Thursday, June 28, 2007

The Scarlet Sail


See the scarlet sail on the horizon,
The blood-red waves surround it,
Dancing before the crimson fireball
At the world’s last known limit.

Onboard, amidst the slender rigging,
The tall, billowy sails up high,
There, on the time-worn planks,
The Forsaken Crew walk by.

The men belong to a bygone era –
Last of an ancient dying race,
Their kind vanished centuries since –
They alone transcend time and space.

The wind whips their long locks,
Their faces are as cold as the sea,
Their sabers are as scarlet as their sails,
And their eyes hold unsolved mystery.

They roam the ocean’s expanse alone,
Bowing to none but the zephyr’s will.
The ghostly galleon will never be seen;
For those who do, it spells great peril.

The scarlet sails still embrace the gale,
Still attract the bull like flags of red,
The carved figurehead still stands tall,
Pointing to newer adventures ahead.

Now you may think you know everything
In this age of internet and KFCs:
But someday yet you will realize
The scarlet sail still stirs the seas…

Friday, June 22, 2007

Cassie's Monday



More than four hours of sleep is a luxury only afforded to the very organised. Sunday night is the only time for doing homework. Rubbing one’s eyes as you lethargically walk up to a form room at 8.44am is normal. Such were the truths of Cassie’s morning routine. Despite many pledges to reform, Cassie had always been unable to break out of the emotionally stirring excitement of nearly missing a deadline; be it a hand in date, a coach in the morning, the doors slamming shut of the Ceptik dining hall, or that ominous meeting with the Head of the Sixth Form.
‘Norf Wes’ Lundun’ is a particularly bleak and wet part of the world for no reason other than to ruin the morning of a student. Having partied the weekend away and worked from 11pm to 3am on Sunday night, Cassie woke up bright and early. 6.45am is not a pleasant time of day for anyone but night workers finally getting to put their heads on pillows. Towelling herself off after a ludicrously hot, steamy, and sleep inducing shower, she walked across the slippery tiles to the sink. The razor was getting old. The cut was ever so slightly less effective than it had been the day before, and Cassie had to sweep twice before she was satisfied with her now silky smooth legs. Whoever had the brilliant idea of putting a clock in the bathroom did not realise that like every other surface, the clock’s face fogged up as soon as the shower door opened and the mist belched out into the freezing echoing chamber. She smiled in satisfaction, sliding her tongue across her gleaming teeth and savouring the minty freshness that would last until the crunch of the mandatory bar of sickly sweet calories or bag of fried fat.
Still walking lazily around in the darkness, the humidity of the room was too intense. Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on her forehead and having just showered, Cassie was having none of that. With an awkward movement around the sink, requiring a slightly dangerous balance on the cold wet floor, she turned the levers ninety degrees and pushed hard on the glass pane. The blast of freezing air whirled into the small dark enclosure. Reacting instinctively, Cassie sprung back slamming the window closed. Slowly but surely, the hair on the back of her neck stood erect and goosebumps protruded from her delicate arms.
Leaving the bathroom half asleep, Cassie returned to her room, disrobed and got dressed – all actions that had devolved into a programmed set of muscular movements rather than any conscious decision-making. 7.10am, she had to slip into something appropriate for the stern Head’s approval between now and 7.15. Grabbing the nearest faded and worn out but brand new t-shirt, well scrubbed jeans and an exquisite sweater from her wardrobe, she quickly got dressed whilst making a mental note of which books and files needed to be stuffed into her bag.
Five precious minutes before leaving the comfort of a warm, cosy, and snug kitchen, she picked up an assortment of whole grain, whole wheat, and whole everything delicacies from the vast array in the snacks cabinet. A thermos containing today’s exotic tea and just the right amount of milk and sugar was waiting on the dining table. The person responsible for this convenience had disappeared into another room to prepare a legal brief twenty minutes ago and would not emerge from behind her notebook computer for another hour, not even to say goodbye to her daughter. Cassie swept out of the house with all the force and grace of a silent whirlwind.
The gravel’s delicious crunch was more satisfying than any other pleasures she would allow herself to enjoy as judged by her in her infinitely jaded teenage wisdom. Soon she would be on the coach, iPod firmly planted in her perfectly formed ears to protect her from the rash, brash, and pathetically energetic younger children chatting excitedly in the front of the coach.
