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The Unblamed

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C'mon let's play.  The Blame Game. Where the winner get's a medal, Marked, "The Unblamed". Let's blame, shame, name. Number, outnumber, wit outwit, Protest, mumble, grumble. Dumble. Door. On the floor. Beyond which we've fallen to. As a collective, of individuals. That prefer to Twit, Tweet, To unblame.  A burning desire, at long shot. Oh! Those 2 seconds of fame. Come let's blame, Politicians, bureaucrats, teachers, et al, Monsanto, GM, Muslims, Red-necks, Global warming,  (vile, we're at it), Vegans, Gays. Rapists on streets, Who prey, at day. In abandoned mills, Or picturesque hills. In capitals,  panchayats,  homes, houses, hovels. Street side brothels. Wherever. Whenever. Who pray, at day. Causing furious dismay, On regular display. At candle-light vigils. Of dostoveskian idiots. Sponsored by L'Oreal? (that sports Sonam without her usual shade of ...
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"You don't love me!?" she said

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"U don't love me!" she said. "You ne'er had. You don't know what "lurve" is, Good thing, at that!" "WTF!?" I muttered, "where the f#*& did this come from? Weren't we just getting naked? To go and to come?" "who d'ya think i am?" she flared. "some kind of slut??" "So, you can reach my navel, From my throat AND my gut? "But, you said you liked it? Or... was that lie? Did you NOT spawn rivers, 'tween your smooth thighs?" "Yeah... ok!", she said. Suitably mello'ed. Remembering the times, when she breathed.. or she blow'd. "Then, what were you saying?", To appease her, i asked. "Do you love me?' she suddenly gasped. (Fade to black) A while later, to just fathom the point. I asked her, if SHE "lurved" me... And we smoked our next joint. ;)
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Gin a body, meet a body, comin through the rye...

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Holden Caulfield is my hero. And Salinger, probably one of the few people I aspire to write like. You may laugh, if you like, but it's true. Since the first time I was caught in the rye, the book has remained one of the strongest influences on the way I think and look at the world. The phonies, that abound round every corner... the desperate need to fit in.... the sheer futility of the scurrying human enterprise..... All came into being the instant I left Holden in that asylum. It's strange, that a book written before my parents were born, can still be so pertinent and relevant today. In fact, in India, it is more timely now than it was when i first read it. Now that the true consumerist holocaust has well and truly invaded our shores. The manic parents - ever pressurizing their kids to "top" everything - reality shows, entrance exams and coaching classes. Fuckin Bollywood - blindly churning trash that wants to make you puke all over the place. The greedy middle clas...
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