Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Monday, December 27, 2004

Wee Wee chu a merry christmas (and a happy new year)

This blog goes personal from today. I will fight the temptation to write for an audience. I shall become withdrawn, and blossom into a butterfly by the end of it all. A monarch.

72 hours without sleep, a new presonal best. Insomniacs anonymous, unite! Where everything's in 2d, and language is beyond gibberish!

All it takes is one moment to change a desiny. For the worse, I mean.

Quants - 800
Verbals - 630.

Lost out on the draw of choice of verbal section getting evaluated. Now I've got to walk around college with virtually everybody else hitting 1500+. Embarassing. I wish I believed in god, then I would have somebody else to blame. But no, the weight of grief is heavy upon my heart, and there's no one left to shout at but myself.

Ever wondered about fate? What does one do when he realizes he's stuck in the land of the poor, and there's no way out?
[Cliche incoming]

Fuck the system.

Need alcohol. Inundatory amounts. Till I bleed sweet ethanol.

I've noticed that I'm writing more for myself now than anything else. Is this unexpected, or something that was bound to happen?

[Light filters in through drawn curtains. Streaks of acrid light fall across Pi's face.

Cut to OUTSIDE THE ROOM. Pi's dad, an aging plump man, over 50, is knocking softly on the door, with a vexed look on his face. What's happened to his cheerful son?

Cut back to INSIDE THE ROOM. ZOOM IN onto Pi's hand. Involuntary twitches. Our friend is obviously not on this plane of existence. The knocking stops. We hear footsteps walking away.]

Pi1: We fucked up bad. Big time. We're going to disappear amongst a sea of indistinguishable faces, and it's all our own fault.
Pi2: I agree. So this is what anger at self feels like. I don't like it. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK,

[banging of keyboard echoes in cold desolate room. The phone vibrates silently, but Pi isn't paying any attention. He looks up and stares at the screen, wondering what so many vowels are doing in one word. ]


Pis 1&2: Huh? Huh? HuHu?h?

[Slowly the two voices merge into one deep voice. In the distance we hear the faint sound of bells tinkling. ]



Perfectly alright.

[It's the dawning of a new day. The curatains are drawn back and the wind blows in,almost gale-like shots, to russle up, to tussle up, to play a game of ignorance with the constant. Camera follows a circular path, focusing on the centre where pi is hugging himself. Suddenly, a flash of bright light, followed by the pleasant scent of strwberries. ]

Pi: Hello world. I've been reborn.

Till next time. That'll be a couple of hours from. From the land of guise and deception.

What me sober?

Fuck- what a beautiful word. Strong, expressive, short, profound. Like tequila.

Wee Wee chu

Please don't read this blog. It's inconsequential. It's cathartic to me, ergo I'm posting. If you feel you relate at all, on any abstract basis, drop a comment.

Blogging after a really long time. This blog comes the night before my GRE, so I'm positively freaked out about impending doom. Dad's going to scream at me for dumping cash down the loo, but what the hell? ETS owes me a booze treat for all the pain I've gone through.

Nothing substantial to be written now, though I have been jotting down notes at regular intervals in a text file hidden on the comp. Must remember to write about them soon enough.

No sleep for about 60 hours now. I can literally see phantoms of light and darkness passing before my eyes, teasing my peripheral vision and making me glance sideways despite the knowledge that they're not there. I wish they were real, life is approaching a thoroughly boring anticlimax. I'm 21, and I feel like I've seen it all. Nothing, absolutely NOTHING amazes or surprises me anymore. A burst of interest surfaces sporadically once in a while, while I feign pleasure and all the conventional oohs and ahs that are expected of me. The only genuine happiness happens when I read a book, so I owe Mukka a big thanks for introducing me to the Blossoms book store. Picked up a couple of short story collections there, VOX2 and O'Henry award winners of the 1970s. Brilliantly different from the usual stuff.

Also, I personally recommend that you, the reader, to pick up 'The End' series from Marvel. Just read 'The Hulk:The End' and it's god-awesome. Not faking that emotion, I promise you. I expect the rest of the series to be as good.

Sleepy, but the will refuses to let my eyes close. Burning eyes.

