Thursday, December 07, 2006

IRRELEVANT MONOLOGUES WITH A LAPTOP - II

The Alien Heir

Every time I watch Men in Black and commit the cardinal sin of searching for deeper meaning in Hollywood motion pictures starring Will Smith, I get completely convinced that Prince and Michael Jackson are indeed aliens belonging to rival galaxy kingdoms. Having said that, I still swear by Prince and his phenomenal repository of talent and weirdness. And as for Mr. Jackson – the wannabe King of pop, (why do you think Prince named himself so, he was supposed to be the king) I only like him with Jackson 1, 2, 3 & 4 accompanying him. I am adding Oprah to the list because its time ‘Mother O’ returned to her mother-ship.



Evangelism for Atheists

Every time I ponder over the largest propaganda machinery brain-washing the human race, namely religion, I wonder if its absence all together will plunge us into anarchy and barbarism. No wait, America already achieved both in Iraq and the rest of the world agrees that America is God, Amen. Are we genetically irrational or was Renaissance just a brilliant piece of European advertising? On second thoughts, I don’t want to dismiss Christian rock bands, not that I care about them, they can go to hell, but I don’t want “hell” to be erased from our vocabulary either.


Children of Boredom

Every time I am exposed to the invincible and evil powers of children, I decide to run for my life and start looking for that ugly pair of overpriced Reebok sneakers I bought for the sole purpose of replacing the “uncool” black leather school shoes, which I later discovered were still not as “cool” as a Nike pair. Wateverrrrrr, gimme a break, don’t expect me to be “cool” in 8th grade.
So, returning to the hated species of children, I am really worried about my lack of natural motherly instincts. My sexual energies are functioning at an optimum level, but I can no longer ignore the feelings of pure hatred towards my own unfertilized seed? Therefore, as part of my boredom-induced-self-healing therapy, I hereby produce a list of names for anything I might accidentally reproduce.

Boys: Iris, Isheer and Vincent, Girls: Ayesha, and I am not sexist, just that my uterus is screaming for mercy. Eh! Fuck it, pregnancy is too much pain and children rob you off all pleasure.


Rites of Madness

Guess what is next on my list, no, not hip-hop, but the sacred and grand-dad of all patriarchal institutions that inflicts our civilized world - Marriage.
Now I know, lately I have become quite a cliché, but who the hell gave you the authority to define cliché in the first place. Hmm, ignoring the intellectual banter of feminist literature or Orwellian prophecies, the establishment of marriage as an institution is not a result of land becoming an asset or procreation being a necessity but it owes its evolution to the maggots that feed on free ideas and mind. The society refuses to acknowledge sex as being supreme, so it continues to insist upon the exchange of pretentious vows after which a drunken mob of five hundred odd blood relatives, elders, elderly spirits of the fortunate few who fell asleep or passed away during the epic wedding ceremony, friends, strangers, friends of friends, friends of strangers, transvestites dressed like girls, girls dressed like transvestites, ex-boyfriends/ girlfriends and of course the omnipresent priest, give you the permission to fuck.

Hypocrisy you say, lack of functioning brain cells I say.


Boywatch in the Monsoons

Every time I romanticize about a perfect lover, I start drowning in the ocean of despair and hopelessness. Seriously, is there any mortal out there who is too intense to be passionate, too intelligent to care about education, too good-looking to be vain, too arrogant for love, too talented for success, too well-read for words, too unpredictable for imagination, too cynical for pessimism, too stubborn for patience?

Someone, who twists life the way I live it, who laughs his ass off when I hum Coldplay tunes, who smokes without parting his lips, who waits for the rain to smile with me, who strums along some godforsaken melody which wikipedia fails to list as a true genre, who whispers secrets I already know, who walks away when I am all alone, who hugs me when no one is watching, who hides my tears in his soul, who falls asleep next to me while I think about all the beautiful women he will sleep with.

Someone…too imperfect to be real.

Ok, ocean of wishful thinking here I come. Lifeguard(s) with the above mentioned qualifications and notions, please be there.



Song for Coke without Rum

Did you lose yourself somewhere out there, did you get to be a star
Don’t it make you sad to know that life is more than who you are…
…Think about you all the time, but I don’t need the same
It’s lonely where you are, come back down ‘n I won’t tell ‘em your name

-Goo Goo Dolls