Autumn


Last year,
in a greedy impulse,
I imprisoned autumn,
and hung in my toilet.

With a shadow box
and some glue,
I made prisoners
of leaves and fir cones.

Last week, however,
along the freeway,
I saw riots,
of gold and russet.

And back in the loo,
the box is empty,
and all that remains
is dry glue.

This year, I think,
I shall capture,
some blue sky and
a nice sunset.

I am sitting on my couch. The TV is on in the background , and on KQED plays a program about Mark Rothko...

The words that resound in my ears add a dimension to the art that the art itself lacks. ...art is the exact opposite of relaxation.....they are tragic performances, evoking the most extreme sense of tragedy and doom.
I have forgotten for a while why I like words....When I write them, I no longer sound like an Indian, or a Madrasi, or indeed, even like a man . I might well be a old woman from Iran or a young child in Japan. No one can make out the difference between love and lowe, as long as I write it right. No one needs know that I pronounce environment EN-VI-RON-MENT. In fact, words, once written, transcend the now and here.
The music that plays in the background is just like the narrative - adding layers of melancholy, despair or hope at the draw of a violin string, in the vibration of a piano string.
Music and books - a man needs little else..
Hope the words have kept you all good company.

(The title is from a book by Primo Levi of the same name)

Every day, as I walk around my office block, I find spirals on the tarmac where the earthworms have crawled on to the hot tarmac, and died.
~~~~
Every day, after work, as I walk back home from the car, I find snails slowly slithering across the concrete pathway, leaving trails of slime.
There is no much I can do for the earthworms but mourn . The snails, I pick up a couple of them and put them on the grass across on the other side, safe from lumbering humans.
I don't know if I change anything. I don't even know for sure if snails and earthworms feel pain and suffering. I think they do.
If I'm as an earthworm to some other creature, I'd wish for a safe passage across the dangerous pathways too..
++++

Ah wugga wuh ah wugga wuh. Ah wugga wuh ah wugga. Ah wugga wuh ah wugga wuh ah wugga wuh u wugga.
--Richard Feynman
For them not in the know.....
I wonder why I wonder why. I wonder why I wonder. I wonder why I wonder why I wonder why I wonder!
--Richard Feynman

GlobalOrgasm.org
Mission Statement

The mission of the Global Orgasm is to effect change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible surge of human energy. Now that there are two more US fleets heading for the Persian Gulf with anti- submarine equipment that can only be for use against Iran, the time to change Earth’s energy is NOW! Read more about the fleet buildup here.

The intent is that the participants concentrate any thoughts during and after orgasm on peace. The combination of high- energy orgasmic energy combined with mindful intention may have a much greater effect than previous mass meditations and prayers.

The goal is to add so much concentrated and high-energy positive input into the energy field of the Earth that it will reduce the current dangerous levels of aggression and violence throughout the world.

Global Orgasm is an experiment open to everyone in the world.

We hope the results will register on the worldwide monitor system of the Global Consciousness Project.

This is the First Annual Solstice Synchronized Global Orgasm for Peace, leading up to the December Solstice of 2012, when the Mayan Calendar ends with a new beginning.
http://globalorgasm.org/

Today, I opened up a book that I bought about 2 years ago, in a small bookstore in York, UK. It was nestled right next to a memory of an upturned, intelligent face looking up at me from the dusty stairway. It was tucked away unceremoniously in the box of my cranium, with a remembered smell of warm scones and tea, the warmth of a log fire on a cold day.

Some memories are like butterflies, they flutter when you hold them, and make you want to release them. Ephemeral, they are gone when you let go of them. Yet others are like tightly curled up balls of yarn. You start unwinding them, and suddenly there is a whole lot of wool...You can tangle it, roll it back up, or make a sweater out of it.

England was beautiful. There will always remain a portion of me that loves cold days and gray skies. I've liked them for as long as I can remember, for they are perfect times for a book, a little contemplation. If it rains, ah, elysium in an upturned bowl! What joy to see water splashing on dirty leaves, washing away the filth of human meddling to leave pristine green leaves! I complained of cramped shoes, and too much walking, but thinking back now....

I remember long walks to the grocery store, hurrying before they close at 5pm, and fretting that she wouldn't let me force a wollen cap on her. Her cold hands digging into my pockets to steal my precious warmth. And just marvelling at her stubborness, her independence.

I remember getting up early on christmas day to find the red tiles of Montague Burton flats dusted with snow. Snow!! I'd never seen it, and it never snowed for the whole time I was there. Just that one day, for about 20 minutes. And I didn't have the heart to wake her up. She was unwell, and I slept on the floor so that she could have the bed to herself.

I remember her unpacking her bag on the coach journey home, to give me sandwiches and juice. And apologizing for not bringing me the guava juice that I had asked for.

There are memories of the past, but the sweetest ones are memories of a future to be, buds from a seed planted in the past.

I'm a fairly restless soul, physically and mentally.My hands are rarely idle, my eyes keep darting here and there taking in details, and my mind is always astir.
Also, while I read the occasional book a couple of times, to wring the last drops out of it, I'm usually disinclined to eat twice at a restaurant. I prefer to try new dishes, and my being vegetarian doesn't deter me in the least. I've quite enjoy Sushi( Wakami salad, oshinko, veg tempura,cucumber/avocado sashimi and warm sake), Persian (Shavid Pulow, Kashko Bademjan and Mosto Mosheer, with dough) and Ethiopian and Vietnamese too...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, I made it to a restaurant I've been meaning to visit for a long time - DishDash , in downtown Sunnyvale. It serves mediterranean cuisine, which is distinctly different from Middle Eastern or Persian food.

