Scalable Deficit

2007-12-21T08:18:00.001-08:00

Signing off. Thankyou for everything. Goodnight and goodluck.

If "Heart Chakra" had words...

2007-12-18T11:29:00.000-08:00

As I am pulling back the strings within a section of the song
A dawn bends
Twilight holds a single E note (I was wishing B flat)
The moderation becomes a simulation
of a river
All orange and miopic as the mitzvah finds its way within the part
Of the enchanting third progression
Hands hitting skin, wind passing through channels
A cymbal, a manjira, a web spun like a chakra.
Its all quiet now. So quiet.

2007-12-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

I wish I had a back full of lead
I wish I was dead
:)

2007-12-11T09:53:00.000-08:00

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize that only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

- Anton Ego (Peter O'Toole), Ratatouille, 2007, Brad Bird (script)

2007-12-04T05:51:00.001-08:00

Mr. D has obviously changed our lives. Nothing will be the same again.

Analyse

2007-12-03T09:06:00.000-08:00

A self-fulfilling prophecy of endless possibility
You roll in reams across the street
In algebra, in algebra

The fences that you cannot climb
The sentences that do not rhyme
In all that you can ever change
The one you're looking for

It gets you down
It gets you down

There's no spark
No light in the dark

It gets you down
It gets you down
You traveled far
What have you found
That there's no time
There's no time
To analyse
To think things through
To make sense

Like cows in the city, they never looked so pretty
By power carts and blackouts
Sleeping like babies

It gets you down
It gets you down
You're just playing a part
You're just playing a part

You're playing a part
Playing a part
And there's no time
There's no time
To analyse
Analyse
Analyse

----

One of the prettiest songs ever by Mr. Thom. x

2007-12-01T08:04:00.000-08:00

Doshi

2007-11-29T08:14:00.000-08:00

Here is a mini-version of the forthcoming film on legendary architect B.V.Doshi. The first schedule is complete. With the available footage we decided to create a nutshell version to send to MIT to apply for a grant.
Have a look. He is a great man and our visit was truly a life-changing one. I hope Bijoy and me can capture the essence of that magic in this film.

2007-11-22T21:02:00.000-08:00

Etcetera etcetera
Facts for whatever
Fifteen steps
Then a shear drop

---

Thom is a genius. Why did he have kids shout "Yayyyyyy" at 2:54 into the song "15 Step"?

High ku

2007-11-17T04:44:00.000-08:00

I count one, two, three
For the rain to go away
It rains till I die.

Exegete

2007-11-10T21:03:00.000-08:00

(I'm) falling into place. I hope this is the beginning. I hope this is the end. I hope I can hold on. I hope someone can push me into place. Into gear. Into motion. I hope I am kinetic. I hope its all happening now. I hope three plus two equals six, I hope I'm falling into place.

100h

2007-11-08T22:37:00.000-08:00

A little tighter, overfloater.:)

2007-11-08T09:49:00.000-08:00

And a poem by Henrik Nordbrandt from 1986 (here translated into English)

The year has 16 months: November
December, January, February, March, April
May, June, July, August, September
October, November, November, November, November

2007-11-04T08:21:00.000-08:00

A journey into the self is all I want. Then I will never come back.

Tangled Reliquary by Ann Lauterbach

2007-10-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

Tangled reliquary under all surfaces.
Nothing moonlike occurs there
Only partial coves
And entrances.
How cool it must have been
the vat of the previous
Before these habits ordained the real.
Some of us must have seen each other
Naked in opulent dawn, our nerves
Drawn up as from an ancient well
Mossy, slick, unstuck at every seam
So we enter the sleeve of history
Out of which the magician pulls
His lawn ornaments: Dancer, Prancer,
Our Lady of Provocations, flags, targets,
The bluebird's house.
On the adjacent field
A swarm of butterflies alights
On a bald tree. This is the Tree of Changes
Mentioned in the lost book of A.
Her auspice was a riddle,
Sphinx or no sphinx,
Whose meanings we can piece together
From her journals which were torn into bandages
To wrap the wounds of the dying.
Such wanton songs
Paginate empirical trust
And the ruse of the first place.
Not that story again, what we cannot say
To the sun as it dispenses its sheen
Out over the harbor, but only
How can you perform your agile sway
Without shelter and without us?
So the riddle of the disembodied name
Sets in motion its primal mischief
Sanctioned and forbidden in the vastly gone.

