Lotus wild over sakura

Lost words finding a home....

Lysistrata (Hackett Classics Series)

Lysistrata - Aristophanes, Sarah Ruden It had been quite awhile since I contemplated over any books let alone penning a critical appraisal on Goodreads. It was tough trying to get words out of the overwhelming emotional vortex; an obstinate ketchup bottle ignoring the need of a fried potato for the tangy goodness. So, when Brian suggested a group reading of Lysistrata, I was a bit apprehensive. A Greek playwright crossing the dreaded course of fallen heroic tragedies; even more remorse to my cerebral coma; not a luxurious indulgence at the moment. Lysistrata is a woman’s name; yes it is and sex is the weapon used to hem the broken olive branch.“To husband or lover, I’ll not open arms. Though love and denial may enlarge his charms. But still at home, ignoring him, I’ll stay. Bountiful, clad in saffron silk all day. If then he seizes me with by dint of force, I’ll give him reason for a long remorse. I’ll never lie and stare up at the ceiling. Nor like a lion on all four go kneeling. If I keep faith then bounteous cups be mine. Do you swear to this? Then I shall immolate the victim thus.” Holding a pair of olive logs, a vine torch and a small pot of live embers; Lysistrata and her women folk thus embarked on an egalitarian journey within the locked Acropolis citadel; a long awaited unified cry of misplaced wisdom. Neither the pointless sexist blabber from unassailable old men who rather burn the protesters than give a patient ear nor the wailing of desperate husbands and lovers could shake the well rooted fortitude of this rebellious bunch. Peace is what they strive at the cost of their fornication. We pay taxes, manage finesse with domestic budgetary, and give birth to descendants who will render their youth to deathly absurdities in a unproductive war. Abandoned voices yearning to be heard outside the bedroom in the ubiquitous courtyards of masochism. I’m a free woman; screams this slap-stick engaging play. Aristophanes delineated a cohesive front; an equalized gender dais debating the validity of aggressive hostilities. Wars not only annihilate countries but families too. Common sense is a rarity and idiocy the universal daily crow of a proud rooster. Underestimating the weak is the biggest blunder of an astute strategist. And, 'Groupthink' is not just a term coined by a confident Mr. Janis; harried egocentric faulty pronouncements can even corrupt sincerity. Remember the ‘Bay of Pigs’?? Nevertheless all is not lost and the inbred humor prances around like a spring rabbit. One cannot help but laugh when distressed over the abstinence issue Myrrhine’s husband Cinesias brings their child to convince to come back to a lovely home and a lonely husband. Even after pledging to bringpeace to the land, Myrrhine does not give in to the carnal needs bringing Cinesias to tear his hair out.CINESIASA wicked thing, as I repeat.O Zeus, O Zeus,Canst Thou not suddenly let looseSome twirling hurricane to tearHer flapping up along the airAnd drop her, when she's whirled around,Here to the groundNeatly impaled upon the stakeThat's ready upright for her sake Baudrillard was precise in inferring the power of seduction to be greater than the act itself."Master the kitchen, master the bedroom and so shall rule your husband". The evergreen thumb rule of triumph of one of my elderly aunt’s long-lasting marriage. In a world devoid of any sex toys or cinematic screenings, sex and food was the ultimate seduction of power. “Buy me the silver or no midnight climaxes!” You want me to clean after you; my closed legs will be your eternal marriage gift!”.... Can sex be really used as a weapon by ladies of all societal strata? Power seekers beware of the fairer sex for they have unfailing artillery!! Is the abstinence of sex capable of stopping mindless male aggression of power? Could Silvio Berlusconi minimize the impact of EU crisis if Ruby had protested the Bunga Bunga? Gaddafi would not have met with such a brutal death for being a scoundrel of a dictator. An excellent point put forth by Brian, about the Iraq War; wonders if the search of the indiscernible WMDs would have stopped if Mrs.Bush along with Mrs. Blair transpired Lysistrata proposal at the White House. The new democratic gesticulation could discipline the wildest of men, Napoleon would have been the best candidate; as the saying goes small men huge “ego”. Aristophanes is undoubtedly a visionary for banishing the discrepancies of gender biases bequeathing the ‘weaker’ sex with a new leash of power and control. No more will the patriarchal societies characterize gender roles and women no longer will be pretty bodies sitting on a vagina. Lysistrata’s protest was not designated to demoralize the validity of manhood, but an outright memo of the rarity of common sense and advocacy of peace over a senseless war fought for decades. The weak can be strong when they stand up for their rights and cannot be easily dismissed by mere ignorance. Not only wars, but numerous crimes against can be stopped with the ongoing strategy. The only fear looms is of how long it will be until the newly acquired democratic forum spits an authoritative fire. But, that is yet a farsighted destination and as of now, peace was ultimately restored and the Greeks merrily celebrated with abundance wine and sex. Wasn't that (sex) the ultimate catch after all?LYSISTRATAEarth is delighted now; peace is the voice of earth.Spartans, sort out your wives: Athenians, yours.Let each catch hands with his wife and dance his joy,Dance out his thanks, be grateful in music,And promise reformation with his heels.

