Wooden Room

* Its unbelievable how heavy a machine one needs to process textures on 3d surfaces...my system just crumbles even after 2 GB RAM...no! no! don't take me wrong, I am not showing off that I have 2 GB RAM...ha ha! This one was an elaborate plan that didn't work...I had thought of something of a shack look with doors that as in homes...a mismatch sort of thing. And tables and bottles sort of thing. But I couldn't even render this completely...as you can see, the cask is still in its early stage...coz my super computer decided to fly off instead!

* The Image is custom render...Too heavy Too heavy I tell you!!

Study Room Render

* This is a setting of a room with lights...Just trial...No texture yet! I dont think I will put any either...Probably somewhere else!

Camera - Vistavision, Aperture- 37.719

The Art of Human Memory

There were drops on chests and breasts

That fell from blood swollen eyes

They fell for they were burning the dead

Under cloudy stormy skies

Some were promises, some were friends

Some brothers and some wives

They were all charred the same way

Either bombed or butchered by knives

And those tears made further promises

Never would we forget their love

Thus they brought back the burning dead

Resurrecting black charred doves

Those bodies they sat up on their pyre

Weeping and requesting with dead smiles

"Why make ghost of us until eternity

Please forget us for a while."

But no word, no sound, no prayer was heard

None by the black weeping clan

None of them would stop to mourn

Such was their illogical plan

Though they would plainly carry on

And reminiscing as of some broken jewelry

The wretched ghosts would be called

For this is the art of human memory

No peace to the dead, no peace in life

No one understands why a ghost never smiles

Forget the legends the great the dead

For memory wretchedly is more servile

Those bodies they sit up on their pyre

Weep and request with dead smiles

"Why make ghost of us until eternity

Please, o’ please forget us for a while."

It was late last night was a Sunday

We planned our course through talk

Our friends, and friends and friends of theirs

Moaned how life was not a walk.

My friend

The queen of melody

Swaying

Aye’ how you go

Through tunnels

Of twisted memories

Singing them old

Sung oads.

Then John walked in to the room

And Peter smiled like a shark

They made themselves a wonder-drink

Then slowly got shoved in a park.

Singin’ your songs

Queen of melody

Swaying

O’ how you go

Through tunnels

Of twisted memories

Singing them old

Sung oads.

While Lilly casually touched the laptop

Over her shoulder stood Bob

Stroking her back with his finger

Searching her beating hearts throb.

They wanted a quite place to love

They called themselves the crowd

Then couldn’t find a place in privacy

Hid their lust in smiles and shrouds.

Sing me your songs

Queen of melody

Swaying

O’ how you go

Through tunnels

Of twisted memories

Singing them old

Sung oads.

I got myself a whiskey for free

And sat in the middle of the room

Curses swam in drunken lisps

All around sat drunken buffoons

They said the world had rotten out

They discussed the politics of it all

Eyeing the narrow eyes meanwhile

Hoping on his words they would fall

Sing me your songs

Queen of melody

Swaying

O’ how you go

Through tunnels

Of twisted memories

Singing them old

Sung oads.

And we closed the night hand in hand

We swam to the hour of the morn

Drifting in fits of anger and rage

Thought we escaped times old call

Parting with sharing their numbers

Promises to party again

Some whiskey and tonic and words fake

Shall fall from their mouths wide strain.

Sing me a song

Queen of melody

One that

Soothes me tonight

Aye, how desolate

In this world I feel

Sing me

And comfort my eyes.

Sing me your songs

Queen of melody

Swaying

O’ how you go

Through tunnels

Of twisted memories

Singing them old

Sung oads.

What Ho?

- Hold up! I’m the one who needs to talk. And I might as well get done with it before I start drinking.

- What?

-What, ho?

- Look all these conversations of money and all that, they don’t lead to nowhere

- Right!

- What, ho?

- I mean, money Is easy. It was difficult when there were barons and all that, but today, its all about the way you talk.

- And its coz you can talk

- What, Ho?

- No you dumb bastards, you still haven’t figured who you are, have you?

- What do you mean?

- He He He

- Right for one person; he has understood! But why not you?

You see you haven’t understood who you are. And there lies the fault. When I was there with you, I used to think I had lack of exposure. No NO No. it wasn’t that, it was lack of space. You see. We had all the exposure. But we all had it, so we had lack of space. We didn’t have a big enough environment to fit us in. but once you get out of it. There is no exposure. There is no environment. Money is easy. It is there, and it isn’t, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is there is no competition. Coz that environment is missing. It’s a full circle. And a small one at that. And its tough to understand. But….what ho! You haven’t figured out, have you? Money doesn’t run us anymore. We have escaped. We are larger. Sorry as it might be. What Ho?

Music

Her habits…

- The strange thing with habits is that they take you for granted. Stick to you like a leach. Irritating, stubborn, painful, and full of excuses.

…were so irritating. She would put on her headphones as soon as I entered. It started after we got married. But that’s just one of the smaller mistakes we made together; marriage. The larger…let’s not. In her room, sitting at her desk, writing as always. Her headphones. That was her habit.

Mine. It was different. I had my headphones on, whether she be there or not. Oh! The sweet taste of music. Food or no food. Music I had to have. It put in more energy in me then all the food in the world would ever. And then of course the night calls. But I told her about it even before we started going out. How was it my fault, if I was a super hero! Can you blame me? I was born with special powers, and I needed music to sustain them. All the wretched criminals had run off: Yes! I was good at my work. But…

…she always thought it was wrong. I shouldn’t have been a hero to the world. She wanted me for herself. Her hero.

How it happens…

…we always realize things way too late. I should have taken them off at home. Even if we didn’t have something to talk about, at least I should have held her hand and sat quietly. That would have done much good as well. But habit! Parasites! They make you blind. Blind-er then love.

They gave me the letter smeared with blood.

“You were my perfect hero, fate made our lives imperfect.

Love always.

Two drops of whiskey

One touch of wine.”

Why my woman, even Curt Cobain had a better reason to die for, stupid as it might have been.

Habits! Habits! Habits!

Shucks! Frustrating habits!

- Love the worst of habits,

loss the final conclusion.

Super hero or no superhero!

Flash Of Genius

She rolled up her sleeve.

- What ho? , I said, with my head swinging to my forehead to finally make that slap sound. She was going to start again.

- They do it very often. Probably the alcohol ignites their souls. Fuming with rage, with heads held high they move forward to conquer the world. Ding-Ding-Ding! The world has already been conquered. But don’t remind them. These verbal vomits don’t lead anywhere.

- What ho? , I said again.

- Why is it that you think there is no god? , She had rolled up her sleeve. Eight pegs. Thats too damn rolling hard.

- Because he cannot save me from this argument right now!

I Am Tired

I am tired o' sweeping pain

Your torture is much too much

How you push upon without refrain

How you trouble with a smiling touch.