Alley come by, with they spiralling staircases, here me now but for the echo – they wonder which one – I don’t blame them. No! No! I don’t blame them… the progression gets bad, gets more inricate, fishes with eyes in it for some, deep sea shit for some – oh! what a world….

Take a step soft, take a step hard another hard.. a kind of alternative lifestyle if you must, bee sting in my finger, reddened turning to blue – well well what have we have here…

Now gimme’ gimme’ – gimme’ back my bullets, you cry of the lack of opportune and I cry of a trail left. This fair or not; time would tell – the likeness of a nice thought over on that side of the Earth, knowing this side is good – erratic if you may with niceties and a warmth never imaginable – something on the lines of sunsets and happiness on both sides of the Earth.

So little time, so much ignorance to handle – I wonder when will it stop!?!??!

I wish I could speak of a basement, where I could cuddle myself into the arms of the devils lil plan, this lil’ shit creeps into my dreams at times even when its\’s got more than a lil opposition. Strangers speak from styro-foam boxes, voices peep through the lil holes of cigarette butts and emty glasses with traits of vodka, the cracks of sorrow just gape showing their fucking thirty two teeth.

I need a movement, a moment; fuck this shit – I don’t know what I want. I’m just a little confused over protective lil’ baby waiting to pee his pants at any given moment – that would in all probability be my moment. I wish I could see the acid in the rains, atleats I won’t be this lifeless lil’ shit that I am. I wish the horizons calm down and dont hurt me, stimulants and toxins keep me there; I still like that feeling, that escape – after so many years!

The bone of the fact spoke of words of knowledge and application. Those were words of subliminal verses and perverse from the depths of it dark and deathly pits. This was more of virtue of philosiphical greatness; this thing called love.

A reality only exists for you, nobody else would see that reality. Maybe, after years of knowing or living with somebody may know that reality you seek – just maybe! (I personally haven’t come across one). But then again, that reality is yours – so keep it yours if it is some one else’s it really won’t be yours. Like the nicotine is to the cigarette – It’s as simple as that.

As far as refuge goes, refuge is solitaire every one needs it and every does not, just like the concept of women is to men and men is to women.

Colored ecstatic loops found its way around again this weekend and not once but twice courtesy my brain in my brain and if that was the case it would be only fair (and evident) that I would be in my brains skull (or rather down it). Anyhow, the loops started out on rollercoaster mode, with a humming bird made of me. The resemblance in the subject fell into place when one of them loops decided to creep up and explode in a cosmic exploration of altitudes, achieved before, yet this time the canvas was a reflection of a different mountain-top.

…Colors are just a dissected version of a darker shade, also known as black!

The truth of the matter was and is now – whatever color it is, it sure would be rampage time, executed in a manner that has no boundaries, has no alms for cruelty and a joy that makes you sit in a corner in a post era with an overwhelming sense to cry. Minor Earth and major skies happened when rain-drops decided to be cruel, true! the toxins and a scent of probable ‘lushness’ had it’s finger in the pie and true! Ants Marched in a good way for a change, pecking at a nerve that felt like a nipple piercing on exploited mode. Moments later, old bad ass friend added to the greenery’s world and folks were a subject that was waiting to be bombed, yet a sense of uncertainty in doing so cried Hallelujah! All this, to see a return of tonnes of home, instigated by no rain – A Blind fucking Melon it seemed! The air was definitely not clearing, the silence in heaven decided to play murderer, so hell was the choice of abomination.

…Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it!

A symphony of destruction playing out in the incarnate – sweating bullets! Func decided to be the gesture, so did the blonde dimwit who decided break-beat was the route to triggering off all orgasmic hand grenades, however, creep decided to show up and set the mind on procrastination mode, and children and women obeyed the mood, their all decided to tell the deaf and blind idiots that mystics was a better option. Not seeing or hearing the signs that were there, the two decided to break all boundaries and drive each other through each others veins and into they brains – scandals being played out to the sober! Apparently, the mountains being chopped down were not enough, the angels were sent down to watch over shoulders and take all of them loops and make it a rollercoaster ride on random mode – capturing heartbeats, souls and ripping them right out in a moment!

…Children cried in the streets for a mothers love, they cried for more!

The truth got twisted, knots got twisted, hell! even hell got twisted to culminate into a warped set of antics that took the week hearted and shot the god damn hypocrites who couldn’t admit they would’ve done the same – It’s simple, you have the moment grab it, though they took the phrase "grabbing the moment" to another level, gave it a random name and gave it a face that made Satan look crass and all with a smile to go – perfect and compact random live shells all over. Clouded perceptions of pain, sorrow, deceit, agony and everything related looked like a play toy – evil ways would be an apt enough reasoning behind it, though in a good way. All this ended finally at a time when Cinderalla went back to washing dishes for her step mother, and it instigated a propaganda that sparked off insomnia cures for the world to cherish. As far as the two idiots – they were called back to sing a duet of Roxette’s rendition on "sleeping the back seat of my car", this time around they weren’t any spectators but they were spectacles on bliss mode.

…What you give is what you get!

Yesterday was a different world altogether, with the usual noise before a year fallen and the usual Zakk Wylde inspired nonsense on the day after the parade of glory; which most of the time ended almost 24 hours later. Hours that were royally inaugurated with the flamboyant adrenaline of Bruce Dickinson and Co.’ “Two Minutes to Midnight,” the routine was simple hum the mentioned track and sing “The Trooper,” all the while compensating for the lost lines of Rob Halford’s “Breaking the Law.” Those lines was the slow, yet gradual twist of fate when it came to our habits, the same habits that brought about a feeling that had us grabbing our stomachs in a state of excruciating pain and the same feeling that had us hopping trains like nobody’s business.

That “Spanish Caravan” trip was bad, it did take us to Spain and it did land us in shit in Portugal, but we were the immortal ones, the right ones, the ones who would never stand down for reasons that weren’t written in our books, reasons that were just plain unadulterated madness and reasons that had us lock-downed in a higher state of consciousness. We were the brats, and “what could you do with a friend like that.” Relationships were doing the paradigm shift, there were covering and they were getting worn out, they even went into a state of shock at times. While the whole world crumbled and fell, the Y2K bug caused a scare and the state of Indian politics were in turmoil that erased nothing but the common man’s trust, therein removing everything that resembled a world for us.

Politics played a vital role for us, even if it was in a silent way. These things generally have a way of creeping into ones life; after all we all do end up dying for our government – “Like Shit”. Silence was our game-plan from the very start, silence that was proved by our systematic chaotic world, we stood our grounds to be beat down again only to rise with a smile to beaten down again, and it was turning out to be a pretty vicious cycle. The cycle was prone to head down the road of the Roadhouse Blues, every time there was a dead-end in the road, we would climb and stumble over the walls even if it meant risking our necks over it.

The evaluation carried out by us was nothing but a perceptive lie, a cover that was pulled over by us, for us and of us; we were a brilliant constituency that was not going to back down for anyone. Even if it meant our devious, drug-loving, manipulating and the fundamental preconceptions about our lifestyle was out on display – we didn’t care, as long as we had each other to look out for and each other to spit in the face off and we had no one but each other to kill ourselves with. This was our institution, this was our concept and this was our temple, where we ruled, where we made the decisions, this was where we voted ourselves to power and most importantly this was where we made the word trust mean nothing but an assured reliance in another one and that one was a mirror neuron of each other.