Rowy's Life In Flic-En-Flac

Why guys don't even TRY to understand women.

2008-12-13T05:38:00.003+05:00

Original chain letter:

There was once a girl named Ashley who had a boyfriend named Jack. Jack was the most popular boy in the school. The three most popular girls were Courtney, Ashley and Emma.

Jack thought of Ashley as OKAY, but he REALLY liked Courtney. Courtney liked jack also. Well of course she did, everyone did!

Ashley and Courtney were worst enemies. Courtney tried to steal Jack away everytime she had a chance to. One day, Courtney asked Jack if he wanted to go to the movies. Ashley heard everything.... which movie theatre and what time.

Ashley approached the movies that night and followed Jack and Courtney. Ashley sat right behind them. She watched them get close to each other and kiss....not only kiss, but practically get it on in the theatre. Courtney told jack 'Do you want to come to my place and skip this boring movie?'

He replied 'hell yes.'

Ashley had peeked through Courtney's window. Jack and her were messing around and Ashley watched the whole thing. The next day at school Ashley wasn't there.

For the next few days Ashley wasn't there.

A week later her mother found her in her closet dead...she commited suicide because she had loved Jack so much. Next to ashley's dead body was a note. A note that read:

My dearest Jack,i watched you at the movie and at Courtney's house and
I will continue to watch you. I never thought you would do something like this to me.
I really loved you jack.
I died for you just like Jesus died for us.

Always with you,
Ashley

Please foward this to more than 15 people or Ashley will haunt you and try to kill you because she wants everyone to know about Courtney.

Thank you.

Please Scroll Down.

'In loving Memory of' **Ashley Halagey**

What ashley did to one person who did not send this....... One girl was looking through her e-mail and she deleted this message thinking it was another silly forward... the next day she was found dead in her bed.

Of course u don't have to send this but I think Ashley Halagey will come soon to get you like tonight when you are still awake just sitting in bed

Repost this as or u will lose the one u love......

My reply:

Dearest Ashley,

Your death was not in vain. Thankfully, the termination of your existence is currently providing me with a delightful outlet for poking fun at the retarded people who keep forwarding emails and who keep the chain-letter tradition alive, in those days where bandwidth is cheap and email inboxes surging with free gigabytes.

Firstly Ashley, your actions are simply appalling. You killed yourself over Jack, who is obviously a dumb fuck. Your committing suicide over that guy makes of you an even dumber fuck. The worst part of it is that you killed yourself in your own closet (that merits a Darwin award, I assure you) and were found out only one week later by your own mother. Your suicide note read:

My dearest Jack,i watched you at the movie and at Courtney's house and
I will continue to watch you. I never thought you would do something like this to me.
I really loved you jack.
I died for you just like Jesus died for us.

Well, Jesus Christ wasn't desperately EMO. And he died on a cross, not in his closet. Plus he sacrificed his body to pay for the sins of mankind. He didn't die for Jack Shit. Unfortunately, he couldn't foresee the arrival of dumb fucks like you and Jack, because had he known, he would have had serious doubts about going to the cross.

Your boyfriend liked Courtney more, but was dating you. That is so typical. True - Courtney is a cheap slut, but that girl intelligently created her own luck to get the guy she wanted. You should be happy that you lost that jerk to your slutty friend. She probably had STD's, and now so does the guy. However, If you really think about it, had you really wanted to keep your guy to yourself, you should just have barged in while they were fucking, armed with a baseball bat or a similar pain-inflicting device. But you sat and watched them fuck, making of you a world-class dumb fuck.

I'd like to defend you but all the facts seem to point out that your EMO suicide in your closet was nothing short of stupid, meaningless and despicably unartistic. To tell you the truth, your self-termination is great news, since you have now effectively removed your genes from the common gene pool, and we are now assured that there will not be future generations of human beings who have inherited both your stupidity and that of Jack's.

Do you sincerely think that you're the first person to see the one you love going for someone else? Of course you aren't. But that doesn't mean we should all cut our wrists and die agonizing deaths in our closets. We ain't dumb fucks. We ain't you.

I was simultaneously relived and disappointed to know that you never existed (read: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/Is_there_any_truth_in_the_Ashley_Halagey_chain-mail_legend). Relieved because, such levels of stupidity were just too scary; and disappointed because now I can't append the two words "Dumb Fuck" on your tombstone.

I will however pray for the souls of similar dumb fucks who were inspired by your actions. Also, I sincerely wish that those people who actually believed that you sent and signed that email (after your own death) and afterwards haunted those who didn't comply would just -- die. May God please remove them from the surface of this Earth, since stupidity has become increasingly problematic latey.

-Rowy

I love my blog!

2008-07-11T01:52:00.007+04:00

Is the blog sphere shrinking in size? I don't know, but blogs feel like iPods nowadays. You won't be impressing anyone if you own one, since every retard with too much pocket money has one. Facebook seems to have completely replaced the original purpose of our very much loved web logs. The miniature feeds feature conveniently informs you of Jerome's doings (in less than 50 words) for the past few days, and "subscribing" to a blog equates to sending a friend request.

What will trigger the blog shoah, I believe, is Facebook notes. Hidden somewhere within this seemingly innocent feature, is an option to import "notes" from your blog. Blog posts reduced to notes! Murder! Genocide! Facebook has managed to swallow the entire blog sphere with one feature. If users find that feature (and they will, since I did and mind you - I'm not a Facebook freak), it's easy to predict what will happen to the blog sphere.

So social networking is the big thing now, eh? Well, screw that, I love my blog (even if I did have facebook parse my blog's RSS feeds - which means that my content is currently being mirrored on facebook). I'm not going to add stupid updates on facebook about what I'm up to - they'll be mirrored as notes, when facebook decides to re-parse my RSS.

So yes people, about the updates: I'm moving over to the UK. Having this blog (it was originally meant to inform the visitors of beach-bum happenings in Flic-en-Flac) is utterly pointless, but I'll keep it. Talk about detachment.

I'll be the exact same person, I'll be eating the same stuff (I'm a vegetarian now, did I mention that?) and will probably keep compaining about my short-lived pseudo-romantic fuck-ups. Oh, well... I'll put up another post as soon as I'm in the UK!

Balmer: I'll have a Yahoo! and a cup of coffee please.

2008-03-01T23:04:00.013+04:00

Behind every corporate moves lies an inherent evil scheme to conquer the world.

At least, what I believe in. Unless you have your homepage set to Paris Hilton's MySpace account, you must have heard about Microsoft's US$44.6 billion bid for Yahoo! Forget about the deal itself for a second and think about the over-sized gargantuan corporation that a combined Microsoft and Yahoo could be. With its tentacles firmly wrapped around the software market and its teeth sunk even more deeply into the web (yes this creature has both tentacles and teeth - you can't get more evil than that), it would get about to crush competitors with squish.wav playing as background music. And because shares speak louder than words, let's have a quick look at what's been going on with NASDAQ:YHOO for the past few weeks.

Click on the image to enlarge. Rest assured, there are no pop-up ads attached. Source: Google Finance.

Even my mom (who discovered the joys of right-clicking a few days ago) has heard about the bid - and has her own personal opinion: it's actually a secret deal to merge Hotmail and Yahoo Mail. No mom, it's not about email. The only company who seems to be making money out of email is Google, thanks to its innate ability to display ads everywhere.

No, this deal isn't about email, nor about search engines. Microsoft already owns MSN, and it's currently the 5th most visited domain on the internet (source: wikipedia). With its revamped AJAX-driven search baby and its widely popular instant messaging application, the set of services that the Microsoft Network offers is respectable enough to be called a Yahoo competitor. They already have everything Yahoo has - well, almost everything, if it weren't for... something else.

Remember a few years ago, when Microsoft placed a bid for Google? Did they want their search engine technology? Probably so, but I think what MSFT really had its eyes on was Google's advertising business. Yes, for the last few years, Microsoft has been more than enthusiastic about advertising, filing numerous advertising patents (each one more big-brotherly and making less sense than the other). And in my humble opinion, the Yahoo! deal has been placed on the table because of one single thing: and that is yahoo's penetration in the online advertising market.

If yer' can't get marry the princess, try your luck with her gran-ma'.

Microsoft couldn't get Google. Larry and Sergey were smarter than that. Now it's Jerry's turn to be courted - will he and his board agree to the deal? The sudden sharp rise in the share price of Yahoo speaks for itself - the board is divided, and by the looks of it, the deal has high a high probability of being closed. What does it mean for us, little insignificant internet surfers? It means that we will be farmed into online and offline PPC clicking beasts, with billions of dollars slowly being milked out of our mouse clicks. That's what the future looks like. Corporations fighting over our clicks.

One question still remains unanswered though - can my mom keep her yahoo email address?

Sous le soleil Indien

2008-02-16T19:51:00.005+04:00

« Shukriya, » me lança-t-elle.

Son accent n'avait rien d'Indien. Son raffinement, ses habits, ce délicat sourire agrémenté d'un rouge à lèvre éclatant était comme une apparition céleste au millieu de ce chaos. Rien de son habillement ne laissait croire qu'elle était originaire de ce pays. Et pourtant, tout comme moi, elle avait la peau légèrement brune et des traits trahissant des origines indiennes.

« Vous êtes Française? »

Elle eut un petit sursaut. Elle ne s'attendait pas a ça: il faut croire que je commençais déjà à fondre dans le décor.

« Non, non. Mais j'étudie en France. A Lyon. » me fit-elle dans un Français absolument parfait. Elle n'était pas Française. Moi non plus. Je n'osais pas lui demander son pays d'origine. Je n'osais plus rien faire – même pas respirer. Elle était resplendissante, c'est vrai, mais il y avait comme quelque chose d'autre. Après ce qui me parut comme une éternité, elle prit la parole a nouveau.

« Et vous, vous habitez ici? »

Je me sentais perdu dans la profondeur de ses yeux. Derrière ces yeux si doux se cachait une intelligence ferme.

« Touriste. Je visite le pays de mes ancêtres. » J'aurais dû dire "nos ancêtres."

J'avais l'impression de la connaître. J'avais le sentiment que quelque chose s'était produit entre nous. Comme si dans un rêve, dans un long rêve, nous nous étions embrassés. J'eus le vague souvenir des traits de ce visage, de ces cheveux si noirs et surtout de ces lèvres qui collaient si bien aux miennes... Je la connaissais par coeur, cette belle étrangère. On ne s'était jamais vus, mais ses mots, des mots qu'elle n'avait jamais prononcés en réalité, résonnaient dans ma tête: "Prendre un café, c'est leur grand truc a eux!"

Soudain, j'eus envie de la prendre dans mes bras. Je connaissais aussi très bien ce sentiment, de l'avoir dans mes bras. Mais je ne fis rien. Nos regards se rencontrèrent et je me demandai si elle aussi, elle avait les mêmes hallucinations que moi. Nous nous connaissions, sans jamais nous avoir vus auparavant. Dans une autre vie, sous le même soleil, elle était mienne.

Un grand blond se ramena et lui prit sa main. Il avait les yeux bleus et un sourire éclatant. Pour la première fois de ma vie, je me sentis totalement envahi par la jalousie. Lui, tout comme elle, était raffiné et bien vêtu; mais au delà de ce raffinement se trouvait un charme incontestable. Charme que je n'avais pas. Je me sentis laid, mal vêtu et très envieux. Par-dessus tout, je voulus condamner cette relation. Il n'avait pas le droit. Il ne devait pas. Elle n'aurait pas dû...

« Namasté. Mera naam Paul hain. Aap kaisé ho? » Il parlait le hindi sans accent et avec une façilité déconcertante. Le sien était bien meilleur que le mien. Encore une bonne raison pour le haïr. Le salaud.

« C'est bon, te fatigue pas. Je parle le Français. »

Je savais très bien que je n'avais aucun droit de me mêler de ce qui ne me concernait pas. Je fis un signe de la main et pris le chemin de mon hôtel, sans jeter un dernier regard sur la belle inconnue. Sa voix, cette voix enivrante, résonnait toujours dans ma tête.

« Ah! Les vieux! Prendre un café, c'est leur grand truc a eux! »

Dans une autre vie, dans une autre dimension, elle me l'avait dit. Et nous avions ri, tellement ri. Je me souviens d'elle dans mes bras: une union parfaite. Sous le soleil Indien, ce soleil meurtrier, je me dis que le destin ne pouvait pas être si cruel que ça, et que j'hallucinais certainement.

To My Soulmate

2008-02-02T03:40:00.000+04:00

My dear soulmate,

I am sorry I stopped believing in you. I am sorry that I stopped hoping to meet you... I am sorry about so many things... I am so sorry... Nothing is going on right in my life - it never has been. I know that someday, if we are together, somehow, it will all be okay, and everything will work out fine.

I am so lonely without you. To make up for this gaping hole in my life, I set my mind on money. I wanted to buy all the worldly pleasures and possess great amounts of riches - just to make up for this void within my soul. Deep inside, I know that nothing will taste sweeter than being with you, and showing you my true self without fear.

My love... Every day of my life, I will gaze upon you with my new eyes; and with awe, I shall discover your beauty once again. Every single day we live shall be a new day to discover each other, a new way to celebrate our love... because the mysteries of our souls are infinite, and each life is full of new experiences to be lived together.

There is a huge weight that has always been in my heart - it is a profound sadness: that of not being with you. What are you doing right now? Are you happy, or are you sad? Is there a man in your life, or are you thinking about me too?

So often, I stare at the moon and think about you, my perfect one. I think about your face I have never seen. I think about your hair I have never felt. I think about your perfume which has yet to enchant me... My love, where are you?

Maybe the right time has not come yet. Maybe we are not yet prepared for the amazing things that are about to happen in our lives. My princess, I promise to become a better man, a better soul. I promise to be the one you need when we finally meet. I will be strong, and I will not stop waiting, for I know that without you, the flowers in my garden will never bloom.

Your soulmate,
Rowan

Who's next in line?

2008-01-28T02:07:00.000+04:00

Chat log - me and my cousin Ashvin.

Rowan says:
man

Rowan says:
are you sure there's something you aren't telling me?

-=( ^shvin )=- DX says:
me?

Rowan says:
yeah

Rowan says:
like

-=( ^shvin )=- DX says:
oh, I got civil married today

-=( ^shvin )=- DX says:
and my religious wedding

-=( ^shvin )=- DX says:
is on Saturday 6 December

Rowan says:
oh nah I'm not talking about that

Rowan says:
I'm just asking if a dog crapped in front of your door

Rowan says:
or maybe you lost a pen

Rowan says:
WHAT THE FUCK MAN

Hope

2008-01-23T10:08:00.000+04:00

Hope is born from a single ray of sunshine, piercing through the heavy clouds which have sieged your world. Bursting through the darkness, it illuminates and shines through your heart, making sense of the world and everything else. Hope: the feeling that something beautiful is about to come. To know that the heart will soon be happy, to know that it will soon be full and no longer bleeding. To know that very soon, darkness will be nothing but a lingering feeling. There is no greater joy than to feel your hopes, especially those which were sowed since long, bloom. Breathing and blooming into life, hope becomes joy, and birds of happiness sing amidst flowery gardens.

The hope of another life.

The hope of a better life.

But some hopes, despite having been sowed with deep and true love, do not seem to bloom. And we then realize that we have never truly stepped out of the darkness, and that there is still a heaviness cloaking our hearts. Those hopes... those dead hopes... are never watered again.

Broken hearts... broken hopes.

2007-12-28T13:33:00.000+04:00

* Bush has joined #Dicktatorz

P_u_t[in] sets mode: +o Bush

* 5ark0 has joined #Dicktatorz

* kleanton has joined #Dicktatorz

<kleanton> Hey room!

<kleanton> What's up?

