Rest my friend
Its time to sleep
Save your tears
No more .. don’t weep
He says he loves you
It must be true
But then why does my heart
Feel so blue
Why is my heart consumed by fear
I think I’ve lost him
Even when he’s near
She must be shiny
Twinkle in your eye
Why would you else
Let memory die
Smooth as honey
White as snow
You hand me seconds
Yes
It is a blow
Is it not fair
To expect the world
From those you hold
When all seems blurred
The master puppet retires
Can’t draw those strings
Should destiny love me
His return, she’ll bring
Don’t be mad
At a broken heart
Blood shed streets
Lovers part
I’ve loved you
Through the years
Someday on a winding road
You’ll find me..
Still standing there.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Thursday, August 09, 2007
The Last Farewell
Ash to Ash
Dust to Dust
All things come to an End
Singing on my window sill
Staring at the pelting rain
I bid you farewell
My Only friend
Over the long and winding road
And over the river bend
I shall find your memories
The things you've said
But tomorrow's another day
..there are things I still must say
Forsake the bleeding heart
To the Unfaithful.. Depart
Ash to Ash
Dust to Dust
All things come to an End
Singing on my window sill
Staring at the pelting rain
I bid you farewell
My Only friend
Over the long and winding road
And over the river bend
I shall find your memories
The things you've said
But tomorrow's another day
..there are things I still must say
Forsake the bleeding heart
To the Unfaithful.. Depart
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
The Greater Good
Stemming from a discussion on the 11th floor, I revisit my old friend Ayn:
"Thousands of years ago, the first man discovered how to make fire. He was probably burned at the stake he had taught his brothers to light. He was considered an evildoer who had dealt with a demon mankind dreaded. But thereafter men had fire to keep them warm, to cook their food, to light their caves. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had lifted dardness off the earth. Centuries later, the first man invented the wheel. He was probably torn on the rack he had taught his brothers to build. He was considered a transgressor who ventured into forbidden terrritory. But thereafter, men could travel past any horizon. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had opened the roads of the world.
"That man, the unsubmissive and first, stands in the opening chapter of every legend mankind has recorded about its beginning. Prometheus was chained to a rock and torn by vultures—because he had stolen the fire of the gods. Adam was condemned to suffer—because he had eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Whatever the legend, somewhere in the shadows of its memory mankind knew that its glory began with one and that that one paid for his courage.
"Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision. Their goals differed, but they all had this in common: that the step was first, the road new, the vision unborrowed, and the response they received—hatred. The great creators—the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors—stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won.
"No creator was prompted by a desire to serve his brothers, for his brothers rejected the gift he offered and that gift destroyed the slothful routine of their lives. His truth was his only motive. His own truth, and his own work to achieve it in his own way. A symphony, a book, an engine, a philosophy, an airplane or a building—that was his goal and his life. Not those who heard, read, operated, believed, flew or inhabited the thing he had created. The creation, not its users. The creation, not the benefits others derived from it. The creation which gave form to his truth. He held his truth above all things and against all men.
"His vision, his strength, his courage came from his own spirit. A man's spirit, however, is his self. That entity which is his consciousness. To think, to feel, to judge, to act are functions of the ego.
"The creators were not selfless. It is the whole secret of their power—that it was self-sufficient, self-motivated, self-generated. A first cause, a fount of energy, a life force, a Prime Mover. The creator served nothing and no one. He lived for himself.
"And only by living for himself was he able to achieve the things which are the glory of mankind. Such is the nature of achievement.
"Man cannot survive except through his mind. He comes on earth unarmed. His brain is his only weapon. Animals obtain food by force. Man has no claws, no fangs, no horns, no great strength of muscle. He must plant his food or hunt it. To plant, he needs a process of thought. To hunt, he needs weapons, and to make weapons—a process of thought. From this simplest necessity to the highest religious abstraction, from the wheel to the skyscraper, everything we are and everything we have comes from a single attribute of man—the function of his reasoning mind.
"But the mind is an attribute of the individual. There is no such thing as a collective brain. There is no such thing as a collective thought. An agreement reached by a group of men is only a compromise or an average drawn upon many individual thoughts. It is a secondary consequence. The primary act—the process of reason—must be performed by each man alone. We can divide a meal among many men. We cannot digest it in a collective stomach. No man can use his lungs to breathe for another man. No man can use his brain to think for another. All the functions of body and spirit are private. They cannot be shared or transferred.
"We inherit the products of the thought of other men. We inherit the wheel. We make a cart. The cart becomes an automobile. The automobile becomes an airplane. But all through the process what we receive from others is only the end product of their thinking. The moving force is the creative faculty which takes this product as material, uses it and originates the next step. This creative faculty cannot be given or received, shared or borrowed. It belongs to single, individual men. That which it creates is the property of the creator. Men learn from one another. But all learning is only the exchange of material. No man can give another the capacity to think. Yet that capacity is our only means of survival.
"Nothing is given to man on earth. Everything he needs has to be produced. And here man faces his basic alternative: he can survive in only one of two ways—by the independent work of his own mind or as a parasite fed by the minds of others. The creator originates. The parasite borrows. The creator faces nature alone. The parasite faces nature through an intermediary.
"The creator’s concern is the conquest of nature. The parasite’s concern is the conquest of men.
"The creator lives for his work. He needs no other men. His primary goal is within himself. The parasite lives second-hand. He needs others. Others become his prime motive.
"The basic need of the creator is independence. The reasoning mind cannot work under any form of compulsion. It cannot be curbed, sacrificed or subordinated to any consideration whatsoever. It demands total independence in function and in motive. To a creator, all relations with men are secondary.
"The basic need of the second-hander is to secure his ties with men in order to be fed. He places relations first. He declares that man exists in order to serve others. He preaches altruism.
"Altruism is the doctrine which demands that man live for others and place others above self.
"No man can live for another. He cannot share his spirit just as he cannot share his body. But the second-hander has used altruism as a weapon of expoloitation and reversed the base of mankind’s moral principles. Men have been taught every precept that destroys the creator. Men have been taught dependence as a virtue.
"The man who attemps to live for others is a dependent. He is a parasite in motive and makes parasites of those he serves. The relationship produces nothing but mutual corruption. It is impossible in concept. The nearest approach to it in reality—the man who lives to serve others—is the slave. If physical slavery is repulsive, how much more repulsive is the concept of servility of the spirit? The conquered slave has a vestige of honor. He has the merit of having resisted and of considering his condition evil. But the man who enslaves himself voluntarily in the name of love is the basest of creatures. He degrades the dignity of man and he degrades the conception of love. But this is the essence of altruism.
"Men have been taught that the highest virtue is not to achieve, but to give. Yet one cannot give that which has not been created. Creation comes before distribution—or there will be nothing to distribute. The need of the creator comes before the need of any possible beneficiary. Yet we are taught to admire the second-hander who dispenses gifts he has not produced above the man who made the gifts possible. We praise an act of charity. We shrug at an act of achievement.
"Men have been taught that their first concern is to relieve the sufferings of others. But suffering is a disease. Should one come upon it, one tries to give relief and assistance. To make that the highest test of virtue is to make suffering the most important part of life. Then man must wish to see others suffer—in order that he may be virtuous. Such is the nature of altruism. The creator is not concerned with disease, but with life. Yet the work of the creators has eliminated one form of disease after another, in man’s body and spirit, and brought more relief from suffering than any altruist could ever conceive.
"Men have been taught that it is a virtue to agree with others. But the creator is the man who disagrees. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to swim with the current. But the creator is the man who goes against the current. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to stand together. But the creator is the man who stands alone.
"Men have been taught that the ego is the synonym of evil, and selflessness the ideal of virtue. But the creator is the egotist in the absolute sense, and the selfless man is the one who does not think, feel, judge or act. These are functions of the self.
