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Neurotron | 24 September 2004, 11:43am

Sheets of blank paper.

Write. Write me a story. Write me a poem. Write our story. Our story inverse, in verse. Write till the words become an extension of your body. Write till each letter feels like a piece of your heart. Write like the poet you are. Write me a play which lasts a lifetime. Write till you feel giddy with excitement. Write our names a million times in invisible ink, so you can write over and over like on a sandy beach. Then write them once with indelible ink, like the picture in your mind of the most beautiful thing you ever saw.

Sheets of empty canvas.

Paint. Paint your love. Paint till the colours ebb and flow, like emotional tidal waves that wash over you and me. That leave me, drained, on the shores, where I can follow your footsteps in the sand to a home in the woods. Paint the tears that run down, like raindrops on windowpanes, like happiness into your soul. Paint me the future. Paint me a fairytale. Fill in the gaping holes in my body with the warm hues of the look in your eyes. Paint me pretty pictures of us in the sun, in the rain, in the cold, in the ocean, through the storm, in starry nights, in wide open fields, trapped in a thought, flying through hidden caves, drowning in words, drowning in silences; so I can hang them on the walls of our little world.

Sheets of unfilled tablature lines.

Sing. Compose the tune my heart sings at the sight of you. Sing like nobody but I can hear you. Sing till your throat burns like my skin at your touch. Sing till you can see us dancing, tiptoeing around the notes. Sing till the dawn finds us wrapped in technicolor dreams and drenched in wine. Sing till we get thrown out of the opera for being unruly. Sing till the melody runs right through you and makes you shiver in summer, like you sometimes do. Sing me a wave of joy so high it crashes like a clap of thunder and leaves us breathless and laughing like mad children. Sing me a song more beautiful than yesterday and call it tomorrow.

These sheets are yours. Fill them, for they are me.

Current Mood: Mooney
Current Music: The one you and I make together...the beautiful kind.

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Neurotron | 22 September 2004, 10:42am

What’s with computer repair technicians and their incessant mouse-clicking?

This guy came home to look at the comp yesterday. And during the course of the repair, I noticed he just could NOT stop clicking. Click, click, click….clickclickclickclickclick! It was driving me nuts! I mean, are you doing that just to show me what a friggin' genius you are and that computers are just too slow for you? Why click-and-drag to highlight words you are reading on an 'instructions' page?? Must you look at the ‘Properties’ of EVERYTHING???

He started some application, and even while it was starting up, he just HAD to click! All over the desktop. Why, moron, WHY??? And don’t even get me started on refreshing. It was as if he thought if he doesn’t refresh the desktop, which has not been changed at ALL mind you, every 3.25 seconds, he would become incontinent or the computer would castrate him or something. If he doesn’t click a gazillion times, in quick succession, right NOW, he will have bad luck for the next seven years and never find true love, or catch some genital-specific, extremely morbid but non-fatal disease. In fact, I was half hoping something like that would happen. It was all I could do to stop myself from actually running to the kitchen, bringing out the hatchet we use on irritating guests, and making this guy a leftie for life.

It was like that scene in ‘True Lies’, where Arnie is driving in a car with the guy who’s hitting on his wife, and he imagines punching him and killing him. I was almost smiling at the picture of the now non-clicking guy (because he didn’t have a hand anymore), when I hear ‘Loose connection, saar.’ Whatever, man. Just fix it and get the hell out. He fixed the problem...but kept sitting there...and...aaarrRRRRGGHHH!!!!

In case you are wondering, he still has both hands. At least, for the moment.

If ever you are working on a comp, and I’m around, I’m sure you now know what NOT to do.

Current Mood: Angry
Current Music: chop chop hack chop.

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Neurotron | 21 September 2004, 2:17pm

Saale!! Hum tumhari maa behen ek kar denge!!


I mean, what IS that? It doesn't even make sense, leave alone being insulting. I've heard my friends, more often than not from the northern parts of the country, scream this at the guys we were warning or fighting with. And I always wondered, just because you said maa AND behen in the same sentence, it becomes an insult? How can you make someone's mother and sister 'one'? I used to have to stop myself from laughing whenever I heard this.

Any northies reading this - care to explain?

Current Mood: Confused
Current Music: Black - Pearl Jam

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At last.

Neurotron | 20 September 2004, 4:45pm

There is something so amazingly liberating about taking the plunge.

Into waters you've been in before. Waters usually cold, almost always murky when you're in deep, and with monsters you've faced and lost to before. But to plunge headfirst inspite of the knowledge - extremely foolhardy, extremely liberating. But, then, it's not love if you don't feel like a fool every so often.

There is something so amazingly liberating about burning stuff. My current favorite: old bridges.

Some bridges are worth renovating. Today, I burn my Millennium Bridge. A structurally defective piece, built largely on hope and faith, and an investment of millions in emotional currency. But a ferry service will still run across the river, for now. If there is sufficient cause, maybe the bridge will be rebuilt. If there is even less cause, maybe the ferry will be made an annual event. It may not stop entirely because we are still, after all, neighbours from just across the river. And there is history.

There is something so amazingly liberating about saying it out loud.

