Delhi Blasts

After the Delhi Blasts, which killed so many people, all I am hearing in this city is that the people should rise up and fight off those Muslim jehadis. Now since nobody kows where the jehadis are, they atleast want to kill some innocent Muslims, to atleast vent a release to theie pent up? anger. Bravo indeed!!

What nobody ever thought is that probably the VHP itself may be behind the blasts!! Why would a nationalist n fundamentalist party do that??? Think think!! It is only when such things happen that VHP, RSS etc come to the forefront and raise arms n get supporters. If there was peace, we would not need such outfits. But well,,just as we may never know the real culprit behind 9/11 in US (Bush or Osama) same we will never know the truth here. Even the media is biased nowadays, where is the free media anymore??Everyone is just busy worshiping Mallika Sherawat for obvious reasons.

My take on the blasts - Who cares?? A man of action might want to do something, but in a country like India, his hands will be tied down. So why even waste energy getting pissed off at such things, better go to the jungle, take a sanyaas and live peacefully. Better still, surf the net for Mallika Sherawat..

I Refuse!!!

I refuse to give up

I refuse to give in

I refuse to indulge in sin

I refuse to laugh

I refuse to cry

I refuse to live a life so dry

I refuse to be happy

I refuse to be sad

I refuse to listen to my emotions ah so mad.

I refuse to be good

I refuse to be evil

I refuse to accept god or the devil

I refuse to share your plight

I refuse to hear your sigh

I refuse to take not which is mine

I refuse to live at war

I refuse to die at peace

I refuse to exist in eternal bliss

I refuse to face endless draughts

I refuse to live in knots

I refuse to accept apathy at my thoughts

I refuse life as it was

I refuse life as it is

I refuse life as it turns out to be!

No dearth of Heroes!

Watever we say, theres no dearth of heroes in the real world, people who step away from the oft trodden path to lead a more free, independent life, for the sake of doing somehting worthwhile, giving back to society what they gained from it. Its been sometime since I ve been thinking of doing something like that, and such stories provide more inspiration than all the stories combined, as this is a real life scenario. I am no Gandhi, now will I pretend to be; nor shall I proclaim to abide by his rules and teachings, coz when I see around myself, I think that what differnece did it make? India is still the same, from the fire into the frying pan. But that aside, there are a selfless souls who have enough faith and love for their motherland, that they start up something like this.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/4219362.stm

Here's a story of a man who took upon himself to fight injustice and corruption. Meet Stalin K. (whose father named him after Russian leader Stalin, why I dont know), a human rights activist who has being running a revolutionary radio programme to expose corruption in India's western Gujarat province. He started this after the Gujrat earthquake in 2001. The programmes are run by the poor rural people themselves, although most are barely literate. The programme became a sort of public watchdog - and issued a warning to those tempted to abuse their position that somebody was watching.

Now, the biggest obstlace to community radio is the government's refusal to let programmes like Stalin K's broadcast independently. Despite a Supreme Court ruling in the mid-1990s declaring the airwaves public property, the government is wary about giving such programmes total freedom from state control.


This is a new form of entrepreneurship, social entrepreneurship maybe, and we should do all we can to encourage such initiatives.

Buffalo Theory

A herd of Buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest Buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weaker members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of Beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.

And that is the reason why you always feel smarter after a few Beers....

Thoughts abt 'Freedom'

1) "Necessity is blind until it becomes conscious. Freedom is the consciousness of necessity", Karl Marx.

A typical socialist's point of view. I agree with the first sentence. Unless you realise the importance and effect of certain things, you will always be averse to them. There's a huge difference between 'want' and 'need'. A 'want' is not essential for your survival, its merely a tool to satisfy your craving and desires. A 'need' on the other hand, is essential for you to live, not just to lead a content life, but for your mere survival.

As for the rest, I disagree. Accepted that I should take the times and the scenario into consideration, but nevertheless, I disagree. When you become aware of certain necessities in your life, you also need to fulfill them. I am aware that I need food or thought, but just being aware/ conscious of these doesnt make me free. Only when I have achieved all my said necessities shall I be free. Maybe the author siad this as being the first step towards freedom, because you cannot reach/achieve for something unless you know what to reach/achieve for.


