Instant Karma

Story 1:
Douchebag wearing shades and leather jacket at train station decides that lines aren't for him. Cuts line right to the front, shouts at people in queue who tell him to get in line. Tries to buy ticket. Ticket guy says "First class or GTFO!". Douchebag slinks away to end of line which is now much longer. Instant Karma.

Story 2:
Rash driver dude drives rashly on the highway whilst talking on cellphone. Takes a sharp dangerous turn, thus very rudely cutting me off. Continues driving like nothing's happened and blows next signal. Look of satisfaction on my face as he's stopped by cop just 100m downroad from the signal! Instant Karma.

Story 3:

Person laughs at people for falling off windsurfing board. Said people swim and dunk person into water. Forced Instant Karma! (Yes, this one was me :-/)

Share your stories of Instant Karma too! :)

2011 Is Going To Be an Eventful Year

Tunisia frees itself. Then Egypt frees itself. We watch on in awe. Now Algeria and other countries are rioting for their rights against dictatorships and autocracies.

Anonymous starts where WikiLeaks left and takes the fight to corporations and Big Government. This is going to be interesting. Oh and still waiting for those BofA documents...!

Back home, scam after scam rocks the political establishment. Are we finally saying "enough is enough" to corruption?

In America, the Republican majority seems intent on destroying whatever economic recovery has happened, intent on pushing America further into debt via military spending and the middle class into poverty.

... and we're just 44 days into the year. Eventful 2011 shall be.

Watercolours in the Sand

The Wise Master of Paint looked up from her easel, admiring the wonderful sunrise as her very own work of art. "It is le finished!" she uttered as she washed the brushes and drained the paint.

She then tipped the many-coloured palette on its side and thick paint splattered onto the beach, mixing and drying, forming a blob. Grimy percolation. Watercolours in the Sand...

The Changing Horoscopes!

By now you've surely heard of the news going around: Thanks to the eternal and steady drift of the starts, horoscopes once fixed 2000 years ago no longer hold. The start and end dates have shifted - so if you were Leo earlier, possibly you are Virgo now. Or something.

Logically, the question arises - do you look up your horoscope based on when you were born or which sign you fall under in the current setting? But setting that aside, let's turn to something else.

I recently got hold of a copy of "The Demon Haunted World" by Carl Sagan. A paragraph from it reads:

A scientist places an ad in a Paris newspaper offering a free horoscope. He receives about 150 replies, each as requested, detailing a place and time of birth. Every respondent is then sent the identical horoscope, along with a questionnaire asking how accurate the horoscope had been. 94% of the respondents (and 90% if their families and friends) reply that they were at least recognizable in the horoscope. However, the horoscope was drawn up for a French serial killer. If an astrologer can get this far without even meeting his subjects, think how well someone sensitive to human nuances and not overly scrupulous might do.

... just sayin' you know... That's all.

Continuation Planning

Mozambique is one of the few remaining serene places in the world today, unspoiled by visiting tourists and their ravaging brethren: tour bus operators. Why? Well... mainly because it's a country in Souther Africa with... let us politely say "social problems".

I met a client from Mozambique today. "It's not all that bad", said he, "only rarely do you get robbed. I think it's been only 4 times in the last 10 years for me."

Shock and horror were clearly displayed on my face. I think he caught on to it, for he tried to allay my fears: "Oh it's not a problem. If someone pulls a gun on you, we simply give him all our cash. Then we go back to office and claim it all back. No risk at all!".

And he continued on in his mellow calming voice. I wasn't paying attention though: business plans were churning through my mind. Costs ("Price of red paint?") and target segments ("my frailness would draw in clients") were running through my head.

Outsourcing ("perhaps I can hire people to get robbed for me?") and thoughts of insurance were hammered out as well. Seemed like a perfect business plan.

However, when the topic of "Continuation Planning" was raised... I sort of decided against the idea.

Still. Mozambique. Not all that bad huh?

Can You See The Sun?

Can you see the Sun?
Misty dawns loom
White light, hard won
For flowers to bloom.

Can you see the Sun?
Midday casts white
Shadows and outlines
Of smoke and mirrors.

Can you see the Sun?
Evening rushes
In a hurry to
Herald a Night Sky.

Photoframe

Her hair was the photoframe

That completed her face

And compiled it

Into sunshine

Strange Feather

Dust to Dust

"I'M SIGNIFICANT!" screamed the speck of dust.

And he was. He had been flicked off Julius Ceasar's tunic as he was stabbed by the Guardians of Democaracy.

He had been a part of the red tikka on Subhas Chandra Bose's forehead as he signed a document in blood.

He was the first to be hit by a radioactive particles at Nagasaki.

He had been catapulted a million miles into the atmosphere and finally landed on the arms of a lone protester who stopped rolling tanks in China.

He was a significant speck of dust.

But now he was being judged. His crime: Hitching a ride on a space shuttle and trying to escape - leave this gravity well.

You see, specs of dust weren't allowed to leave here. It was in their contract. It didn't stop millions of them from trying each year though.

So he was now being judged. The judge: A large, heavy rock. One of the Establishment. Oh they didn't mind not leaving. They had it good. Comfortable. Once people grow up, they have no idea what's cool anymore.

Our Significant Speck of Dust sighed. He knew the end result. Prison. Sentenced to a life of drowning in an ocean and living on the sea floor. A refugee dust particle forever with no chance of escape. He screamed his lungs out.

I think it's time we got this bit of dust to a psychologist.

Curiosity Killed the Cat

Hashish was a Tinkerer.

That's what we called them. Tinkerers. Loathed by the good bible fearing folks of the town's crowded streets, they hid themselves in Mommy's basement and other dark unnoticed virtual corners.

They aren't Normal. For one, they stay awake after sunset, sometimes All Night. That's how most of them are caught anyway.

Though, they have it fairly easy in this country. East of here, Tinkerers are publicly quartered every weekend. "For Sport". At a time when the biggest religions are publicly traded in stock markets, it ain't wise to anger the Mobs of Belief.

If my father had his way, they'd all be locked up and exposed to small doses of Alpha-radiation. Not enough to kill, just enough to grotesquely mutate - he thought the irony was perfect: they'd finally resemble their damned creations in the end.