This would be a good day to go sailing
Or to wash the car, but I have
Neither boat nor car. There's a plotless web
In the air like a banner pulling us along
Into something to look back on.
What if I wandered so far
Only to come here
To the relentless you
Have kept in store for me
Before the song, above the river,
All the names etched in stone
And only slowly annealed
To the spawning wind, in whose face
We will soon be included, having been shown
The near field's shambles
And grace. Come here
Like a shoulder or a girl's skipping step
Toward evening on a Friday,
Lapis amulet, Samurai sword,
Chinese silk stained with azalea,
A single earring the color of a toy globe
All stolen from a thing called April
Still wet with fresh rending. Come
Here in a language once learned
Only a few phrases remembered:
Bonjour, je t'aime, il fait beau.

Perhaps one of those popular, musical Sundays
Would save us, galloping at high speed in, out,
Only a glimpse from high up in the revised setting
Crowded with tyranny. So I wanted
Once again as a plaything, some jewel, box, horse
On which to come fleet of vision,
Glad to pretend. The cartoons sailed
Against the brocade, and the stairs
Were where the prayers were kept
Like instruments of torture
Basking in shade, the scent of new snow,
Locks of hair under glass.
The day, however,
Has spun upwards so it seems to be
A sort of chapel of divided light
And the season, punctured, leaks
Down on us old balloons from a faint dead planet.
And I had promised never again to try to
Put anything back together,
To obey the errant barge of upheavals,
Not to seek cause and effect in the prevailing wind.
But now shards of promise
Glint through the network of uneven shifts
Like the wandering voice of an ancestor
On the other side of the dunes. Bricks or dunes.
But what will I tell the children?
As in a photo of two persons dancing
There are some things we never will hear.
Shout and coo, shout and coo,
Each of us away. So one who is the one
Wants to sheath me in his ear.
Him sings his tunes
In the aberrant remonstrance. And I
Agree to this fear he tells me of
Whose words are what he cares to do.
Both hands are up in a moment
Not so much surrendered as bequeathed
To our common night. Dear dream,
Will you assist us, give pause
To any and all of these lessons,
Take us, each, into such fond technologies
That the thigh's spasmodic hum
Frees action as well as solace.
But the eye's horizon
Is dialectical and unreasoned,
Its gown disembodied because unsaid.
The blue floor calls itself June
And wants to lay me down
On its shine of now
And peel off the shadows
One by one until I am it.
Then sail into the air
Sheet after sheet
this and that
here and there
now and then
Only as real as what follows.
That the balloon man lost his head
That the screen fell to the floor
In a heap of landscape
such mornings
That the clay pot
Lay in shards
That the dry flowers were cast
Across the rug, ancient seeds, crumbs
such mornings
And the light reached all the way into the dark
As if handing it forward
From some child's grave
From the curled soil's boundaries
From whatever captivity
We wish to sew into artifact
But which, like the light just named,
Eludes us, frail and pinioned in the glossy tablets
Of alchemical reserve;
That the elegy is betrayed
As the child follows her hand to its sanctuary
And touches its core
And unriddles its riddle
In the beckoning need
That the cluster of disavowal gives way
And could not be shy
such mornings --

----

Thanks, E.

Mr. D

2007-10-17T06:05:00.000-07:00

Bijoy, my brother, and me decided to do a documentary on legendary architect Balkrishna Doshi. So we set out on a mission expecting to get only an hour or so with him. We packed our bags, bought lots of DV tapes, arranged (last minute) professional recording equipment and went on a trip to Ahmedabad. Such a lovely city, such an amazing energy. And. What genuine people. A giving society, really. In Ahmedabad, we were meant to meet Mr. Doshi at 10am on Monday. What a great man. We shot loads of great footage in his globally respected and appreciated office "Sangath". What was to come was truly magic and God's grace. Over the whole of Monday and Tuesday he came with us to visit his best works in the city and we managed to record, what would become for me, life-changing footage. Truly transforming. Very spiritual. I have no words to explain. Let the film speak for itself. x

Hard hats off

2007-10-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

"I love pop music to death.....Most great composers rely on folk music. I rely on pop music. I'm not saying I'm a great composer or that pop music is folk music. There's a whole endless thing going on out there. You make your little pond but if your pond isn't connected to the river, which isn't connected to an ocean, it's just going to dry up. It's just a little piss pool. I've lived too long to be happy in a pond."

----

Thom quoting Robert Wyatt.
P.S. I have heard "Jigsaw in its place" over 50 times now. Mental!

Reckoner

2007-10-10T09:38:00.001-07:00

"In Rainbows" could quite possibly be the best Radiohead album since "Ok Computer". A song called "Jigsaw falling into place" is driving me absolutely insane. This is genius at play. Totally acquired taste. Seems like they have been waiting all their life to make a record like this. Hats off. Hail, hail!
P.S. I must be one of the first people to have got it cos I was online when I got the "download" email from inrainbows.com. Yayy. Honour in all its six letters!

2007-10-06T08:51:00.001-07:00

Drella is here:)

In rainbows

2007-10-01T06:07:00.000-07:00

Radiohead's new album "In Rainbows" will be digitally released on October 10th. How exciting. Here are a few lines from the song "Bodysnatchers".

I do not
Understand
What it is
I've done wrong
Full of holes
Check the pulse
Blink your eyes
One for yes
Two for no

2007-09-30T07:39:00.001-07:00

Colour and ink, in the sink, if I blink.

E&P

2007-09-27T08:32:00.000-07:00

Esther is the sweetest thing, ever. She wrote this little story. :) I miss her. :(

So there was a girl called Esther, she had an oh so schmo time with Premjit. They met randomly on myspace and when they met in person it was as if they had been friends for a lifetime. Perhaps they had in a past life.

They didn't see much of each other but when they did there was an abundance of laughter, they made each other feel good. Sadly they lost touch for a while, they both felt a little depressed.

Esther had a terrible time and never felt able to tell Prem what was going on. She felt so sad because Prem left and she never said goodbye.

In the time since they had last seen each other Esther had found her self in a terrible state and even ended up in hospital. She gave up all her jobs and left her flat in London and went to Birmingham to seek refuge.

She hoped that herself and Prem would maintain their friendship and might even see each other one day in Kerala. xxx

2007-09-26T01:19:00.000-07:00

Little people looking through little windows making little faces at little people. x

Here

2007-09-20T21:39:00.000-07:00

Sickle and spanner
Concrete and light
A strain in my eyes, a night-coloured dice,

Machine and manner
Frost and bite
A train till the end, an open systems bend.

Three

2007-09-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

Three days, three moments, three arts,
Promising raindrops gather around for three prayers.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, clock, its 3:03pm.
Three days, three moments, three hearts, apart.

Fefe Submission

2007-09-05T05:33:00.000-07:00

So, a magazine in Italy called Fefe (www.fefeproject.com) invited me to contribute art for their forthcoming magazine issue based around the theme - "Who said that we have to be strong?". So, attached is my submission. And here's a little note on what it means -

----

"Who says we have to be strong? Who says we cannot hide? Who says we need to show the world we are not alone? A beard is like a mask, a metaphor. The bigger the mask, the stronger the metaphor, the symbol. Finally it all comes down to identity and if that can be used as a means to cover one's fears and weaknesses, why not?"

2007-09-01T03:50:00.000-07:00

My story is told
My face is old
And on my bed
are a million things

I wish I'd said.

Futile

2007-08-28T07:50:00.000-07:00

How futile this trap
How insignifcant this map
in which I lie
in which I'll die.

How mechanical this day
How inconsequential this stay
in which I rot
in which I'm caught.

2007-08-26T16:10:00.000-07:00

Sun sets twice

2007-08-23T08:39:00.000-07:00

So, I think Susheela Raman is consuming me entirely. Such gorgeous music. I can safely say that I am now "Half Shiva/Half Shakti".

In a moment of darkness, a star erupts,
creating a breakbeat explosion
on 11,
unto a visceral end
of a sunless horizon.
Then a point disrupts a progression.
And this is when
the sun sets twice.

2007-08-13T15:15:00.001-07:00

Enter the Empire. In the year X.

2007-08-12T14:03:00.000-07:00

So, if I was to redesign the cover of cult novel "Naked Lunch" ... :)

Countdown

2007-08-08T17:45:00.000-07:00

A month to go, switches to shut, eyes to close, memories to forget, moments to remember, laughs to cease, tears and puzzles to piece, I am but a victim to the body.

A month to go, and I am gone.

303

2007-08-02T15:13:00.001-07:00

Your smiles are shades of crimson and grey
You see the world and war as prey
I see my life upon your shoulder
Shutting down I fear

Your lies are like the sounds of clocks and clicks
You see the face and heart as tricks
I see my life upon my shoulder
Shutting down I fear

A Private Machine

2007-07-26T15:34:00.000-07:00

So, I am going to master 10 songs for the "album". High hopes, eh? No harm in dreaming. I wish I was in a tree, though. So I could jump.

I am calling the set "A Private Machine". Why? The sounds are introspective. The music was created in my lowest times. Straight from the heart. This city has allowed me to walk the corridors of the darkest most private moments of my mind. Its dark in there but its also warm.

Here is the final tracklisting of "A Private Machine" (Click to see a larger version).

HH

2007-07-25T05:25:00.000-07:00

Goodmorning sunshine!

2007-07-21T18:25:00.000-07:00

I would like to drift away into your hinterland / And soak in the immense blue of your cottonsand
----
Optimistic is the only way to be. :)

2007-07-17T17:13:00.000-07:00

To see my life upon my shoulder,
shutting down I fear
----
303. A poem for the Nazi's.

2007-07-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

Go pledge your last rites for the here and hereafter. This world is coming to a halt. Goodnight. I wish I was dead. :)

Confusion

2007-07-12T11:45:00.000-07:00

Love, sex, pain, confusion, suffering
You're there crying, I feel not a thing
Drilling my way deeper in your head
Sinking, draining, drowning, bleeding, dead

----

R.I.P. Layne. I miss you.

2007-07-11T05:40:00.000-07:00

A chase. Suspect in sight. Cul-de-sac. Suspect caught. Game over.

2007-07-06T17:38:00.001-07:00

Shame, shame.

Big Love

2007-07-06T08:10:00.000-07:00

2007-07-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

Y is gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh. :) A sincere sensation. x

Machineheart

2007-07-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

Sounds, flamingos, other things.
The veil and the craft
on her lips a fountain.
The everlasting source, the force,
like a chakra weaving patterns.
Horns
and all going off in three's.
Bells, flamingos, other things.

2007-07-02T05:55:00.000-07:00

"If you love me, I also love If you."

2007-07-01T16:33:00.000-07:00

The ultra-trashy, super-horrific, mighty-mindless, satan-worshipping, flower-kissing new "SLEEPYHEAD" video.

2007-06-29T14:38:00.000-07:00

When we walked through Little Italy,
I saw my reflection come right off your face.

