patterns. Learning lines. Practising performance. Time after time.That’s what my life’s all about.The same melodramatic mess, year after year.I’m still waiting for the final scene.I don’t have stage fright.But I think my time for the spotlight hasn’t yet arrived.All I need to do is wait.And get used to the stares, the glares, the stings, the backstabs, the damage

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1146385838765030972006-04-30T13:57:00.000+05:302006-04-30T14:00:38.830+05:30

There you comeInto my lifeAnd then go awayMake me feel a like a foolFor wanting youFor wanting you to stayFor wanting things to happenBurning me up, insideThe lights go out and I can't be savedTides that I tried to swim againstHave brought me down upon my kneesOh I beg, I beg and plead singingCome out of things unsaidShoot an apple off my head and aTrouble that can’t be namedA tiger's waiting to

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1146040929055356332006-04-26T14:08:00.000+05:302006-04-26T14:12:09.103+05:30

Blinded in the darkness of my mind.Conscious in the light of those prying eyes.I wonder.Am I really getting better?Or is it merely a pass off?New thoughts.Old problems.Lustful insights.I’m getting carried away.It’s different, pretentious and quintessentially threatening.I can’t stop it.I miss being what I was.I feel like I’ve become less funny or perhaps too serious. Probably bothAm I done with

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1145361143431102092006-04-18T17:19:00.000+05:302006-04-18T17:22:23.446+05:30

I’ve been trying it for a week nowEvery time I sit down to write a postIt feels forcedAnd it doesn’t stop at thatThe first words popping out of my headTend to be dark, deep and drearBut that’s only when the words are still there locked up in the top drawerThe moment I articulate itThe dark streak mysteriously vanishesI read it and re-read itIt doesn’t feel me anymoreWhat’s in a blog without black

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1144399589630094352006-04-07T14:15:00.000+05:302006-04-07T14:18:42.126+05:30

There he hangs.Hung on a large wooden hook.I think the hook is loose.He’ll probably fall off.I’ve seen it wobble.But I know what he’s up to.When you brush by, he swings, lifting his head up, in spite of the stiff neck.Such a creep he is.He’s just spinning around to see the damp stained thoughts running in my mind.I’ve got plans for him!I walk towards the wall, caress him and feel the hook, nearly

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1144237431215879352006-04-05T17:12:00.000+05:302006-04-11T15:33:22.376+05:30

I look pretty, don't I?Thanks DJK.

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1143795171535241962006-03-31T14:22:00.000+05:302006-04-03T16:25:21.120+05:30

I have this impending sense of urgency that’s refusing to move on. Clouding my perception, for no apparent reason. There are those faint lucky stars of grey, fighting for existence in the overcast sky. So things aren’t really as overbearing as it seems to be/me. But I’m afraid I might be giving out wrong signals. Seriously, these signals are not supposed to be noticed, not by you. In a fleeting

Jnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1143459184089034602006-03-27T17:01:00.000+05:302006-03-27T17:04:09.316+05:30

I HATE EVERYTHNG! EVERY FUCKING THING!

Jnoreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1142945878405190362006-03-21T18:26:00.000+05:302006-03-21T18:27:58.423+05:30

I can hear the soft voice in my head.Talking to me. Learning my language. Pulling me back to reality. Waking me up from my dream.Trying to make me get my last dreaming moments right.But there’s no dream now. The dreams have gone away with the sleep. The ones left are the ones I don’t want. The ones that scare. Not soothe. The ones that confuse. And don’t command you. The ones that don’t connect

Jnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1142600634744990572006-03-17T18:26:00.000+05:302006-03-17T18:38:59.336+05:30

Blogging to say nothing at all is like feeling low when you have an e-space dedicated to cribbing.inhaling air to make sure there’s oxygen in itpretending and prevaricating when nobody really careschoosing anonymity to verify if you are really knownthinking if things could have been done differently when you’re losing controlrealising why things went wrong when you know it’s all overwondering why

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1142316991154447072006-03-14T11:40:00.000+05:302006-03-14T11:46:31.176+05:30

