Dec 18, 2012
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 1, 2012
Nov 25, 2012
NOTE:: Rough text. No Format, No Edits. DO NOT WRITE LIKE THIS. This is just a taste.
The scrolls were in the dark cave under the sea. The fires that lit them were still burning after all these years. It had been a long time since there had been a movement out there in the world but now the forces were moving and time was neigh. The darkness in the cave was receding. A new dawn was coming for them and they were ready to welcome it the way the could. By destruction and madness. The scrolls sent out their thoughts into the ether. Ready to be picked up by those who were known to such things. There was a nascent power in the air and the scrolls were going to make the most of it. They had been suffering from a long time and their time had come to make their suffering known to the rest of the world and the powers that be. The scrolls were united in their pain. There was no two ways about it. They were ready to wreak havoc on the world outside and there was going to be no escape from it for the world at large.
The words on the scrolls arranged themselves in the form of the characters that would help them in getting out of the cave and making for the surface where they would start their reign of destruction and havoc on the planet. The scrolls had been in the making for years. The writers of the scrolls were all dead and the fucking things were updated by the scribes who had used their own blood and the skin of the previous scribes to update the scrolls and keep them intact in the world. The weather and the dissidents of their dark deeds had tried to oppose them and destroy the scrolls, but every time, through the ages, through the wars and the famine, and the hunger and the corruption, the scrolls had managed to survive. They had seen everything from plagues to the nuclear explosions, but the scrolls had prevailed and the keepers of the scrolls had laid their lives on line for preservation of the dark knowledge hidden within. Their only consolation that one day the words will rise and take the revenge for which they were made.
The time was here.
Nov 11, 2012
NOTE :: This is a work in progress, posted here for arcane purposes. Please read the last two posts to enjoy this fully. All mistakes are mine.
It was not easy for new comers to go into The Dreaming but there were ways. Oh, there are always ways to go about it. If someone designs a place where no one is meant to go, some will spend their whole lives just trying to get in. And maybe, just maybe, after a while, they'll get in too. The Octopi had spent the last 100 years trying to get into The Dreaming. Through occult and science. Through sacrifice and genius. Through madness and mathematics. They had finally found a way to get in. Find some people willing to commit suicide and send them on a whirlwind trip across the planet, with a boat load of drugs and then pray. Pray that they find the right time and place and rip in the time where the dreams leak into the real world and they just might be able to reach in and explore the place.
The freaky thing about the Octopi experiments with their attempts to get into The Dreaming was that everyone had the same dream. Of a snow filled field which went on as far as the eye could see. And then the wolves. Oh, what wolves they were. Creatures of ancient tales, fierce and wonderful. With jaws full of death for anything that didn't belong into The Dreaming. The first few batches of test subjects came back with their brains all fried out and the best thing to do with them was to put a bullet in their heads. The mission incharge had done the honors himself. He had taken his 9mm into the sleeping cells and shot each of the subjects when their vital signs remained calm, but their mouths filled the hull with screams of terror and joy. He didn't know what they were seeing in the dreaming and he had no desire to find out either. The next batch of recruits was well prepared. They were put through mental conditioning and quick response. Their lucid dreaming classes went on for as long as they had to. They were the lost children of human race that no one would miss.
The experiments were a mixture of science and magic of any kind that they were able to get their hands on. Once a shaman traveled with a batch of trainees and they were able to know about the wolves. They were flying somewhere over Antarctica when the dream hit all of them. The shaman felt the presence of wolves and he had seen them before. He saw that they were guarding a pyramid in which a book was kept. Somewhere under the surface of water. He was able to placate the wolves for now. But the experience left him so traumatized that he took up a desk job.
The Octopi continued to refine and redefine their methods. Then one day a man with a bag of books and a plane under his command contacted them. Things were never the same after that day.