"Here the basic reversal is most deadly. The issue has been perverted and man has been left no alternative—and no freedom. As poles of good and evil, he was offered two conceptions: egotism and altruism. Egotism was held to mean the sacrifice of others to self. Altruism—the sacrifice of self to others. This tied man irrevocably to other men and left him nothing but a choice of pain: his own pain borne for the sake of others or pain inflicted upon others for the sake of self. When it was added that man must find joy in self-immolation, the trap was closed. Man was forced to accept masochism as his ideal—under the threat that sadism was his only alternative. This was the greatest fraud ever perpetrated on mankind.
"This was the device by which dependence and suffering were perpetuated as fundamentals of life.
"The choice is not self-sacrifice or domination. The choice is independence or dependence. The code of the creator or the code of the second-hander. This is the basic issue. It rests upon the alternative of life or death. The code of the creator is built on the needs of the reasoning mind which allows man to survive. The code of the second-hander is built on the needs of a mind incapable of survival. All that which proceeds from man’s independent ego is good. All that which proceeds from man’s dependence upon men is evil.
"The egotist is the absolute sense is not the man who sacrifices others. He is the man who stands above the need of using others in any manner. He does not function through them. He is not concerned with them in any primary matter. Not in his aim, not in his motive, not in his thinking, not in his desires, not in the source of his energy. He does not exist for any other man—and he asks no other man to exist for him. This is the only form of brotherhood and mutual respect possible between men.
"Degrees of ability vary, but the basic principle remains the same: the degree of a man’s independence, initiative and personal love for his work determines his talent as a worker and his worth as a man. Independence is the only gauge of human virtue and value. What a man is and makes of himself; not what he has or hasn’t done for others. There is no substitute for personal dignity. There is no standard of personal dignity except independence.
"In all proper relationships there is no sacrifice of anyone to anyone. An architect needs clients, but he does not subordinate his work to their wishes. They need him, but they do not order a house just to give him a commission. Men exchange their work by free, mutual consent to mutual advantage when their personal interests agree and they both desire the exchange. If they do not desire it, they are not forced to deal with each other. They seek further. This is the only possible form of relationship between equals. Anything else is a relation of slave to master, or victim to executioner.
"No work is ever done collectively, by a majority decision. Every creative job is achieved under the guidance of a single individual thought. An architect requires a great many men to erect his building. But he does not ask them to vote on his design. They work together by free agreement and each is free in his proper function. An architect uses steel, glass, concrete, produced by others. But the materials remain just so much steel, glass and concrete until he touches them. What he does with them is his individual product and his individual property. This is the only pattern for proper co-operation among men.
"The first right on earth is the right of the ego. Man’s first duty is to himself. His moral law is never to place his prime goal within the persons of others. His moral obligation is to do what he wishes, provided his wish does not depend primarily upon other men. This includes the whole sphere of his creative faculty, his thinking, his work. But it does not include the sphere of the gangster, the altruist and the dictator.
"A man thinks and works alone. A man cannot rob, exploit or rule—alone. Robbery, exploitation and ruling presuppose victims. They imply dependence. They are the province of the second-hander.
"Rulers of men are not egotists. They create nothing. They exist entirely through the persons of others. Their goal is in their subjects, in the activity of enslaving. They are as dependent as the beggar, the social worker and the bandit. The form of dependence does not matter.
"But men were taught to regard second-handers—tyrants, emperors, dictators—as exponents of egotism. By this fraud they were made to destroy the ego, themselves and others. The purpose of the fraud was to destroy the creators. Or to harness them. Which is a synonym.
"From the beginning of history, the two antagonists have stood face to face: the creator and the second-hander. When the first creator invented the wheel, the first second-hander responded. He invented altruism.
"The creator—denied, opposed, persecuted, exploited—went on, moved forward and carried all humanity along on his energy. The second-hander contributed nothing to the process except the impediments. The contest has another name: the individual against the collective.
"The ‘common good’ of a collective—a race, a class, a state—was the claim and justification of every tyranny ever established over men. Every major horror of history was committed in the name of an altruistic motive. Has any act of selfishness ever equaled the carnage perpetrated by disciples of altruism? Does the fault lie in men’s hypocrisy or in the nature of the principle? The most dreadful butchers were the most sincere. They believed in the perfect society reached through the guillotine and the firing squad. Nobody questioned their right to murder since they were murdering for an altruistic purpose. It was accepted that man must be sacrificed for other men. Actors change, but the course of the tragedy remains the same. A humanitarian who starts with declarations of love for mankind and ends with a sea of blood. It goes on and will go on so long as men believe that an action is good if it is unselfish. That permits the altruist to act and forces his victims to bear it. The leaders of collectivist movements ask nothing for themselves. But observe the results.
"The only good which men can do to one another and the only statement of their proper relationship is—Hands off!
"Now observe the results of a society built on the principle of individualism. This, our country. The noblest country in the history of men. The country of greatest achievement, greatest prosperity, greatest freedom. This country was not based on selfless service, sacrifice, renunciation or any precept of altruism. It was based on a man’s right to the pursuit of happiness. His own happiness. Not anyone else’s. A private, personal, selfish motive. Look at the results. Look into your own conscience.
"It is an ancient conflict. Men have come close to the truth, but it was destroyed each time and one civilization fell after another. Civilization is the progress toward a society of privacy. The savage’s whole existence is public, ruled by the laws of his tribe. Civilization is the process of setting man free from men.
"Now, in our age, collectivism, the rule of the second-hander and second-rater, the ancient monster, has broken loose and is running amuck. It has brought men to a level of intellectual indecency never equaled on earth. It has reached a scale of horror without precedent. It has poisoned every mind. It has swallowed most of Europe. It is engulfing our country.
"I am an architect. I know what is to come by the principle on which it is built. We are approaching a world in which I cannot permit myself to live.
"Now you know why I dynamited Cortlandt.
"I designed Cortlandt. I gave it to you. I destroyed it.
"I destroyed it because I did not choose to let it exist. It was a double monster. In form and in implication. I had to blast both. The form was mutilated by two second-handers who assumed the right to improve upon that which they had not made and could not equal. They were permitted to do it by the general implication that the altruistic purpose of the building superseded all rights and that I had no claim to stand against it.
"I agreed to design Cortlandt for the purpose of seeing it erected as I dedigned it and for no other reason. That was the price I set for my work. I was not paid.
"I do not blame Peter Keating. He was helpless. He had a contract with his employers. It was ignored. He had a promise that the structure he offered would be built as designed. The promise was broken. The love of a man for the integrity of his work and his right to preserve it are now considered a vague intangible and an inessential. You have heard the prosecutor say that. Why was the building disfigured? For no reason. Such acts never have any reason, unless it’s the vanity of some second-handers who feel they have a right to anyone’s property, spiritual or material. Who permitted them to do it? No particular man among the dozens in authority. No one cared to permit it or to stop it. No one was responsible. No one can be held to account. Such is the nature of all collective action.
"I did not receive the payment I asked. But the owners of Cortlandt got what they needed from me. They wanted a scheme devised to build a structure as cheaply as possible. They found no one else who could do it to their satisfaction. I could and did. They took the benefit of my work and made me contribute it as a gift. But I am not an altruist. I do not contribute gifts of this nature.
"It is said that I have destroyed the home of the destitute. It is forgotten that but for me the destitute could not have had this particular home. Those who were concerned with the poor had to come to me, who have never been concerned, in order to help the poor. It is believed that the poverty of the future tenants gave them the right to my work. That their need constituted a claim on my life. That it was my duty to contribute anything demanded of me. This is the second-hander’s credo now swallowing the world.
"I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone’s right to one minute of my life. Nor to any part of my energy. Nor to any achievement of mine. No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need.
"I wished to come here and say that I am a man who does not exist for others.
"It had to be said. The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing.
"I wished to come here and say that the integrity of a man’s creative work is of greater importance than any charitable endeavor. Those of you who do not understand this are the men who’re destroying the world.
"I wished to come here and state my terms. I do not care to exist on any others.
"I recognize no obligations toward men except one: to respect their freedom and to take no part in a slave society. To my country, I wish to give the ten years which I will spend in jail if my country exists no longer. I will spend them in memory and in gratitude for what my country has been. It will be my act of loyalty, my refusal to live or work in what has taken its place.
"My act of loyalty to every creator who ever lived and was made to suffer by the force responsible for the Cortlandt I dynamited. To every tortured hour of loneliness, denial, frustration, abuse he was made to spend—and to the battles he won. To every creator whose name is known—and to every creator who lived, struggled and perished unrecognized before he could achieve. To every creator who was destroyed in body or in spirit. To Henry Cameron. To Steven Mallory. To a man who doesn’t want to be named, but who is sitting in this courtroom and knows that I am speaking of him."
Stemming from a discussion on the 11th floor, I revisit my old friend Ayn:
"Thousands of years ago, the first man discovered how to make fire. He was probably burned at the stake he had taught his brothers to light. He was considered an evildoer who had dealt with a demon mankind dreaded. But thereafter men had fire to keep them warm, to cook their food, to light their caves. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had lifted dardness off the earth. Centuries later, the first man invented the wheel. He was probably torn on the rack he had taught his brothers to build. He was considered a transgressor who ventured into forbidden terrritory. But thereafter, men could travel past any horizon. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had opened the roads of the world.
"That man, the unsubmissive and first, stands in the opening chapter of every legend mankind has recorded about its beginning. Prometheus was chained to a rock and torn by vultures—because he had stolen the fire of the gods. Adam was condemned to suffer—because he had eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Whatever the legend, somewhere in the shadows of its memory mankind knew that its glory began with one and that that one paid for his courage.
"Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision. Their goals differed, but they all had this in common: that the step was first, the road new, the vision unborrowed, and the response they received—hatred. The great creators—the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors—stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won.
"No creator was prompted by a desire to serve his brothers, for his brothers rejected the gift he offered and that gift destroyed the slothful routine of their lives. His truth was his only motive. His own truth, and his own work to achieve it in his own way. A symphony, a book, an engine, a philosophy, an airplane or a building—that was his goal and his life. Not those who heard, read, operated, believed, flew or inhabited the thing he had created. The creation, not its users. The creation, not the benefits others derived from it. The creation which gave form to his truth. He held his truth above all things and against all men.
"His vision, his strength, his courage came from his own spirit. A man's spirit, however, is his self. That entity which is his consciousness. To think, to feel, to judge, to act are functions of the ego.
"The creators were not selfless. It is the whole secret of their power—that it was self-sufficient, self-motivated, self-generated. A first cause, a fount of energy, a life force, a Prime Mover. The creator served nothing and no one. He lived for himself.
"And only by living for himself was he able to achieve the things which are the glory of mankind. Such is the nature of achievement.
"Man cannot survive except through his mind. He comes on earth unarmed. His brain is his only weapon. Animals obtain food by force. Man has no claws, no fangs, no horns, no great strength of muscle. He must plant his food or hunt it. To plant, he needs a process of thought. To hunt, he needs weapons, and to make weapons—a process of thought. From this simplest necessity to the highest religious abstraction, from the wheel to the skyscraper, everything we are and everything we have comes from a single attribute of man—the function of his reasoning mind.
"But the mind is an attribute of the individual. There is no such thing as a collective brain. There is no such thing as a collective thought. An agreement reached by a group of men is only a compromise or an average drawn upon many individual thoughts. It is a secondary consequence. The primary act—the process of reason—must be performed by each man alone. We can divide a meal among many men. We cannot digest it in a collective stomach. No man can use his lungs to breathe for another man. No man can use his brain to think for another. All the functions of body and spirit are private. They cannot be shared or transferred.
"We inherit the products of the thought of other men. We inherit the wheel. We make a cart. The cart becomes an automobile. The automobile becomes an airplane. But all through the process what we receive from others is only the end product of their thinking. The moving force is the creative faculty which takes this product as material, uses it and originates the next step. This creative faculty cannot be given or received, shared or borrowed. It belongs to single, individual men. That which it creates is the property of the creator. Men learn from one another. But all learning is only the exchange of material. No man can give another the capacity to think. Yet that capacity is our only means of survival.
"Nothing is given to man on earth. Everything he needs has to be produced. And here man faces his basic alternative: he can survive in only one of two ways—by the independent work of his own mind or as a parasite fed by the minds of others. The creator originates. The parasite borrows. The creator faces nature alone. The parasite faces nature through an intermediary.
"The creator’s concern is the conquest of nature. The parasite’s concern is the conquest of men.
"The creator lives for his work. He needs no other men. His primary goal is within himself. The parasite lives second-hand. He needs others. Others become his prime motive.
"The basic need of the creator is independence. The reasoning mind cannot work under any form of compulsion. It cannot be curbed, sacrificed or subordinated to any consideration whatsoever. It demands total independence in function and in motive. To a creator, all relations with men are secondary.
"The basic need of the second-hander is to secure his ties with men in order to be fed. He places relations first. He declares that man exists in order to serve others. He preaches altruism.
"Altruism is the doctrine which demands that man live for others and place others above self.
"No man can live for another. He cannot share his spirit just as he cannot share his body. But the second-hander has used altruism as a weapon of expoloitation and reversed the base of mankind’s moral principles. Men have been taught every precept that destroys the creator. Men have been taught dependence as a virtue.
"The man who attemps to live for others is a dependent. He is a parasite in motive and makes parasites of those he serves. The relationship produces nothing but mutual corruption. It is impossible in concept. The nearest approach to it in reality—the man who lives to serve others—is the slave. If physical slavery is repulsive, how much more repulsive is the concept of servility of the spirit? The conquered slave has a vestige of honor. He has the merit of having resisted and of considering his condition evil. But the man who enslaves himself voluntarily in the name of love is the basest of creatures. He degrades the dignity of man and he degrades the conception of love. But this is the essence of altruism.
"Men have been taught that the highest virtue is not to achieve, but to give. Yet one cannot give that which has not been created. Creation comes before distribution—or there will be nothing to distribute. The need of the creator comes before the need of any possible beneficiary. Yet we are taught to admire the second-hander who dispenses gifts he has not produced above the man who made the gifts possible. We praise an act of charity. We shrug at an act of achievement.
"Men have been taught that their first concern is to relieve the sufferings of others. But suffering is a disease. Should one come upon it, one tries to give relief and assistance. To make that the highest test of virtue is to make suffering the most important part of life. Then man must wish to see others suffer—in order that he may be virtuous. Such is the nature of altruism. The creator is not concerned with disease, but with life. Yet the work of the creators has eliminated one form of disease after another, in man’s body and spirit, and brought more relief from suffering than any altruist could ever conceive.
"Men have been taught that it is a virtue to agree with others. But the creator is the man who disagrees. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to swim with the current. But the creator is the man who goes against the current. Men have been taught that it is a virtue to stand together. But the creator is the man who stands alone.
"Men have been taught that the ego is the synonym of evil, and selflessness the ideal of virtue. But the creator is the egotist in the absolute sense, and the selfless man is the one who does not think, feel, judge or act. These are functions of the self.
"Here the basic reversal is most deadly. The issue has been perverted and man has been left no alternative—and no freedom. As poles of good and evil, he was offered two conceptions: egotism and altruism. Egotism was held to mean the sacrifice of others to self. Altruism—the sacrifice of self to others. This tied man irrevocably to other men and left him nothing but a choice of pain: his own pain borne for the sake of others or pain inflicted upon others for the sake of self. When it was added that man must find joy in self-immolation, the trap was closed. Man was forced to accept masochism as his ideal—under the threat that sadism was his only alternative. This was the greatest fraud ever perpetrated on mankind.