Dom/sub

Dom/sub - B.D. Dark, Roxy Harte How did it come to this? How did I let it get this far?The X-shaped crosses, hard cocks aching for sinister exploits , perfect mounds of brazen protuberances, the Shibaru-Kinbaku knots, piercing leather clasps, lavish dungeons and those explicit imagery of Yoo Ji-Tae from Secret Love. Was I searching for such lust when I entered the store? I knew the recognizable twinge springing through my warm body when I saw it lay amid the boisterous articles; the quintessential oddball. Was I truly prepared for the experience once again? The unbearable sighs in the offing for a consequential release; the chronic tapping of feet on the cold floor; was I geared up for all? The thought of constricted bondage enraging the power of an imminent DOM was more pleasurable than diamond fields and spouter whales. “Bashfulness is a fool’s play and carnal desire the game of the brave” said the effervescent estrogen. I quickly made a run for it before anyone could glimpse my restlessness. Ecstasy swayed in my cold perspiration. Do I wait till I reach my bedroom; I deliberated, or audaciously curl on the orange sofa right here. Why is that man staring at me? Did he sense my uneasiness, like a wolf vigilant at the hint of raw blood? Steve was a bit apprehensive too, until Kim liberated his inner dominance into a marvelous competent DOM. Kim was reckless or perhaps a passionate SUB who went to lengths to please her Master. The subjection of bondage and the rapture of throbbing pleasure pulling lustful bodies into a labyrinth of sexual supremacy shadows uncontested sanity. Kim yearned to be bound, caned and fucked so did Julia, who longed for a submissive control after her previous Master’s death. Did Julia find her Master who could bestow the gift of a mindless orgasm and was Steve fated to be captivating DOM prudent in his role of generating boundaries to a zealous SUB?"The vessel receives whatever is poured in it. It doesn't complain that the contents are too hot or too cold, but accepts what is given without question. The vessel then holds the liquid until the provider chooses to empty it again. It is up to the provider to judge when the vessel is full and to stop before it overflows, spilling and wasting the precious essence of life".A Dom/Sub can truly enjoy a consensual rewarding BDSM relationship when he/she adheres to responsible boundaries, safeguarding it from a callous sphere of violence. "Ma’am, can I help you with something?"; the strange man was few breaths away and audaciously gawking at my hand. "Is that all or do you want to look for some more?" More!!! He thinks I’m into some kind of perversion. Does denying to vote against pornography misrepresents your sexual intentions? If someone likes to be fucked wildly, well go ahead by all means as long as it does not involve a hamster molesting a cilantro. Politely, I excuse myself from his offered help and dash to the wooden desk hoping I do not see him again. Like a half-lit Marlboro waiting to be smoked, there is he again waiting for me with a bunch of questions. As I slowly unzip he blurts out, “Plastic or paper?” Excuse me! It’s a bag, you sillies!!! Subsequently, after paying for my purchase I zip up my purse and as I exit the bookstore all I have is an titillating erotica and a pack of Marlboro geared up to fill my fantasies with an alluring smoke.