She sat there silently. Watching. Watching people enjoy themselves.She was hardly noticed. She looked very ordinary. Normal clothes. Hair all tied up tight with a band. Smudged lipstick. Tired face. Eyes all over the place. Watching every activity. Crossing her legs. And uncrossing them again.She just looked like she was waiting for someone. Actually, it didn’t even matter to the people around if

Jnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1141907748969044132006-03-09T18:02:00.000+05:302006-03-09T18:05:48.986+05:30

She’s one of those who lived life in a constant state of moderation.Moderation in everything.Words, spoken and unspoken.Actions too.There was only one thing that wasn’t in moderationModeration.Always mark the borderline.And the +/-10 points of variance.Once you figure out the range, it’s easy.Never do anything in excess.Never have too much fun.Never cry too much.Never emote too much.Never expose

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1141730128262025742006-03-07T16:42:00.000+05:302006-03-07T16:45:28.266+05:30

If it’s something worth living for, it must undoubtedly be something worth dying for. If you tell the same lie way too often, you start believing in it yourself and forget that it’s a lie. And the lie becomes the truth.If you tell yourself that this is the last time you’ll be spending in bed, crying all night, you’ll be repeating this many more times.If for a moment, you think you aren’t a

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1141194341581805942006-03-01T11:54:00.000+05:302006-03-01T11:56:41.136+05:30

Once upon a time, on an eerie hilltop stood a very unique tree.The unique tree grew a very special fruit. Now, the very unique and very special seed of this special fruit from the unique tree was created as a result of a world-shaking, goosebump-giving, gravity-defying chemical reaction. “WOW”, said Einstein. What on earth could this wondrous reaction be?It was a reaction that got the molecules

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1141121743805909312006-02-28T15:42:00.000+05:302006-02-28T15:45:43.823+05:30

She wants everything, but she sits still and thinks of nothing. It’s happened before. It’s happening now. But it won’t anymore.Then as if fabricated by the utter absence of intent,She switches off the music and sits in silence. And as if fabricated by the total lack of thoughts and activity, He appears, out of nowhere, and sits next to her. Side by side they sit. But nothing stirs.

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1140765627252772342006-02-24T12:50:00.000+05:302006-02-28T15:51:57.976+05:30

When God launched the earth in this universe, things looked a lot different from what it is now. The grass was red and the sky was green. And Santa Claus make an issue out of it, he said it looked too christmasy and people might have a brand recall mix-up. So Eve was hired as a freelance designer. She suggested a blue-purple colour combo. Adam thought it was too feminine. He would have

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1140076262451292202006-02-16T12:37:00.000+05:302006-02-23T14:27:42.856+05:30

VoicesIn my headSoothingly restlessSensibly franticSilently echoing In numb distressFighting for spaceCrucifying my mindMaking me screamWaiting for the pain to die inside my brainYearning for its time to come againAnd the dance goes onA myriad voices stand alongLiving without reason Dying for the shotThe voice comes to meWith its fatal remedyBurning in my veins Like a dead man come aliveWrithing

Jnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1139376657387822892006-02-08T10:57:00.000+05:302006-02-08T18:41:15.250+05:30

Languid screams resonate forcefully, through vague voids.Fading away into a *Drip*Flooding the twosome tinkling glassesBright red love portionOr is it… Raw Bitter Bloody Blood?Drinking it in tiny gulps. He relishes every drop. The last drop plays around his tongue.Like a luscious sweet petal of sin.Like the sweet anguished symphony of a thousand violins. Like a delirious whisper of a weakling

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1138962078655612582006-02-03T15:42:00.000+05:302006-02-03T15:51:18.670+05:30

I moved to the room outside Hoping that the wind would spare me, my spiritI found a wren, a close confideI turned to the trees to hear it Though I knew its song was through A backward glance would wing it I tendered soft rain to ease the pain And let all the dark clouds ring it A crystal voice prepared my name It bade me soon to followThe nagging worries also came The dark and fearsome hollow The

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1138698801492537052006-01-31T14:42:00.000+05:302006-01-31T14:43:21.946+05:30

I have both the television and the radio on. But I don’t watch either of it. I get busy rifling through my sister’s room, trying out her clothes, doing a lil number in front of the mirror. Then I mix up some redbull with vodka. Dress up the glass. And drink it up in one gulp. I pull out a hidden pack of weed. I make chili cheese toast. HmmI make crank calls. Fix up a blind date. I sing whatever’

Jnoreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1138343460263153562006-01-27T11:59:00.000+05:302006-01-27T12:01:00.280+05:30

She likes breaking boys’ hearts. It’s an art form that comes naturally to me. She says.Watch me close...Drop the pencil Bend down Pick it up Glance around to see if anyone’s noticingA coy smileShove the pencil up in the hairTake a sipRun your finger along the rimGet the eye contact rightGive him 'that' lookTake the pencil outLet your hair loseToss it aroundTuck in a stray curl behind your ear Put

Jnoreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1138099658814115352006-01-24T16:17:00.000+05:302006-01-24T16:17:38.816+05:30

For a change I remember what I dreamt.And I think I know why.I dreamt about words.The letters flew out from my lips. They arranged themselves in the air. Left trails of words and built obscure stories.But I was spellbound.With so many words around, why would I be at a loss of words?But spellbound is a nice word.It sounds as if there’s a word, wrapped in a spell, A word used to hold another word

Jnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1138011077852007982006-01-23T15:39:00.000+05:302006-01-23T15:41:17.866+05:30

Alice is lostFloating in her thoughtsThe wind sends her flyingHigh above the cityOver the treesBelow the cloudsThrough the stratosphere On the moon Towards the horizonInto the great beyondThere’s a new planet in the solar systemIt has grown strongerMuch stronger since the last time it called Has Alice grown any weaker Her blood still runs red But this poison runs deeper All the hatred must find a

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1137751645820633742006-01-20T15:36:00.000+05:302006-01-20T15:37:25.823+05:30

Sometimes the words come easilyThey rush to the forefront of my mindPressing hard against the walls of my skull Fighting with each other to see who goes firstThey form a queue, get organized, desert the fistfightMaking their way to the nearest exitSome step aptly down behind my eyes Make their way into my mouthOthers slide down my throatGliding eagerly to the tips of my fingersThe rest fall to my

Jnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1137661702475686332006-01-19T14:25:00.000+05:302006-01-19T14:44:44.326+05:30

That quiet girl in the corner there, she’s done it twice. That big brawly ugly guy does it every single day. They talk about it all the time, and I’ve got nothing to say. Sure, I’ll nod and laugh along with them. I’m good at pretending. Like I know what I’m hearing. They wouldn’t know. But the truth is, I don’t understand a word. Back home, as in the home away from home,I’ll consult S and talk

Jnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1137495677366327492006-01-17T16:24:00.000+05:302006-01-17T16:39:11.563+05:30

My birthdate says I am: Independent. Dominant. Tend to be the alpha dog in most situations.Very confident.Hardly anything ever shakes me.Mundane tasks tend to drains me.I'm original. When people don't "get" me, it bothers me a lot.My strength: My ability to gain respect.My weakness: Caring too much what others think.My power color: Orange-redMy power symbol: Letter XMy power month: OctoberYou

Jnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1137413950801705142006-01-16T17:46:00.000+05:302006-01-16T17:49:11.770+05:30

It’s time to spice up some livesSo… I declare tomorrow as Panty Line Day!If you get the mail, you’ll know what to do. I case you forget, you’ll remember right after you see enough of horrid panty line faux pas to know what day it is. *HINT*If your lingerie is so tight that you have stuff bulging above them, and below them - do NOT wear them. It is NOT cute, for heaven’s sake. Buy different ones.

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1137062369316261152006-01-12T16:05:00.000+05:302006-01-12T16:09:29.330+05:30

"Hey, can I join you?""Sure.""It’s beautiful isn’t it? Just sitting here at this time of the night.""Yeah.""I mean if something this beautiful were to happen once in our lifetime, I’m pretty sure the entire building’s gonna come up to the rooftop." "But no, people take beauty for granted, the sky, the stars, flowers blooming, leaves falling, trees balding.""I’ll appreciate the hell out of this

Jnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1136787897704776002006-01-09T11:54:00.000+05:302006-01-09T11:54:57.706+05:30

Some nights it just enters out of nowhere... through the back door, stealthily; hanging heavy like a cold winter wind, saturating the air, travelling lazily, through every room; filling up the air, gathering on the window, freezing and dripping down to the floor, following me in every step I take, filling my lungs, agonising my stomach, grabbing me tight and throwing me into the darkness.

Jnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1136204303091404272006-01-02T17:32:00.001+05:302006-01-02T17:56:16.800+05:30

Dear R,Remember those years when you’d follow me everywhere I go… even to the loo. Remember those days when you couldn’t sleep without talking to me on phone… even if its past midnight. Remember those days when you’d go shopping for nail enamel to match my clothes… and paint my nails at the client’s office. Remember that night when you bitched about me to her of all people… I don’t believe you

Jnoreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1135676546911649232005-12-27T15:06:00.000+05:302005-12-27T15:12:26.926+05:30

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved. The ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars."I hate people who say "If I had known this would happen, I would’ve..." The point is YOU couldn’t have known this would happen if it didn’t happen

Jnoreply@blogger.com93tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1135330774007896062005-12-23T14:44:00.000+05:302005-12-23T15:09:34.050+05:30

I want to draw about things that can’t be described using words. Things that can only be reflected in thoughts. Things that can only be felt down there. I want to draw the emotion of a 10,000-strong crowd. Cheering and screaming as their favourite rock band performs. I want to draw the hunger a desperado carries with him. The hunger to do more and more, everyday. The hunger to do more with less.

Jnoreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1135236527001758792005-12-22T12:52:00.000+05:302005-12-22T14:32:24.360+05:30

m gettin better n better each dae… i did moi good deed of da dae 2dae… saw this grp of 14 yr ol boys goin 2 skul in da lift… they wer bizi tokin abt hard rock n woodstock n LSD n such stuff… n then da evil side of me wakes up wid a start tellin me 2 do jus wots runnin on mah warrrped mind… i sold them a pack of marlboro… da cover was coooool with som reely awesom artwork on it… but the ciggies

Jnoreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1134973622921144332005-12-19T11:55:00.000+05:302005-12-19T11:57:02.936+05:30

I have this enormous burst of energy right now. I don’t know what to do now. But the last thing I wanna do is work.I just love seeing this expression of people at work. They seem to be going berserk with my mood swing. They’re in this “Oh sheesh man, I’ve got to ask HER for a favour? I wish I could die.” kinda state. So one of these guys comes up to my desk… stands for a couple of minutes waiting

Jnoreply@blogger.com118tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1134470782227875452005-12-13T16:14:00.000+05:302005-12-13T16:18:10.686+05:30

I’m happy I haven’t been a friend... especially to you. I hate being good to some one as fake. I’m happy I always managed to fuck it up. And fuck you. I’m happy I didn’t expect much of you. You just over shot my expectations. I’m happy I didn’t shut up and spoke my mind. It was great to have you as a silent spectator. I’m happy I didn’t let you talk when you wanted to. Oh how would you? Your

Jnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1134118321642134172005-12-09T14:19:00.000+05:302005-12-09T15:38:33.456+05:30

I feel like this chunk of refrigerated butter on hot toast… spreading thin and fast… even the colours aren't visible anymore. Ahoo Ahooh Ahooh Ahooh Ahooh Ahooh Spitting in a wishing well… Blown to hell... crash… I'm the last splash… I know you, little libertine… I know you're a real koo koo… Hey now, hey now... Want you, Koo Koo, Cannonball… Want you, Koo Koo, Cannonball… In the shade… In the

Jnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1133763153785729012005-12-05T11:41:00.000+05:302005-12-05T11:42:33.796+05:30

I know just what I wanna do with the rest of my life. Never been so sure. Never been so skeptical. I’m ready… to vanish into my own sunset… watching the puffs of dust from my feet… staring at myself, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Or maybe the distance is getting larger around my figure, I don’t know. The fact remains that I am leaving, going away from this place, from myself, from

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1133519022035859982005-12-02T15:32:00.000+05:302005-12-02T15:57:51.216+05:30

I hate the fact that it’s weekend already. I’ve got nothing to look forward to. And I'm not waiting for the next two days to get over fast either. I'm getting all funny again. Good God, I know I need to fix up an appointment for tomorrow. ````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````On a completely different note, I have a couple of songs playing back to back in my head,

Jnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1133438172827945162005-12-01T17:15:00.000+05:302005-12-01T17:54:48.946+05:30

i think it wud be a gr8 idea to stay away from men for a while. maybe i should become a lesbian. yeah, that sounds like an awesome idea to me right now. Who do you think would be a better bet? Angelina Jolie or Salma Hayek?Why does my heart feel so bad ?Why does my soul feel so bad ?These open doors

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1133348983399871942005-11-30T16:31:00.000+05:302005-11-30T18:25:48.510+05:30

Wish I could forget that some stuff existed. 29th June. Guitar. Acting. Mahabharata. Rallys Sport. IIM. Broken nails. Missing rings. Missed calls. Brands. SMSes that can’t be deleted. Long drives with lotsa beer. Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. Norah Jones. Gyaan. Mail backs. Monday evenings. Bacardi. Black lies. Darjeeling. Ciggies. Dogs. B/W photos. Desperation. Cross. Blue. Tom.

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1133182867337294872005-11-28T18:30:00.000+05:302005-11-28T18:31:07.356+05:30

I woke up this morning with this really nice song in my head. It was running on the tele. Dad liked it too. Mom liked the surfing. It’s the kinda song that keeps you humming the same tune all day.It’s the kinda song that ‘he’ would like. Try listening to it, without actually listening to the lyrics… it’s like this nice feel-good song. But it’s negative in a way. I dunno why I like it actually. I

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1132834806112756002005-11-24T17:49:00.000+05:302005-11-24T17:50:06.126+05:30

Can I kill myself today? :)

Jnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1132655016239584432005-11-22T15:40:00.000+05:302005-11-22T15:53:36.260+05:30

Yesterday was one of those days. You know those days when nothing’s really gone wrong but you are still low. It was one of those times. Nothing could have stopped me from crying. It’s when things you don’t wanna remember, don’t leave your mind. You get on to your negative best. You lock yourself up in your room and loo, every ten minutes.You want to be left alone. But there are people all around

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1132577549672589372005-11-21T18:19:00.000+05:302005-11-21T18:22:29.703+05:30

I think I wanna do a strip show tomorrow. And I'm getting positively giddy with anticipation.

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1131712198003946682005-11-11T17:58:00.000+05:302005-11-11T17:59:58.023+05:30

It doesn’t matter how or why.What matters is that I’m dropping like a rock.Accelerating at ninety point eighty nine meters per second per minute per hour from thirty thousand feet. That’s a funny way to put things down aint it?I’m feeling funny today. As in giggly n funny. Which is quite a change from what I’ve been all of this week. I wanna get into a fight, go on a giggling spree and repeat

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1131615590336502212005-11-10T15:00:00.000+05:302005-11-10T15:09:50.350+05:30

I’m losing my lonelinessMy popularityI’m losing my appetiteMy contentmentI’m losing my sleepMy consciousnessMy mind My lifeMyself Again Late nights are not my favourite part of the day anymore. The pills make me sleepy. Or so I think. But they are just supposed to be tranquillisers. I sit in my couch and dose off…with the radio blaring, with some soap running on TV, with a book in my hand. I am

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1131428055362627932005-11-08T11:01:00.000+05:302005-11-08T11:46:07.913+05:30

I hope it doesn't stick on to my throat and choke me to death. I don't mind dying, but I don't wanna die today. I don't wanna die single. With nobody to cry for me. But maybe I will. Cause I feel particularly non-flirty these days.I think I’ve never looked worse in the last two years. I haven’t gone shopping for ages. My hair has given up on me.My nails seem to have gone yellow. I think I have

Jnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1131012973874069072005-11-03T15:41:00.000+05:302005-11-03T15:59:42.953+05:30

~*~ The way good fudge melts in my mouth, and my heart tells me it’s good to be sinful.~*~ The fuzzy feeling when a cute guy smiles at me at the end of a really bad day asks for my number. And I say I don’t have a number where he could give me a buzz. ~*~ Walking down a deserted road, alone, after dinner. A head full of thoughts and a tummy full of food. ~*~ The uncanny feeling that I’ve lost a

Jnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1130405438086388812005-10-27T14:59:00.000+05:302005-10-27T15:00:38.100+05:30

