A little indulgence

So I am updating my post from a grotty internet cafe (use the term loosely) in New Dehli! The city of lights where everything is possible. I saw the pits of poverty in Kolkata, where chidren and dogs fight over a bit of chepati- I saw the burning gate of Varanasi where a man with a shovel cracks the chest of a cadaver so the fire will take better, and a watched as people bath each morning in the ganges- following the strict hindu ritual, to end up in Dehli- which in comparison seem like tokyo! What a crazy ride it's been. It broke my heart and mended it 1000 times over- what a great crazy country!

I have chatted to PHD professors that had an obvious fascination with the west. I met ashanti owners that banked on their "guru" status in the eyes of western hippy twenty somethings, that are looking for answers. I listened to indian nationalsits that dislike all that is english, and smiled at teenagers that insisted on taking pictures with us. I waited for a sacred cow to move in order to cross the sreet, negociated to death with merchants - knowing full well I would still get overcharged at the end. I slept sorounded by snoring indian business men on a packed train- to wake up with someone's sock on my head. I had to tell a temple army guard exactly what a tampax is used for (he founded in my bag- and it does look like a cotton bullet...). I am slowly learniong all the names of bolly stars and starlets - and will soon be able to tell if the new or old Don is better.

I walked the excrement covered roads and rode on the immaculate pavements. I negociated with rich merchants and untouchable country girls.... and still there is soo much to see! I loved every second of it!

Everyone here smiles money or not sun or rain- it really does make one think. .. how lucky we are to be alive right now in this crazy world.

Ode to the arti’st

Nina Simone:
http://www.radioblogclub.com/open/115265/ne_me_quitte_pas/nina%20simone%20-%20Ne%20me%20quitte%20pas%20%28If%20you%20go%20away%29

All girls go through this and some girls hang on to it for way too long- the romantic love for the artist. We have all met the broody, talented (in some cases even talent less) man – that as a modern day Mr Rochester, is tormented by a secret, burned by his passion, consumed by his misunderstood talent. A contemporary miserable that struggles everyday to survive in a world that does not bow to his creative spark. With an agenda full of personal lost fight, rejection to come up against and hours of self pity and “no one can understand me, really” stories to tell- it’s surprising that this creature actually finds time to date or better to allow himself to be approached my idolising girls. Their eyes full of “I can fix yous” and “let me be your harbour of peace” these girls inevitably fall in his trap. They will fight all his battles, sit quietly in a corner and to the rhythm of “ne me quitte pas” will stand by his side as an old and loyal hunting dog feeding off the scraps of his time. They will defend him vehemently, at the sole mention of his self-obsession and negate their very self for a kind word. History is full of them, if you dig deep enough. Contrary to their talented partner – they are not remembered. Their existence of self-sacrifice is summed up in a footnote at the end of his bio. See for yourself, do you know Jeanne Hebuterne? No, but you probably know her husband Amedeo Modigliani, yet his bio reads:

“Amedeo Modigliani died in the Hospital de la Charite. The next day Jeanne Hebuterne, in an advanced stage of pregnancy, committed suicide.”

That is all we have to say about her. I ask you is this really what love is about? Becoming a nobody for someone else, destroying you very essence to feed that of your partner? It sounds to me more like cannibalism… How can you become the recipient of someone’s love when they are all too in love with themselves to even have time to notice you?

Hollywood, literature and poetry should take a good look at themselves and admit guilt for having hatched a bunch of foolish, dim-witted self-sacrificing women and rethink its role models. Why not write the “ode to the accountant” or “portrait of the banker as young man”? Better yet the “unbearable lightness of being a thirty something guy that is not too into his job but really enjoys life”?

you promised- or did I

you promised we would go picking mushrooms together....... I miss you

Irony- are you home

K's Choice: addict

http://www.radioblogclub.com/open/58857/addict/K%27s%20Choice%20-%20Not%20an%20addict


You seem to acquire a certain status being the only single left in the group, much like Little Britain’s “only gay in the village.” I say this with a Cheshire Cat (Alice in wonderland) grin on my face. Like the oracle of Delphi or like many disabled people in India… I am regarded with a mix of bewilderment, fear and respect. I have found that lately people seem to ask for my advice a lot more than before. Maybe it’s due to my seeming wiseness, as the person that avoided all the couple crap, or maybe it’s just because I have a lot more free time (probably the latter) but people seem to ask me for advice all the time. People ask me for advice …. About love and being a couple-, which is fucking surprising considering, I have not held a relationship down for very long! Ironic or what!

I always feel like quoting the eternal mall rats:

Brodie: You're gonna listen to me? To something I said? Hasn't it become abundantly clear during the tenure of our friendship that I don't know shit?

Ha ha – what has the world come to! Ask your pusher for a good rehab centre….