Burn like fire, burn like fire in Cairo!!!!..... I've finally got Three Imaginary Boys..... The Cure's debut album. I got the deluxe edition.... a gift from a loved one.... wonderful... but well i did spend like $20 bucks on cab fare en route to getting it... but oh well... its well worth it.... This is the pink album with 3 household appliances on the cover.. The band had totally no control over the final product including the cover, the "track listing" at the back and even the songs to be included. This album to me displays how the cure started off as punk in the vein of The Clash however their pop and art-rock sensibilities were simply undeniable.

I would also like to add that i have finally completed watching the 4 vcds of Devdas... the bollywood epic that the idiosyncratic Tee Junxiang lent me... oh how lovely were Chandramukhi and Parvati.....


Stan from Southpark: "Disintegration is the best album in the world!" word.

Askewed Dementia

I have a problem. What the fuck is my problem. I have these demons. How do i purge them. Oh fucking hell, it kills me. What is wrong with me. Born with my umbilical cord around my neck was i supposed to die? Oh hell.

I am not me, i am vacance, i am not who u think i am. I am my alter-ego. Everyone reads my friggin blog... for fuck's sake how do i be honest if everyone knows who i am. I am not me. I am just vacance. Vacant as a vacuum. The empty space inside. The empty inner space just like the empty dark outer space except with no stars. Everyone reads my friggin blog. Even my brother. Hi bro. This is an outlet for expression. This is my dementia. Askewed to the point of loss. Insobriety.

This is not a joke. This is not true. This may be true. And this may not be true. Things may be metaphors for others. Nothing is at it seems. But some things are what it seems. What it don't seem. What is numbers. The alphabets. Alpha-bits. Cereal with marshmallows. Where are they? Swiss Miss. Hot chocolate and marshmallows.

I am blind to the reader. The reader is blind to my identity. I am writing for myself not the reader. At times i am writing for the reader. Mostly i am conscious of the reader and hence i am not writing for myself.

These demons are spinning a web of confusion. What am i doing. What are you doing? The night is dark. Dark like black. Black like dark. Darkwing Duck. Uncle Scrooge.

Now i have learnt to rant to that extreme where i do not make sense and i bore you. And you will not be bothered to read what i write. And so you will just pass on. And you will stop reading what i am writing. I want to be anonymous and i want readership. I am who i am. And yet i am becoming who i am not. How do i reconcile the changes i would have to undertake. I and becoming the person i hate. I am weak as usual. Weak as shit. Shit can be squashed just be squishing it in your palms. Yes, i can be disgusting. But i don't care. You shouldn't be bothered to read this far anyway already.

Writing is therapy. Therapy is crap. Change is crap. Back to the origin is what we crave. the original soul. Pure and untainted. Levi's original 501 jeans. No. I am sidetracking. I am talking about sanctity and purity in its most lucid form.

How do i be honest and admit my freudian subconscious tendencies when i know you know me and you know me and you know me and with this you know me. Pretentious garbage. Value for shit or for nothing. Shit you squish in your hands and rub over your face and poke into your nostrils. And then you start to vomit because the smell. The smell is just unbearable. Smells like shit. Smells like teen spirit. Smile like you mean it. Am i grousing you out. I hope i am. Then you shan't read further.

Otherwise i would disgust you further by talking about slicing off a nipple. And splitting it into 16 equal slices. You've only got two tries because you've only got 2 nipples. OK now have i manifested how a sicked psychopath i really am? Life is good. Shock is good. Good is fun.

Damn it. I don't believe this. I just can't seem to wanna bathe and turn in. look at the time its 4am. What the heck is wrong with me. Can't i be normal just for some times. Like normal people. "Do you wanna live like common people? Do you wanna do whatever common people do? Do you wanna sleep with common people? Do you wanna sleep with common people like me?" -- Pulp

Everynight is the same. I just can't settle down and start a day afresh and be new and good and NORMAL. I am a restless wanderer of the infinite dimensions of time and space. I need a serious reality check. "I don't wanna grow up, I'm a toys 'r' us kid"
Can you even breathe reading this? Why are you reading this? Don't you have better shit to do like throw darts at my picture or something. You can do many things with my picture too. Why do people suppress their inner thoughts and feelings and deem it evil and black. Bring it out into the open and it will not be shocking. No . Better suppress it. It is evil. It is the voice of the devil. The devil speaks in me. BLah. THe devil is shit. I need to shit and bathe and sleep i reckon. I am a disaster. A failure. Life is my nemesis. Death is my salvation.

Death. Is it nothingness? Or is it a neverending cycle. Whatever. Fuck.

Always take what you see with a pinch of salt. Once again. Nothing is as it seems. Face value is face value. It tells you nothing but face value. So you should only take something's face value by its face value and not anything else by its face value.

Everytime i see a conclusion, i start all over again. "this is the song that doesn't end, yes it goes on and on my friend, some idiot started singing without knowing what it meant, and they'll continue singing it forever just because he was an idiot"

I am idiot. Cheers to the idiots. The idiot's guide to understanding the idiot's guide to being idiots.

Collective Soul. Does anyone even know they have released a new album a couple of months back called "youth". Their eponymous album was one of my all time favourites-- Ed Roland's Classicist-Anthemic-Rock-meets-Grungy-Alternative-meets-Sugary-Pop melodies/lyrics and Ross Childress's thick, lush and blistering guitars. They have lost their flair ever since. With 'dosage' they were neither here nor their, but on 'Blender', OMFG, they literally lost the plot. They were looking shimmery with short neatly cropped hair.... the perfect boyband image. Did they ever knew who their audience were? and what's more... a duet with SIR Elton John??? ....

Nevertheless, indeed Collective Soul may never reach their peak again just like how Weezer will unlikely have another 'pinkerton' and Chris Isaak will never write another "Wicked Game", all collective soul tracks however are still always fresh and crisp sounding like minty-fruit candy. They may not be very commercially viable anymore nor critically recognised, their fanbase might have been watered down to a barely distinctable trace, it all doesn't matter. The music on Youth is just the type where u can leave it on in the background and not think about it or hear it... its perfect for the times when you don't really care about listening to music but just wanna beat the silence.... the songs do not evoke much thoughts or emotions (ok, maybe some as evident by this posting). It is just plain pleasant radio-friendly pop-rock that is not on the radio. How cool is that? ........... Yup, their latter day songs do reminds you of Toad the Wet Sprocket but yet not exactly... (Toad's coil album is an attempt at post-grunge which ends up along the collective soul kind of sound)...

A little known band called 'vibrolush' can be filed under this same category of music along with 'Tonic' and perhaps 'Jars of Clay'. Basically these bands are rip-offs of the real deal.

Collective Soul may have lost their soul, but not their hooks... hooks that come and go, not memorable or inspiring, but pleasing.