* kleanton was kicked by P_u_t[in] (Not allwed here anymore)

* kleanton has joined #Dicktatorz

<kleanton> Vlad

<kleanton> After all I did for you

P_u_t[in] sets mode: +b 66.178.211.29

<kleanton> You have no shame?

* kleanton was kicked by P_u_t[in] (Banned!)

* kim_jong66 has joined #Dicktatorz

<kim_jong66> yoyo people

<Bush> kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim!!!

<kim_jong66> yoyo

<Bush> WUZAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

<kim_jong66> WUZZAAAAAAAAAAAA

<Bush> WAAZAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

<kim_jong66> WUZAAAAAA

* Pervez_Paki has joined #Dicktatorz

<kim_jong66> wuzzzzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Pervez!!

<Pervez_Paki> man, I didn't do it.

<Bush> wuzzaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!1

<Bush> do wat/

<Bush> do wHat??

<Bush> do what?

<Pervez_Paki> I didn't do it man, i didn't.

<5ark0> my country can offer you exil

<5ark0> you just have to say you did it

<5ark0> then you get exil

<Pervez_Paki> I don't want no exile

<Pervez_Paki> I want to win fair elections man!

<P_u_t[in]> Fair elections?

<5ark0> mdr

<5ark0> we all know you did it

* |4D3|\| has joined #Dicktatorz

P_u_t[in] sets mode: +o |4D3|\|

<Bush> WWWWWWWUUUUZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA BEN!!!!

<|4D3|\|> wazaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa......!!!

<Bush> WUZZAA!!

<kim_jong66> ben, you did it? was it you?

<|4D3|\|> LOL

<|4D3|\|> No no, this time waznt me. Thought it was perv?

<Pervez_Paki> I tell you man, it wasn't me!

<Pervez_Paki> I mean, man, like I gave three days for mourning and shit

<Pervez_Paki> Man, it wasn't me I fucking promise

<|4D3|\|> LOL

<|4D3|\|> thn who did it?

<Pervez_Paki> I thought it was you?

<|4D3|\|> no

<5ark0> exil, exil! Come to my place!!

<5ark0> I bought a PSP

<5ark0> I have GTA on it

<5ark0> gf LOVES it!

<Bush> 5ark0 has a hoooot gffffff!

<5ark0> Yehhh.. hehehe... she's beautiful, non?

* el`fid`el has joined #Dicktatorz

<Bush> Shes hotttttttttttt

<5ark0> Have you had any chance with rice?

<5ark0> You tried the thing I told you?

<kim_jong66> I LOVE EATING RICE!!! HAHAAHHAHA!!

<5ark0> It is a Francais thing, they love it

<Bush> :(

<Bush> NOOO

<Bush> SHE DIDNT!!

* Bush sniffs

* kim_jong66 has quit IRC (Read error: Connection reset by peer)

<Pervez_Paki> Can we talk about my problem? I have a problem now

<Bush> resign1 resign! Pervez resign!

<5ark0> resignes, and I give you exil

<Bush> rezing!! Parvez is going to resign!

<P_u_t[in]> You need to be stronger than that. Cancel the elections.

* kim_jong66 has joined #Dicktatorz

<P_u_t[in]> wb, Kim.

<kim_jong66> sry, got disc

<5ark0> resign, parvez, you’re screwed.

<Pervez_Paki> Man, maybe I should put off the elections?

<`el`fid`el> hey guys

* ROBERT has joined #Dicktatorz

<`el`fid`el> whats up?

<P_u_t[in]> Perv, if you don’t get a hold now, you never will.

<P_u_t[in]> You will end up life Afghanistan

<|4D3|\|> hey hey! Whats rong wiz Afghanistan!?!?

<`el`fid`el> I heard the news

<|4D3|\|> its a cool place

<|4D3|\|> cept for ze heat

<|4D3|\|> but zen who cares

<|4D3|\|> im in massachusetts rite now

<P_u_t[in]> Afghanistan has no economy, duh.

* Bush sniffs

<`el`fid`el> I heard the news

<Bush> is it because of meeee?

<Pervez_Paki> pretty bad eh, Fidel?

<`el`fid`el> yes; couldn’t believe it.

<Pervez_Paki> JUST LIKE ME! I tell you, it’s a shock!

<`el`fid`el> oh... I didn’t know you liked the Miami Dolphins...

<Pervez_Paki> huh?

<ROBERT> HEY ROOM

<`el`fid`el> yeah, they lost to the New England Patriots...

<Pervez_Paki> wtf, Do you live in a cave, Fid?

<`el`fid`el> I dont understand...

<|4D3|\|> zey killed benazir. she wuz hot. Pwns :(

<Pervez_Paki> they got her man, they got Bhutto!

<`el`fid`el> but who’s benazir

<|4D3|\|> opposition leader

<`el`fid`el> what does opposition mean/

<`el`fid`el> ?

<Bush> Hey I know I know I know! I know who did it!

* kim_jong66 has quit IRC (Read error: Connection reset by peer)

<5ark0> you know who did this thing?

<Bush> I knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!

<Pervez_Paki> who did it man? Who did?

<Bush> It was pervezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!

<Pervez_Paki> I tell you it wasn’t me!!!!

<Bush> It’s what they are sayingggggg!!

<Pervez_Paki> who?

<Bush> tHEM!

<Pervez_Paki> Them who man?

<Bush> CIAAAA!!

<P_u_t[in]> Pfff, leave it. I’ll talk to the KGB about this.

<5ark0> I thought the KGB was closed?

<P_u_t[in]> LOL

<Bush> it was Pervez.

<Pervez_Paki> it wasn’t me! Man, you’re such a dick!

<ROBERT> WHY DID YOU KILL HER PERVEZ?

<P_u_t[in]> Robert, no caps please.

<ROBERT> I CANT ITS STUCK

<ROBERT> I CAN ONLY TYPE IN CAPS

<Pervez_Paki> Im telling you it was not me! I swear!

<P_u_t[in]> Pfff, never mind.

<ROBERT> IM SORRY MNA

<ROBERT> *MAN

* kleanton has joined #Dicktatorz

<kleanton> you all suck cock!

* kleanton has left #Dicktatorz

* P_u_t[in] changes topic to 'Parvez did it.'

<Pervez_Paki> FUCK YOU VLADIMIR! I did not do it!

<Bush> HAHAHAHAHA LOLLLLLL

<Bush> LOLLLLLLL

Letting it out

2007-12-16T18:37:00.000+04:00

Some people drink. Others fight. Some manage to measure the disastrous effects it has on their lives, and just let go. He was a special case: he had tried to forget, but some things just stick to your skin so much that they become a part of you.

The long walk he had taken to the designated place had not calmed him down. He still wanted to see the pain, the blood. Even if it wasn't by his own hands, he needed to see it - death in all its brutality and insanity. Somehow, he knew that would calm him down.

He was at the right place. He could feel it - and smell it. The closer he got, the more the smell of fear and death filled his nostrils. The smell of flesh freshly cut out and blood was simply unbearable, yet he walked on. This was a place most people would prefer to forget - it was one of those places you knew existed, but never cared to think about. Slaughter houses were cursed, and so were the people working there.

There were no guards, no security - absolutely nobody to ask him who he was. This was one of the few rare places ordinary people don't visit.

The smell outside was nothing compared to what was happening inside - the interior looked grotesquely clean, yet he felt that every inch of the place reeked of death. He finally found a man standing in a corner, with what looked like a sledgehammer. He didn't have much time to grasp his surroundings as the man, in an almost mechanical motion raised his weapon and brought it down with full force on a cow's head. There was a brutal thump, and the cow hit the ground. There was no blood - there was no visible pain. Yet, death had come so quickly... His eyes were open wide, expecting the brutal scene to cure him. Nothing happened.

A long and most painful "Moooooo" resonated throughout the building.

Obviously, the cow was still alive and struggling to live. The man completely disregarded this fact and walked back to a small chair and table, where a bottle of rum was majestically contemplating the entire scene.

The cow let out another painful sound - which the man seemed to completely ignore. He took a quick shot and went back to grab his slaughter weapon.

- "Wait!"

The man turned around, and saw him.

- "Whatcha want, kid?" The man said.

There was a silence, followed by another painful cry by the cow.

- "Let me do it. I want to do it."

Another pause followed, and a smile appeared at the corner of the man's lips.

- "Sure, you can have a try. Come on, come closer. Well well well, you're not properly dressed for the occasion, but 'sokay I guess. Come on boy, hold the hammer."

As his hand clutched the deadly weapon, he felt the true weight of death. He felt within the hammer the sadistic desires of that man - he truly saw how bad human beings could get.

- "Alright sonny, aim for its head. Bring it down with all the muscle in your arms. Go on, you can do it."

He lifted the hammer above his head. He looked at the cow, who couldn't understand what was going on. It had lived a miserable life: permanently sequestrated, it had been forced to give its milk to its human masters every single day. And now that it couldn't do that anymore - they wanted her dead. It was a miserable life, a miserable existence, and he really hoped that one day, human beings would stop being so selfish.

He turned around, and swung the sledgehammer hard on the man's head. It was quick, simple and murderously effective. The man's head exploded with bits and pieces of his brain flying about.

There was an immense satisfaction as he felt the frustration and anger leave him.

The Web Revolution

2007-11-09T00:17:00.000+04:00

The larger part of you (visitors) are going to simply cruise the net, day after day, downloading updated browsers and appreciating the beauty of the web while tapping on the vast amounts of organized information available. For some of you, however, the web is a never-ending pain of cross-browser issues involving Javascript, CSS and dysfunctional Div Tags. If life wasn't already hard for you, the introduction of AJAX didn't help at all. Everyday, there are now new issues, new cross-browser problems to fix, and WebServices to deal with.

A good, modern website usually contains/requires the following:

HTML (or XHTML - most of us have switched to XHTML nowadays)
CSS (2.0. CSS 3.0 is coming out pretty soon)
JavaScript (Call it JScript, JavaScript or ECMAScript - we're currently at the third version of the language. The fourth one is coming soon.)
AJAX (Asynchronous JavaScript And XML)
Server-side code (Whatever language you're familiar with - JSP, ASP. PHP, ASP.net)
Database code (SQL queries, stored procs - that depends on your DB)
Flash (With Actionscript 2.0)
Accompanying WebServices for JavaScript and/or Flash.

If you're planning to go into Web Design, think twice. With every single day, the web design business is getting more and more specialized. You can't be a jack of all trades. I, for example, can work my way around most of the technologies required for a website, but I won't ever match with someone who has worked closely with JavaScript and AJAX. Nor do my CSS skills match those of a talented web designer.

The problem with the web is that it has been built upon HTML. Years and years have gone by, but the core has remained the same. To "improve" the browsing experience, layers and layers of new technologies have been constructed on top of sad little HTML pages to make the web what it is today. It's like trying to make a car made out of wood, and running on steam fly. The amazing thing is that it IS flying.

I personally think that it's time to introduce a new format. Something totally different. On the client side, (X)HTML, CSS and ECMAScript need to be unified. And new graphical capabilities need to be added to browsers (which would cut out the need for Flash), as well as support for direct server communication (for streaming), while allowing the code to "mutate" and change itself. And yeah, pop-ups need to be killed.

On the server side, one single type of code should be able to generate the business logic, the presentation layer, query databases and at the same time deal with direct client communications to provide painless streaming functionality.

That's it! We have our requirements. Let's hope the W3C takes note of this blog post, and starts another one of their committee to study this case.

This Web Revolution of mine might not happen now... but I have high hopes for humanity, and the internet.

My first chain letter!

2007-11-05T22:02:00.000+04:00

Have you ever wondered where chain letters came from? Well, after receiving numerous chain letters, I decided to create my own. Here goes:

CONGRATULATIONS!!!! SOMEBODY THOUGHT OF YOU AND FORWARDED YOU THIS BEAUTIFUL CHAIN MAIL! YOU'RE IN LUCK, BASTARD. READ ON.

This chain letter is for real. Well, you might as well ask Jean-Luc Dominique Emmanuel Coccio A., resident of Cité Barkly, Mauritius. He received this email in his inbox on the 7th of December 2006. He didn't read it. That was mainly because the computer he had was a stolen one, and there was no fucking way he'd put an internet connection on it. So he couldn't read it. And that's when weird shit started happening.

On the 17th of December, a few days before Christmas, a mad donkey barged into his house and raped him.
And as everybody knows, mad donkeys attacks are pretty frequent in Cité Barkly. He thought it was just bad luck. He still didn't check his email. Well, he couldn't anyway. A few days later, seven donkeys barged into his house and gang raped him. Still, he thought that was just pure coincidence.
On the 22nd of December, Jean-Luc Dominique was arrested for possesion. His inmate was Dr. Miko, a famous Mauritian sadist. Jean was basically in jail, and he really wished he had bought the pirated copies of Prison Break.
On the 23rd of December, he learned that there was an unread email in his inbox. Unfortunately, due to a lack of facilities in Mauritian prisons, he couldn't do anything about it.
On the 25th of December, his inmate, Dr. Miko, castrated Jean-Luc.

That was the end of him, and his sexual life.

See? You MUST pass this email on. You NEED to. I'm sure you don't want to be raped by a mad donkey with a disproportionate penis, do you? I treasure my asshole's virginity as much as you do. Think twice.

Now comes the magic part of this email - the one that will bring you luck and all that shit:

*
***
*****
***
*

See? It's a diamond! With little stars!
Yay!!
...
Right, get on to pass this email. Now.

AND REMEMBER! THE MAD DONKEY'S WATCHING YOU. EVERYTIME YOU TAKE A PISS. EVERYTIME YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH. EVERYTIME YOU WATCH PORN. IT KNOWS. BEWARE, BITCHES.

Saying thanks to you, Ashwinee Ramchurn.

2007-11-05T03:29:00.002+04:00

I wasn't the most popular kid back in school. And I'm not talking about high school. I was the king of nerds at high school (well, vice-king until some dude named Arvind left, heh). I'm talking about primary school here.

Primary school was hell for me. I was wearing those huge glasses - like, miniature TV sets right in front of my eyes. I wonder if that did me any good. I didn't have many friends at that time - just a few ones. But it wasn't hell because I was being bullied by the bad guys... or anything of the sort. It was hell because I was shy. And shit would incessantly happen to the shy guy who just wants to be invisible. And I'm talking about un-bloggeable shit. Man, primary school was hell.

Somehow, I managed to graduate first of my entire class. Which sent me to middle school (middle school and high school's the same stuff in here). And then shit stopped happening to me, and I started to gain some self-confidence.

But that's not the point. This whole story is about a girl. Her name's Ashwinee Ramchurn. I think I got the name right... I remember she moved to another school for some obscure reason. I wasn't really good buddies with her - she was just in my class. She wasn't the cute girl I had a crush on. She wasn't the school bully. Right now, I just... kind of remember her face really well. Her very serious face. I remember she was pretty good at Hindi. And at almost everything else.

Why her? Why are my memories of her so vivid? Why am I looking for her right now? That's funny actually. Okay, it's not funny. It's actually quite touching.

During the occasional shit that would occur to me, Ashwinee one day popped up, and offered me help. Somehow on that day, my lunch had fallen over and was lying sprawled across the classroom floor. And she just turned around, and offered me her lunch. She opened it up, and asked me if I would have it.

The genuine kindness that emanated from her - still a kid - at that very moment marked me. And until now, I haven't forgotten. I was shocked at that time... she was some kind of stranger to me - we had never really talked. But then, she was graciously offering me help without me asking... and... I guess that had never happened to me before. The authenticity of her gesture would probably remain unmatched by a stranger throughout my life.

