Goble-de-gook

Thursday, May 17, 2012

I want to make music like this. Trip Hop meet folk meet jazz. :)

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

It doesn't sound the same!

Read some stuff about outgrowing music at Gnu's Noose. Well.. I guess its time my pet project.... Something that I have been pursuing for almost a year now, came out in the open. Long before my humble abode boasted of an internet connection, when I was in school, I used to listen to music. Good music. I would catch audio glimpses here 'n there, keep repeating the stuff so I would not forget.. but, my delicate memory usually cleared out space for Algebra, Sandhi Vichhed, and those O Henry's.. But this is the abridged story of the ones I remembered:

High Hopes by Floyd (btw, thats also how I spell God. F-L-O-Y-D)
Saw the vid on Mtv.. (around 6th grade) Did not know the name of the song, or the artiste. Was devastated. Found years later when I heard best Pink Floyd songs (a general awakening after listening to The Wall) which I got from a senior.
Ahh. Buhliss. But the buhliss was found lacking bite it had those many years back! Why oh why?

You' re So Pretty by the Cranberries:
I bought the Pret-a-Porter cassette from this neighborhood crook who could sell anything. I was looking for this song I d heard a long time back.. 'Close to you'.. had a good pop lick to it. Well, I came out with Pret-a-Porter instead.. It had some good stuff.. Hotstepper by Ini Kamoze.. a couple of other tracks.. and then.. Pretty, by the Cranberries, some remix (didn't believe they had em back then.. its a '94 release). I was stung by the song. Would keep listening to it. Again and again and again and again and again, with a yellow lamp over my head and the system in front. One day I found out my brother had ripped open the cassette, rewound it, and then, realizing that the song didn't play anymore, thrown the thing into the adjoining empty plot of land. I was devastated. The song was found much later, surfing through the net. But

Scatman by the Scatman
You know the song - it was just beautiful, wasn't it? Heard it on youtube lately. Not a shadow of wat it was in the earlier days.

Road Trippin' by Red Hot Chilli Peppers
That song had something about it - a teleporter to an older, calmer, prettier, slower, yellower world. The world never came back when I downloaded it a year back.

"Go Let it Out" and "Who Feels Love" by Oasis
These brought such subtle emotions to the fore that words would have to be invented to describe them. But that was before. Now the brain just tries to feel, gives up, tries to search it's memory bank for the emotion, returns empty handed.

What is it?

Has my brain become crude? Can I no more react to auditory stimulus with a flush of subtle, layered emotion. Is math music or metal the only music I will react to now?

I dont know. I dont know.

I want to feel the music again. Not analyz it. Not count the beats in the varying tie signature, not marvel at the scal/key change, not notice the texture of the cello.

Just feel the music.

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Mcleod II

The second Mcleod trip happens sometime back in time. It has carpe diem breakfasts, Ritu, Suggi, Gullu and Bhugra. We smoke quite some. Good times start when we go to the stream downhill - heads dunked into water and all. We are tired, its late, and we really want the Jungle Cafe. We start walking upwards from the stream, run into a hippie at the little Siva temple on the way. Sit on the cliff and smoke as he blabbers on and on about tantra and stuff . Walk aimlessly and guess where we reach! jungle cafe woohoo.in the evening, bhuggar gullu and i go to bhaksu through the pahari trek, not the road. there is an old abandoned freaky house on the way. on the way back is party - mini rave type scene happening at the opus(?). its private, we are not allowed. we go to bhaksu falls. it is full moon night party, we are told by the owner of shiva cafe, lounging about downhill near the market at another joint. there is voflo - the polish guy who shiva and his other trek guide friend keep abusing in hindi while they answer him. we are given siome free cream. we take it, smoke some. we are to go to the party. voflo pukes almost ON a brit woman. we go to party - chill around. then walk to the falls. bhugra chickens out. gullu and I proceed. Gullu chickens out. there is barely any light. i vow to do it sometime. sometime later. the day comes in Mcleod III.

Monday, March 03, 2008

Battleship Psychonautica

As a race, we have historically been building upon what our fore fathers gave us. Knowledge, science, technology - we have slowly added layer by layer - from fire to lasers - from sundials to atomic clocks - from the wheel to the Saturn V. Especially in the last few decades. We walked, we ran, and we are about to sprout wings.

But with all that's going around us, how have we, as a race grown inwards? Have we found ways to synthesize new thought? Experience new feelings? How have we bettered the way we soak in the world around us? How have we made a difference to the way we sense everything? Have we discovered new realms in our minds?

What have we been feeding our heads?

