Kill Word Verification----rid the world of useless typing

This button was created by Bethany of B&b ex libris. In her own words "I have created a button, that hopefully becomes a movement. A movement for what? Well I am going to call it "Kill Word Verification: rid the world of useless typing."

I am all for it. I am joining this movement from now onwards. Frankly tell me, how many spam comments do you really get? I don't have word verification, neither do I have comment moderation. And truthfully I do not get spams. If I do, those are very rare and in between. I delete those instantly. So what is the big deal? So come shake it, folks! We need hassle-free blogging, i.e, commenting forum. Don't we?

I hate it even more when blogs have word verification along with comment moderation. I think that is being paranoid. However, many bloggers do not know that they have word verification as it can't be seen by blog authors.

If you have it and don't know it, then you should do the following steps:

Go to dashboard---->Click settings---->Click comments----->Scroll down to Show word verification for comments?----->Click No---->Click Save Settings and you are done!

Help spread the word about this movement:

Write a blog post about this and make use of the button. Down with useless typing!!

Feel free to voice your thoughts here. Be nice about it though!

temporal

For sometime now, I have not been able to write poetry. Have your ever thought of words chasing in your mind and you are unable to catch any of those? That's what is happening. Maybe my inner conflict prevents me from writing. Previously words gave me relief by pouring out. Now those very words refuse to come out by hiding, I do not know where. Believe me, I keep searching for those. I can't write anything better than this.

fleeting moments
as yet uncaptured
chased by what?

Weddings and Beheadings by Hanif Kureishi

I was going to give a miss to Sunday Scribblings. However, after reading the following short story, I couldn't resist posting the review here. I felt it goes right with the prompt, Weddings. It might be too dark for some but this is another ugly reality of the world we live in. Let's face it too...

You may choose to read it and write own your thoughts about it or you may choose to ignore it. I leave in on to you.

Weddings and Beheadings by Hanif Kureishi is an interesting title. I found it online in a back issue of Zoetrope: All-Story.

The narrator seems to be a film-maker who is made to video tape beheadings by some people who seem to be terrorists. Although the place is not mentioned, it might have been set in Afghanistan or Iraq or any such place. At least thats what I presumed. It is a short story but makes one sit up and notice. Here the narrator, the place and the terrorists, all remain nameless.

It is dark, deeply sad for the victims as well as their families yet it has that black humour. To quote a few lines of conversation between friends who take such shots:

"Don't bury your head in the sand, my friend. Don't go losing your head now. Chin up!"

"It's too dark, it's not going to come out and you can't do another take."

"You'll get a prize for the next one. Don't you guys love prizes and statuettes and stuff?"

At one point you do feel he is enjoying his work in a macabre way.

"To make the shot work, it helps to get a clear view of the victim's eyes just before they're covered. At the end the guys hold up the head streaming with blood, and you might need to use some handheld here, to catch everything. "

Maybe it his way of being clinical. After all it can affect the mind. This line of work. How did the title come about? It was an idea of one of the writer friends of the narrator to have "calling cards inscribed with WEDDINGS AND BEHEADINGS."

Someday

Posting this from my archives, which I wrote way back in in 2005. Here I have tried internal rhyming along with end-rhymes. This is the only poem where I attempted internal rhyming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Photo Credits: Rick Mobbs






















I only want to know,
to dream
how your caress would feel
so dizzy for contact,
making me reel.
unsure how to act,
not good at this game anymore.
but
sure that your love
will seep through my pores
and
expose my soul,
where
now in secret
grows a weedy garden
of needy wasteland.
where
angst and pain
flows like rain
through the dream-cluttered
gutters of my brain.
my mind
screams a silent
refrain of mistakes.
and in
my dreams,
all that I yearn
seems so far away,
on the highest summit,
out of reach.
but
for now
I have to teach
myself to wait,
willing fate to
deliver one day.

Fine detailing

Are you detail oriented in your writing? What are some of the details you most notice in the world around you? What details do you focus on in your writing - place, character, emotional? What are the kinds of detailed descriptions you most like to read about?

In a simple answer, yes. I am detail oriented. In my poetry, I write it with as much detailing as I can. Words are not to used as only mere trinkets. They have go to a very higher level. For me the spiritual aspect is very important. So with mundane detailing, I also dwell within the mind.