Thoughts- (will elucidate on next blog)
->If at all a God exists, then he/she has forsaken mankind.
->India loves mediocrity. Correction- Indians love mediocrity. I see it around me all the time.
->Loneliness is bliss. Expect a full-fledged blog on this.
->Science is heading for a standstill. Every 'breakthrough' is relevant only to human needs, not to the objective of furthering knowledge. I dare you to think of an idea that'll NOT benefit mankind, yet is knowledge nonetheless. Theoretical physics is not an option.
->Zen works; there are certain inimitable advantages to letting the world think you're a fool and non-productive, things even the Zen masters couldn't percieve to work in a modern world. Pirsig, you ain't one; you aren't even close to becoming one. You fooled the world, you won't fool me.

Who will be a friend to the one who feels he's friendless?
Who can love someone who doesn't desire to be loved?
Who will talk to someone who talks mostly to himself?
Who can understand the silence that is this person's most profound speech?
Who will open the doors to the mind that refuses to unlock?
Who will talk to me?

"Can Anybody fly this thing?
Before my head explodes,
Before my head starts to ring?
We've been living life, inside a bottle (2)
Well, confidence in you,
Is confidence in me,
Is confidence in a High Speed."

Saturday, December 18, 2004

Last night I managed to catch a Spike Lee flick on Star Movies, his version of a 9/11 movie. Nothing to do with the actual towers crashing, but a story that's set in NY post-BinLaden. A truly brilliant movie, Lee manages to catch the ultimate sliceoflife demonstration and makes a thoroughly engrossing 2 hour timepass. Gripping stuff. Sorry I didn't catch the name of the movie, but it did start after midnight, and starred Edward Norton. (Produced by Tobey Maguire, strangely enough)

That was followed by 'Dead Poet's Society'. Groan. I wish they wouldn't make movies like that, with hajaar impressionable kids ready to lap up anything that tells them that it's ok to 'seize the day'. A good performance by Neil's dad (Red Foreman in the 70's show), but the story dies somewhere. What a pansy chickflick. An abrupt ending, a mockery of Tennyson, and omigod- a love story hidden in the script somewhere. Throw in a ghagra choli and some songs, and you've got yourself a hindi movie. Hold up... Mohabbatein? Damn. I still prefer "Good Morning Vietnam' and 'Mork and Mindy' as Williams' better works.

Also, the 9 o'clock movie was 'Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo'. Memorable quote: "Who's the HUGE bitch?" Snark, Snark. (So I'm gross. Bite me.)

Abstract thoughts
---Only randomness, or a stochastic likeness to reality, could validate Godel. Now randomness has been verified ages ago, so we might as well give up looking for a '42'. Ergo, GUT dreams go down the drain.
---Chicks are better than guys. They're smart and believe their own stories. Hence, their sincerity is genuine.
---In a few more decades, I'm not going to want to die. Right now, I don't want to live. What's in between? (Besides, I understand that none of us want to die. My question is- why are we AFRAID of death? Not liking it is one thing, but wher's the fear coming from?)
---(Bertrand R.) The world has been created just a few moments ago, with your memory being just an illusory past that's been programmed into your head. Worth some thought.

PS- The brickbats that're going to come for DPS, let me offer a preliminary defense- The movie said nothing new, it was obvious as hell where the story was going, and I'm not sure RW had more than a couple of pages of substantial dialogue throughout the movie. Oh captain, my captain... Patch Adams had more soul than this.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Well, this blog comes extempore, from a stinky cyber cafe where the power's gone out and the queue is half a mile long. Suckers. Today I blog to satisfy myself, and to make sure I've got something to read a few years later when I'm 'soul-searching' and doing other psycho-bullshit.

1. Borges is my new literary God. The man is a true master of the short story, and has a knack for pulling twists to a story when it isn't even necessary. Inventive as hell. Notables were "Tlon, Uqbar and [something] Tertius", and the entire Artifices section.

2. This week, E.A.Poe slips down to second spot, but only because 'the purloined letter' didn't seem as mentally stimulating as any of his other works. Then again, maybe I'm too obsessed with the idea of gloomy writing to appreciate this piece right now.

