Nov 28, 2008
It is a story that keeps people awake at night.
People inside luxury Five-Star hotels. People inside hovels and slums, because their families worked in those hotels. People in one bedroom apartments.
People in other countries.
People inside a newspaper's office. People on the streets.
People who have family members in the armed forces.
People who have no-one, any more.
Terrorism occurs with a purpose. One that is often mis-interpreted. Often widely-publicised. Sometimes, concealed. Sometimes, speculated about.
I wish I could say every kind of terrorism has a common thread. It does, but it is a common knife. A knife that often defeats the very purpose terrorists have in mind, in the first place.
Because somehow, somewhere..their purpose takes second place.
The purpose takes second place. Second place to the suffering, the healing, the destruction, the pain. The anger and the hatred. Long after a tragic disaster like the Bombay Tragedy of now, people are going to remember what precisely what some group wanted, where each member came from or what their main objective was.
But they will remember who, and what they lost first.
And that's where terrorism fails in its objective. Terrorism does more than invoke terror- it invokes hatred. People aren't going to sit in their houses and be afraid forever. People are going to get hurt, be crushed and wake up and move on. People are going to hate terrorists for what they've done, and sooner than later, people are going to seek revenge. By peaceful means or not. Whether it means joining the armed forces because they want to save their country, or becoming a journalist and being on the scene to give people information, or writing about it, or just plain waking up every morning and boarding a train in a station that still reeks of blood from innocent people and the fumes from an unfair gunshot. People are going to get up, and fight in whatever way they find best. People aren't going to sit at home and be terrorized forever.
Terrorism fails in its second objective too- it doesn't bring people apart. Maybe in this case it will have diplomatic consequences for international business in India, but the truth always prevails. Other countries aren't quite as naive to think that this was the work of Indians who are happy with their economic growth. Other countries read newspapers. They make calls. They get news.
And they will know that what lies beneath, is a work of destruction that was consequence to them not because people like me, people like the CEOs of companies in India wanted it that way.
Terrorism is already bring people together. Everybody is reading the same newspaper now, watching the same TV channel, grieving at the same news. Watchman and Business Official will walk hand-in-hand, out the doors of torture together. Everyone's suddenly the same. Everyone's the same in the eyes of fire.
We all wish that terrorists would try and achieve their objectives through firm and peaceful means, means that anyone would much prefer, including them. It'd work best for them, too, because their primary objective wouldn't be taking second place to the madness the create. They may walk around in their jeans and backpacks, without giving a damn about the world, but guess what? The world now doesn't give two hoots about them. Life always has its own way of throwing the boomerang right back at people.
I guess the only way we can fight this, is to fire up, with a determination to beat this in whatever small way we can. When an incident teaches children everywhere NOT to pick up a packet and return it to someone who dropped it, lest it might be a bomb, lets show them that alertness is good, but life doesn't always have to be like that. It is all we can do really, try to fight the fire with an extinguisher. There's not much point fighting fire with fire. Everyone burns.
And when terrorism strikes, when they light a match, there is a fire. A fire that burns many hearts, many lives, many dreams.
A fire that also displays light. A blazing, destructive light, but a light nonetheless. A light we can use, to find a path that's a parallel path to this madness.
Because Parallel lines never meet.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
This is how much I like this poem- I'm posting about it on the eve of my exam!
Anyway, the Highwayman by Alfred Noyes is one of my all time favourite poems..we had it in school and something about it just took me, forever. And I have this sudden urge to spill, and you, you silly person..if you've never read this poem then be ashamed! And read on. If you have, tell me what your favourite part is and I will be pleased.
By Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Friday, November 21, 2008
You were the only one who could ever get it right. Nobody ever knew, ever knew that my absolute favourite thing was to have you just take my fingers and lightly press them in yours. Sometimes I'd pretend to have written a long essay or exam, or typed out hundreds of lines of code. Just so you'd be willing to give me that finger rub.