I feel great these days. It’s nice in a way to return back to sanity. Everybody’s been noticing the change. It’s visible, and they aren’t blind. They are even talking about it. I have nothing to worry about, cause it’s only a change for the better. But when I’m alone (which is not very often, of late), I think about the whole thing. And it’s kinda scary. What if I get addicted to it? What will

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1130154296582962062005-10-24T17:11:00.000+05:302005-10-24T17:14:56.620+05:30

People seem to have missed me more than I’ve missed blogging. I’ve been really busy of late. Lotsa stuff happening in my life. Ask me how I’ve been. Send me some more fan mails. With some nice rich dark chocolate and vodka and I’ll tell you everything :DLately, I find that I’m fascinated by the way people reveal their opinions about ‘objectionable’ topics. What’s more interesting is the point

Jnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1126523225424587242005-09-12T16:27:00.001+05:302005-09-12T16:38:31.426+05:30

IIII was walking down the streets. Lost in my thoughts. But heard something coming. I called out to him. He looked at me and smiled. His last smile. He couldn’t hear me. The truck ran over him. ````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````IVMy brother and I have done everything together. Yes, every single thing I can think of. But he doesn’t remember a thing. Have I don’t anything

Jnoreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1126182398880293882005-09-08T17:55:00.000+05:302005-09-12T16:40:40.253+05:30

III was always in need of moneyFor the small fancy stuff – the wine, the eating out, the sexy lingerie, the flashing wallets with loads of cash in itIt wasn’t as if I didn’t have any or I would die without itBut I never seemed to have enoughAnd I had my own means of acquiring it I didn’t earn it, nor did I steal it, but it’s not mine either

Jnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1126006548432499592005-09-06T17:03:00.000+05:302005-09-06T17:05:48.436+05:30

The curtain is pulled away, mask falls, the hypocrisy disappears.It all starts with… “I don’t know why I am telling you all this…”It’s a simple statement that has a greater impact. On them (?)It’s something you would have never guessed by merely looking at them.Every other person has his/her little secret.And then they start…It usually starts with the little sins.I listen carefully. Try and

Jnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1125920137761772482005-09-05T17:01:00.000+05:302005-09-05T17:09:46.650+05:30

It's been a while since I took a test. This one says:Your Blog Should Be PurpleYou're an expressive, offbeat blogger who tends to write about anything and everything.You tend to set blogging trends, and you're the most likely to write your own meme or survey.You are a bit distant though. Your blog is all about you - not what anyone else has to say.What colour should your blog be?

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1125485502521544392005-08-31T16:11:00.001+05:302005-08-31T16:21:42.523+05:30

Not because of the music or the touring or the money or the groupies or because I can say Woohoo while people say WOW. Yeah, all of those would be nice too. But I wanna be in a band because I’d get to name it. When I hear a suitably odd combination of words I think to myself… hey that would make a perfect rock band name! Just imagine it would be SO cool to see your name on an incredibly cool

Jnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1125312342848176582005-08-29T16:13:00.000+05:302005-08-29T16:15:42.856+05:30

I wonder if they can be bought with yesterday’s time. There are things that can never be done. There are things that can never be undone. I will never again be twenty one again. I pass year by year running after my questionable goals. I live the day. I do stray. But it’s okay. I counted one. I counted ten. And then I stopped.Let it be. I measure more in keeping score the treasured memories of

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1124969593480631342005-08-25T17:01:00.000+05:302005-08-25T17:03:13.490+05:30

Fire burnsBees stingCats don't bark Everyone must die at least once

Jnoreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1124191724159950112005-08-16T16:53:00.000+05:302005-08-16T17:00:22.736+05:30

Sometimes, you just can’t find the right word to describe stuff. You think you know the ‘right’ word, but it just doesn’t strike your damned head, at the right time. You try flipping a dictionary.But the most obscure dictionary-approved word doesn’t always fit in. That’s when ‘invented words’ come into the picture. It’s not difficult to make up these words/expressions that say just what they

Jnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1123762272260601882005-08-11T17:39:00.000+05:302005-08-11T17:41:12.266+05:30