3. No matter how much people claim that they're broad-minded, open and non-judgemental; through cracks in this viciously deceptive facade I can recognize sarcasm, hate and the opinions biased by atleast a decade of opinions being shoved down their throats. No need to be apologetic, of course, but I figure even the most wicked of witches (from the east?) can reform by adhering to the 3-step rule:
One- Honesty, let manners be damned.
Two- Like Aristotle said in 'Apology'; we're all stupid. (or something to that effect). Once that knowledge as been truly accepted by us, can we hope to achieve any sort of greatness.
Three- The ability to choose must be exercised at EVERY possible chance. And all choice must be determined by what you already know to be true, not by what someone has convinced you to be true.

Oops. There's a contradiction in there somewhere. Won't you be a darling and tell me what it is?

4. Last night I swore never to have anything to do with juniors. It's going to be just me and my buddies. Those kids sure can hurt someone. And I'm supposed to be the nice guy around. Giggle, pshaw and all that.

5. (Brag mode ON) Finally got a nifty new digital camera. Really cool. Awesome. Yummy. Say cheese, please.

My little world of readers, good night. Any questions?

PS- the whole iitm gang who visit this blog, hi there. My name's Pi, i hope you're having fun at my expense. Watch out for more incomprehensible doggerel. It can only get worse!

Sunday, December 12, 2004

Nice Guys

Hey people,
This is one post i'm republishing, cuz right now the flavour of the week happens to be short stories and many more people visit the blog now than when i had published this for the first time.. this one was written in my basic course in humanities exam, long long time ago(not really round 8 months ago!)...its retro-kini!:D hope you like this one. its one of my favourites.


I saw her then, looking absolutely ravishing in a blue gown as the sapphires she wore rested oh so lightly on the curve of her breasts, glowing with the same radiance her face seemed to exude. I was in town only for a few days and I’d already decided that I didn’t like London. I decided that I’d spend my last evening in the city with the only people that I ever liked, arrogant French painters…

There was an art exhibition of Auguste Renoir’s just off Bond Street and I forced myself to take the cab there. I didn’t know whether I was hallucinating or whether it was the scotch that I had during lunch but she was walking towards me. I offered her a drink and we talked through the evening. I was taken aback by how easy it was just to relax with her. It seemed as if it had been years since I’d known someone like her.

I decided to offer her a ride home, but before I could act she suggested that we go to my place for dessert. I took her to the plaza (I never stayed anywhere else). We entered the room and just then I felt the overpowering need to be intimate with her, the need almost bordered on obsession. I reached out for her and she never resisted.


I woke up in the morning to find my wife and daughter sitting on the couch. The tension in the room was palpable. It was heady feeling. I didn’t know what to say or what to think. My daughter slowly got up and walked over to me and in an instant she had embraced me. I hadn’t seen my daughter in eight years. I hadn’t made love to my wife in eight years... until yesterday. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. But then again, nice guys don’t always finish last!

P.S:- Pi hope you dont mind the fact that i used the hyphen line thingy to space the story more effectively, its a trick i rather like!:)

Mukka's Door

an insight i found in final block...one of many insights on life to be gained in that mythical place... on mukka's door as the name suggests.

"This man is free from servile bands,
Of hope to rise or fear to fall,
lord of himself though not of lands,
he who craves nothing, yet hath all"

awesome shit!:D

The Haiku Dialogues

hello everyone...
have been immersing myself in a little bit of creative conversation these days with some interesting people i know and at the front end of these talks has been the art of the haiku. couple of people i know, namely anushya and pi have been belting out haiku's at a frenetic pace and my sms folder is bursting with them at the moment, hence this post comes with a certain note of desperation attached to it.. i want to empty my inbox, its annoying me!:p

i shall try to state the context of each haiku comes up and memory failing will leave it to the readers fertile imagination to try and decipher what sort of ludicrous train of thought brought those collection of syllables together. a refresher for the novice...

haiku = ancient japanese style of poetry with three lines containing 5-7-5 syllables each. i encourage everyone who drops by to try composing one of their own, a word of warning though, this may lead to many a sunday afternoon spent mindlessly counting syllables trying to fit them into the requisite format! enjoy!

This one was written just a couple of days back, with me sitting in final block(NIT surathkal) pi had his last exam the next day and dare i say was in a very life's a bitch but what the heck sort of mood. entertaining conversations at night canteen ensued following this haiku, kinda was a sort of cry for help...i hate software enginnering too pi...whatever the heck it is!:p

The boy stares at the screen,
loves porn for all the big boobs,
wants to touch himself.

