tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86113816589120368082011-07-30T22:33:10.458+05:30Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.comBlogger771100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-12205301706533213552009-09-06T11:27:00.002+05:302009-09-06T11:36:00.710+05:30

I almost forgot how it feels to wake up late and be home on a Sunday morning.I wake up at 9 and stay home every other day... almost. But they're not Sundays, can never be.But now that it's pouring down outside, I just sit back with a cup of hot coffee and put some music on. Maybe Dido's "Quiet Times"... or something by Suede.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-76183447831237352542009-06-16T17:01:00.020+05:302009-06-16T18:27:10.395+05:30

Last week I went to my aunt's place in Cooch Behar. Ignorant as you may call me, but I was in reality toally oblivious to the fact that the district was one of the most historically rich places in this state until I got this invitation. But once I reached there and went for a walk in the afternoon, I totally fell in love with the town. For the next two days I travelled a lot in and around the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-72094657386656232112009-01-21T21:34:00.007+05:302009-01-21T22:12:36.332+05:30

A brief look at the portrayal of extraterrestrial life in the history of cinema :So much for those 'little green men'. If you look back into the history of cinema, it's indeed fascinating that despite having little actual scientific proof on existence of intelligent extra-terrestrial life, filmmakers (and sci-fi novelists) have always applied their wildest imagination and went on to make movies

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-397349840625425282009-01-14T21:08:00.010+05:302009-01-16T00:52:42.818+05:30

I had a long regret about not having seen the spanish modern classic "The Orphanage" in theatre when it came out. It was released at Nandan a few months back and I took my time and pushed my schedules aside to go there on its second day, only to find out that the hall is closed due to some workers' strike. And now I've downloaded it off torrent and I'm happy. Yes, it's a horror film and few

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-41457697598963856182008-12-18T09:27:00.004+05:302008-12-19T10:25:10.324+05:30

The city of Kolkata never ceases to amaze me.Especially the north, where there's always some mystery, some surprises left. Get down from the tube at M G Road, take the C R Avenue and walk back a little towards the Ram mandir and you get Muktarambabu Street -- narrow, crowded, dirty in the most Calcuttan way, filled up with small tea stalls, sweetmeat outlets, fake jewellery shops, slum urchins

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-47123994437322782492008-12-12T20:35:00.002+05:302008-12-12T20:45:49.372+05:30

Film ReviewMe and C went to see the film only because I kinda liked the 1951 original classic film of which this is a remake. You can read the excerpt here. Basically its about a humanoid alien and a giant robot who lands on NYC with a sinister message about the destruction of the human race.We were utterly disappointed by the stupidity of this film. Intelligent sci-fi is the last thing I expect

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-77151523033623948222008-12-02T10:40:00.002+05:302008-12-02T11:34:50.545+05:30

This tag, kinda self-revelations type, is picked up from Amazing Greys' blog. Since I cannot seem to write anything else, lets see what I can do with this.1. What does your user name mean?Um... kinda meaningless actually. An autist who makes noise... makes no sense.2. Elaborate on your user photo.Don't have one.3. How many comments do you have?Why don't you count yourself! Ask better questions,

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-89523011059373851882008-11-09T09:11:00.002+05:302008-11-09T09:43:58.348+05:30

Long before my blog became a sanitarium of some ill-treated ideas and deformed thoughts, there was a time I used to keep a diary... handwritten, often interrupted by awkward rhymes or even offensive cartoons, and usually unfinished. In my schoolboy times I used to feel the urge to write a journal on each New Year's Day... a fleeting obsession that would usually die out by the month of May or June

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-89779264749360245192008-08-11T15:07:00.006+05:302008-08-12T09:26:27.439+05:30

Love is an islandLove is the streetsLove is the clueless hissing soundYou hear when you turn on the heat.Love is the enemyLove is the secret codeLove is the shame that keeps you quietWhen your conscience explodes.Love is the letterLove is the touchLove is the bird that sits uponThe high cross of the church.Love is the smokeLove is the sighLove is the smile with tears inThe corner of your eye.Love

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-77328268164812990652008-07-23T10:19:00.007+05:302008-12-10T02:30:12.924+05:30

Yes, that was a long title for this post.But you see, the late Heath Ledger is the Joker. And if I want to write down all the words he spoke in The Dark Knight in this post, don't hate me. Because every single one of his maniacal monologues are masterpieces... the situations and the manner he spoke them. His facial expressions, his licking his lips, his crazy laughters, his smeared and disheveled

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-72636094794703378192008-06-21T18:32:00.003+05:302008-06-21T22:17:52.700+05:30

Coldplay: Viva la Vida (2008) A ReviewViva la Vida is the latest offering from a band which took a significant part in making alternative rock music accessible to much wider audience, thereby arguably making it more commercialized. Coldplay has enjoyed significant chart success with their previous effort X&Y (2005), but in a fashion it had just followed the musical style and sound of their

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-43103954798520728922008-05-31T09:46:00.007+05:302008-12-10T02:30:13.162+05:30

And I'm walking on these trapeze wiresUp and down they go,Following her light footstepsAs they fade but all I knowI'll never ever lose my trailOr will need a second chanceSomehow it's bred into meOh, like I'm in a trance.Ah you... hold me in these chains...Open wide unsatisfied close inside again.Oh you, to yourself in the cornerOf a bright-light haute hotel,Handing out free invitationsBut you

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-90018575953216765332008-05-29T16:51:00.003+05:302008-05-29T17:26:55.921+05:30

Loathing your profession is a very easy thing to do, especially when it's not something creative. It is part of the expressions that proclaim "See, I'm not an workaholic... I am cultured, so you better respect my opinions on poetry, cinema, sports etc". Your open display of disliking your job attributes you public sympathy, makes your professional failure seem only twist of fate. Many of us use

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-66424105581085987122008-05-14T17:02:00.001+05:302008-05-15T10:46:04.203+05:30

My workplace has recently introduced a fingerprint identification system for attendance of employees to replace the register books where you always take the pleasure of your signature forgery skills.I work at a not-so-big nursing home. And mine is but only a part-time job - no offer letters, no fixed salary, no paid leaves, no medical allowances. My payment only depends on how many hours I'd work

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-63772899861808871542008-04-28T17:56:00.002+05:302008-04-28T17:59:01.764+05:30

What have I done, what have I done?When the undertaker blows his scornful hornAnd the night breaks into a dayComing out like a motorcade of silent victoryAnd when you still remain an unwound mysteryTake me in.The nights, they're filled with dreamsOf unision and self-esteemBut you're beautiful when I sayThat grapes of wrath are nothing but fewDroplets of shadows to be dissolved in youAnd still I

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-52128587544771503582008-04-21T10:45:00.003+05:302008-04-21T11:58:14.285+05:30

REM : Accelerate (2008) A ReviewMy favorite band has released their latest album this month.I said those words with the most indifference I can master. But in reality, I know how much I had anticipated it. With the same anticipation I had went out and bought their previous album Around the Sun (2004) when it came out only to find it disappointing, lacking any inspiration and equally hated by the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-74436202153835373742008-04-01T00:06:00.004+05:302008-12-10T02:30:13.519+05:30

I used the tag from Antigone's post to pay tribute to my favorite comic-book hero.Enjoy.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-22800501913220789262008-03-28T10:25:00.004+05:302008-03-28T11:14:06.371+05:30

And my fellow-blogger Macadamia has gracefully chosen to tag me in this. The only problem is there are so many questions... and I don't usually listen to that much songs at one stretch. And I can't stop and skip a song once it's started. So, I took a long break from my studies and completed this tag. Heh."If someone says 'Is this okay?', you say?"Better than me - Hinder (now that makes sense :P)"

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-7542192222165053802008-03-21T10:13:00.003+05:302008-12-10T02:30:13.594+05:30

Dark corridors to past and IStand alone in the piercing heatMannequins laugh "Why so glum?"My faltering glances towards my feet.Realm of shadows and the river of bloodSo get my boat ready for the flood.Your shadow through rings of smokeThe question of me to stayIf every simple song I write couldDrive your deepest fears away...Yet you convince me to stand tallWithin the holocaust of tainted walls.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-37041689662122650282008-03-12T13:47:00.003+05:302008-03-12T22:37:43.189+05:30

What I really miss in my present-day life is lying 30-degree propped up in my bed and spend hours just casually reading a book. Reading habit is one thing that's absent in my life, though it did exist in some form once in the past mostly confined to science fiction and a few occasional classics [Oh by the way, if you do not consider quality works by Asimov, Clarke or PKD as serious literature,

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-88969575846333512112008-03-04T20:25:00.002+05:302008-03-04T20:43:16.784+05:30

She gets me throughThe slow grey afternoonThe lazy setting sunTime, too tired to runThe everyday forgotten dreamsThe poems of sleepy streamsThe half-feverish morning callsTrembling shadows cast on wallsThe unanswered silenceThe unidentified fragranceThe half-tuned guitar criesShe leads me to paradise.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-6036289622246107622008-03-02T22:34:00.002+05:302008-03-02T22:54:24.731+05:30

theres a soul waiting outside the door waiting for some real love he can never imagine and i am sittin here writing the words no one should ever take seriously and although i am sick of telling the same ovr and over again i just want to keep it real and show you how much i got caught in the undertone still the damned fiasco gettin all the media attention and u just keep standing right beside the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-83273875213429017872008-02-26T13:47:00.002+05:302008-02-26T13:58:49.357+05:30

So, my avid fellow-blogger Ms. Dreamy tagged me. And this is the first time someone did it. I liked the tag as it's kinda retrospective. Here I go -Life Ten years ago.Good. A time when tall people must bowl fast, smart guys must hate life science and love mathematics. The eighth-grader backbencher trying out Bob Dylan for the first time.Life Five years ago.Indecisive, variant. Good new college

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-23725728291731656612008-02-24T20:48:00.001+05:302008-12-10T02:30:13.780+05:30

You fill me up.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-53573792823495780932008-01-31T00:00:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:13.915+05:30

Spoken words and broken teeth,Taken vows and shaken myths,Faded stars and jaded mind,Noted silence and quoted lines.Harmers win and farmers die,Steamers horn and screamers lie,Battle lost while cattle grazeWords fail but swords amaze.Choosers sleep and losers killWarnings fade with morning chill,Nights explode and lights spin,Time to share this nonsense within.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-85539045527366431192008-01-23T21:17:00.000+05:302008-01-23T21:55:44.451+05:30

She stopped short of saying no... thenThought better of some old-fashioned denial.And my footprints on the road, overlookedsilent, to be trodden in a while.I know Mona Lisa went on a trial forNot explaining 'bout her smile.Lights dimmed at the opposite window,My patience... I just let it grow,And Mona Lisa said she didn't knowThat her smile was soMysterious, as they said while drinking my wine.So

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-35609952566623109732008-01-06T13:34:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:14.052+05:30

"Etay na gele birat miss korbi." That's what my friends, all apt music enthusiasts, said to me about this tribute concert to the songs of "Mohiner Ghoraguli" - the pioneer Bengali band active during the 70s. They said the songs will be performed with completely classical orchestral arrangement and took the time to explain to a musically naive person like me the significance of a 70-piece live

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-52063284682698751122007-12-30T20:20:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:14.168+05:30

The world that I leave behind every instant takes a time for retrospection in this end of something. What I see appears the same everytime, with the vibrant grey of failure and promises defiled. Emotionless faces with indifferent passing glances, repetitions of mistakes with shattered dreams; regrets and cold cynicism, useless knowledge acquired and forgotten... the characterless desert

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-46051380134580610962007-12-28T23:25:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:14.431+05:30

What would you say if I ask you to close your eyes and open them again? Would everything be exactly the same? You look at the world in all your glory and you see the marvel of existence. You take a swan dive into the fields of rank and file and upon their foreheads you kiss goodnight. Today they dragged our pasts out into the light and told us why we shouldn't be encouraged. They stated the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-20414666941791990922007-12-12T18:38:00.000+05:302007-12-12T18:58:34.683+05:30