Her thoughts raced from the essay to be handed in, the explosions rocking her grandparents’ hometown, the aural lesson after lunch, her philandering boyfriend, and the teachers she would have to encounter that day. The meaninglessly cool music provided a gentle backdrop to her intense thoughts. Drifting onwards at fifty miles per hour alongside a blur of dull grey roads, faded gunmetal grey barriers, dirty brown and green pastures, bare trees, and a perfectly complexioned melancholy sky, the velvety smooth ride lulled her into a much-needed slumber. The smoky jazz of Norah’s latest album did much to soothe Cassie’s aching mind. Having drifted off to sleep, she was lucky to miss out on the grinding traffic jams of Toheritje Lane, Apex Corna, and the A42, but not lucky enough to avoid the effects… grunting, grumbling, and spraying greasy fumes across peaceful Hertfordshire, the lumbering coach breathlessly panted up the gradient to the modernist hut at the top of the incline. 9.00am was not a good time to arrive at school, regardless of how good your reason was. Sublimating irritation, Cassie walked down the long drive past the Preparatory School, full of snotty squealing children and overwhelmed idealistic teachers, towards the more mature and gentle Main School. Illegally and surreptitiously dashing across the court, she snuck into the brand new science block, past the eagle eyed prefects and the roaming teachers. Slipping her coat into an inadequate locker with a dented door, she composed herself before venturing out into the corridor and sliding down a banister towards a one-way door, en route to her first lesson.
The distant rumble of middle schoolers’ conversations assured her that she was in the clear; now empowered with plausible deniability she could stride confidently into the building. Designed by a man with only right angled plastic instruments and a belief that the fewer the windows the fewer the number of people staring out daydreaming, the hopelessly overwhelmed sixties architectural mishap stood at the far end of the school, surrounded by unflattering grey tarmac, with promisingly lush vegetation just beyond the line of gleaming Audis, BMWs, Mercedes Benzes, and Land Rovers parked in the teachers’ covered, red carpeted, and valet serviced parking area.
Cassie walked into her tiny classroom. Immediately curling up her nose, she exclaimed;
‘Oh God no! The stench of third formers!’
A murmuring acknowledgement followed her as the other students dragging their feet into the room settled down in absurdly cramped seats with folding desks. Idle banter about the preceding weekend followed for five or ten minutes as the class waited for their teacher. A diminutive figure glided into the room, a wave of unadulterated freshness following her into the room. The boys, previously focused intensely on PSPs, texting, and frantically scribbling down answers to maths questions, sat up showing renewed attention to events around them. At barely thirty, Mrs Jennings was a brilliant thinker who had excelled at Oxford just a few years ago. Her ideological desire to educate the future generations led her to Bunbury Aldersey. While her academic credentials were impeccable, her popularity with the sixth form male population had very little to do with that.
‘Morning boys and girls. As usual we continue studying the worthlessly dull text prescribed by PDS’ Cassie looked up in astonishment, and then realised Mrs Jennings had said nothing of the sort. As the various coffee drinkers poured the miserably bitter Nescafe filth into paper thin plastic cups, Cassie, Mrs Jennings and the other refined people waited patiently for their chance at the hot water and the much more dignified English Breakfast blend resting inconspicuously next to the large gold and red ‘Nescafe Cheap Blend Xtra’ bottles.
The lesson progressed in a manner typical of an affluent middle class school, polite niceties were generously laden onto every sentence and each point was succinct and comprehensive. By the time the class had ended, Mrs Jennings was pleasantly reassured of her set’s abilities. As the bell rang, Cassie and some of the other girls packed up their belongings and headed out while a line of boys waited to speak to Mrs Jennings.
‘Cassie!’ The voice was familiar. It belonged to a man who had not received a single essay from her all year. Mr. Livingstone was a man who would be described with absolute certainty by everyone in the lower schools as the most frightening man in the world. When a student progressed through the school into the rarefied air of the sixth form, they would get to know the reality of his personality. He was one of the kindest people in the world, something that had surprised Cassie immensely, having spent many hours experiencing the Mr. Hyde side of Mr. Livingstone on many occasions while in the middle school.
‘Cassie dear, you owe me thousands of pages worth of work, but I’m sure you’re progressing through that mountain of work with the same zeal with which you choose your outfit every morning’
‘Mr. Livingsone, I threw on this stuff without really thinking about what I was putting on. 7am is not good to me anymore’
‘I don’t think 7am is good to anyone Cassie.’
‘No sir, it isn’t. I assure you I will hand in the reams of work before the end of my time at school.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it!’ he chuckled.
They parted ways, bemused and cheered up. Mr. Livingstone knew that Cassie was handing in new work and was conscientious enough to be worried about the backlog. He knew she would be fine, despite her difficulties this year.
Cassie’s face fell after she walked through the excessively lacquered rotting double doors, down the crumbling stairs, and along the blue-stained-grey carpet, which was peeling away at the edges. She was grateful for kindness like the discourse with Mr. Livingstone, but understood the reason for the preferential treatment. From time to time Cassie’s mind returned to 11.30am, Saturday 30th September 2006. A police barricade shut off Kingsway in North Finchley, at the base of a new building. Cassie’s father was waiting in a traffic jam caused by the inconvenience when a garbage truck commandeered by stoned delinquent joyriders ploughed a hole through the Maserati. The navy blue Quattroporte did not growl up the driveway that night, instead replaced by the high-pitched whine of silver Vauxhall Astra police vehicles.
