i've forgotten how to use the apostrophe.

goddamnit.

a couple of days back i thought about the people who can't get their apostrophes right

and then bam! in a flash i couldn't remember how to use it

and i haven't figured it since

if i read about it, it sounds like wren and martin all over again

and i still don't know what code they wrote in, in that book.

then i found this...

sagmeister. . and his apostrophe in the 'letter elimination business'.. 

ha!

i like him sticking to the type language consistently through the form,nice quite..

via exploding dog

i had a lecturer who made me feel like this once.

since then there has been Pang..

must go find more echoing walls

in reply to the email i never received

about music and the moving object(let's call it that shall we? and shall we also assume that all perspectives on 'found objects' which i might proceed to address here now are completely mine, and are based on all that i can show up as experience,i am not generalising,not compartmentalising,in all probability my opinion might change,but here it is nonetheless left to stand on its own in the sun for a bit. ..all charactersarefictiousanyresemblancetopersonslivingordeadbleepbleepyeah....)

music is a series of objects appearing, the 'layering'..the appearance of one layer after another is all part of the pace I'm trying to build. it changes with mood.i figured this a long while ago,though as is always the case i had no clue what i was doing, it led me to read poetry again strangely...baudelaire, nabokov,godard :) and as i read more up on it and came across the name of the classification for such appearances on sound ... synaesthesia ( i also realised i did not have it.dammit.)
anyway, when disney made fanatasia all that time back it was not synaesthetic either. i got an old vhs of it from the kmc and saw it. nada. not.
as usual an impressive product though.
so.speaking.
sometimes i pick the half notes as my foundation, sometimes i wait for the thing the guy puts in for his own amusement and accompany it with a repetitive motif for MY amusement...kind of bring it(the sound) out of the woodworks for a bit,with respect though,not too much out now.
about collecting sound and taking it from there, i dunno...i don't think there's enough time to compile ALL the sounds that strike and then play backgammon with it(speaking of which,we need to play it,backgammon...its sound and visual in little black and white markers), i think aiming to do that will make an epic of an experiment. and then you'll forget where you started from. i suggest writing, not about the theory but the visuals that you see, the moods ignited,colour,.. keep your footage as layer one, write out what it feels like in more visuals, examples from your daily life if you will, and then leave it free for your friend of sound to produce. that itself will be a stunner. because by that time you should be ready to string the original thought-what came of it- the thought now- the idea of sound for now- and then his idea of your sound.
it sounds like fun.
only you'll have to keep the feet rooted
grow your antlers, so to speak.
tag.

i think putting it into words demystifies the goosebumps. but then. if it provides for a board and spring spring. why not ?
:)

the later i sit working
the more complicated my methods of solving problems get.
last night i sat at 3 am and made a complex set of 7 layers
i looked at it in the morning and tick marked one box.
7 layers sat in the rain.
it was like putting the lights off on a dirty garage.
i am many people.

tired animals

recent explorations are bearing fruit.
siddhartha is here and it feels great to have someone who understands the language in the same room.
.
.
mumbai is a sad city
traffic,strangers you do hurried work with, and the internet,...that's what this city seems to be about
the clubs are filled with lonely people
they take pictures of themselves constantly
the camera seems to be an important alibi for most of them
everyone is locked into the feed..
it reminds me of the time in kerala when my grandfather passed away. the funeral was a dull green event. he was in the drawing room with people all around and when it was time to take him to the cemetery, people crowded in family order to take photographs with that ghost like thing lying down which looked liked nothing like my grandpa anymore. i refused to be a part of this ceremony.
but as my mom reminded me ,these are established societal practices.
one must do them. there will be an album.
who are the mysterious viewers of such albums?

anyway,
the only times it does seem to live,this heaving tired animal which is young mumbai,is when the positive energy is imported from elsewhere..
recently i was relieved to see it when our set from London were down to perform.
it had a pulse. i can see some light.

i decided it was time the place spoke back to me. hell,i spend days waking and working here.
they mustn't be lost in the flurry,...( when you travel a lot these sort of instincts tend to kick in )
so.i moved to a new place.
:):)
i've got a huge window in front of my bed and like it has been the routine through the Army life I have built my encampment.
the sunlight enters at the right angles through the window.
and i have started writing again.
'sigh'.

:):)

i woke up
and you were sleeping
why do we stay in places where your sun does not know my sun?

I think it's always been about the spoon.

bleddy

Here are lines from a ghazal I found...
"I lost my beloved,I looked for him everywhere.
I looked for him in the hills,
I looked for him by the sea,
I found him at last
In the corner of my house."

It is strange how much space the camera catches in a single frame.
Why only that much?
and why so much?

As you move away from the mountains they seem to inch closer to you.They show you their real height,see?
But you have to get close enough first.

I saw that in their frank portrayal of horror,of anger,desire,greed and lust for power,they do not merely terrify the onlooker,they gave him an opportunity to confront those parts of his energies which he was repressing,to confront ,understand and master them,to turn them,as the Oracle had turned her hysteria,into a power to heal.