As I sit there in my coziest corner,Let another day fade away in wild dedication,Watch the revolution fail in my silent meditation,The glum faces of destiny in futile persuasion,As I remain, unmoved. Unperturbed.With every bit of hope it can garner,A new day breaks in the form of humilityTo shake me out of my blissful(?) reverie,Meets the dusk with an age-old futility,As I remain, for I'm already

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-2121672836868269702007-12-03T20:46:00.000+05:302007-12-03T21:12:41.914+05:30

The world around me is changing fast. The faces I've known for years are reflecting strange emotions I cannot share. The faces I came to know recently are strangely resembling the older ones, only to grow this bitter taste of deja-vu inside me. Yet everyday they prove to be capable of doing things I never expected they could. And that lets me down.Lets me down... chasing me around... with the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-41905876702700073382007-11-15T23:30:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:14.588+05:30

Raindrops had long washed my faceI look up and the clouds are gone.I followed the trail that led me hereThe path of the hopeless and forlorn.There were times to curse the human raceBut a touch of magic and the battle was won.And as I recall I wasn't even thereThe touches were yours, none of my own.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-75975175268523070082007-11-04T21:15:00.000+05:302007-11-04T21:20:05.600+05:30

The lone hour-glass turned redFrightened souls in a damp straw bed,Masked faces with lit torches in handTestify against the spirit of the land.Bloodied hands forced down to kneesUsurping sensations of breathing freeHallowed salvations, justified onceFor those who deserve no second chance.To those who never came to seize meAnd to those who one day will,I'm the face you'll see in the mirrorI'm the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-61863613955565909562007-10-30T23:31:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:20.810+05:30

If I was the spirit, how you would be the ice! The traces of beauty still left in my hind-pockets had long cheered their mellifluous way to revival with your magic touches. The once-oppressed mind was long shaken out of the reverie of self-destruction. Yet how you could continue to put harsh reality in a blissful slumber, as beautifully as ever.I want you to remember me, not as I thought I'd

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-80309568349805942662007-10-22T23:30:00.000+05:302007-10-23T17:05:50.057+05:30

It is only a few days back, the time of year when the hoi polloi gruesomely turn into pandal-hunting zombies, I found myself one evening safely insulated inside my favorite city bar with my own Mr. Jones... and we were exchanging our views on baldness.Beer helps us to loosen up. There's something in that cold bitter taste that suits every mood you're in. Beer makes you blatantly boast about your

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-23634762926993452702007-10-10T15:22:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:20.992+05:30

Those thorns coming out of your skin,So cold and circumspect of you.You smile wryly with a face too pale,You stop wishing for something new,You wait alone for your common taleTo come true; and you fix your grinAs you sit there, sharpen your claws.Sun shines merry on your silvery scalesAnd your magic sword-blade too;Yet I dare speak, though words may failThat I'll always be there for you...Maybe

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-68903138532752334112007-10-07T18:21:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:21.215+05:30

In this frightful hour of made-up tragedy and arthouse rebellion, I force myself to rejoice in the name of love, peace and harmony. I walk down the dusty aisles of long-forgotten storehouses of freedom, I keep looking for the little signs of life still surviving, still managing to hold out. And I stumble upon things they sell in the name of freedom and eccentricity. I end up with showbiz in the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-72974861613120946402007-10-03T00:12:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:21.378+05:30

Shine on, upon the white flag now tearing up the breeze.Shine upon the dead rebels and the undead refugees.When the skies will fall and the ocean will divide,Shine upon the bloodied hands that got nowhere to hide.Shine on, upon the blind, the deaf and the mute.Shine upon the naked child and the vinyled prostitute.When the retired craftsman puts his blade to the heat,Shine upon the unforgiven,

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-61824447532055237552007-09-23T19:08:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:21.556+05:30

As I kick my wet slippers off and rush into my room leaving my wet footprints on the floor I once again succumb to the temptation of losing myself into my fond childhood memories. Like most of us unarguably agree, those were the magical days. Before my age could reach the two-figure mark I had already played the most memorable football match in my life. With a bunch of hopeless youngsters