Cassie frowned, bit her lip, and resisted the urge to let a tear roll down her cheeks before looking at her watch. The absurdity of fashionable watches was that one could not really tell the time from them. Giving up, she looked at a wall clock and moved on down the crowded corridor towards the counsellor’s office in Hanbidge House. These sessions had become increasingly repetitive, worryingly introspective, and often by the time some breakthrough would be on the verge of appearing, time would run out. In a tired effort to rid herself of frustration, Cassie decided she would eliminate this worry from her life. It took up a free period, and as one of the models for the forthcoming fashion show, she wanted to spend her time preparing for that event.
Forty minutes later, Cassie emerged, as she always would; troubled, perplexed, and confused. This session focused entirely on her inability to release anger. Exactly what that had to do with her father’s death did not reveal to her, and she shrugged off the session as another tremendous waste of time. English people were supposed to be phlegmatic! Her inability to release anger apparently stemmed from her belief that it was undignified to do so. Cassie disagreed; she though it just added to the potential for wrinkles, led to shouting which is not sexy at all, and looking ungainly. While walking along the main court, she came across Ms. Ashton, an energetic and pleasant graphics teacher who enjoyed encountering various people and finding out just how they were feeling. Ms. Ashton’s kind curiousity turned her into a source of information for various teachers, a role she vehemently refused to play.
‘What Cassie told me is between her and I!’
‘Anne, Cassie is in my class, and I am desperately concerned about her.’
‘I am aware of that but I believe if she feels someone has betrayed her trust, in her vulnerable state, she will sink into depression’
Battling off various inquisitive members of staff, Ms. Ashton was a confidante for many of the students at Bunbury Aldersey. They felt she was trustworthy and that she understood the confidential nature of the secrets she was entrusted with. Cassie was unique in that she was very open, a quality that many teachers had foolishly misdiagnosed as evidence of her ability to trust people. Cassie’s openness was a result of the utter scope of the shock she was going through, and her bewilderment as to what to do with the gravity of what had happened to her. She did not know what else to do with herself, she feared that if she shut herself off, she would become an emotionless workhorse only able to cope with emotions by letting them ricochet off her defences.
The French aural lesson went very well. Cassie loved French, she enjoyed the flirtatious anecdotes spoken by Claude in his delicious accent. Claude, the bearded French assistant was a stunning example of what happens when the French try harder to produce pretty men. His gruff manly exterior belied a soft interior. Claude cried during sad scenes in films, his mood was very temperamental, he would spend lessons in ecstatic bliss when the class answered questions correctly, would be horrified if someone swore, and would be depressed if someone made a foolish mistake. Claude was a highly-strung, passionate man who had been hurt badly by the news of Cassie’s father’s death.
‘Mais she is such a good person!’ Claude protested to the Head of French
‘I know Claude, such a thing should never happen to anyone but it is all the more tragic that it happened to such a sweet and bright young lady’
‘Ce n’est pas vrais!’
‘Je sais Claude. Je sais.’
Cassie’s day was coming to an end. It had been truly exhausting. The English lesson had been typically engrossing and the French lesson engaging, but the counselling session had upset her and her delicate composure. She had woken up fine in the morning, lethargic, but capable of producing a smile when a friendly teacher passed her on a path or in a corridor. Angry with herself, angry with God and furious at the unnecessary nature of her loss, Cassie choked down a scream, instead deciding to go up to the Library and curl up in a reading corner. Now sobbing uncontrollably into the monochrome pages of Shalimar the Clown, Cassie was inconsolable. The librarians made an effort to speak to her, but she remained silent. Exasperated but sympathetic, they left her alone. She did not look up or turn the page, but after fifteen minutes the tears dried up.
The sky had darkened significantly. Cassie had descended to the Foyer and walked through the front doors. Looking out across the campus she saw the bright lights of square maths windows, and the silhouette of the music school. From the middle of the seldom-visited music school, a light was on and a solitary piano added the perfect accompaniment to the ambience of Cassie’s evening. 5.20pm was drawing closer, and the second round of coaches would be leaving soon. Reluctantly she got up and began to walk again, stumbling a little at first, but knowing with certainty that in time, she would regain her balance, but also knowing she would have to do it on her own.


Written For A school's magazine, won the best piece of literature of the year.. Was actually written as a draft on Friday 22nd December 06' when i was at the London Airport. Peace \m/

Thursday, June 21, 2007

T-Search, X-Factor, K-Factor.. Aaaarrrgghh T_T


TV channels had a better idea of exploiting the sms revolution n the controversy magnetism. T- Search; the hot shot channels call it TALENT SEARCH. (But when one watches the whole setup you get the point T symbolizes the directly proportional relation between TAMASHA ->TEARS->TRP.)

Watching a few episodes, its easy to figure out, you’ll find everything in show except the real stuff of which the show boasts abou, you find verbal duel between the esteemed judges, with the tone of gods (“main ye dekhuga ki tere ghar mey roti aaye" courtesy - himesh reshammiya, the noisy or may be nosy god, to one of the contestants). You’ll go into the contestants house learning how much the family , neighboring family, colony street dogs, drain pipe’s bacteria, love them .the real challenge they face seems to be the number of different looks that can be given to the contestants.

What feels real bad is the way these contestants, the common aspirants looking for a platform, are told how much they suck in the most dramatically humiliating way the judges can think of , on national TV. I wonder, what would be the scenario if these judge’s (with bizarre titles and slogans “panch parmeshwar” being one of the many) own struggling time, with their share of humiliation, was broadcasted, bet TRP would be high enough to give K factor lady sleepless nights) .You can actually find the k factor background music n special effects in here!

Idea of providing an accessible stage to common people was great, if only the focus was on purpose and the judges more dignified. As far as the TRP rating is concerned, a real talent hunt would have attracted masses. But these daily soap inspired talent search shows are not doing what they claim in theory. It’s easily evident that the real purpose has been lost somewhere amidst all the searching being done on TV. Switch it off…. please.

I.Hate.Myself.



I can't remember the last time I felt so unwanted and worthless.
Possibly I deserve to be cast away.
Possibly it's time someone made me feel this way.
They say, pride comes before a fall.
I've told myself ten thousand times that I will never trust again.
Yet I do so, ten thousand times over, through the pain.
Why should I?
Remind me not to. It is safer.
It is a well-known fact that anesthesia is a drug which causes no pleasurable sensations.
But anesthetized people cannot feel pain.
That is all that matters.