I refused her lunch, mumbling something about it being okay. And until this day, I kinda regret I never really talked to her. When she changed school, I remember going back home and crying on my bed. I don't really know why. I guess I was sad. Well, kids cry when they're sad. It's funny though, when you're a kid, you are a slave to your emotions, even if you don't understand them yet.

It's been nearly five years since I started looking for her. And man, believe me, when it comes to finding someone on the internet, I'm pretty good at that. I followed most of the leads... but... nada. Nothing. From time to time, I visit social networking sites, hoping to meet her there. I'm not obsessed or anything... (well, maybe I am due to the fact that I can't find someone I'm looking for) but I just want to meet her once again. Just for a few minutes. And find out about the person she became.

And then say "thank you."
Because I think I forgot to do that back in primary school.

It's weird, how stuff from your early years can affect you.
Very weird.

Dominique & Cross-Browser Issues

2007-10-22T22:52:00.000+04:00

Dominique says:
then what technically literate person would download and install safari?

Dominique says:
so i dont get it

Dominique says:
leave retarded people

Dominique says:
they have an excuse for doing anything

Dominique says:
"why did you do that?"

Dominique says:
"im retarded"

Dominique says:
"oh"

Why IRC sucks

2007-10-05T23:08:00.000+04:00

[smiles2] :)
[CruelPanda] hello there
[CruelPanda] Hi, how are You?
[smiles2] I'm fine
[CruelPanda] and how are you?
[smiles2] well thanks
[smiles2] kim, 49, Michigan
[smiles2] divorced, 2 boys
[CruelPanda] hmm
[CruelPanda] I'm younger
[smiles2] yes
[CruelPanda] I'm 22 m, Mauritius
[smiles2] i was in Mauritius once, back when i was in the Navy
[CruelPanda] you were in the navy?
[smiles2] yes, i'm kind of odd
[smiles2] i use to be a Man, had a sex change after the divorce

-
* Added *!*bullxx@adsl-69-209-119-113.dsl.klmzmi.ameritech.net to ignore list
-

Be A Man!

2007-08-08T23:41:00.000+04:00

Yukimura: I like white, you see.
Kyo: Red shows so well on it, doesn't it?

I am in absolute awe in front of the man that is Demon Eyes Kyo. His character is not exaggerated - he is no Rambo, yet his cold blood-thirsty look might make the latter crap his pants and run back home whining. I like Kyo not only because of the power and lack of fear that he possesses - but also because of his hidden feelings for Yuya.

This duality fascinates me. To be able to weild the sword, and to be able to truly love. I would be incapable of such a thing - I am either one, or the other. Although I admit that brandishing a Katana would be rather cool, I would never be able to hurt anyone with it - I wouldn't even be able to do it with a regular stick. I hope that will make the people on my hit list feel better.

I wish I were a warrior, fearless before my enemies, never taking a step backwards even when death would smile to me. I wish I could love, and have the courage to fight. I wish I had immense power to protect you, my beloved one.

Power should be granted only to those who can love, and not those who can fight.

The Lost Treasure

2007-08-01T12:03:00.001+04:00

During my quest that would never seem to end, I traveled to many places. Under the sun and in the rain, I kept traveling, with one goal in my mind: find my lost treasure.

One day, tired and desperate, I settled in a lost garden, far, far away. There grew a little flower, singled out from the rest of the blooming plants. Its petals were partly hidden, but anybody could tell how beautiful it would become in the weeks to come.

As if warning me to keep moving, the rain suddenly came. The harsh rain, always reminding me how much my heart longed for my treasure, always forcing me to keep moving. The raindrops were pitilessly bending the little flower, and I thought that life could be harsh at times. I started to walk away, when I heard a voice:

"Please don't leave!"

I turned around and stared at the flower. Had it just spoken to me? I came closer, not sure of what I had heard.

"Please don't leave..."

Her spoken words sounded like a sob, barely audible amidst the raindrops crashing around us.

I was about to protest. I was about to explain that I needed to find my treasure. I wanted to say that I could not stay. I wanted to explain that life was hard... but then a sudden surge of guilt rushed through my heart. Could I be worthy of any treasure if I selfishly left an innocent flower to its death?

And so I sat down, my clothes already wet, and shielded the little flower with my bare hands. For days and days it rained. Raindrops seemed to come from all directions, but I kept my hands frozen over the little flower, protecting her from harm.

The rain was persistent - and was growing harder and harder as the days went by. It seemed to be angry to see me sitting in the same place. I had completely lost count of the days spent in the lost garden, with my arms stretched over my little flower.

One day, tired and sleepy, I closed my eyes for a moment, and tried to forget about my wet clothes. I tried to forget that the rain was here, and that instead warm rays of sunshine were piercing through the clouds, like a divine light bursting through the skies of heaven. I could almost feel it over my hair, I could feel it washing over my face. Birds were singing...

Singing?

I opened my eyes. Something was different. Birds were indeed singing. I was no longer wet - and the rain had disappeared. The garden looked different - it looked even more beautiful than the first time I saw it. Birds were singing, and butterflies were happily dancing around, as if the rain had never been. I felt glad, I felt glad for the other flowers, and for my little flower.

Some flowers seemed to have taken notice of me. Their red luscious petals were screaming for my attention - but I did not take notice. Instead, I started to look for my flower, the flower I had first known, the first flower that had talked to me.

I would never have recognized her, had she not shone every bit of her beauty towards me.

"Thank you," said the little flower.

Her words deeply touched me. I was very glad I had stayed. It felt more than satisfaction for a good action - it was deeper than that. I felt elated, and extremely proud of her.

The other flowers were curiously watching me smile. Suddenly, one of them exclaimed:

"Pick me, pick me! Pick mee!"

The other flowers in the garden did not seem to like it.

"No, don't pick her, pick me! See how beautiful my petals are!"
"No, pick me, pick me, it's me, I want to be your flower!"
"Oh just shut up, I deserve to be picked first! Pick ME!"

All the flowers in the garden seemed to be screaming at the same time. The argument had moved over from whom should be picked first to the beauty of their petals.

My little flower seemed to be quiet, very saddened by the attitude of her friends.

"Won't you pick one of them?" she whispered.
"No, little flower. I will not," I replied.
"Then will you pick me?" she inquired.
"No, little flower. I will not do that either"

Once again, I sat down, ignoring my legs' desire to stretch a little bit more. I smiled at my little flower, and I began to tell her about my treasure.

I had never told anybody about it. I might have said bits and pieces of my story to a few random people, but nobody had ever heard the whole story, from the beginning. I explained how I knew that there was a treasure waiting for me, somewhere. I told her about the fakes I had found, and I told her about my faith - I believed in my treasure, and I knew I would find it someday.

"Then, why don't you go and look for it?"

The question was so simple - yet it made me realize how much I had grown to like this little flower.

"Don't worry about me, little flower. I will stay with you a little bit longer."

The days went by, and we kept talking. I began to worry about her.

"Little flower, what happens to little flowers when they grow older?"

She greeted my question with a moment of silence.

"It depends on how much love they have had."

My little flower did not seem to like this topic of conversation, and we both stayed quiet.

I slept on the ground itself, and she would greet my mornings with her warm petals. Sometimes, at night, I would dream that my flower was gone - I dreamed that she was not there anymore, to greet me in the morning. I would wake up, and there she stood, her petals shining beautifully in the moonlight.

When I woke up on that day, the sun seemed to be shining brighter than usual, and the birds were singing even louder. I smiled and greeted my little flower, like I did every morning.

"Good morning, my beautiful fl..."

My flower was not there anymore.

I felt my heart break. A sudden rush of sadness came over me. I had not known myself to be so sensitive - and so ready to cry. My eyes were already watery with tears which were threatening to pour down to the ground at any moment. I looked on the left and on the right, but there was no little flower - not even a petal left to indicate what had happened. She could not have left - something must have happened to her.

There was somebody else in the garden. I feared for the worse - that person could have picked up my little flower - picked her up to put her in a vase, far away from me. Sadness was quickly replaced by anger.

"Show yourself! What did you do to my flower?"

From nowhere came a beautiful lady, walking with infinite grace, and wearing a dress that seemed to have been woven with petals. She walked towards me, without fear, innocent and fragile. All the flowers turned towards her, and even the birds seemed to be subjugated by her mesmerizing beauty.

"Do you not recognize me? I am your flower, the one you have protected from the rain, and loved so much..."

My heart skipped a beat. My little flower? I looked at her, at her beautiful hair which seemed so much like my little flower's petals.

"Little flower... my little flower, is it..."

My hand gently caressed her face, and I felt the same joy that I felt when I saw my little flower bloom. I came closer, and my lips brushed hers. We kissed - a long-awaited kiss that seemed to last for an eternity in the lost gardens.

I cried a lot on that day. I cried because my little flower had become so beautiful, and I cried even more for I knew I had finally found my treasure.

Behind The Mask

2007-06-02T02:21:00.000+04:00

Somebody suggested the couch. Instantly, Patrick sent the cushions from the three-seater flying into the air. Nothing there either. The two seater and the corner sofa had already been investigated in vain. They were screwed.

- "Guys, we need to think."

Patrick, Sunny and Tommy rarely deployed any mental effort for whatsoever task. They could go for days without food - but not without cigarettes.

- "Dude, if I had to choose between a cig and a bitch on her fours, I think I'd go for the cig," said Tommy.

Nobody laughed. The three guys sat down on the stripped sofa's hard wood and started to explore the various possibilities available. The lack of money certainly posed a problem.

- "D'you think Jean-Claude would let us have a few ones on credit?"
- "Can't do that. We already owe him two packets dude."
- "Well, I could give it a shot. Lemme go and talk to him. I'll be right back."

At 1 o'clock, Jean-Claude was the only hope for those in need of cigarettes or instant noodles. His shop was on Flic-en-Flac's main road, fifteen minutes away. As Tommy closed the door and walked away, Patrick turned to Sunny with an evil grin on his face.

- "Dude, I have this idea, but it's like real gross you know."

Of the three guys, Patrick was the first one to explore evil possibilities. His plans rarely failed, but usually landed them in trouble a few days later.

- "Can that be worse than the time you stole Shampoo from the Spar supermarket and got caught?"
- "Nah, nah, nothing like that."
- "Spill it dude."

Patrick took in a huge breath. He always did that before explaining extremely evil schemes.

- "We can get a free pack of twenty and a huge bottle of whisky for free, but I think Tommy won't like it."
- "Like, get it right now?"
- "Ya dude, I know a fuck-sure way."
- "We're not going to rob Jean-Claude's, are we? Coz I doubt he'd let us have anything on credit after that."
- "Nah, nah, nothing like that."
- "Are we going to land into trouble?"
- "Yeah, if we screw it up, maybe."
- "Go on, I wanna know."

Patrick folded his arms.

- "D'you remember Roy?"
- "The tramp? That moron died last week dude."
- "Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

Sunny's expression brightened.

- "Shit, you know where he hid his stuff?"
- "Nah, nah, nothing like that."
- "What is it then?"
- "Turned out that his family felt bad about kicking him out of the house and all. They sent him off to the other world with a pack of twenty and bottle of whisky in his coffin."
- "What the fuck man?"
- "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about."
- "Fuck you! You're crazy!"
- "T'was Johnny Walker, the whisky. The black one. In the coffin."

A silence suddenly fell in the room, like a curtain closing after the first act. For Sunny, "Black Johnny Walker" was indeed a strong point, but "coffin" represented an appropriate counter-argument.

An unsuspecting Tommy popped into the room a few minutes later. He stood at the door with a sad look on his face.

- "Guys, bad news. Jean-Claude says we gotta pay him for the two packets we already owe him and..."
- "Nah, never mind about that," said Patrick.
- "We have a plan," explained Sunny.
- "Wow, great guys, I was feeling like we'd never see the end of this."
- "You might not like it though," Patrick announced, while throwing inquisitive looks at Sunny.
- "You tits, I'd do anything to get my hands on a cigarette right now," said a grinning Tommy.
- "That's good news 'cause we're going to dig up a grave," said Sunny in a matter-of-fact voice.

Tommy laughed for a few seconds before getting back to serious mode.

- "No shit, guys, what's the plan?"
- "We're going to dig Roy up, coz there's a pack of cigarettes and a Black Johnny Walker in his coffin."

Tommy's stood frozen, unsure of whether his best friends were serious or not. Patrick got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

- "What? You serious?"
- "Yeah dude, we're going for it," said Sunny.
- "Are you even sure there are cigarettes in his coffin? What if we get caught? Isn't there a cemetary guardian or something? What the fuck guys? How are we going to do that?"
- "Don't worry man, we're gonna be just fine. It's going to work, really," Sunny said in the most convincing tone he could find.

Tommy didn't sound convinced at all. He had his hands on his waist, and looked like he was about to go nuts.

- "Are you fucking out of your minds? I'm not digging Roy up, what the fuck? If we get caught..."
- "That's why you'll stand guard. Stop being a bitch Tommy."

Patrick had reappeared, holding a rope and two shovels.

Flic-en-Flac is a happy town, with vividly-coloured buildings and illuminated hotels. Waiters smile at you when they serve your food, and beautiful bar-tenders always wink when rich, drunk old men ask them out. However, beneath the smiling masks of all happy places lies human sadness, and sometimes lurking evil.

Evil which our three protagonists had already engaged in as the three of them stared at Roy's grave.

- "Guys, I can't believe we're doing this. This is so fucked up."
- "Shut up, Tommy and stand guard. Just whistle if somebody comes round."

Tommy didn't protest at Patrick's command and walked away. His two friends began digging without any idea of how it would all turn out. Fortunately for them, the grass did not seem to pose a big problem on Flic-en-Flac's sandy cemetery ground. A pale moon guided their sweating arms, the both of them looking like mysterious dark demons digging up a long-lost treasure.

Sunny's shovel finally hit wood. It was Roy.

To be continued...

The Life of Mrs. Toussaint

2007-05-29T09:35:00.000+04:00

The past 70 years of her life had been reasonably peaceful. She now lived alone in her own house, had satellite TV, fed her cat everyday and tried to minimize her daily amount of gossip. Mrs Toussaint was, after all, a God-fearing woman who went to church every Sunday. She would usually nod while sweeping her yard - yes, it's peaceful in here.

Things changed ever since her new neighbours moved in.

She now knew what Finnish metal music sounded like. Her everyday sweeping came with techno, and late-night shows ruined by un-subbed japanese anime. She might also have overheard a few porns or two, involving more than two persons at once, but her mind had already blocked those out.

Yes, beeches, I'm in Quatre-Bornes and back to blogging!

Sayonara Mec

2007-05-14T22:48:00.001+04:00

Mec, you bastard, I never thought I'd have to dedicate a post to you. It's been months since I posted anything on my blog, but today I thought I should.

I lost count of the number of times we were drunk together. Drinking never seemed to be what you did best. You were always out well before us, and we'd take you back home. You always managed to say a few words of thanks, before passing out again. The following day, you'd be there, by the beach, smiling.

I never really found anything bad with you. You should be awarded Flic-en-Flac's nicest guy. It was fun when you were around, even if you never really said much. You just smiled. And sometimes you'd laugh at silly jokes. It's weird but I never heard you say anything bad against anyone.

I took that pic of you during the good days. D'you remember that day, Mec? We all spent the whole of Saturday together, and even if we got kicked off Ahmed's chairs afterwards, we were still laughing. The next day, you were telling me about your girlfriend and why she left you. I'm sorry about her mec. She knows what she missed, I'm sure about that.

Mec, the good days are gone man. They won't ever come back. Mec, you died, and the good days are gone. You kicked the bucket at the age of 26. Mec you knew, didn't you? That's why you were getting quieter, day after day? And that picture, how could I know it would be the last picture of you? I could never know Mec. Had I known, I'd never have left your bedside last time. I'd talk to you, made you laugh a little bit more.

Mec, I miss you, it's bad.

Outta There

2006-12-21T16:24:00.000+04:00

I just don't know how to say it - so I'm going to flatly write it out: I left Flic-En-Flac and am now living in Quatre-Bornes. This won't change much in the blog because I still visit Flic-En-Flac from time to time. I still thought it'd be good to tell everybody about it.

Are they all taken?

2006-10-28T17:28:00.000+04:00

We were truly laughing, truly and sincerely content with the conversation. And then she exclaimed: "D'you have a girlfriend?"

- "No," says I

I tried to get serious. I asked her the same.

- "Yes, I have many girlfriends!"

And we started to laugh again. I wasn't really sure, so I still asked:

- But do you have a boyfriend?
- Yes... I do.

I wanted to fall down from my chair. This is a fucked up world. Are all the 18-25 year olds already taken? Like, all of the good ones? Am I too late or something? I don't really understand which train I missed. This is fucked up.

My keyboard

2006-09-15T01:19:00.000+04:00

I'm not too sure if this is my first post from a foreign computer. Writing those words on a different keyboard with a different layout with different sounds: it just feels like I'm cheating on my PC.

Yes, I like this keyboard, and I like the sounds that its keys make. Under a falsely melodious drumming sound, letters, words, sentences and paragraphs appear. I have ceased to look at the keyboard when I type and now I feel that I can only appreciate the sounds that my fingers make when they hit the keys consecutively. Nothing satisfies me more than a keyboard that moans and groans when stroked. A keyboard that I can genly caress and that makes me feel like a real user.

Free Online Music

2006-09-11T21:19:00.000+04:00

Listen to free online music with our site: www.DiscoverOurMusic.com!

Yes, it's absolutely free, and we have around 550 music files. No signup required.

Discover Our Music.com

2006-08-31T22:15:00.000+04:00

DiscoverOurMusic.com is the site I co-own with my buddy Kristine. The whole project was her idea, and I've produced the HTML, codebehind and SQL code. Kristine did help me a lot with the new version's SQL code though - because yes, there is a new version that's coming out pretty soon.

The template ain't crap anymore. We added some google ads, we have an artist page, a classifieds section, a flash music player on the artist's page (instead of a Windows Media Player pop-up) - and we hope to have everything up and running by next week.

If you're a music artist, why choose us instead of MySpace? The answer's simple - because MySpace ain't specialised in Music. MySpace is a networking site - huge - around 105 million users - and it can't be compared to a community anymore. You'll be placing your music on MySpace but you will still have to compete against all the non-music content that people are submitting over there, i.e. pictures, movies, blog entries and personal information. Finding your music would be similar to finding something on the net.

We're a site which focuses on the music - people looking for music will come to our site to listen to you. That is why we're better, and that is what we're going to prove very soon.

80th Post

2006-08-27T00:17:00.000+04:00

Poverty is an amazing thing. It slowly slides under you, like a knowing shark lurks beneath a surfer's board. You don't realise in how much shit you are until the jaws of this by-product of our capitalistic society have finally closed upon you: you're done for, without a cent to spend. You won't get access to cigarettes, and you will have to resort to a week-long diet of instant noodles. And maybe tuna fish on good days.

A poor me is writing and posting this 80th post, convinced that trying to summon any form of inspiration inside of me will only bring out farts.

A Test Post

2006-08-27T00:13:00.000+04:00

This is a test post. People usually do test posts the day they create their blogs, but I felt that creating a test entry on my 79th post was something pretty neat to do.

Actually, I'm showing one of my buddies how you can create posts on blogger.com. It seems she recently got all crazy about blogs, and is thinking of offering blogs to the whole world.

A Post Made Of Nothing

2006-08-24T03:46:00.000+04:00

The internet is being flooded with new content: news, videos, stories, music... How can I ever contribute something original to this massive flood of information, this monstruous tsunami of zeros and ones? A blog post would be comparable to a drop of water falling in a lake in the blogsphere. It would never make a difference on the internet.

After a desperate search for originality, an amazing idea hit me: Yes, I will write about nothing. If the internet has everything, I'll give it nothing. Some of my readers might be reassured to hear that for once, I'm sparing them some of my desperate pseudo-romantic short-lived love affairs or the beach-bum related news of Flic-En-Flac; but be prepared, because there's a lot I want to say about nothing.

Nothing, I believe, is my greatest talent. It is the common denominator of all my blog posts and the very foundation behind my ideas and motives. Even if I have no whatsoever affiliation with Freddy (also known as Friedrich Nietzsche), I sincerely recognise and applaud the Nihilist school of thought. Our existence has no particular purpose and goal. We are therefore the children of the Nothing.

There is no conclusion to this article, because it might become something if I add one. There will be no memory of it once I've posted it (doublethink is closely related to nothing, I believe) and hopefully, it will truly become something close to nothing the day Dumbie (also known as George Bush) accidentally presses the "Fire" button on the nuke control instead of the one on his XBox and blasts out Mountain View, effectively destroying Google and all related services such as Blogger.com where my blog is hosted.

Sunflower's Engagement

2006-08-21T07:28:00.000+04:00

I dunno how she did it - but she did it. After several months of bitchin' the world about Kevin, she finally got engaged! Aveisha - I'm so happy for you! Kevin - I'm so sorry buddy.

First of all, this was no ordinary engagement party. It was Aveisha's. A huge tent had been installed outside, and 100-150 chairs had been arranged for the guests. Everybody ('cept for probably me) was neatly dressed and a notice reading "Please dump the toilet paper in the bin provided. If you don't want to dump it, swallow it" was stuck inside the toilet.

Aveisha's engagement is the beginning of a pattern that might last for several more years - friends getting engaged and married, one after the other. Pretty soon, they'll start having kids, and their kids will get married and... well, anyway -

I finally met Kevin. I spent a few minutes talking to him and I can say that I was rather surprised. Aveisha's definitely got one hell of a character, and I always thought that the guy who'd end up with her would need to have nerves of steel and have followed some kind of training to dodge projectile electric household appliances; but no - Kevin is actually a nice guy with a warm smile. The world is full of surprises.

A Typical Essay

2006-08-19T19:38:00.000+04:00

In primary school, my teachers used to accuse me of submitting work which I hadn't authored. Well, I admit that I had my mom copy french verbs for me once or twice, but I've always authored every essay I turned back.

An essay from a typical primary school student isn't exactly something original though: teachers make sure that each one of their pupils remembers a series of templates that he/she can then adapt by using bullshit expressions such as "as cold as ice", "as fast as the wind" etc etc.

Zero creativity. Pathetic. I could've made a program to generate such essays.
Kids, here's a great essay you can learn from:

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and I was outside, going nowhere in particular. After getting high on various inexpensive drugs, I decided to grab a bottle of whisky at the supermarket. Of course being an underage 11 year old living in a society where moral values pale in front of profit, getting a bottle of whisky was an easy task.

I was then headed towards some strange destination, my bottle of sky tucked under my arm. My legs were carrying me, and the mixture of foreign chemicals and alcohol in my bloodstream were taking decisions for me.

-"I don't give a fuck," I said aloud, thinking that it would be a neat thing to say, and adding a hint of conversation to this story.

The weather was simply delicious. I don't know why it was delicious, nor do I understand why I thought that it was, but the amazing scene around me was delicious. I could see several people gathered a hundred metres away. Due to the fact that I have to make something happen in this essay, I ran towards them and discovered a car which had obviously had an accident. Some people were trying to open the front driver door.

A few minutes later, the door swung open, and the driver happily walked out of the car. He was safe and sound, until a huge bus came from nowhere and crushed him to death. Realising that this could be a traumatising experience for me, I only gathered the beautiful ruby-red drops of blood that were flying about, splattering on people's clothes and on the car. Oh, there was also a yellow butterfly and it was very beautiful.

My story ends with this very colourful and beautiful scene. Even if there is no particular lesson to be learnt, I'll have to say something to appear wise - "People should be more careful."

Flic-En-Flac Useful Information

2006-08-08T23:31:00.000+04:00

The Flic-En-Flac local supermarket - Pasadena Spar now closes at 17:00 on Sundays
Krish's Delights closes at 21:30 on weekdays, and 22:00 on Saturdays and Sundays
Shoppie closes at 19:00 on weekdays

You can get Emtel Phonecards at the Wolmar Store, Shoppie and Ah-Youn.
You can get cigarettes late at night at the casino (next to spar). The casino closes at around 03:00 am, but you might have to pay Rs 135-Rs 150 for a pack of 20.
The two places you can get internet in here is - [free] the Post Office (behind the police station) and at [paying] Spar.

And of course, if you need a place to stay, the police station's open 24/24.

My buddy, Arsha

2006-07-22T21:18:00.000+04:00

Arsha (in white) and Aveisha (in red)

I can't remember exactly how and when I got to meet Arsha. She's Vidisha's cousin, and also happens to be Ritesh's niece. She's Aveisha's sister, and also knows Arvind. I guess all the roads really were leading to Rome.

I think Arsha is one of the few people who's pretty lonely, but doesn't keep complaining about it. Yes, well, she's going out with a cute guy now (too bad, boys, she's already taken, and it looks serious) but I still think most people fail to realise who she really is on the inside.

All of that to say she deserved an important place on my blog.

Original Love

2006-07-16T23:51:00.000+04:00

I am young, yet I write with the dry passion of an old man with a wounded heart and a bruised soul. I have rarely seen things from the world, but I have never taken anything for granted - instead, I spent my time analyzing and figuring out the patterns of life.

Life is nothing but an equation of disasters and atrocities.

I remember when I was younger and naive: I seemed to have a never-ending supply of energy that I kept spending to correct what I saw as disturbances in the patterns of this world. During this time, I was also a true romantic. I could love with all my heart and soul, without any fears, without any doubt. But times change, and people change. I gradually stepped backwards into the shadows, with countless knives and daggers piercing my heart.

I do not claim to be wise. I do not claim to be right. However, at times, I wish I could get back my strength to defeat the present and conquer the future.

Almost Racist

2006-07-03T06:28:00.001+04:00

Do you know how it feels like to be treated differently from everybody else?

I've been thinking about that lately. I've always been going out with women who never treated me like they used to treat their boyfriends. I know I've always been the sub-standard boyfriend, the backup-plan, the guy you can actually impose any kind of condition upon.

It got real bad today. I was drunk - really drunk - and I said something truly horrible to one of my ex girlfriends, because I had been thinking about what she did to me. The bad thing is that I know exactly - at a millionth of cm square precision - where and when to place that comment that really hurts.

However, I regret now. Why am I so weak?
I wonder.

I'm Back... And Working!

2006-06-22T11:49:00.000+04:00

Okay boys and girls, it's been a while since I last posted anything in here.
I'm back! YES! And I found a job too!

I'm currently working as Expert and Technical Assistant at Eucis Global Services. The job appelation sounds mighty, but it's nothing much, really. I'm just interfacing stuff with other stuff (heh). This is a temporary job though - I don't know if I'm going to stay there, move over to another company or work in association with the company.

I'm supposed to be working right now, but I thought I should post this :)

Rowy

2006-05-25T01:24:00.000+04:00

Here is what really happened to Rowy-Wooden-Leg and Anestassia-Many-Origin, the two most infamous pirates of the many oceans. A touching story, full of emotion and human feeling.

Shanon

2006-05-15T10:58:00.000+04:00

I've been debating about whether I should publish this on my music website or on my blog. I decided to do it on the latter, for reasons that now appear obvious to me.

I can't remember much of the night, except for Kaleal's sarcastic remarks and Shanon's smiling face. I couldn't believe that it was Shanon - the girl I knew from Kaleal's yoga course. Well, I didn't exactly know her, it was just that she had then been quiet - very quiet. Like night and day. And funnily, I had known her only during the day.

Shanon Beaugendre, from a family of music artists, doesn't want any of the bullshit associated with celebrity. She's only interested to live her art, and be happy with it. Under the starlit sky, she successfully convinced me to listen to Eric Triton's fabulous music punctuated by a superhuman guitar scratching ability and funny lyrics.

If the future of the local music industry is relying on the shoulders of young people like her, I guess that we'll be pretty safe for the next 40-50 years to come.

Au fil de toutes ces années

2006-05-08T00:41:00.000+04:00

Au fil de toutes ces années,
J'ai passé mes journées,
A désespérément te chercher.
De toi, je n'ai fait que rêver,
De toi, je n'ai fait que penser.
Ensemble, l'amour parfait.

Au fil de toutes ces années,
Je n'ai pu te trouver.
Au fil de toutes ces années,
Je me dis que je dois renoncer.
Je pleure, je ne sais pourquoi.
Peut-être que tu n'existes pas?
Peu-être qu'un autre t'a pris dans ses bras.
Je suis désolé de n'avoir pu être là.

Vertigo

2006-04-20T17:54:00.000+04:00

I stared at the ground, and then at the man, and back at the ground again.

- "Whoa! You're really going to jump?"
- "Yes!" he replied, with a wide smile.
- "Money problems?" I inquired.
- "No"
- "Wife? Children? Work?"
- "No, No, No!"

I paused for a moment and started to think about the various reasons why somebody would ever decide to terminate his life. I was half-scared he would jump before admitting the reason - leaving me with an unsolved mystery.

- "I know. You've got a fatal disease, and you're planning to kill yourself before the disease takes you!" I said triumphantly.
- "No, I'm in excellent health."

It was weird. The man looked happy. Maybe he was on drugs.

- "You're not on ecstasy, are you?"
- "Nope."
- "Then why do you want to kill yourself?"
- "Because I'm at the peak of happiness!"
- "What?"
- "Because I am so happy that I don't want to go back and face sadness ever again."

It was not so stupid after all. I bid him a very merry goodbye, and took the road opposite to where he should have fallen. Somehow, a happy corpse sounded creepy to me.

Where's My Future?

2006-04-16T23:09:00.000+04:00

Iraq is being rocked by the sound of devastating bombs. Iranians are fighting for their right for nuclear power. North Koreans are starving to death while fake US$100 bills are being manufactured there. And I'm doing just fine.

The beach has never been so inviting. It has witnessed the last three years of my life, and it has accepted all my bitter tears and happy moments without ever complaining. You might not believe me, but I have befriended fabulous people from a wide spectrum of social backgrounds and ethnic cultures. And I don't regret a thing.

I also changed. I know that I have useful talents to offer this world. I know that I can produce good, professional code. I do understand technology (not as much as some people do though) pretty well, and I can get my way around most problems related to the virtual world. However, is that what I really want to do in life? That's what I really like, and not what I really want.

I want to earn enough money to buy myself a huge house someday. I want to be financially independent - and I will do it. One day, I'll be rich. I know it.

For the moment, I'll light a cheap cigarette before posting this.

Aveisha

2006-04-12T17:51:00.000+04:00

And the award for the most fucked up writing style goes to... *drum rolls* SUNFLOWER AVEISH!

Yeah, that's my friend Aveisha. She's far from the cute innocent little girl you might imagine she is. Read her blog.
Also, don't forget to check out what she wrote about me

The One And Only Kaleal

2006-04-12T14:39:00.000+04:00

Meet Kaleal - one of my buddies living in Flic-En-Flac. I think I've written enough about her lately, so well, now you know who it is :) I probably should upload a pic of myself sometime soon though. Hmmm... Maybe after my hair grows back.

Titi (L'ancien)

2006-03-29T14:12:00.000+04:00

Meet Titi, aka, L'ancien. He's another one of my buddies living in Flic-En-Flac. I met him via Tony.

People keep thinking that Titi's Antony's brother - which isn't very far from the truth. One of those days, I'll upload one of his improvised rap songs on my blog :)

A Devil's Blessing

2006-03-26T17:50:00.000+04:00

"O Satan, my soul is broken and my heart is now of stone. I have nothing but the remaining tears of my heart to trade."