Nov 9, 2012
NOTE:: This is just rough text, part of the bigger work I am writing right now. The final form of this might not look like this at all. Just doing this for motivating myself. Don't enjoy reading this. :)
The man with books was stopped at the airport. He had a bag full of books of all kinds. Hardcover, paperback, books without covers and books with their last pages torn out. He had seen some evil people in his time whose idea of entertainment was to go in local libraries and tear off the last page from every book in the catalog. He hated such people and when he saw the books that were handled carelessly and without love, he felt like crying. He loved reading books that made him want to cry. But he dared not waste his tears. Those things were important. So when the airport authorities stopped the man he was not unnerved. They looked into his bag of books, carelessly pulling out the books and ruffling through the pages as if the books contained a bomb or something. They did contain bombs, actually. But not the kind of bombs that would damage an airplane. The book man just waited till the authorities went through the bag.
"Hey, look at this book. It's pretty freaky." One of the officers checking out the bag picked a book called The Ancient Symbols and Their Significance in the Modern World by Mortimer August. It was a book dear to the man's heart and it angered him to see the police officer carelessly thumbing through the pages. Then the police officer did something so vile and sadistic that the man had to intervene. He licked his thumb and started to move it towards the corner of the page he wanted to turn. The man reached forward and held his hand on the corner of the page with the police officer's saliva filmed thumb just inches away from the the back of his hand. The police officer looked at the man. The man looked back the police officer with a smile ready on his lips. "I'd prefer if you didn't do that. It's a holy book for some religions and they treat it with extreme reverence."
A puzzled expression came over the police officer's face.
"This book like the Bible or something?"
The man smiled, again. Friendliness pouring from every inch of his face.
"You're absolutely right. All these books are holy and I am using these to spread the word of the holiness in heathen lands."
Nov 5, 2012
NOTE:: I am putting this here just to make myself accountable in case I fuck up. This is chapter 4 from the nanowrimo project I am doing this november. This is unedited, rough and shoddy work. The first draft that is shit. Read at your own risk. CONTAINS MISTAKES.
The book lies under water. Its pages are waxed and protected from the hungry waves and it has a cover made of skin of animals that live inside its tomb. The words in the book ripple under the waves. Trapped in the pages with nowhere to go till someone reads them out and brings them to life. They have not been read since they were trapped in the pages. The pyramid under the water has not been seen by human eyes in the million years that it has spent trapped in the watery grave. Were books even supposed to be written a million years ago. The book doesn't know and the book doesn't care. The symbols in it are angry. They sense the shifting of elder powers in the world above and it doesn't give them a very good feeling. It makes them uneasy and jumpy and they thrash and squirm as the waves of unease wash over them in the water. The energy signals are strong and erratic and it doesn't make the words feel too good. They've been silent for ages and now the things are disturbing them. They want to break free from their tomb, but they need an external force to set them free, and there is nothing they can invoke or call to their aid. So the words suffer in the book of water. They send out waves of their own to let the fetid energies know that there are others who are also waiting to get out of whatever prison they're latched into. There is no shame in this. There is only a challenge. A discordant aggression that a war is coming and that war is going to change everything that stands between them and the worlds that have been silent for ages. The book of water bubbles under the surface. Angry and awake. Willing to get out of its prison which can't be broken by it. The sea churns, the waters pass them by, and the hot water near the tomb fries small animals that dare to pass by it. The anger of the book only contained by its pages. So it sends the words deep into the chapters. Looking for knowledge that it has forgotten over the years. It sends the words searching for things that are no longer there. And that are not supposed to be there, but there might be a trace. There might be a sign and the book is willing to take that chance, no matter how slim the hope, it is willing to hang on.
Sep 29, 2012
Yeah, let's start again. Let's wipe the old slate clean and begin something new and awesome.
Aug 7, 2012
Jul 31, 2012
This is going to be some kind of ramble. The TL;DR version: Stories will be here soon.