"This was the device by which dependence and suffering were perpetuated as fundamentals of life.
"The choice is not self-sacrifice or domination. The choice is independence or dependence. The code of the creator or the code of the second-hander. This is the basic issue. It rests upon the alternative of life or death. The code of the creator is built on the needs of the reasoning mind which allows man to survive. The code of the second-hander is built on the needs of a mind incapable of survival. All that which proceeds from man’s independent ego is good. All that which proceeds from man’s dependence upon men is evil.
"The egotist is the absolute sense is not the man who sacrifices others. He is the man who stands above the need of using others in any manner. He does not function through them. He is not concerned with them in any primary matter. Not in his aim, not in his motive, not in his thinking, not in his desires, not in the source of his energy. He does not exist for any other man—and he asks no other man to exist for him. This is the only form of brotherhood and mutual respect possible between men.
"Degrees of ability vary, but the basic principle remains the same: the degree of a man’s independence, initiative and personal love for his work determines his talent as a worker and his worth as a man. Independence is the only gauge of human virtue and value. What a man is and makes of himself; not what he has or hasn’t done for others. There is no substitute for personal dignity. There is no standard of personal dignity except independence.
"In all proper relationships there is no sacrifice of anyone to anyone. An architect needs clients, but he does not subordinate his work to their wishes. They need him, but they do not order a house just to give him a commission. Men exchange their work by free, mutual consent to mutual advantage when their personal interests agree and they both desire the exchange. If they do not desire it, they are not forced to deal with each other. They seek further. This is the only possible form of relationship between equals. Anything else is a relation of slave to master, or victim to executioner.
"No work is ever done collectively, by a majority decision. Every creative job is achieved under the guidance of a single individual thought. An architect requires a great many men to erect his building. But he does not ask them to vote on his design. They work together by free agreement and each is free in his proper function. An architect uses steel, glass, concrete, produced by others. But the materials remain just so much steel, glass and concrete until he touches them. What he does with them is his individual product and his individual property. This is the only pattern for proper co-operation among men.
"The first right on earth is the right of the ego. Man’s first duty is to himself. His moral law is never to place his prime goal within the persons of others. His moral obligation is to do what he wishes, provided his wish does not depend primarily upon other men. This includes the whole sphere of his creative faculty, his thinking, his work. But it does not include the sphere of the gangster, the altruist and the dictator.
"A man thinks and works alone. A man cannot rob, exploit or rule—alone. Robbery, exploitation and ruling presuppose victims. They imply dependence. They are the province of the second-hander.
"Rulers of men are not egotists. They create nothing. They exist entirely through the persons of others. Their goal is in their subjects, in the activity of enslaving. They are as dependent as the beggar, the social worker and the bandit. The form of dependence does not matter.
"But men were taught to regard second-handers—tyrants, emperors, dictators—as exponents of egotism. By this fraud they were made to destroy the ego, themselves and others. The purpose of the fraud was to destroy the creators. Or to harness them. Which is a synonym.
"From the beginning of history, the two antagonists have stood face to face: the creator and the second-hander. When the first creator invented the wheel, the first second-hander responded. He invented altruism.
"The creator—denied, opposed, persecuted, exploited—went on, moved forward and carried all humanity along on his energy. The second-hander contributed nothing to the process except the impediments. The contest has another name: the individual against the collective.
"The ‘common good’ of a collective—a race, a class, a state—was the claim and justification of every tyranny ever established over men. Every major horror of history was committed in the name of an altruistic motive. Has any act of selfishness ever equaled the carnage perpetrated by disciples of altruism? Does the fault lie in men’s hypocrisy or in the nature of the principle? The most dreadful butchers were the most sincere. They believed in the perfect society reached through the guillotine and the firing squad. Nobody questioned their right to murder since they were murdering for an altruistic purpose. It was accepted that man must be sacrificed for other men. Actors change, but the course of the tragedy remains the same. A humanitarian who starts with declarations of love for mankind and ends with a sea of blood. It goes on and will go on so long as men believe that an action is good if it is unselfish. That permits the altruist to act and forces his victims to bear it. The leaders of collectivist movements ask nothing for themselves. But observe the results.
"The only good which men can do to one another and the only statement of their proper relationship is—Hands off!
"Now observe the results of a society built on the principle of individualism. This, our country. The noblest country in the history of men. The country of greatest achievement, greatest prosperity, greatest freedom. This country was not based on selfless service, sacrifice, renunciation or any precept of altruism. It was based on a man’s right to the pursuit of happiness. His own happiness. Not anyone else’s. A private, personal, selfish motive. Look at the results. Look into your own conscience.
"It is an ancient conflict. Men have come close to the truth, but it was destroyed each time and one civilization fell after another. Civilization is the progress toward a society of privacy. The savage’s whole existence is public, ruled by the laws of his tribe. Civilization is the process of setting man free from men.
"Now, in our age, collectivism, the rule of the second-hander and second-rater, the ancient monster, has broken loose and is running amuck. It has brought men to a level of intellectual indecency never equaled on earth. It has reached a scale of horror without precedent. It has poisoned every mind. It has swallowed most of Europe. It is engulfing our country.
"I am an architect. I know what is to come by the principle on which it is built. We are approaching a world in which I cannot permit myself to live.
"Now you know why I dynamited Cortlandt.
"I designed Cortlandt. I gave it to you. I destroyed it.
"I destroyed it because I did not choose to let it exist. It was a double monster. In form and in implication. I had to blast both. The form was mutilated by two second-handers who assumed the right to improve upon that which they had not made and could not equal. They were permitted to do it by the general implication that the altruistic purpose of the building superseded all rights and that I had no claim to stand against it.
"I agreed to design Cortlandt for the purpose of seeing it erected as I dedigned it and for no other reason. That was the price I set for my work. I was not paid.
"I do not blame Peter Keating. He was helpless. He had a contract with his employers. It was ignored. He had a promise that the structure he offered would be built as designed. The promise was broken. The love of a man for the integrity of his work and his right to preserve it are now considered a vague intangible and an inessential. You have heard the prosecutor say that. Why was the building disfigured? For no reason. Such acts never have any reason, unless it’s the vanity of some second-handers who feel they have a right to anyone’s property, spiritual or material. Who permitted them to do it? No particular man among the dozens in authority. No one cared to permit it or to stop it. No one was responsible. No one can be held to account. Such is the nature of all collective action.
"I did not receive the payment I asked. But the owners of Cortlandt got what they needed from me. They wanted a scheme devised to build a structure as cheaply as possible. They found no one else who could do it to their satisfaction. I could and did. They took the benefit of my work and made me contribute it as a gift. But I am not an altruist. I do not contribute gifts of this nature.
"It is said that I have destroyed the home of the destitute. It is forgotten that but for me the destitute could not have had this particular home. Those who were concerned with the poor had to come to me, who have never been concerned, in order to help the poor. It is believed that the poverty of the future tenants gave them the right to my work. That their need constituted a claim on my life. That it was my duty to contribute anything demanded of me. This is the second-hander’s credo now swallowing the world.
"I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone’s right to one minute of my life. Nor to any part of my energy. Nor to any achievement of mine. No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need.
"I wished to come here and say that I am a man who does not exist for others.
"It had to be said. The world is perishing from an orgy of self-sacrificing.
"I wished to come here and say that the integrity of a man’s creative work is of greater importance than any charitable endeavor. Those of you who do not understand this are the men who’re destroying the world.
"I wished to come here and state my terms. I do not care to exist on any others.
