Match Point

Slight spoilers ahead.

To make something interesting out from a story so mundane, requires belief, a tonne of talent and I guess, the confidence one derives from experience. I really liked the way he plays with you towards the end, the way he leads you on to make a conclusion, the way he lets you believe that that’s the way it should end, makes you accept it though you have also been made to sympathize with the character earlier, and then completely throws you off. Maybe you could have second guessed him, if it was a book, quite certainly. But maybe this is one of the ways movies, as an artist’s medium, varies from written literature; the compulsory short ingestion period doesn’t give the audience the time to over-analyze or be too suspecting of the artist’s motives and hence gives the artist the luxury of a more vulnerable mind. Well, left me quite entertained at the end of the evening. Opera was used exceedingly well, I thought and the movie is beautifully shot.

A Full Confession Ain't for Us, Mortals

So, I tell my story
Don't miss a detail
All the thoughts that prompted every action,
I painfully describe each.
And its over now. The end.
But why has it changed something in you?

Ahaha...

...He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time. Look but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, don't swallow. Ahaha....

Your untouchable face

I gotta divide my emotions
into wrong and right
then i get to see how close i can get to it
without giving in
then i get to rub up against it
till i break the skin
rub up against it
till i break the skin

Maugham

I knew the answers alright. My hobby: reading fiction, my favorite authors: Asimov, Dahl and Maugham. And I’d repeat a hundred times why I liked three, so different from each. Kept repeating, until I was overwhelmed by the emotional cacophony that was my undergrad and which drowned everything out from my life before. I got a chance to revisit and with joy discovered Maugham back I read volume 3 of his collected short stories. Each story is written in the words and senses of a writer deployed as a spy who travels around Europe during the war. The premise offers detachment from his characters yet compels detailed studies of their behavior, their interactions and their motivations. Several of the stories have a decidedly tragic end, come to think of it, I think, all of them do. But the beauty of the way the book is written is that unless you were really paying attention you wouldn’t notice what happened. The picture of the person has so surrounded you that the story seems irrelevant. The story never weighs you down because you are always made aware of the distance, that you are but a spectator who would never be affected by the unfolding events, that you could just walk away from what happened and maybe whistle on the next turn. It is like letting you delectably sample a person, not letting you gorge on the dish, but giving you just enough to let you ruminate on its flavor and decipher the spices maybe:).

fishie wishie

Let me float with eyes closed,
Let the water flow over, twirl me around.
Let the streaming smiling rays caress me,
Let the bubbles trickle by,
slowly, till there are no more.
Let me float,
Please, would you let me?

Grey afternoon

Scrambled thoughts,
Veiled logic.
Splattering rain,
Rummaging intentions,
Blurring significance...

Crib #1

Conversations with suspended ends,
Beauty that a million poems celebrate.
Why is it still that when they happen,
I so ache to turn them mundane.

Vapid Eyes

Water swirling thoughts away from a carefully inked ego,
Maybe punching them thru could have made me see.

Testing waters...

So, calmly I illustrate the space inside. Empty but lucid.