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Plastic Jesus

Good evening, dear Friend!

Today is the luckiest day of your lifetime…Today you would receive a gift, greater than mankind…This gift would change the way you see yourself…You would no longer feel any pain, any suffering…The gift would set you free…You would be able to buy goods, eg: cars, clothes, houses, boats; speedy one and the one which floats, motorbikes, super kites, sleepless nights, once again, you would feel sane and young ..You no longer would have grey hair,  you can visit expensive salons and get essential beauty treatments… Everyone in the dazzling malls would like your shine and you would come home and fuck your wife, while she finishes her wine.. the same wine which you would get because of the gift,

you are about to receive!

These are the little things, let me skip to the most appealing part…In times of dire stress, we cover your front and back, we would also make this gift earn you some reward points, which then combined by many other reward points, which you would earn after spending thousands of dollars, would then add up to $1 that would be donated to help the starving and the poor…..That gift my friend is here…

Open the box…It’s a gift from your trusted, friendly, banker….

Yikes, It’s fucking credit card…..Shit!

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This looks ugly!

This looks ugly!

Childhood is a curious stage of our lives. We encounter with and learn to deal; an entirely, never felt before, fresh set of feelings. Feelings unknown to self! Feelings which our enslaved consciousness is conditioned to consider, prohibited!

Each incident, we experience in our lives, both small and huge, is always unique, in it’s own flimsy way.  Each experience adds knowledge to our vast data base. Though our minds have been tamed by targeted, suppressive, behaviour training, by widely regarded institutions, we still have a crude, primal being, inside, wriggling in pain, searching for truth. The truth of our existence, which is hidden, behind all those, numerous, false stories, we tell us and the world, each morning and every night.

Growing up was fun. The solo objective of Nik’s days were not to get caught. You need to tread carefully, if you want to experience fun, for longer periods. Getting caught can change the equation and dampen your free spirits. Hence, Follow the rules and break them, when no one’s watching! That was his motto of life during those days.

Are you crazy? You want us to skip college, in order to, watch some movie, you find fascinating! Do you want to get us expelled?‘ shouted Max, as loud as his lungs allowed. He made sure, he displayed emotions of anger, using his facial expressions. Conversations, both friendly and unfriendly, are more impactful when proper display of emotions is added.

‘Not some movie, that is where, you are entirely wrong. The movie is named – Fight Club, based on the novel by the same name. This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time. ‘Your’ being the highlight of the moment. It’s your life, your time, your mistakes, your decisions, your contemplation, again, your mistakes and your failures. So you can decide whether you would like to use your time in order to understand something, larger than your petty life or you choose to follow, mundane, set guidelines of your so-called educational institution.’

And Nik continued preaching his philosophy –

“The essence of our educational system is to help us learn the art of making money. This in itself is a flawed concept, as money is a reward for success. Instead of learning, the art of making money, we should be learning how to identify and nurture our passions. Passion fuels our success, which in turn, generates, money, as a bi-product……You are advised to borrow money from financial institutions to achieve your temporary goals which are determined, not by you but by different, failed institutions of society, eg: Family, Schools, Colleges, Government, Corporations, Temples, Mosques and churches…

You need stuff! A big fucking television, an Iphone, a luxury car, a DSLR, social networking presence, celebrations in bars, branded clothing, matching footwear, planned vacations, tax benefits and a place to call home. Now, the world knows, you cannot buy any of these, without being successful. Even if your parents hand it to you, you would not be able to enjoy, the fruits of nothingness. Hence we got banks! They are such nice institutions that they offer you assistance, to buy your dreams, on easy installments. Welcome to the corporate endorsed world where happiness sells on billboards and if you find happiness expensive, your friendly banker would loan you money, which then you can pay back, till you die, of course, using an easy, payback, monthly, installment plan, which you are free to choose from many plans.

Sip a coffee, Drink a cola, You just sold yourself!


This excerpt is from Nishant’s – Broken Radio – Novel. This book is not for those who believe in happily ever after tales. It’s brilliantly creepy, violent and extremely offensive in nature. It preaches a cult philosophy against an emasculating consumerist culture.

The story is a brilliant mix of transgressed elements held together by dirty realism. It focuses on characters who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. Because they are rebelling against the basic norms of society, protagonists may seem mentally ill, anti-social, or nihilistic. The book deals extensively with taboo subject matters such as drugs, sexual activity, violence, pedophilia and crime.

Read – Broken Radio (Novel)

Daunting Past

Good Morning Planet

Today we are going to talk about ‘Past’. Dictionary definition being – ”gone by in time and no longer existing.” It is important, to understand, past, as it’s an imperative variable in the equation of our lives. Throughout our lives, we mostly, see ourselves through our memories of the past.

Now, with the advent of science, it has been proven that memories are not at all a reliable source of information. We human beings deal with emotions in a very complicated manner. We keep things to ourselves and we say things, we do not mean. The society is mostly a cluster of people who either wish to lead or wish to be lead. The leader exercises control to experience gratification of power and the led ones cheerfully witness exploitation to experience gratification of a false sense of security.

Due to such restricted approach, we do not clearly remember anything. We either modify it, in terms that help us feel better. Or, we plainly choose to forget. So mostly, memories are a way, we repeat a lie to ourselves. The more we think about a past event, the more likely it is that, we start believing our own set of lies. We create these lies for temporary gratification. But revisits, by our subconscious, restores the profound clarity.

Hence, we do not remember the truth and act on false cluster of facts. This mostly sets us to experience personal failure.

Now, the remedy, is not to purely trust your instincts while indulging in defining, decision making. Your instincts are a stimuli response of your subconscious, based on your lies, hence it’s unreliable. Inviting suggestions is another way of being led. So, you cannot act on anyone’s suggestions. The only proven alternative to achieve success is by experiencing failure. Yes, I am saying – make mistakes!

The more number of times you would fail, the higher are the chances of success in your future attempts. Gear yourself up, for repeated failures, so that you live and learn in present and not follow your life’s past pattern of failures, you fail in a new manner, each morning, everyday, Fail! And then you might experience – Success.

Stop living in the past. To create a beautiful tomorrow, Die today!

Gun & Marriage licence!

Broken Radio

Nishant


Pillow talk is an essential bonding activity in a relationship. The less tenured is a relationship, the more impactful are pillow talks. It has been two years, now, since Dia and Nik moved in together but their love is still as potent, as it was, the first night. 

They make sure that the fire doesn’t burn down. Dia sits on Nik’s lap while he continues to shower her with nimble kisses. He loves licking her skin, with his tongue. He starts from her neck and continues going till her belly button, pauses for a second and then glides from her bellybutton to her thighs, till her toes.

‘Are you planning to eat me? You never get tired. Do you? You horny fuck,’ Dia says.
‘You can stop me, when, you want to. Why don’t you stop me?’ asks Nik.
‘I don’t want to.’

After burning some more calories Nik proposes, ‘Hey sweetie pie, we have been together for long and surprisingly, it’s working out, let’s get married.’
Dia gets surprised on hearing Nik talk about marriage.
You hate marriages,’ she enquires.
Yes, in principle, I do but I want to, spend the rest of my life, with you!’

You know, I can’t get married to a non-Muslim. It’s a sin for me,’ she states blatantly.

And what about this? Is this not a sin?’ he says while his hands, play, with her breasts. She moans in pleasure and whispers,

There are sins which can be forgiven and there are some which cannot. Sleeping with you makes me a sinner but I still would get forgiveness. Marrying a Kaffir is haraam. No forgiveness there
‘You and your beliefs, never made sense to me. You do know, you are twisting facts?’
How come you don’t believe in anything?’ asks Dia, in order to deflect.

‘I believe in nature. I do believe, in the universe. I believe in Kabir, Krishna, Mira, Jesus, Prophet but not as gods, as Rock stars. They were original Rock stars. They had long hair, their own bands, their original tunes; they had groupies, and they held concerts. I do believe in something and that is pretty straight. Not at all twisted!’

‘You and your beliefs never made sense to me,’ Dia says while biting him on his neck and they laugh.
They continue indulging in each other while Nik manages to convince Dia, that if it’s all the same to her, they should get married; If not a real one, then just, as an, interesting activity! ‘Let’s get married for fun!’
Nik pleads for hours, before, Dia agrees to take it as a fun activity and together they march to a registrar’s office. They dress fancy and enter the offices of  –                                                                                          ‘Gun & Marriage licence.’          

        They wait, there, for a while. Nik wore his happy face.
A clerk asks them to come to the desk.
‘Gun license would be ready in two hours. Marriage licenses take a week. What are you here for?’ asks the clerk.
I need a license,’ replies Nik.
Which model?
Oh no! I don’t need it for a gun. I need it to get married,’ says Nik.

The clerk looks at him, then looks at Dia, then looks at both of them and points his finger, towards few forms. ‘Fill these forms and come after a week!
Nik wanted to get married the same day.

I want this to be done by today’s evening. I can pay you extra, if that would help,’ he pleads. ‘I wish. Marriages, take time, my friend. Go for a gun instead. I would get you a licence by evening’ answers the clerk, sadly.

Dia looks at Nik, and they both burst into laughter. They leave, from that office and go to a nearby ice-cream parlour. 

Eating ice cream, together, is an essential bonding activity in a relationship. Nik loved vanilla and Dia loved strawberry. They order a two in one.


Source: Broken Radio(novel by Nishant). This book is not for those who believe in happily ever after tales. It’s brilliantly creepy, violent and extremely offensive in nature. It preaches a cult philosophy against an emasculating consumerist culture.

The story is a brilliant mix of transgressed elements held together by dirty realism. It focuses on characters who feel confined by the norms and expectations of society and who break free of those confines in unusual or illicit ways. Because they are rebelling against the basic norms of society, protagonists may seem mentally ill, anti-social, or nihilistic. The book deals extensively with taboo subject matters such as drugs, sexual activity, violence, pedophilia and crime.

Read Broken Radio – Novel

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What we talk, when we talk, about, Love! – Act II

Good Morning Planet

It’s a bright, sunny morning, here in the BrokenRadio Studios, and we bring you ACT II of

“What we talk, when we talk, about, Love!”

Act I – What we talk, when we talk, about, Love!


BrokenRadio Theaters present, to you, a play written by Khadija (You think You know) & Nishant (Broken Radio).

Act II – Begins,

( The stage is brightly lit with various performers dancing in the background. Nik is standing on the stage with few pages in his hand. He has, his reading glasses, on. The music fades away..performers continue dancing. Nik addresses the audience)

Curtains Rise!

