Etaoin Shrdlu

…either that or umluated ecstasy about impending curtain call on circumspectly marinated antagonism in jars of delicate slighting. Women and corporatedom. Never more was it so incredibly brilliant to be a thoroughbred fencesitter. Just to watch them squirm. Erm. I dont know my emotions from my armpits, yet. Whilst that, still writing this at the mutinous hit-n-go tempo of Clubfoot(Kasabian) and my mendacious gamut of pills straddling from the razor’d edge. Heresy, decried!

My extended weekended produced some perplexing poetry, of the T’ang variety. Fit feet fought feed. You get the drift, dontcha? The remanant of Time was swallowed by Sudoku and Slacker Manager. The itsy bit I managed to have salvaged for some soul searching was then gallantly sacrificed at the altar of Gladwellizing and reruns of Project Runway. The goodness of things – I rekindled my dalliance with Lauryn Hill. I fixated on six degrees of separation thereon and a few things cropped up. Namely.

The Original

“I read somewhere that everybody on this planet is separated by only six other people. Six degrees of separation between us and everyone else on this planet. The President of the United States, a gondolier in Venice, just fill in the names. I find that extremely comforting, that we’re so close, but I also find it like Chinese water torture that we’re so close because you have to find the right six people to make the connection. It’s not just big names — it’s anyone. A native in a rain forest, a Tiero del Fuegan, an Eskimo. I am bound — you are bound — to everyone on this planet by a trail of six people. It’s a profound thought — how Paul found us, how to find the man whose son he claims to be, or perhaps is, although I doubt it. How everyone is a new door, opening into other worlds.”

The Derivative 
 Transcendental future – signs of pure revival. And we are here trying so hard to attempt a definite paradigm shift, this after a decade of equally pedestrian as soul killing practices. I don’t hate anything bout living and loving in the City, the hedon is always in a state of self absorbed satistfaction. An almost militant concept of trawling through houses, partners, cities and lives without affection or affectation. But only so much can be extracted from the heathen strata that is our acerbic scab of a skin. Thereon the city begins to scream hollow and every face becomes twice known. After we are done preserving, we set out to discover something.. More. That inevitable object- More- brings me back to my original question. Why did we collect in this place and in this Time, after 10 years of incessant displacement and incoherent recognition? Paddling through the magnificent continent’s intense magma. Its not about what you do, but where and how..I am the Here of Now, my demons exorcised, my music-a raga stretched to infinity. No disturbed, white noise-esque tedium. Son comes back 180 degrees and propounds, “I was busy trying to figure out virtual truths, even as everybody else lived a real life!” Like the book’s protagonist, someone turned me inside out, I wear my restlessness on the inside and its more productive Meanwhile, irreverence is a blessing.You recognize but dont make attempts to realize. So K is on the move even as the tectonic plates collide. The magma and the Man – spurned, not yet.  

Aside from the usual(conceited?) literary fustigation, I finally drew up The List for April..  


  • The Obscure Object of Desire – Luis Bunel
  • L’age d’Or – Luis Bunel
  • Underground – Emir Kusturica
  • Before the Rain – Milcho Manchevski


  • We are Scientists – With Love or Squalor
  • Madeleine Peyroux – Dance Me to the End of Love
  • Karsh Kale – Broken English
  • The Strokes – First Impressions of Earth(knoweth not why I converted to them!)


I need a dedicated server for that!







~ by iconoplastic on March 23, 2006.

2 Responses to “Etaoin Shrdlu”

  1. Chase her down an empty street. 😉

  2. just one dirty trick ‘eh?..hah

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