2) “It’s only after you’ve lost everything,” Tyler says, “that you’re free to do anything.” From "Fight Club" by Chuck Palahniuk.
or "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose...", Janis Joplin.

Why do people talk about losing? I agree partly that one has to escape from the shackles on thought cast by society to be really free. Society taught us about right and wrong, about ethics, morals, values; and we continue to think on those lines even when we are well educated. Even when we want to form an unprejudiced view, we can't, because somewhere in the background society has posted a view on all things, a biased view, based on what society thinks is right. So, to think freely, I guess we will have to lose everything we, or better said, deacclimatize ourselves to or unlearn the teachings of society.

3) My view -
Now I am confused. I ont think that losing everything will give me freedom. I guess because I have a different view of freedom. Freedom for me is gaining everything I need. So I guess I lie somewhere between the two extreme views above. I am confused now!!

I hate stupid crap like this

Memories were all I had

and just the thought of them made me sad.

I cried every night wondering how to make it right.

I wish you could erase that day and that fight.

Would you please forgive me? I don't know where to start.

It hurts me so bad to have this hole in my heart!

Boo hoo,, stop crying n get over urself

Food for thought

Excerpt from "Of Human Bondage" by W. Somerset Maugham

“I hear you don’t think much of my verses.”

Philip was embarrassed.

“I don’t know about that,” he answered. “I enjoyed reading them very much.”

“Do not attempt to spare my feelings,” returned Cronshaw, with a wave of his fat hand.

“Do not attach any exaggerated importance to my poetical works. Life is there to be lived rather than to be written about. My aim is to search out the manifold experience that it offers, wringing from each moment what of emotion it presents. I look upon my writing as a graceful accomplishment which does not absorb but rather adds pleasure to existence. And as for posterity— damn posterity. ”

Philip smiled, for it leaped to one’s eyes that the artist in life had produced no more than wretched daub. Cronshaw looked at him meditatively and filled his glass. He sent the waiter for a packet of cigarettes. “ You are amused because I talk in this fashion and you know that I am poor and live in an attic with a vulgar trollop who deceives me with hairdressers and garcons de cafe; I translate wretched books for the British public, and write articles upon contemptible pictures which deserve not even to be abused. But pray tell me what is the meaning of life?”

“I say, that’s rather a difficult question. Won’t you give the answer yourself?”

“No, because it’s worthless unless you yourself discover it. But what do you suppose you are in the world for?”

Philip had never asked himself, and he thought for a moment before replying.

“Oh, I don’t know: I suppose to do one’s duty, and make the best possible use of one’s faculties, and avoid hurting other people.”

“In short, to do unto others as you would they should do unto you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Christianity. ”

“No, it isn’t,” said Philip indignantly. “It has nothing to do with Christianity. It’s just abstract morality. ”

“But there’s no such thing as abstract morality. ”

“In that case, supposing under the influence of liquor you left your purse behind when you leave here and I picked it up, why do you imagine that I should return it to you? It’s not the fear of the police.”

“It’s the dread of hell if you sin and the hope of Heaven if you are virtuous.”

“But I believe in neither. ”

“That may be. Neither did Kant when he devised the Categorical Imperative. You have

thrown aside a creed, but you have preserved the ethic which was based upon it. To all intents you are a Christian still, and if there is a God in Heaven you will undoubtedly receive your reward. The Almighty can hardly be such a fool as the churches make out. If you keep His laws I don’t think He can care a packet of pins whether you believe in Him or not.”

“But if I left my purse behind you would certainly return it to me,” said Philip.

“Not from motives of abstract morality, but only from fear of the police.”

“It’s a thousand to one that the police would never find out.”

“My ancestors have lived in a civilised state so long that the fear of the police has eaten into my bones. The daughter of my concierge would not hesitate for a moment. You answer that she belongs to the criminal classes; not at all, she is merely devoid of vulgar prejudice.”

“But then that does away with honour and virtue and goodness and decency and everything,”said Philip.

“Have you ever committed a sin?”

“I don’t know, I suppose so,” answered Philip.

