A random pic from the travel archives

Looking out at snow capped mountains not far away from my room...
Location: Manasarovar, Tibet. Circa, Late 2008. Camera: Canon EOS 300 Analog.

It ws a dark and stormy night....

I have never begun a novel with more misgiving. If you're going to read this, don’t bother. After a couple pages, you won't want to be here. So forget it. Go away. Get out while you're still in one piece. I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. All this happened, more or less.

I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974. Call me Ishmael. In a sense, I am Jacob Horner. I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids. For a long time, I went to bed early. You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. I am a sick man. ... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. Mother died today.

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. It was the day my grandmother exploded. In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street. It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. I was 50 years old and hadn't been to bed with a woman for four years. I had no women friends. I looked at them as I passed them on the streets or wherever I saw them, but I looked at them without yearning and with a sense of futility. I masturbated regularly, but the idea of having a relationship with a woman—even on non-sexual terms—was beyond my imagination. [But] It was love at first sight. Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. What if this young woman, who writes such bad poems, in competition with her husband, whose poems are equally bad, should stretch her remarkably long and well-made legs out before you, so that her skirt slips up to the tops of her stockings? Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes' chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression.

A screaming comes across the sky. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. They shoot the white girl first. We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall. The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. It was a pleasure to burn. I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peephole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me. They're out there. Black boys in white suits up before me to commit sex acts in the hall and get it mopped up before I can catch them. It was like so, but wasn't. Where now? Who now? When now?

Already guessed what it’s all about? Reads quite nicely don’t it? It better! Because the above is a ‘story’ written by stitching together some of the most famous opening lines in literature. Opening lines only. Except in a couple of instances, only the first sentence or the first few words. Look them up. Ah yes. The title of the post too. The classic evergreen opening from Edward Bulwer-Lytton's Paul Clifford.

Next up? A story using famous ending line? Maybe. A song on the same line? Maybe. Maybe not. Once is enough. Next time, new experiment.

About Time

He had reached by 1840. But his team was already late by a long time. They were supposed to join him a long time ago in this house, at 1845 in fact. He looked surreptitiously at the dial concealed under his carefully constructed jacket. The luminous numbers read 1850. But on second thoughts a slight delay like this was hardly a wave in the ever flowing tide of history. But what they were about to do now would definitely cause a few ripples. The mere thought brought a smile to his face. Time to right some wrongs. And anyways, the delay had given him enough time to put a lot of things into place.

After what looked like eons, he looked again at the dial. 1855. Time was definitely running out now. Alone he could at most get things started – but that would happen whether or not he was physically present at this point. It needed his team to give him the strategic numbers to win. 1856. He smelt something burning, like burnt optic transmitters. They were here! About time. But instead of his entire team, all he saw was his deputy staggering towards him. If that wasn’t enough cause for worry, he was wearing a uniform which wasn’t just horribly dated but was that of the imperialists! “Someone got it horribly wrong” His deputy told him. “We reached in 1755, looking for you. But they told us not to worry if we didn’t find you and changed the side we were to fight on. We won. Nothing’s changed. I’m here to take you back. Nothing’s going to change. We could try again. Live to plan again and come back.” The words barely registered. The implications. 25 years of his life, and all the careful planning to change history, wasted. His team sent back a 100 years further back than was planned to help the other side win. Why? Why? But who? And now that he was being taken back to his time, nothing was going to change. The other side would rule for another 2 centuries, leaving his land and his ancestors in shambles and as slaves forever. “Hey, let’s go” his deputy said, “About time.”

Part 2 of Past coupla weeks or more, give or take

And those were some of the books and tv series.....

Part 1 of Past coupla weeks or more, give or take

Well been too busy. As usual. And too lazy to update. As usual. Busy with life, work, short trips, appointment with mr. walker of blues fame, a farewell party or two, etc. etc. but why bore you with details. Actually the more interesting parts are best told in person. So instead The Bekku is taking the easy way out and talking movies, tv and books in the past 2-3 weeks which have contributed to keeping the devil’s workshop out of business for a while. especially, back to the regular average of 2-3/week, so that’s comforting. Well here goes….of what I can remember top of mind….If i don't remember the rest of them, am sure there are more, it's probably because it wasn't worth the bother in first place.

Idiocracy

The title says it all. In a distant future, the morons have taken over the world (but can't really blame you if you think that's the scene right now ). Sample question from IQ test in the future as shown in movie: “If you have a bucket with 5 gallons of water and another bucket with 2 gallons, how many buckets do you have?” You don’t need to be a genius to know this is a must see.

Girl Next Door

Sent my best friend and me scurrying for Elisha Cuthbert pics. Nice-of-age college flick. Smart but boring boy gets a new neighbor – super hot chick who is a porn star. Need I say more?

Knowing

Alex Proyas doesn’t disappoint. Ya, the same guy who gave you Dark City and I, Robot. Interesting twist to the old apocalyptic prophecies and such like yarn. Slow in bits but ultimately worthwhile. Watch maadi. Don’t miss that clever touch at the end and all that it implies, which makes that one scene larger than the story of the movie itself.

Push

Would’ve worked better as a 3 episode TV miniseries. Actually I think it was one – going by the production values and the feel of the film - till they decided to edit it down to movie length. Regular people but with powers hunted down by shady agency. Heroes anyone?

Black Dynamite

If you aren’t a fan of blaxploitation films, you might miss out on the little touches that make this such an awesome spoof-cum-homage such a nice enjoyable film. But you still can enjoy the jive talk, the neat look, the women and old 70s exploitation movies, this one’s for you. Once you get past that niggling feeling that you are watching namma Prabhakar in an afro. Don’t let the poster mislead you, it’s a new movie. See what I said about homage to movies past?

Bitch Slap

More exploitation fun. Could’ve been so much better considering it takes it cues from Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! And blaxploitation films. Hot chicks, guns, cars guns and lot of skin – all the ingredients are there. But still, missable unless you know who Russ Meyer is and like his stuff (as in now! Not after you do a google search).

Fantastic Mr.Fox

Wes Anderson scores yet again with an amazing stop motion retelling of Roald Dahl’s classic tale. Go watch!

Iron Giant

Very nice animated movie about an Iron Giant (duh!) who crash lands on earth and befriends a small boy and their adventures thereof. For children aged 8-80.

Avataar

Sure you could do with more written on avatar ya? Though must say the sfx ‘n the 3D experience was good fun – both times! If you haven’t seen it already, go watch Pocahontas!!! Or maybe you are waiting for the Director's Cut with the extended alien sex scene. You perv, you.

And at this point The Bekku gets too lazy to type and just dumps the JPGs of TV series watched and Books read and loved. Too much trouble to type and arrange and format stuff. In part 2.