Tha above poem is written by me, thus proving creativity ain't dead, peace \m/

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Window (does not) Own!


Microsoft's is one of the most successive companies in the world today Below is a comprehensive list of all versions of Windows released by Microsoft.

Release date Version Analysis
June 1985 Windows 1.01 Horrible.
August 1986 Windows 1.03 What a piece of crap.
Dec. 1987 Windows 2.03 See above.
June 1988 Windows 2.1 Lame.
May 1990 Windows 3.0 WTF
April 1992 Windows 3.1 3.1, new and still crappy!
October 1992 Windows For Workgroups 3.1 Yawn.
Feb. 1993 Microsoft Bob Cool name, but it eats tits.
August 1993 Windows NT 3.1 Meh.
Nov. 1993 Windows For Workgroups 3.11 What the hell is a "workgroup"?
Sept. 1994 Windows NT 3.5 BULLSHIT! Sucks.
Nov. 1994 Windows NT 3.51 Windows 3.5 for the 1337.
August 1995 Windows 95 Finally, something good.
Sept. 1996 Windows NT 4.0 Whatever.
June 1998 Windows 98 Yay for memory leaks!
Feb. 2000 Windows 2000 Blue screen of death in a box.
July 2000 Windows Me See above.
October 2001 Windows XP (SP2 Prof.) Pwns.
April 2003 Windows Server 2003 K.
Nov. 2006 Windows Vista More like Windows Gaysta, lol.


If you don't agree with me, well I can't do anything about it, cause i don't wanna waste my time over some crap thing like Windows, if u love windows or hate windows the fact remains they own the market share (not for long)....
peace \m/

Table taken from Here

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

The Illusion Is My Truth




I stare at the passengers, but see
None of the myriad people before me.
I see a land locked away in my memories
And a sudden smile – in my dreams I see.
But the fantasy is so real, so vivid.
Why should I ever let go?

I know the absurdity of life,
That I am happy… SO HAPPY!
And the hurt tears my insides,
The pain rips apart my body.
Like the survivor of a shipwreck
I still cling to what I know.

I have so much to give, so much
Love to offer my beloved.
My helplessness mocks me
“What have you received?”
I still give my shadow smile
My phantom hand touches the same.

And they kiss and then they laugh
Those pairs on the train never part.
I alone shut my eyes, I lean back
And a tiny flicker grows in my heart.
No wind can blow out its glow.
But no wind will fan it into flame.

Actually Written by a friend but revised version by me ... Peace \m/

Endlessly




There's a part of me you'll never know
The only thing I'll never show

Hopelessly I'll love you endlessly
Hopelessly I'll give you everything
But I won't give you up
I won't let you down
And I won't leave you falling
If the moment ever comes

It's plain to see it's trying to speak
Cherished dreams forever asleep
Hopelessly I'll love you endlessly
Hopelessly I'll give you everything
But I won't give you up
I won't let you down
And I won't leave you falling
If the moment ever comes

Hopelessly I'll love you endlessly
Hopelessly I'll give you everything
But I won't give you up
I won't let you down
And I won't leave you falling
But the moment never comes

- Endlessly (Muse: Absolution)

So I just woke up. Was still groggy so thought Id lie down for a "little" while more(don't we all :P). I turned on my ipod and tried goin' back to sleep(That is how I sleep :\ ). Didn't help. So again, I just woke up.


Tuned into Youtube and saw a new cover had come from a guy I subscribe to. I decided to give it a look. Was a song "Endlessly" by a band called Muse. Never heard of these guys or heard these guys before. But the song simply owns. Amazingly written and mind blowingly performed. Heard to some more of their songs and it looks like the band is in fact very very good. Look up some of their live stuff on Youtube. You wont regret it. I'm getting my Absolution disc as soon as the store opens. I recommend you do the same. :)


PS: Heres the cover of the song done by Dave Biggs aka xylopolist from Youtube. Awesome voice. His covers surely own. Do check out his other covers and his originals. This guy definitely knows his music XD.

Monday, June 18, 2007

The Thump _|_ !


