This, as you would probably have guessed by now, is my way of venting, ruminating and generally contemplating. So here goes.

1. I'm becoming a huge fan and practitioner of the Madurai dialect of Tamil. Enna Landha?

2. Life now has no particular direction. I need to focus on something soon.

3. My temper also needs to be fixed. It's not that I'm always angry, but I'm always simmering. And that is the first sign of a sociopath.

4. I'm bursting with ideas for so many things. Somehow having difficulty choosing and expressing them.

5. I am in love. And that's all I'll say.

6. I'm hoping and praying that the project I'm involved with takes off successfully. It will change my life forever, and give me peace. This, I'm sure of. Insha Allah.

7. I thought my emotions had frozen. Apparently they have not :P

8. I want a tattoo. Three tattoos actually. On my left arm, the sloka, "Yadha Yadha Hi dharmasya.......Sambhavami Yuge Yuge" in Sanskrit. On my right arm, "Anbe Sivam, Azhage Sivam, Arive Sivam" in Tamil and at the base of my neck, "Asatho Maa Sad Gamaya, Thamaso Maa Jyothir Gamaya, Mrithyor Maa Amritham Gamaya" in Sanskrit.

9. I have to lose some weight. I've been putting it off for too long. That shall be fixed first.

10. I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss my team at Citi. I really do. Each and every one of those 15.

Thats all for now. Rant over, post over

From Hell

She stands across the street, laughing and talking
Her wares on display for everyone to see
The wine on her breath repels a few potentials
Someone mutters at her, "Domine dirige nos"

On this side of the street a man looks intently
Watching her as she invites and lures
With a crooked smile, he walks up to her
He whispers in her ear, and she bashfully grins

In the darkness of an alley not far away
Two were in the throes of passion - it seemed
She sees his pupils dilate, smells the laudanum
Before she can think, she feels the blade

In near darkness, we can hear metal slice flesh
We can hear his heartbeat, steady as a rock
As our vision clears, he stands and looks down
Down at his handiwork, at the art he has wrought

A splash of blood, a swirl of intestine
Blood spurts from the slash at her throat
Subcutaneous fat stains his perfect manicure
In his hands he holds her sweetbreads

Below the skin of history are London's veins
His rituals course with energy and meaning
He laughs at a private joke and thinks to himself,
"I have given birth to the 20th century"