Hell was now full, and the dead started to walk the Earth. A drop of blood appeared near my eye, and the divine light withing me forever disappeared. The world became obscure, but beyond the darkness, I could see through the hearts of people. I envied their lustful heartbeat - I desired their passionate desire to live.

I had been chosen to explore the darkest path of misery, and I thanked the Dark Lord for his blessing: the ability to understand my feelings without being affected by them. Through the wall next to my bed, I could feel their presence: the woman I loved, with another man on the same bed.

We suffer because we choose to.

One more time...

2006-03-23T14:35:00.000+04:00

Beyond the rivers of desire, lust and love lies an immense ocean of beautiful feelings for you. You forbade me to ever come near those waters again, and I cannot but contemplate you, while remembering those days where I could freely bathe in them, and kiss the stars.

Those words, I write to no-one. I only wish that they could be engraved on my skin and flesh; my way of remembering those moments and thanking the world for the chance of living those few days of happiness with you. I will never speak those words to you again - for fear of forever losing you. However, I know that you will never read this and I will once again allow my pen to gently scratch the surface of this piece of paper, and whisper those words: I love you Kaleal.

Ai

2006-03-20T22:16:00.000+04:00

It was bizzare - almost grotesque: the younger, inexperienced guy sitting on the beach with the calm and mature lady. His eyes wouldn't leave her, and his heart was pounding so hard that he was growing hotter and hotter. On the other side, the beautiful lady was slowly puffing on her cigarette, her 29 years of experience barely showing up on her glowing skin. The sun was about to set, and the silence between them was getting too loud.

- "Why is it that your hair's so beautiful?"

There was no doubt about it - it was something pretty lame to say. Not that he didn't know that it was lame, but he felt that the "timid guy" label that had been stuck on him was the reason for the silence. He loved the silence - he loved sitting there quietly with her - but somehow, he felt that if he didn't say anything, it would mean that there was something wrong with him.

- "You ask stupid questions sometimes."
- "Well, you know, I was just wondering why. If we could find out why it's like that, maybe..."
- "Rowan, I'll understand if you're asking what shampoo I use, or where I got my haircut, but that's something plainly stupid for me."

There was no doubt about it - he should have stayed quiet. The sun was finally going down, bleeding clouds of red and yellow. His eyes were fixed on the sea - he was pretending to be interested in the small waves rising and falling too quickly. He was acting as if what had just happened didn't affect him.

I'm Back

2006-03-08T09:49:00.000+04:00

After a wonderful three days of kissing and hugging, Kaleal broke up with me. Yes, three days.

I felt bad. Real bad. Mostly because I loved her... I adored her... and it just ended, so abruptly. I hate this. I wish I could go back in time, and live those three days over and over again, forever...

Awwwwwww!

2006-02-22T22:44:00.000+04:00

How do you call the temporary state where you're unable to write anything at all? Writeless? Well, if there were such a word, then I guess it would be correct to use it to describe my current state of being.

I feel like I'm on the top of the world; somehow, I jumped and reached the stars. What's an acheivement here is that I didn't fall back to earth. Newton must've been wrong somewhere I guess. Yes, boys and girls! I'm with Kaleal, and our relationship is moving towards a trend of stability and security. I was trying to count the number of times we kissed, but I think I got an overflow somewhere. Anyway, who cares?

For the first time in my existence, I'm running my life outside of a try-catch block. I feel we're going to be safe together, and I'll do everything for her to be safe with me. That's all I have to write - the rest - I'll live it.

Life Goes On

2006-02-20T00:17:00.000+04:00

There are some things that are currently impossible for me to write about. The pain is still fresh - I can feel it, right now, at this very moment. I don't know if I'm ever going to write about it. However, it's still good to feel pain - it reminds you that you're alive, and that you have a heart.

I guess... that life goes on.

Second Chapter

2006-02-15T16:33:00.000+04:00

Here ends the first chapter of my life. A love letter, accompanied by a hug ended it all. I just can't wait to discover what comes up next. I wonder who are the new characters in the second chapter, and I wonder with whom I'll finally end up with.

I could really feel it yesterday. Something in me was telling me that everything had suddenly changed. I went to sleep with something inside of me - something I didn't have when I woke up. She read my letter, but had absolutely no reaction. Maybe it's better this way...

Aishteru

2006-02-09T17:38:00.000+04:00

Hell, I should've acted faster. It had started to rain heavily, and I was kinda regretting being dressed up so elaboratedly. Even if the both of them were totally soaked, she was absolutely gorgeous. Yes, it was the day I was going to ask her out. I could feel my heart beating faster than normal, and on that cloudy day, everything seemed brighter than normal.

She was so beautiful. I just couldnt' get my eyes off from her. I just can't stop staring at her, and each and every one of her words sounds like the sweetest melody to me. She often scolds me, and tells me that I'm not paying attention. Well, that's because I just can't keep my mind off from her...

On that particular rainy day, I could literally feel my heart break into millions of little pieces. Her sister had just informed me that she was going out with someone, and part of my world suddenly crumbled. It was awful. I felt so bad. So bad. The rain suddenly had a meaning, and the reality of this sad little world started to transpire into my soul.

I should've done it a week earlier. Dammit.

I wish...

2006-02-02T03:37:00.000+04:00

I am finally shedding the last bits and pieces of the artificial me. Like a plastic skin which cracked and has suffered weakened bonds with its neighbouring friends, the layers of hate, envy and prejudice are disappearing, one after the other.

I'm no more the old me. I'm the one I was supposed to be, years and years ago. The undissolveable patterns of misery have had their toll: my own character. I want to change, because I have seen the outer layers of me. I want to forget absolutely everything, and re-learn the world from a new and unbiased point of view.

A few days ago, I started regretting being who I was. The regrets came with a lot of bitter tears and half-swallowed outbursts of sadness. I wished I had never met Natasha, I wished I looked different, I wished I wasn't me - I just wanted to be somebody else, at some other place, living another life.

The girl I like is going out with somebody else. There ain't a thing I can do, and for this once, I will accept my usual fate and keep on surviving.

What's happening in Flic-En-Flac?

2006-01-30T18:05:00.000+04:00

What's happening in Flic-En-Flac? Well, everybody seems busy with their lives - the new year came and went away, and all of us seem to have resumed our everyday routine.

The elite of the rhum-gulping club all seem to be alive and drinking. However, they are frowning upon the newcomers who came to make a few bucks with the forgotten trolleys (each one's worth 10 bucks) - the proof, Roy, the homeless wine/rhum veteran is currently walking around with a few injuries on his face.

Nothing's new with me - I'm still living in an impossible desert while crawling towards what looks like a mirage. My good mate, however, seems to be swimming in the lake of happiness. Makes me wonder...

My Confession

2006-01-27T22:51:00.000+04:00

I like hugging you. I like being close to you, and watching you. I love everything about you, especially your hair, and how it gets all weird in the morning, when I drop by your house to have tea with you. The best thing that I like is hugging you. You're so smallish, so cute - I wish I could just keep hugging you.

I can't walk by your road without staring at your gate. I can't stop my heart from jumping when I see somebody far away who looks a little bit like you - and I just can't explain what happens when I hear your voice from afar. Everytime I come closer to you, and kiss you on your cheeks, I just can't help wishing I were kissing your lips. I wish I could hold your hand, and go on a walk on the beach with you.

My dear, I wish you were mine. I don't know what's stopping me from telling you how much I care for you, and how much I adore you. Would it be my shaking knees, or my blank mind? I feel something when we're talking on the phone, and keep thinking about our short conversations on the phone. I treasure each and every text message you sent me, and I feel blessed when you call me.

I love it when you yawn, and I adore seeing you dance. Everything about you makes me wonder... and I wish we were together, right now, at this very moment. Even if we die poor, I will still feel that I've been the richest man in the whole world.

There's no doubt about that. I love you.

Wow

2006-01-21T12:20:00.000+04:00

I don't recall how the weather looked like, nor could I detect any delicate smells around me. It was neither hot nor cold, and nothing in this particular moment would've predicted what would happen. It was a normal day, the birds and the people around all looked normal.

Something fell from the sky, and I caught it. I was positively certain that I was still immersed in reality. My eyes, which had been closed halfway in response to the usual boredom of the world, suddenly opened up and sparkled with glee. I looked up at the sky, to confirm that I wasn't dreaming, and checked my outstretched arms. Yes, it was real.

"What's your name?" I asked

She smiled, but didn't reply.

Writing

2006-01-18T05:11:00.000+04:00

When I write, my mind is closed to all inputs from the real world. I write to fill in the void inside of me, to compensate for the loneliness. Those words living here are the bits and pieces of my mind and my sentences mirror my heart.

I write hoping to be read. I know that those fragments of memories made up of words and punctuations might forever live inside of you, and that is why sentences are eternally forming inside of my mind, to finally be born through a melodious drumming of my keyboard. Yes, writing is selfish. The writer is both the father and the mother, who hopes for the world to see his or her children.

Hope...?

2006-01-18T00:28:00.000+04:00

I hate unsolved mysteries. But I'm always delighted when I'm in the process of solving one.

Maybe the mystery of this year would be Hope. Hope is an individual with unknown motives; she visits my blog from time to time and drops me comments. We talked on chat and sent emails to each other, but for a few months now, the communication has been pretty much one way.

During blank moments, I keep thinking of methods I could use to track her down. I know I could compare the time and date of comments left with visiting IP's on my websites - but what can I really do with that? Call the local telecom and ask them for the phone number of that person? I don't even have a valid legal reason to want to track her down anyways.

And then there are the philosophical issues. What good is there to track someone who wants to remain anonymous?

*sigh*

P.S.
Yes... I made the blue sunflower drawing.

Blogging Under The Rain

2006-01-14T11:34:00.000+04:00

Mysteriously, the sun seemed to have disappeared.

Experts all agree: it's not normal. Space shuttles and telescopes have been cruising the dark skies to find the star of our system. She's nowhere to be found. In those dark moments, the whole world stands united, but still slightly uncertain about its future.

The moon declined to provide a suitable reason for the disappearance of its friend. The main suspect, God, was interrogated this morning. God furiously denied taking the Sun away, and requested to be interrogated only in the presence of his lawyer, the devil.

The devil declined to give away any information regarding the case. The search goes on.

I challenge You.

2006-01-14T04:04:00.000+04:00

A few centuries ago, it would've been quite easy to instil divine fear into tribesmen who had not chosen to improve their lifestyle through trade or mechanical and technological means. Fire a gun or explode some fireworks - and *bang* you're already their God. We can understand their reaction. Humans tend to attribute things that they do not understand to higher and therefore incomprehensible powers.

Most of you reading this are no better than those primitive tribesmen. Maybe even more stupid. I don't think even 1% of you have ever witnessed an event which could not be scientifically explained. Still, you believe. You've been raised - brainwashed - to believe, without asking yourself questions.

What you have to say:
"But God SAVED ME! I was locked up inside a crashing airplane's toilet and my butt was blowing diarrhoea while everything on the plane was on flames. I still survived! Is that not a miracle?"

What I have to say:
"No, shithead. Had you died, you wouldn't be bragging about God picking you out of everybody on the airplane. But you survived, and we have to bear your stupid thoughts."

What you have to say:
"I had prostate cancer, and I had only 1% chances of survival. Even if I'm missing a ball, I'm alive and well! Isn't that a miracle? Didn't God SAVE ME?"

What I have to say:
"Out of 100 patients, 99 died, and you survived. Out of the next 100 patients, 99 will die again, and yet another dickhead will survive. You're just statistics. Bitch."

Religion is like Santa Claus. However, there's nobody to tell us that God doesn't exist.

I must still applaud all the religions around the world - they are the best and oldest organisations around. They self-regenerate themselves in terms of members, brainwashing everyone and giving valid or partially-valid philosophical answers to many questions. In many cases, they give a sense to life.

Religions are here to make us forget the fact that after we permanently lose the illusion of consciousness, we return to our most basic form: matter without intelligence. Very few of us are ready to accept this, and it is somewhat comforting for the weaker and dependant minds.

The Quiet Story

2006-01-14T02:58:00.000+04:00

This is the story of two young fishermen. Contrarily to the heroes of Ancient Greece, they did not participate in historical wars; unlike Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, they did not find a buried treasure in an abandoned house; nor did they solve dark mysteries like Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

This is the story of two fishermen in the modern world, living lives without earth-shaking adventures, lives without the fear of tomorrow: the lives of two simple persons.

Should I tell you the wonderful story of Joe and Gérald - the two happiest men on this planet? Would you be interested to know that both of them wake up at five to go fishing on their boat, and always come back home to their wives with a smile on their face? Would you like to listen to a story that starts well, is quiet in the middle, and ends beautifully?

I know the story. I can assure you that it's beautiful.

The Mysterious Girl

2006-01-13T20:50:00.000+04:00

Who would have guessed that there was such a place inside of Flic-En-Flac? The one last haven where trees freely grow and butterflies flutter, guided by the sweet smell of the wind. I heard that a mysterious girl lived in there all alone, in this house with no television and no telephone.

Was it a dream, or was it for real? I was shocked by the simple design of the house, and the complex artifacts of decorations hung around almost everywhere. I had never seen the girl herself - I had been invited to her house by her cousin. We were there for only a few moments, but the magic of the place had totally entranced me. It all made sense: A fairy lived in that place. It should've been a very beautiful woman, with long hair and kind eyes. A simple and yet cute girl, with a charming smile and a beautiful personality.

I felt like the young innocent lad who had been led to the mysterious forest where the princess lived in disguise.

I could've chosen not to meet the girl who lived in there - after all, I might have been deceived. I however got hold of her phone number (Yes, she had a cellphone. I was surprised.) and sent her a text message. We were on the beach, two days later, talking about our lives, karma, and things I would never have expected to talk about with someone. Even if she wasn't how I imagined her to be, she is still beautiful - very beautiful.

My virtual life all seems like a blur - my email address, my blog, my ongoing projects... yes, it's there: the real world.

2006 Starts

2006-01-10T10:54:00.000+04:00

I read a strange book by a disturbed spirituality guru. He neatly explained illumination through a fascinating example:

We are all drops of water. Illumination would be to return to the ocean; but as we would fall into the ocean, we would all die. However, we would still live on as a part of the ocean.

Yes, that would be illumination all right. But before we all return to the universe, or maybe re-incarnate into the neighbour's underwear, I think we should make the best out of life.

Had Sunflowers Been Blue

2005-12-31T00:10:00.000+04:00

Forgive me if I am not here tomorrow,
For my heart has turned to stone,
And my living soul forever gone...

Forgive me if I am not here tomorrow,
I will now be the shepherd of the clouds,
I will be in the one breath of the winds,
And I will be in all the tears of the sky.

Forgive me my love but I had to die,
I could not bear to see you cry,
Even if yet we have not even met...

- Rowan

Kick #3 - Eternal Tears Of Sorrow

2005-12-30T17:55:00.000+04:00

While travelling to meet what would be my third - and hopefully last - kick for this year, I was violently reminded of the day when I went to meet my ex, Natasha. I was taking the same road, six months later, to meet up with another girl. It wasn't much different though.

I'm seriously starting to question the purpose of dating someone. Even if I simply want to fill in an emotional need, I cannot but see chaos when it comes to women and my life. One after the other, they appear and disappear, leaving burning marks on my heart.

I started out young and fresh, and now I feel old and used. I guess I need a pet or something...

Mysterious Creatures

2005-12-30T16:34:00.000+04:00

He stood in the deserted alley, contemplating the heavens. People tend to ignore the sky during the day, and instead focus their attention on the clouds. But he was different. He smiled to the skies, and they smiled back to him. The universe was opening up again.