(Crowd cheers. Loud Applause)

Understanding The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth

Nik : The title in itself, is enigmatic. The poetess is comparing two cosmic events. One being Eid and other falling in Love. The poetess talks about a confused and unsure kind of love, that is really rare and yet the most captivating. (He comes forward on the stage)  The protagonist to whom the poetess address as the ‘Dark Prince‘… is a great admirer of her and is madly in love with her. As much, as the poetess tries not to develop similar feelings, she does get smitten, eventually. Mostly, the poem talks about their secret encounters and exchange of words.. What poetess envies the most is when she experiences cosmic love, the Dark Prince is not their celebrating the rise in the sky; Eid.. As much as the poetess hates it, she’s willing to give him another chance as she too is hopelessly in love. (Nik throws the pages in air)
 But then again, who knows poetry.. It’s always, what’s not said, never, what is.

(Lights fade out. The background changes itself back to the Act I setting. Nik removes his reading glasses. Kate walks in)

Kate: Brilliant job. You scored an A. Although, it isn’t the true derivation entirely.

(Moves forward on the stage and addresses the audience)

Well, the rise in the sky and fall on the earth shows, how you take me high in the skies and then throw me down on the ground. I experience a bliss in a moment and in the next, you abandon me mercilessly. When the world spoke about us, You said; my destiny walked into my door. My pride and your ego clashed and doomed were we. Then one night we met again after your endless efforts of getting me back. And we celebrated the festival like it was the last Eid on earth. You said – it’s us against the world, give me time, cope with me.

(The stage fills itself with mystic silence. We could hear loud breathing.)

Nik: (murmurs slowly to himself) There was silence in the air. All three of us were breathing heavily. Me, her and Johnnie Walker. (Nik walks away from Kate and continues murmuring)  I am jealous of this Dark Prince, Kate dedicated a poem for him! (Looks at a picture of another women) The only lines she ever dedicated to me was – “I am nobody’s fool” and it took me weeks to understand, what it really meant.

Kate: Life was perfect!

Nik: (walks near Kate) Well, let me dedicate my prayers for your eternal, blissful, family stamped, first love. If this doesn’t see a happy ending, then love should, atleast, not be in dictionary and books should paint it black, with dark ink.

Kate: That’s so accurately put. This is not love, though! (pauses for a moment, looks lost in memories) I don’t know, what love is.. 

Nik: What is it, then? I have no clue, what love is! Truly, Sincerely, Please tell me.

(The performers swarm the stage and start dancing rigorously, there is no music, playing, in the background)

Kate: It’s hard to express. Maybe 10000 pages or maybe less! Why are you, so intent to know the definition of love?

Nik: I need to write about love and I have not, ever, experienced it. Hence the curiousity. I want to know, what love is!

Kate: (looks at him for a moment, lovingly, addresses the audience) Love is divine, it makes you experience the most extreme emotions that you were oblivious of. But it’s got one and only one rule; You have to forget self love and even if you can’t, have, your love, for yourself, forever, smile and be grateful for the memories and experiences. Love does not mean achieving. Love needs no labels, no possessions, no ownership. You welcome it’s arrival, with a smile, and then you let it go, with a smile. (looks at Nik and continues) So, If your fav doll is lost, don’t cry, rather cherish the moment you had with it and live life.

Nik: That does make a lot of sense, Miss. But, I need a clarification. I guess, in our lifetime, we experience love more than once. So is their something also called – True Love? Or it’s the same every time!

Kate: (addresses the audience) I don’t know, that’s an interesting question. According to me, love is just once, But that does not mean it seals your fate. You carry on and live life, settle for someone really charming, who makes you happy.

Nik: (looks at Kate) Would you care to know my thoughts? (Doesn’t wait for her response and continues, addresses the audience) To understand love, we need to understand time. (dancers in the background are not at all performing in sync, each artist seems to be following their own steps, the stage suddenly gets chaotic, lights flicker) 

There is past, present and future. Past is all memories and Future is entirely imagination. So, what matters is now! Present matters. Not what happened a moment ago, not what might happen next, No fear, no assumption, Just now – living in the moment. (Goes near Kate) What are you doing now? (she thinks, he doesn’t wait for her response and continues speaking to the audience) Right now…right fucking now…She is experiencing release of adrenaline and dopamine, look at her, how happy she seems (there is a sadness on Kate’s face) We are experiencing effects of tiny pills laced with love. (Nik comes to the edge of the stage and yells)

There is no absolute love. That is a cosmic event.. Barely happens.. I am trying to recreate, but still it takes ages.. This is day to day love.. What people call love, when they talk about love. What humanity needs to experience, is, Cosmic love. Feeling of being around even during absences.. Dreams.. Mutual dreams.. You communicate without words. You close your eyes and your partner feels you missing them…
Love is not necessarily both sided.. Moon and the sea try and hug each other, failing, every full moon night..When the moon is completely naked.. That’s the love I talk about. That’s the love I want to experience. I want to know what love is!

Kate: (holds his hand) Look at us, making a failed attempt at defining love..

(They both stare into each other eyes. Curtains Fall, Crowd goes crazy, Crowd whistles among the loud thud)

Play Ends.


Whoa! That was something. Huh? Let me make breakfast, she would be awake soon. You enjoy your friendly Tupperware! Have a nice day.

What we talk, when we talk, about, Love!

 

Good Evening Planet

It’s a lovely evening, indeed. There is a dazzling, shimmering, reason behind this love, in the evening. Yesterday morning, I released the first chapter of my 2nd book – Smokes & Strings – Boulevard of Broken Art. It’s a love story. A twisted one.

I had my doubts, because, what do I know? I, have, never been in love. I just experienced what television sold, not the books…the Television. I went out on dates in shopping malls, bought gifts and had sex. It did seem like love, back then. Now, I am a grown up. I no longer watch television. I only read books and I only talk to writers. And, I want to know what love is…..

I asked my friend, Khadija Fatima – Author of You Think You Know ,”Do you know, what love is?” She sent me a poem. The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth. But then we all know, we need to figure out ART. It’s always ”what’s not said” and never, ”what is”.

So, I made some failed attempts to understand it and finally gave up. I, then again, asked her to explain….And we both ended up writing this play….


Ladies and Gentlemen, Tonight’s entertainment is a play about love, loss, pride, humility and then, love, again. BrokenRadio Theatres Present, to you, a play written by Khadija (You think You know) and Nishant (Broken Radio) .

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Act I – Begins,

Lift the curtains!

(Crowd Cheers, Loud applause, A remarkably thin male is sitting on a stool, in front of a stunningly beautiful female. They both are in their prime youth and seem very cheerful. The entire stage is lit with bright lights, with no gloominess in any corner, apart from, in the eyes of, both the protagonists)

Nik: How are we doing today, Kate. What are we doing?

Kate: Heya! Ahh been occupied. I had company. Now, was enjoying my alone time, and then you walked in and sat, there, right, on that stool.

Nik: Well, if anyone would have such a delightful company as you, blessed are those few.

Kate: Ain’t you guys just too nice.

Nik: Well, you pay me to be nice. I think, I should get at least twice the amount you pay me, because, of the time I invest in you . Your project, I mean!

Kate: Oh, I didn’t know, I pay you to be nice.

Nik: Yeah, a very unfair amount though but then there are other perks which I truly enjoy.

Kate: You are funny! (Sarcastically)

Nik:  I am serious, always. It’s, you, who somehow induce humor in my deadbeat words.
And I guess, glamor, too.

Kate: Yes, glamor, I agree cause I just love it. We’re both sarcastic.

Nik: I am not. Talk about yourself, Lady! (pauses, clears throat) You are the friendliest ‘client’, I ever had the pleasure to service. Never met someone with your potential, in this, big, bad, round, uneven, world. 

(A smiles spreads on Kate’s face and the black and white lights change to a rainbow)

And, that smile, That’s, what makes my days, and evenings, and someday, other periods of my long, lonely, lazy, mundane, days.

Kate: My goodness. I think, I’m done with compliments. 

Nik: (stammers) Oh, Okay, no more for today, then. (Pauses for a second. Dramatic music plays in the background, for a second. Music stops) Glad, I have nothing to say about your, yesterday’s picture. It just made me speechless.

Kate: (blushes) Oh, about that, I think, I was too happy yesterday since everyone loved my poem. So, hence the glow. (Comes closer, and whispers in his ears) Even, in the theatre people were staring madly. (Pulls her face back and continues talking). So, Yeah, partial credit goes to you for publishing it. And my makeup of course 😸 I love shimmer!

Nik: (Comes closer, and stares in her eyes) The stares were all for you, so, you deserve the credit. (lights go dim, girl bows down) Shimmer, loves, being on you. (pulls her closer) You think, you know, let me tell you something, Ignorance is bliss. 

icelandic-dance

(Lights are back. It’s just a white, bright light. Nik and Kate adjust their seats, the moment lights, change color. There is a chaotic silence on the stage. The background music is of an animal being choked to death. The music gets louder. Nik stands up. Kate pulls her chair farther away from him.)

Kate: (coldly, her voice comes from far to the audience) So, what could you make from the poem? 

Nik: (Addresses the audience) And the poetess wants to know… What, the commoner sees… Okay! 

(looks at her and continues)

Understanding, The Rise in Skies & the Fall on Earth ….

The stage drifts away from behind, from beneath, his feet. The background metamorphoses into an old, dusty, rusty, library. Kate exits the scene. Nik wears reading glasses. And the curtains fall…Crowd cheers..) 

ACT I – Ends


Hope, you guys enjoyed reading this, as much as we enjoyed writing. BrokenRadio would return with the second act, soon enough. Grab a smoke for now. Will ya!

The Crystal Ship

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”
― Jim Morrison

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“The Crystal Ship”

Before you slip into unconsciousness
I’d like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss
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The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We’ll meet again, we’ll meet again

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Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You’d rather cry, I’d rather fly

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The crystal ship is being filled
A thousand girls, a thousand thrills
A million ways to spend your time
When we get back, I’ll drop a line

— Morrison

I Could See The Smallest Things

I was in bed when I heard the gate. I listened carefully. I didn’t hear anything else. But I heard that. I tried to wake Cliff. He was passed out. So I got up and went to the window. A big moon was laid over the mountains that went around the city. It was a white moon and covered with stars. Any damn fool could imagine a face there.

There was light enough so that I could see everything in the yard – lawn chairs, the willow tree, clothesline strung between the poles, the petunias, the fences, the gate standing wide open.

But nobody was moving around. There were no scary shadows. Everything lay in moonlight, and I could see the smallest things. The clothespins on the line for instance.

I put my hands on the glass to block out the moon. I looked some more. I listened. Then I went back to bed.

But I couldn’t get to sleep. I kept turning over. I thought about the gate standing open. It was like a dare.

Cliff’s breathing was awful to listen to. His mouth gaped open and his arms hugged his pale chest. He was taking up his side of the bed and most of mine.

I pushed and pushed on him. But he just groaned.

I stayed a while longer until I decided it was no use. I got up and got my slippers. I went to the kitchen and made tea and sat with it at the kitchen table. I smoked one of Cliff’s unfiltereds.

It was late. I didn’t want to look at the time. I drank the tea and smoked another cigarette. After a while I decided I’d go out and fasten up the gate.

So I got my robe.

The moon lighted up everything – houses and trees, poles and power lines, the whole world. I peered around the backyard before I stepped off the porch. A little breeze came along that made me close the robe.

I started for the gate.

There was a noise at the fences that separated our place from Sam Lawton’s place. I took a sharp look. Sam was leaning with his arms on his fence, there being two fences to lean on. He raised his fist to his mouth and gave a dry cough.

‘Evening Nancy’, Sam Lawton said.

I said, ‘Sam you scared me.’ I said, ‘What are you doing up?’ ‘Did you hear something?’ I said. ‘I heard the gate unlatch.’

He said, ‘I didn’t hear anything. Haven’t seen anything, either. It might have been the wind.’

He was chewing something. He looked at the open gate and shrugged. His hair was silvery in the moonlight and stood up on his head. I could see his long nose, the lines in his big sad face.

I said, ‘What are you doing up, Sam? and moved closer to the fence.

‘Want to see something?’ he said.

‘I’ll come round’, I said.

I let myself out and went along the walk. It felt funny walking around outside in my nightgown and my robe. I thought to myself that I should try to remember this, walking around outside like this.

Sam was standing over by the side of his house, his pyjamas way up high over his tan-and-white shoes. He was holding a flashlight in one hand and a can of something in the other.

Sam and Cliff used to be friends. Then one night they got to drinking. They had words. The next thing, Sam had built a fence and then Cliff built one too.

That was after Sam had lost Mille, gotten married again, and become a father again all in the space of no time at all. Millie had been a good friend until she died. She was only forty-five when she did it. Heart failure. It hit her just as she was coming into their drive. The car kept going and went through the back of the carport.

‘Look at this,’ Sam said, hitching his pyjama trousers and squatting down. He pointed his light at the ground.

I looked and saw some wormy things curled on a patch of dirt.

‘Slugs,’ he said. ‘I just gave them a dose of this’, he said, raising a can of something that looked like Ajax. ‘They’re taking over,’ he said, and worked whatever it was that he had in his mouth. He turned his head to one side and spit what could have been tobacco. ‘I have to keep at this to just come close to staying up with them.’ He turned his light on a jar that was filled with the things. ‘I put the bait out, and then every chance I get I come out here with this stuff. Bastards are all over. A crime what they can do. Look here,’ he said.

He got up. He took my arm and moved me over to his rosebushes. He showed me the little holes in the leaves.

‘Slugs’, he said. ‘Everywhere you look around here at night. I lay out bait and then I come out and get them,’ he said. ‘An awful invention, the slug. I save them up in that jar over there.’ He moved his light to under the rosebush.

A plane passed overhead. I imagined the people on it staring down at the ground.

‘Sam’, I said, ‘how’s everybody?’

‘They’re fine,’ he said, and shrugged.

He chewed on whatever it was he was chewing. ‘How’s Clifford?’ he said.

I said, ‘Same as ever.’

Sam said, ‘Sometimes when I’m out here after the slugs, I’ll look over in your direction.’ He said, ‘I wish me and Cliff were friends again. Look there now,’ he said, and drew a sharp breath. ‘There’s one there. See him? Right there where my light is.’ He had the beam directed onto the dirt under the rosebush. ‘Watch this,’ Sam said.

I closed my arms under my breasts and bent over to where he was shining his light. The thing stopped moving and turned its head from side to side. Then Sam was over it with his can of powder, sprinkling the powder down.

‘Slimy things’, he said.

The slug was twisting this way and that. Then it curled and straightened out. Sam picked up a toy shovel, and scooped the slug into it, and dumped it out in the jar.

‘I quit you know,’ Sam said. ‘Had to. For a while it was getting so I didn’t know up from down. We still keep it around the house but I don’t have much to do with it anymore.’

I nodded. He looked at me and he kept looking.

‘I’d better get back,’ I said.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll continue with what I’m doing and then when I’m finished, I’ll head in too.’

I said, ‘Good night, Sam.’

He said, ‘Listen.’ He stopped chewing. With his tongue, he pushed whatever it was behind his lower lip. ‘Tell Cliff I said hello.’

I said, ‘I’ll tell him you said so, Sam.’

Sam ran his hand through his silvery hair as if he was going to make it sit down once and for all, and then he used his hand to wave.

In the bedroom, I took off the robe, folded it, put it within reach. Without looking at the time, I checked to make sure the stem was out on the clock. Then I got into bed, pulled the covers up, and closed my eyes.

It was then that I remembered I’d forgotten to latch the gate.

I opened my eyes and lay there. I gave Cliff a little shake. He cleared his throat. He swallowed. Something caught and dribbled in his chest.

I don’t know. It made me think of those things that Sam Lawton was dumping powder on.

I thought for a minute of the world outside my house, and then didn’t have any more thoughts except the thought that I had to hurry up and sleep.

Source: Raymond Carver (1985) The Stories of Raymond Carver, London, Picador/Pan Books, pp.204-7


“What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” is not only the most well-known short story title of the latter part of the 20th century; it has come to stand for an entire aesthetic, the bare-bones prose style for which Raymond Carver became famous. Perhaps, it could be argued, too famous, at least for his fiction’s own good. Like those of Hemingway or any other writer similarly loved, imitated, parodied, and reviled, these stories can sometimes produce the sense of reading pastiche. “A man without hands came to the door to sell me a photograph of my house.” “That morning she pours Teacher’s over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.” “My friend Mel McGinnis was talking. Mel is a cardiologist, and sometimes that gives him the right.” What other writer ever produced first sentences like these? They are like doors into Carverworld, where everyone speaks in simple declarative phrases, no one ever stops at one beer, and failure or violence are the true outcomes of the American dream.

Yet these stories bear careful re-reading, like any truly important and enduring work. For one thing, Carver is one of the few writers who can make desperation–cutting your ex-wife’s telephone cord in the middle of a conversation, standing on your own roof chunking rocks while a man with no hands takes your picture–deeply funny. Then there is the sheer craft that went into their creation. Despite their seeming simplicity, his tales are as artfully constructed as poems–and like poems, the best of them can make your breath catch in your throat. In the title piece, for instance, after the gin has been drunk, after the stories have been told, after the tensions in the room have come to the surface and subsided again, there comes a moment of strange lightness and peace: “I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.”

Much of what happens in What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (1981) happens offstage, and we’re left with tragedy’s props: booze, instant coffee, furniture from a failed marriage, cigarettes smoked in the middle of the night. This is not merely a matter of technique. Carver leaves out a great deal, but that’s only a measure of his characters’ vulnerability, the nerve endings his stories lay bare. To say anything more, one feels, would simply hurt too much. –Mary Park

Modi & Yogi – Rise of Monkey Men

Good Afternoon Planet

Today morning we all agreed that organized religion breeds hatred and is mostly based on a captivating story. Let’s talk about one today, before we discuss our so called Hindu Savior leaders.

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Hanuman , he’s a well regarded mythological figure. Mythology means – a collection of myths, especially one belonging to a particular religious or cultural tradition. As per Hindu mythology, Hanuman is a divine monkey who was Ram’s companion.

The texts mention about a scholar Raavan, who was blessed by Lord Shiva (a yogi – one who masters the ancient, mystic art of yoga). Raavan was of higher intellect. He was regarded as someone so intelligent that he is widely believed to have 10 heads, meaning he was wiser than ten collective wise men. Raavan’s sister fell in love with Ram. Ram was already married. So Ram rejected her and instructed his younger brother to chop her nose off to teach her a lesson.

Let’s pause and understand the story. Ram was exiled by his own family. Family is always regarded as the pillar of love and support. Parents never abandon children, even in dire circumstances. Ram must have done at least something to piss his people to bring the exile upon himself. No one denies this fact.

A women fell in love with a married man. I understand, even in today’s society it’s considered a taboo. But, Is it unconstitutional? Did she commit a felony? No. She did not. As a matter of fact she didn’t even know, Ram was an unavailable man. She just fell in love with a misogynist. A man who was so blind and greedy that he abandoned his wife also, later on, questioning her integrity. The same wife who blessed him with her unconditional love and shared the pains of exile with him equally.

This man had no right to physically harm a woman. If he wasn’t interested, he could have ended things on a polite note and maybe people would have wrote sonnets about this incomplete love. But he being a women hater, choose to punish Raavan’s for her forthcoming conduct. Feminists, I hope you listening now.

Raavan being a scholar and a warrior choose to punish Ram. He took his pride away. He stole Ram’s wife. Now Ram who is supposedly worshiped as one of the strongest men, failed to defend his wife. How Ironical! I guess the exile was well deserved.

Someone who cannot defend his wife, no one would imagine him to defend an entire country.

Anyways, his divine monkey friend decided to help him out. This divine monkey went with a bag full of tricks and burnt a city which was a center of trade and a symbol of prosperity – Lanka. A city so legendary that the walls were made of gold. It’s referred as the Golden Lanka. And then finally Ram defeated Raavan with the help of an army of chimps, plotting an assassination by the help of Raavan’s jilted, traitor of a brother.

Ram freed his wife and then abandoned her.

The crux of the story – Be a hater. Hate women. Question their integrity. And hate anyone who is wise and powerful because you are petty within.

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Now let’s see our two biggest Indian leaders. PM Modi and CM Yogi. They both hate women. PM Modi abandoned his wife. Yogi never got married. They both are extremely narrow minded and resort to primal selves when feel threatened. Modi is known to have reached his throne of seven kingdoms by trampling and climbing over more than a millions of riot victims.