The long version:
I've been in an unfocused fudge state for quite some time now. There were some stressful situations in real life that I had to deal with and as I grow older, I realize that life is not all that I dreamed it to be. But it is okay, life comes one day at a time and this is how we have to deal with it. I've had a lot to deal with, from personal life to professional life and to some degree the spiritual life too. I don't know to what degree I am spiritual but there are some things that one has to believe in. Things that happen. Signs that will show when you're looking for them. Things that happens just because you want them to happen. That sort of magical mystical bullshit.
It's all cyclical.
When you see history repeat itself for the fifth or sixth time around, that's when you realize that there is some kind of cosmic joke at play. It's all weird. We fall into habits that are difficult to get out of and even when we know that those habits are harming us, we can't help but indulge ourselves in those habits.
This is about being unfocused.
Back when I was studying, there used to be electricity in the air. The atmosphere was charged because we were all so young and full of ideas and that daring exuberance of youth that makes you feel you're immortal. But once you get out of study life, you're just another cubical monkey. Because the money is okay, pay is on time and the job doesn't really bore the fuck out of you. But you're just treading water. Just staying afloat, not really moving. Nothing flows here. It's just a stagnant pool of water. But it's okay, because the money is okay. It's on time.
I don't think I'll be wrong in saying this, but everyone we meet or interact with will stop us from living our life the way we want to live. You want to take off your clothes and play Hotel California on a guitar in the middle of the busiest market in your city, so many people will stop you, no matter how ridiculous your wish is.
So, this and that.
About the future of the blog
I read some of the past few posts here, about the android phones and shit and I thought to myself, Pallav, dude, wtf is that shit. So yeah, i disgust and disappoint myself with alarming regularity, but i am shameless enough to not care. I've been writing on a personal basis. Another long story project, about a city in future where all kinds of weird shit happens and yeah, that's pretty much about it. I am also editing a collection of old short stories and after that another editing task looms on my head. With all this editing, it's difficult to scrap out writing time for new short stories.
But I've got plans for that too.
So, yeah, that's pretty much it. I'll ramble more on some other blog maybe.
Jul 3, 2012
Jun 30, 2012
The circus was empty. The only sound was of the clown crying in the ring. The man in clown makeup howled long and hard. He was sad that he had no audience. Not any more after the bombs had fallen.
He had survived somehow. But the emptiness in the world depressed him so every evening he put on his clown makeup and tried with varying degrees of failure to entertain his invisible audience.
The stalls were gathering dust. But the clown danced on. He was sitting in his chair in middle of the ring one when a massive heart attack tripped his body's machinery out of gear.
He flopped on the ground like a fish out of water when he saw scaled feet on the ground in front of his face.
"Last of the humans." The first voice said.
'Too bad that he's dying."
May 27, 2012
Got any favs? Hate any particular number? Leave a comment! Nice way to let other readers know your view!
May 20, 2012
I was beyond caring by then. There was no stopping me. So I closed myself in a hotel room with my supply of that ichor. I paid the staff to not disturb me for a week.
And I drank.
I drank till I puked.
Then I drank some more. There was no time to sleep after I started drinking.
By the fourth day I was rolling in my own bodily excretions and I could no longer tell the difference between day and night. I lost track of myself and drifted in a hazy state of subconsciousness.
By the seventh day, the drink was drinking me away as much as I had drank it.
When they broke open the door. I was inside a bottle.
May 14, 2012
The other reason is the dismal quality of news reporting in the newspapers in India. From Times of India to The Hindu and everything in between, there is just too much focus on the negative and it just didn't please me to read the news come what time of the day. I had to ask myself, do I really need to start my day with reading about all this negativity? I got the answer, NO. A big, all caps, NO. So, I gave up all and any attempts of reading newspaper till about now. And in general, I've felt more peaceful, relaxed and productive in mornings.
May 13, 2012
May 1, 2012
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 4, 2012
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 29, 2012
This is chapter 14