2007-06-27T15:39:00.000-07:00

Wake me up, my eyes are sleepy.

Oh

2007-06-27T09:27:00.001-07:00

"Oh",
said the sun and the moon
on the ground
And then
the beat began.

2007-06-25T16:21:00.000-07:00

Meghdoot Pt. II. The rain is here.

Radioactive, she

2007-06-25T07:07:00.000-07:00

She likes poetry, coffee, and kingdoms in her head.
She also likes to put words together, so they rhyme.

Daulat Shohrat

2007-06-25T05:19:00.001-07:00

One of the prettiest songs. I heard it more than 35 times today. :) Kailash rocks! "Tera nazara kaafi hai". Wah Wah.

Zitherrrrr

2007-06-16T11:32:00.001-07:00

Your TV heart

2007-06-12T06:54:00.000-07:00

Only now you know,
your mind runs technicolour

Only now you know,
your eyes see in cinemascope

Only now you know,
your hands are tentacles

Only now you know,
how you have crushed me with

...your TV heart.

2007-06-10T14:06:00.000-07:00

You've come home, you've come home. Its 10:06 pm. This time the sun will be here like a feather on a sleeve. And the space will become a fabric. Textures and all. Karimba, marimba, da da. I am happy. You've come home.

2007-06-08T04:35:00.000-07:00

Women, art, and one of the most beautiful Bach Suites for unaccompanied cello.

2007-06-07T03:27:00.000-07:00

'His smiles were the garrets of a fairy place
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry'

----

M is the sweetest thing. :)

A train to Varanasi

2007-06-04T13:21:00.000-07:00

Do you feel like you are on this train?

2007-05-28T17:34:00.001-07:00

2007-05-28T11:00:00.000-07:00

There's something very innocent about a clumsy girl. :)
You know who you are. *Hug*

2007-05-22T17:50:00.000-07:00

Enter Hinterland?

2007-05-20T17:41:00.001-07:00

Lila's song.
For my gran. :(

2007-05-17T14:45:00.000-07:00

And Siddhartha smiles:)

2007-05-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

What happens when you mix the Indian Mridangam with the French Espionage? Well, you get Godcomplex. Music for a film. Close your eyes. Imagine being lost in the blues and greys of Paris in the 50's. :) Two songs in two days. Whoa! Prolific, huh?

2007-05-14T15:26:00.000-07:00

The Violins (ence) of Heart Chakra.

2007-05-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

"I am like God
and God like me.
I am as large as God!
He is as small as I!
He cannot above me
nor I beneath him be."
Angelus Silesius, 17th Century.

The Absence of a Heart Leaves an Hourglass Shape

2007-04-25T15:21:00.000-07:00

Overnight, she is different.
Now she breathes only sand and salt,
clouds of talcum and dust.
Her chest is a hole
dug in a desert dune.
She inhales to fill it,
exhaling only shadows.
The absence of a heart
leaves an hourglass shape.
It takes so much time
to replace the missing weight.

Tears spent, she ignores thirst.
She doesn’t remember food.
She closes tight as a seed,
storing herself for later.
She no longer craves even air.
But, oh—
the possibility of lightning,
like a crack in the purple-black sky,
the sweet chance of rain!
She dreams of flowers
like hundreds of crimson mouths,
parting their lips
among cactus thorns.

by Christine Boyka Kluge

2007-04-24T04:24:00.000-07:00

Ralph, the sweetest thing.

2007-04-15T04:52:00.000-07:00

Fresh new sounds.:)

K

2007-04-13T03:05:00.000-07:00

"Artists use frauds to make human beings seem more wonderful than they really are. Dancers show us human beings who move much more gracefully than human beings really move. Films and books and plays show us people talking much more entertainingly than people really talk, make paltry human enterprises seem important. Singers and musicians show us human beings making sounds far more lovely than human beings really make. Architects give us temples in which something marvelous is obviously going on. Actually, practically nothing is going on."
Kurt Vonnegut, 1922 - 2007.

