Chime of the chubby moroner

June 23, 2008

It's a chubby moroner,

and he thinketh sugar and spice.

With the glowing eyes and innocent smile

dreameth of donuts and liquorice

He stoppeth his lady, tall and fair,

Woeful mind and a look of doubt,

"What hath come into your head,

for you feast on cabbage and sprout?"

She smiles at the cherubic face,

Crown tilteth, glittering eyes,

Spake no word,

proceeds to swat the flies

A half-eaten donut

the moroner lefteth behind,

for he hath a fresh Belgian waffle,

seared onto his mind

Springing feet and merry heart

he flippeth at the sight

of scrumptious food and of his lady love

with whom he findeth delight

Music in his soul,

Gaiety he spreads

Charming every maiden,

'Tid many a man dreads

Restless, brimmeth thoughts,

his brilliant mind ashine

In his hands lie

the will to make all fine

'My chubby moroner,

Why art thou woebegone?'

Smiling spake he,

'My troubles are not gone'

'For many a times in the days by gone

We hath had many a fight,

I am yet to find peace

But I try with all might'

Smiling back, she sighs

Glinting, sure and calm,

"Honey it will be fine"

He resteth his chin hopefully in her soft palm

In the Middle of Nowhere

Writing my last blog entry, and reminiscing about the Catcher in the Rye reminded me of my attempt to capture my own teenage angst and restlessness, quite amusing in hindsight. Here's from times of care-free free music download, anti-fit jeans, countless vada pavs, endless hours of Basketball and 'just-chilling' by the sea-side...

IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE…

Encircled by obsession

Of “I, me, myself”…

Don’t know where I am heading

Why want to know myself?

Have it all…?

Yet discontent I feel…

Nothing, anymore,

Seems to appeal…

On a lone trail

To vanquish the “evil”

Within me,

But “why the “solitude”?”,

I fail to see…

Lone crusaders

Is that what we are?

Just like pawns

On the chessboard,

Near yet far…

Queries, confusion,

Answers but no solutions …

Amid a mist of

Riddles and illusions …

Wishes, dreams, desires,

Hatred, rage, fire,

Sting, contort, burn me,

No apparent reason there be…

Vendetta I wish to wreak,

My insanity is what speaks.

No reasons to be scorned,

Elusive bliss pierces like thorns…

A shrieking silence

Ripping me apart,

My mind deludes

But hear it in my heart…

Existential puzzle

Tortures my soul,

Not “WHO” but “WHY” am I?

Leaves me all sore…

In me, in you,

Within us all,

Fear to admit

The vicious reality,

Plunging, headfirst,

Towards my downfall…

Chained to shackles

Of hallucinations,

Under pretense of control,

Burying the hard truth

Trampling it under the sole…

“Truth”- or a convenience?

What is it? Why matters?

Hidden by lies

And muddy splatters…

Twisted and harsh,

No strings attached,

Conquest for it,

Supposedly unmatched.

Virtuous or vile?

A compulsive yardstick,

Ram raiding the world,

Just a bagful of tricks,

In the middle of nowhere,

Bewildered and mute,

I try to find me,

In an attempt to suit

The enigma that envelops me

Is it really me or

All I can see?

Want to pour out

This heart to someone,

But that’s what I shun

When coming and

Going alone

Why need that “someone”

To burden up with

My solitary moan?

Going round in circles,

In search of what?

I have no clue…

A feeling of doom

In shades of blue,

Age and era

May bear the blame,

An unreal realm of

Ineptness is the name…

Impermanence, passing phase

Perhaps just neuroticism

A seeming ceaseless darkness

No flicker of light

No spectrum from a prism

Like grains of dry sand

My-so-called life,

Slips away from my grasp

Leaving behind an empty hand…

An ambiguity captures

My mind…

Just want my freedom

From this uncertainty

Leaving all these doldrums behind…

Away from the darkness

Away from the muted screams

With eternal unbounded wings

Fly away to an eternity of WHITE DREAMS……

Good-bye Mr. Salinger

In Holden Caulfield, J. D. Salinger created one of the most identifiable-with literary characters - the protagonist's passion and contempt, his fierce need to be his own person, the nonchalance towards people yet an inexplicable yearning to talk to them anyways, his hunger for knowledge and disdain for pretension, his borderline Messiah complex- we all have had such emotions and internal conflicts. Especially in our youth - the rawness, the passion, the romanticism, and the nascent cynicism. But as we grow up and mature, these still exist, but we filter our thoughts and moderate our behaviour to fulfil the societal definition of well-adjusted human beings. At this stage, Holden's absolute emotions and reactions elicit a fear of the very ability to relate to him. To be that way, in my opinion, might be liberating but is socially sacrilegious- acceptable during the Terrible Teens but not after. I guess people who would continue to act like him would be outcasts or committed to institutions or kept suppressed and restrained by the “saner” ones in their families.