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-88169944473466885512007-09-16T20:47:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:21.735+05:30

There was a time when we didn't wait for the answers. We could satisfy ourselves just by asking why... being under an impression that our ability to question everything holds the key to our success. We questioned our knowledge, our teachers, their authority, their authenticity. We only took pride in the very fact that we didn't just believe whatever they were imposing upon us. It was more like

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-25098246220660443972007-09-04T12:31:00.000+05:302007-09-04T23:51:48.681+05:30

A flash in time, too beautiful to be true...When the stars dotted the darkened skyAnd my city switched on its neon lightsAnd prayed it never ends, I prayed too.Blissfully stranded where I had always been,When the night sky broke down to soft tearsWashed away everything I held dear,I celebrated, for it washed away my sin.I wrote the answers for the questions ahead,While the secret reason behind

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-69790279110318395882007-08-28T22:13:00.000+05:302007-08-30T22:26:47.268+05:30

There's a flag over the citadel, poverty lies below.Dark haired nightwatchmen through the tinted windows.The graveyards stare blankly to the clouded skies above.The mariachi with his old guitar sings of long-lost love.The old man with broken teeth speaks of Ku Klux Klan.The joker and the thief there still working on their plan.There's cobweb in the dungeon doors, frozen with fateless scum,The

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-65638219076595031932007-08-23T00:10:00.000+05:302007-08-23T01:13:35.969+05:30

The world that we live in is being invaded by false beliefs. The more we rejoice on the skyrocketing advancement in the field of information technology, the more we end up being fed with suppressed, distorted and manufactured truth. And in this seemingly dystopic vision for today, truth has always been subjective, merely what our mind chose to believe among a handful of contrasting options. Well,

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-47932288675296970432007-08-19T11:52:00.000+05:302007-08-19T19:28:41.452+05:30

Everything starts off with a spark.It comes with the new fragrance, fresh air to breathe, new ideas to think of, new ways to keep you occupied, new problems to even boast about. And if you just let it go, not nurture it as it grows old, like everything else it slips into the dark.Everything faces the test of time.Time heals, and hurts too. It hurts when you find that everything you know are all

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-57722447057434746622007-08-17T17:52:00.000+05:302007-08-18T18:12:50.065+05:30

The tired teen lit up his cigarette and smoked weed.The fruit-seller on the footpath finally decided to sell pumpkins.It was past 8 in the evening and the young woman reached for her topmost button.The regular office-goer cursed the bus driver the third time.The lonely housewife on the 3rd floor slapped her son... again.He should keep more changes, the rickshaw-puller told himself.She stopped for

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-33580807732123921662007-08-14T22:28:00.000+05:302007-08-14T23:40:59.094+05:30

Collect all your toys and put them aside.A small sad song and a sombre goodbye.Look here, amigo...There's not much you could do tonight.You've been waiting since the last raindrop fell.I've seen the anger in your eyes, I can tell.Disappointment...You never knew when failure cast its spell.When the night echoed in your warm futility,You chose to ignore with all your levity.Or you did not...You

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-88512779307676759192007-08-10T21:47:00.000+05:302007-08-10T22:20:24.258+05:30

Paper raincoats and bluest skies.Futile emotions and watery eyes.Smoke rings in a shiny muzzle.Idle life in a jigsaw puzzle.Digital clock, faded jeans.Deepest fear, false grins.Piebald glasses in silver rims.Loving monsters in induced dreams.Hidden treehouse, painted tiles.Withdrawn tears, photoshopped smiles.Unscratched cards for luckiest stubs.Unspoken words for truest love.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-21146035106306490122007-08-06T21:42:00.000+05:302007-08-06T22:02:20.341+05:30

Day after day, he wished for the perfect rain that would wash away everything he was made to be. And rain came... in pools, buckets, showers but every one of them left the same bitter residue he grew tired of. He was the sinner of expecting everyone to celebrate his mediocrity... and he was never punished. They only kept him in careful isolation.Isolation... their age-old trick. He was invited,

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-5125932026691793012007-08-05T23:31:00.000+05:302007-08-07T21:58:18.835+05:30