“ You speak with the lips of a dissenting minister. I have never committed a sin.” Cronshaw in his shabby great-coat, with the collar turned up, and his hat well down on his head, with his red fat face and his little gleaming eyes, looked extraordinarily comic; but Philip was too much in earnest to laugh.

“Have you never done anything you regret?”

“How can I regret when what I did was inevitable?” asked Cronshaw in return.

“But that’s fatalism.”

“The illusion which man has that his will is free is so deeply rooted that I am ready to accept it. I act as though I were a free agent. But when an action is performed it is clear that all the forces of the universe from all eternity conspired to cause it, and nothing I could do could have prevented it. It was inevitable. If it was good can claim no merit; if it was bad I can accept no censure.”

“My brain reels,” said Philip.

“Have some whiskey,” returned Cronshaw, passing over the bottle. “There’s nothing like it for clearing the head. You must expect to be thickwitted if you insist upon drinking beer. ”

Philip shook his head, and Cronshaw proceeded:

“ You’re not a bad fellow, but you won’t drink. Sobriety disturbs conversation. But when I speak of good and bad...” Philip saw he was taking up the thread of his discourse, “I speak conventionally. I attach no meaning to those words. I refuse to make a hierarchy of human actions and ascribe worthiness to some and ill-repute to others. The terms vice and virtue have no signification for me. I do not confer praise or blame: I accept. I am the measure of all things. I am the centre of the world.”

“But there are one or two other people in the world,” objected Philip.

“I speak only for myself. I know them only as they limit my activities. Round each of them too the world turns, and each one for himself is the centre of the universe. My right over them extends only as far as my power. What I can do is the only limit of what I may do. Because we are gregarious we live in society, and society holds together by means of force, force of arms (that is the policeman) and force of public opinion (that is Mrs. Grundy). You have society on one hand and the individual on the other: each is an organism striving for self-preservation. It is might against might. I stand alone, bound to accept society and not unwilling, since in return for the taxes I pay it protects me, a weakling, against the tyranny of another stronger than I am; but I submit to its laws because I must; I do not acknowledge their justice: I do not know justice, I only know power. And when I have paid for the policeman who protects me and, if I live in a country where conscription is in force, served in the army which guards my house and land from the invader, I am quits with society: for the rest I counter its might with my wiliness. It makes laws for its self-preservation, and if I break them it imprisons or kills me: it has the might to do so and therefore the right. If I break the laws I will accept the vengeance of the state, but I will not regard it as punishment nor shall I feel myself convicted of wrong-doing. Society tempts me to its service by honours and riches and the good opinion of my fellows; but I am indifferent to their good opinion, I despise honours and I can do very well without riches.”

“But if everyone thought like you things would go to pieces at once.”

“I have nothing to do with others, I am only concerned with myself. I take advantage of the fact that the majority of mankind are led by certain rewards to do things which directly or indirectly tend to my convenience.”

“It seems to me an awfully selfish way of looking at things,” said Philip.

“But are you under the impression that men ever do anything except for selfish reasons?”

“ Yes.”

“It is impossible that they should. You will find as you grow older that the first thing needful to make the world a tolerable place to live in is to recognise the inevitable selfishness of humanity. You demand unselfishness from others, which is a preposterous claim that they should sacrifice their desires to yours. Why should they? When you are reconciled to the fact that each is for himself in the world you will ask less from your fellows. They will not disappoint you, and you will look upon them more charitably. Men

seek but one thing in life—their pleasure.”

“No, no, no!” cried Philip.

Cronshaw chuckled. “ You rear like a frightened colt, because I use a word to which your Christianity ascribes a deprecatory meaning. You have a hierarchy of values; pleasure is at the bottom of the ladder, and you speak with a little thrill of self-satisfaction, of duty, charity, and truthfulness. You think pleasure is only of the senses; the wretched slaves who manufactured your morality despised a satisfaction which they had small means of enjoying. You would not be so frightened if I had spoken of happiness instead of pleasure: it sounds less shocking, and your mind wanders from the sty of Epicurus to his garden. But I will speak of pleasure, for I see that men aim at that, and I do not know that they aim at happiness. It is pleasure that lurks in the practice of every one of your virtues. Man performs actions because they are good for him, and when they are good for other people as well they are thought virtuous: if he finds pleasure in giving alms he is charitable; if he finds pleasure in helping others he is benevolent; if he finds pleasure in working for society he is public-spirited; but it is for your private pleasure that you give twopence to a beggar as much as it is for my private pleasure that I drink another whiskey and soda. I, less of a humbug than you, neither applaud myself for my pleasure nor demand your admiration.”