2007-04-10T07:52:00.000-07:00

In life, there are times when you come across a composer and realise how fickle everything is. I am feeling that now. Mr. Toru Takemitsu (contemporary Japanese composer) has made me realise a few things. Change. Again. Time for me to leave everything, disappear to an island and never return. Its the end of materialsm.

2007-04-02T12:33:00.000-07:00

7 lights from the inner side.

Mr. Eduardo Niebla is my new hero. This song makes me cry. :( Such beauty is rare. So rare.

2007-03-30T09:59:00.000-07:00

I am officially going insane.
*Cuckoo*
Anyway, for now, you go get the glass:)

2007-03-22T14:02:00.000-07:00

Goodmorning Sunshine:)

2007-03-19T13:02:00.000-07:00

Black Bodhran:)

Intermission

2007-03-15T09:24:00.000-07:00

Taking some time off from here. I am too immersed in Frank Zappa, Jaco Pastorius, Tortoise and Weather Report for now.

In other news, I start work with the Figpeople in a week. How exciting. And John Rushworth at Pentagram also seems very interested. What a great guy... Anyway, suddenly things are looking up. Little L is very sweet too.

Sleep sweet. Dream of angels. I hope you all are happy in whatever/whichever way. Optimistic is the only way to be. x

2007-03-09T02:07:00.001-08:00

Movingwatchingworkingsleepingdrivingwalkingtalkingsmiling:)

2007-03-04T17:01:00.000-08:00

Its all falling into place. This is just the beginning. The band will be on the road soon. Buy my record, vote for me, think of me. :) Oh, and thinking of calling the band "Diminished C", nice no?

2007-03-02T08:34:00.000-08:00

Jaco is driving me insane. Such amazing patterns. Listen to Portrait of Tracy. I will write something this beautiful for someone someday. :)

Tiny, tiny giants

2007-03-02T06:31:00.000-08:00

My shoulders fall off while my eyes peel oranges
My mouth zips into an xx shape while my brain smoulders like Jimmy Dean
My ears detonate an explosion in Bflat minor while my toenails prepare clippings on a wooden table.
Look away, this is not pretty.

Night in shining armour

2007-02-26T03:45:00.000-08:00

So, the Professor Scarfman Hat comes over to mine, we get friendly with "Mr. H" and voila, go into a creative outburst of candlelight and night. :) Here, have a look. :)

2007-02-23T08:25:00.001-08:00

Lady of my dreams. :(

King of one/King of three

2007-02-23T04:33:00.000-08:00

I am sitting here, wrapped up within the quilt of demand,
Opening a window, closing a door, counting to ten, whispering into her ears.

I am holding a red book in my left hand and a torch in my right,
Focussing on the wonderful places within the landscape of her fears.

I am writing three words on one line and five on the next,
Hoping to be heard, hoping to wash my sunrise with her tears.

2007-02-21T06:43:00.000-08:00

That middle section in "Its in your eyes" still reminds me of you and the way you used to dance. The sweetest thing. :)

End

2007-02-20T07:19:00.000-08:00

I quit my job today. "I hereby tender my resignation." is all my letter said. Life is too short for compromises. Bring on "Chapter New".

T3rcermillennium

2007-02-19T03:15:00.000-08:00

Beauty is rare in a loveless world.

----

I would like to have this music playing when I am on my deathbed. There you go, positivity for a Monday morning.
Wait till it explodes into a cathartic craze of violin squeals at 1min25secs. Too beautiful.

Things

2007-02-16T09:16:00.000-08:00

Things are finally looking up. After a hard 5 months thanks to certain circumstances and certain people (who were also responsible for the best times), looks like there is some hope after all.