And every night I'd call you to rescue me. From the darkness and the shadows that gleamed, dormant in my mind. You'd walk across fear of your own, to alleviate some of mine. I don't know anyone else who I'd call at 4 A.M, and know that they'd come even after staying up many nights with twelve submissions underway.
Others would tell me I'm seeing things. You'd hold me and tell me that they wouldn't hurt me.
The only real room-mate I've ever had. You're the only one I can count on for an honest opinion. I never knew it then, but when we lived together you understood my need for space and companionship better than anyone else ever will.
Its probably why you're the only person who's seen me change my clothes.
I never really understood you. I preferred to let you have your way, and I let you come to me. That's how it has always been, really...you coming to me. When you did come, I'd try to push you away.
But you still always came. I don't know how you know that if you'd stopped, a part of me would've died.
You're my best secret-keeper.
And I'm spending my entire life trying to be like you.
I can sit with you in complete silence for hours, and know that we're both comfortable. I don't ever have to say anything to you to make us work. We were born to be together, and yet we couldn't be more different.
When you're in pain, or sick, I know it sounds strange but..I actually feel lousy myself. It's like when the strong sunshine hides beneath gray clouds.
You're my wall. You're so normal, so simple, so unpretentious.
No-one else will ever come close to you. Ever. You've taught me the meaning of unconditional love.
From drawing in my records to copying my notebooks to giving me the low-down on my friends.
From hiding my books to buying me chocolate fudge just because I finished a hard exam, to switching off the television because I'm supposed to have priorities.
From downloading every song I've ever wanted, to cooking for me. Even though I've never done these things for you.
From doing everything to calm me down when I hyperventilate
to secretly looking up to me
You saw through my lies.truly celebrated my victories.
truly suffered my defeats.
You're numero uno on my list of people.
And I treat you like you're last.
But we work, because we're silently in love. So much unsaid, that just typing this makes me choke up. We don't say we love each other. We don't have anniversaries, dates. We don't celebrate the day we met each other.
You've made me truly love you, without any frills. No awws and muahs, no "You're my favourite person".
You've seen all my dark.
And you love me anyway.
You understand the meanings of words I make up on the spot.
And when you sleep, I want to pounce on you and wake you up.
Just so you're in my life again.
Monday, November 17, 2008
What does a good wannabe-journalist do? Report..very good! I do not (and SO wish I did) possess the ability to write stunning pieces that drip with intelligence, sharp observation and sarcasm, and make the wrong people (or right? err...) squirm in their seats and wish the earth would swallow them alive. Yes, some people know that the pen is a sword, and they've learnt how to use it well and truly. With panache.
So until I get there, I'm going to do the next best thing. That's right. Report.
I recently got this really nice e-mail, (courtesy whisky..happy time:) to you!) and I believe that even though I didn't write it, people should see it. It's downright simple and kind of fun. Really. And here's the best part- its true.
The Ant & the Grasshopper
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer ,building its house and laying up supplies for the winter.
The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.
Come winter ,the Ant is warm and well fed. The Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.
presenting.....The Indian Version
The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter.
The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away.
Come winter, the shivering Grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the Ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.
NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering Grasshopper next to a video of the Ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food.
The World is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be that this poor Grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?
Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the Ant's house.
Medha Patkar goes on a fast along with other Grasshoppers demanding that Grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter.
Amnesty International and Koffi Annan criticize the Indian Government for not upholding the fundamental rights of the Grasshopper.
The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support to the Grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance) .
Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for 'Bharat Bandh' in West Bengal and Kerala demanding a Judicial Enquiry.
CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among Ants and Grasshoppers.
BJP wants Sonia Gandhi's apology.
Lalu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath '.
Finally, the Judicial Committee drafts the ' Prevention of Terrorism Against Grasshoppers Act' [POTAGA], with effect from the beginning of the winter.