“But have you never known people do things they didn’t want to instead of things they did?”

“No. You put your question foolishly. What you mean is that people accept an immediate pain rather than an immediate pleasure. The objection is as foolish as your manner of putting it. It is clear that men accept an immediate pain rather than an immediate pleasure, but only because they expect a greater pleasure in the future. Often the pleasure is illusory, but their error in calculation is no refutation of the rule. You are puzzled because you cannot get over the idea that pleasures are only of the senses; but, child, a man who dies for his country dies because he likes it as surely as a man eats pickled cabbage because he likes it. It is a law of creation. If it were possible for men to prefer pain to pleasure the human race would have long since become extinct.”

“But if all that is true,” cried Philip, “what is the use of anything? If you take away duty and goodness and beauty why are we brought into the world?”

“Here comes the gorgeous East to suggest an answer,” smiled Cronshaw.

“Have you ever been to the Cluny, the museum? There you will see Persian carpets of the

most exquisite hue and of a pattern the beautiful intricacy of which delights and amazes the eye. In them you will see the mystery and the sensual beauty of the East, the roses of Hafiz and the wine-cup of Omar; but presently you will see more. You were asking just now what was the meaning of life. Go and look at those Persian carpets, and one of these days the answer will come to you.”

“ You are cryptic,” said Philip.

“I am drunk,” answered Cronshaw.

A Liberating Experience

"So you think that money is the root of all evil?" said Francisco d'Anconia. "Have you ever asked what is the root of money? Money is a tool of exchange, which can't exist unless there are goods produced and men able to produce them. Money is the material shape of the principle that men who wish to deal with one another must deal by trade and give value for value. Money is not the tool of the moochers, who claim your product by tears, or of the looters, who take it from you by force. Money is made possible only by the men who produce. Is this what you consider evil?

"When you accept money in payment for your effort, you do so only on the conviction that you will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. It is not the moochers or the looters who give value to money. Not an ocean of tears not all the guns in the world can transform those pieces of paper in your wallet into the bread you will need to survive tomorrow. Those pieces of paper, which should have been gold, are a token of honor—your claim upon the energy of the men who produce. Your wallet is your statement of hope that somewhere in the world around you there are men who will not default on that moral principle which is the root of money, Is this what you consider evil?

"Have you ever looked for the root of production? Take a look at an electric generator and dare tell yourself that it was created by the muscular effort of unthinking brutes. Try to grow a seed of wheat without the knowledge left to you by men who had to discover it for the first time. Try to obtain your food by means of nothing but physical motions—and you'll learn that man's mind is the root of all the goods produced and of all the wealth that has ever existed on earth.

"But you say that money is made by the strong at the expense of the weak? What strength do you mean? It is not the strength of guns or muscles. Wealth is the product of man's capacity to think. Then is money made by the man who invents a motor at the expense of those who did not invent it? Is money made by the intelligent at the expense of the fools? By the able at the expense of the incompetent? By the ambitious at the expense of the lazy? Money is made—before it can be looted or mooched—made by the effort of every honest man, each to the extent of his ability. An honest man is one who knows that he can't consume more than he has produced.'

"To trade by means of money is the code of the men of good will. Money rests on the axiom that every man is the owner of his mind and his effort. Money allows no power to prescribe the value of your effort except the voluntary choice of the man who is willing to trade you his effort in return. Money permits you to obtain for your goods and your labor that which they are worth to the men who buy them, but no more. Money permits no deals except those to mutual benefit by the unforced judgment of the traders. Money demands of you the recognition that men must work for their own benefit, not for their own injury, for their gain, not their loss—the recognition that they are not beasts of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery—that you must offer them values, not wounds—that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of goods. Money demands that you sell, not your weakness to men's stupidity, but your talent to their reason; it demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best that your money can find. And when men live by trade—with reason, not force, as their final arbiter—it is the best product that wins, the best performance, the man of best judgment and highest ability—and the degree of a man's productiveness is the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what you consider evil?

"But money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver. It will give you the means for the satisfaction of your desires, but it will not provide you with desires. Money is the scourge of the men who attempt to reverse the law of causality—the men who seek to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind.

"Money will not purchase happiness for the man who has no concept of what he wants: money will not give him a code of values, if he's evaded the knowledge of what to value, and it will not provide him with a purpose, if he's evaded the choice of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or admiration for the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgment, ends up by becoming the victim of his inferiors. The men of intelligence desert him, but the cheats and the frauds come flocking to him, drawn by a law which he has not discovered: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

"Only the man who does not need it, is fit to inherit wealth—the man who would make his own fortune no matter where he started. If an heir is equal to his money, it serves him; if not, it destroys him. But you look on and you cry that money corrupted him. Did it? Or did he corrupt his money? Do not envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one, would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its root. Money will not serve the mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?

"Money is your means of survival. The verdict you pronounce upon the source of your livelihood is the verdict you pronounce upon your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men's vices or men's stupidity? By catering to fools, in the hope of getting more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment's or a penny's worth of joy. Then all the things you buy will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you'll scream that money is evil. Evil, because it would not pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is this the root of your hatred of money?

"Money will always remain an effect and refuse to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of virtue, but it will not give you virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will not give you the unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is this the root of your hatred of money?

"Or did you say it's the love of money that's the root of all evil? To love a thing is to know and love its nature. To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men. It's the person who would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money—and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it.

"Let me give you a tip on a clue to men's characters: the man who damns money has obtained it dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it.

"Run for your life from any man who tells you that money is evil. That sentence is the leper's bell of an approaching looter. So long as men live together on earth and need means to deal with one another—their only substitute, if they abandon money, is the muzzle of a gun.

"But money demands of you the highest virtues, if you wish to make it or to keep it. Men who have no courage, pride or self-esteem, men who have no moral sense of their right to their money and are not willing to defend it as they defend their life, men who apologize for being rich—will not remain rich for long. They are the natural bait for the swarms of looters that stay under rocks for centuries, but come crawling out at the first smell of a man who begs to be forgiven for the guilt of owning wealth. They will hasten to relieve him of the guilt—and of his life, as he deserves.

"Then you will see the rise of the men of the double standard—the men who live by force, yet count on those who live by trade to create the value of their looted money—the men who are the hitchhikers of virtue. In a moral society, these are the criminals, and the statutes are written to protect you against them. But when a society establishes criminals-by-right and looters-by-law—men who use force to seize the wealth of disarmed victims—then money becomes its creators' avenger. Such looters believe it safe to rob defenseless men, once they've passed a law to disarm them. But their loot becomes the magnet for other looters, who get it from them as they got it. Then the race goes, not to the ablest at production, but to those most ruthless at brutality. When force is the standard, the murderer wins over the pickpocket. And then that society vanishes, in a spread of ruins and slaughter.

"Do you wish to know whether that day is coming? Watch money. Money is the barometer of a society's virtue. When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion—when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing—when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors—when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don't protect you against them, but protect them against you—when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice—you may know that your society is doomed. Money is so noble a medium that is does not compete with guns and it does not make terms with brutality. It will not permit a country to survive as half-property, half-loot.

"Whenever destroyers appear among men, they start by destroying money, for money is men's protection and the base of a moral existence. Destroyers seize gold and leave to its owners a counterfeit pile of paper. This kills all objective standards and delivers men into the arbitrary power of an arbitrary setter of values. Gold was an objective value, an equivalent of wealth produced. Paper is a mortgage on wealth that does not exist, backed by a gun aimed at those who are expected to produce it. Paper is a check drawn by legal looters upon an account which is not theirs: upon the virtue of the victims. Watch for the day when it bounces, marked, 'Account overdrawn.'

"When you have made evil the means of survival, do not expect men to remain good. Do not expect them to stay moral and lose their lives for the purpose of becoming the fodder of the immoral. Do not expect them to produce, when production is punished and looting rewarded. Do not ask, 'Who is destroying the world? You are.