The next two were written by pi the night before my math end sem, the last one in line, me and anushya were sitting in the library with her desperately trying to get me to grasp the nuances of the art of abstract mathematics, with all its delta's and epsilons! god they were giving me hell when suddenly my cell phone beeps and i guffawed quite heartily for a while after reading what the msgs were. lol...a ray of hope and nothing else, showed me humour was possible even when math was being learnt!

light guides me at night,
relief for bladder and mind,
dont pee in the fridge.

frogs watch the sunrise,
tongues flash out in crimson sky,
oh poor dragonfly!

This was anushya getting all thoughtful when i was sitting on the train ride back home, we were pursuing the higher art of haiku dialogues via sms.. yay for technology!

look into my eyes
search not for what you do see,
but for what you dont.

the only actual dialogue that we had via a haiku, she was gettig steadily more and more tangential as the haiku's began to flow and i sent her a reply this was fun to do! nice party game i say!(ok i just sounded like rajinikanth! whattaman!)

as you race by me,
remember its easier,
to stab from the back.

stab you in the back,
how i'd love to do that,
damn, my brakes don't work!

This was a result of anushya sending me a particularly sad haiku regarding a hungry girl...funnily enough it encouraged me to write my own haiku on the theme...kinda pointless this one..oh what am i saying..all of them are pointless!

hunger strikes full on,
loud cars, louder men honk on,
oh red light be gone!

Anushya's best one to date according to me and pinni agrees. dont think it requires too much of an introduction. good work anu! profound, but i wish she was more hopeful sometimes!

in the maze of life,
i cannot get lost for i..
have nowhere to go.

this was me a couple of seconds ago...its a sunday evening (duh!) and well am listening to a few senti songs and the sun outside is well..intoxicating to say the least! i love lazy times!

the glitter of spring,
earthy guitar notes fill me...
ah sunday evenings!

well until next time guys!:)

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Ché faro senza té?

(Mind you, this is still a rough draft, and I've simply ctrl.c-ctrl.v-ed from my LJ blog. I hope you like it.)

Ché faro senza té?

Meera came home that night later than usual.

It was way beyond a decent hour before Meera actually reached the door of her double bedroom apartment, now badly in need of a new coat of paint. But that was later. Right now she was driving down the road at a comfortable pace, despite how late it was. She took the left bypass and noticed how empty the roads were. The dashboard clock showed 11:45 pm, and made her realize how late she actually was.

Idly she thought to herself, if I lived in a different time zone, life would be much better. Life sure had changed in the past for Meera and Krish. Krish had one of those ‘creative’ jobs in the marketing department of a cosmetics major, which basically meant he was being paid peanuts for sitting and designing ads for cheap shampoo and bad cologne. Meera advanced in the executive ranks through the textile industry though, and was getting to be quite the breadwinner for the home. Of course, this meant that she wasn’t home most of the days, and some of the nights. A case of want versus need.

Red light.
“I’m sorry, but the customer’s phone you’ve called has been switched off.”
Dammit. Krish never puts his phone off. I wonder what’s wrong.
Green light.

They used to be the favorite young couple in their social circle, but that was a long time ago. There is nothing to be said of their friends, plainly because there weren’t any. They hadn’t even gone out to dinner for a long time, now just living off delivery and ready-to-cook food. It wasn’t too difficult making the house up with pretty figurines and yuppie artifacts. Krish used to while away most of the night surfing the net, bored out of his skull. Once a week he would lovingly wash and polish his bike, then ride around for a half hour before coming back home and hitting the sack. He’d indulge in a book now and then, but of what use reading one, when there’d be no one to talk to about it? In short, not only had the romance in their life died, but they had also become total strangers to each other.

She even forgot his birthday that year.

Krish looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. That’s it, he thought. That’s as long as I’m going to wait for her. She hasn’t turned up, and that’s fine by me. But tonight he’d give her one last chance. Till midnight. He poured himself another shot of whisky and gulped it down. And waited.

The radio was playing one of those mundane Bollywood themes, but that didn’t bother Meera too much. She was thinking about the past, and not many things can distract a person from doing that. She remembered the long drives, the dinners, the marathon phone conversations… life had seemed quite perfect then. They’d been very much in love, and everyday had been a futile exercise in keeping their hands off each other. They didn’t realize that life was getting repetitive and the spark that had brought them together in the first place was long gone. By then it was too late; the full mouthed kisses soon became informal pecks on the cheek, and now they just gave each other an informal pat on the back every morning.