I should know - I did it yesterday.

Current Mood: Happy
Current Music: Alive - Pearl Jam

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Office-tential angst

Neurotron | 17 September 2004, 3:39pm

What do you do when the person you are most disappointed with is yourself?

And what is it whith people and accepting responsibility? Why shy away from it? If you have done something wrong or not as desired, and you know it or have been made to realise it, where's the shame in saying " Yes, I see how I could have done better. It won't happen again."?

Office politics is such a bitch. Shows the true nature and character of people. I find it very difficult to associate myself with people who lack integrity and/or moral courage. Over the past year, I have been listening to various people at different levels in the hierarchy talk about others. Ok, so some grumbles are justified. No problems with that. But why would you go back and kiss the ass of the same person you just put down? How can you smile and share pleasantries and gossip about OTHER people, like you have nothing against this person, and you loooove him / her? It's disgusting.

I can maintain a working professional relationship with people. I find that after hearing stuff about some people, mostly justified, I lose a little respect for them. Let's you and I keep our interaction at a professional level, have a few lighter moments now and then. But don't expect me to grin at you like a moron or kiss up to you. Stop wondering why I don't do that stuff with you anymore - my self-respect is more important to me than your ego.

What's with kissing up to bosses? I just don't get it. Fine, keep them happy, do your job well and stop being in their faces all the time. THAT'S how they will respect you and want you to work for them. Not if you keep going to them all the fucking time for every small thing; or if you keep blaming others for work not done just because you want to maintain a clean sheet. I'd much rather have a sheet with a few inconsistencies here and there and be responsible about it. At least that way, I can face them next time with dignity.

I am disappointed with myself because I didn't meet a deadline. The job had two parts, mine being slightly larger. Ok, so the person doing the other half didn't finish on time either, and the job cannot be submitted without both parts. But that's no excuse for not finishing my part on time. When I realised she wasn't going to finish in time either, I slowed down a bit and took time to go over the stuff again and check if I'd made any mistakes. In between, she sneaked in her half-baked job just so it would look like she finished before I did. What a shame. I just grinned and thought - you are not worth my disgust. You can't even take pride in knowing that though late, you at the very least turned in a good job. Sadly, the fact that will be counted in the final analysis is whether it was in time or not - not quality. So I guess I lose. But that's ok - I don't mind so much.

Some days you lose, other you lose badly. What counts is whether YOU think you won or lost. And make no mistake - winning IS everything.

Current Mood: Angry
Current Music: One man army - Prodigy [thats what I am here. Fuck you snivelling weasels]

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Neurotron | 15 September 2004, 10:02am

Over the rhythmic rattle of the train, he heard her quietly say 'Yes.' And they laughed, and trespasses were forgotten like blades of grass along the tracks. Time was strawberry jam on toast, and space, warm butter.

Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: Breathe - Telepopmuzik

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Tsk tsk tsk

Neurotron | 14 September 2004, 9:49am

Whatta shame. Whatta crying shame. After seeing a blog wholly dedicated to ONE movie, I really thought there were some hardcore movie fans in the house here.
No takers, it seems.
No, one or two answers do not a movie buff make.
Anyway, in case you were curious, here are the answers to the quiz put up in the previous post.

1) Mel Gibson, Braveheart (This would have to be THE easiest)
2) Sylvester Stallone, Rocky
3) Marlon Brando, A Streetcar Named Desire (okay, so not SO easy, this one...)

4) Russell Crowe, Gladiator
5) Robert De Niro (to Ben Stiller), Meet The Parents
6) Nicholas Cage (to John Cusack), ConAir [ lot of people got this one, surprisingly]

7) Ethan Hawke, Gattaca
8) Morgan Freeman (to Gwyneth Paltrow), Seven
9) Gene Hackman (to Denzel Washington), Crimson Tide

10) Sophie Marceau, Braveheart. For some reason, this is my favourite. There was just something about the scene itself and the utter simplicity and truth in the statement.

I did have a couple more of these quizzes, but I guess there's no point in putting them up here now...

Oh well, back to the cave I go.

Current Mood: Bored
Current Music: Blind Sught - Microtone

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Movie Trivia I

Neurotron | 10 September 2004, 11:46pm

This is a sheer trivia trip. I wonder if YOU are as crazy about movies as I am. This is just for kicks. Answers, with names of 'winners' on Monday.
This edition works like so. A dialogue (more like single line) from a movie is given. You have to identify the actor and the movie.
Example: "I'll be back" - Arnold Schwarzenegger, Terminator II Judgement Day.
You can leave answers in the comments section or mail me at:


1) "Freeedooooom!!!"
2) "Adriaaaannn!!!"
3) "Stelllaaaaaaa!!"


4) "At my command, unleash hell"
5) "I have nipples, Greg. Do you think you could milk me?"
6) "There's only two people I trust. One's me, and the other's not you"


7) "You wanna know how I did it? I never saved anything for the swim back.."
8) "I was in a relationship once. And we got pregnant. And I thought 'How can I bring a child into such a world?"
9) " were right. About the stallions - they are from Spain, not Portugal..."

and the toughest of the lot,
10) "Death comes to us all..."
(I know this one is rather generic, but hint: think historical/period film)

Sometimes, I can SO identify with the seemingly silly, childish joy of knowing some obscure and probably utterly useless bit of information.
Sometimes, I'm such a geek.