The angst and struggle between society and individual is chronic. The extraneous expectations and your personal judgment are in a constant conflict. Acceptable for one is phoney for the other.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Another thing that stood out to me is Holden's thinking that yelling “Good luck” to people is plain terrible. I do see some credibility in the statement. In fact, “good luck” & “anybody would be lucky to be with you” are the two things people think will others feel better, give them hope. But it is such a norm, said so mechanically and superficially that it worsens things if you think about it. As if one could not get about without someone wishing them luck, their ability and intent would lack the necessary bearings without it.

Buzzitripudoconia Moroni

or Morons' Venture for Fun on Buzz by AC, Bubby and H

The Shuteye Demon briefly dated the Good Idea Fairy,

The Nocturnal Musings offspring is running amok

The Second Thought Witch, with an evil laughter, plots against the offspring

The Good Idea Fairy holds Nocturnal Musings close to her bosom

In the shadows lurks the This Won't Work Ogre,

Who tempts the Easily Corrupted Elf playmate of the reckless offspring

Together, they arrange for a game at dusk to draw out Nocturnal Musings,

For as the darkness grows so does his restlessness

Restless Nocturnal Musings playfully joins the Easily Corrupted Elf,

Not paying heed to his mother's restraining

This Won't Work Ogre rubs his hands with glee even as the Overly Optimist Prince rides into the scene

Swiftly, the Overly Optimist Prince slays the This Won't Work Ogre

As the Easily Corrupted Elf and restless Nocturnal Musings begin their game, I'm So High Hobgoblin joins them

The Second Thought Witch, now cleverly disguised as the I'm So High Hobgoblin, sneakily leads Nocturnal Musings away

She takes out a green vial of Strangle The Idea Potion and lets out another high-pitched laughter

As the Second Thought Witch's shriek of delight threatens to rent Nocturnal Musings' innocent mischievousness,

The Shuteye Demon seeks his progeny,

A primal instinct to protect his seed violently clashes with his pragmatic aloofness

Alas! The Shuteye Demon's pragmatic aloofness wins and he decides to take a nap

Knowing she has little option, the Good Idea Fairy takes on the Second Thought Witch on her own,

They agree on a mud wrestling battle to settle the matter

It's the crack of dawn, and the Good Morning Gnome rides in on the first rays of sunshine

His merry rhyme rudely awakens the Shuteye Demon,

Just when the Good Idea Fairy and the Second Thought Witch were about to settle matters in the muddy arena

Oh no! For it was not but a dream!

The Shuteye Demon awakens to a surprising scene

The Good Idea Fairy has reconciled with the Second Thought Witch,

After she told her where to get the best bargains on brooms

Nocturnal Musings looks at the Shuteye Demon and asks the Good Idea Fairy, innocently, 'Are men necessary?'

Auto-Driver's Creed: An Ode to Bubbles and my Wanderlust

This is my car. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My car is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I master my life. My car, without me, is useless. Without my car, I am stuck in space, as the time goes by. I must drive my car far and through. I must drive faster than the creeping humdrum and complacency that is trying to subdue me. I must escape it before it devours me. I will...

My car and myself know that what counts in this life is not the how many miles we travel, the duration of our drive, nor the fuel we burn. We know that it is the discoveries that count. We will discover...

My car is human, even as I, because it lets me make my life. Thus, I will learn it as me. I will learn its weakness, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its engine. I will keep my car clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...

Before the expanding universe I swear this creed. My car and myself are the purveyors of my nomadic yearnings. We are the masters of the route to the wonders of this world that we seek. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until curiosity is in my mind and no rut, but a Road to travel, a Place to see and People to meet...