This evening I went to a rock concert.As I seriously doubt my knowledge in music I will deliberately refrain from passing any criticism, and that's why the venue and the name of the band will be undisclosed in this blog. I'm here only to write about my experience and maybe a few opinions. So all I can say is that the venue is one of the city's few ones that exclusively promotes rock music and the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-20974541359728564012007-08-01T16:41:00.000+05:302007-08-01T17:04:41.137+05:30

You were supposed to be the first twig of the season... instead you just yawned, closed your eyes again and went back to sleep. The morning sun came looking for you, got disappointed and hid his face behind the clouds.You were supposed to pen the boldest book ever written, with revolution screaming from every page... but you just hit 'backspace', deleted your words and went back to study human

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-69427998744947347572007-07-27T21:53:00.000+05:302007-07-28T10:01:08.131+05:30

They rise up as one, but divided they fall...They open their eyes to find nothing at all,Close them and it's only each other they see.Faded like the stars they wish to be.Loneliness is what unleashes their souls.But they despise it, with strong passion.They cling together, sometimes to usAnd let us shine in the rarest fashion.Killers of time, saviors of agesThey're fresh like blank white pages,

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-24601974371134732562007-07-22T12:35:00.000+05:302007-07-22T13:04:01.770+05:30

Suspicion is one of the many things that compel different minds think alike. Individuals we may be, but few social circumstances sow the same seeds of distrust among us. We lose our intellectual and characteristic originalities and tend to think and act identically. Our profession, upbringing, education and artistic choices never come into play. Whoever we might be, we don't trust the too

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-66851190304703606892007-07-20T15:42:00.000+05:302008-12-10T02:30:22.886+05:30

Your love's like wineSpilling out of broken glass,Like the birthmark hiddenIn your stretch of blackest hair,Like the hermit bound to keepSilent as the years pass,Like a two-headed rabbitIn your headlights forever.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-30066272358091099552007-07-10T21:47:00.000+05:302007-07-10T22:05:25.869+05:30

You create the fog, you disperse the mist,You challenge the unknown with your little fists.Words fall upon you in cold and lonely nights,And you raise them to your own dizzy heights.You're happy with question, not its answer...Did you care to explain? No, not ever.You seek beauty in every random note,A sail against west wind your confessions float."Some laugh, some just sit and cry,But you just

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-59397709125436183282007-07-08T19:39:00.000+05:302007-07-08T21:47:16.831+05:30

Like every other day, she wakes up with a mental note about saving the world sometime. Always in a rush to reach work in time, she stumbles upon some uneven stony projection in the road that frequently conspires against her. She falls... face down; and immediately gets up, pushing the ground away with her little hands. Any other day, she'd just wipe the dirt off herself and start walking again.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-3737381941276044272007-07-03T16:49:00.000+05:302007-07-03T17:03:51.124+05:30

I don't believe in chance. I believe I just don't have the capabilities to create my opportunities.I don't believe in absolute freedom. I believe in an everlasting social and spiritual slavery.I don't believe in true love. I believe your secrets can be shared best with the opposite sex.I don't believe in religion. I believe my guidelines in living change according to my priorities.I don't believe

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-45752555238876813012007-06-26T22:37:00.000+05:302007-06-27T17:31:57.371+05:30

Last Sunday I went to meet a few of my old friends from high school.Almost every afternoon after the school hours we used to gather at a playground by the side of the road and engaged in light banter, hitting on the schoolgirls, lighting up our first cigarettes or just teasing each other. Although we acted like it was bad, life was actually good. We all agreed that Bon Jovi was way better than

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-61202868167723581202007-06-20T20:20:00.000+05:302007-06-20T21:00:09.273+05:30

An Ode...A clouded perceptionOf necessary denialUsual... in a way of day-to-day living.A tired solutionOf my morose curiosityGets in the way of believing.I dive deeper and deeper,I almost felt the pressure,I looked up, andThe same daylight... so forgiving.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-42616940743286679492007-06-12T21:40:00.000+05:302007-06-12T21:47:02.182+05:30