Arjun Singh makes 'Special Reservation ' for Grasshoppers in Educational Institutions & in Government Services.
The Ant is fined for failing to comply with POTAGA and having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes,it's home is confiscated by the Government and handed over to the Grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.
Arundhati Roy calls it ' A Triumph of Justice'.
Lalu calls it 'Socialistic Justice '.
CPM calls it the ' Revolutionary Resurgence of the Downtrodden '
Koffi Annan invites the Grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.
Many years later...
The Ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi-billion dollar company in Silicon Valley ..
Hundreds of Grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservation somewhere in India ...
And ss a result of losing a lot of hard working Ants and feeding the Grasshoppers, India is still a developing country!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Darn. I just gave away practically EVERYTHING in the title itself. Anyway, I've never really been very good with titles. I just write (type, actually) and then whatever pops into my head becomes the title. Or there isn't any title at all.
Anyway, today is children's day, November 14th. I might be old enough to be considered as out-of-category here, but heck, happy children's day to all the child-like people out there! I'm aware that my posts of late are very melancholy-ish and not exactly exuding joy, but in this post, be aware that I'm trying. I'm trying very hard.
So, let the festivities (don't cough, already) begin!
I've decided to dedicate this post to Walt Disney, without whom my childhood would've taken some innately boring turns. I'd also like to thank a hundred authors and some more movie-makers and TV-show writers but hey..all that's another post!:)
Continuing with my list fetish, Disney movies, that I believe, warrant some serious consideration for children of all ages (God help you if you don't come under this category.)
'The three Caballeros, three gay caballeros, they say we are birds of a feaatherrrrrrr!' A caballero is a spanish gentleman. See, how you can have fun AND learn at the same time?!
Don't tell me that this sight doesn't bring even a little bit of FEAR to your brain.
Mind-blowing animation, this.
They're fast, they're furious, they're...not to be missed!
They're cute, they're searching for treasure, and that alone was enough.
Now, if only everyone really learnt that lying is bad for you as well as this little guy did.
Doesn't this make you go awww?? No? What's wrong with you?
The jungle book. A collector's item.
The aristocats is a clever movie for absolutely ANY mood.
Many people haven't watched it, so if you haven't, make sure you're exempted from the loser brigade.
Everyone's favourite british nanny in Mary Poppins.
Super-cali-fragi-listic-expi-ali-docious, even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious If you say long enough you'll always sound precocious Super-cali-fragi-listic-expi-ali-docious!
music grade- A
Pocahontas. Woman of the world.
Much like women of today!
Sleeping beauty was adorable, but what I really liked were these three fairies.
Disney people are geniuses.
Alice in wonderland. The mad tea party.
Lewis Carroll interpreted in true Disney style.
Don't we all still want a genie?
I can show you the world...romantic melody learnt early!Hah! Wannabes.
The beauty and the beast is one of disney's finest. Easily. You cannot help but feel like a million bucks after watching this.
..it even inspired Vogue. See?
Only disney can make a movie about a mermaid, and make you seriously believe that they might exist (for a few years).
Voted as one of the biggest tear-jerkers of all time.
And bambi and thumper refined friendship.
'Bambi' is also a commonly used term, now. (if you watch TV)
Disney won An oscar and seven little oscars for this one.
Every single dwarf won hearts. This very scene, Cinderella and the glass slipper, is what inspired modern day flirting rituals, such as dropping a perfumed hanky, and the bend and snap!
Apparently, Disney started selling Wedding gowns that will fulfil your long-lived Disney-princess gown dreams. Here's the Cinderella wedding gown.
Talk about living your childhood dream!
The best was saved for last. This movie taught me everything.
The songs were absolutely mind-blowing, too.
All hail disney.
Because I haven't even touched the tip of the BEST ice-berg, ever.
'Twas not included in the seven deadly ones,
but she knew better. There were comparisons.
And they battered her up, they made her bitter
she fell prey to them, those foul sinners.