I have been in one of those moods again lately. You know the mood when anger takes over everything and nothing else matters.. i needed to hear noise lots of it to keep my mind sedated. The traffic honking outside did not make a difference and the rickshaw trying to hustle their way out of morning traffic jam seemed mute. The freaking silence was killing me. Even my iPod wasn't helping. I switched on the telly in an attempt to add to my commotion. It's strange actually that how sometimes useless babble of the T.V helps. The mind was just beginning to settle down when I saw for the 100th time the Thump ad! Hrithik Roshan putting Micheal Jackson to shame!...wtf? I saw the whole ad and just blinked that was my only reaction.. did that make any sense? he just kept dancing..wad does even that have to do with a mobile phone ad? I then hacked into the highly confidential marketing plan and here's what I found ...
.) Audiences between the age of 19-24 look up to Hrithik as an Icon!
.)Hrithik's cheesy dance steps will get them inspired to buy the product .
.)The youth seems to like the word "Hump" so let's call this "Thump".
.)Put him in a kurta and people will think it's fashionable.


WTF???

Note to self - If Hrithik is truly a youth icon, we need a thump on our heads

P.S - The commercial is down there.. if it makes sense to you..please let me know
Also I am working on my spellings and grammatical errors cause of the admin :P...(and also he doesn't let me use abuses.. :S )


video

Peace \m/

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Indie Music.\m/



Indie Music - In popular music, indie music (from independent) is any of a number of genres, scenes, subcultures and stylistic and cultural attributes, characterized by perceived independence from commercial pop music and mainstream culture and an autonomous, do-it-yourself (DIY) approach. ( all hail Wikipedia \m/)

Well the definition says it all. but what people don't know is that Indie music is catching on with mainstream music. which is a big deal. cuz these indie bands neither have the resources nor tha company music recording labels backing dem up. so its hard. It is like open source softwares in a way(in g33ky terms that is) actually the kinda work the same way. low resources, mostly excellent content, free (mostly).

Some Indie band put their songs out for free just to gain the popularity. some put the whole album on free..some put a few songs. some on the other hand don't put any songs out for free. but they're reasonably priced compared too the mainstream music labels.

Indie Music has been around for a decade nearly. but the revival came about through the medium of the cloud (internet), stores like iTunes, Amazon sell Indie Music. Indie Music, is becoming more huge by the second.
Artists like Bright Eyes, Hellogoodbye, Hinder, Levitikus , Demonic Resurrection(DR) ,Arcade Fire, Oasis, Snow Patrol are some of them :D

Basic Point - Indie Owns \m/ and soon its gonna be head to head with the main stream music labels.

Peace \m/
P.S- Don't expect 2 topics to be posted by me everyday :P . I just had some free time

Honey, Where's My Singing Shoes?


Imagine a platform where you could contribute your own music, meet up with various artists form all over and even get together and release your own album!! Well TempoStand offers you that and much more…

TempoStand is a platform that promotes independent musicians in India. It is not specific to any genre. Hindustani, Sufi, Folk, Rock, Jazz, Punk, Carnatic, Blues and all other genres are invited. The more crazier it is the better. To be a part of TempoStand you only need to be original. Everything on the site is Creative Commons BY-SA, so everyone is free to mix and share.

TempoStand aims at being a complete music portal, a place where people can create, share, mix, remix music. It aims to foster creativity in music and grows with the user. It provides a common platform to all bands which dont have a banner’s, as well as solo artists in the country independent of the genre of the music they create. It is an attempt to provide a chance to the many artists, musicians, and composers who fade into the oblivion because they do not have resources to reach out to the audience.

In just 45 days of its launch they have announced their first album Light. Featuring 8 artists from Ahmedabad, Light’s music is categorized under classical, semi classical, folk, fusion, instrumental, jugalbandi, light classical and sugam sangeet. TempoStand offers its users the unique opportunity to hear the songs before actually placing an order for the album. Users can hear to the songs online and if they like them can then place a order.