Antwerp

Antwerp - Roberto Bolano Play the flute, O dear death, Frantic solitude engraves,In your mellow embrace, Letters of a fleeting breath.Sometimes, I just lay on the floor fearing of being drowned in the emotional mayhem conferred by a book for being loyal to its words. And, then at times when I have no answers to the myriad questionnaires I seek refuge in these written words as a lost soul finding its home. The desire for a transparent ceiling seems surreal like a fish praying for wings. The fatalities of trust, love, sex, respect, ethics, sovereignty muddied in doubt are far from being a pompous cavalcade of death or life; a grotesque portrait of ceremonial inscrutability. “Words are empty” branded over their breasts, the mouth-less women lead a comatose march down the street bowing to the old man comforting a frightened bleeding vagina. ”Don’t be afraid”, screamed the anarchic breeze thrusting the penis through obedient surrender. A violence of an unapologetic penis behind the flowery enchanted mirage. “Destroy your stray phrases”, resonate through the ears of the nameless girl as courage is more terrifying than pleasure. The youth at the newspaper stand stood aghast at the sight of six mutilated corpses strewn on the pages. Six campers dead. Kids blown up. Power is the heroin of vengeance. Doubt its coke. Death squads parading in patriotic veils; a tribute to the “dirty war”. Anonymous lives constricted to the page of a newspaper archive. A man carrying a tin of sardines asking for a match. People stare at his hunchback while he lights his half cigarette. Robert Bolano was his name; the man who offered hunchback a cigarette light. Mexico is his mind; Spain his heart. A blonde comes running into his arms singing her love; a fleeting happy memory for she would eventually break his heart. Police sprint like a wild stampede scouting pretty faces for the night as the hunchback runs through the woods. An Englishman strapping a white sheet onto the burly tree at the end of the bicycle road. The stomping of angry feet, the feeble breathe of a vagrant pollute the sanity of the trees; the Englishman trying to pen words, the hunchback running through the bicycle path ; a deafening explosion; a crimson sardine graffiti. The cold steel burns in the wrath of a running train; the monotonous perversion of an obstinate contraption. A sorrowful cry of anguish from a nameless girl, “Will death be peaceful than life?” someone drags her to an isolated building; a tranquil hospice. Papers or sex? Drugs or sex? Torture or a smoky barrel? Rational or Irrational. Traitors!! Drive all the hunchbacks to the sea. We do not want our children with humps. Let them be washed like footsteps on the sand. My land! Our Land! No muddied blood, purity; the rebellion of selfish mouths. A camouflaging devil ironically promises paradise. The ghosts of past are dismissed on hallucinatory grounds. A curly haired writer walks in a bar; bartender pours him a drink. A deadly bomb. Somewhere a cat loses its whiskers. The record playing an old song, but the dancing stops. Faces on the wall. Photos in case files. Reminiscences in an album lingering in grieving hands. Grenades are the new voices and gangsters their mothers. The girl who wrote dragons succumbed to the cannibal figs. The cops are tired now and all they need is a fuck. Burn those files! Damn those fuckers! Another immigrant dissolved in acidic wrath. The unemployed youth rests reading the crime story of an amateur writer, gazing at the drug laden whore. "Memory slowly dictated soundless sentences". Beware of Colan Yar! Flee you silly birds before the wolf and its warriors gulp you down. The mouth-less women reappear cleaning the blood stained road to Antwerp; pigs chewing on an pale arm. I yearn for the cerulean heavens but the wretched vertical opaqueness blurs my sight. I still lay on the hard floor. Then I think of Bolano and his psyche of writing this poetic chronicle. His words sprinting on the paper, amid the rapes and murders committed behind meticulously festooned habitats. I think about Sara Bendeman , Lola Muriel and several women ; an innocence lost in swirling vortex of torment. All those hunchbacks, who could never build a home away from home. In an interview, Bolano had declared his children to be his true motherland. It is to them that he found a true sense of belonging. His was a nomad all through his life; through his travels and his wandering mind. “Reality is a drag”. Hallucination ; the festering mental façade. But isn’t life an ornate façade after all. Everyone wants to wear their rose-tinted blinders and sweep the pragmatic debris in their basement. Genuine voices are muted by vacant pride and rage and violence become mutinous gold. