Environ-mental-ly

Sooner than expected.

                                 The weather's been beautiful, but with a slight hiccup, rain is less this year, which means next year is tough. Made a few trips to Wayanad, thought I'll share a few shots.

Supposedly, the number of forest-fires this year was less. But a weak monsoon is a killjoy. It should rain long and hard. By the way, mornings at the peak looks like this.

Anyways, here's hoping to lesser pollution and a peaceful world.

Ciao.

Artsy Modus

My current state with art, both are digitally created via PS. Considering the difficulty and the total lack of knowing which direction to move in and what to do when I first started teaching myself, I've decided to compile the knowledge I have in to a form of map, so that beginners know how to go around art study without getting stuck too often.

Poetics

Poetics, as in antics of a madman. I've always had this question regarding poets, I do not know whether I am a poet. You would be a better judge at that. So here's my question, do all people who write poems have very strong, or rather, violent swings in emotions? There was a time when whiskey and weed did mean a lot, and no matter what the weather was like - there were dark clouds hovering all around.

I used to not like human company (for that matter it isn't much different now), but always wandering and wondering about a lot of things was norms. I still write every once in a while, but the sheer intensity with which the words used to come out and click in to place back then when I was always high, was different. I'm not trying to push people to use alchohol or dugs. It's been three years since I've quit weed, a year and half since cigarettes and every three or four months I have a bit of Whiskey, but that too is coming to a stop, kinda feel it in my bones.

Someone once told me that it was the drugs and alchohol that were creating all the stuff I was putting out, that triggered a fierce anger in me. I had to prove this person wrong and...well I started giving up on old habits.

So here's a little poem I wrote a few months back:

Black Pages

In-breeding this pain in incubated distraught,

Yet, life reeks,

of another misery.

Hammers of the conniving,

Wreck our souls,

Tired of how slow it all is,

I rip myself apart.

But they nail me together,

And stitch in a madman's soul.

Reiterates this sigh,

through another thousand deaths.

Introductions

I'm a wannabe, a wannabe Musician, Artist, Photographer, Biker e.t.c e.t.c err did I mention world-domination?

30 years of living on this planet is a lot, you tend to have seen a lot of things that you never realized you were seeing in the first place, but by then, you've moved down or up the line.

I intend to show you the world, as I see it.

So, here's something for today. This is from the past, one of my first shots with, a then spanking new Nikon-D-5000.

I was at Calicut, in that scorching heat, which when accompanied by the humidity tends to make you feel like a sausage that's being steam-pressure-cooked. The heat had got to me and a few more minutes of it would have got me mad. So I decided to take a walk along the beach. I noticed this lady, in this pose. She's a palm reader, the expression on her face and the question marks surrounding her look in to the sea is a bit ironical. As if in search of an answer that is no where in the lines she can read. My 18-55mm didn't make it easier, I had to walk by and take this shot without disturbing her. Later when going through the picture; I noticed that there is a much younger lady in the same photograph and in a pose that is almost the exact opposite of what the elderly lady portrays. Hmmm, is-trange.

Life has quite a lot of this irony; at-least for me, like my previous landowner and current landowner, one obese and the other like a green log scorched in an oven, but that's a story for later.

Ciao.