"I recognize no obligations toward men except one: to respect their freedom and to take no part in a slave society. To my country, I wish to give the ten years which I will spend in jail if my country exists no longer. I will spend them in memory and in gratitude for what my country has been. It will be my act of loyalty, my refusal to live or work in what has taken its place.
"My act of loyalty to every creator who ever lived and was made to suffer by the force responsible for the Cortlandt I dynamited. To every tortured hour of loneliness, denial, frustration, abuse he was made to spend—and to the battles he won. To every creator whose name is known—and to every creator who lived, struggled and perished unrecognized before he could achieve. To every creator who was destroyed in body or in spirit. To Henry Cameron. To Steven Mallory. To a man who doesn’t want to be named, but who is sitting in this courtroom and knows that I am speaking of him."
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Just a Beautiful Liar
He said I'm worth it, his one desire
He kissed me, his one and only, beautiful Liar
You never know
I have to let go Tears run dry
And after the show is over
He won't be the one to cry
Let's not kill the karma
Let's not start a fight
It's not worth the drama
For a beautiful liar
Did he laugh about it
It's not worth my time
Can I live without him?
Just a beautiful liar
You never know when the pain and heartbreak's over
I have to let go
The innocence is gone
Tell me how to forgive you
When it's me who's ashamed
And I wish could free you
Of the hurt and the pain
But the answer is simple
You’re the one to blame
He said I'm worth it, his one desire
He kissed me, his one and only, beautiful Liar
You never know
I have to let go Tears run dry
And after the show is over
He won't be the one to cry
Let's not kill the karma
Let's not start a fight
It's not worth the drama
For a beautiful liar
Did he laugh about it
It's not worth my time
Can I live without him?
Just a beautiful liar
You never know when the pain and heartbreak's over
I have to let go
The innocence is gone
Tell me how to forgive you
When it's me who's ashamed
And I wish could free you
Of the hurt and the pain
But the answer is simple
You’re the one to blame
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
6 Reasons Why everyone needs a Max Morrison
- He may pee everywhere and you might need to swoop up his poop every 30 mins. But he will love you unconditionally. Purely. Sincerely.
- People are not always what they seem. Pups have no pretenses.
- You have someone to come home to. This someone will never lie, or cheat or shift loyalties to another skirt, job or ambition.
- A pup teaches you how to understand emotions better. Maybe once you’ve kept a pup you will realize that you girlfriend should not need to yell at you to make you realize she is ignored. You’ll understand sulking a lot better.
- Dogs will bite your enemy’s bum. Don’t expect your boyfriend, girlfriend, sister, brother to do the same.
- Pup will drag your lazy bum for a walk. Even if you are a horrible person, you will understand the need to address nature’s call immediately.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Money Talks
She's got her arms around you. The evil glint in your eyes.
She teases you with her scent. Gives you wings to fly..
But let me ask you, foolish friend.. Your price to lie?
Money Money Money.. Its a rich man's world.
Where does it begin, where does it end?
Is it greedy to ask for more on your payslip? Is it ungrateful to measure everything in clinking pennies and crackling notes?
here's my take on this.
With appraisal time done with and most of us counting whether the employer took care of another 20% costs to custom made dresses and sinful drinks.. its money thats ruling the roost. And why not? Hard work demands the best rewards. But here's the deal. Common corporate statistics will tell you that in any team of 10, about 5 will be goofing off, 3 will be almost sincere and 2 will be bright as hell. but what will the poor boss burdened with this decision do. find a median!! Thats where you and me (the bright ones :) ) get bulldozed!
But we are young and in a time which promises a lifetime of learning and prosperity even if the major hikes don't happen. So it all evens out.
So what the hell am i nagging about you'd ask.
Well. its still about the money.
Money is not only predominant in agonies over appraisals. It is also a yardstick for suitors to rate a lovely mate. (Pls keep my Neil out of this.He would love me if i had only a rag dress)
I'm talking about many Misters who feel or make others feel their hollowness by talking about marriage as prizes.
Mr. Man: Arre, i landed a great chick
XYZ: (whatever) Really, i am so happy!
Mr. Man: Yeah the family is rich too! in fact the dad owns the ...
and if its not Mr. Man and his type gloating about 'deals' made, its the lonely idiot who still feels that the girl with 60 lacs will come along.
Note to mr. lonely- Pls get the point. Compensation = monetary benefits which are paid on worth estimated. Pls do not make it abt the money. its chiii!
So in essence.
Money talks. but hey! don't bite!!
She's got her arms around you. The evil glint in your eyes.
She teases you with her scent. Gives you wings to fly..
But let me ask you, foolish friend.. Your price to lie?
Money Money Money.. Its a rich man's world.
Where does it begin, where does it end?
Is it greedy to ask for more on your payslip? Is it ungrateful to measure everything in clinking pennies and crackling notes?
here's my take on this.
With appraisal time done with and most of us counting whether the employer took care of another 20% costs to custom made dresses and sinful drinks.. its money thats ruling the roost. And why not? Hard work demands the best rewards. But here's the deal. Common corporate statistics will tell you that in any team of 10, about 5 will be goofing off, 3 will be almost sincere and 2 will be bright as hell. but what will the poor boss burdened with this decision do. find a median!! Thats where you and me (the bright ones :) ) get bulldozed!
But we are young and in a time which promises a lifetime of learning and prosperity even if the major hikes don't happen. So it all evens out.
So what the hell am i nagging about you'd ask.
Well. its still about the money.
Money is not only predominant in agonies over appraisals. It is also a yardstick for suitors to rate a lovely mate. (Pls keep my Neil out of this.He would love me if i had only a rag dress)
I'm talking about many Misters who feel or make others feel their hollowness by talking about marriage as prizes.
Mr. Man: Arre, i landed a great chick
XYZ: (whatever) Really, i am so happy!
Mr. Man: Yeah the family is rich too! in fact the dad owns the ...
and if its not Mr. Man and his type gloating about 'deals' made, its the lonely idiot who still feels that the girl with 60 lacs will come along.
Note to mr. lonely- Pls get the point. Compensation = monetary benefits which are paid on worth estimated. Pls do not make it abt the money. its chiii!
So in essence.
Money talks. but hey! don't bite!!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Fire Soul : http://www.orkut.com/AlbumZoom.aspx?uid=11668958643744149912&pid=8
I made this painting for Neil. The painting represents two people who are one but yet different,unique. Emerging from the tests of fire and embracing the world.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Make me Feel. Again.
All.
For this moment here.
For the raindrops that trickle down my arm.
For the breeze that blows through my hair.
For the sun that peeps through leaves, trees, clouds.
All.
For this moment here.
For the smile from a stranger.
For a thousand songs, old and new, that run through my head. My veins. My fingers.
All.
For this moment.
Life whizzing me by. Light fading away.
For memories that flicker for an instant. And then float away.
All for this moment.
I feel alive.
All.
For this moment here.
For the raindrops that trickle down my arm.
For the breeze that blows through my hair.
For the sun that peeps through leaves, trees, clouds.
All.
For this moment here.
For the smile from a stranger.
For a thousand songs, old and new, that run through my head. My veins. My fingers.
All.
For this moment.
Life whizzing me by. Light fading away.
For memories that flicker for an instant. And then float away.
All for this moment.
I feel alive.
(Thoughts inspired by a drive in the pouring rain in Delhi, 22 Mar 07)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Say What??
So here's the thing.. i find myself surrounded by weird men.
The kind that rob you of your ideas.. and then use them to make them look good to other women..
The kind that touch you hand when they should be standing a feet away (work ethic)
the kind that don't return your calls
the kind that won't stop calling.
So whats the deal? am i alone here?
So here's the thing.. i find myself surrounded by weird men.
The kind that rob you of your ideas.. and then use them to make them look good to other women..