His thoughts lingered on the vague philosophies of good and bad. Even if both are completely relative, from the laws of Karma, if someone hurts you, that person should be hurt in an equal amount by somebody - or something - else. However, he wished to hold the katana in his hands once again, to make those people pay dearly for what they did.

The words of his friend echoed though his brain, and he dropped those insane thoughts. "She'll get payback for what she did. I wish it was I who gave it to her though."

Women are mysterious creatures. They use men, use them again and again, and finally dump them. And on top of that, they have the guts to claim that men are wildly insane and unemotional creatures, driven only by the will to procreate. He lit a cigarette, and for the first time in his life, he was thankful that the world was full of dicks who were endlessly using women and dumping them. At least, somebody was making them pay for everything. Even if the sword was not in his hands, he knew that somewhere out there, there were men extracting revenge for him. He caught himself smiling at the irony - the men he had always hated were now his only hope.

Finally, everybody has a purpose in life.

Goodbye Dom

2005-12-28T10:04:00.000+04:00

Today's the 28th of December. Dom's finally leaving to get settled in South Korea, with his girlfriend.

After almost three years of long distance relationship, Dominique finally managed to get everything right, manage his time and money and leave the country. We should appreciate the fact that South Korea (that's where his girlfriend lives) is 8 hours ahead of Mauritius, and that he successfully managed his relationship during those many years. I know what it takes to manage a long-distance relationship. I've been there, done that - and I'm certainly not going back.

I should be happy for him, but I can't help feeling sad. Seeing your buddies go away sucks.

A Funny World

2005-12-22T12:19:00.000+04:00

Knowing two girls of the same name can be frustrating. Especially if your contact list on your mobile phone is badly organised and you happen to be drunk as from 21h every night. It also gets a little bit worse if you're seeing both of them at the same time. I personally witnessed my friend struggling with the conversation as he stealthily tried to inject questions into the conversation to find out more about the identity of the girl. Which one was it? The one he was dating - or the other one he was dating?

Unfortunately for the non-poly-dating people, having people dating more than one person at once actually decreases the chances of us [the non-poly-dating people] finding a partner. This situation is even more irritating for me as I happen to be a complete loser when it comes to finding a partner (you must have noticed).

Why would it be wrong to date more than one person? What is more important - satisfying a biological need for reproduction, or satisfying the moral need for love? Some might argue that love does not exist. And I will retort: "neither does the biological need". Yes, the "biological need" emanates from the brain. Assembling a dick and two balls does not make of it an organ with a need. What's required is a series of interconnected neurones controlling that dick. If love is a by-product of your neurones, so is your life, your biological needs, and everything else.

Finally, for the likes of the poly-dating people, I would like to bring forward an argument. Whether you're a male or a female, consider this:

- How do you choose a friend?

a) Because the both of you get along really well
b) Because that person is exactly like you
c) Because that person is cute

Answer (a) and (b) seem to be the most sensible ones. Answer (c) seems so silly.
Now answer this:

- How do you choose a life partner?

a) Because the both of you get along really well
b) Because that person is exactly like you
c) Because that person is cute

I leave the rest to you.
Best of luck for the marriage, Q!
We're all with you... in a way :)

I Wish I Had An Angel

2005-12-21T15:58:00.000+04:00

I Wish I Had An Angel

I wish I had an angel
For one moment of love
I wish I had your angel tonight

Deep into a dying day
I took a step outside an innocent heart
Prepare to hate me; Fall when I may
This night will hurt you like never before

Old loves they die hard
Old lies they die harder

I wish I had an angel
For one moment of love
I wish I had your angel
Your Virgin Mary undone
I'm in love with my lust
Burning angel wings to dust
I wish I had your angel tonight

I`m going down so frail and cruel
Drunken disguise changes all the rules

Old loves they die hard
Old lies they die harder
...

Last dance, first kiss
Your touch, my bliss
Beauty always comes with dark thoughts
...

No Goals

2005-12-19T20:12:00.000+04:00

I am left with absolutely no goals in my life. Graduating from university? I don't care if I fail or pass my university modules; I'm revising for them for the sake of revising - I'm doing something: it's the ultimate proof of me still being tortured by my own living consciousness.

It's my own fault if I don't have any long-term or short-term goals. I didn't do the right things, or wasn't motivated enough to do them; and above all else, I kept believing that one day, the loneliness would not be here any more.

On the left is a pic of me when I was three or four... I wish I had known back then that life sucked that much.

Rachna From Flic-En-Flac

2005-12-17T09:29:00.001+04:00

I could feel my brain knocking the sides of my skull as I walked into the Nenuphar Store once more. It was the first time I stepped in since I got that Royal Kick from the girl working there (see my previous post). I wasn't really thinking of the girl (who is way too cute by the way) but more of how I fucked up on the Formal Logic questions in the exam.

I can't remember what I bought at the shop, but there came the little kid working there holding a piece of paper with a phone number and "Rachna" written on top of it. "No shit," I thought. "Aren't I a lucky bastard?" I had the girl's number. I guessed she wrote it for me and wanted me to call her. Nothing could've been sweeter. Yes, I had the number of the hot babe working there. Hooray!

I ran back home, and decided I wouldn't call her right away. I'd wait a few hours, I thought. I just couldn't sit straight... I had her number! I think I walked around my room a few times to take my mind off her.

After a painful two hours of waiting and nail-eating, I called her. When Rachna first heard who it was, I could almost hear her mind exclaiming: "Oh my fucking God, where did that bastard get my phone number? Oh well, I'll talk to him, with some luck he might die a painful death tomorrow." It turned out that she didn't intend to give me the number; the kid working at the shop had pitied me and given it to me. It was, technically, another sort of kick. Not a real kick, but it brings the same hot unpleasant itchy feeling to the butt. Fucking hell.

I think I won't ever have any luck with women anymore. Being a nice guy without bad intentions doesn't pay nowadays. I am a only a dog in a country of lamb and wolves.

Kick - Painful hot feeling in butt without prior contact with foot.

Hit List

2005-12-15T20:19:00.000+04:00

Here's my updated hit list for the year 2006:

1. Natasha Frederic (She deserves it. That bitch.)
2. George Bush (Do I need to explain WHY?)
3. The Teletubbies (All of 'em)
4. The 10 O'clock Flic-En-Flac Ticketer (I might spare him. Depends on the weather.)
5. ------------

The 5th place is free! If you want to apply, send me your CV with a complete list of reasons why I should be in my hit list. Limited seats.

Random Uniformity

2005-12-08T16:56:00.000+04:00

It's raining in Flic-En-Flac.

I was filled with an immense sadness when I woke up today. I felt as if I just missed something - something very important. What did I just do? What did I miss?

I know I had this feeling before, but I can't remember when. This is so weird.

I've been making so many retrospectives of my life lately that I think something is wrong. I remember the days when I was running to school accompanied by mom, the CPE results, my first day at RCC, the archery club at Rose-Hill, Dominique and his crazy plans, my HSC results, work at Eisos, Cuan's .NET courses, my life with Natasha...

It feels as if everything is gone, the past having turned to dust, leaving small traces in my memory and marks on my heart.

Kick #1

2005-12-07T17:30:00.000+04:00

Right. Now that I'm single and all, I decided to blog out all my attempts at getting a girlfriend.

Attempt #1
Wed 07 December 2005

I saw her three days ago. It was her first day working at the Nenuphar shop. God, wasn't she cute... heh... well, I decided to go to talk to her yesterday (Tuesday, 6th Dec) but she was already gone. I managed to leave my phone number with a kid working at the shop, instructing him to give it to her the following day.

Well, today, I dragged myself to the shop and saw her walking out of it. I dunno where I found the courage to go talk to her, but I did it.

- Hi, you're the new girl working at Nenuphar, right?
- Hi... yes
- Can I know your name please?
- Erm... why do you want to know?
[me thinking - wtf...!?]
- I just wanna know you and stuff
[me thinking - wtf am I saying man...?]
- It's Rachna.
- And how old would you be, Rachna?
- Whyyyyyyy do you wanna know?
[me thinking - wtf man, wtf?]
- Well, you know, I just wanna know you and stuff...
[me thinking - shit, this isn't going as planned]
- Look, I can't talk to you right now...
- Okay, at what time do you finish?
- 5 pm
- Okay then, I'll see you then!

7 hours later, a casually dressed Rowy was strolling towards the Nenuphar store. I admit it - I did spend quite some time getting dressed.

She came out. We started to talk.

- So, what's up, Rachna? Can I walk you to the bus stop?
- Erm... no
[me thinking - Maybe I should just quit it and run away as fast as possible.]
- Well, would it be okay to talk over here then?
- Yeah, but I really have to go
[me thinking - This is very bad]
- I understand. But you haven't told me your age yet...
- But... why do you want to know?
[me thinking - Dammit, Rowy, think of something]
- Well, you see... I saw you three days ago and I thought you were real cute and I wanted to talk to you
- Ah...
- You're in high school, I presume?
- Yep. I just did my HSC
- Oh, so you should be 18 or 19 then
- 18
- Ah, great. And... erm... do you have a boyfriend?
- YES
[me thinking - oh my fucking god, what am I doing here]
- I didn't know, sorry
- Well then, I'll get going
- Okay, we'll talk some other time
- No
[me thinking - sigh]

And this concludes my first official kick at Flic-En-Flac. For those out there wondering what kick might mean, here's my definition:

Kick - Action of violent rejection by an attractive female.

Tired.

2005-12-05T21:41:00.000+04:00

I am tired. Of the opposite sex. Of women running around "oh I want a nice guy" and end up screwing all the sadistic males around. Why? Because those guys are hot. Those same women end up eating ice-cream or chocolate while their female friends pat their backs - "Oh, you know, he doesn't know what he just lost."

Okay, I'm pissed. I just wanted to point out to all the nice and nicer guys out there - the nice guy always loses it all. This statement implies that I'm in the "nice guys" club. Well, yeah, I guess so. I've got good examples to contrast with.

Me: How serious would you want it to get?
Friend: I just want to have an open relationship.
Me: Meaning?
Friend: It's like a pact, you know - you can have sex with anybody you want, while still being with the other person.
Me: But...
Friend: Yeah, that would be real neat.

Weirdly, I wanted a girl for totally the opposite reasons. Not for the sex, but more for the emotional affection. Everybody keeps telling me that it's not fatal to be alone. Ha. The shimmering light of the pixels is like alchemy - a science that brings loneliness and seclusion to the ones caressing it.

No More Drinking

2005-12-04T21:15:00.000+04:00

My drinking spree is finally over. It hasn't been without consequences though. I've been pondering over the last few years of my life - the end of high school, the company where I've been working, my first kiss, how I cheated on Yusha, how much of a dick I was to Natasha and - well, many things.

The thing is, I was on the central highway, alcohol pumping through my veins, and this song started playing in my head. It's not like I knew the song; I was just making it up as it played in my head. Interesting effect of alcohol - I could hear it as if it were really playing somewhere around, but I still knew that it came from my mind.

However, I don't think I'd trade a few minutes of lyrical ingenuosity for a great many hours of suffering in the morn and nasty long-term effects on my liver. Heh.

Antony

2005-12-04T14:20:00.000+04:00

This is Antony, my neighbour. He's omnipresent in Flic-En-Flac - he's a face you can't miss. If you came to Flic-En-Flac, and didn't see him, then you missed the whole point of coming over here.

I hang around with him when I'm not glued to my screen. I've been in Flic-En-Flac longer than him, but he seems to know the place better than I do. Heh, the perfect guide for this town... erm... village :)

The Full Metal Alchemist

2005-12-04T13:07:00.000+04:00

The Elric Brothers are particularly talented in Alchemy. However, after the death of their mother, they attempt human alchemy to bring her back to life; the process turns out to be a failure. Alphonse, the younger brother, loses his body while Edward loses his arm during their mother's transmutation. Both of them set off on their journey to find the philosopher's stone, reputed to be the most powerful alchemy tool. The stone allows the one who posesses it to bypass the natural laws of alchemy and obtain what they want; and there is something the Elric brothers want the most - their bodies.

The Full Metal Alchemist is a well-made japanime. The story gets more and more complicated as the episodes fly by. It manages to translate words, images and sounds into deep emotions. My favourite.

Samurai 7

2005-12-04T08:42:00.000+04:00

The Nobuseri - bandits who transferred their consciousness and souls into machines - make a living out of stealing the rice from the peasants. The Kanna village decides to find and hire Samurai to fight off those bandits. There starts the tale of Kirara, the Water Priestess, accompanied by her little sister Komachi and Rikichi, a man particularly scared of the Nobuseri. They manage to gather seven Samurai, and their story stretches far beyond defeating all the bandits, while they discover the rules of a system with them at the bottom of the ladder.

Samurai 7 is not the typical japanime. The story is serious, complex, full of surprises and extremely well made. There is no complaining about the quality of the art, especially the Nobuseri, which seem to have been modelled and rendered in 3d. Samurai 7 is one of the best - if not the best - anime around.

Bleach

2005-12-04T08:14:00.001+04:00

After Kurosake Ichigo has been entrusted with Shini-Kami powers, his pass times radically change from being an ordinary person to cutting through the non-living with his huge soul-cutting katana, also called Zanpakto. However, after a violent battle where Ichigo's powers are taken away from him, his friend Kuchiki Rukia is forcibly taken to Soul Society to be punished for her crimes - that is entrusting a human with Shini-Kami powers. There starts Ichigo's Odyssey to find new Shini-Kami powers, get stronger and save Rukia.

Bleach gets closer and closer to the old Dragon-Ball styled japanime with its violent battles spanning through several episodes, and the impossibility absolutely everything.

What I've Been Watching

2005-12-02T20:28:00.000+04:00

Here's a list of the latest Anime I've been watching. Best ones first -

1. Full Metal Alchemist
2. Samurai 7
3. Bleach
4. Naruto
5. Green Green
6. Elfen Lied
7. Excel Saga
8. Chrono Crusade
9. Chobits
10. Tsubasa
11. Hellsing
12. Full Metal Panic
13. Vandread

Recipe for Happiness in Flic-En-Flac

2005-11-23T21:00:00.000+04:00

My butt comfortably settled into the sand, I watched voluptuous smoke puffs drift away into nothingness. What do people need to be happy? I stared at my friend gulping down wine. He looked perfectly happy; he might have been happier with a few more bucks in his pocket, but he was definitely happier than I was.

Was I too ambitious? Was it that hard to want not to be lonely any more?

I loathe all forms of virtual interaction. I hate the cyberworld, this place where people hang around, faking impersonations of their own selves. Above all else, I hate those people who just come round, pretending to be friends with you, but who wouldn't spend even half a day with you in the real world. I have nowhere to go now, and I'm left with only the real world, this vast unknown place full of constantly connected people.

Friends are people you spend time with. Spend time with your friends in the real world. After all, the amount of time you spend with someone shows how important that person is to you.

Shit Me Not - The Minds of Guys

2005-11-16T19:04:00.000+04:00

"Beauty is the expression of inward purity"
a) Inward purity? Wtf is that?
b) That's bullshit. Beauty doesn't reflect purity.

I haven't lived long enough to say that I've seen everything in life, but what I saw a few minutes earlier was indeed a grave case of self-admiration.

There was the picture, and the profile. The person (a 17 year old female student of DMC, who goes by the name of Jaisha) had her profile up on a friends-network site (hi5). Guys were pouring beautiful comments on her pictures -

"hi dear u got a superbe smile"
" an exotic beauty, what a goddess..."
" u r just gorgeous babe!"

etc, etc.

Which made me wonder - how many of them guys actually read her profile? What does it take to logically deduce that a person is totally self-centered, and lives only for being beautiful?

Maybe it's just the very limited amount of neurones in a dick. Heh.

Humour Across the World

2005-11-16T11:14:00.000+04:00

Having been exposed to various kinds of humour, I thought it would be interesting to give some people an overview of what "funny" means across the world. Here goes my story on the puppy, and the different versions it might have:

Innocent puppy lapping up milk from a tin plate.

Japanese humour:
Master comes along, and swings a 100 Kg hammer on puppy. Puppy doesn't die. "Nani isherundato?" exclaims the master [What the hell are you doing?] as he pulls out the milk box revealing "Milk for baby whales" on its side.

French humour:
Camera moves backwards and you can see that the puppy is actually being licked from behind by another gay puppy.

American humour:
Trap door opens right below puppy, and puppy falls into canyon which was never there when the movie started. Puppy is flattened out as he hits the ground, but doesn't die.

Chinese humour:
Another puppy comes round and starts lapping milk from our hero's tin plate. Our puppy is irritated, and enters in combat mode; follows a strange fight of doggie fucking, tail whipping and flea attacks. Cat ends up lapping all the milk, and both puppies end up as friends as they go through the world hunting the evil cat. Finally, to defeat the evil cat who wants to conquer the world through the milk industry, our hero puppy joins a buddhist monk temple to study the venerated art of tail fighting. Movie ends as our beloved puppy waves its tail and exclaims: "After lapping up the holy milk, I find myself in peace with Buddha. I cannot go back home - there is no home. The world is my kennel."

Kafka humour:
Milk has special ingredients mixed with it, and puppy transforms into a dark mysterious insect-like creature, while still keeping all its former innocence. Puppy is forsaken in the end by its master.

Edgar Poe humour:
The master is watching the puppy grow fatter by the day, for soon he will use its fat to make candles to light his house and finally bury the puppy's remains in the wall. Puppy doesn't die till the wall crumbles, and reveals to the SPA agents the horrible acts of its master.

The Long Wait

2005-11-14T17:52:00.000+04:00

He rose from the old bench and looked back. There was a time where it had been all white and clean. It was now all gray - pieces of white paint had fallen off and drifted away towards unknown destinations.

He had spent his life waiting. He remembered his youth quite well. He had waited for everybody to come back. One after the other, the women he had known and fell in love with had gone away - some promising to be back one day, and others simply disappearing.

He had lived to wait, and waited to start living. It's always hard to face the truth. The theist who has always worshipped God is terrified to even contemplate a situation where the Lord doesn't exist. They all tend to slam their fists on their belief, yelling to block the voices of the others - NO, NO NO! Well, for once, he stopped and placed his hands in his pockets. He had wasted a good part of his life believing and trusting others. He hadn't lived for himself.

It was there, the cold, solid truth. There was no mistaking it. He had wasted his life on something which had never existed in the first place. He was still glad he hadn't spent each and every Sunday at the church. The shade of the great tree extended towards the grayish bench was however worth it. He walked towards his new life, and felt greatly relieved.

The Virtuality of My Life

2005-11-14T17:18:00.000+04:00

I am tired of the virtual world.

The virtual world - this place that theoretically exists in between two nodes of the network, an illusion of the protocols; a dream of IpV4 and IpV6; services and requests; ports and sockets - they simply make me sick.

Cyberspace as it is, is not something bad. It's just the fact that people can actually entertain relationships through those networks and be satisfied with them that makes me mad. This abstract world should exist only as an extension of the real world. Virtuality cannot replace reality. One day or the other, people will want more.

Let's just face it. Virtuality sucks. I wish there were some kind of standard protocol to make virtuality become real. A component, or dll, or COM+ object I could just integrate into my own code, and call the MakeReal() method...

The Path We All Tread Upon

2005-11-13T00:58:00.000+04:00

People like to think they are in control of their destinies. The truth is, by the time most youngsters realise they can actually steer their lives in the direction they want, they've already been cannonballed high into the sky with a predetermined angle by their parents or guardians. They can only choose how the parabola will look like, and where they will crash.

There is a template for the typical Mauritian middle-class born boy/girl:

1. Education
1.1 Primary School
1.2 Secondary School
1.3 University
2. Job & Life
2.1 Get a job
2.2 Get married
2.3 Live in another house with wife
2.4 Buy a car
3. Kids
3.1 Have a kid
3.2 Start worrying about income
3.3 Set template for kid's future
et cetera, et cetera...

Some middle-class born people might not have lived their lives exactly like that, but the main ingredients are here. It's neither a right path, nor a wrong path. Come to think of it, nothing is really right or wrong in this world, but that's another story.

This path has been proven to be relatively "safe" (i.e. minimum struggle) and socially acceptable. There are some slightly different paths that you can follow, e.g. moving to another country, but those paths are known to be less safe but with possible greater rewards at the end.

Whatever your social background, there's already been a template readied for you. The princess isn't expected to marry the poet, and the son of the butcher isn't expected to become a ballet dancer. Are we really who we should be, or are we simply following our templates? Note that the only reward at the end of the template would be an epitaph which would read - "Had a nice life, followed the template properly."

The Girl From Domaine Anna - Part 2 [final part]

2005-11-10T10:51:00.000+04:00

I was strolling nonchalantly towards Suresh's shop, to get something to cook for lunch. As expected, I saw my friend standing over there, his hands in his pockets, looking abashed. Yes, it was yet another episode of The Girl From Domaine Anna.

- Haha! Man, how you doing?
- I'm okay.
- You look like some dude just raped you

He looked at me with vitreous eyes. I could've sworn he was going to cry. It was almost funny.

- It's the girl, isn't it?
- Yeah, it's her
- What did she tell you?
- No no, I haven't talked to her already

All sorts of possible scenarios scrolled in my mind. Could it be... he saw her with her boyfriend the moment he was walking towards her, a rose in hand? Or maybe he wrote a love letter and kept it where she usually sits - and the wrong person picked it up. Or...

- She's older than me
- Oh... well that's not...
- She's a muslim

My friend being a hindu, dating a muslim girl would most probably be frowned upon by his parents.

- You know, it's not that impossible, if you just...
- She's married

I stopped short. Married? What the fuck! I tured around to face the great tree. She was sitting there, with a cute handbag and her hair always short. She was really beautiful. And she looked young. But... married? Fuck. I felt really sorry for my friend.

- Well man, there's more fish in the sea.
- Yeah, but that was a big one...
- A really big one.
- A really cute one...
- I'll second that.
- I need some porn.
- Yeah, that should help you all right.
- You know who told me she was married?
- Who was that?
- Yvon.

Yvon was the old man of Flic-En-Flac who knew absolutely everybody and everything in here. He was the oracle of Flic-En-Flac, who accepted queries in form of cigarettes and beer.

- I didn't ask him about the girl directly, I just asked about the Domaine Anna van which comes by to pick the employees up. He might be old, but he instantly knew what I was talking about.

Yes, with age comes wisdom. It didn't surprise me that Yvon was such a sharp guy. Although he's going to be 60 next year, walked real slowly, and drank rhum mixed with wine, his mind was fucking intact.

- Well then, I'll go back home make a post on my blog.
- Bastard.
- See ya!

The Crying Princess

2005-10-31T23:14:00.000+04:00

No matter where and when you looked into her life, there had never been true happiness. She had never been happy with someone before, and for the last few years, the desire to be hugged and caressed - to be loved - had incessantly been eating her away. Way before her first disastrous relationships, she had been humiliated countless times by the men she adored, and because there was no shoulder to cry on at that time, she had saved all the tears in her already swollen heart.

Her love life could easily be resumed in one word: waiting. She had waited for lovers to come back; she had given temporary breaks to her boyfriends only to see them go; and she had been waiting for the love of her life to show up - not really the prince charming, but a guy who would care, a guy who would be there for her - but he never came.

And on this sad day, she sat on the cold marble stairs, and stared at the sky. Could he be watching the stars as well? If he wasn't, he must have seen the stars one day. She felt warm to think that the stars were something both her and her prince had shared, in a way. All the tears that had not been shed silently showed up in her eyes. They warmly caressed her cheek and jumped off at her chin to finally die on the cold marble.

"Where are you?" She muttered...

Cheap Holidays In Mauritius

2005-10-31T02:42:00.000+04:00

The ultimate guide to cheap vacation in Mauritius

Mauritius is not an expensive destination. Here's the exchange rate for a few currencies:

Pound Sterling - Rs 37.06
Euro - Rs 54.44
US Dollar - Rs 30.76

Transportation from airport to Flic-En-Flac might cost you around US$30-50
Renting a neat bungalow for one month might cost you around US$350-1200.
Buying good food for one *very hungry* person might cost you around US$40-60 a day.
Renting a car might cost you between US$500-1200 for a whole month.
Transportation from Flic-En-Flac to airport might cost you around US$30-50

Seriously, here are the expenses me and my mom have to incur every month for living at Flic-En-Flac:

Renting of bungalow (yeah, we're renting the place, it's not ours): US$200
Food for me & my mom (we eat a lot): US$250
Phone, Electricity & Water (we talk a fucking lot over the phone): US$110
My Internet Connection (thank you, Thomas, for the shared internet): US$17
Total: US$577

Yep. US$577 a month. And that's still exaggerated. Of course, we have other expenses, but those aren't related to the cost of living around here. Heh, we're not living in a shack. There are three rooms in here, two bathrooms, one kitchen (a bit small though), a small veranda and an open garage. There's a small garden we share with our neighbours who live on top (around 4mX8m), and a cute coconut tree that gives us so many coconuts that we're bored shitless of the milk. We're at a walking distance from the beach and the nearest supermarket is around 700-800 metres away.

Now, after hearing how much people actually pay to come to Mauritius through hotels, I couldn't help but smile. I think I'm going to set up a website to help people come to Mauritius. Could make some money with that. What d'you think? Is charging US$100-200 reasonable? Hmmm... and a free test-drive (feedback & photos required) for the first customer :P

Contact me on rowan.rishigmail.com

The Girl From Domaine Anna

2005-10-29T18:44:00.000+04:00

He wasn't elaborately dressed. He was wearing a pair of bermuda shorts and a simple black T-shirt. However, he had paid particular attention to his hair and had shaved himself prior to this mission. He was standing right in front of Suresh's shop in Flic-En-Flac, and from where he was, the sky was all green from the small leaves of the great tree right in front of him. He was waiting, and his heart was beating slightly faster. His eyes were straying from left to right, lingering a bit longer on the right corner near to the clothing shop.

Someone appeared. His iris contracted, and his pupil shrank. His endocrine system reacted, and spurted various chemicals inside of his body, making his heart beat even faster, and the hair on his arms stand on an end.

I came round the corner and saw him standing in front of Suresh' shop, looking breathless. I smiled and walked up to him. He seemed happy to see me, but something in his eyes betrayed an immense deception.

- Hey, wassup buddy?
- Oh, nothing much.

He could barely speak. He was overwhelmed with emotion.

"You waiting for someone?" I inquired. His eyes shifted from the leaves of the great tree to the ground, and then to the left and finally on my feet.

"Nah, not really," he said.

"Ah. Okay," I said, while I pressed my back against the column and stared at him. Something was wrong.

- Okay, here's the deal. I'm waiting for this really cute girl, and I just can't get myself to talk to her.
- I know the girl?
- You don't know any girls living in here, you bell-end.

Although his comment felt like an arrow in the heart, it was kind of true. I didn't know any girl from around here. In fact, I knew only a bunch of folks living in Flic-En-Flac.

- So she lives in here, eh?
- Yeah
- Would it be that girl by the way?

A slim figure had appeared round the corner. She was dressed in a pink top and black trousers. She had short hair and was pretty fair. The rosy umbrella she was carrying would've made her look like a normal person in the crowd, but she was nonetheless beautiful and extremely feminine.

My friend's jaw had dropped, and I feared his foolish expression might ruin his chances - if he had any. The girl walked right underneath the great tree, and sat down. She was right in front of us, but she hadn't noticed the two guys watching her.

- Stop staring at her like that.
- Shit man. She's cute, isn't she?
- Yeah she is. Go talk to her, else I'll write about it in my blog.

He stared at me with menacing eyes. The threat of having his mission failure laid out on the internet was sort of motivating.

- Okay, dude, help me out. What do I say? How do I begin the conversation?
- Just go there, and talk. I dunno, say something interesting. Tell her you like her umbrella.
- Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He placed his hands in his pocket, and I saw his eyes focus on her. He was going for the kill. I hoped he wasn't really going to tell her he liked her umbrella.

A white van with the "Domaine Anna" logo printed on the side stopped right between him and the girl. The object of all his desires rose and climbed in the van. I felt really sorry for my friend. The van drove away, and I could see him standing there, frozen. I walked up to him and patted his back.

- There's more fish in the sea, dude. I'll go back home and make a new post on my blog.

Amazing Twist of Destiny

2005-10-26T04:39:00.000+04:00

By what kind of twisted fate did that pair of electro-punk yellow-black rayban sunglasses end up on the old man's face?

Sorry sir, but you seem to be wearing some kind of rayban sunglasses. Do you mind if I laugh and write about it in my blog?

A detailed examination of the old man would leave us baffled. You wouldn't know he's very old until you actually see his face and hair, but if you start to examine him from his feet, nothing could have indicated that his nose would be supporting an object initially created for aviators and now perverted by fashion.

His black shoes and gray trousers would definitely have him settled in the "non-fashionable" category at first glance. His white shirt (with all buttons properly in place) and hands dangling on both sides would still make of him non-fashionable. Plain shirt, plain trousers, black shoes. Nothing good so far. A two to three day dirty beard, skin visibly wrinkled - and a rayban neatly settled on his nose. Yes. Rayban. And I'm talking about the kind of thing Michael Jackson wouldn't dare wearing five years ago. No, something is wrong.

The old man, tired of his dry attempts at luring younger women, decided to go for a change in dress-style. He sat on the bench at Vandermesch and "analyzed" the couples walking by. Most girls and women were going out with men who owned and exposed their rayban sunglasses. "Yes" he thought. "Those things are the modern signs of male power and accomplishment. I must buy a pair of those." He decided that he was right (after all, wisdom comes with age) and went to get the first pair of rayban sunglasses he came across. Although it didn't improve his cataract, he was now walking with a pair of rayban sunglasses.

Amazing! Women are now staring at me!

Yes, it was working. Because he was brought up in the old way, he decided to have at least 20 eye-contacts on different days with a woman before trying to talk to her. He didn't have much luck with Ginette, who seemed genuinely interested in him. Ginette, 1m74, always wearing heels and with curly black hair, after detailed inspection unfortunately turned out to be a post-op transsexual, formerly known as Gino. Disgusted, the old man changed spot (it broke his heart because he wouldn't see the 1m22 small-breasted cutie with whom he had accumulated five eye contacts) and moved to Flic-En-Flac.

Yes, there are cool people living in here.

Dot fell in the Net

2005-10-23T22:46:00.000+04:00

The lazy drunken bastard rose from the dusty corner where he had settled to enjoy his cheap wine. Wine, as everybody knows, is best enjoyed in the corner of a forgotten shop far away from the Capitalist world. He was the kind of guy who was unsure whether he had to take his responsibilities as an individual in society, or just give up and let the tides of misery carry him around. He had been working as a maritime broker but he wasn't very sure why he didn't have the job anymore - he had lied to everyone and had already started to confound reality with the numerous versions he gave for being jobless.

His legs were carrying him nowhere, and he allowed himself to be guided by the wind. Far away, an engine roared, and a car appeared. A youngster's head popped out of a window and he heard:

-Ta, clochard! To fer villain lor la rie!

Clochard. Tramp. He turned back to look at the tramp the young man had been making fun of. There was no-one but him on the road. His eyes darted from left to right, more and more desperate to see the tramp. Could it be? It was slowly dawning on him that he was the tramp. Tramp. What had happened to the once brilliant and good looking Roy? Tramp. What would his family think? Tramp. He would never get laid again.

