Sunday, April 27, 2008

Irish Blood, English Heart

“Simply press the button, wait for the beep, blow into the unit, and within seconds the LCD displays a precise digital percentile readout of your Blood Alcohol Content (BAC). An entire test takes less than 10 seconds.”

Saturday night. 2 guys. 1 bar. Copious amounts of alcohol. 1 Breath analyser to bring it all together.

Guy1: “It says here level 0.02 means you’re beyond the drinking & driving limit and I know level 0.12 is when you get into coma.”

Guy2: “ Well then, I think 0.08 is a good limit to aim for”

Guy1: “Perfect. Bartender, we’ll start with 2 Irish Carbombs, followed by 2 large Glenn on the rocks and then we’ll think of something.”

Guy2: “You know, I think I read a book once where this guy had a wicked experience with a breath analyser once.”

Guy1: “Man, you read way too much. People who write about breath analyser’s are obviously retarded...ah here come the irish.”

1 hour later. After attempting many BAC counts and sharing breath analyser with anyone who would talk to us (surprisingly, a breath analyser can make you friends with many people in a bar - unfortunately it is mostly the unwanted jock kinds. It’s the price you pay for ingenuity.)

Guy1: “I’m at 0.07.”

Guy2: “Damn, I swear I was level 0.07 and then after the last jagerbomb shot, this effing unit says I’m a 0.06. I know a girl who swears by jagerbombs. I need to let her know its not alcohol, in fact its an alcohol killer.”

Guy1: “Hmm...I swear by Jagerbombs too. Maybe the units had its fair share of activity. These things were designed for the police to check random drivers, not hell bent drunkards, man. Have Glenn, this shit is nasty.”

Whether level 0.08 was reached is a matter of much speculation. The unit has since been acting drunk and refuses to wake up. We fear it beat us to level 0.12.

Disclaimer:- Identities of people have been changed to protect them from society by using generic terms such as guy, bartender and friends.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008


Write dammit...write it in as many words and as little sentences it takes...whatever needs to be done, don’t shy away. No more lies. It’s only words and words are all you have...ha!...
So much these words can do...create, destroy, humiliate, infatuate, betray...every verb at their control. Humans are the most vocal of all the animals. That is both boon and bane...which is higher in the hierarchy is anyone’s blame game.

Kill the dj, the blessed fucking dj...oh that Morrissey meant well.

Stay sharp man. It’s the drugs...I can’t control my fingers. They type like there’s no tomorrow...but you know what I can do, I can put these dots. Notice the dots...always three in a row...they’re mine. I did them.

There is no point really, just like life. No point, no real point that is. The preachers preach fiction.

You have to watch the details. You have to have somewhere to hang your heart on at the end of the day. Don’t wear it on a sleeve. It’s way too risky that way. Start or follow a band which sings sad we’re talking.

Tattoos and skinny ties are done. So is the preppy look. Something’s replacing them and I don’t know what just yet. It’s still taking shape. Fashion the fickle art.

Books are my shoes. I have to fight the urge to buy one every week. Every week of every month. That’s a lot. I do judge them by their cover though.There are a lot of bad books out there. Much more than good books. An awful lot of people think they can be writers.

What is the purpose of this madness? What is the purpose of this life?

No more lies please. And less words.