Loves and Haterades

(borrowing from someone else's blog that I'm not sure I like that much anymore)


Love: Pervez Musharaf is called Mush (he's gone mushy ...when? no one tells me anything)

Love: Blair out... that’s good...but how does anyone Asian listen to George Galloway without going into fits of giggles. There is that glorious accent that makes syllable soup of Wa Alaikum As-Salaam. Strangely Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim rolls of his tongue. And that pompous way of delivering radical political speeches, like he is hugely self-conscious that he may (small 2% chance) be making history (if he gets anywhere that is)

It is ...deep meaningful pause...time...pause...to ...pause...go...wild clapping (as if they didn't know what he was going to say)

In my heart I expected international politics to be more sophisticated. I expect Laloo's speech to reduce me to hysterics. But I'm surprised to find Laloo intriguing in an earthy sort of way and George Galloway making me feel like he doesn't really think he's communicating to an intelligent audience. ergo ... word .. pause .. word .. pause pause pause...

But still, nonetheless love... I love his metaphors. Blair is in a Monica Lewinsky relationship with Bush. If everybody’s mind there did not go to a bad place, then I know nothing about … my fellow beings. And Brown and Blair being two cheeks of an arse…all I can say is.. LOL.

The man strangely though, looks nice, did drink milk from a saucer from a blonde girl's hand on a television show while crawling on his hands and knees, and does say the most radical things. There are a few things I wonder about though... does he get the Hindu Indians in his camp, because he's distinctly Muslim, short of wearing a skullcap. And I’ve heard Islamic greetings, words, thrown with such ease when I was in different parts of Europe in music festivals specifically, but I don't see that here. Makes me wonder about how comfortable we really are.


Haterade: Condoleeza Rice is expecting to get married.. (oh my fucking god, how???)

More haterade: The only reason I know about international politics is missing because of the same politics

More and more haterade: visas

More and more and more haterade: Today could have been a day of endless shagging, and I can't help forgetting that through the day. Something happens, and I forget that this is a momentous day of Not Cheating, of Fidelity. I can't seem to hold onto the feeling that what I'm doing today is special. But then I think about it, and realise its not like I want the shagging/fucking minus the kissing anymore or that specific brand of Priapism's fuck-style (can be described as insert-plug-vibrate for a loooooooooong time)

Yet...when you stare into your hot chocolate, look around, see younger faces with their entire lives ahead of them at 20... you wonder why you would be so stupid as to not take up someone's offer to fuck you all day...

even if its Priapism.

cyber sex sucks…

I think I’m tired of this nonsensical bullshit...
will you crawl under my table and sit there, sucking my cock?
will you dress up as my secretary with breasts popping out?
will you put your tongue out so I can put my cock on it?
will you be my pussycat?
will you be my sub?
will you miaow?

My mind is now tired of the words…pussy, cunt, clit, cock, throbbing, spank, balls, suck, lick. They are not words with power anymore, much repetition has rendered them pointless and they exist like emblems in the conversation, like codes for a story on an erotica site. Warning: this conversation may contain some rather graphic, terrifyingly boring, B-grade porn moments.

Suddenly while formulating a sentence, I feel like I’ve lost the ability to string these words together differently. Does real sex also become like this, without us noticing? I don’t think so…real sex still has the ability to surprise.
But so does cyber…it needs however to allow the addition of other words…your suicide jihadi bomber, your pussycat with the sharpest claws, your trickster, your storyteller…
After a point, I can only yowl so much at being spanked across timezones.

But even if I manage to unwrap the interesting stuff from the oft-repeated words, the way it ends always leaves something to be desired. Classic scenarios would include – I will pour honey down the cheeks of your bum and lick it off, which sincerely I have heard so much now, I want to invent a short form for it like ttyl or lol …. HBLO – honey bum lick off
To which I can say – and I feel your tongue on the puckered flesh or TPF
To which he can say – TTYL or rather …
Eh...my gf (that would be girlfriend, and it embarrasses me to no end, because gf and bf is what one said in school) just walked in, I have to go

BUT
…the best one so far...
I want to do a threesome with my other sub who is Japanese...an mff

Gaaah, how can one poor brown sub in India, on low bandwidth compete with like a true-blue geisha from Japan, equipped with technology of the first world, hence it is probably a very sexy looking webcam with higher pixel ratio and better sound quality...

So… an update on how we fuck these days
Image size: 2304 X 1728 pixels versus 1152 X 864 pixels
Webcam image size: 640 X 480 pixels versus 720 X 480
Network speed: 512 kbps versus 768 kbps
Sound quality: mic on earpiece versus built in mic

Obliquely Divine

I have found it, found it...manna for the soul, hope for the future (beyond online tarot). It is an obscure program for Macs, called Oblique Strategies, that has uncanny instincts and readings of your soul and delivers wisdom, with one click...such as..

Your mistake was a hidden intention *deep ponderous voice*

Aaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!

With that slight yoda-istic edge of grammar being wrong, or so right that it sounds wrong, obliqueness and terrifying way of making my eyes widen, as if I have suddenly seen the light and it is just a degree more blinding than the tubelight (yo, try staring at a tubelight!)