The last bits and pieces of his own self-respect faded away with the wind, like the fine grains of a sand-castle.

Finally 20, now I can pretend to be 21

2005-10-15T15:14:00.000+04:00

Hello world,

I'm finally 20. Today's my birthday, and I just came back from KFC. I had lunch with SunflowerAveish, her sister Arsha, and one of their friends.

I came a bit earlier, and I met Sunflower on the way. We settled down and got ourselves some food, and she lit a small candle on top of a tiramisu cake, while singing happy birthday. It was really unique, and I loved it. I can't remember a cuter birthday ^^

I'm happy, and I feel like the merry-go-round-15-year-old-britney-adoring-silly girl. No, heh, of course, I'm not like that. Sunflower and her sis have been really adorable today, and I'm just happy. Of course, you can't ever be completely happy, and for some mysterious reason, Vidi is totally mad at me. And she doesn't want to say why :\

Dom's coming over tonight. Maybe we'll get drunk. I'm constantly receiving sweet messages from my friends - thanks everybody. I'm just waiting for one person's message actually... hehe... I think she's out camping :(

The Quick Brown Fox

2005-10-14T23:55:00.000+04:00

By the time this post will be up, I'll be 20. So far, I have had no manifestations of superpowers, and I think I might just need to live the rest of my life as a programmer.

I sincerely don't know what to write in here. Totally clueless. My last day as a 19-year old. Goodbye, 19-year-oldness. It was nice to lie about my age and pretend I was one year older the whole time. Damn.

Letters From A Ghost

2005-10-13T19:18:00.000+04:00

They say that after you kill someone, you are forever haunted by a ghost.

I was walking down the semi-deserted streets of Flic-En-Flac, cheap techno music blasting through my ears. I had that music going to firewall the foul atmosphere that was trying to penetrate me. My mp3 player flashed. Too late. The battery died out, and there were no barriers to stop those memories. I felt them wrapping around me, like tentacles gently caressing their prey. That heavy atmosphere: The murder, the atrocity of the crime. Killed. Twice. Betrayed. It all came back to me, how I was wandering through the streets, looking for my murderer. Hoping, crying... and this foul atmosphere, this suicide-inspiring atmosphere, where I lost my soul.

I was but a ghost, wandering aimlessly through those streets. I have some of the worse memories of this place: Of those badly lit streets, of this air - always smelling the same day after day and never changing. I can't believe it. I had victimized myself, pointing my finger at my killer, expecting that criminal to feel sorry.

Today I realise how wrong I had been. I should have cornered the monster somewhere, slapped it hard across the face. I should have punched, kicked, been violent. Peace is old-fashioned, deprecated; it's a war out there, and I am sick of being your average nice guy. Bitch. Yes, I should never have let you go out of here unscathed. I should have made your life a nightmare, made you pay.

But it's useless. I can't get my revenge now. So, every night, I will walk through those badly lit streets, hoping to see the spectre of you, so that I can stare at you with red eyes; yes, I loathe you, and day after day, my thoughts eternally come back to the sweet thoughts of torturing you. I have not forgotten, I will never forget. And if one day our paths ever cross again, I will no more be the semi-transparent ghost. I will make sure that you pay this time. You will pay, and very dearly. You very well know that I can forgive, but never forget.

Each side might claim that righteousness is in his camp, but I don't care. The moment I will swing the blade over your neck, I don't care whether you are innocent or guilty. Yes, I have no whatsoever regard for good or evil when it concerns you. I will swing the katana with full force, taking care to linger for a moment while the blade cuts through you. And even if my life has no sense after your head heavily thumps onto the ground, I will be satisfied. Killing is needless, but killing you has a sense, dear murderer.

I know that when you read this, you will wonder whether I have really written about you. Yes, I speak of you. All the juries in heaven and hell might declare you innocent, but I don't care. I won't be a victim anymore, I won't point fingers. I will just swing the blade, and clearly state what I think from now on. Pray to your God that our paths never cross again. But I know - I feel - that it will.

Every dog has its day, every ghost has his revenge.

ASP Sucks

2005-10-13T05:41:00.000+04:00

I'm sure nobody really wants to know how I struggled with ASP and an MSAccess database to generate my funny horoscope - which I couldn't make to interact with my blog because of the added banners given out by the free asp hosting space that I have.

Can anybody lend me an asp.net page with a MySQL server database?
No?

Bastards. Anyway, check out my predictions for the week on the right. Hehe.

Literature of Sarcasm

2005-10-12T16:00:00.000+04:00

Definition of sarcasm (wikipedia) : Sarcasm is sneering, jesting, or mocking a person, a situation or thing. It is often used in a humorous manner and sometimes expressed through particular vocal intonations. Sarcasm is often expressed in ironical statements. It can sometimes be the sincerest form of discourse for the emotionally fragile. This is often done by simply over-emphasizing the actual statement, or particular words of it.

Rowan: I'm listening to local Mauritian music
Mandy: amazing

It was a day like any other. A few of the cash-out terminals were closed at the local Spar and tourists dressed up with dumb-ass hawaiian-style shorts with flowers (note: nobody will doubt your sexuality or clothing tastes if you're wearing shorts with sunflowers in a tropical country) were queueing up to pay for their stuff.

There was an old man behind me, staring at what I had bought. Bread, canned tuna, cheese - and a huge roasted chicken. I could already feel his questionning eyes going from the chicken to my face - my face, and then the chicken. What he was thinking, I already knew.

- "Sorry mo cousin, mais to enne Indien toi?"

And there we go. Again. Yes, I look like an indian guy - oh wait - I'm one. Like 40% of the local population. I could feel something inside of me, some kind of hot lava boiling, producing thick black bubbles of sarcasm. Bursting on the surface and liberating green mortal sarcastic fumes, feeding my brain some of the most luciferous replies. It was the fasting period, for the believers. No meat, no fish, no shit. Sierra Mike Delta, n00b.

I hate the holier-than-thou attitude. Be it with your fucking O/S or your religion. No, I don't believe in God; I think it's really stupid to. I don't believe that God monitors what you eat (or shit for that sake), he doesn't have food-sniffers installed on us, reporting any ingestive activities.

Yes, old man. I am an indian guy. However, because of my upbringing, I eat pretty much everything. I enjoy weekly satanic rites and I have bat's balls drying on top of my house. Excellent food, I must say. I also eat human flesh while you fast, to balance out good and evil in the world. Would you like to join me tonight?

My eyes suddenly flashing with a strange light made the old man swallow back his thoughts.

Say it, just say it! The wolf wants the lamb tonight...

It was my turn. I smiled at the woman, and she smiled back. I kicked everything in a plastic bag, paid with cash, and strolled away, a strange light still lit in my eyes.

What you need to visit

2005-10-09T20:02:00.000+04:00

After writing so much about style and shit, here's two sites worth visiting...

1. Sunflower Aveish's blog.

If you've been to my blog a few months before, you'd have seen what I wrote on Aveisha. Yes, well, to sum it all up, Aveisha is Vidi's hottest cousin. She's hard to read and understand, mainly because I believe there are some things she never talks about. She's got a mysterious edge, and well... she's got style. Yes, she's also got style as in a cute girl with style, but I'm talking about writing style. English. Good English. Beautiful, wonderful, naturally flowing; it feels almost as if you could ignore the flowery language, and become part of it all.

There's so much to say about her, and what I think about her. But just read her blog. Ah, and yes, fuck you, S; and Soggy - just listen to her. You've won a fucking lottery ticket man. It's no good to break innocent flower's hearts.

2. Bottomless pit

This dude got style. Fuck. I'm almost jealous of his English. Read it. Now!

Flic En Flac as a residential place

2005-10-09T12:35:00.000+04:00

After you have gone through the realisation that people actually live and carry out their daily routines in really sweet tourist spots such as Flic-En-Flac, I'll tell you more about how it is to live in the place itself.

I moved in here a few years ago. The house wasn't big nor small - it was an OK place for me. After spotting a nice residence for my PC in the house, I started bringing in my stuff from our older shack. What's interesting is my parent's ability to make maximum use of resources and efforts to produce the worse possible results. Okay, well, it's not that great to blame everything on my parents, but well...

Week after week, we went back to our former residence (which we were renting, and still are renting actually) to bring in stuff. I kept bringing books, hardware and all kinds of stupid things which should have ended up in the thrash. After around 2 months, we had moved 80% of our essentials, and we started out life in Flic en Flac.

My house is located on top of some kind of hill, which means that you've got to sweat buckets of water on midday to get to my casa on foot. I recently discovered a shortcut (which goes through some kind of bushy terrain with a kinder slope) but in the ol' times, my dad was still around to carry us up and down on his monstruous 4x4, now notorious in the region for its menace to public safety.

My house is part of a 4-house complex (staring out of the window: no, complex isn't the right word) and for about a year, we lived here alone. Afterwards, came three german guys who got married with Mauritians. They were quite friendly, especially the guy who lives at the first floor on our side, Thomas. Two of them left, and there's only Thomas and my family left in here. Thomas is a really nice guy, and god knows about the number of times he helped me out. I'm currently using 1/3 of his internet connection, which means that I've got around 12-17kb/s download on good days.

During week-ends, Flic-En-Flac is pretty crowded. Most of my male friends have constantly been inquiring about the number of hot babes that can be spotted around here - and the answer is - yes, there are hot babes around here, but you'd be lucky to spot one who's not accompanied.

I don't like going out on week-ends, mostly because of the huge crowds on the beach and the legions of cars with blasting Sega/Ragga/Reggae. On week days, and especially in the morning, Flic-En-Flac is peaceful and all calm. There are a few cars here and there on the beach, and you can actually hear the waves crashing on the shore and the wind brushing through your body. The water (although a bit cold) is quite inviting, and the sand one of the warmest places to rest your butt.

There's the Spar, the local supermarket, where most people get their stuff. There's a casino next to the spar, all ready to lick dry the last cent out of your pocket, and the Arena night club, the best place to shake your butt in Flic. Entrance to Arena costs around 200 bucks, while it's 100 bucks for entrance in Summer Beach, a little bit further down the main road. The Manissa store remains open till quite late (I'm not sure till what time though. I think it closes down at 21:00 or 22:00) while the Buddha Beach Bar remains one of the best places to get drunk.

Flic en Flac doesn't come only with advantages. My friend Cuan got robbed twice while living in here: he lost his digital camera and loads of other valuable stuff. We haven't had any problems with robbers ever since we're here - maybe because out of all the houses in here, ours is one of the smallest and crappiest.

Coming to Mauritius is quite expensive. Especially if you're staying in one of the huge hotels around here. However, if you know your way around, it might cost you ten to twenty times less...

The Loud Silence

2005-10-08T19:14:00.000+04:00

While hordes of youngsters were swarming towards Arena, the local nightclub, I was sitting in a badly lit living room with my mom. We were silently eating the bread and honey-chicken, taking a sip of wine from time to time. We didn't dare to look at each other, most probably because we had discussed about that enough. Yes, the big plate of chicken had been divided into two, instead of the usual three. Even if the third portion would normally go into the fridge, it would still have normally been divided into three.

But now, it looked pretty much final. That was it. After one week of absence, we had silently understood that the chicken would almost always be divided into two equal parts from now on. One for me, and the other one for my mom. So would the bread - yes - we should buy less bread. We don't need that much anymore.

The meal was excellent, but there was this silence which loudly accompanied us throughout the meal. I wish we hadn't joked about it so much. Maybe we could've saved something for dinner: a joke about his new girlfriend, or a joke about his damn car. We don't care. Or we don't show that we care anymore.

My mom's not that good at hiding her thoughts. The constant questions she keeps asking always betray her brain activities. I have questions too, but I dare not ask them to the concerned person. It's not that I'm afraid of asking them, it's just that I'm scared of starting a conversation; I hate conversing with people who think they're always right. The whole purpose of conversation is to share experiences or convey new ideas. Not to force the other one to accept that his opinions are right, and that we should be adjusting to his school of thought. Hell no.

If I've been stoic to my dad before, now is the time to be even more. I sincerely don't want him back with us. Even if I have to go and live under a bridge for the next few years, I'm not willing to see him here again. Do bridges have broadband by the way?

My door's closed. My mom's in her room. It's been like that for the past few months. Each one of us dealing with his or her own life. Except that we meet, from time to time, in the living room, to discuss what happened.

Things like that happen to people all around the world, but I never really thought about this happening to us. Note that I've imagined impossible scenarios: Saddam nuking flic en flac (because he'd be pissed off with PePe's pizzas not having home-delivery schemes), or a huge tsunami wiping Flic out of the map (Women and chil... erm... Hard-Disks and RAM modules first), but not that.

Hold on, if you think this is affecting me emotionally, you're wrong. Financially - maybe. But not emotionally. Still, it's a bit weird to see the family size suddenly reduced. I have to find a way to kill this loud silence, ringing in our ears all the time. This loud silence, eating me away, very slowly. I want to stab that silence, and loudly exclaim that I don't give a shit about what's happening here. I want to slowly strangle it, and feel a new true wave of peace settle over the house. Murder the silence, in a very evil way; my eyes suddenly volcanically red, menacing to pop out of their sockets, while I press my hands harder and twist my face in an ultimate strangling effort: DIE, SILENCE! But no, those are just sweet fantasies... Isn't this when people decide it's time to move out? I don't want to think about that, but maybe it's time to try radiating ourselves with cheap radio music.

A Shot At Style

2005-10-06T19:29:00.000+04:00

A quick shot at writing in french... my french's way better than my english.

Assis sur un méchant fauteuil, je me grattai et me demandai s'il y avait vraiment utilité d'écrire toutes ces bêtises sur le style. Mais bien sûr que oui. Le style, on l'a tous, il suffit de le réveiller; entrer tout doucement dans la grotte où dort la bete, et à l'aide d'un bâton pointu, le reveiller. Prendre soin a ne pas introduire le baton dans les orifices arrieres de la bete.

Oui, on l'a tous le style. C'est l'inspiration qui nous manque. L'inspiration qui apparait tout comme la fée clochette, et qui se pose sur notre épaule, pour tout doucement nous chuchoter des mots gentils à l'oreille... L'inspiration, c'est quand l'exhibitioniste enfile un slip vert le matin avant d'aller a la rencontre des nones de l'église; c'est quand le musicien de hard-rock ajoute un soupçon de violon dans sa composition; elle nous arrive de nulle part, nous chuchote des mots doux a l'oreille - et voilà! Les Fleurs du Mal, Le Père Goriot, La Porte Etroite... pour ne nommer que quelques uns des chef-d'oeuvre de l'inspiration. Et je dis bien que c'est l'inspiration qui a écrit ces livres, et non l'auteur. L'inspiration écrit a travers l'homme, elle parle, transpire et chuchote des idées, et c'est l'homme qui donne naissance aux images, aux sons, aux mots et a la littérature. L'inspiration est comme une femme invisible, coquine, qui ne visite que les quelques amants qui sont prêts a l'écouter. Elle arrive tard le soir, ou apres la dernière goutte d'absynthe, et enroule son bras autour de l'artiste. Elle approche son visage illuminé et l'image, le son et les mots naissent d'eux-mêmes.

Elle ne se donne pas a n'importe qui, l'inspiration. Et elle ne courtise point. L'inspiration, on ne peut pas l'appeler, ni lui addresser des lettres d'amour. Elle ne vous répondra pas. Elle arrive et part de son propre accord. On en tombe amoureux, on la chante, on pense à elle, on a besoin d'elle. Mais c'est ça, l'inspiration. Elle s'en va et vient... comme une maitresse qui n'est plus sûre si elle veut vous quitter ou vous aimer.