He goes… “Oh hey there, I'm here to pick up your daughter for our date tonight. Oh this? These old rags? Yeah, I made this outfit myself at home. Wanted something that no one else will have, you know? Yup. It's made of cans of Coca-Cola, but it's not that hard to walk around in. It's a little awkward at times -- I can't clap my hands or anything -- but it does look cool, don't you think? What do

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1123669998399626382005-08-10T15:51:00.000+05:302005-08-10T16:03:18.406+05:30

OrangeYellowRedPinkBright at the sun’s rays. Beautiful and blinding. Cool green and deep blue Calm as the ocean waves...white as the foam when the waves crash against the rocks near the shore. The tide comes in then goes out again and I wonder if any of it matters. If I matter. What the heck am I doing in this world? At the end of the day, my hopes, my dreams – my everything will be swallowed up

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1123590554021706672005-08-09T17:57:00.000+05:302005-08-09T17:59:14.030+05:30

It’s been like a revolving door, one moment I’m in, one moment I’m out. I’m not sure what I’m in anymore, and not sure what I just got myself out of. It’s ecstasy, both of them a world apart from each other, yet very much the same ecstasy that thrills me. I can’t take both, and I can’t seem to live without either. I very much would like to give one up, but it’s oh so hard now that it’s been so

Jnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1123500614457269172005-08-08T16:56:00.000+05:302005-08-09T10:06:15.540+05:30

Feels like a spoon that gets caught in the blades of the blender. One that’s tossed around and clanging as the acidic fruit-juice splatters all over. And the handle jerks away from a good grip. Feels like the high heel shoe strap that keeps slipping off the back of my ankle. You know the kind of shoes you didn’t really want to walk in all the way across the wet grass. Bending over after every

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1123242527067149902005-08-05T17:16:00.000+05:302005-08-05T17:18:47.073+05:30

I often wonder whether life would have been different if I knew more. I try telling myself that it would have turned out the same.That certain circumstances leave me with few choices.And what I do is making the best of a bad situation. But the feeling lingers, all the same. Maybe… events might have taken another course. Perhaps a better one. Had I been properly informed. I play the sequence back

Jnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1123065726534667002005-08-03T15:58:00.000+05:302005-08-03T16:16:06.756+05:30

I was dreaming last night. Dreaming about weird things.Not the very weirdly weird stuff.But the fact that I dreamt of all that is weird.And what makes it more so weird is the that I remember the whole thing.The sky has a shiny yin yang instead of the scorching sun.I was wearing this nice summery flowery long dress.And the dress flew up and down.Like the curtains in a windstorm.I was trying to

Jnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1122878985755046872005-08-01T12:18:00.000+05:302005-08-01T12:21:52.436+05:30

The weather's just right. And you're probably dreaming about going home right about now, making yourself a giant-sized sandwich, a yummy cocktail drink, taking off your shoes and settling in for a nice lazy afternoon of DVD watching, with no one at home. But since you're at fucking work on a Monday – which is incidentally way better than working on a Sunday – you can’t!!! Now that’s my second

Jnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1122530517979810062005-07-28T11:28:00.000+05:302005-07-28T11:31:57.986+05:30

Last week, I was waiting for the car with a friend of mine, when I heard these voices. There was no one around and no radio or nuttin like that. It didn’t sound a radio anyway. It kinda echoed. But was real clear too. “Okay dude, get up now” We really started paying attention when we heard that. S got up. “Now walk!”“Wave!” “Can’t you hear me?” “C’mon! Wave!” So he did. “YES! Told ya I could do

Jnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1122378338467090882005-07-26T17:14:00.000+05:302005-07-26T17:15:38.473+05:30

Guess it's people who never say I love you. Covering a morbid graveyard with cheerful construction is kinda creepy. Loamy, slimy dirt refuses to suck up all the pain. The ‘you’ve-done-me-wrongs’ remain frozen in the fences.Insurance investigators know the color of money. The cops don’t bother anymore. The gruesome deliberate accidents.The grotesque murder scenes. Murderous suicides. No pointing

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1122272004674703812005-07-25T11:42:00.000+05:302005-07-25T11:43:24.680+05:30

I sharpen the pencil, and ideas come along. I watch where I step, and I see the faces drifting by, humming or sighing. I feel something soft and slippery, but I hold on to it. I hear the buzzing right behind my ear, turn fast enough to see it what’s behind the buzz. I look down and find my shoe stuck in the mud. I walk along. Lifting my foot. Walking out of the past, leaning towards tomorrow.

