Dreams of Thought

Are dreams thoughts… or are thoughts dreams..

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Midnight in Paris

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I saw Midnight in Paris and wanted to talk to Woody Allen about it (Yes, I’m only hallucinating). We sat down and talked.

Me : This concept of “flaw in the .. imagination of those who can’t cope with the present” and “delusion” pointing to a certain escapism as far as Gil is concerned. The movie revolves around that.

Woody Allen : Yes. Gil is a character who, for whatever reason, grudgingly goes through the motions of the present. He yearns for a “Golden Age” and lives in the notion that that particular period in time – space would be the ideal, would be his paradise or Xanadu.

Me : A lot of people suffer from this “Golden Age Thinking”.

WA : I think human beings are almost always deeply dissatisfied with the situation they are in. They strive for the better. While remembering the ages past we tend to keep with us only snapshots. And certain ages we tend to think was the best time ever. We construct an image of that time and hang on to that belief because of the dissatisfaction with the present. We dare not think that the future will be that Xanadu, we assume it must be something that has passed already. Man feels that his condition has worsened ever since he came out of the womb. At the beginning all he cared about was sleeping and eating. We pooped when we wanted to and cried when we felt hungry. We did not have to struggle to survive, whatever we wanted to have was available to us. But today as adults we struggle. We fight for our daily meal, our social standing and a million other things. We then extrapolate… surely the past was the most wonderful time there was?

Me : What is wrong with this notion? It is true in a sense, is it not?

WA : It’s when he sees Adriana’s escapism that Gil gets his insight. He realises that he was trying to escape his unsatisfactory life into the golden age of the 1920s. He observers Adriana escaping into the 1890s and Gauguin talking about the golden age of the Renaissance. Every age thinks of another age before them as the perfect one. When you were in college you had a similar experience, you thought a previous batch was the best batch ever in the history of your college. They must’ve thought something similar about a batch that graduated before they did. Every age yearns for a past age. The reason for that yearning is not the truth, the drive comes from being unsatisfied with the present. It comes about when we try to escape the present instead of living and enjoying every moment of it.

Me : Live and enjoy every moment of the present?

WA : You’ve heard this joke about the lady and her dream. The lady has a dream where a tall dark and handsome man walks up close to her and removes the layers of his clothing one by one. Once he’s naked the lady asks the man, “What happens next?”. The man answers, “Lady, it’s your dream. You decide”. Imagine that you’re living in a dream. A dream in your mind. Now just live it the way you want to. Don’t think of ifs and buts. What you have with you is a beautiful thing. No one can take that away from you and no one can give it to you. It’s all yours. It is you who have to decide what to do with it. Just live it!

Me : Inez does not understand Gil’s need to write something more than “Hollywood hacks”.

WA : Inez and Gil inhabit different worlds. Gil was brought up on good literature and his job of writing scripts does not satisfy him. That’s not really what he wants. He considers himself a sellout, like he’s sold his soul to the devil. He aspires for a higher path. In a sense he’s a fallen angel who longs to return to heaven. Inez is carried away by Paul’s self – assuredness and his achievements. She feels a sense of stability with Paul and a sense that she’s missing out on a lot of things with Gil. Her priorities are different. They saw about Leslie McFarlane, the author of Hardy Boys, that he was immensely ashamed of his work. He considered them a nuisance and the only reason he wrote the Hardy Boys series was to pay the bills. However, a person who had read nothing but Hardy Boys would not understand Leslie’s feeling. It is in this same way that Inez is not touched by Gil’s urge to write a novel.

Me : Hemingway comes across as rather brusque, in a sense, always looking to pick up a fight or something.

WA : He’s honest to the point of being a little brusque. But what do you know about Hemingway?

Me : Not much really…

WA : Then shut up. I know him, Ok? You want to settle the matter over a fight? Do you box?

Me : Now you’re talking like the Hemingway character in your movie.

WA : I’m just a figment of your imagination, I’m just doing it the way you want me to.

Me : Go to sleep

WA : Ooh.. look who’s sleepy

Me : Shut up or I’ll punch ya

WA : Oh you gonna punch me? you gonna punch ME?