The clock beeped at midnight. She found herself feeling sorry for the sordid state of affairs. An involuntary tear rolled down her cheek which she absent-mindedly wiped away with her left hand. Maybe she could give some more time to her husband. He had been generous, kind and caring; she was obligated to atleast try and salvage the marriage. It might even happen that some buried love would come out of this attempt. Ironic, she thought, that such a boring end would have come of this relationship. None of the pomp and glamour associated with a Hindi movie breakup. She immediately shut the radio up and cursed it for trying to put sublime thoughts into her head. She missed him too much already. Tonight she’d talk to him, and try to get back to a life of a married couple, living the life of a husband and wife as they should. It seemed to be the right thing to do, and she spent the rest of the drive planning the conversation she would have with him, and the words she would use in it.
Soon the car passed through the gates of the residential complex, with little interference from security. The guard couldn’t help but notice the look of anxiety on Madam’s face, like she was nervous of confrontation. He looked up at their flat and observed that the lights were out, which probably meant that Krish Sahib was asleep. Back to work, he thought, and settled into his chair. Meera locked the door of the car, and walked hurriedly to the lift. The ‘out of order’ sign turned her towards the stairs, and in a few hops and jumps she was standing outside her apartment door.

The nameplate ‘Krishnan and Meera Iyer’ stared back at her, making her want to burst into tears that very moment. But no, she had to remain calm and composed. She wanted to talk to Krish in a proper manner, and not project herself as an emotional fool. Her key opened the door easily enough and she stepped inside, only to be disappointed to see that the lights were out. He’s asleep, she reasoned, so I guess this’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Almost relieved of a burden, she walked into the dimly-lit kitchen, looking around for leftovers. She found some curry and rice in the fridge, and decided on a bottle of fruit juice as well. She placed the meal on the table and noticed a clean white envelope on it. The words ‘I Love You’ were written in the center, and for a moment, Meera didn’t know what to do. She took the envelope and walked to the bedroom, meaning to ask Krish about it. After reaching the room, the sight of him sleeping quietly in the darkness changed her mind. She walked back to the dinner table and opened the envelope as she sat down. Inside were his wedding ring and a single sheet of paper. Hesitatingly, the paper came out and she saw a letter in his handwriting.

Dear Meera,
I love you. Ché faro senza té?
For many a lonely night, my heart has become sadder and heavier. The queen of my life has lost her love for me, and nothing I can do can get it back. Where have you been?
I miss you so much that it hurts. I ache inside when I remember the life we used to have, and the love that swept through it, consuming our every waking moment. Why did it go away? Was I mistaken when you said ‘forever’? How could someone I knew so intimately become a stranger in my own world?
I don’t want to hurt so much anymore, honey. You were the center of my life but now you’ve turned away. I apologize for the times I couldn’t make you happy, and for all the misguided attempts at doing so. I understand the life you live and the commitments you make; yet I cannot bear to be around in an empty house waiting every time for you. I know I can’t hope at us getting back together, and that thought saddens me even more. What more can I say?


The shock of the letter burned through her soul in an instant. He was going to walk out on her. After all the silence, he was leaving her. Ché faro senza té… where had she heard that before? She stood up and walked to the bedroom door, now determined to wake Krish up. She would beg and plead, try to get things worked out. Maybe it wasn’t too late after all. Atleast now she knew that he still loved her. And she truly believed that she loved him too. She flicked on the switch and walked up to the bed, and casually looked at the bedside table. On it was a glass, a half-empty bottle of whisky, and strips of tablets. Sleeping tablets. Slowly, she turned Krish over and placed a hand on his chest, hoping to find a heartbeat. And that’s when she realized where she had heard the phrase. When Krish used to write poetry to her, this Italian piece was a recurrent line. The motionless chest seemed to scream out those very words to her now.

Ché faro senza té?
What would I do without you?