We started with a platter of cold appetizers, consisting of Tabouli(Mix of parsley, tomato, green onion, fresh mint, lemon juice, burghul and olive oil.), Rihan(Fresh tomato and grilled italian eggplant dressed in a special basil sauce. garnished with feta cheese.), M'nazaleh(A ratatouille of thinly sliced marinated grilled eggplant, red bell pepper, tomato, walnuts, fresh lemon juice, garlic and olive oil), Khyar B'laban(Cucumber in a yogurt-garlic sauce, a touch of fresh dill and a splash of virgin olive oil.) and Dolmas.

As we started on the meal, the mellifluous sounds of the middle eastern music was suddenly infused with forceful jazz. It was a feast for the senses, and I felt the strain of the day slip away as I began to sway with the music. The Jazz was wafting in from the Coffee place next door The Bean Scene. It had free wifi and nice sounding drinks - I guess I'll be going back sometime.

We had a table outside, in the slightly piquant cold, and I watched F watching the people amble by. There was no dearth of interesting people, but I was watching her watch them - and it was a lot of fun . The waiter ( an amiable chap called Ashwin Shenoy) brough out the entrees - I had a mushroom and rice dish called M'shakaleh while K had Sambusak(something like a puff pastry). F and N shared a Kabob platter.

We finished up the meal, and I was drawn to the next door, where the band was wrapping up. There was an instrument I couldn't recognize, and I went in to find it was a Harmonica, and the guy playing was Danny Denero, with his band, the Jumpin' Jukes.. I stayed for a couple of songs, dropped my tenner into his bowl and picked up a CD. I'm pretty sure it's not great music, but it was the most compulsively foot tapping thing I've heard in a while, and it will bring back memories of this day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Also, I often think of the days when I stood by the street performer, listened to the music till my heart was lighter, and walked away without giving him anything, because my wallet was a lot lighter than it is now. So I show him my mercenery appreciation, and as I watch the poker faced mendicant outside pause and listen to the music, I'm convinced I'm right - the universe balances, and I'm doing my bit.

He had undoubtedly lost the right to live, but when did we gain the right to kill???A life-long supporter of the death sentence, this made me start , sit up and think again.
http://www.timesdispatch.com/servlet/Satellite?pagename=RTD/MGArticle/RTD_BasicArticle&c=MGArticle&cid=1149189289029

Shortly before 9 p.m., Hedrick, his head freshly shaved, was ledinto the execution chamber. He appeared calm, wearing dark-blue prisonpants with the right leg cut off at the knee and a light-blue shirtwith the sleeves cut off.

He was ushered into the electric chair and a half-dozen executionteam members secured him stiffly upright with leather and nylon strapson his limbs and torso before asking if he had any last words.

A metal device holding a sea sponge soaked in brine was thenattached to his right calf, and a wide strap with a hole for his nosebut covering his eyes and mouth secured his head to the chair.

A metal cap holding another brine-soaked sponge was strapped on thetop of his head. Power cables were then connected to the head and leg.

A prison official turned a key on the wall activating the system andan execution team member viewing the chair through a one-way windowpressed the execution button.

It was about 9:02 p.m. when Hedrick's body jumped up straight,straining against the straps, his fists clenched. A small amount ofsmoke briefly rose from his leg. His body briefly relaxed between thetwo 90-second cycles of electricity. Each cycle starts with about 1,800volts at 7.5 amps for 30 seconds and then 60 seconds of about 240 voltsat 1.5 amps.

His body jumped and leg smoked at the start of the second cycle.After five minutes, a physician entered, put a stethoscope to Hedrick'schest and pronounced him dead.

Have you ever come across those recipes that go something like this: Take 2 ounces of compassion, 6 ounces of love, 8 ounces of pity and make a total,sticky,gooey mess out of it?

Lets try that with a book, shall we?

For starters, take Roots, by Alex Haley, and rip its skeleton out. That will give you a skeleton of a plot- a story that stretches across a few generations, generally leading from penury and misfortune to rosy blue skies.

Move on to the Swiss Family Robinson, the excitement of a family that finds itself in a new land.Pluck from it exotic animals and unusual trees - transplant into our skeleton.

Move on to Little Women and pick out the rich cast of female protagonists.The dimunitive Fiona or Fee, who lives to be a ripe old age. The little girl Meggie, where the story starts, and in a way, ends. The tomboy Justine, and the toll of time.

Add an undercurrent of unrequited love, in the same mould as the recent Indian movie Sins. Its not a very original idea, and has not been dealt with in any particularly remarkable manner.

It seemed like an absolute mishmash of many many books I've read - in fact, there was even one small piece that reminded me of Atlas Shrugged.And its just as interesting to note that I don't believe any of it was deliberate - it just happens that the story is such. Two things kept me going - the fact that this is pretty much the only book I've ever read about the Down Under, and my curiousity about where the book was leading. I learnt a couple of things about sheep ( That they are too dull to eat grass if its cut, and that it takes about 150 acres of land per sheep), and that was that as far as furthering one's knowledge goes. Oh, that, and a curious color described as "Ashes of roses"...seems that is the color of victorian dresses, so I'm guessing its a grayish color.
I'd rate it a 5/10. ( Funny to see its rated almost a perfect 5 stars on amazon - I guess I don't know literature any ;)

http://news.zdnet.com/2100-1040_22-6094586.html
very very interesting...