We leave my imagination there. It needs to take some rest.

 

 

ps : In case you haven’t recognised it yet, this isn’t an actual conversation between me and Woody Allen. It’s just me trying to get some words into my blog.

 

Update : Woody Allen just won the Original Screenplay Oscar for Midnight in Paris. Yayyyy!!! :)

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Dec 15, 2011

A game of chess

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He couldn’t sleep. No use fighting it. Counting sheep could take you only so far into the sandman’s kingdom.Listening to music could clear his head only so much. Drinking water had its limits. Yeah, there was nothing he could do to fight it. Might as well get something done.

He got up from the bed and walked to his laptop. The bright light pierced the darkness and stabbed at his eyes. He lowered the brightness and opened the document he had left unfinished a few hours back. His fingers moved onto the keyboard and started typing. As the letters started appearing on the screen he felt himself slipping into thought. This mundane stuff wasn’t what he was supposed to do. He could do this kind of stuff even when he was asleep. It didn’t require his brain, just his fingers. As his fingers moved ceaselessly on the keyboard he started dreaming of a better life. Oh what he would give to …

His reverie was broken by a sound from the kitchen. As his brain processed the sound of breaking plates and a mew his legs started moving. Cursing the cat he reached the kitchen to find milk all over the floor. “No use crying over spilt milk”, he grumbled. He mopped the floor and threw the broken vessel into the dustbin. It was easier when she was around. I didn’t have to know anything. He thought with bitterness.

It was in fact an year before the day when she had left him there. His unkempt beard stood testimony to the fact that he had trouble adjusting to life ever since. Not used to the daily chores he had found himself less and less inclined to take care of his house. One had to wade through the stink of neglect to get around the house. Clothes and various other items were strewn haphazardly everywhere. Unwashed dishes and a faint smell hinting at the age of uneaten pizza slice in the box hung about the kitchen. A closer inspection would reveal ants scurrying about on some sticky residue left behind on the kitchen floor. Not that he cared.

As he walked back to his laptop he looked at the clock. The clock and the calendar next to it reminded him that it was now his birthday. No phone calls. Not that he expected any. The past one year seemed to pass through his mind’s eye. It seemed like eternity.

As he sat down once again in front of his laptop and numbed his mind for the work ahead he felt a sudden chill. He checked if any of the windows he could see from his place were open. All closed. Then why the sudden chill? “That would be because of me”, said the cloaked figure who had suddenly appeared behind him. He jumped out of the chair in shock and hit his legs on the table. It was still smarting when he shouted at the figure, “What? Who? How?”.

“Very articulate you are.”, Death said.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Good good. For a moment I thought I was in the wrong house”, Death grinned. Except you couldn’t make that out. The hood put his face in shadow.

“You haven’t answered my question”.

“Quite right. That was quicker than the others”, Death said and not without a slight sense of wonder.

“Others? What others? You get the hell out of my house”.

“And I thought you would be more intelligent than the usual lot. But you’re just like the rest of them. I had a lot of expectations you know. She told me a great deal about you.”, Death said.

Thoroughly confused was a feeling he was not used to. That was the kind of feeling that others felt when he talked to them. He vaguely noticed the figure looking at his wrist watch and unconsciously realised who it was that stood before him. No, this wouldn’t do. It wasn’t time. Think think think! What’s the use of reading so many books and watching so many movies. There must be something out there. Some loophole…

“I challenge you to  a game of chess”, he announced with what he hoped was a challenging tone.

“What!”. Confusion passed through Death’s face. The shadow did not let the expression out. “OK. Fine. Whatever”. He conjured out a chess board from thin air.

“Time to put all my chess skills to use”, he thought and moved the pawn two squares ahead.

And so the game continued. Death was a smart player, but so was he. The game continued for an hour.

“Checkmate”, he announced with relief clearly showing through in his voice.

“Hmm. Nice match. Haven’t been beaten in a long time. Let’s go then”, Death said.

“Wait. I beat you in a game. You have to let me stay”, he pleaded.