Four decades back a man took a bike ride over the moon. He brought back little drops of enlightenment. They told the man that his drops were too dangerous. No wonder. Who wants an enlightened populace? They took the drops, ran tests on unknowing people to see if the drops were good for mind control. Large-scale mind control. The tests proved futile. The drops were individualistic. They responded differently to people. People responded differently to them. They grew bored of the drops. Slowly they were forgotten. Self-discovery, could wait.

But now, we are looking at a world where we need to rethink thinking. We need to refeel feelings. We need to start looking for gaps - in our thoughts, in our language, in our behavior, in our emotions. We need to define these gaps, give them names, delve into them, and fill them. 'New' sensory stimulations, emotions and thoughts. The 'old' ones felt deeper, or through different lenses. It's time to pack our bags. We are the new age Psychonauts, and we're out on a cross-cognition 'trip'.

The drops, are waiting to give us a ride.

Sunday, March 02, 2008

Mcleod I

The bus leaves in the evening. En-route, I realise I can't sleep in buses. Numerous subsequent bus rides echo that. Kalsung guest house. The view from the top: top left - snow clad peak, low center - Dharamsala valley, right below us - Mcleod. Oh. Rewind. We see Yakshi as we reach (of all the people, of all the places!), she recommends Kalsung. She is here to save Tibet. Day shows us random treks - to Bhaksu through Dharamkut, to the river through nowhere. Breakfast is usually at Peace Cafe (vegetarian - maida paranthas, crispy pancakes, and large ginger milk teas). Lunch is at German Bakery (hot loaded thin pizzas) and Jimmy's (Big Chill - only one-third the prices). Dinner varies. We watch Jackass 2 at a makeshift picture hall - it is just a huge TV screen with (torn) sofas. Doesn't matter though, we're stoned. Oh. Rewind. We've been stoned all along. The night is a partay at Kalsung. Swedish, French, Israeli, Polish and various Indian (including TS's daughter) - share the same chillum. The same rum. The same submarine. The same stone. The same music. The Swede, playing the harmonica, stops abruptly. He's not very happy. He looks around. To the left. To the right. A movement plucked out of a ballet performance. He exclaims, "My 'honeybee'! Where is my 'honeybee'? I want my 'honeybee'!". We placate him. He proceeds to look for his honeybee, proclaiming his loss loud enough to wake up a slumbering 2 a.m. hill town. We are stoned. We are in splits. He suggests we look in the town. We agree. A search party of 15 goes out to look for his honeybee in an eerie empty town. We ask the dogs, the empty streets, the closed shops. 'Oi Jimmy! Where's the honeybee?!' Nobody responds. The Swede slumps, 'There's no honeybee here', and walks back. Under his breadth, he's asking us to stop laughing. We cannot comply. We mourn his loss with laughs and giggles. But then. One of us is sombre.

'Why?'
'We didn't find the honeybee. I would've liked some.'
'Some of his (dead?) wife?'
'Honeybee's the rum we were drinking.'

We go back and puke.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

All in a day's work!

Monday, June 04, 2007

Random Morning Shots

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Saturday, May 19, 2007

(De)Regulating Traffic

It happens only in India! ;) Tired of the continuous disregard for her commands, I guess the traffic light decided to let the chaos thrive.

(Clicked at the sutta point crossing near college (no photoshopping, sacchi!), during one of those late evening pangs. Seems like so long ago... the partner in crime has fled to her home-town(s), and sutta point trip statistics are in the red. )

Friday, May 11, 2007

Cannabis => Pchizophrenia?

A public study I stumbled upon:

"A recent review of studies from which a causal contribution to schizophrenia can be assessed has suggested that cannabis statistically doubles the risk of developing schizophrenia on the individual level, and may, assuming a causal relationship, be responsible for up to 8% of cases in the population.

An older longitudinal study, published in 1987, suggested six-fold increase of schizophrenia risks for high consumers of cannabis (use on more than fifty occasions) in Sweden."

"Ahh well... THAT explains it!," I screamed, as i read the words that you have now. The background to that exclamation can be given briefly, and it will follow this colon:

Me n Naman had for long been thinking aloud, that our brains had given up on us, we could no longer think straight, our emotions were real no longer, and auditory hallucinations had continued to plague us since the time we got holed in that weird, empty (for a reason) building. The symptoms echoed Schizophrenia. But without a family history (assuming its genetic) and no contact with any schitzos (contagious), we thought that we had been afflicted by what they call being 'motivationally challenged'.

But now, that should change. We 're Schitzos. We 're delusional, and there's no escaping it.

Look what cannabis did to us. The message, is loud and clear: Do Not Dope. Pass that joint over. We ll take your burden. What? That's NOT a joint??

Hmmm. I must be hallucinating.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Dark Orange

Chidiya Tapu, Andaman Islands : "The Heavens."