I remember feeling something like this but I don't remember where...
i think I've seen that violence in me.

There will be a character who will die while looking at the picture.The picture he has been in love with.

Unrelated all. But they fit.
No?

Alanis Morissette - Crazy
by louphil

where are the madwomen in my attic oi?!

for all my women who've stood by me through these wonderfully windy times
who've spared me the who are you and what are you about look.

'

in a world full of people only some want to fly
isn't that crazy?
yes, we're never gonna survive
unless
we get a little crazy


'

love and then so much more love to you.

the age of the drifting souls

i will try to make my peace with it.
or this tape will just keep playing and playing again
and i'll fix it every time
but one day the words will be garbled
we will not hear the tune
and then what will we do with this obsolete means of entertainment?

there was this ring I had
on my left hand

I feel for it sometimes
when I'm not thinking.
it is no more there.
and I still find myself surprised
sometimes from my sleep.

turquoise and silver
just a decoy now.

6:36 AM

ditto.

eep.
seems this place was getting autoposted.

those thoughts were meandering elsewhere.
.
.

in cochin..

i met a wall today
it had such an awful lot to say..














*click the smaller bit to see.

nobody can make coffee like my ma can.

It took me so long to look at the object through its shadow.
.
.
The earliest I can remember was when I was 9 and in an art class at school in Delhi.
I was drawing a cat in a boot,a picture I had come across,
and as was my method of drawing at the time,I focused with all concentration on individual lines,and how they were landing against each other.never the whole picture.
just one line in relation with another line at a time.
but for some reason the picture didn't seem at all like my copy
and I erased and redrew but it was of no use..
that's when I noticed the shadow of the cat on the boot in the original,and then that of my drawing and saw two absolutely different amoebic objects.
and that was it.
It was my first hoist into exploring.

And it still helps :)

i want to go to bourbon street.

Alice wraps herself up in a tune and jumps off the cliff with the fields of rye.
Holden watched on without moving.

what could I have done.

transcripts from the film,'Dans le noir du temps',Jean Luc Godard
a part of 'Aria',1987



'
In the darkness of time
Why is it dark at night?
Perhaps, before, the universe was still your age, and
the skies were shining with this light, but since the
world has got older it is going far away.
And when i look at the sky between the stars, i can see
only what has disappeared.

The last minutes of thinking
I think therefore i am, the game of being is no more the
same as the game of thinking, why?
The feeling i have of existence is still not mine. It's
a reckless feeling, it was born in me but...
Nothing lasts, there has to be some limits in the number
of books, all the throats together, all the spirits
together, and all their production are not worth any pittance.
Because this is the end of everything

The last minutes of memory
The unsuppressible

The last minutes of love
Yes, you are young, in the full of your strength, but i'm
going to die, farewell. I don't want to leave you, i don't
want to get you back, nothing, nothing.
My knees are on the ground already, broken, nobody tells me
about anything, you wounded me and i told you so.
We don't love each other anymore, we never did

The last minutes of silence
What was the number? What was the number?

Too little what one can say, always one has to speak

The last minutes of history

The last minutes of fear
I don't know what's going to come afterwards, i cannot and do
not want to know it. But if this is what i want, if i want
glory, celebrity, if want to be loved by men, i'm not guilty
of desiring this indeed, of desiring only this.

The last minutes of eternity
Live his life

The last minutes of Cinéma

Last vision

Evening, he says. Evening, she says, Evening, they say.
'

Alice will never learn.

'But these wordy coincidents cannot be without incident!'said Alice to the Queen.

this song has a strain,maybe the way he lets his voice sway at the end of the verses,like he's just sat through a conversation which went nowhere and came out to breathe and sat by the street.and lit a cigarette. and it is evening.and he didn't know because he was indoors. and he wonders why he didn't come out earlier.and the birds fly home overhead. a shoal of fish.
he watches them inspite of himself.
beyond the end,is nothing.


.
.
.
more of this sound here.

i was asked yesterday,what it meant to write,but not write everything,
how does one do it.
i had a reply..talk straight.don't spare the detail.
people can't see the absolute anymore.
you are safe if you write from that void,from that truthful void which only bears witness to you.
.
.
i don't know whether to be happy or sad.what solitary lives we live..
but i've never had patience with the tragic in the past,
and can't stand it of myself either
touché camus.
the rebel,maybe
but never fallen.
godard shoots 'socialisme' soon and I couldn't be happier.
lines from 'forever mozart'...
'...knowledge of the possibilty
of representation consoles us,
for being enslaved to life.
knowledge of life
consoles us for the fact that representation
is but shadow.'
'..It's what I like about cinema
a saturation of glorious signs
bathing in their light
of absent explanation.
My master once said,
"I conceive of nothing as infinite,
how can i conceive of anything as infinite."
"Listen,"I said,"imagine a space,and that beyond this space,is more space
and further on there's more and more,
it's never ending."
"why?", asked my master
I was stupefied,
"If it ends",I shouted,"what's beyond it?"
"If it ends,beyond it is nothing",he answered
My master was the only philosopher who was sincere.