“What nonsense”. Death threw his lasso and pulled the soul away from the body. As he stuffed the soul into his sack he wondered – “Why do so many people keep challenging me to chess and expect me to let them stay when they win?! These humans are crazy”.

Death never knew why that was.

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Jan 23, 2011

Ice Cream Bunny

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Once upon a time there was a cute bunny

Cute bunny

The bunny was going about its usual exercise of sleeping and eating and sleeping and eating when suddenly it saw some really yummy ice cream.

icecream

Bunny felt very happy

Bunny very happy

 

Bunny went to task without wasting time

Cute bunny eating

 

Little did Bunny know that the ice cream was, in fact, made from radioactive stuff.

radioactive stuff

 

After eating the whole lot Bunny felt dizzy. Bunny rushed to the mirror in its house. Bunny was seeing double!

double bunny

Bunny tried drinking some medicine

bunny drinking medicine

But it was of no use. Bunny was now seeing triple...

3 cute little bunnies

It was then that Bunny fainted. The next morning, Bunny woke. It looked into the mirror again and found that it had changed. Bunny had become... ICE CREAM BUNNY.

ice cream bunny

Endowed with super-powers, ICE CREAM BUNNY is here to save the day. Fear no more, cute people of the world, ICE CREAM BUNNY is here to protect you.

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Nov 26, 2010

I can has membership in bunny association

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Dear Chairbunny,

I is very sick. Very very sick. I is coughing all the time. I is see the doc and doc says I get all right in 3 days. Until then pleash make me temporary member of bunny association. I is attaching fotografic proof for ur considerashon.


I is sick in bed asking others if they too be sick.

So I is decide to see doc. Doc treating me.

Met new friend in hospital. Is name piglet.

I is very sick indeed.

I think of me mum then. I here see dream about her giving me soup. Is tasty, yes. yummm yumm..

Pleash consider above fotografic proofs and approve membership. I is promise I be ok again very soon and then I go back from bunny association and I be like this then.

I assure of this.

Thanking you.

Yours faithully,
whatsmyname

 

 

 

I created this “letter” to amuse a friend while my health wasn’t great. She enjoyed it, so maybe someone out there will too :)

Acknowledgments :
The pictures are linked from
http://rlv.zcache.com/bunny_in_bed_you_sick_card-p137874246511222806qnyj_400.jpg
http://z.hubpages.com/u/425811_f260.jpg
http://funzro.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/stormtroopers-healing-sick-bunny.jpg
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_as3Nej49UTU/RhpTvLyTJWI/AAAAAAAAAHo/tK1dFvH8czw/s400/sick-green.jpg
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Bdo46FhNcPc/Sa1dDQsOwRI/AAAAAAAABJ8/M2r9xrEL214/s400/sick+bunny.jpg
http://mellowdrone.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/happy-elephant-01.jpg
Thank you guys for the pics.
Thanks also to Google Image search for helping me find these. You guys are the best.
Thank you, reader :)

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Jul 26, 2009

Vishwaroopam

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He stood in awe as the Goddess stood before him. He had never seen a Goddess before. The thought had never crossed his mind. Why would he want to see a Goddess? Why would the Goddess want to see him? He didn’t like the idea one bit. Goddesses popping up here and there and not doing their job. Weren’t they supposed to massage their husband’s feet or occasionally raise some hullaballoo or something. He had read about goddesses walking out on their husbands in fits of anger, heard of them going all crazy because the husband dared to take the head out of her son. But Goddesses popping out before guys minding their own business? Bah.. what was this world coming to?

And then she started. “Child.. I am much pleased by your tapas. Tell me, what is it that you need?”. His mouth mouthed the words “What the..” silently. To his credit, he recovered immediately. “Hey. What the.. “. No this time he didn’t say it silently. He continued, “I didn’t do any tapas wapas. What the heck are you talking about, wierdo?”. “Oh shut the **** up, moron”, she said. “This is my usual opening line. I know you’re a lazy ass. I was just sitting bored. No one does tapas anymore. You were the closest guy around while I was taking my tour. That’s why I decided to appear before you and grant a wish”.  “I don’t want any wishes from you, you old hag”, he retorted. He didn’t like being called lazy, even though he knew very well he was one. Besides, Larry Wall always says laziness is a virtue all programmers should develop. Who gives a shit if he meant it in a completely different way.

He was kinda perplexed though. He asked, “Hey you’re a goddess. I thought you would be a great beauty or something”. “Of course I’m beautiful, moron. But only in my true form. I have to curb my true form so you don’t die from the sheer power it radiates”. “It can’t be that powerful, can it?”, he asked. “Of course it is.”, she said. “Would you like to see it?”, she said this in a very British accent. Damn, I love the brits. Especially the accent. Well most of the brits anyway. I hate Keira Knightley. Is Victoria Beckham a brit too? If yes, that would be another. I don’t hate Tony Blair, strange as it might sound. His accent is very brit. I like that. I like Jason Statham, love Coldplay. But enough of the brits. We all know they’re great, right? Except the occassional misadventurer like General Dyer or Keira Knightley.

Where were we now? Ah yes, “Would you like to see it”, she said in a very English accent. Did I mention I like all the different kinds of Brit accents? English , Scot, Irish.. the different kinds of each. It’s so sexy. Damn, here I go off again. Anyways, the former dialogue got our hero thinking. “If she looks so ugly now. Does she look super ugly in her true form? Or does she look super beautiful? Better than Angelina Jolie? Or worse than Keira Knightley?”. ( I hate Keira Knightley’s jaw the worst, by the way. Am not even going to call her actions in front of the camera “acting”. Whatever it is, I hate that too. But her jaw takes the cake) “Whatever it is , I gotta see it”. “Hey, Lady”, he said aloud. “I want to see your true form thing”. “Ok, if that’s what you wish my child..”. She shouted, “Ban-kai“. Lo and behold. Before him stood the Goddess in her true form. He withered under the onslaught of the true form. She was chattering non – stop. “blaah blaah .. Do you know, when I was in Shimla I .. blaah blaah”. It was too much bear. I dare not even imagine what it must’ve been like. The sheer speed. The torrent flow. It reminded him of an avalanche. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He shouted, “STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPP…”.

And then he died. There’s only so much a mortal can bear.

Moral of the story : Never let goddesses show you their true form. Or something like that.

Warning : If this post makes you puke , consider suicide or something similar.. I’m not responsible. I wash my hands off.

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Feb 28, 2009

The mouse who wanted to fly

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Mouse wanted to fly. That’s all he dreamed about – night and day. When he was small he read books. All the books he read about were about great birds. Birds who flew high in the sky. Birds who crossed whole forests in a single stroke of their wings. Birds whose wings flap came down as storm winds on the mere mortals below. He dreamed about being one of them. He longed to be up there. He wanted to be worshipped like he worshipped the great birds. The desire ate every cell in his body. For a while it was good. For he imagined that the day would come soon when he could fly. He was still small. There was time still.

For a while all was good.. but that changed. As days passed, he grew more and more sad. The mouse who always smiled was no more. The mouse everyone loved was no more. He forgot how to smile. For he could not fly. He had many a friend among the birds. They expected him to fly too. He thought he would. He thought he could be a great bird one day. He thought he was destined to be a great one. His bird friends all encouraged him. Despite his failures, they thought he could fly. It was only a matter of time.

Things started getting worse. Many attempts he made to fly. None succeeded. He tried and tried. But couldn’t fly. The mice no longer counted him as one of their own. The birds had hoped that he would fly one day like them. They too lost hope. And the mouse.. he started to understand – he would never fly. He didn’t have wings. God had not made him to fly. But he thought he could.. and that’s all he cared about. It’s not a nice feeling. A mere mouse doesn’t feel very sad when he can’t fly. But our mouse was no mere mouse. He wanted to fly. He dreamed about it night and day. There were times when he knew he could fly. He was crushed. What was his life worth now?

The story doesn’t end here. It could go on if you wanted. Maybe his children will grow wings. Or their children, or theirs. The spark, the desire to fly.. maybe it will live on in his cells and take wing one day in his children. But one truth remains – our mouse will never fly. His destiny is to be alone. His destiny is to never fly.

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Nov 19, 2008