corollary

a corollary to Physiology, dated sometime 2007.

the elves have, of late, discovered commerce. sidhe theorists (and there are few of these) argue that it was only natural, especially since the invention of the air conditioner ('fuck morning dew and the sweet flavour of a virgin's pure soul' says Lord Hardburrow of the Kingdom of the Abandoned Twig 'nothing's as good to a proximity to the little air throwing vent of the air conditioner tuned to very very cool').

so how do they manage, you might wonder, given their incapacity for organisation and a fundamental inability to operate any machinery more complicated than an 8 in 1 brick game.

the answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind. to be more specific, they catch air skippers - slithery and perdominantly vapourous ectoplasmic worms that travel through the air, moving through the goblin and dervish population, entering through ear lobes, grabbing whatever thoughts might be around and getting the fuck out with them (leading to the phrase 'just skipped my mind darling).

djinss set magical nets to catch them (someone once described them as giant cobwebs in the sky). the day's catch is then distilled to remove useless thoughts (keychain locations, deadlines, coffee appointments, etc.) from the good ones (symphonies, plots for films and books, ideas for enterprise, etc.). the good ideas are then used by the djinn in question (the one who's caught the skippers) to generate revenue and buy air conditioners.

and here's a piece of trivia to reward your patience. once in the early twentieth century, a senior cricketing captain (whom we shall not name here) was given the assignment of coming up with a better term for the generic 'captain'. the man, close to the fag end of his career, chanced upon the perfect word ('like finding a diamond in the rough', he mentioned to a bystander upon his discovery). the man kept it to himself, hoping to present the word at a public meeting to make sure the credit didn't spill. this was when a particularly egoistic skipper happened to cross his mind and, in what's clearly a sui generis event, replaced the word instead of just taking it.

transplant

and instead of a heart, i've got this super dense object with infinite gravity (often referred to as a black hole) that keeps sucking and sucking.

no wonder nothing comes to mind.

Silence of the semantics~

Finally, i feel it's over. Sigh.
Crash................. Maybe not. Whew.
But the worse that cud've happened has happened. Shit~
And so i delight in whatever is happening. Hah~
I've burnt down all the harrowing halls of semantics. Phew.
Now, the only thing left is a civilization that needs a thorough archeological explanation. Hmm~
For that, there're the hallowed experts. Honours~
A newer soil. a newer settlement. A newer stranger. A newer sun. A newer sanctity. Well~
Tulips. Geraniums. Wisterias. Willows. Lilys. Linchesters. Lilacs. Wow.
"For how long?", smiles Aphrodite as she flaunts her genius to me. God!

Necessary

It was necessary. He stepped away from her. But the voice kept coming at him, through layers of nitrocellulose, saying 'How do you feel now?'. He felt terrible. His eyes were bloodshot after fifteen hours of no sleep. It was so tempting, walk away, forget the whole thing. But it was necessary. Not only for himself, but for all of them. She was too dangerous. He knew it the moment he heard the news. It was unreal, and for a moment he managed to find it in his heart to give her some credit, something he hadn't been able to do for years. But then he saw the papers, and the TV, and the court order, and closed his eyes.

Closed his eyes and pointed.

The revolver.

Straight ahead.

At the TV.

"DAMN YOU EKTA KAPOOR", he shouted, and fired.

But something there was made of stone and the bullet richotted off it and lodged in his chest. That surprised him. He was so surprised that he forgot entirely whether his heart was on the left or right side. As the inept Noida police made their entry, he died, uttering the famous last words that would fire a generation, 'Damn you Ekta Kapoor...'

X-cuse me

Zero is where he was. As he realised after he'd shunned all books, music, news, friends and family. A series of events of a single variable x.

where x=0 and x is not a fraction.

whatever it means.