viky,sits listening to mozart.
forever mozart.
un film de jean luc godard.

it's back to the goddamn drawing board.

i was just thinking about the day I asked you what your name was..
what a strange day

and if what was written down there were to be a song,it would sound something like this




☝courtesy:sukhbir singh sagoo

yoyo ramble relief

how many paths must I stray away from so I don't have to see you again.
.
you from the attic in the hill with the honey jars, you,of the cocker spaniel dreams,
of the home on the twin hills,of the horses..
.
you in the clothes store trying on the clothes I knew you'd fit just by seeing your photographs, the clothes which would have fit thAt loved one. you were that loved one, and you've never met me,but I knew,I knew you fit better into the frames I was being rammed into..do you know your photographs are still up there?
.
.
and you from the streets of Pune, you of the scrawled on wooden table tops,you of the war time tomb stones,you,you who had no questions.
.
and what about you of the wheat in the football fields,do you know about the film I shot in those same wheat fields?will you ever see it?
and you and you..

I don't mourn you
but you are parts of me still walking solitary ways
how many paths must I stray away from so I don't have to see you again.

month after a shoot and it starts all over again.
the pictures have started connecting in my head
fiction.. a story,this time
it's dusty in the pictures
these ancient silent figures seem to have found their outlet
I seem to only be a facilitator
facilitating with no compulsion
working in automation
drawing on some deep quiet vessels of calm
one step to the next
.
.
slow
.
.but I move

and I can still tell what doesn't fit.

kokoschka..

and we are what we share.

you are what you do.

aquarium fish are strange
when they're about to die,their heads turn up to the water surface
and they keep bobbing up and down losing balance
sometimes they do cart wheels.

might I confess a latest addiction..
speaking to strangers in even stranger lands on work
stifling grins while wondering about the weather across telephone lines
loving for example, that a Mr Galuszka is aware of matters
Ga looo szzka.
lol...
my life is brilliant.
and i will never stop being amused by the puddles of water
:)

a thought occurred
based on a couple of dreams I’ve been having,and well,on real life as well..
it’s about this girl and the mad people in her life.it’s about the people becoming the monsters she dreamt them to be in her most paranoid moments.like your worst fears are just waiting to be thought by you.and life will take just the turns you think out for it..she ends up comforting the people she has ended up wreaking such havoc on..
because everything(….applause please) is in your head. no?

lol..

those were strange times
She stepped back after the three year hurricane and look at the abstract collage of things that had been, since she'd checked last..
you know the sort of list one comes up with..especially when one has no time for the sort of list..
how many guys were slapped?
how many people walked away?
who was left?
how many animals reached out?(and I do mean non humans…lol)
how many books ?


she removes her bangle when she thinks
.
.
as soon as she picked a book though,the only thing she was concerned with was when she’d finish it.

part of the script i'm writing..
this could be dialogue.this could be images.this could be music..
don't know yet..
.
.

'
it felt like i'd been traveling for just too long one day
i couldn't remember their faces any more
it felt like a new one was getting in every time
a new one i was wary of all over again
sometimes i'd look up to see why he chose to look at me now in his rear view mirror only to find him to have changed shape yet again.
once i made one stop for half an hour,when i got back there were six of them standing where i'd left the one.which one was it?
till one,this guy sitting on a pavement ,smiled.
i walked blindly to him,he got into the auto rickshaw,and sang a strangely familiar tune.i sat back in my seat.he was the one from the morning,it was alright.
'

Purple lit early mornings

today a friend and i were having dinner early in the morning.
he started laughing madly suddenly.i looked passively at him over the eggs. he stopped and resumed his serious expression,
and said,"You're a joke.a JOKE.
Y'know something that's funny in the end?"

I woke up in the morning laughing.lol.

baby duties at my table today

when you're hit by a lot of vocals you tend to settle down into whatever is easiest on the ears..listen to 'rewind' by Goldspot on my 'nefarious'(**yes ,yes arpit..we will exercise these excesses**) podcast.

to get some things out of the way,on my long saunter around the western coast i had lots of things dying to come out in some form,so before i get over the urge,permit me to exegete.
firstly,if you're meaning to ask me why the words are hurling around corners and being slammed in your face,then,i'd tell you it's because a friend and i have decided to exercise our late(nt) vocabularies...something must come of mr. mCaulay's superbly successful endeavors which have left me me with broken hindi,broken malayalam,broken french,broken italian,broken marathi.

one must do something with this strangely sound english then.who knows, the writing might even seem to be in cipher to those used to their packet of ten word vocabularies.even better.lol...how much can one iron out the wrinkles for the sake of deconstruction.'Balls to it.',she says.

for those who are still reading,(lol...)our game involves not using any thesaurus or dictionary in the extrusion,like while one is writing...because more often than not we're frighteningly bang on with the exact meanings..god knows what all is stored in the recesses of this brain..

like this word my friend adopted recently..
nubivagant, adj.
moving through or among the clouds

ooh..