thats my new name. or actually my virtual one. its finally here. a virtual lifestyle & a parallel universe.
some company has gone and started www.secondlife.com which offeres well literally, a second life for anyone who has the stomach for it. i joined up of course.
its terribly exciting... i get a new name, a new face, new friends, new places to party , nightclubs where i can hear 'live' music, new job, land to own, a business to build, etc etc,
so i am now unu yongho. musician. :) i was thinking of becoming avatar creator , maybe i will switch in some time.. once i learn the ropes of this thing..
have a feeling im going to enjoy my virtual life much more than my real one. how sad am i. but for people who need some release.. second life is brilliant. simply brilliant.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Sunday, October 08, 2006
sunday
another wasted sunday.
woke up in a foul mood at 6 30 pm on a sunday evening after a nap
before the nap had gorged on chocolate eclairs, lays chips and an oily puff
puff goes the diet..
what is it about sunday evening that always makes me irriatble?
think its the ominous looming of the end of the holiday
or the realisation that i didnt do nearly enough
or the fact that monday morning holds nothing interesting
or just a feeling of an overloaded stomach and guilt pangs
but today i did stuff. watched 3/4 of abbas kuorastami's through the olive trees
its bleak yet hopeful landscapes and lovely characters, each one so easily likeable
and just when everything was going good, the film stops for no apparent reason , once because of power failure and nce becuas eapparently the dvd had mothing more..
and then i leaped into a wild sheep chase, murakami's crazy book that i am finding secret time for
i steal glances at it at work and take it with me to the loo , and try and make out the bobbing up & down letters in the rickshaw.. what fun it is being completely consumed by something..
an then i fell asleep. perfect ambience, pillow, position, panghrun everything.. snore snore for the next 2 hours
maybe the trouble is. i woke up and the day isnt over. ive got at least 7 hours more..
and nothing fun left to do..
maybe i will download and watch frasier episodes.. or read the andy warhol book i got!! yay i bought th andy warhol book!!!!
woke up in a foul mood at 6 30 pm on a sunday evening after a nap
before the nap had gorged on chocolate eclairs, lays chips and an oily puff
puff goes the diet..
what is it about sunday evening that always makes me irriatble?
think its the ominous looming of the end of the holiday
or the realisation that i didnt do nearly enough
or the fact that monday morning holds nothing interesting
or just a feeling of an overloaded stomach and guilt pangs
but today i did stuff. watched 3/4 of abbas kuorastami's through the olive trees
its bleak yet hopeful landscapes and lovely characters, each one so easily likeable
and just when everything was going good, the film stops for no apparent reason , once because of power failure and nce becuas eapparently the dvd had mothing more..
and then i leaped into a wild sheep chase, murakami's crazy book that i am finding secret time for
i steal glances at it at work and take it with me to the loo , and try and make out the bobbing up & down letters in the rickshaw.. what fun it is being completely consumed by something..
an then i fell asleep. perfect ambience, pillow, position, panghrun everything.. snore snore for the next 2 hours
maybe the trouble is. i woke up and the day isnt over. ive got at least 7 hours more..
and nothing fun left to do..
maybe i will download and watch frasier episodes.. or read the andy warhol book i got!! yay i bought th andy warhol book!!!!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
chronicles - part 2
Early beginnings , mindless musings
Long years ago a little boy in blue shorts and fuchsia pink singlet walked around barefoot in a green house.
He stopped to smell dahlias and sighed and whispered secret scandals to the flowers
girls, charmed to see a boy in touch with his girlie side, swarmed to feel his little soft flesh that poked out from behind his ears. Our boy- hero was a regular heartbreaker, booty shaker.
The little boy’s parents thought he was their precious but his impish grin fooled no one. Underneath those curls and big brown doggy eyes was a brain with an Intel inside chip. Working quicker, faster and with an automatic recovery button the boy was a lean mean, mental machine
Everyone was intrigued by the little genius but what excited boy wonder himself the most was well as is the case with most diabolical geniuses – himself. He would stare at his own thoughts floating in front of him in awe. Over and over again. Till everyone around him began to wonder if he was dreaming himself up too. The local doctor was called to rid the boy of his waking stupor but no tantric, magician, phd ,mba, mbbs, phd, dmt, or lsd could solve the problem. And it wasn’t just because they were all acronyms either.
At last sri sri rishi rishi muni muni came came... He predicted that the boy would soon have a double dream where his true selves all two of them would be revealed to him in their dual splendor. And soon enough the boy fell into a deep slumber where visions of not 2 not 3 but all his 30 million nether and come hither worlds went flashing past like boomerangs only never to return.