Yes, I have found it. All my life's decisions will henceforth be based on Oblique Strategies, and also it doesn't always require the Internet. Hence it may ofcourse repeat, but till I get bored...I have a reliable confidante, a comrade, companero, friend...guide... (you could ask how is this different from the actual human sorts, but don't. Oblique Strategies says in response to that question that ---What would your closest friends do? *sweet tinkly voice*)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
It is so puuuuurrrrfect

Q: Should I send a nude photograph with my face showing to Sexy-thrill-of-the-month?
OS: Bridges-build-burn *naara baazi shout*

Huh? but nonetheless revelatory ..worthy of ahaa..trailing to ...hmmmm

Q: What the fuck to do about this silly project I have to work on?
OS: Try faking it *wink and rani mukherjee whisper*

Ooooooooo....luuuuv faking work. OS knows me, understands me. *blush*

Q: Should I contact this person who is easily the biggest man-slut this side of ... ahem...gay men?
OS: Do nuuuuuuuthing for as long as possible *exactly like a friend of mine*

Aaa Aaaaaa Aaaaaaaaaa *shouting from multiple orgasm of joy+revelation*

At this point let me introduce this friend of mine - a gay man who has recently taken to saying "My life is over". Far-from-over is beautiful, currently has a nice tan and great taste in clothes. He needs a spanking, maybe he should get together with Sexy-thrill-of-the-month. (you are not allowed to tell me that S-T-O-T-M was here in July also, and it is now September).

Q: What is the meaning of life?
OS: Emphasize the flaws *dismissive tone*

Hmmmmm....it lost me, but probably it is telling me that the flaw is in my question, not in the answer.

Q: Am I attracted to a certain somebody?
OS: Only a part, not the whole *girlfriendly tone*

HOHOHO *Santa Claus just burst forth inside me*

"I'll stop the world, and melt with you"

Codes: het, rom, childhood, fetish

It is almost like monsters have escaped from Hagrid's forest in a Harry Potter film and are fucking me in my brain now……almost..
Something fantastical...is on the loose inside here...a strange animal, with the body of one, the words of another, and my imagination conducting them both, making silvery incandescent objects out of ordinary dry wood (or is it the other way).

Who knows when you stumble on your 'preference' or 'fetish' as the world insists on naming these things? Ice melting in my hand wasn't a special feeling ever; it was painful, it could stick to your hand in an insistent solid state instead of just melting. Maybe the heat and power cuts in Delhi made the clink of ice cubes a welcome sound, but I don't remember how or why I first dug my hand inside the freezer. But its there...a distinct feeling that can be recalled, the nails digging into the powdery ice along the sides of the freezer, the fast melting grains of ice before compacting them in my hand.

Little did I know when I huddled under many blankets in winter, or when my lips turned blue in the mountains to the horror of my anxious parents, or even though I run to the sea for each holiday, use a covering sheet in summer, insist on hot water baths in falling-apart hotels in remote hill stations..that I would one day be begging for ice to be put on me, to be pushed around the lips of the vagina, making it seem like your clit had hardened into a maroon scab – its colour and distinct feeling of unfamiliar hardness on your skin, an image clear and pressed against my closed eyelids.

….and when you fell on a flower pot as a child, and broke it, and hurt your pussy and clit, and couldn't pee properly for days...
did you know that you would want that exact feeling to be returned to you..and that how it would be, would be through ice...

The body's memories of pain..and pleasure...are distinct from other memories, that are too steeped in what one wants to hear, about journeys, the almost-fire in the house, the theft of my mother’s precious purse on the train, the bad decisions, the first boy who liked you, so distinct from the boy who first saw you...memories that can be given verbal form, grow, and become part of a narrative..

And the body's memories are close to the skin, willing to break surface at any moment, without a beginning or ending. So a body that avoids cold at all time, that stands in hot steamy showers for half an hour every morning, willingly submits to torture of ice every night...beckoning it...because begging it would be too real.
In this world I live in, I can't beg for it, not even in jest or play. I must beckon, tease it out of hiding, and into me, before it melts. These are transient pleasures, at best, for various reasons...


But I’m tracing an imaginary path for my body's memories, giving it a beginning, a middle and an end..it resists my feeble attempt at cataloguing. Too contradictory and too real to be summed up quite so easily, it holds on steadfast, adding new memories, new sensations, daily..

Sometimes we are just as deep as what the body feels, when it slips into water, and water slides into every crevice, and the body begins to move, first gracefully with the memory of swimming classes, and then ... as other thoughts cut past, with less grace, and more staccato rhythm...
Sometimes we just are the rain falling on the water in a swimming pool
Sometimes we just are the body turning in the ocean, checking that the bag is still there on the shore, and then turning away forgetting such mundane belongings as you look to the rest of the ocean, dotted by some people...braver than you..
Sometimes we just are ...that smoke that was inhaled
Sometimes we just are... ice inside
…and not the mistakes we made, not the errors of judgment, not the infidelities, not the continuing torture of loneliness, not the relationships we have, or the friendships we chose to nurture...

And I’ve never even seen snow....

Will I not need human touch then?
*giggle*


"You've seen the difference, and its getting better all the time
There's nothing you and I won't do...
I’ll stop the world, and melt with you...."

Music: Melt with you, Nouvelle Vague