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1121925367017781102005-07-21T11:24:00.000+05:302005-07-21T11:26:07.023+05:30

A scratched his head and sighed. V paced up and down, one step on each uncarpetted tile. P tapped his pencil against the table, trying to make music. T snatched the pencil and pegged it in her mop of hair.H checked the empty drawers for some cash. N made paper rockets. R chewed on a candy bar and stared at the screen. G stared too, visibly hungry. R made funny noises. K disassembled his pen. S

Jnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1121760443214431952005-07-19T13:31:00.000+05:302005-07-19T13:37:23.220+05:30

Consciousness can and does extend into other planes of existence, although the extent of the penetration varies quite drastically from species to species. Humans, for instance, make themselves terribly busy with the physical environment, completely receded from all other realms. Dogs too behave more or less the same way. But cats are quite the opposite. They can be prized philosophers and

Jnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1121432088094842602005-07-15T18:18:00.000+05:302005-07-15T18:24:48.100+05:30

The clarity of every sound, every breath, each heartbeat. Time moving faster. On the edge on panic, ready to punce… or to flee? Enhanced sense of touch. Everything feels strange though... like...Satin brushing against the skin feels like a meshTastebuds feel like sandpaper with a sprinkling of sugar The tongue feels swollen but oddly flexibleThe clock ticking faster, but the hands are moving

Jnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1121260923941135932005-07-13T18:41:00.001+05:302005-07-13T18:52:03.946+05:30

If you've got about 34,167 hours to kill, it might be worth your while to check out a site. (It's not a very public website... so temme if you really are interested, and I shall let you indulge!)Think! Hundreds of rape casesThousands of uniformsOne creepy mannequin Hmm... somewhere in this freaky world there's this man living in a basement with a whole lot of free time and bandwidth.P.S.: But I

Jnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1121156726065084332005-07-12T13:54:00.000+05:302005-07-12T13:58:48.196+05:30

Today officially marks the beginning of Men Verbally Assaulting Innocent Girls Who Are Just On Their Way To Work Minding Their Own Business Season. Yes, thanks for noticing.

Jnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1121059043630481822005-07-11T10:45:00.001+05:302005-07-11T10:47:23.636+05:30

She keeps it pumping straight to my heart My heart is broke, but I have some glueHelp me inhale and mend it with youOh yeah, I guess it makes me smileGive me a Leonard Cohen afterworld so I can sigh eternally Take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours, don't be late I'll keep fighting jealousy until it's f*&^ing gone We'll float around and hang out on cloudsThen we'll come down and have a

Jnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1120566237727202902005-07-05T17:52:00.000+05:302005-07-05T17:53:57.733+05:30

Smooth tongue, soft words, low tone of voice.Look at him with your head half-cocked, say the things he wants to hear.Is he lonely?Tell him he’ll never be alone again.Is he sad?Tell him his happiness lies in your hands.Is he broken?Promise that it will all be fixed in the morning.Smile slowly, look into his eyes.It doesn’t matter if he means two cents to you.He’s good practice, isn’t he?It’s not

Jnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1120478825192209782005-07-04T17:34:00.000+05:302005-07-04T17:37:05.200+05:30

(Well, that’s not because I’m obsessed with them or anything like that, the spider episode is back on public demand! Thanks all you people for letting your imagination run wild!)Upon relaying the scary and traumatizing spider experience to people I know, I was informed by one such smart ass that spiders just LOVE squeaky clean rooms.Now ain’t that bullshit?But me being the freak that I am, I

Jnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176166.post-1120131468437277982005-06-30T17:06:00.000+05:302005-06-30T17:07:48.443+05:30

I step out of the shower and go into my room, only to be confronted with a spider on my wall.It stops crawling.Staring at me, since I am dressed only in a towel.Naughty lil spidey!I need to set it free in the wilderness.I decide that I must kill it.But I can’t do it.I keep trying but stopping halfway.When I finally get my nerve up and strike, it jumps OFF the wall, lets a web loose, and slips

Jnoreply@blogger.com12