An activist of Rashtrawadi Sena holds a trishul as he shouts anti-Pakistan slogans during a protest in New Delhi

Hanuman, the divine monkey brought riot in Lanka. Yogi’s men – Hindu Sena do the same. They have figured out that a big riot can cause global pressure. So now it’s two killings each day. Solves the purpose and doesn’t bring any shame. That’s smart thinking.

India Elections

I pledge to vote for the Monkey Men in 2019. Monkey power rocks India. Indians hate being called snake charmers. I think Monkey Men would be okay with them.

Religion – Major League Bullshit

Good Morning Planet

Yesterday night something strange happened, as usual. A friend messaged me posing a question,

“Have you converted to Islam?”

Recently I have been writing about Islam and Prophet (PBUH), a lot. So, I can’t really blame him. People always perceive and believe the easiest possible explanation . What they fail to grasp is, religion, like any other belief is just a web of entangled, confused, misinterpreted, set of words and quotes. It’s just another story and most certainly a captivating one. Now, when it comes to all the floating stories currently on paper and in tube, I like the love story of Khadeeja the Great and Prophet more than any other. It makes a lot of sense. Out of sheer love came a set of belief so powerful that it swept the world. The belief system is extremely strong and only preaches love and love and love and love and love, UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.

But as always it’s misinterpreted, (read “Are You a Chimp!“, to know why), twisted for personal gains and propaganda purposes by organized governments and unorganized pseudo governments.  

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Topless activists of the Ukrainian women movement Femen take part in a protest against the fierce opposition from the Roman Catholic Church to authorise gay marriage on November 18, 2012 in Paris. AFP PHOTO KENZO TRIBOUILLARD FRANCE-FEMEN-HOMOSEXUALITY-DEMO

“George Carlin – When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion. No contest. No contest. Religion. Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever ’til the end of time!

But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can’t handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit”

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Bill Maher: The irony of religion is that because of its power to divert man to destructive courses, the world could actually come to an end. The plain fact is, religion must die for mankind to live. The hour is getting very late to be able to indulge in having in key decisions made by religious people. By irrationalists, by those who would steer the ship of state not by a compass, but by the equivalent of reading the entrails of a chicken. George Bush prayed a lot about Iraq, but he didn’t learn a lot about it. Faith means making a virtue out of not thinking. It’s nothing to brag about. And those who preach faith, and enable and elevate it are intellectual slaveholders, keeping mankind in a bondage to fantasy and nonsense that has spawned and justified so much lunacy and destruction. Religion is dangerous because it allows human beings who don’t have all the answers to think that they do. Most people would think it’s wonderful when someone says, “I’m willing, Lord! I’ll do whatever you want me to do!” Except that since there are no gods actually talking to us, that void is filled in by people with their own corruptions and limitations and agendas. And anyone who tells you they know, they just know what happens when you die, I promise you, you don’t. How can I be so sure? Because I don’t know, and you do not possess mental powers that I do not. The only appropriate attitude for man to have about the big questions is not the arrogant certitude that is the hallmark of religion, but doubt. Doubt is humble, and that’s what man needs to be, considering that human history is just a litany of getting shit dead wrong. This is why rational people, anti-religionists, must end their timidity and come out of the closet and assert themselves. And those who consider themselves only moderately religious really need to look in the mirror and realize that the solace and comfort that religion brings you actually comes at a terrible price. If you belonged to a political party or a social club that was tied to as much bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, violence, and sheer ignorance as religion is, you’d resign in protest. To do otherwise is to be an enabler, a mafia wife, for the true devils of extremism that draw their legitimacy from the billions of their fellow travelers. If the world does come to an end here, or wherever, or if it limps into the future, decimated by the effects of religion-inspired nuclear terrorism, let’s remember what the real problem was that we learned how to precipitate mass death before we got past the neurological disorder of wishing for it. That’s it. Grow up or die.”today

To sum it up for you,

“Isha V Singh – Organized Religion is a slow cancer. Keep Praying. God won’t save you.”

Why so Serious?

There is not even a single shred of evidence in universe, supporting, Life is Serious.

Isha V. Singh

I step out of my broken abode, I see trembling faces.

I look closer. Fear-struck are they. Fear of being judged, touched, loved, hated, heard, unheard, rejected, cheated, raped. Fear of being happy.

Fear of finding peace and tranquility. Fear of freedom from the chaos.

It’s very troubling to see, poor souls suffer. What can I do?

I can try telling some stories that might help you.

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“I’d consider myself a realist, alright? But in philosophical terms I’m what’s called a pessimist… I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself – we are creatures that should not exist by natural law… We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody’s nobody… I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction – one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.

― Rust Cohen

“Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the Weather.”
Bill Hicks

“The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud, and it’s fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, “Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?” And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, “Hey, don’t worry; don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.” And we … kill those people. “Shut him up! I’ve got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real.” It’s just a ride. But we always kill the good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok … But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a simple choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here’s what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace.”
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My father was a drinker and a fiend and one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn’t like that, not one bit. So, me watching he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me and he says “WHY SO SERIOUS!?”. He comes at me with the knife “why so serious!?” Sticks the blade in my mouth “lets put a smile on that face!” aaaand….. why sooooo serrrious?
Why are You so Serious?
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The Infamous Love Guru – OSHO

Truth is within you, do not search for it elsewhere.

Live wakefully, Die each moment so that you can be new each moment.

Do not search. That which is, is. Stop and see.

Love Guru – OSHO

Shree Rajneesh (born Chandra Mohan Jain, 11 December 1931 – 19 January 1990), also known as Osho, Acharya Rajneesh, or simply Rajneesh, was an Indian Godman and leader of the Rajneesh movement. During his lifetime he was viewed as a controversial mystic, guru, and spiritual teacher. In the 1960s he travelled throughout India as a public speaker and was a vocal critic of socialism, Mahatma Gandhi, and Hindu religious orthodoxy.[6] He advocated a more open attitude towards human sexuality, earning him the sobriquet “sex guru” in the Indian and later international press, although this attitude became more acceptable with time.

“When love expresses through you it first expresses as the body. It becomes sex. If it expresses through the mind, which is higher, deeper, subtler, then it is called love. If it expresses through the spirit, it becomes prayer….”

In 1970 Rajneesh spent time in Mumbai initiating followers known as “neo-sannyasins.” During this period he expanded his spiritual teachings and through his discourses gave an original insight into the writings of religious traditions, mystics, and philosophers from around the world. In 1974 Rajneesh relocated to Pune where a foundation and ashram was established to offer a variety of “transformational tools” for both Indian and international visitors. By the late 1970s, tension between the ruling Janata Party government of Morarji Desai and the movement led to a curbing of the ashram’s development.

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In 1981 efforts refocused on activities in the United States and Rajneesh relocated to a facility known as Rajneeshpuram in Wasco County, Oregon. Almost immediately the movement ran into conflict with county residents and the State government and a succession of legal battles concerning the ashram’s construction and continued development curtailed its success. In 1985, following the investigation of serious crimes including the 1984 Rajneeshee bioterror attack, and an assassination plot to murder US Attorney Charles H. Turner, Rajneesh alleged that his personal secretary Ma Anand Sheela and her close supportters had been responsible. He was later deported from the United States in accordance with an Alford plea bargain.

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After his deportation 21 countries denied him entry, and he ultimately returned to India, and a reinvigorated Pune ashram, where he died in 1990. His ashram is today known as the Osho International Meditation Resort.

His syncretic teachings emphasise the importance of meditation, awareness, love, celebration, courage, creativity, and humor—qualities that he viewed as being suppressed by adherence to static belief systems, religious tradition, and socialisation. Rajneesh’s teachings have had a notable impact on Western New Age thought, and their popularity has increased markedly since his death.

“If everything goes well and sex is natural and flowing it is a beautiful experience because you can have a glimpse of the second through it. If sex goes really very deep, so that you forget yourself completely in it, you can even have a glimpse of the third through it. And if sex becomes a total orgasmic experience, there are rare moments when you can even have a glimpse of the fourth, the turiya, the beyond, through it.”
 
But if sex fails, then many perversions happen to the mind. These perversions are expressed in hatred. Hatred is a failure of sex, a failure of love energy. Violence, lust for money, the continuous conflicting attitudes of egos: war, politics – these are all sex perversions.”
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The Spy who din’t LOVE ME : Putin, Vladimir Putin

Demoralize the enemy from within by surprise, terror, sabotage, assassination. This is the war of the future.

Adolf Hitler

Good Evening Planet, Tonight’s entertainment is the most powerful, enigmatic, billionaire, socialite, also,

President of The cyber states of United Mother Russia

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin 

(Crowd Cheers, Putin! Putin! Putin!) 

A Spy who didn’t LOVE me

President Putin is a macho, take-charge superhero. He takes shit from nobody and he never forgets. Ask Miss Clinton, she’s still devastated from her loss. Mr Putin and Ms Clinton were lovers once upon a time but she broke his heart. She also bad mouthed him in public like a soulless, crooked, jilted, lover. For her own political gains, she used Lover Putin and then threw him away like lady slippers.

Super-Putin doesn’t like anyone badmouthing him. He gets angry. He’s worse than HULK, when he’s angry. He starts riding dangerous animals to channelize his anger.

Putin loved Hillary more than he loved his KGB job as a Spy. She too fancied him. They spent some great times together. He was a spy who loved her deeply.

But she broke his heart. She rejected him saying,

“You were a KGB agent. By definition you don’t have a soul. You are incapable of loving someone.”

She orchestrated her hate just to win a position in the filthiest place of human history.

A place even painters shy away from. The White House.

Putin is of artistic nature. He loves colors as much as he loves his women. Putin hated Hillary for breaking his heart. He got Insomniac. He lost his appetite. He decided to go again into the jungle, to channelize his aggression, by taming wild animals. But this time he met someone. Someone completely lunatic. Someone who not only helped him channelize his energy in a healthy manner and helped him get revenge over Hillary. But also made him :

President of The cyber states of United Mother Russia

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That remarkable person whom Putin met would be referred by historians in future as:

Bottom-Bitch Trump 

Here’s what Bottom-Bitch Trump says about Lover Putin:

“I would be willing to bet I would have great relationship with Putin. It’s all about love.”

 

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We would return soon after a short commercial break. Don’t go anywhere. Stay tuned in and subscribe to our blog, so that you do not miss such epic love stories.

Here’s what’s coming after break :

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Mysticism : Deciphering Sant Kabir

 

“Listen, my friend. He who loves understands.”

Before we begin talking about one of the original mystics, Kabir, let’s understand Mysticism.

Mysticism is popularly known as becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning. It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices and experiences.

Derived from the Greek word μυω, meaning “to conceal”, mysticism referred to the biblical liturgical, spiritual, and contemplative dimensions of early and medieval Christianity. During the early modern period, the definition of mysticism grew to include a broad range of beliefs and ideologies related to “extraordinary experiences and states of mind”.

In modern times, “mysticism” has acquired a limited definition, with broad applications, as meaning the aim at the “union with the Absolute, the Infinite, or God”. This limited definition has been applied to a wide range of religious traditions and practices, valuing “mystical experience” as a key element of mysticism.

“The Lord is in me, the Lord is in you, as life is in every seed, put false pride away and seek the Lord within..”
― Kabir

Kabir was a 15th-century Indian mystic poet and saint, whose writings influenced Hinduism’s Bhakti movement and his verses are found in Sikhism’s scripture Adi Granth. His early life was in a Muslim family, but he was strongly influenced by his teacher, the Hindu bhakti leader Ramananda.

Kabir is known for being critical of both Hinduism and Islam, stating that the former was misguided by the Vedas and the latter by the Quran, and questioning their meaningless rites of initiation such as the sacred thread and circumcision respectively. During his lifetime, he was threatened by both Hindus and Muslims for his views. When he died, both Hindus and Muslims he had inspired claimed him as theirs.

“Listen to the secret sound, the real sound, which is inside you. The one no one talks of speaks the secret sound to himself, and he is the one who has made it all.”

Kabir suggested that True God is with the person who is on the path of righteousness, considered all creatures on earth as his own self, and who is passively detached from the affairs of the world. To know God, suggested Kabir, meditate with the mantra Rāma, Rāma.

Kabir’s legacy survives and continues through the Kabir panth (“Path of Kabir”), a religious community that recognizes him as its founder and is one of the Sant Mat sects. Its members are known as Kabir panthis.

Some scholars state that Kabir’s parents may have been recent converts to Islam, they and Kabir were likely unaware of Islamic orthodox tradition, and are likely to have been following the Nath (Shaiva Yogi) school of Hinduism. This view, while contested by other scholars, has been summarized by Charlotte Vaudeville as follows:

Circumcised or not, Kabir was officially a musalman, though it appears likely that some form of Nathism was his ancestral tradition. This alone would explain his relative ignorance of Islamic tenets, his remarkable acquaintance with Tantric-yoga practices and his lavish use of its esoteric jargon [in his poems]. He appears far more conversant with Nath-panthi basic attitudes and philosophy than with the Islamic orthodox tradition.

— Charlotte Vaudeville on Kabir (1974), 

Some commentators suggest Kabir’s philosophy to be a syncretic synthesis of Hinduism and Islam, but scholars widely state that this is false and a misunderstanding of Kabir. He adopted their terminology and concepts, but vigorously criticized them both. He questioned the need for any holy book, as stated in Kabir Granthavali as follows:

Reading book after book the whole world died,
and none ever became learned!

— Kabir Granthavali, XXXIII.3, Translated by Charlotte Vaudeville

Many scholars interpret Kabir’s philosophy to be questioning the need for religion, rather than attempting to propose either Hindu-Muslim unity or an independent synthesis of a new religious tradition. Kabir rejected the hypocrisy and misguided rituals evident in various religious practices of his day, including those in Islam and Hinduism.

Saints I’ve seen both ways.
Hindus and Muslims don’t want discipline, they want tasty food.
The Hindu keeps the eleventh-day fast, eating chestnuts and milk.
He curbs his grain but not his brain, and breaks his fast with meat.
The Turk [Muslim] prays daily, fasts once a year, and crows “God!, God!” like a cock.
What heaven is reserved for people who kill chickens in the dark?
Instead of kindness and compassion, they’ve cast out all desire.
One kills with a chop, one lets the blood drop, in both houses burns the same fire.
Turks and Hindus have one way, the guru’s made it clear.
Don’t say Ram, don’t say Khuda [Allah], so says Kabir.

— Kabir, Śabda 10, Translated by Linda Hess and Shukdeo Singh

In Bijak, Kabir mocks the practice of praying to avatars such as Buddha of Buddhism, by asserting “don’t call the master Buddha, he didn’t put down devils”. Kabir urged people to look within and consider all human beings as manifestation of God’s living forms:

If God be within the mosque, then to whom does this world belong?
If Ram be within the image which you find upon your pilgrimage,
then who is there to know what happens without?
Hari is in the East, Allah is in the West.
Look within your heart, for there you will find both Karim and Ram;
All the men and women of the world are His living forms.
Kabir is the child of Allah and of Ram: He is my Guru, He is my Pir.

— Kabir, III.2, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

Charlotte Vaudeville states that the philosophy of Kabir and other sants of the Bhakti movement is the seeking of the Absolute. The notion of this Absolute is nirguna which, writes Vaudeville, is same as “the Upanishadic concept of the Brahman-Atman and the monistic Advaita interpretation of the Vedantic tradition, which denies any distinction between the soul [within a human being] and God, and urges man to recognize within himself his true divine nature”. Vaudeville notes that this philosophy of Kabir and other Bhakti sants is self-contradictory, because if God is within, then that would be a call to abolish all external bhakti. This inconsistency in Kabir’s teaching may have been differentiating “union with God” from the concept of “merging into God, or Oneness in all beings”. Alternatively, states Vaudeville, the saguna prema-bhakti (tender devotion) may have been prepositioned as the journey towards self-realization of the nirguna Brahman, a universality beyond monotheism.

Kabir has been criticised for his depiction of women. Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh states, “Kabir’s opinion of women is contemptuous and derogatory”. Wendy Doniger concludes Kabir had a misogynist bias. For Kabir, states Schomer, woman is “Kali nagini (a black cobra), kunda naraka ka (the pit of hell), juthani jagata ki (the refuse of the world)”. According to Kabir, a woman prevents man’s spiritual progress.

Woman ruins everything when she comes near man;
Devotion, liberation, and divine knowledge no longer enter his soul.

— Kabir, Translated by Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

Singh states that this outlook of Kabir about women and their role in human quest for spirituality was not shared with Nanak who founded Sikhism. Surjit Singh Gandhi also agrees with this.

In contrast to Singh’s interpretation of Kabir’s gender views, Dass interprets Rag Asa section of Adi Granth as Kabir asking a young married woman to stop veiling her face, and not to adopt such social habits. Dass adds that Kabir’s poetry can be interpreted in two ways, one literally where the woman refers to human female, another allegorically where woman is symbolism for his own soul and Rama is the Lord-husband.

 

I guess the above stated material serves the need of hate propaganda for all the religions. So that’s why, Let’s go to Riot. Let’s take out axes and pitchforks and kill each other in the name of religion. I hope God would save you. You are essential. This entire planet thrives because of you and your closest advisor called GREED. Or let’s understand this quote and pray to the ALMIGHTY.

“बुरा जो देखण मैं चला, बुरा ना मिलया कोए
जो मन खोजा अपना, तो मुझसे बुरा ना कोए”

When I went looking for evil, I found it lurking inside, In my soul!

Translated by Nishant

Meera – The mystic lover Poetess

 

Don’t forget love;
it will bring all the madness you need
to unfurl yourself across the universe.

  • Mīrābāī, in ” Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West

Perhaps the most remembered and quoted woman in India history is a sixteenth century poet, singer and saint called Mirabai, or Meera. Versions of her songs are sung today all over India, and she appears as a subject in films, books, dances, plays and paintings. Even Mahatma Gandhi promoted her, seeing Mira as a symbol of a woman who has the right to chose her own path, forsake a life of luxury, and in nonviolent resistance find liberation.

Mirabai belonged to the Rajput aristocracy. From an early age, she worshiped the image of Krishna. Her form of worship was influenced by a number of her male relatives who were devotees of a mystical form of Hinduism called Bhakti.

In the Bhakti tradition, one approached one’s god through pure love, without any restrictions of caste, color, or gender.

Many Bhakti followers gave up their worldly life and left their families to became wandering teachers or live together in like-minded communities. Their message usually was spread through deeply personal poems through which they conversed with their chosen God. Female devotees who aspired to live this life also had to give up their husbands and family. They had to live among people from a variety of castes, including those considered forbidden to them. In spite of what many felt were acts of subversive, some who overcame obstacles to follow their spiritual quests in time became respected and even revered.

In 1516 Mirabai was married to Prince Bhoj Raj of the Rajput kingdom of Mewar, the most powerful Rajput state in the early 16th century. It’s capital was Chittor. From the start Mira was a problem. She refused to worship her husband’s family’s goddess (devi), claiming that she already had offered herself to Lord Krishna and considered herself married to him. She refused the family’s gifts of silks and jewels. She insisting on associating with the community of bhaktas. And when her husband died after only three short years, Mirabai refused to join him on his funeral pyre, a practice at the time expected of high caste Rajput widows. Instead she claimed that now she was free to devote herself completely to the worship of Krishna.

Mira’s devotional practices became increasingly intense. She often sang and danced herself into ecstasies, even in public places like temples. News about her spread all over India and she soon attracted a following of devotees from all social groups and castes.

My Dark One has gone to an alien land.
He has left me behind, he’s never returned, he’s never sent me a single word.
So I’ve stripped off my ornaments, jewels and adornments, cut my hair from my head.
And put on holy garments, all on his account, seeking him in all four directions.
Mira: unless she meets the Dark One, her Lord, she doesn’t even want to live.

— Mira Bai, Translated by John Stratton Hawley

Mira lived in a time and place when the sexual virtue of women was fiercely guarded. Her husband’s family was shocked by her actions and finally locked her inside the house. In her songs Mira says that on two occasions they tried to kill her, but she was miraculously saved both times. At some point she left the palace and city of Chittor and returned to her birth family. They too disapproved of her actions. Sometime around 1527 she set off as a wanderer, traveling to places of pilgrimage associated with the life of Krishna. Her popularity grew. Before she even arrived at the site, people gathered singing her songs. Mirabai returned once briefly to her home, but in the face of further family harassment decided to leave the kingdom of Chittor for good. She passed her last days in Dwarka on the coast of the Arabian sea, the site believed to be that of Krishna’s youth.

Mira’s life resonates in the hearts of many in India today for many reasons. First there are her words, which with beauty and joy express a kind of female liberation. In them, her rejection and even disdain of the wealthy and their life of riches also appeals to the poor. Then there is her rebellion, which is seen as being against injustice within the family and within kinship groups in general.

While valuing women as mothers above all, India also reveres the self-expression of Mira, a childless woman who is identified as having rebelled against her husband and in-laws.

Love is something absolutely unselfish, that which has no thought beyond the glorification and adoration of the object upon which our affections are bestowed. It is a quality which bows down and worships and asks nothing in return. Merely to love is the sole request that true love has to ask. It is said of a Hindu saint (Mirabai) that when she was married, she said to her husband, the king, that she was already married.
To whom?” asked the king.
To God,” was the reply.

Swami Vivekananda in “Others on Mirabai”

Hare Rama Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare

Khadija the Great

“God Almighty never granted me anyone better in this life than her. She accepted me when people rejected me; she believed in me when people doubted me; she shared her wealth with me when people deprived me; and Allah granted me children only through her.”

Welcome back readers. Ramadan Kareem!

Today’s Iftar entertainment is the least talked about, yet the greatest of all times, Love story. It’s about a not so simple girl Khadījah al-Kubra who later on became the “Mother of the Believers” (Khadijah the Great) and attained the status of the most important female figures in Islam.

 Khadija was a daughter of a merchant. She was scholarly and inquisitive. Khadija married three times and had children from all her marriages. Her husbands met accidental demise. And Khadija was all by herself in a big, ugly, misogynist society. Khadija has also been referred in many texts as the “Wise One“. She was a highly driven and intelligent person, like our today’s corporate women.

Due to her eloquent personality and great business skills, Khadija became a very successful caravan merchant in no time.  It is said that when the Quraysh’s trade caravans gathered to embark upon their summer journey to Syria or winter journey to Yemen, Khadija’s caravan equalled the caravans of all other traders of the Quraysh put together. She was known by the by-names Ameerat-Quraysh (“Princess of Quraysh”), al-Tahira (“The Pure One”) and Khadija Al-Kubra (Khadija “the Great”). It is said that she fed and clothed the poor, assisted her relatives financially and provided marriage portions for poor relations. Khadija was said to have neither believed in nor worshipped idols.

Khadija did not travel with her trade caravans; she employed others to trade on her behalf for a commission. One day, Khadija needed an agent for a transaction in Syria. Khadija needed someone who could be trusted.

Muhammad who was 25 years old, due to his helping attitude was addressed as Al-Sadiq (“the Truthful”) and Al-Amin (“the Trustworthy” or “Honest”). Khadija hired Muhammad, offering to pay double her usual commission. 

She sent one of her servants, Maysarah, to assist him. Upon returning, Maysarah gave accounts of the honorable way that Muhammad had conducted his business, with the result that he brought back twice as much profit as Khadija had expected. Maysarah also relayed that on the return journey, Muhammad had stopped to rest under a tree. A passing monk, informed Maysarah that, “None but a prophet ever sat beneath this tree.”

Khadija became joyful because the same morning, she had a dream in which the sun descended from the sky into her courtyard, fully illuminating her home. She knew what her heart wanted now. Because of her social status many wealthy Quraysh men had already asked for her hand in marriage, but she had refused all of them. She had waited long for her knight in shining armor, and finally the wait was over.

But Khadija din’t know how to express her love. She used to engage in long conversations with Muhammad, on false pretext of work, hoping someday she would have the courage to say her feeling. But she never could. Somehow when Muhammad looked at her, time used to freeze. There are many texts which indicate that one day, Muhammad came to Khadija and looked into her eyes and they both stood silently, staring at each other blankly, till the nightfall. This captivating event was interrupted by, Khadija ‘s entrusted friend named Nafisa.

Nafisa was aware of Khadija’s feeling towards Muhammad. Nafisa suggested Muhammad to consider marrying. Muhammad was hesitant because he had no money to support a wife.

 But as they say,

“It might take a year. It might take a day. But, what’s meant to be will always find a way.”

Weeks later, love struck, Muhammad and Khadija consulted their respective uncles. The uncles agreed to the marriage, and Muhammad’s uncles accompanied him to make a formal proposal to Khadija. Khadija’s uncle accepted the proposal, and the marriage took place.

Muhammad and Khadija were married monogamously for twenty-five years. When Muhammad reported his first revelation from the Angel Gabriel, Khadija was the first person to convert to Islam.

After his experience in the cave of Hira, Muhammad returned home to Khadija in a state of terror, pleading for her to cover him with a blanket. After calming down, he described the encounter to Khadija, who comforted him with the words:

“Allah would surely protect him from any danger, and would never allow anyone to revile him as he was a man of peace and reconciliation and always extended the hand of friendship to all.”

According to some sources, it was Khadija’s cousin, Waraka ibn Nawfal, who confirmed Muhammad’s prophethood soon afterwards.

Muhammad and Khadija had six children. Khadija died in “Ramadan” of the year 10 after the Prophethood”, Muhammad later called this tenth year “the Year of Sorrow

So this was the greatest love story of all times – Khadija n Muhammad.

Love is not about how many days, months or years you’ve been together. Love is about how much you love each other everyday.

‘A’ishah, whom Muhammed married later, narrated of Muhammed and Khadijah in Sahih Bukhari:

“I did not feel jealous of any of the wives of the Prophet as much as I did of Khadijah though I did not see her, but the Prophet used to mention her very often, and when ever he slaughtered a sheep, he would cut its parts and send them to the women friends of Khadijah. When I sometimes said to him, “(You treat Khadijah in such a way) as if there is no woman on Earth except Khadijah,” he would say, “Khadijah was such-and-such, and from her I had children.”

 It is also narrated: The Messenger of Allah said: “The best of its women is Khadijah bint Khuwailid”

muslim_couple_by_rokaaazz-d4dpcar.jpg
Disclaimer : The image above represents a couple in love. It is not a sketch of Prophet and his wife. 

 

 

Financial Meltdown Nov 2017, An American Express dream!

Financial Meltdown Nov 2017, An American Express dream!

Tonight, Broken Radio presents to you, a teaser of upcoming Financial Meltdown, releasing this Nov 2017. The theater stars you, of course. This entire planet is possible because of you and a guy named Greed. It also stars President Trump, PM Modi, and Amercian Express. It’s written by a team of brilliant writers led by Ken Chenault.

Before we begin, I wanted to offer you a little background. Billions of years ago, there were two people. Adam and Eve. I hope no one would ask me to prove this stated fact. I hope so.

There was no money. Few more centuries later, there were many people. There was no money. There still was a fair exchange of goods and services termed as barter. But there was no money. There was also a good king.

The good kings didn’t stay good. This is referred as a natural phenomenon called ‘Decay’. They decayed morally. Shit happens!

People were robbed of their minerals, gold, and silver. Gold Seize, they call it. And were made poor. Next few centuries later, there were kings, few rich people and then you. You are essential to this story. This entire planet is possible because of you and a guy named Greed.

Now you have no gold left. But you still have mouths to feed. What would you do next?

Barter!

 You go to a rich fella and ask him some money. But you need to offer something in exchange. If you offer your home, you would have no place to live. You already quit your ways of being a nomad because the king asked you to do so. You are confused about your next steps.

But that’s because, you are a decent fella. You do not understand earthly shit.

The rich guy is awake. He has all the answers. The rich guy would then suggest, you pay him a very small sum of money each month in exchange of believing you. But if you miss that payment, then he would take your house.

“Listen to him, dude. He’s your only friend. He is giving you money, without any fuss. You would have your home, wife, kids and you can always work a little. And keep on paying him a small Riba”, says the town whore.

Riba can be roughly translated as “usury”, or unjust, exploitative gains made in trade or business under Islamic law. Riba (Interest) is mentioned and condemned in several different verses in the Quran.

So even religion dislikes it.

Now, in present times, let’s take a look. You have a leader chosen for the people by the people, The King. Your friendly Banker. Media Whores. And You.

This entire planet is possible because of you and a guy named Greed.

So having shared you an interesting background, let me begin the trailer of  Financial Meltdown Nov 2017, An American Express dream!

The American Express Company, also known as Amex, is an American multinational financial services corporation headquartered in Three World Financial Center in New York City. The company was founded in 1850 and is one of the 30 components of the Dow Jones Industrial Average. The company is best known for its credit card, charge card, and traveler’s cheque businesses. In 2016, credit cards using the American Express network accounted for 22.9% of the total dollar volume of credit card transactions in the US. As of December 31, 2016, the company had 109.9 million cards in force, including 47.5 million cards in force in the United States, each with an average annual spending of $17,216.

American Express is full of go-getters who are highly imaginative. That’s one of the reasons behind their success. American Express realized in Q1 2015 that in an event of another recession, the largest lender would be rewarded a Federal Bailout package. So they decided to be one.

Since 2015 they are flouting various financial laws and up-selling credit through their unorganized and poorly regulated offshore contact centers.

 But that’s not it. They are up-selling credit to people who are sure to falter on repayments. They are giving money to people knowing their imminent non-payment. Clearly, flouting the rules of an already rigged game.

Now would be a good time to ask me for some proof. Well, I worked for this amazing institution for 5 long years. I am well familiar with the way this institution operates. And I was a part of this theater too.

Let’s me also tell you what’s gonna happen next. Come November those non-payments would cross an imaginary level and would start shaking the global economy. The waves would continue rocking the world till the next 2 years.

Banks would fire few mid-level employees. Amex India and Manila has already started the cleanup process.

 A year from now, ATM’s would start drying and the banks would declare themselves bankrupt. American Express won’t. Because the moment they would file for bankruptcy, the entire global economy would collapse. Remember, they would have achieved the biggest lender status by then.

So someone would offer them a bailout package and Ken Chenault would sip a cup of coffee with PM Modi and President Trump in a lounge, laughing at you. You are essential.

This entire planet is possible because of you and a guy named Greed.

Now don’t panic. Yes, I told you, you are soon to face a crisis, but I got a fix. Money is limited. If you withdraw all your remaining money tonite, after paying every bill you owe, you would be partially free from this magical chair of a show called the economy. When the music would stop, you do not have to worry. Yes, you would again lose your job but you won’t have many bills to pay.

 You would survive.

Now your question:

What would I do with all my money which I make till this happens?

Keep it in your home. Do not buy stuff on installments. There is no smartness in that.

What if someone steals it?

You have a government body called ‘The Law’, to protect you.

Oh, You do not trust them. You think they are crooks.

Wow!

You think Bankers are your friend and Cops are your enemy. In that case, Who am I?

A madman leading the blind!

 

Deep Hindu State – India

DEEP STATE

 

After the great and commercially overwhelming success of ‘Are you a chimp?’ and ‘Peace Love Rock n Roll’, what did you think I was going to talk about? My beautiful trip to the Himalayas! Of course, not. You knew this was coming. You knew it. Half of the nation has already termed me a bat-shit crazy conspiracy theorist, I need to live up to the expectations.

I always wished to be an infamous writer.

Let me tell you a fact about my childhood superhero Charles Bukowski. The FBI kept a file on him as a result of his column, Notes of a Dirty Old Man, in the LA underground newspaper Open City. That’s the level of infamy I wish to achieve.

Scandalous NiK! 

(I like the sound of it.)

Enough about my hopes and dreams just wanted to let you know, plainly and simply that this article is an attempt to win a place in the tracking servers of the intelligence agencies.

Okay then, where should we begin? Let me start with expressing my anguish over the fact that I wanted to write about PM Modi but I was advised to tread carefully by my closest advisers mostly located in Russia and Iran. Few of them are also based in L.A, California. (I like them more)

So do you understand what this really means?

I don’t like to bad-mouth great men. Modi is one. So is Trump.

Do I have the guts to say ill about Alexander the great?

Fuck not! He fucked up, in the end, that’s true. But who are we petty humans to judge someone so valiant and powerful. I can just think about a popular Indian saying – Aukaat me raho (Stay within your limits). But these are not the times of Alexander the great. Modern popular culture has introduced a great pseudo mechanism of mind control. They allow you to say crazy shit online. And then use the metadata to keep an eye on you. And also for propaganda purposes. Yeah, that’s jibber jabber. Let me further simplify. (And read my book Broken Radio, it’s on Amazon. It does explain all of this using a captivating story-line.)

You are Miss Z. Miss Z hates Trump. Miss Z leaves comments, shares, likes propaganda content against Sir Trump.

But Miss Z doesn’t hate Trump’s Wife.

Now Imagine this, a highly intelligent person, like me, gets access to this lump of raw information.

What can he do?

He can use a cyber boiler room and flood Miss Z’s virtual world with Melanie’s good work and a tiny message to vote for Trump. Now comes the voting day. Miss Z is staring at two faces on an empty wall. Both are full of hollow, empty promises. Miss Z knows, at some level, they both are full of shit. Suddenly her subconscious pops Melanie’s face in front of her and her fingers twitch. She doesn’t even know what happened but there it was,

 A Vote for Donald Trump.

 She comes out, forgets about the whole shit and starts chatting with her girlfriend.

That was my best. No one on the planet can explain you this crazy shit in a simpler manner.

Now let me tell you how you feel. Most of you understand and agree. But you think, none of this affects your pretty lives in any manner.

That is where most of you are wrong. It does. Let me quickly tell you how. Even I am short of time. I need to prepare breakfast for my girlfriend. She would be waking up soon.

The concept of a deep state suggests that there exists a coordinated effort by career government employees and others to influence state policy without regard for democratically elected leadership.

Sounds familiar.

10 Janpath behind PM Manmohan

RSS behind PM Modi

Amazon behind President Trump

You all know what I am talking about. But things just got worse. This is deeper that Deep State. As I explained initially, I was advised not to talk about PM Modi. I also explained how Deep State uses Social Media to manipulate you. None of this is my concern. My issue is PM Modi.

He’s a great man. I do not question anything he does. But I know he wants to see a temple in his name somewhere down the line, maybe 300 years from now.

I wanna make fun of him, a little. I wanna spread some smiles.  Every other country allows it. You made fun of the last one, PM Manmohan. It was disgraceful. I didn’t even smile. But you were allowed. Nobody roughed you up. So, my question to you is, Why the fuck can’t I make fun of PM Modi? A little laugh. How is that demeaning? And if it is,

What about last time?

 Did you guys fuck up?

I am not liking this totalitarian approach of the government to so strongly monitor people and manipulate social media with pro-government propaganda content. I am hating the way the government is using the intelligence agencies to use your cyber metadata to manipulate you. I am not liking this pseudo-censorship wherein Google would not run Adsense on your blog and FB would deny your ads if you write Pro-Islam content.

I hate PM Modi clicking selfies while he sells the nation for a bag of gold and a dream of becoming a God, someday. You are PM for god’s sake. What else you wanna become? PM of America? They don’t have those, over there.

The most powerful man on the planet! Donald Trump! Here’s what he recently said:

“I would be the greatest jobs president that God ever created”

Here is something I like from your PM Modi :

“I will make such a wonderful India that all Americans will stand in line to get a Visa for India”

I would drink tonight. Cheers, to a truly wonderful India.

And also, I know about boiler rooms because a close friend of mine, based in Russia runs a 1200 seater cyber boiler room. I joined FB on 6th Jan 2017. I am a bestseller author and an internet celebrity today. How do you think it all happened in 5 months? I orchestrated it through social media management with the help of my foreign friends.

Don’t judge me. Judge Trump! Judge PM Modi! Get ready to judge India’s next election!

 I am a small fish. I just wanna get infamous. Be a little bad boy. Marry a stunning, gorgeous, yet intelligent writer. (I recently found one.) Settle in the beautiful, heavenly, valleys of Kashmir. Have no kids.

And a request to government agencies –

In case you wanna set up a surveillance on me, I just wanted to make it clear to you, I intend to visit Dubai for some personal affairs this Eid. And Kashmir when I return. So, Please do not cancel my passport or put me in jail. December would be a good time for that.”

That’s it for now. Enjoy your weekend!

 

Let’s Call this Love!

I know. I sure do know. You guys are gonna start screaming that why am I talking about Love. I am well aware some of you have left your lovers because you believed in my saying that love is an illusion. I still stand by that statement.

But I too deserve to act stupid at times. We all get to have a little fun. Yes, In a longer run mostly everything turns to shit. And so does Love. Something which initially starts as a tiny funny feeling in your lower abdomen metamorphoses into a pain inducing tumor in your head towards the end days and then becomes cancerous and kills you. Then you slowly and gradually pick the broken pieces and then start looking for someone else to make you feel whole, for a little while, again. This basically sums up everyone’s love lives.

But let’s focus on the first few days. To clearly explain why love is so addictive, I am going to present to you my LSD trip notes. Love is as addictive as any other drug and has exactly the same effects. Here is love explained for all of you.

You start seeing colors. Your lover takes over your consciousness and you feel aware after a very long time. You no longer feel the need of being lonely. You start believing – Experiences are more enjoyable when shared! You experience a surreal time shift. It feels your world is slipping beneath your feet and is being replaced by a bright yellow light. The light of freedom, with a shade of captivity . You make paintings which capture how you feel because no amount of words can explain this divine phenomenon. And no fucking blog can tell you what it feels, when you on LOVE. Remember ‘ON LOVE’ not ‘IN’. It’s a fucking drug.  The colors dance and they talk too. 

That’s how the initial days feel like. And then –

‘DEATH – That’s what happens to every FUCKING BEAUTIFUL THING. IT FUCKING DIES. WE KILL IT’.

Didn’t the Ancient Mariner kill the poor naked Albatross?

Anyways, I am in the initial days so let me have fun. Atleast till EID! And guys a fact which you might not know cause you do not use all your senses, all the time – Women’s Vagina and a freshly made Painting smell alike. That’s it for this afternoon.

Delhi – The Rape Capital

It’s 07:45 am. It’s a beautiful Sunday morning in the capital town of India, New Delhi. New Delhi is the capital of India. India is a great country. Though it is a ‘bit’ overpopulated, where ‘bit’ is being used as an understatement inducing agent.  India is also a very just nation.

Because Delhi is world’s worst places and natives of this place are really evil, Indians decided not to outcast Delhi but reward it with the title – Capital. Being a capital city is a great responsibility. You need to make sure you are overpopulated and scarce of resources. This in turn would hike prices and people would work hard and earn less. The city would get costly and to an outsider would glitter ‘RICH’.

A Rich place is a good place. Lights should always stay on. You should never sleep. Delhi never sleeps. It works 24/7. In between naps it robs, kills, scams, whores and rapes too. Delhi likes raping. India enjoys rape. India makes rape a frequent activity. Indians believe every women has a secret desire to get raped. The world also shares a similar belief.

India rapes in Delhi, Noida, Gurgaon, Surat, U.P and before you tell me to stop stating that you know this and you choose to ignore because things like these are depressing. I would like to state the real fact. Yes every women has a desire to get raped. And that is not at all a secret. And as shocking as it would hit you, every man also has a desire to get raped. The entire human consciousness has a desire to get raped, wherein rape stands for losing control over self and let the universe run it’s own course. Rape means not to try and control anything because it’s a futile attempt. Rape doesn’t always mean a sexual crime, you depraved society! That would be it for today. Have a nice day.

It’s A Long Way To The Top If You Wanna’ Rock & Roll!

 

It’s a long way to the top if you wanna Rock&Roll!

 

What the fuck is wrong with you people? I am asking this assuming, some of you might know.

Don’t you have something better to do?

 

How about television? Common, don’t be shy. It is your favorite pastime.

Not today.

Did no one make plans with you? Go to some movie or a little shopping, a little clubbing maybe. No?

That bad. Hmmm.

You can play some games, they are pretty involving. You can listen to those stupid tracks saved in your phone, you call it music. Check your FB, maybe post a selfie on INSTA. These things matter.

Isn’t that right?

You can always color your hair. Try that new shampoo you bought after seeing that commercial. Groom yourself a little. Get those yellow stained teeth cleaned. You not going to look any younger or any better. But try.

You can always sleep. I am an insomniac since the age of 14: The day I first saw a pair of titties. A 40-year-old milf neighbor showed me the doors to heaven. You call it child sex abuse. At my time, it was called fun.  Haven’t had any sleep since that day. But you love sleeping. Don’t you?

If you are hell bent on reading this, I must warn you. Nothing would change. You would read this, appreciate, get enlightened. And then the very next evening, you would go and buy something more entertaining. Who reads books? You do not get laid by reading books. Be honest.

They call me Goat-boy. I am a musician. No, no!

They call me Goat-boy. I am an artist. Oh, shit, no!

My name is Goat-boy. I am a recovering sex addict. Fuck this shit!

Okay, so my name is Goat-boy. I am diagnosed with chronic Insomnia. I am also a recovering sex addict. I play guitar. Shit man!

My name is Jack. I am an artist. Maybe. Maybe not.

But I like calling myself one. I create music, at least try to. I am not too good at what I do but seeing the current logistics, who is? Is Trump a good president?