Current Mood: Bye!
Current Music: Jeremy - Pearl Jam

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How do I love thee...

Neurotron | 9 September 2004, 9:47am

A (M's friend) got married in May this year.

She'd known her fiancee for 6 months, but only thru the phone (he was in the oosaa, u see)- never met him in person. Now, she wanted to give him 180 cards on their wedding day - one for each day she'd known and loved him. And she wanted M to help her write stuff in the cards.


How do I even KNOW these people?? Jeez - marriage is supposed to signify reaching a certain level of mental maturity, not regression to high school crush level. And for frig's sake, if YOU love him and YOU are going to marry him, write them cards yourself innit? It may not be easy and you may not have enough to say for 180 cards...ahhh..see where this is going?? There's no point in giving him 180 friggin' cards! And if he's anything near normal, he's more likely to be pissed off than anything else. And then you'll be disappointed with his reaction, then he won't know what to say/'ll all be a humongous mess. But oh, hold it, what am I thinking expecting you to forsee/understand this?? YOU want to give him 180 CARDS! B.p...b.p...breathe...breathe...

I'm not sure what happened, finally. I think they stopped at sixty or a hundred or some such thing.

*sigh* Anyway, the reason I started this was to look at it from the love angle. I was wondering, if I were to write the one I love a few cards, how many would I be able to write before I ran out of words? Of course, I'd hardly go after those 'quotes' and 'sayings' and corny 'poems' high school girls write down religiously in their pink diaries with hearts all over them, in the fervent hope that they'd win over the hunkiest jock because of the heart-wrenching emotion behind them. I'd just say it straight.

I'd tell her I've never met anyone else I can just stare at for so long and not know the passage of time. I'd tell her I've never met anyone who I can be so comfortable in silence with. I'd tell her how I want her to be with me wherever I am and whatever I'm doing. I'd tell her how it's been so long and how I still feel I know so little. I'd tell her the future I've planned for us. I'd tell her how she could do all her funky mathematical calculations with all the words I've said, and I could still come up with more crap to keep her laughing and sheltered from sadness. I'd tell her I've got so much more to give, I'd ask her to stay, and let Bob Seger explain how we've got tonight and how she won't need tomorrow...

Current Mood: Mooney
Current Music: Weve got tonight - Bob Seger

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Directionally challenged

Neurotron | 7 September 2004, 3:34pm

For the longest time, the only way I could differentiate 'left' from 'right' was by associating the fact that I ate with my 'right' hand. So, every time I had to do something which involved sides or direction, I'd first pretend I was eating. So my right hand would go to my mouth, then I'd figure ah! This is the right side, and proceed to do whatever it was I was doing with this new knowledge.

And I'd never seem to actually register a permanent record. It was like learning anew every time. And it sometimes got embarassing too. A person that old shouldn't need 30 seconds to realise which side was which. Soon, people at home learnt not to give me, the directionally challenged inmate, tasks which required this skill. Such as 'Put the too-hot-to-touch cup on the left, so I don't touch it by accident' or 'Get my handbag from the car - it's the one on the right'.

I sometimes feel sorry for the people sitting with me on the bike or in the car. Well, at least they can say their lives have flashed before their eyes several times, not just once or twice like other, unluckier people.

Current Mood: Dumb
Current Music: Intezaar - own composition

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Neurotron | 3 September 2004, 6:34pm

Love is a many blundered thing.

You'd think with the number of those I've made, I'd know a helluva a lot about it by now. Guess not everyone learns from mistakes...

I must be one DUMB dawg...

Current Mood: Confused
Current Music: Always with me, always with you - Joe Satriani (I CANT seem to get it out of my head...its pissing me off now...)

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Neurotron | 2 September 2004, 11:11am

Have you watched 'Mulholland Drive'?

The story is trippy enough as it is, but the freakiest thing is the club in one scene - Silencio. The other woman drags Naomi Watts (after some woohoo! girl-on-girl action) at 2.30 in the morning to a club in the middle of nowhere. Called Silencio. There are only a handful of people in the theatre, who are absolutely mesmerised by the show. Imagine a place where a really mindjob show starts at 2.30 am. And no bloody crowds thronging the place like horny bees.

Ah. How wonderful that must be.

The whole show is based on illusions, but not like any you would have seen, or even conceived of, before. I can't forget the beautiful woman singing a Spanish song about 'Durando'. She sings her heart out, the cavernous hall echoes with her enchanting voice. You cannot possibly have a single other thought while listening to her, other than of her love for Durando. Then, bang in the middle of a line, she drops to the floor. Dead. But the song continues, without the slightest hint of a break. It was magic. And so tragic.

It's not often I wish for something I saw in a movie to exist in reality. I could do with a Club Silencio, to help me appreciate the fine line between illusion and...


Current Mood: Thoughtful
Current Music: Love thing - Joe Satriani

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