In the world around me, I might not notice the physical aspect much, which I don't but I try to somehow understand what goes within the mind from ones behaviour. I can speculate and conjure up a whole story in a short poem. Is it not what is writing about? I can write about the very concrete, about the zest of a person and also about stream of consciousness. Both make use of different kinds of detailing. The place for me is not the geographical one but that which is beyond it.

Same goes for my reading too. I like historical novels. In that I like all the period details, the costume, the feel of the place, palaces etc et. If I am reading Stream of Consciousness, I also like to know what is going within the mind. Human behaviour is ever so interesting and I also like to know about the movements a person makes under certain circumstances. I also like descriptions of nature, in any way. Sometimes a season change can bring about a change in the thinking pattern of a person. I like to read about that.

I might as try some detailing into one of daily routines I do. One thing I truly like is to brew tea. The early morning tea. The splash of water inside the kettle stirs me. When I place it to heat up, I like to listen to the water gurgling against the sides. I like to watch the tea intermingling into water when I spoon it into the kettle. The change of colour interests me. From light to dark to black. When I add heated milk, I like the swirling effect of it when it slowly dissolves. And the clinking sound of spoon when I add sugar, is music for me. When the aroma reaches my nose, I am ready to pick up my cup and sip it slowly. Such a mundane stuff can indeed make us reach Nirvana. However, to get into that state we need to keep all our senses wide open.

The world where I live, I think more people should read poetry

I know I am reposting this. But for the reason, the world should read more of poetry. And also Andrew needs to be read.

Title: Tangled in Wisteria
Author: J. Andrew Lockhart
ISBN: 978-1-60247-852-7
Publisher: Tate Publishing & Enterprises/2007
Pages: 108

J. Andrew Lockhart is blogger poet. He lives in Van Buren, Arkansas, United States. He writes Haiku, Senryu, Haiga, Haibun and Tanka. He was kind enough to send me his book Tangled in Wisteria, which contains haiku, senryu and tanka. I have been reading him for some time now, on his blog.

Andrew was an attorney when tragedy struck. In 1996 he had an intracerebral hemorragic stroke at the age of 30. He rose out of it all and became a music teacher. In his introduction, he writes that music and writing were sidelined and he went to law school.

He came back to writing. Reading his verses one can observe the beauty of nature, find greatness in mundane things and see love in a new light. Those short verses of his are loaded with so much meaning. You can see them in simplicity or the complexities....whatever way you choose to. Those contain nuggets about life and much more.

Here I quote a few of his verses:

"looking up
at the oak tree, planted
when i was young-----
there is no need
for a mirror"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"although you are
so far away from me
i feel your presence
in the cool summer night
as flowers rest"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"buying a pack
of firerackers
made in china"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"brick after brick
after brick after brick---
hidden thoughts"
~~~~~~~~~~~~

This book has four parts----spring, summer, autumn and winter. I read it at one go. But I am going to come back again and again. Each page contains a haiku or a senryu and a tanka. Those verses touch the soul and illuminate it. I am very glad I read it and also that I read him everyday on his blog. Please do check him out. You won't be disappointed.

baser instincts

Photo by idigit teddy
artwork Natural Sculpture
from Flickr
originally uploaded here






Attempting Erotica...*grin*

autumn nights
desiring of heating up
another body

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

bathed in cool heat
breathless, hair a mess
autumn feels like sex

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

writhing bodies
tangled sheets
storm unleashed

written request

veiled from prying eyes,
I try to code my words
in a hidden message
extending it only to those
who like to review life
through novels,
poetry, short stories
being but only a part of it
reading between the lines
you can reach the comfy room
explore my books
and sit down for a chat
long and short of it being
where we share
coffee or tea
whichever your choice be

"won't you accept this invitation
to solemnly visit another aspect of me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, as you know, here I invite you to visit my book blog, Reading Room. This is not one of my best poetry works but I can write bad ones, once in a while, can't I?! Even Keats wrote bad ones!

irrationality

whispers filled my ears
permeating into each of my pores
drenching me
with the essentiality of you
with my eyes shut
I took in the moment
letting my fingers read you
pausing at the difficult words
imprinted on your skin
when my senses forgot me
I lost it all gaining into you
you dissolved into nothing
leaving me with my whispers

"still I search for you
with violent desperation"

depth of hell pours forth tirade of words

Is there a book you’d love to read that hasn’t been written? What do you love reading about, and how could you write about it? What fascinates you that could become the subject for your next story, essay, poem, or blog post?

As I like to read books from varied genres, I wouldn't say that the book I would love to read hasn't been published. What do I really like to read? I like to read about history. A novel with strong historical facts interests me very much. That way I get to learn about history along with constraints of that particular period. I read about human endurance where characters with much providence and forsight can go to any length. I also like travel books and stream of consciousness novels. One thing that truly fascinates me, is the internal dialogues. It keeps me hooked and makes me connect with that character as I talk in my mind all the time! Many a times, I prefer to read character driven novels. Even dark characters. Because without darkness, we can't appreciate light.

As for as saying what would interest me to write my next post? I don't know. Many a times, I meticulously compose a poem in my mind and when it is time to execute it on paper, I simply go the other way. My words all scattered, yet with a semblance of order. Sometimes I tend to get a little dark and write pertaining to that. Or I take up any issue and write about that. Last Sunday I wrote a poem on terrorism after the Delhi serial bombings. I can't predict what is going to inspire me. Sometimes depth of hell pours forth tirade of words. Sometimes joyful state dries it all up. How can I say where the wind blows? Nonetheless, as long as I write everything seems to be ok. When words refuse to come, I feel it is sort of death. I hope it makes sense.

What propels you to read or write? Are reading and writing related for you?

An aside: Don't you agree title is important? I bet this title would lead many a reader to visit my blog! Wot say? *grin*

Another aside: 3WW is very much there. Thanks Thom G, for taking it over.

recipe for blissful living

have you ever watched an ant
going nonhalant on its way
ignoring you totally
or maybe it doesn't see you at all
and why should you expect it to
yet you call yourself strong and invincible
although even a mere ant
does not give you a second thought
or for that matter even a first glance

with singular linearity
it traverses on its path
maybe you need to learn from it
acknowledging it as your guru

undead for eternity

a whole human-being becomes a mass of flesh scattered in all directions
a family man who was laughing with his children a while back
what became of those kids, they are nowhere to be seen
dead to the world is a much mis-used phrase
faceless terrorist is the one who is undead.
no reason to kill those who have had no connection with him
is the only motivation for him
addiction of killing will one day lead him to kill his own,
those who are bound by hatred for all humanity,
seeds of which have been planted by no one knows whom.
search, seek, look out at each nook and every corner,
no one found it neither will you

redeeming the unsoul is a mighty task impossible even to contemplate
hope he stays undead for eternity with the images of the destruction
forever embedded in his mind re-playing each moment
a whole human-being becomes a mass of flesh scattered in all directions

*Update (15/09/2008): Read Annamari's post too, along with this...

I suppose you need caffeine to read through this

I am reposting this from my other blog, Reading Room after editing it a little. I thought it needs wider audience. Those of you who have read it already, please do feel free to comment again or ignore. For all others, do take a little pause and read through this. And do click through the icon to get other insights, if you so desire. Now brew a strong coffee, drink it along while you read this:



Do real-world catastrophes such as 9/11 (and the bombs in Madrid, and the ones in London, and the war in Darfur, and … really, all the human-driven, mass loss-of-life events) affect what you choose to read?

India is not new to terrorists or terrorism. We have had it in the Kashmir region for more than three decades. We have cried hoarse about it to the world at large but no one listened to us. Only after 9/11 happened, US woke up to the fact that it was very real and they were also a part of it in the larger view of things. They are not as invincible as they had presumed. I wouldn't like to dwell on the political stance about US for the middle east. That is not relevant to this topic.What is relevant here is, how can anyone kill innocent people? That is hard to understand. But then terrorists have no feelings or sentiments. For them we are faceless and nothing can come between their brain-washed beliefs. At one point or other, powerful countries (I don't think I need to name those here) have created terrorists to counteract terrorism. And it has only backfired on them. Have we really learnt any lessons from all this? The state that the world is in, apparently not.

For me terrorism is very real. It is there at every corner. Especially for those who live in Delhi, if one forgets Kashmir, which we can't. Twice I have been in the vicinity of terror attacks, only saved by God knows how. For the last thirty years or so, we have terrorists killing people in the Kashmir region. Every day. And bomb blasts elsewhere are not uncommon. Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore, Varanasi, Hyderabad are just a few places I mention here, which have been affected by terrorism and blasts. Recent ones took place in Ahmedabad which left 50+ dead. We cannot move anywhere without security check up. All this does take a toll.

And now taking on reading. I can read about terrorists, I can even watch movies too. (However, if something like this happens, I go off reading completely for a while. Any kind of reading). Nonetheless, I think all of us need to read about terror attacks, terrorists and terrorism. If only to understand the whys and hows of it. Trying to escape the reality of it is not going to let it go. I wish to understand how a terrorists' mind works, even though I can't do a thing about it. Because I can't get over all those people who are dead for no reason at all. Terrorists simply do not need any reason to kill. They just do it. Cliches simply do not work here. Religion, faith has no meaning when one is left dead and/or maimed, in body, mind or spirit.

And in the midst of it all, please do remember that the world is much beyond US and has faced terrorism much before 9/11.

Has you coffee gone cold? Or do you need another hot mug of it?

@Update[13 Sep, 2008--7:35 pm]: There have been five bomb blasts in Delhi today, in those places which are kind of crowded in weekends. There have been casualities but not confirmed how many..

rains and mud, shouldn't there be a frog too?

my trousers rolled up to my knees
I walk in the rain holding
my yellow umbrella
flourescent colour of it
brightens the drab day
an interesting one that was
where hysterical laughter
mingled with inert sadness
why can't I see through
the misted droplets
is it pouring as never before
or my tears render me blind

I let the umbrella go
look up the heaving sky
letting it wash my deepest bleakness
waiting for the sun
to peep through and
gleefully play hide and seek with me
I ignore the pleading tones
of the muddy umbrella to pick it up
instead I look at the tiny frog
jumping up and down at my feet
small yet filled so much with life
my heart soars up as never before

"what is it about another life that moves us so?"

Writer's state of mind

What’s your writing state of mind these days? How do you access that “mysterious faculty” where insight and imagination are nurtured? How do your instincts about your writing ability help you? What’s your experience of being in “the writing zone”?

Whatever we do in our lives, is largely dependent on how we are feeling at that particular point of time. Be it doing the daily mundane stuff or getting on with our creative self. That state of mind reflects in our spirits of doing things. Be it in writing or any thing else. When I am elated or downright down in the dumps, words simply seem to pour out. Maybe so much so that I have to stop those. I look, I observe, I imbibe and then I write. With too many thoughts. With no thoughts. It works both ways. Any experience, small or big, can make our mind go in many different ways.

For any writer, something compels us to write. It might be in any form, essays, fiction, poetry or even disjointed thoughts, all jumbled up within us. To decipher all those, the onus lies on us. I might have a concrete thought about what I am going to write but somehow imagination takes over along with insight and I end up with a completely different piece. Isn't it what is mystery of writing? Instinct has a role to play in it. I have found out that when I can't get anything across, the waves of words that gush out help me cope better. To any situation. The days I am unable to write, I feel like a bummer.

What is this writing zone? How does one define it? For me when flying words get caught in my mind and a some kind of order is established, it helps me write. For better. And for worse. Becos trash too helps me cope up. When I get it out, I know that I can improve on my writing. Like mood swings, we do have writing swings. And it is for the good. To show us that we too can fall and fail. Only to pick ourselves up. Is it not writing like a performing art? We do it for our readers, though. I take a sympathetic view of those creative artists who cannot perform at the drop of a hat. As with writers.

How do you feel about it? Can you identify with imagination playing along with insight? Does absence from writing for whatsover reason, affects you?

Fearful of what?