The kind that touch you hand when they should be standing a feet away (work ethic)
the kind that don't return your calls
the kind that won't stop calling.
So whats the deal? am i alone here?
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Arbid Musings
For Myself:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost
For "true to my own spirit":
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight....
For my friends:
I believe that if i should die,
and you were to walk near my grave,
from the very depths of the earth.....I would hear your footsteps.
For the hypocrite:
I shall go the way of the open sea,
To the lands I knew before you came,
And the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me
The memory of your (fucking) name
For Tomorrow:
The day is done, and the darkness..
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward....
From an eagle in his flight.
For Myself:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost
For "true to my own spirit":
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight....
For my friends:
I believe that if i should die,
and you were to walk near my grave,
from the very depths of the earth.....I would hear your footsteps.
For the hypocrite:
I shall go the way of the open sea,
To the lands I knew before you came,
And the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me
The memory of your (fucking) name
For Tomorrow:
The day is done, and the darkness..
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward....
From an eagle in his flight.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Not a fall but a leap
The moment that defined 2 years of my life is viewed by my friends and family as senseless and foolish. On not so good days, I would say that I too agree. But not this morning, Today I want to talk about the exhilaration, the beauty and the fear that came with my plunge from a cliff into the Ganges.
It was a company sponsored tour that took me to Shivpuri. A quaint place with sounds of the streaming Ganga and scents of the woods that filter into your tent and fill your senses. A sunny day found me struggling with the waves that rage the river. Here I was fighting my way ahead on a rubber raft..”Paddle to the right! Paddle to the left!!”. I was having the time of my life. Sweet, icy water splashed on the raft; welcoming me to the river; threatening me with its ferocity. And we conquered one rapid after another; forging ahead “ Hu Ha Hu Ha!”. And there we were – at the base of that fateful cliff. Looking at it one thought- “that’s all you got?!” and we ambled our way to the top. “Just stand straight and jump in” was what the instructed said. Simple. Maybe not. At the edge I found my fears resurfacing again. Ahead I saw the lush mountains; below the innocent river. Can it be that hard- I thought to myself. It looks so harmless.
And in a moment both frightening and beautiful; I put my foot ahead.
Hurling towards a river from a height can be a strange experience. You feel like it goes on forever and then in a rude shock the cold water wakes you up- breaking your day dreaming and bringing you back to life. Under the water life looks dreamy again; hues of blue and green, sunlight streaming in and you reach up ..
Air ; blinding light.. Yells and oars shoved your way to help you out. People wrapping you in blankets. Your thought to yourself “ why the hell are my legs shaking!”
After this incident I nursed an injury for a year. But lets leave that for another day.
Today I want you to float with me.
The moment that defined 2 years of my life is viewed by my friends and family as senseless and foolish. On not so good days, I would say that I too agree. But not this morning, Today I want to talk about the exhilaration, the beauty and the fear that came with my plunge from a cliff into the Ganges.
It was a company sponsored tour that took me to Shivpuri. A quaint place with sounds of the streaming Ganga and scents of the woods that filter into your tent and fill your senses. A sunny day found me struggling with the waves that rage the river. Here I was fighting my way ahead on a rubber raft..”Paddle to the right! Paddle to the left!!”. I was having the time of my life. Sweet, icy water splashed on the raft; welcoming me to the river; threatening me with its ferocity. And we conquered one rapid after another; forging ahead “ Hu Ha Hu Ha!”. And there we were – at the base of that fateful cliff. Looking at it one thought- “that’s all you got?!” and we ambled our way to the top. “Just stand straight and jump in” was what the instructed said. Simple. Maybe not. At the edge I found my fears resurfacing again. Ahead I saw the lush mountains; below the innocent river. Can it be that hard- I thought to myself. It looks so harmless.
And in a moment both frightening and beautiful; I put my foot ahead.
Hurling towards a river from a height can be a strange experience. You feel like it goes on forever and then in a rude shock the cold water wakes you up- breaking your day dreaming and bringing you back to life. Under the water life looks dreamy again; hues of blue and green, sunlight streaming in and you reach up ..
Air ; blinding light.. Yells and oars shoved your way to help you out. People wrapping you in blankets. Your thought to yourself “ why the hell are my legs shaking!”
After this incident I nursed an injury for a year. But lets leave that for another day.
Today I want you to float with me.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
The mountain is my mother
My father is the sea
This river is the fountain
Of all that life can be
Swift river from the mountain
Deep river to the sea
Take all my words and leave them
Where the trade winds set them free
Oh, piper on the lonely hill,
Play no sad songs for me
the day has gone, the night comes on.. Its darkness helps me see.
My father is the sea
This river is the fountain
Of all that life can be
Swift river from the mountain
Deep river to the sea
Take all my words and leave them
Where the trade winds set them free
Oh, piper on the lonely hill,
Play no sad songs for me
the day has gone, the night comes on.. Its darkness helps me see.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Yesterday after my afternoon siesta I woke up craving for a nice cup of tea. So I dragged the still sleepy body in blue pyjama’s to the kitchen and put a pot of water to boil. Taking cue from most ‘aromatherapy’ products, I dipped 2 cloves into the boiling water.
It was like the Indian version of the American Beauty, I watched the cloves dance in the fuming water.. Little surges of water appeared from the bottom of the pot, creating ripples all over the pot- the cloves. Connected by some strange bond (the brotherhood of cloves? J ), the cloves danced a silent dance. They clung together for a while and then did the tango, side by side, then apart..making their way around the pot and the ripples of hot water till there came such a time when both of them were tired. They fell by each other’s side. There were not alone for too long and soon were lost in a crowd when the tea leaves came in.
It was like the Indian version of the American Beauty, I watched the cloves dance in the fuming water.. Little surges of water appeared from the bottom of the pot, creating ripples all over the pot- the cloves. Connected by some strange bond (the brotherhood of cloves? J ), the cloves danced a silent dance. They clung together for a while and then did the tango, side by side, then apart..making their way around the pot and the ripples of hot water till there came such a time when both of them were tired. They fell by each other’s side. There were not alone for too long and soon were lost in a crowd when the tea leaves came in.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Fine Balance
To anyone who hasn’t yet read ‘A Fine Balance’ by Rohinton Mistry, you are really missing on one of the greatest books written by an Indian author.
It was my friend TK who introduced me to the book, she warned me that it was heart wrenching, sad yet fabulous. Now I’m not one to jump and wallow in misery which is not my own (smile)..yet there was something about the foreword of this book which made me take it from her hands and carry it home. And read it through the night, and days after till I hadn’t finished it.
This book is about four characters—Dina Dalal, Ishvar Darji, his nephew Omprakash and a young boy named Maneck. Four diverse people from varied backgrounds who come together, develop a bond and depart from each other lives as dramatically as they came.
A must read for everyone who has a passion for books and compulsory for every Indian- a book to be proud of.
To anyone who hasn’t yet read ‘A Fine Balance’ by Rohinton Mistry, you are really missing on one of the greatest books written by an Indian author.
It was my friend TK who introduced me to the book, she warned me that it was heart wrenching, sad yet fabulous. Now I’m not one to jump and wallow in misery which is not my own (smile)..yet there was something about the foreword of this book which made me take it from her hands and carry it home. And read it through the night, and days after till I hadn’t finished it.
This book is about four characters—Dina Dalal, Ishvar Darji, his nephew Omprakash and a young boy named Maneck. Four diverse people from varied backgrounds who come together, develop a bond and depart from each other lives as dramatically as they came.
A must read for everyone who has a passion for books and compulsory for every Indian- a book to be proud of.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
A Thing called Love
I want to share with the world 2 absolutely beautiful songs about love. They are not the conventional kind. But they've never failed to move me.