There's a self-proclaimed prophet in action. There're angels with bloodied helping hands. There's an audience bewildered. There's a pawn in the game. There's a bright light still shining. There's an undertaker with a blunt shovel. There's the young man, jaded.That's when the rain came.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-35049716428799756992007-06-08T19:42:00.000+05:302007-06-08T19:56:28.085+05:30

Like everyone else, I get attracted to perfection. It is so out of my realm, and it creates that urge inside me to make myself better... to spark that inspiration that mostly lies hidden in me.And then again, I fall for artistic imperfection. I take a look around and I see everything so messed up and yet some of them are so beautiful. It reassures me, gives me tender fond memories, makes me feel

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-83067485846376730022007-06-06T18:41:00.000+05:302007-06-06T18:53:31.497+05:30

In all I've seen, there was one little thing I would never forget...Days went by, creating the same tension as they do, still one day that little thing made me feel a bit more alive... and I breathed new fragrance in the usual stale air for a brief moment. I looked down and saw one little fresh green twig amongst the dead white grassland.Spark of a new revolution? I don't know...I never knew what

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-89867229813010366402007-06-01T18:56:00.000+05:302007-06-01T19:22:42.687+05:30

Some more things about me -Favorite dream: A world without duct tape.Worst nightmare: A world without bald men.Greatest strength: My ability to click buttons.Greatest fear: To be considered a stereotype... again.Most memorable day: Umm... I dunno... today?Most regrettable day: Now that would be yesterday.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-71259504005077568922007-05-24T21:29:00.000+05:302007-05-24T21:42:03.354+05:30

I was tiredOf playing the scapegoat, the nobody in your scheme.I step aside to watchNobody's going to take my place, not even in my dreams.I was jaded, lost my thoughtsin other people's words, 'cause I had none of my own.I was terrified, and somebodytold me I need time, just to rely on.It's said and done, perfect.And I'll pretend that I won't mind at allThat an ocean lies aheadOf boredom, sorrow

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-62272032215261282622007-05-20T21:14:00.000+05:302007-05-21T21:22:30.456+05:30

Sinking into oblivion is easy. All you need to do is just to stop trying to make it better. In that case you won't ever regret losing. And you know, the greatest fear is the fear to lose.But everytime I give up, strange forces of some inner tide drags me out of reality to convince me that I actually can win. Here I am, trying to accept defeat as my middle name, and still having illusions about

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-309878906488875842007-05-17T21:14:00.000+05:302007-05-17T21:38:12.185+05:30

My immortal,How I searched for you through light and shadesAnd you... you moved beyond time and spaceAn 'endless rain into a paper cup'You overflowed... only to leave me hereAnd loneliness set in with a shudderOh and I did love you.My indifferent,You've seen right through me... only in piecesOf confound premonitions, what I've doneThe sands of time will fall away... and youWill light up the

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-60306179641082296712007-05-11T16:12:00.000+05:302007-05-11T16:22:57.015+05:30

Time flies... but those few hours will remain forever.They're often like flashes of light, lasting for a few seconds or a few minutes. But everytime I get blinded by them, compensatory darkness set in immediately after. It's like those futuristic torture cells you get to see in low-budget sci-fi flicks.And then I teach myself to see only shades of grey... eternal darkness carefully contaminated

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-48095164698218911112007-04-19T20:16:00.000+05:302007-04-19T20:29:14.937+05:30

I wish time didn't move so fast. Everyday when I come back from work I close my eyes and it's a new day. I can't remember the last time I could lay down facing the ceiling fan and get lost in my endless stream of thoughts when seconds feel like forever.But perhaps the only good thing is that I don't really miss anything. They're only thoughts... I guess I'll never run out of them.

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-84448573175184902482007-04-09T22:33:00.000+05:302007-04-09T22:45:52.461+05:30

How quiet... how quiet can the world be?All this noise... the sleepy engine roar of a lazy private bus, the laughter-filled banter of happy college girls, the distorted guitars of some new metal band, the pseudo-serious cricket commentaries in a tired radio, the futile scream of a pregnant woman in labour...Do they really mean anything to me? I've become deaf...Just a lone raindrop in a still

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-28263757209307025062007-03-21T16:57:00.000+05:302007-03-21T17:34:15.865+05:30

She is simple... with that simplicity which can be achieved only by complex thinking.She is beautiful... and her beauty has always encouraged men to give up, rather than to run for it.She is careeristic... but what for? Not domination, not money.She listens to music... and when all music is dead, I'll listen to her.She loves to read... but can she read my thoughts? I hope she can.She enjoys

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-50696896104789352052007-03-19T20:26:00.000+05:302007-03-19T20:50:23.765+05:30

Yes, I want a day of my own, for my own, on my own. I remember the last time I got it... I was literarily unemployed then. And it was a time when everyday was like that and I long started to hate them. That was a time when I craved for work, responsibilities, duties, tasks... that was a time when I understood that to really enjoy a long leisure period one must have creativity.Creativity... I

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-62645621371359627182007-03-11T20:18:00.000+05:302007-03-11T20:40:14.266+05:30

The Sundays seem so ugly now-a-days.Sunday mornings are always supposed to be lovely. To get up late, to spend hours with the newspaper and its Sunday specials, to try out fresh tunes on the guitar... or to maybe just loaf... oh how I miss them. All these ornaments of a perfect holiday... how I miss them.But I'm not complaining. Even if my Sundays were like that, they'd still seem ugly now.That's

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-40239892431932292422007-03-07T20:06:00.000+05:302007-03-07T20:29:10.295+05:30

I love you when you act like you care about my haircut.I love you when you send me a cordial invitation, when you finally decide to put a stop to it and then change your mind, when you suppress the urge to reply to my messages, when you motivate me to do another mistake... or... when you pretend that you just don't see the meaning of it all.I love the way you speak of work, studies and weather

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-78803085654229366842007-03-04T17:36:00.000+05:302007-03-04T18:04:00.636+05:30

"Money gets back/ I'm alright Jack/ Keep your hands off my stack..."If only writing a poem would be that easy...I simply can't write poems. I cannot suppress the urge to rhyme at the end of each line whenever I try to write one. I search my ass off to find a good rhyming word and thus the work itself becomes rather weak as a piece of poetry. A fellow blogger of mine writes fantastic pieces of

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-82617686563034212762007-03-01T21:19:00.000+05:302007-03-01T21:42:49.664+05:30

I'm afraid...... of numerous things. I'm afraid of trying out my new jeans after I buy it. I'm afraid of finding out a new route to reach my workplace. I'm afraid of spending time with people I barely know. I'm afraid of giving medical directions in the Emergency in front of the patient party. And right now, I'm afraid of sending a text message through my cellphone.Sending a text message is

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-3067191988214977002007-02-28T22:01:00.000+05:302007-02-28T22:12:01.396+05:30

A song by Death Cab For Cutie :"I cannot guess what we'll discoverWe turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovelsBut I know our filthy hands can wash one anotherAnd not one speck will remain..."Oh how easy it would seem to feel new and real every morning...But I don't usually. In the morning selected portions of my foolish dreams begin to come back and when they do, they always taunt me of my

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-39823832841573281982007-02-27T18:46:00.000+05:302007-02-27T19:27:51.139+05:30

I don't exactly call myself a bookworm but somehow I have a rather exaggerated reputation among my friends of being an avid reader. The truth is, I am very selective of what I read. I don't read non-fiction. I don't read the usual bestsellers. I don't rush to read the book when the movie comes out. And I don't usually care to follow someone else's reccommendations like "Read this one, you'll love

Noisy Autisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06261498770262899496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8611381658912036808.post-60157019522493542032007-02-26T17:08:00.000+05:302007-02-26T17:27:25.246+05:30

... I must confess that I don't know why I did it. True, such trivial matters don't need any reason or explanation. It's a blog after all, everyone has one. And I'm writing this when I'm awfully tired after a long day's work and my head is totally empty.Blogs... some people use them as their daily journals. All the petty confessions, silly hopes, mundane fears should be there when you treat it as

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