Black n Whites.

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Friday, March 23, 2007

Glo-friends?

Whatever happened to Glo-friends?
U know... the little glow in the dark bugs? not bugs really. but rubbery plasticky things that glowed wen u put them near the light, and then switched off the lights.

I liked them. I had two. A butterfly, and a bug, whose name I dont remember.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

When the Trees Sleep

She walks past the stares, the comments and the whistles. As she climbs the ITO overhead pedestrian bridge, her watch finds its way out of the three layers she's wearing, to show quarter past ten. Each step of the stair is a mere inch above the other. Huddled, as if to beat the chill in the air. In the auto she takes to Barakhamba, the chill battles on .To victory, as she spots a shivering old beggar hunt for fallen peanuts that have escaped the million shoes that tried to stomp on them, as they lay, unprotected, and without claim. With each crackle of the peanut shells, the beggars body crackles too. His blanket has more air pockets than wool.
She looks to the right. Towards the metro station. Two men, both twenty somethings, one is curly, the other straight. 'Do people with curly hair have curls all over their body?' she wonders. Curiosity decides the potential mate. She laughs. The number of desirables increases. Deservings are scattered. Its like an entrance exam, she thinks. And smiles at the pun.
The metro ride is uneventful, except that she thinks of him as the lights change direction through her reflected face in the window. Notices the difference between the two. Before-After pics in the head. Smiles. Vows never to let out the comparison. Men, she thinks. Morons. Bad bargain, most. A hint of the dream for faking it day after day. Not done. She thinks of him again. Too free. Too free to care about anything. Anyone. She realizes she wants care. But fun too. He won't be both. She thinks she'll try, to give him a chance, as he professes to remedy the wrongs she knew he'd do. For a moment, she dreams, in a fatigue induced half sleep, that the both of them are lying, heads up, in their own butterfly wings, on an empty white beach, at "Forgotten Is., Population: 2." She wakes up, zips up (jacket), gets ready to walk out.
But there are still 7 stations to go.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Jailbreak

Its dark around, pain inside
somebody has chained me in a cell
four walls and three windows
the dark gray of gloom

the walls of reinforced expectation
the bars of unbreakable conditioning
the floor of impregnable societal farce
the roof of titanium pretension

open the windows
the moon drifts, its rays
slashed to pieces by metal bars
fall at my feet and hit my head

they give me hope,
strength, courage, but...
can hope, strength, courage...
make flesh break solid steel

close the windows
no moon, no stars, no ray of light
no hope, no strength, no courage
a placid solitude of a wait

for death? no...
I want to live,
wait for the promised sunrise
the jailbreak that will free all

deliverer, deliver; messiah preach;
prophet, show the way; somebody, anybody
come to the rescue
save us from the creator of this prison

does he even realize the torture on us
does he even have a name

wait! yes he does...
what does that plaque say
this prison created by:

'Myself.'

I laugh aloud, so loud
that the walls crumble
the bars melt, the roof gives in,
the earth shudders, in celebration.

who am I? I’m the walls,
I’m the windows, I’m the moon,
I’m the hope, I’m the messiah,
I’m the free, I’m the unlimited.

The Black Army Boots

there has been much
lying farce act hypocrisy

there has been much
blood gore murder war death

there has been much
anger fear terror apprehension

there has been much
free thought locked up

there has been much
silencing of screaming tongues

but the faces still scream
the eyes still burn
the feet are still restless
the hands are still quivering to retaliate.

they burnt the face of my motherland
they said that I asked them to pour the acid
they said I respected their reason.

but how can I respect
their killing my brother?
mother father?
looting my home?
snatching my life?
crushing my dreams?
with their black army boots...

with their guns and bombs and tanks and planes
with their uniforms and their war-paint.

are they blind?
a child cannot fly a plane across the ocean
a child cannot build bombs to kill millions
a child can only run
when they bomb his family

but the child will grow up
and he will remember
what had been buried under the years
they will fear
for they had killed his innocence
when he was still a child

his eyes will burn
his hands will quiver to retaliate
he will swear
to crush their dreams,
like they had...
with their Black Army Boots

Like a Winter Breeze

This, was written 30 yrs back, for a beautiful woman.

It really incapsulates her whole life in that small moment. A moment.
Though small, the poem has a beautiful lingering effect. Considering that this was done in 2 minutes, as the woman came down a flight of stairs, I can only imagine the level of authenticity and grace the writer must have had. Also, an eye for common place, yet deep emotions.

Like a Winter Breeze

Like a winter breeze
On a summer eve
Or a summer storm
On a winter morn
She comes, she comes, she comes –
The little angel,
In her disguised human form
A hopeful smile
Dripping through her rosy lips,
A silent speech
Unfolding her secret thoughts,
She pauses,
Searching for the invisible
If she finds, she’d be found
Or else, she’ill be lost to herself
And to the world.