Fields of Gold - Sting
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
Youll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise
when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of goldI
never made promises lightly
And there have been some that Ive broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold
We'll walk in the fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
Come Undone – Duran Duran
Mine, immaculate dream,
made breath and skin,
Ive been waiting for you,
Signed, with a home tattoo,
happy birthday to you was created for you.
cant ever keep from falling apart.. at the seams
cant believe youre taking my heart.. to pieces
Ahh, itll take a little time, might take a little crime
to come undone
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind
And blow me in to cry.
Who do you need? Who do you love?
When you come undone.
Words, playing me deja vu,
like a radio tune
I swear Ive heard before,
Chill, is it something real, or the magic Im feeding off your fingers
Lost, in a snow filled sky,
we'll make it alright, to come undone,
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind -And blow me in to cry
I want to share with the world 2 absolutely beautiful songs about love. They are not the conventional kind. But they've never failed to move me.
Fields of Gold - Sting
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
Youll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise
when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of goldI
never made promises lightly
And there have been some that Ive broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold
We'll walk in the fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
Come Undone – Duran Duran
Mine, immaculate dream,
made breath and skin,
Ive been waiting for you,
Signed, with a home tattoo,
happy birthday to you was created for you.
cant ever keep from falling apart.. at the seams
cant believe youre taking my heart.. to pieces
Ahh, itll take a little time, might take a little crime
to come undone
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind
And blow me in to cry.
Who do you need? Who do you love?
When you come undone.
Words, playing me deja vu,
like a radio tune
I swear Ive heard before,
Chill, is it something real, or the magic Im feeding off your fingers
Lost, in a snow filled sky,
we'll make it alright, to come undone,
Now well try to stay blind, to the hope and fear outside,
Hey child, stay wilder than the wind -And blow me in to cry
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Art Speak
Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh has risen to the peak of artistic achievements. Although Van Gogh sold only one painting in his life, the aftermath of his work is enormous.
Starry Night is one of the most well known images in modern culture as well as being one of the most replicated and sought after prints. From Don McLean's song 'Starry, Starry Night' (Based on the Painting), to the endless number of merchandise products sporting this image, it is nearly impossible to shy away from this amazing painting. One may begin to ask what features within the painting are responsible for its ever growing popularity. There are actually several main aspects that intrigue those who view this image, and each factor affects each individual differently.
The aspects will be described below:
1. There is the night sky filled with swirling clouds, stars ablaze with their own luminescence, and a bright cresset moon. Although the features are exaggerated, this is a scene we can all relate to, and also one that most individuals feel comfortable and at ease with. This sky keeps the viewer's eyes moving about the painting, following the curves and creating a visual dot to dot with the stars. This movement keeps the onlooker involved in the painting while the other factors take hold.
2. Below the rolling hills of the horizon lies a small town. There is a peaceful essence flowing from the structures. Perhaps the cool dark colors and the fiery windows spark memories of our own warm childhood years filled with imagination of what exists in the night and dark starry skies. The center point of the town is the tall steeple of the church, reigning largely over the smaller buildings. This steeple casts down a sense of stability onto the town, and also creates a sense of size and seclusion.
3. To the left of the painting there is a massive dark structure that develops an even greater sense of size and isolation. This structure is magnificent when compared to the scale of other objects in the painting. The curving lines mirror that of the sky and create the sensation of depth in the painting. This structure also allows the viewer to interpret what it is. From a mountain to a leafy bush, the analysis of this formation is wide and full of variety. Van Gogh painted Starry Night while in an Asylum at Saint-Remy in 1889. According to VGgallery.com: "his behavior was very erratic at the time, due to the severity of his attacks. Unlike most of Van Gogh's works, Starry Night was painted from memory and not outdoors as was Vincent's preference. This may, in part, explain why the emotional impact of the work is so much more powerful than many of Van Gogh's other works from the same period."
Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh has risen to the peak of artistic achievements. Although Van Gogh sold only one painting in his life, the aftermath of his work is enormous.
Starry Night is one of the most well known images in modern culture as well as being one of the most replicated and sought after prints. From Don McLean's song 'Starry, Starry Night' (Based on the Painting), to the endless number of merchandise products sporting this image, it is nearly impossible to shy away from this amazing painting. One may begin to ask what features within the painting are responsible for its ever growing popularity. There are actually several main aspects that intrigue those who view this image, and each factor affects each individual differently.
The aspects will be described below:
1. There is the night sky filled with swirling clouds, stars ablaze with their own luminescence, and a bright cresset moon. Although the features are exaggerated, this is a scene we can all relate to, and also one that most individuals feel comfortable and at ease with. This sky keeps the viewer's eyes moving about the painting, following the curves and creating a visual dot to dot with the stars. This movement keeps the onlooker involved in the painting while the other factors take hold.
2. Below the rolling hills of the horizon lies a small town. There is a peaceful essence flowing from the structures. Perhaps the cool dark colors and the fiery windows spark memories of our own warm childhood years filled with imagination of what exists in the night and dark starry skies. The center point of the town is the tall steeple of the church, reigning largely over the smaller buildings. This steeple casts down a sense of stability onto the town, and also creates a sense of size and seclusion.
3. To the left of the painting there is a massive dark structure that develops an even greater sense of size and isolation. This structure is magnificent when compared to the scale of other objects in the painting. The curving lines mirror that of the sky and create the sensation of depth in the painting. This structure also allows the viewer to interpret what it is. From a mountain to a leafy bush, the analysis of this formation is wide and full of variety. Van Gogh painted Starry Night while in an Asylum at Saint-Remy in 1889. According to VGgallery.com: "his behavior was very erratic at the time, due to the severity of his attacks. Unlike most of Van Gogh's works, Starry Night was painted from memory and not outdoors as was Vincent's preference. This may, in part, explain why the emotional impact of the work is so much more powerful than many of Van Gogh's other works from the same period."
8 Deodar Street
It was the rains that cheered him up. A sky full of moody dark clouds, leaves swaying to the sweet rhythm of the wind, children delighted at the thought of missing yet another day of school.
Why would anyone say the rains made them gloomy?
It had now been 4 months in Kolkata. Coming from a very conservative north Indian upbringing, he had found it hard to digest the comfort with poverty that people in this city seemed to have. While in the swanky streets of Punjab it was almost unheard of not to see a couple of brand new Toyotas, Kolkata screamed of noisy yellow taxis and the grunts of rickshaw pullers.
Now in sitting in his plush office he thought of how ironic life had become. Here he was with the kind of job his Paaji would have sold his soul for, back in the day, yet he had no means of really enjoying it. Life gets lonesome for bachelors traveling out to strange lands in pursuit of a rewarding career and his was no different. And now as he watched out his window at the hustle bustle of the city, he realized more than ever the pain and sadness of separation.
Another Day
Waking up at 4 am was never a problem with her. The mornings were quiet and peaceful, a stark contrast to how her day would progress. Breakfast, rush hour traffic, honking cars and blinking red traffic signals. Life for the modern woman they call it now, but truth be told, the job just seemed like another burden pulling one down.
It was not always like this. She had once been the wild child, life of the party with a certain effervescent quality that all around her wanted to imitate. No job was too difficult, no dream too big.. there was always room for more friends and they came easy. Like a moth to the flame. There are very few who are blessed with an arresting face as well as the intelligence to hold a persons interest. And she definitely fitted the bill.
It was the rains that cheered him up. A sky full of moody dark clouds, leaves swaying to the sweet rhythm of the wind, children delighted at the thought of missing yet another day of school.
Why would anyone say the rains made them gloomy?
It had now been 4 months in Kolkata. Coming from a very conservative north Indian upbringing, he had found it hard to digest the comfort with poverty that people in this city seemed to have. While in the swanky streets of Punjab it was almost unheard of not to see a couple of brand new Toyotas, Kolkata screamed of noisy yellow taxis and the grunts of rickshaw pullers.