Visit their official site TempoStand ( www.tempostand.com )

-original post on: Gurus

Bleh



This is my first post. And I ain't new to blogging. but reading my post can be quite tiring to new readers because well; i write like a 15 yr old; duh because I AM a 15 yr old. So, well some authors are really smart here. n please don't count me in their category because me; I'm different (like Apple "Think different" :P ). I am a g33k, n thats the way i write it.

So a brief introduction about me - well, I am no normal person , understanding me is a difficult task. for some people, they haven't understood me in years. gals can't understand me. guys just don't have any reason to understand me. people say m crazy. well, i take that as a compliment and move on. people say i am insane. as a matter of fact, i am. everything about me is different. my sense of humor is dry n sarcastic at times. maybe a bit lame, but thats how i am. n m not gonna change. My high school life just got over and well, i wasn't a nerd in school. so yeah, people liked me. (loved me would be too gay because i was in a boys school).

I like music. actually like is an understatement, i love music. i listen up to 82 trax per day. m no genre divided guy. i listen to what i like. but metal and punk own \m/. I abuse a lot. really a lot. but thats not the side you are gonna see. until i rant about something. i am an "inexpressive jerk" as called by my girlfriend(s) :| . i don't express myself. therefore it takes time knowing me. i got things called mood swings. which people who are lucky enough can see it :P. mostly its my friends. and some people in any random chat room. i don't believe in physical fights. i believe in verbal raping.y? because i have the wits to do it.

I hate Microsoft to teh core. not because they suck. well, yes thats a reason. the main reason is that they copy. i also hate self centered people. i hate social networking and i hate uhmm, well loads of things. i don't get along with people *_* n this is tha most honest iintroduction have written about myself.
My friend told me that "Creativity is Dead" so, here i am, trying my best to get back that Creativity back.

Creativity- is a mental process involving the generation of new ideas or concepts, or new associations between existing ideas or concepts. (yes i copied that from Wikipedia :P).

anyways I am bored now. so peace \m/

P-S - I suck at spellings and i had to use the firefox dictionary so many times..!!god!
P.P.S- The picture I put is just because of the rules. or i wouldn't bother. y? because m lazy. n i like dat pic :P

Jobs Anyone?




Okay. So its been a few months since this blogs been here. And the one thing that I dont see here is any Steve Jobs related post.

And now that a stable"er" version of safari is out for windows, i guess this is the best time (sorry couldn't think of anything better :P).

I personally like Jobs because he is such a larger than life figure even after having his own share of very publicly known and talked about flaws. And an attitude which in his own words always screams:

"I want to put a ding in the universe."

He is a master at what he does. (And no we're not going to discuss what is it that he actually does :P.) I guess me writing about him is just glorifying him, which just plain sucks. So here are some of his own words. Read them and form your own opinion.

Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes. the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things. they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.


Almost everything--all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure--these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.


Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

In most people's vocabularies, design means veneer. It's interior decorating. It's the fabric of the curtains of the sofa. But to me, nothing could be further from the meaning of design. Design is the fundamental soul of a human-made creation that ends up expressing itself in successive outer layers of the product or service.


So we went to Atari and said, 'Hey, we've got this amazing thing, even built with some of your parts, and what do you think about funding us? Or we'll give it to you. We just want to do it. Pay our salary, we'll come work for you.' And they said, 'No.' So then we went to Hewlett-Packard (HP), and they said, 'Hey, we don't need you. You haven't got through college yet.'


Sometimes when you innovate, you make mistakes. It is best to admit them quickly, and get on with improving your other innovations.



The problem with Microsoft is that they have no taste. They have no taste and I don't mean that in a small way, I mean that in a big way.


I'm the only person I know that's lost a quarter of a billion dollars in one year; It's very character-building. (Apple Confidential 2.0)


I'm as proud of what we don't do as I am of what we do.


I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life. (Stanford University commencement address, June 12, 2005)


It's better to be a pirate than to join the Navy.(Odyssey: Pepsi to Apple)


My girlfriend always laughs during sex - no matter what she's reading.