What is it about coming Tuesdays that I have a lot of questions for myself? Mondays are the days, I feel lethargic and tired. Maybe like most, I hate to go to work after Sunday. On Tuesdays, I am supposed to be a little better. Am I really?

Have you ever feared the unknown? Or simply are afraid of the very familiar state you are in? Or just plain scared of nothing? Does it make sense when I ask this? I crave for change. Yet when I have it, I want the previous state back. Why? I want constant change yet I fear it. Why? I used to thrive in it. Confused state of mind, is it not? Lately I have had this feeling of drifting without any direction and purpose. This is one very unsettled state of being. It has gone on for too long. I can't come out of it. Is it depression? Or something else? Why? Am I tired of just being with myself? Or can we call those beautiful fractures of my mind?

I can't pursue the very things I loved to. Like writing poetry or reading or listening to music or sketching. I used to visit book fairs, museums, art exhibitions or simply be a part of a crowded place. Now nothing interests me. I shun all those. Yes, even poetry. Oh, I write but somehow I can't write the way I want to. The way I used to.

I have had death wish, many a times, in the past few weeks. What stops me from going that way? How long is this state going to last? Don't you think two months is a long time? How do I get out of it?

Eventually, I know I will bounce back. The question is, when?

what does one call it?

her emotions clash with rationality
of you which analyses each of
her changing expressions

she spurns your slow seduction
turns away hiding herself
from your discerning mind

yet you strip her to her core
observing her brain map
dissolve into your thoughts

when she heats up to you
you step back leaving behind
a debris that is not her any more

why should you even care your
voyeurism into her- took a toll



Lately I have been writing most of my poetry without any punctuation. I don't know if it works or not. Nonetheless, with rawness of emotions, I consider those redundant. The purists might not agree with me. But then, how do you define creative expression? Does it is have to be restrained and constrained? As with stripped bare emotions, nothing is, at least for me.

down and out

there was nothing to hold
yet you kept clinging
with all your defenses down
merely with pure speculation

even now it is not too late
come on, retrace your steps
retreat to your safe haven
nurse yourself back to life

"just don't expect miracles to mend
your broken heart any time soon"

blown away

the air around me has changed
uncertainity seems to have gone
the wind blew it away, leaving
behind a sense of tranquility;
when the clouded cobwebs cleared
all by themselves.
reading between the signs
I have this gut feeling that
it is time to leave the familiar,
venture out in the unknown
where whole of me would merge
with you, and why not?

"you and only you are home"

Taking myself to places

How does place figure in your writing? Do you feel comfortable in the place you live, or do you feel at odds with your atmosphere? Do you convey that in your writing? What stories does your location have to tell?

I believe in the old adage, home is where the heart is. Slightly improvising on it, I would say where my thoughts take me. In my writings, which consists mostly of poetry, I don't write about specific locations. Those are more generic and anyone can feel at home reading my poetry. However, if I write poetry of a personal nature I can recall the exact place. I might not write about it but I feel nostalgic about it. Mind can travel to any place it wishes to so does our writings. Places do influence our way of thinking, our attitudes and give us a sense of belonging. How well we get that across in our writings is very important. For me place and time are interconneted in some instances.

If I set aside poetry, I think in a story or a novel, place is very important. Otherwise, it can go all awry. Sometimes geography defines how a particular story should move. Many a times the cultural ethos and historical background play a part. I prefer to read books with strong historical facts. Along with genetics, we are all defined by our roots where environment also plays a fairly big part. One can say that one can't write anything if one does not consider that. For me, a imaginary place too is important, be it in the fantasy land of the mind. Doesn't fantasy land become a real a place we all visit and take a hiatus, at one point or the other, in our lifetimes? Who can blame us for that as we need to do that to keep the inner child within us alive?

My question is, do you agree or not? Why or why not?

Tuesday musings

Long time I did a Tuesday musings post. Since July I have been in some kind of limbo. Frankly, half the time I don't feel like doing anything other than day dream. I do force myself to write daily but I am not much satisfied with what I am producing. I was such an avid reader. Now I hardly even bother to touch a book, let alone read it.

So, starting from today, no tomorrow ( I am ever the procastinator!!) I must do the following:

* Read atleast 100 pages daily, from any genre picked randomly from my TBR pile.

* Write one poem a day. That is not as easy as it seems.

* Eat more dark chocolates. It has anti-oxidants!


"mundane thoughts are as essential for living as oxygen is for breathing"

I catch the words haphazardly

the sultry heat gets to me
trickling down my back
the moon stares starkly at the stars
with an unusual dour face

out of nowhere poetry comes to me
I catch the words haphazardly
making no sense yet there
out in the open for me

this particular night is conducive
for darkest of depression
I can write the saddest lines tonight
and still I desist from that

your image stands between me
and this windless hot night
tears and sweat fight to take over
I resist, giving in to none

"why do I need to write saddest lines tonight?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can write the saddest lines tonight has been taken From – Twenty Poems of Love by Pablo Neruda.