Now in sitting in his plush office he thought of how ironic life had become. Here he was with the kind of job his Paaji would have sold his soul for, back in the day, yet he had no means of really enjoying it. Life gets lonesome for bachelors traveling out to strange lands in pursuit of a rewarding career and his was no different. And now as he watched out his window at the hustle bustle of the city, he realized more than ever the pain and sadness of separation.
Another Day
Waking up at 4 am was never a problem with her. The mornings were quiet and peaceful, a stark contrast to how her day would progress. Breakfast, rush hour traffic, honking cars and blinking red traffic signals. Life for the modern woman they call it now, but truth be told, the job just seemed like another burden pulling one down.
It was not always like this. She had once been the wild child, life of the party with a certain effervescent quality that all around her wanted to imitate. No job was too difficult, no dream too big.. there was always room for more friends and they came easy. Like a moth to the flame. There are very few who are blessed with an arresting face as well as the intelligence to hold a persons interest. And she definitely fitted the bill.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Of Dancing girls and Kite-runners
I have been introduced to a new wave of writing.
Its not the sad glum stories.. Boy born in deprived surroundings, boy never gets education, boy abused.. Now there is a new breed of writers who give this angle to books a new spin. Take for example- Louise Brown’s The Dancing girls of Lahore. Maha is a prostitute whose life is a series of sleeping pills, being cheated by her clientele, and a desire to be richer by pimping her own daughters. Mind you this is not fiction. This is true lives lived by many in the red light districts of Lahore. Now for the interesting part, not once in the book is the situation pitied, yet the author strives to portray the characters as strong and independent. Then there is the bestseller ‘The Kite runner’, a story to me of guilt and cowardice turned into acts of courage- life coming to full circle and karma. Here too, there are no excuses in the book of wrongs committed. The story traverses its path to reveal that wrong can be made right.
Its nice to see that lives are not pitied and even the most evil deeds can seek absolute redemption.
Even though it may only be in fiction.
I have been introduced to a new wave of writing.
Its not the sad glum stories.. Boy born in deprived surroundings, boy never gets education, boy abused.. Now there is a new breed of writers who give this angle to books a new spin. Take for example- Louise Brown’s The Dancing girls of Lahore. Maha is a prostitute whose life is a series of sleeping pills, being cheated by her clientele, and a desire to be richer by pimping her own daughters. Mind you this is not fiction. This is true lives lived by many in the red light districts of Lahore. Now for the interesting part, not once in the book is the situation pitied, yet the author strives to portray the characters as strong and independent. Then there is the bestseller ‘The Kite runner’, a story to me of guilt and cowardice turned into acts of courage- life coming to full circle and karma. Here too, there are no excuses in the book of wrongs committed. The story traverses its path to reveal that wrong can be made right.
Its nice to see that lives are not pitied and even the most evil deeds can seek absolute redemption.
Even though it may only be in fiction.
Play On
If music be the food of life.. Play on.
I can't remember the fist time I heard a song and went WOW! For as long as I can remember..it has been this way. An obsession. Love. Passion. Music has made me happy, lifted me in times of trouble and even helped me say F off! (Remember 'We don't need no education..?' or 'I hate everything about you'?)
To me the greatest invention of our times is the Ipod without which my morning drive to office, or my evening musings over lonely dinners would be incomplete.
My song on flights to someplace is however this one called Zephyr Song by RHCP- can't say why though i think its because I've always imagined myself in a strange contraption of a jet whenever I hear it.
Zephyr Song – Red Hot Chilli Peppers
Can I get your hand to write on
Just a piece of lead to bite on
What am I to fly my kite on
Do you want to flash your light on
Take a look its on display - for you
Coming down
No
not today
Did you meet your fortune teller
Get it off with no propellor
Do it up its always stellar
What a way to finally smell her
Pick it up its not to strong - for you
Take a piece and pass it on
Fly away on my zephyr
I feel it more then ever
And in this perfect weather
Well find a place together
Fly on my wing
Riddlin on liberator
Find a way to be a skater
Rev it up to levitator
Super manly aviator
Take a look its on display - for you
Coming down no not today
Fly away on my zephyr
If music be the food of life.. Play on.
I can't remember the fist time I heard a song and went WOW! For as long as I can remember..it has been this way. An obsession. Love. Passion. Music has made me happy, lifted me in times of trouble and even helped me say F off! (Remember 'We don't need no education..?' or 'I hate everything about you'?)
To me the greatest invention of our times is the Ipod without which my morning drive to office, or my evening musings over lonely dinners would be incomplete.
My song on flights to someplace is however this one called Zephyr Song by RHCP- can't say why though i think its because I've always imagined myself in a strange contraption of a jet whenever I hear it.
Zephyr Song – Red Hot Chilli Peppers
Can I get your hand to write on
Just a piece of lead to bite on
What am I to fly my kite on
Do you want to flash your light on
Take a look its on display - for you
Coming down
No
not today
Did you meet your fortune teller
Get it off with no propellor
Do it up its always stellar
What a way to finally smell her
Pick it up its not to strong - for you
Take a piece and pass it on
Fly away on my zephyr
I feel it more then ever
And in this perfect weather
Well find a place together
Fly on my wing
Riddlin on liberator
Find a way to be a skater
Rev it up to levitator
Super manly aviator
Take a look its on display - for you
Coming down no not today
Fly away on my zephyr
Friday, September 22, 2006
The gorgeous Ls - Leh and Ladakh
Its what dreams are made of. Gorgeous mountains in every shade of blue, white, brown. Landscapes out of heaven.
I have never been there and have always thought of myself as someone who loves the sea. Beaches and sand. Thats me. But of late I came across a photoblog of someone who had trekked the vast expanse of Leh. I was swept away. transported to a place and time I never knew. Can something so beautiful be real or was it just some photoshoped images by someone insanely brilliant.
As Indians, most of us dream of backpacking in Europe, or catching a flight to the US, Australia.. I think we hugely discredit the beauty that exists in our own country. Come to think of it - we have the backwaters of Kerala.. Wildlife sanctuaries in Periyar and Corbett, The mountains, the sea, cultural Rajathan and the beautiful architecture it presents..And most of us haven't really explored the options available.
I just got off the phone with the travel desk who tell me that flying to Leh will cost me 15,000 one way. It seems unfair and i'm heartbroken. The roads and trains don't prove an option as I had this back unjury last year which has made it nearly impossible to take the strain of such travel.
I am hoping I will be successful in organising this rendevouz with the mountains soon. Each time I look at my desktop (which now has a beautiful picture of Leh), I can feel the crisp wind in my hair..
Its what dreams are made of. Gorgeous mountains in every shade of blue, white, brown. Landscapes out of heaven.
I have never been there and have always thought of myself as someone who loves the sea. Beaches and sand. Thats me. But of late I came across a photoblog of someone who had trekked the vast expanse of Leh. I was swept away. transported to a place and time I never knew. Can something so beautiful be real or was it just some photoshoped images by someone insanely brilliant.
As Indians, most of us dream of backpacking in Europe, or catching a flight to the US, Australia.. I think we hugely discredit the beauty that exists in our own country. Come to think of it - we have the backwaters of Kerala.. Wildlife sanctuaries in Periyar and Corbett, The mountains, the sea, cultural Rajathan and the beautiful architecture it presents..And most of us haven't really explored the options available.
I just got off the phone with the travel desk who tell me that flying to Leh will cost me 15,000 one way. It seems unfair and i'm heartbroken. The roads and trains don't prove an option as I had this back unjury last year which has made it nearly impossible to take the strain of such travel.
I am hoping I will be successful in organising this rendevouz with the mountains soon. Each time I look at my desktop (which now has a beautiful picture of Leh), I can feel the crisp wind in my hair..
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