And she threw that remote, the only pointing knife
to those girls on television. It might as well had been
pointing straight at her, for that's all they'd seen.
pretty faces and straight legs, the only benchmark
that seemed to exist for the person who was stark
naked in persona, staring them in the face
with all her loveliness, fallen from grace.
they'd claimed to never have been exposed
to these sides of her. these people, inside.
but that was their fault, they don't let me be, she claimed.
with a barcode for everything, the speakers take blame.
she's smarter and taller and prettier and popular
and why you're not her
all it did, was bite her.
everything laden with guilt. from roasted almonds
and tv shows and poetry sheets and ice-cream cones
even sticks and stones didn't hurt her bones
this much. her vanity, with no space on the shelf
and worst of all, she losing herself.
midnight wandered in, a typist friend
both befriended, both at wits end
solace was talking, cool air listening
and the letters that were the only things
around her that weren't falling apart.
because she wasn't looking at what she'd got
she'd learnt to view only everything she was not.
escape forbidden, and tantrums made way
for less tiresome ways to crust-cover her day
parched glands, emotional hands
and the distant dream, of a fabulous
life, just like she'd seen
that it'd stay.
Smile, and the world smiles with you.
Cry, and someone might empathise on a Blog.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I want you to tell me when you need me. So that I can be there for you. But you have to let me. Let me find you when you purposely got lost, call you when you'd rather not talk, buy you lunch when you'd rather not eat. You have to let me talk, after I listen. So that you know I haven't been breathing away in despair, knowing that a wall could do better. You have to truly tell me what scares you, what frightens you. So that I can attempt to chase those monsters away. You shouldn't care that I might do it with just a tissue. Sometimes tissues, if snapped really hard, can hurt like a whip.
You can't not thank me. But you have to thank me with your eyes, with your face, with your voice. Not with a message. Not with pretense. You can't assume that I will be there for you because you want me to. I will be there for you because I know I want to.
You have to unfold. Stories are like that, the unfold in pages and chapters and paragraphs and conversations. I have to be able to read you like a book. You can re-tell any para you want, read it differently, bring it to life differently. But you can't make me read you in a day. You've to give me time, so that I remember the book. Long, long after I've put it down.
You also have to be gripping. Gripping stories, are those you want to stay up and read forever. And yet, they unfold. So well, that you read, and read, satisfying a hunger you never even knew existed before. You have to create that hunger, and then satisfy it.
You have to lie. gracefully, and subtly, and yet so badly that I know you're lying and appreciate the fact that you're not afraid to tell me white lies just so my rose glasses seem rosier. But if I believe you well and truly, you have to know when to actually stop lying and tell me the truth. Not because i want you to. Because rosy isn't my favourite colour for too long.
You have to call me. Call me with a pressing, painful thing you just have to talk about, and yet ask me how I am. And talk about me, for as long as I like. Knowing fully that I will not do that to you, I will not let that happen for too long, even if you try.
You have to know when to back off. Back off when I feel like you won't understand, not when I need someone to sympathise. Understand when I need someone to help me draw up my back-up plans instead of telling me the main ones will go fine. And still, bug me and hound me and call me even though you know I'd rather you back off. Because you know that you actually backing off would be the last thing I need.
You have to read this and realise, that I'm not writing about you, and I'm not crazy, and I didn't mean to write this up and put this on the internet, but sometimes I like writing these sour cream things, and I did mean to write this and put this up, not so you can read it and think I'm writing about you, because I'm not.
But you should know that if you want this to be about you, it can.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Rajkumar is awesome. The silly, materialistic, childish me thought so only because him being kidnapped, poor guy, got us holidays for a VERY long time. But wait! Don't kill me just yet. As I grew older and maturity, good sense, and all that jazz prevailed, I started to come to terms with how amazing he really is. Only he can bring out the true convivial nature of a kannadiga, someone who truly means it when he says, 'banni, enjoy maadi.'