Friday, December 10, 2004

Five minutes alone

Everybody leaves. Suddenly the whole room seems colder, and the walls emptier than a prostitute's soul. It takes a few seconds to get used to the rapid change of mode, from 'nice chap' to 'nobody'. I feel every fibre of cloth rubbing against my skin, asking me to lose myself to the essence of pure touch, skin vs thread. The phone buzzes in my pocket silently, but I'm too much into the sanctity of self-imposed peace to bother about that. That's right, it feels great to be by myself, falling deeper and deeper into the vissicitudes of a soul that's been corrupted by the world for too long.

A light flashes slowly across the night sky, and the oil refinery skyline seem to be talking to me today. In words I cannot describe, they scream out " ". It's a personal emotion that gives me joy, oh dear lord, what joy! My dear friend the wall lizard takes his own solitary walk across the cupboard, aiming for the poor insect stuck in the corner. Ah, evolution and the food chain.

In my mind, I see my reality. It's a big ugly fish that swallows all the tiny fishes, effortlessly and without mercy. I'm one of those tiny fishes. I truly believe that I'm enveloped by hate, pain, suffering and a multitude of opinions that try to change me, my thought, the way I lead my life. Oh, for one moment of unadulterated thought, where my mind would wander the world as it pleases, away from the artficial metallic air that poisons it. What must I do?

I close my eyes, and flashes of light streak across the mental horizon, with no room for untruths. The patterns they form remind me of the cosmic dance that the starss above perform all by themselves, heeding not the human wants that rule us, nor the needs that define us. Like globules of heaven, the dance contines. On and on...

"Dude, pass the joint."

Huh? Back to the real world. Dammit. Just when I was starting to enjoy myself.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

Did you know?

Hi, my friends call me Pi, so I guess you can too.
I make clickety sounds with my left foot. On a good day, I can do it with my right as well. I can even do the heel-clicking thing that chaplin made so famous. Nothing more I can say about myself, so I guess this is the best introduction I can make of myself.

"One does not apply shit on his own ass in order to become a cow." - Profound Konkani saying.

I write as well. Hello World, and all that.

Sunday, December 05, 2004


"You're on in 5 sir..."

The lights whizzed, the colours hung in front of his eyes, the music played over and over again. This was it... peace. "Its been so long.." he thought quietly to himself. The crowds sang, chanted, and yelled for him. "Poignant, that’s what it is, them calling for me, wonder if they ever think for themselves?"

He was 3 when he first picked up the guitar. He furiously worked at that instrument, religiously picking at each string and listening in amazement as it created music. Talent never really was an issue. He loved it more than life itself. "Or so I thought". It took him places that nothing other than a combination of rock and stupid decisions could have. Away from the people he loved and into a world where chemicals created most of the reality.

"Dad I’m sorry I never meant to hurt your feelings when I left, I loved you too, and mum too, she was awesome, I thought you wouldn’t understand but you were right, I should’ve paid more attention to who I hung out with." The chanting continued, the thoughts continued to whiz in his brain, clarity was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time, the effect of the acid wasn’t as tangible this time “maybe that’s because it’s the first time I’ve thought of dad in a long time, damn if only I’d seen things like this when I was 14”....

"3 minutes to Showtime"....he chuckled softly.."Showtime..Ironic, don’t really have that much to show for myself. I’ve been preaching death, cynicism, pain and everything that negates life and the worst bit is that those nimrods listen...why...why...WHY GODAMMIT?"

"Crap, why did Tom have to "discover" us in that fucking dingy hole of a club? The dirt that came there didn’t have a chance anyway, but not that kid...he had a chance. He had a girlfriend that loved him, 17 he was they told me, a kid sister and parents, just like me..a long time ago. Andrew, the kid had a name. the bastard was smart, full scholarship to Berkeley... fuck...it isn’t my fault, I don’t want it to be my fault! I didn’t want those kids to listen...I swear it"...1 minute.

"Acid, of all things, the kid had to take too much acid...god damn it, fuck Hendrix, its his fault, he started it and I listened… damn it I listened, and he listened to me, no it ends here, no more listening." He grabbed as many pills as he could in one shot, “Idiots” he thought.. “they’ll kill themselves with this shit someday” and then chuckled.. “Irony.” Swinging the guitar round his shoulder he headed out into the smoke and the colour.

Showtime... "No more"...chanting, lights, music, fuzz.

"No more listening..."

© New Blogger Templates | Webtalks