Apple has some tremendous assets, but I believe without some attention, the company could, could, could -- I'm searching for the right word -- could, could die. (On his return as interim CEO, in Time, Aug. 18, 1997)


Nobody has tried to swallow us since I've been here. I think they are afraid how we would taste. (Apple shareholder meeting, April 22, 1998)


Well, again, in his words, "Insanely Great" ;)

Friday, June 15, 2007

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Whats with the images before all the posts? Here this is my image. Sorry it doesn't get any bigger.


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Ahh my first post. I don't know how many people read this and I have read very few of the posts myself. However, I am a member of this blog so I felt now that I am free and doing nothing, prolly Id start contributing here.

But there is a problem. I am new to blogging. Also for those who want to point out that its just another form of writing and expressing, I am new to writing. So Im not very sure as to what exactly am i supposed to be doing here.

I guess no one reading this blog actually knows who I am. My profile obviously doesn't help in this regard. Well, I intend to keep it that way, so no one knows about my quality of writing. But no harm can obviously come from what I am. As a person, friend etc. So I guess Ill start by talking about myself and see where things go from there.

Now that I come to think of it, the title reveals a lot about me actually. I am your perfect geekish skeptic, if there ever was one. I doubt myself, people around me, people around those people around me, people those people around... well you get my point. But in general I talk with such force that people tend to believe that I believe in myself and I am a confident person. I love people who doubt me and raise valid questions. I never agree with them as a rule of thumb because well, "I doubt them". But it helps me. It helps me smooth out my thoughts. More often than not, it improves upon my ideas. Generally not in a way that was suggested but yes, because of the way that was suggested. So, well, everybody wins.

Also, people, in general, and girls, in particular, hate me. I, well, I reciprocate the feelings I get to the fullest. Our mutual dislike of each other keeps us from *shudder* talking to each other in general. Again, everybody wins.

Obviously, I don't give a damn about what anyone thinks of me. There used to be a time when I did. But that part of me is long since dead and I have stopped mourning over it now.

There are many theories as to why I am the way I am. None of them however cast me in a very Stallone-ish/Hannibal-ish kind of a role so, well, they don't get a mention here.

So, am I a hateful person? Absolutely not.

I love a lot of things and people. I have very few friends *no cookies for guessing why* and I have, a great family. I don't know or care if I am worthy of such friends or family but I love all of them and care a lot about them. I am still in the process of figuring out how I ended up with such(or any, for that matter) friends. I guess they found me out and *gasp* "liked" something about me. Also, none of them judged me and felt the compulsive need to classify me into a stereotype, like I'm sure many of you are doing right now. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate you guys. I'm just far too self absorbed to care.

Aww, here is a typical high school reject eh? Nope. I was also one of the most popular guys in high school and I went to a very good college. So, think again.

I like silence. I like cool whether. I don't mind distance, from both my family and friends. I believe very very strongly that you don't need to be next to someone to love him or her. So no, I'm not indifferent about my family or friends. I'm just indifferent about the distance between us. I just need my computer to survive.

I hate sucky computers. And I define what sucky means. I get irritated, bored, amused and angry faster than you can say uncle. I hate it when people ask too many questions and hate it even more when those questions are foolish. I hate people being silent because that forces me to talk, the one thing I hate more than the aforementioned point.

I love beauty in almost all forms. I like colors, individually or mixed. I like beautiful music. In any genre. I like nature. I like Apple computer products. I even have a *omfg* girlfriend like my co author here. And I love her; a lot. I like sex and sensuality. I don't think they are sins as long as you have your heart in the right place. There are very few things I am dead certain about (refer above), and trust me when i say, you don't wanna argue with me over those things. The line before the last one happens to be one of them. Another thing me and the blog author have in common. I like singing(croaking) to my girlfriend. That probably wouldn't count as beauty in any form, but still.

I recently came across this: "Beauty is the summation of parts, working together in such a way that nothing needed to be added, taken away or altered." I see my girlfriend in this. (She, however, begs to differ but then I guess thats what girls do, they hate themselves. Probably the reason why they need guys the most. But then, what do I know, I'm just a geek.)

I'm bored now. Now how do you end an introduction? Darn, I'm bad at this.