Only he can make an otherwise outrageous song, seem..well..outrageous.
But in a TOTALLY different way.
First I shall provide you with the lyrics:
Eef you come today it's too early
Eef you come tomarrow it's too late
Eef you come today it's too early.
Eef you come tomaarrow it's too late.
You pick the taaaaaaime
tick tick tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick tick tick tick daaaaaaahrling!
Eef you come today...
Did you say morning? no, no it's not good
Did you say evening ? no, no it's too bad
Did you say noon ? no, no it's not the time
Whaat did you say? whaat did you say ?nothing? oh it's all right
You pick the taaaaaime... tick tick tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick tick tick daaarrling!
Eef you come today...
Million times beating my heart
Million dreams haunt my heart
Million desires spring in my heart
Million memories squeeze my heart
You pick the taaaaaime tick tick tick tick tick tick a-tick tick tick tick tick tick
watch this HERE
TRUE brilliance, right? You just have to agree with me. That will make you smile on the worst, worst day.
Speaking of tick, tick, the minutes are ticking away to CAT, the monster of an exam, the ultimate CATastrophe coming up? And if you're the sort of person who enjoys countdowns and adrenaline pumping in, check out the CAT clicker on THIS site..
09 Days, 09 Hours, 39 Minutes, 06 Seconds.
as of now.
I know. Scary, huh? And instead of studying, look what I'm doing!
Sigh. Too late to be helping moi now.
So I shall get back to eef you come today..
Good night and good luck everyone!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
They're creepy and they're kooky,
Mysterious and spooky,
They're all together ooky,
The Addams Family.
Their house is a museum.
When people come to see 'em
They really are a screa-um.
The Addams Family.
So get a witch's shawl on.
A broomstick you can crawl on.
We're gonna pay a call on
The Addams Family.
thank you, adt.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Dumb, very dumb, oh SO dumb title for this post. I know.
But my fingers are happy. Joyous. There's just this convivial relationship that my fingers and charlie share. (Psst...charlie's my laptop. I know. You were either somewhat excited or somewhat disappointed. If neither, you come in my favourite list for you have been reading!)
Diwali came and diwali went. And Well, its been quite a ridiculous week. For starters, I saw two movies, both thoroughly abominable, execrable, impertinent. (Ah, not-so-small words. NOTHING else makes you sound both unbearably intelligent and pompous at the same time. Have you ever realised how very smart people always use bigger words where simple ones will suffice? Its both a good thing and a bad thing. And yes, its also an amusing thing. They can say non-secular, but will they stop themselves from saying ecclesiastical? Noooooo.)
So..fashion. With all due respect, let me begin and end by saying that I may not be Madhur Bhandarkar, but I truly and honestly believe that I can make a better movie about the Indian fashion industry with priyanka chopra, even after never having set foot in it.
So..Roadside Romeo. Bad choice, disney. Bad, bad choice.
Romeo and Laila are JUST like my two friends who recently hooked up. Just like them. Its almost wonderfully scary.
I've tons of really good ideas for posts but none that can be executed given my present sleepy, droopy state. Life can be way too complex. Wow. Yuck, even. Bloom asked me, yesterday, "It isn't supposed to be this hard sometimes. Is it?"
These aphorisms, passed down from god-knows-where to us, making us believe that we deserve better. They've spoiled us, no? We all believe things shouldn't be this bad. I know I do. Are we narcissistic as a race or do we really deserve better? Do we deserve to go through mind-numbing hell just so we appreciate the good times? Rosh told me we do. But black and white prevails, and grey suddenly seeps in. And throw all this philosophy, X said, we do deserve better.
Ah. Different people, and different views during different conversations on the same things.
And I've confused you, I presume.
I'm in a weird mood, which is evident. I'm pretty sure I'll come up with a far better, less eclectic (ha!) post in a bit. For now, you'll have to bear with my idiosyncrasies.