Perfection

I was in my brothers room when a rather large dragonfly came in and started making a fool of itself by drawing random patterns in the air through seemingly hap hazard movements. I ignored it for a while, however it's persistent hum began to annoy me. As I stay in a hostel that contains numerous winged denizens that occasionally enter our rooms, I have some experience in dealing with these creatures. I bided my time and waited for the babbling insect to settle down. Presently, it came to a stop and deigned to alight on the wall of the room. I rolled up a newspaper and stood in front of it with my arms raised. In one precise motion I dealt a swift blow to the creature. The head of the dragonfly fell at my feet, and the body fell on the table. A clean cut, completely severing head from body. Perfection, wouldn't you say?

Equality?... thu

The notion of equality has led to some truly inspirational speeches and writings. Entire generations of thinkers, politicians, philosophers and commen men have been influenced by the idea of equality. Equality of all men, the brotherhood of man, the commonality that exists among all men, men being born equal under god - i spit upon these notions. The idea of equality has a certain charm and whimsically humane notion to it. It is the kind of ideal that urges men to make movies, write books, make speeches and other activities, all designed to bring about a dull faintly amorous glow, or should i say a halo. Men use this halo to procreate their self esteem. This is their soothing tonic, the orgasmic balm that soothes men's minds and leads them to believe that their life is worth something. The herald of reason is decried as an usurer and the multitudes fall sway to the faint music that is the promise of self worth.

Equality is a notion, an ideal, a desperate belief that's sadly the work of sunshine men who know not the passion and cool beauty of the elegantly attired moon. Men are born unequal. This is the way of the world. Some men live to serve, to partake of menial fruit, to sow mere grain, to toil at the field and provide food to the others and be paid a pittance in return. Is it beyond the capacity of many men to aspire to a higher station in life? The answer is an unequivocal YES. The sooner the propoganda about equality is dispensed with, the better. Society has survived for so long on the basis of unequality. The caste system when it served its purpose, and its successor, division of labour all point to the stranglehold that inequality has on us. Not that I complain.

My life in college. On my first day of college I compared it to a sheet of gleaming black metal, watchful, observant and filled with a tempered chill. Everyone appeared to know atleast someone, except for me that is. The smell of that rotting place made me feel like i was in a zoo, combined with the incessant rotis, puri and dals combined with hair, flair, and the socks in sandals phenomenon that occurs only in college. However, wearing the garland of socialisation and wearing an even bigger smile on my face i strode out into the putrid soup factory and began my life as Misky Velvet.

This seeminly effeminate name is not that of a modelling agency or a pornstar but rather my alter ego that chanced upon idle folk in the hostel corridors and began murdering them in rather horrific and gruesome ways. Misky Velvet is the black widow, she's Charles Manson's daddy and she's the shadow and flame of Shelleyian nightmare. A guy smoking B & H at 2 am brought out this leering jezebel who sits on a sofa made of italian leather. Misky Velvet's very supportive of indigenous industry so she squashed foreign competition by stubbing his cigarrette in his eye, all the while calmly lighting her own indigenously produced Navy Cut and then proceeding to burn the base of his tongue and choke him with it. Blood and spatter ruined her fine dresses but Misky Velvet was always willing to undergo certain sacrifices in the name of art. Misky Velvet continued on her 'roaring rampage of revenge' (she liked Tarantino) until guys in dull brown shirts, dull brown shoes and even duller lives decided to look into the matter. She decided to go back to her room and sit on her italian leather sofa. She's pretty comfortable now, but wont be for long.


Actually college is pretty cool, though i wouldn't mind a shot of Misky Velvet now and then.

It's amazing where the mind goes if you let it.


bleeding minds scream with laughter, what do we hear that isnt of the scent of innocence?
love lost and time forgotten, i woke up this morning to the breath of trespass, and the sight of insanity.
i saw devilish shadows on my wall, flickering flames cutting through the incense of sex.in my orgy, in my act of defiance, i find my sister dead, and bleeding.
a beautiful figure, ebony rosewood, like god in wood in woman, cast so delicately on a bed of white wool.
the face framed with pain, surely the ideal way to die! a little trickle of blood from her thighs.
the rotting odour of decay corrupts the room, a swathe cutting through the air of peace.
to die in pain, what a gift in this soulful world of ours, writhing in the hideous orgasm of it's own sentimentality.
i did her a favour, i gave her pleasure then death. am i not truly god? am i not truly divine?taking life is not pleasure, not duty, but a favour, a gift. my sister knew that, yet resisted when i gave her my greatest gift of all.
her life bled away, little by little, drop by drop, each passing moment bringing her closer to divinity.

i lie there, naked and ecstatic, proud of my strength, passionate about my exhaustion.
stooping, naked and tired, i look over my sister once more.perfect, beautiful, now truly divine. waiting for me in the beyond.faces of women circle me, bringing memory on a bier,how generous i have been, giving greatness in death and pleasure in death to so many.
in this hollow, cheap world of ours, how beautiful is a death framed by the mutiny of pain!
pain is the beginning.
what riches await me!

Aku Soku Zan

These are the english translations of the japanese kanji for Kill Evil Instantly. Sounds like routine dialogue from a Jerry Bruckheimer movie. However this phrase was not an empty threat or a dull low frequency warble from throats grown fat with speech. This phrase was the motto of the Shinsengumi in Bakumatsu Kyoto. In Japan during the 19th century, a movement arose to overthrow the power of the Shogun and restore the power of the Emperor. The shogunate, though strong at the time of its inception, had grown weak and was unable to control the growing power and independence of the daimyos or fiefs of the country. So Japan was plunged into the Bakumatsu No Douran or period of civil war with the shogunate on one side allayed against the major daimyos of Choshuu and Satsuma who supported the Emperor. Midway through the civil war the daimyo of Aizu which was still loyal to the shogunate set up the Shinsengumi. This was a company of swordsman that was the most loyal and the most lethal weapon of the Bakufu or the feudal government. The Shinsengumi achieved great success but in the end, they and the shogunate were defeated, relics of an ancient time. In this new age, the peasant with the gun could destroy a highly trained swordsman.

Aku Soku Zan. Kill Evil Instantly.

A conversation that i had with Zach a long while back led to this. I believe that this would make for an interesting screenplay, maybe even a short film. Too lazy at the moment to say anything substantial so let the reins of imagination take over. The title is from a short story by Edgar Allan Poe.

Ouilos and Nuna

"Winston came out of the door, Ouilos. Staggering and teetering. Like a colossal speck he was, cantering about in his last seconds like a mad horse." ''How messy you are Nuna. I care not for broad splashes across my rugs. They have seen blood in their making, that is enough for them. My fine tapestries are worth more than any man's blood." ''You've strayed Ouilos. Was it not passion that brought us together? Passion for life and passion for it's cease. Winston was special, one of my best." ''Still you remain the same Nuna. You lack finesse and clarity. I would've made Winston a work of art, youve made him a modern mismatch of pop art decadence." ''Not everyone treasures the classics old friend. You are a stylist, I am an artisan." ''True. You are Picasso, I am Michelangelo. I make pieces of art, with delicacy and fine strokes. You're hurried, rushed, and use a broad brush." ''Ouilos, how crude of you. Picasso is graffiti next to me. My blood red brush does enchant doesn't it?" ''True your style has a certain appeal to it. Tell me, did Winston gurgle as you slit his neck gently, and watched his blood bubble out of his pale skin?" ''No Ouilos. You know me better than that. The only gurgling was done by his own blood. He was too shocked to react." ''How tactless you are Nuna. I suppose Winston was always a doll in a lighthouse. I think he met too honoured an end, done by Nuna!" ''I treat everyone the same. It was pleasing to watch as his eyes bulged when I gripped his cheeks and started pulling them up." ''Did he panic and squeal?" ''No Ouilos, he was too scared. I burst his veins then and there, and directed the blood to his eyes. They were quite drowned in blood." ''That's unusually artistic for you Nuna." ''Inspiration, what do I say?" ''You should step up to evisceration. Have you ever tried it? It's beautiful to watch a delicate line of red form along a person's middle. The weight of his organs bear down on the cut. When made skillfully, the cut is strong enough to hold, yet weak enough to gradually give way under the weight of the individual's innards. It is a slow, graceful dance, to the halls of leering death." ''I fear I cannot master such a technique Ouilos."