Honestly

Honestly,
I lied to you
I lied to you
I forever have

Follow me
to nowhere
I can’t break
these metal walls

All the truth
got lost
in what I think
to what I say

Hypocrisy
the face of me
in everything
I care to touch

Knew my lies would make you happy
How could I see you cry

So I lied.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Badoink

badoink,
badoink.

badoink,
badoink,
badoink.

badabadaboink badoink.

boinka boinka doink...

badoink.

(if u re readin this, u re more vella than the author. claim your mention in the guiness.)

Saturday, December 02, 2006

Numb.

U re sittin at your computer. U re surfin, orkut probably, with some chat windows open, one of your favourite songs on the media player. u can hear faint voices from the other room... people are shouting.. or maybe its the t.v...

And suddenly,

You zone out.

u see evrything, the orkut, the chat windows, the room, the notes, the books.
u hear every thing, the song, the voices., the dog, the hum of the computer.

But its all nothing.

A blind purposeless walk towards nothing.

Nothing.

Dont feel a thing. For the song, the person in the chat, the voices.

U re alone. And u re trying, in your own stupid way, to find meaning. Which there is none of.
Numb.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Design?? The lack of it.

Without reason.

6 billion on this planet.

Purposeless drifting scum of the universe.

Purposeless drifting humans,
animals,
inanimates,
the earth,

the heavens......

Creator! What is thy design?!

Entropy does not need a Father. It is against the concept of a sane creator. Making sense of a universe that loves to expand the reaches of its inherent chaos. Utter idiocy.

Nimmi's Dream.

Nimmi had a dream last night. We both were together.. On some street, and this lurker came and assaulted us. He pointed a gun at my head and ordered me to hand over my wallet. Nimmi started shouting.. "DE DE.. USKO WALLET DEDE!!"

And i kept shouting: "Nimmi! Give him YOUR wallet!! Do it! Give him YOUR wallet!"

Nobody died.

But I wonder... Kanjoosi when am about to die?? tut tut tut.

Nimmi knows me too well!! ;)

P.S.: I made two fantastic rythms with the pencil, the table, my feet and the answer sheet as the percussion instruments, while CAT happened.
Hmmm.. 1200 rupay barbad!;)

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Siesta.

Napped today. in the afternoon :).. felt soooo gud. had a crazy dream.

All I remember now is that I was going to college, in a rikshaw, and it was rainin, and so wen I played the guitar, I got a mild shock, my guitar does that when the feet are wet. And then there was this place near my place where everybody stopped.. by now Gullu and Nimmi were there too. we stopped at this eatin place, where one by one the plastic chairs wud break(twas a dingy setup, and there isnt a place like that really near my place), and everybody wud laugh at the guy whose chair wud break. It got darker slowly... and nobody seemed to bother, coz dey knew it was an eclipse... I dint coz I never watch the news, and then another chair broke, and I took back my phone frm the guy who had it (I dunno why), and then this woman sittin on the floor started makin noises. Weird talkin to the air noises. and i left the place.. I called Gullu and Nimmi too... but they were watching the T.V. so the dint come. And they weren't scared of the talking woman. I came out, the Rickshaw was still waitin for me. The guy was gone. In fact, there was nobody around.
It was all dark. at 12 in the mornin, it was all dark. A strange dark. A beautiful dark. The buildings were ruins of a buried city. A city in an underground cave. Do you remember what it feels like when it gets dark in day time?? And quiet?
Its the silent period. Where nothing moves. An instant that is crystal clear dark blue and grey.. and so serene. And you re just suspended. in a moment that is forever. A moment where everybody, everything is dead. Where doom has struck. Where the people are nothing but grey ashes in a blue light. The amazing thing is you can see the moon. But the sun is a blue ring. Serene.But how can you see the moon? Isnt it the moon that obscures the Sun??
Where the fuck am I? Two moons??

But I like it. wherever this is. Where there is nobody. Where its all an eerie blue forever.

Until I wake up.

I feel weird, wakin up at 5 in the evening. The curtains are drawn, You can see its getting darker. You can sniff the mild cold in the air. Its pretty... and all reddish.. rather pinkish... The evening is a red one. Like you photoshopped everything to a red... nah... orange... an earthy orange hue. You can hear kids screaming, playing outside... Far off screams... :) Feels lost. And nostalgic.

I remember.

When i was a kid...
Long ago...
I would come home from school, have food. throw my clothes about,
And me and my brother would hug mum and sleep.

The two hours that felt like an eternity.