When our hero woke, he felt a rumbling in his belly the kind which he had never experienced. every sense , every whiff of air he scented he could smell the rich oil and jeera. he leaped towards the kitchen and ravaged every triangle shaped svaoury he could find.
soon the pleasant rumbling gave way to a quieter more gentle sounds of the samosas turning softly in his belly.. . it was almost as if the samosa was talking to him. explaining to him what the big question and the big answer was. every secret of the universe spilled out in front of him like oil on tissue paper, or ink from a pen, or juice squeezed out a mango.. or well you get the picture or the story or ..
The samosa , bobbing up and down in bile was a great storyteller ,while also being a great swimmer.. what Fuchsia Boy- who incidentally knows how to do a fantastic crotch dance - did not know that he had managed to ingest the samosa seer. Soon he was called
dudeshwar raja - samosaon ka baadshah (old frying pan saying)
Samosa seer taught the little boy all about life and everything else, including how to escape if the weird white moonwalker comes your way .. and how to properly digest a samosa ( exact proportion of fluids ) but the most important lesson was - Samosa your secret weapon.. Yes, friends the samosa seer told our boy all the stories about the deadly samosa killer gang of 167 BC ( before cooking) .. and fuchsia boy soon realised he had ruminated on his life calling.. the one weapon that would need no grease. the SAMOSA. and thus the idea of becoming the samosa killer came to be digested..
Long years ago a little boy in blue shorts and fuchsia pink singlet walked around barefoot in a green house.
He stopped to smell dahlias and sighed and whispered secret scandals to the flowers
girls, charmed to see a boy in touch with his girlie side, swarmed to feel his little soft flesh that poked out from behind his ears. Our boy- hero was a regular heartbreaker, booty shaker.
The little boy’s parents thought he was their precious but his impish grin fooled no one. Underneath those curls and big brown doggy eyes was a brain with an Intel inside chip. Working quicker, faster and with an automatic recovery button the boy was a lean mean, mental machine
Everyone was intrigued by the little genius but what excited boy wonder himself the most was well as is the case with most diabolical geniuses – himself. He would stare at his own thoughts floating in front of him in awe. Over and over again. Till everyone around him began to wonder if he was dreaming himself up too. The local doctor was called to rid the boy of his waking stupor but no tantric, magician, phd ,mba, mbbs, phd, dmt, or lsd could solve the problem. And it wasn’t just because they were all acronyms either.
At last sri sri rishi rishi muni muni came came... He predicted that the boy would soon have a double dream where his true selves all two of them would be revealed to him in their dual splendor. And soon enough the boy fell into a deep slumber where visions of not 2 not 3 but all his 30 million nether and come hither worlds went flashing past like boomerangs only never to return.
When our hero woke, he felt a rumbling in his belly the kind which he had never experienced. every sense , every whiff of air he scented he could smell the rich oil and jeera. he leaped towards the kitchen and ravaged every triangle shaped svaoury he could find.
soon the pleasant rumbling gave way to a quieter more gentle sounds of the samosas turning softly in his belly.. . it was almost as if the samosa was talking to him. explaining to him what the big question and the big answer was. every secret of the universe spilled out in front of him like oil on tissue paper, or ink from a pen, or juice squeezed out a mango.. or well you get the picture or the story or ..
The samosa , bobbing up and down in bile was a great storyteller ,while also being a great swimmer.. what Fuchsia Boy- who incidentally knows how to do a fantastic crotch dance - did not know that he had managed to ingest the samosa seer. Soon he was called
dudeshwar raja - samosaon ka baadshah (old frying pan saying)
Samosa seer taught the little boy all about life and everything else, including how to escape if the weird white moonwalker comes your way .. and how to properly digest a samosa ( exact proportion of fluids ) but the most important lesson was - Samosa your secret weapon.. Yes, friends the samosa seer told our boy all the stories about the deadly samosa killer gang of 167 BC ( before cooking) .. and fuchsia boy soon realised he had ruminated on his life calling.. the one weapon that would need no grease. the SAMOSA. and thus the idea of becoming the samosa killer came to be digested..
reincarnation
delhi ahoy.
headed in the direction of the captial city and wondering what it holds for me.
i did a round of blog reading today. a friend of a friend of a firend - shreya lathia apparently is a famous blogger(shreyalathia.blogspot.com) . personal publishing creating virtual stars, luminaries of online literature.
what wonderful times we live in. you don like your life, go online and pick another. you pick a lifestyle & a name to go with it, join a chat room or a forum and talk to people about it, and finally write about it and get famous in the 'other' world. the process of reincarnation is complete.
its liek you can sit in front of a computer and live an entire lifetime.
now all we need is virtual reality tv. our virtual lives 'exposed!!'
meghana
headed in the direction of the captial city and wondering what it holds for me.
i did a round of blog reading today. a friend of a friend of a firend - shreya lathia apparently is a famous blogger(shreyalathia.blogspot.com) . personal publishing creating virtual stars, luminaries of online literature.
what wonderful times we live in. you don like your life, go online and pick another. you pick a lifestyle & a name to go with it, join a chat room or a forum and talk to people about it, and finally write about it and get famous in the 'other' world. the process of reincarnation is complete.
its liek you can sit in front of a computer and live an entire lifetime.
now all we need is virtual reality tv. our virtual lives 'exposed!!'
meghana
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
chronicles of a dick head - part 1
sub title : my mind is a penis and other extrapolations
When the samosa killer discovered he was suffering from samosa flu cause by bacillus stupendous, he enrolled TA Cleo to pen down his last remaining memories. Yes the very same Cleo who is credited with masterpieces like the international best seller ‘parabolic peeing and hyperbolic viewing – a psychedelic healing experience’. The book was highly acclaimed and especially noted by the Duke of Paracetemol as a seminal analysis on cokeheads.
Here are a few excerpts from her as yet unfinished masterpiece – Chronicles of a dick head... A unique creative form that emerged from a con – genital rapport between Cleo and Major Major (a.k.a samosa killer) inducing deep deep thought that provoked her pen to write his memoirs.
"Professor. How brilliant you are!”.. Her nipples poked out petulantly out of her tight white shirt as she leaned over me. I had just finished the final blueprint of my new steno killer machine. What a masterpiece. Soon every single typing ink loving, spelling error making, breast heaving steno worth her shorthand would clasp her typewriter in fear at the very smell & sound of the whirring, growling ‘Steno Killer’
Steno Killer would be a revolution, it would shake the very foundation of the Shorthand Sirens- a secret society of stenos determined to convert every picture, every advertisement every television into long copy. It would viciously, vicariously vouch for vendetta and vindicate the very respectable copy writers who were spearheading the "Out with teh long, in with the short" movement
Ah! Samosa Killer rubbed his very obviously oily hands in grotesque glee. See what we will do to yoru short little hands my lovelies.. see how my Steno Killer will purge you of your so called skills.. heee haa hee haaa aaa..
..ahem.. err... the professor laughed.
When the samosa killer discovered he was suffering from samosa flu cause by bacillus stupendous, he enrolled TA Cleo to pen down his last remaining memories. Yes the very same Cleo who is credited with masterpieces like the international best seller ‘parabolic peeing and hyperbolic viewing – a psychedelic healing experience’. The book was highly acclaimed and especially noted by the Duke of Paracetemol as a seminal analysis on cokeheads.
Here are a few excerpts from her as yet unfinished masterpiece – Chronicles of a dick head... A unique creative form that emerged from a con – genital rapport between Cleo and Major Major (a.k.a samosa killer) inducing deep deep thought that provoked her pen to write his memoirs.
"Professor. How brilliant you are!”.. Her nipples poked out petulantly out of her tight white shirt as she leaned over me. I had just finished the final blueprint of my new steno killer machine. What a masterpiece. Soon every single typing ink loving, spelling error making, breast heaving steno worth her shorthand would clasp her typewriter in fear at the very smell & sound of the whirring, growling ‘Steno Killer’
Steno Killer would be a revolution, it would shake the very foundation of the Shorthand Sirens- a secret society of stenos determined to convert every picture, every advertisement every television into long copy. It would viciously, vicariously vouch for vendetta and vindicate the very respectable copy writers who were spearheading the "Out with teh long, in with the short" movement
Ah! Samosa Killer rubbed his very obviously oily hands in grotesque glee. See what we will do to yoru short little hands my lovelies.. see how my Steno Killer will purge you of your so called skills.. heee haa hee haaa aaa..
..ahem.. err... the professor laughed.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
inside me
when golden trees shed their glitter inside capuccino cups
when sweet smelling fantasy leaps out into reality
when arenas open and elements intermingle
arms outstretched i dive in deep and free
but bittersweet memories cloud minds, restrain spirits
impending darkness drinks in the light of the blue sky
laughter from forgotten moments shadows of a better life
haunt my footsteps, chase me in my dreams.
when sweet smelling fantasy leaps out into reality
when arenas open and elements intermingle
arms outstretched i dive in deep and free
but bittersweet memories cloud minds, restrain spirits
impending darkness drinks in the light of the blue sky
laughter from forgotten moments shadows of a better life
haunt my footsteps, chase me in my dreams.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
neo's choice
The One now has several two choices. as usual. freedom or freed from boredom? perennial peace or Fox 'breaking news' Bending spoons or dessert spoons? trinity in a shroud or gisele bundechen in a french parlour maid uniform? living for morpehus or living it up on morphine? No TV or TV on his phone , in his house, in his bedroom, on his laptop, as he looks up , down, sideways or angular The blue pill or well... the blu'e' pill Neo scratches his head, looks around and leaps out.
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