You only need to be good to do great things: To make money, mediocrity does the trick. Look at you, you make money and good is a very distant expression for you. You are shitty and clumsy but still, you make good money. Don’t you?

I never wanted to be a musician but an interesting mix of life events landed me the trade.

 I won’t admit that it was easy but yes it wasn’t so tough either. My doctor asked me to channelize my sexual energy into something more meaningful than watching porn and wanking. He suggested me to try writing, painting, dancing… I thought a lot. None of these people get laid, a lot.

Writers, they are fucking sex starved delusional.

Painters, they are fucking sex starved crazies.

Dancers, they got no energy left to fuck.

Rock stars, You know the glamour. You would get laid, why won’t you? You are a Rock- star!

So I thought to try my hands on creating some original rock music. Apart from playing music, I also enjoy burning shit.

“Burn It To The Ground”

I was listening to the Radio. Nickelback was playing. Music always pleases me. It makes the voices in my head go away. You should also listen to music. But just wanted to advise you that, “Char bottle Vodka, Kaam uska roz ka” (Four bottles of Rum, Bitch drinks every day…. Please show me how she pukes and shits d pain away.) is not music. These lyrics are not thoughtful. If you listen to this kind of music, I am sure your God would save you. The same God whose idols you purchase for $50 at your nearest place of religious communion – A shopping mall!

I focused on the lyrics.

Well it’s midnight, damn right, we’re wound up too tight
I’ve got a fist full of whiskey, the bottle just bit me
Oh
That shit makes me bat shit crazy
We’ve got no fear, no doubt, all in balls out

We’re going off tonight
To kick out every light
Take anything we want
Drink everything in sight
We’re going till the world stops turning
While we burn it to the ground tonight

Suddenly doctor “UD” came. So, our doctor, an unattractive male in his 40’s, never got married. He got laid the first time when he was 28 years old and got his first job. That too because the nurse had a bad breakup and wanted a rebound. A decent doctor worked for her.

Now, he always had an issue with nervous ticks.

For the STUPID: Nervous ticks, are involuntary muscle movements caused by stress and anxiety.

Doc: Goat-boy, You know why you here?

Me: Yes sir.

Doc: Then you also know that if you do not stop lighting fire to financial institutions, they would send you to a prison. They are only acting patient with you because of your fan following.

Me: No problem. I would light the prison on fire. Lighting fire is my passion. I like it.

Doc: No. It’s a medical condition. You are a delusional and an Arsonist. You need medical attention.

Me: Okay Sir. As you say. But did you ever think why I only burn Financial institutions?

UD: Tell me!

Me: Financial institutions make money. Money is historically an emergent market phenomenon establishing a commodity money, but nearly all contemporary money systems are based on fiat money.[4] Fiat money, like any check or note of debt, is without use value as a physical commodity. It derives its value by being declared by a government to be legal tender; that is, it must be accepted as a form of payment within the boundaries of the country, for “all debts, public and private”. (For the stupid – Money is just a piece of paper and it has no value because it has no great saying or quote written over it. It’s abso-fuckin-lutely of no value.)

UD: Got it. Now make sure you buy your prescription from the shop outside. And also book the next week’s visit by paying $250 advance. Get well soon, Goatboy. We love you! 😊

Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle!

Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle!

 

A thought just came to my mind. A minute ago. Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle. I know what you are thinking, “Aa gaya pagla phir se.” (Here comes the crazy again.) But then in my defense, I have all the facts with me. Please hear me out for two minutes. I won’t rob you off your wealth. Corporations and religions are for that purpose. I just need two minutes, please. And also, “Insanity is just a state of mind like sanity. Who knows who’s what? I certainly don’t (#mostdef)”

My question to you is, “Why not?” We are clothed and civilized because we are supposedly social beings. But are we? I don’t see many social things being done around. I just see few people making money and others buying the goods made and sold by them. Then I also see Television, (fuck Television – the kind you watch. I watch RT.com), which has a propaganda content airing 24/7*365. Everywhere they teach you how to buy things and how to make money to buy em. No one teaches you to achieve freedom and not to willingly submit to slavery. A wise man said –

Don’t let the ones that want to steal your dreams 
They’ll steal your dreams away 
Just laugh and let it go 

So you’ve tried to pass along your doubt 
Oh you need somebody’s ears to hear you shout 
All your wasted and days and twisted ways are up 
So now it’s time to see the cards you dealt 

Don’t let the ones that want to steal your dreams 
They’ll steal your dreams away 
Just laugh and let it go 

A wise one said. Not me. I am the crazy one. So, the point being made is, “What’s the point of a consumerist society?” Why fight for it’s thriving? Let it perish and rot away in oblivion. Let’s just orchestrate a Phoenix event. (In the historical record, the Phoenix could symbolize renewal in general as well as the sun, time, the Empiremetempsychosisconsecrationresurrection, life in the heavenly ParadiseChristMaryvirginity, the exceptional man, and certain aspects of Christian life”.[3]). We no longer need to buy things. All of us who want things to change and pave way for a better tomorrow, Let’s just sell our possessions. Buy a ton of books. Buy a backpack. Burn our identifications. Become no one. Because “It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”

“Let’s be a part of the great Rainbow Family. Let’s get naked and run through the Jungle!”

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Are you a chimp?

Are you a chimp?

 

Darwin told you, a long time ago that you were a chimp! You agreed, Didn’t you? But he made a small error. Yes, I said it. Loud and clear that Darwin made a mistake. Great men make mistakes too. That’s why Rome fell.

Darwin said you were a chimp. No motherfucker! You still are. Yes, you evolved physically but then that’s about it. You did not read books. You thought it’s too much of work. Let’s just look good and dress well, design an economy which resembles musical chair. Someone would always lose. It’s a musical chair. Those are the rules. And then you decided to fuck nature up and you enjoying, having fun. Just like chimps do. Break twigs, shit, puke, fuck, steal, at times hunt too. That’s your whole fucking story.

So, you still are a chimp! You were a chimp and you are a chimp.

I know some of you are laughing right now thinking I am joking but no I am not. I am damn serious. I am as serious as you were when you decided to nuke Hiroshima to make a point. A very small point. That you were a better chimp. Not so long ago you also decided to eliminate a breed of fellow individuals. One of the alpha male of your esteemed chimp community, ‘Sir great chimp – Hitler’, decided to kill Jews. You just stood there in shock and awe and I don’t know what as I wasn’t born then.

In my time another chimp, ‘Sir Donald fucking Trump chimp’ is doing the same. He wishes to kill every Muslim brother. That’s how chimps do it.

Now some of you are thinking what is my propaganda behind writing this. Am I a Muslim? Am I a naturalist? Do I have a PhD? How am I so confidently stating the but obvious truth. Well, for your chimp brain let’s just assume that I am Charlie Marvin, seventh great-grandson of Charles Darwin. And I also talk to the universe, because I am a human being, not a chimp! Unlike you.

So, please pay a very close attention to what I am saying. You are a fucking chimp! Okay! And you accidentally got the gift of language. You are not supposed to know the language. Because you use it to spread hate. You do not use it to spread love or peace. You should only communicate in sign language. Because you are a chimp and chimps are not supposed to talk.

And then came the shittiest moment in human history. You chimps got access to Inter fuck it Net. Holy Fuck! What’s gonna happen now? Every fucking chimp got smart devices. LMAO! LOL! Killing fucking language. (Smiley Emoji).  Because you don’t understand language. You are not supposed to talk.

And all of you who are thinking right now that you are a human being. Well, you are wrong too. You are also a chimp! Because you don’t understand, ‘Where there is will, there is a way’.  You don’t understand,”Honesty is the best policy“. You don’t understand,”Time and tide wait for none“. You don’t understand,”Find something you love and let it kill you”. You don’t understand,”Go all the way or don’t even start”. You don’t understand,”You are a piece of shit”. I don’t know why am I wasting my time talking to you. You won’t understand.”You are a chimp!“.

Please don’t buy a book. Go buy an I-Phone.

Charles Marvin seventh great-grandson of Charles Darwin.

Artist ¦Naturalist

Lover, Leave Me Alone!

Lover, please leave me alone

Lover, please leave me alone

Let me die with my sightless eyes

Let me die with my punctured lungs

Let me die with my crushed hopes, dreams and my broken bones

You don’t wanna nourish me

You just wanna judge

Pretentious, ignorant female

I would never budge

I am, I was, I will be

Cause I am time

I am wealth

I am stars, the sun, the moon…Saturn too

Your thoughts can’t leap

They like Snails

They sweep, all the dirt

all the earth, since birth

You are destined to crawl and die

Everyone gets by, everyone gets by

Lover, please leave me alone

Lover, please leave me alone

‘Broken Crayons Can Still Colour’ – The Untold Story Of A Fighter

No matter how successful we may think we are, deep down, we all seek inspiration because we realise the power of a truly inspired mind. It is believed that the true potential of the human mind can only be explored if one seeks inspiration before chasing after success.

For me, true inspiration can only come from a true story.

In today’s fast paced world, our minds have stopped working as they would in an environment more in sync with nature. The information age has rendered us incapable of forming a balanced world view & an original, unadulterated perspective because we keep churning out the same ideas that are constantly fed to us, resulting in a lack of originality, uniqueness & strength of character, ultimately leading to fewer real life heroes. Fewer real life role models.

Often in life, realisation & denial set in at the same time and when that happens, we become eager to disprove anything that seems to be a dismal thought. This was exactly my state of mind when I set my heart to look for some real stories that warm the heart & inspire the mind.

That’s when I stumbled upon a book titled ‘Broken Crayons Can Still Colour’. The book blurb suggested that this was a true story, of a man who had a broken childhood, no support, no means to even sustain himself except for turning to a rough life on the streets for survival. It was the journey of an orphan, who etched his way to greatness, serving the country & battling life’s many obstacles as he chased his calling.

To me, the initial appeal was that this was not a work of fiction. The life being described is one that someone has lived. But as I began flipping through the pages, I realised that this real-life story has the potential to change one’s perception of things in a way they may never have experienced before.

Capt. Rakesh Walia, the man whose life graces the pages of this magnificent autobiography, teaches the reader that the only essence of life is a “Never Say Die” attitude. Don’t give up, and you can achieve anything you set your heart at. I personally believe that this book would be a great motivator for one & all, whether it’s a disillusioned man or a disappointed parent, a self – loathing teenager or a self – doubting house wife.

I consider myself lucky to have found it, but I fear somebody out there may not find this handbook on surviving life while facing challenges head on, when they need it. Which is why, I wish to encourage people to read it & learn from it.

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