And on my continuing love for Christine Boyka Kluge I present "Guilt" -

I carry it room to room in a shoebox. Sometimes I lift the lid and breathe patterns into its fur. I inhale its perfume of musk and vinegar, wanting to understand it. I admit, I shake the box just to feel it roll side to side, angry at its silence. I can't resist drumming my nails against the cardboard, listening. It grows smaller and heavier. My arms ache from holding it.

I go to bed with the shoebox balanced on my chest, my hands clasped over the lid. My slowing heartbeat taps against its own, only cardboard between us. When sleep loosens my grip, it escapes. I'm startled awake by something cold crawling through my fingers. It gnaws through my skin, into my marrow, burrows deep into the dark place beneath my ribs. There is only one way I can lure it back into its box each morning. I place another scrap of my heart in its thimble-sized bowl.

----

I also recommend you see the animated version of it here. I wrote to her telling her how much I am in love with her work. And she replied. Here is an excerpt from her email. Nice, no?

----

Hello, Premjit --

Thanks for taking the time to send along such kind words. It is always a boost to know that one's work has affected someone else. I also try to acknowledge artistic efforts when I come across art that impresses me. I enjoyed taking a meandering tour of your sites, and appreciated the many forms your creativity takes, from poetry to filmmaking. (Great title: "Sky Behind Things.") The photographs were striking. No, I don't know The Rachels...I'll have to listen for them.

Arms of the snake

2007-02-15T06:38:00.000-08:00

Because she has no arms,
she embraces him with her body,
crawls the distance of his flesh
like a light-starved vine.

Because she has no legs,
she coils through his thoughts,
like a root or a shadow
growing wild in his mind.

Because she has no words,
her tongue splits in anger.
She hisses in the dark,
shakes a rattle in his face.

Because he has no choice,
he bears both fang and kiss,
comes to crave her silver tourniquet,
savor venom in his veins.

Because she has no heart,
she sheds her skin to depart.
She exits through his fingers,
leaving only her empty sleeve.

----

Christina Boyka Kluge

2007-02-15T06:06:00.000-08:00

Aren't these so beautiful?

Circus

2007-02-15T05:49:00.000-08:00

I am going to the circus today.
I have my red dress on. I have a big red smile.
I am so excited I am going to the circus today. I better not forget my big red nose.

2007-02-13T03:00:00.000-08:00

I will remember how special you made me feel last year with the lovely Haiku book and origami paper. And I hope you will remember the little blossoming flower I made for you. x

I should stop listening to this music, its making me very emotional. :(

Kodak moment

2007-02-12T13:49:00.000-08:00

Cute, no?
One on the left is me. :)

2007-02-12T03:56:00.000-08:00

And lie in the bed you've made ophelia
Dry are the lips that lost their taste of love
Drown in the waters that would give you life
Cry as this lamentation thrusts its knife

In silence

----

Jeff Martin. One day I will write music like this.

Cly

2007-02-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

Closertoyou:)

Finally complete. Yet ongoing.

Nice?

Communication Arts Selection :)

2007-02-09T01:49:00.000-08:00

So, the very very well known US graphic design publication Communication Arts has selected one of my projects to be featured in the Visual Typography May Issue. I am very excited. This is great news. Oh, the project they selected is Saraya Bay. Have a look in my portfolio if you are curious to know what it looks like. :)

2007-02-08T04:50:00.000-08:00

And I am reading lines from the subliminal verses, connecting dots on a white sheet of paper, hanging onto the branches of a figtree, colouring the cryptic boxes and filling in the golden-section plazas, breathing into wide-open spaces and opening new oceandoors.

I am safe. Safer than before. :)

2007-02-06T02:02:00.000-08:00

Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh.:)

Seasick

2007-02-05T06:34:00.000-08:00

The light dims, the cymbal rides on a constant beat
Its blue around the bar
A cat jumps into my lap
purrs
I look onto the ceiling
Its blue
I think I feel seasick

2007-02-05T02:35:00.000-08:00

Paprika:)