"You stand in the midst of the greatest achievements of the greatest productive civilization and you wonder why it's crumbling around you, while you're damning its life-blood—money. You look upon money as the savages did before you, and you wonder why the jungle is creeping back to the edge of your cities. Throughout men's history, money was always seized by looters of one brand or another, whose names changed, but whose method remained the same: to seize wealth by force and to keep the producers bound, demeaned, defamed, deprived of honor. That phrase about the evil of money, which you mouth with such righteous recklessness, comes from a time when wealth was produced by the labor of slaves—slaves who repeated the motions once discovered by somebody's mind and left unimproved for centuries. So long as production was ruled by force, and wealth was obtained by conquest, there was little to conquer, Yet through all the centuries of stagnation and starvation, men exalted the looters, as aristocrats of the sword, as aristocrats of birth, as aristocrats of the bureau, and despised the producers, as slaves, as traders, as shopkeepers—as industrialists.

"To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money—and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America, for this means: a country of reason, justice, freedom, production, achievement. For the first time, man's mind and money were set free, and there were no fortunes-by-conquest, but only fortunes-by-work, and instead of swordsmen and slaves, there appeared the real maker of wealth, the greatest worker, the highest type of human being—the self-made man—the American industrialist.

"If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose—because it contains all the others—the fact that they were the people who created the phrase 'to make money.' No other language or nation had ever used these words before; men had always thought of wealth as a static quantity—to be seized, begged, inherited, shared, looted of obtained as a favor. Americans were the first to understand that wealth has to be created. The words 'to make money' hold the essence of human morality.

"Yet these were the words for which Americans were denounced by the rotted cultures of the looters' continents. Now the looters' credo has brought you to regard your proudest achievements as a hallmark of shame, your prosperity as guilt, your greatest men, the industrialists, as blackguards, and your magnificent factories as the product and property of muscular labor, the labor of whip-driven slaves, like the pyramids of Egypt. The rotter who simpers that he sees no difference between the power of the dollar and the power of the whip, ought to learn the difference on his own hide— as, I think, he will.

"Until and unless you discover that money is the root of all good, you ask for your own destruction. When money ceases to be the tool by which men deal with one another, then men become the tools of men. Blood, whips and guns—or dollars. Take your choice—there is no other—and your time is running out."

"Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening" Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Vodka...

1. To remove a bandage painlessly, saturate the bandage

with vodka. The solvent dissolves the adhesive.

2. To clean the caulking around bathtubs and showers,

fill a trigger-spray bottle with vodka, spray the caulking,

let set 5 minutes and wash clean. The alcohol in the vodka

kills mold and mildew.

3. To clean your eyeglasses, simply wipe the lenses with a

soft, clean cloth dampened with vodka. The alcohol in the

vodka cleans the glass and kills germs.

4. Prolong the life of razors by filling a cup with vodka and

letting your safety razor blade soak in the alcohol after

shaving. The vodka disinfects the blade and prevents rusting.

5. Spray vodka on vomit stains, scrub with a brush,

then blot dry.

6. Using a cotton ball, apply vodka to your face as an

astringent to cleanse the skin and tighten pores.

7. Add a splash of vodka to a 12-ounce bottle of shampoo.

The alcohol cleanses the scalp, removes toxins from hair

and stimulates the growth of healthy hair.

8. Fill a 16-ounce trigger-spray bottle and spray

bees or wasps to kill them.

9. Pour 1/2 cup vodka and 1/2 cup water in a freezer bag

and freeze for a slushy, reusable ice pack for aches,

pain or black eyes...

10. Fill a clean, empty jar with freshly packed lavender

flowers. Fill the jar with vodka, seal the lid tightly, and

set it in the sun for 3 days. Strain liquid, then apply the

tincture to aches and pains.

11. Make your own mouthwas by mixing 9 tablespoons

powered cinnamon with 1 cup vodka. Seal in an airtight

container for 2 weeks. Strain through a coffee filter. Mix

with warm water and rinse your mouth. (DON'T SWALLOW!)

12. Using a cotton swab, apply vodka to a cold sore to

help it dry out.

13. If blister opens, pour vodka over the raw skin as a

local anestheic that also disinfects the exposed dermis.

14. To treat dandruff, mix 1 cup vodka with 2 teaspoons

crushed rosemary. Let sit 2 days, strain through a coffee

filter, massage into your scalp and dry.

15. To treat an earache, put a few drops of vodka in your

ear. Let sit for a few minutes, then drain. Vodka will kill

the bacteria causing pain in your ear.

16. To relieve a fever, use a washcloth to rub vodka

on your chest and back as a liniment.

17. To cure foot odor, wash your feet with vodka.

18. Vodka will disinfect and alleviate a jellyfish sting.

19. Pour vodka over an area affected with poison ivy to

remove the urushiol oil from your skin.

20. Swish a shot of vodka over an aching tooth. Allow your

gums to absorb some of the alcohol to numb the pain.

Last but not the least…………..

21. If all else fails, just turn the bottle upside-down

and drink it. Then nothing else will matter anyway!

A Trodden Path

A Trodden Path!
The fence keeps getting closer and closer,
This pervasive feeling of despair.
Staring at the clock, its hands never moving.
Losing track of time and place.

The mighty wind and tongues of fire, the black cloud overhead.
The dark gloom of the dawn.
Purveyor of the evil spell,
Coming to wipe the slate clean.

To strip away the calluses on the hearts of people.
These empty shells of men.
Bearing scars for things they had nothing to do with.
Having forsaken freedom to be happy.

The most vulgar of tin soldiers.
The savior is the diabolic seducer.
A surreptitious maneuver in the course of a broad campaign of exculpation.
My life intricately linked to my times.

Through tribulations we enter the world of god,
Love thy enemies, old
Wait on the lord, utterly dependable, utterly caring.
If He is good, why does He prevail over such an evil world?

Neither death, nor life, nor angels,
Nor principalities, nor powers can separate us form the lord.
This is the cost of discipleship.
The great divide between old and new.

Religion’s only a disguise, in the blood the foulness lies.
The shepherd tending his followers.
But the saints have gone marching by. new
The lake of dream, lost for ever.

Liberation of the human soul.
The void of space – time.
Lush air of bourgeois luxury, escapist fantasy.
A backed up flood inside me, breaking through crumbling dams.

Noises pervade.
A mist of mystery, a ghost of memory, maims me forever.
An invasion of locusts.
My ruin before my eyes, but still i go on.
Neither blindness nor ignorance.Nothing at all to back me.

Sensing gore as sharks do,
The dreary, endless sameness.
Burned into my conscience forever,
This is the spring season of my suffering.

Now follows the depression of the aftermath.
Tasting death for every man.
Chastening me for the future.
For I do not do the good I want,
But the evil I do not want is what I do.

Death and destruction,
Stalks this planet.
Borns and dies, at every moment.
Death universal does not affect me.

Time for apologies.
Sitting at the first pew at a funeral.
Right as a matter of law,
Right as a matter of conscience.

My expectation of salvation.
A tremendous eruption of energy,
There is a power in triviality.
Also in jumping boldly across the abyss.

All revolutions devour their children.
Heroes are worshipped for the present,
And pushed into the Ganges of oblivion.
Saying He who overcomes himself is divine.

I fell like the fallen angel, beautiful, but without peace.
Great in his plans and efforts,
But without success, proud and sad.
Strange exemption from the ordinary moral code.

A convergence for so much nostalgia, resentment,
A theatre of the absurd.
The man with the age, and the age with the man.
A fundamental anti-thesis to the age and its people.

My ignored existence on the fringes of society.
Embittered and misanthropic, longing for a great destiny.
Unable to forgive life for refusing me the heroic role I craved.
But instead, paltriness, gradual disillusionment, ironic contempt.

Abominable shame,,, reeking, smoky taverns.
Old men sat crouching on top of one another, as close as monkeys..
Having pride in themselves, the spiritual cancer,
Bolts of anathema, denouncing human credulity.
A breath of insipid reality.

Now, I fear my death.
The hilt of the castration knife.
Inching towards me.
My life flashing before my eyes,
The failure, prodigal.

A normal person, free and untrammeled artist’s life.
But lacking in all the luster, the fulfillment.
I tried everything,, religion,, art,, culture,,
Just got more lost within myself.

Looking back, what wrong did I do?
Why did I fail?
Is it me, or is it God that failed?