Saturday, April 21, 2007

The Axes.

One of the favorite things that my dad told me is that "The world revolves around two axes - Gravity and Love." Oh how I wish he were wrong, but I know he is not.

When it gets to you
And eats you from within
When it scavenges all the logic
And it makes you sin.
Its where gravity seems to come from
And the axis of your world
The sunlight that makes you squint
And the darkness so absurd.
Its all that you want
Its your past and now
Its all you wish you didn't have,
Its also called LOVE.

COLOR: A violent orange.
SONG: Tera jadoo chal gaya (How appropriate)

Monday, April 9, 2007

The Lovechild dies.

Grammar. What would the language be without it? How would we make sentences? How would we make sense?
I know I am just reiterating facts here. But thats the safest way to go when you are in extreme emotion. I keep turning my blog into my diary. I try not to write when I am at my limit, but it is an inevitable form of expression. But I am going to refrain from writing a poem and butchering this space any further. I hope the next time I come back here, it is with a calm, composed mind that has write-worthy thoughts in them.

COLOR: Black
SONG: Why should I care (Avril Lavigne)

Friday, April 6, 2007

Purple feathers.

Every scientist has one other thing on his mind. By other, I mean other than science. Ben has ice hockey. Nick has cricket. Linda has smoking. Watson is crazy. Stillman has politics. Bruce has wives. Everyone has something else. For me, its my blog. I keep procrastinating writing down the lines in my head. They're like SDS gels - if not blotted onto blogs soon enough, they'll diffuse away into the buffer and be lost as an unknown ion forever. I don't know whether me writing so electrophorically has anything to do with the fact that I have had time to think of little else than work. I don't think many people in the scientific community blog, so my thoughts rest to be interpreted.

Give it a name

I've trodden that path before
The one in front of you now
Soon you'll turn your back to it
But don't ask me how.

The person I thought was you
Turned out to be a mirror
Although you are just a reflection
Your presence is much more clear.

If you were me
And I were you
Would it all then be false
All that's now true?

So what is it called?
And who do I blame?
It's a little more than love
Just give it a name.

COLOR: That of those ridiculous feathers sitting on my desk that belong to Jen
SONG: Baby drive my car.