I cannot watch No Reservations around my parents.
 My all time favorite episode till now was the one in Seoul. Tony goes to this Korean barbeque and it is out of the worldly.
BUT TODAY, I watched the Naples episode from Season 7 and I literally cannot breathe. By the time it ended I was clutching my stomach and turning from side to side. I have always DIED to eat a good Ragu, and i hate the bottled ones. I hate bottled anything. He then ate this fried rice pork sausage that is native to Naples, also which is now on my list of things to kill for.
While the other kids were watching porn, I was day dreaming about diving into chili.
Apart from bottled sauces, I also hate McDonalds. And Pizza Hut, Dominoes, all capitalist reductions of food without love. I also think cheesecake is overrated. And chicken wings.
You know what I also hate. Maggi, which unfortunately I must make do with today. SUCKS, life.

Most Badass gangsta EVER.

There is no civilized way to eat a mango. None that is fun,
at-least.

Make way for my current favorite person (alive)

I don't understand it when people say things like 'long run'. Today I talked to an old friend and she asked me what it was I wanted to do. I said I wanted to study, maybe not immediately, but right now it was the only thing I saw myself doing. She looked at me curiously, and asked me what that meant in the long run. I feel like essentially, we are afraid of the fragmented nature of our existence. If we set ourselves truly free, we would wake up every morning feeling something new, wanting something different. In concept, that could sound like a good thing, but fragmentation has been contested since the beginning of time. We have lived in structures of morality and immorality. Of conformity and subversion. We exist in categorization, in thinking we are it, or not it. Time has always been known as a linear scheme, today goes to tomorrow, may becomes june and winters become spring. This struggle, to keep our linearity going, to find meanings from and into the structure is our crisis. When I think of places I have found meaning, it is in transience, in a smell, in the touch of a fresh pressed new garment, in a fleeting moment of something I couldn't comprehend. I think about a certain Camus that I read yesterday, in which he says that Beauty drives us to despair, because we attempt to stretch a glimpse of beauty (I think he speaks here about being in love) for all of eternity. One touch of a lover, one meeting of eyes and exchange of thoughts and one instant of being the same entity is then attempted to be stretched into forever by terming it, by enacting for it an entire future. There is only one instant, and that is eternity.
I am told I have an illness, because my moods escalate and my emotions are at times dangerously potent and cannot be contained. It is our fear of the instant, of the instability of constant change that causes us to polarize, to unify, to stuff everything we experience into a tube reaching a definition.
It is 6 a.m now leave to meet my mother at the cross roads of our inverse physical cycles.

I was twelve when I was given my first Incubus CD by a cool older friend who had taken me under her wing. She was eighteen and all her friends were pretty and tattooed. They giggled about boys and complimented each other's bras and I just couldn't wait to grow up. I don't know where she is now but I just met her mother and she tells me she's studying Tibetan and playing the flute.

When I returned from her house, I played my new Morning View CD and I felt things that I had never felt before. It felt nice, but I was rather taken aback so I ran into the rain with my discman and sang at the top of my lungs. It was the first time I was in love, and it still feels the same. 

BANDOCUMENTARIES ARE MY FAVORITE THING IN THE WORLD!!

D


And I don't know if I say this enough, but I miss the 90s and its aftermath. 

My main problem these days is that I can't write. Nothing stirs me. I have the misfortune of leading a fortunate life, deprived of any tragic romanticism. I But then I found a solution that might be viable. I am moved when I eat. So maybe I should try and write about that.
Watch this space and expect nothing tremendous. 

"Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing."

I just watched this for the first time. I always knew there must have been a version for and by the Americans, the world leaders in the propagation of sentimental bullshit, but I had never bothered to find or watch it. 

One of my friends works for a corporate consultation firm. He likes to humor us and himself by watching videos of smiling suits buying coffees on the streets, ruffling a little beggar child's hair, entering office full of grace and good spirit, shaking hands with the boss, and returning to a fully furnished, beautifully painted house full of the smell of steaming food and the voices of happy children.
I was watching one of those when I stumbled upon this.
It is INANE.
Bring together a bunch of cute singing kids and buy a stuffed animal for every time someone loses their head in a war, or better yet, eat a piece of cake or watch a video of a funny baby on the internet!
What is disturbing to me is that this advertisement states the evils, but manages to cover them up with stills of coupling partners and images of red balloons.

While Coke is killing millions in Mexico by thirst, there are countless of us pintresting 'pretty things' all day.
My mother wants me to send in an entry to the Hum mein hai hero contest.

Also, http://kafila.org/2009/02/12/interview-with-jacques-ranciere/

Another 'it's exam time' post.
All I have done today, is obsess about myself, freak out in different rooms, stare at the ceiling for very long, take photos of my sleeping dog on photo booth, watch parts of the notebook (which is a good weepy day film except they keep shifting focus from the beautiful people to some old people who are the beautiful people 20 years later and NO ONE WANTS TO WATCH THE OLD PEOPLE, OKAY!?)
Fuck, I'm becoming a horrible person.
Then I opened more tabs of universities I wanted to go to and imagined a life there, then I felt bad that all the post-colonialism that had moved me to grins in the middle of class because of the very intelligence of it was lost on me. Then I looked at old photographs and compared people's lives on facebook. I discovered an ambition and another and another on a second and third google chrome tab. I clutched my 10th anniversary addition of American Gods and talked to it. I imagined what it would be like to be the love between Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman. Not either OF them, but the air of the room in which they breathed together. I sent an email to my friend at Cambridge asking him if my chances of applying were officially over forever. I licked the Guardian opinion clean for articles on facebook and saw myself as a conscious victim of the opressor. I finished half a season of Game of Thrones and decided which Dungeons and Dragons character I wanted to be. (For now I am half elf, half human, Sanza Swifteye, taken prisoner at a young age, archer assassin and barkeep, in search of her parents, on the way I win the dancing sword from a weak young prince and fall in love with fallen Icarus after I rescue him from the sea.)

My brain feels dead and my hands itch to flip pages and feel words pop out of my head like in a Lichtenstein. On a note of melancholy that I feel no more because I have exhausted it by doing the afore mentioned and weeping on my bed as Chet Baker croons about looking for the silver lining, I have watched myself being unable to move, bathe, I have felt a battle raging inside my head, I have set expectations and failed them in a second, and by the end of it all I have been able to laugh at it and myself and look at the clock and it is 3 a.m and I have another episode left and I hope that I will wake up tomorrow and do something differently. I am constantly amazed by how quickly moods change but maybe that's just me.

you know how I keep saying my blog isn't pretty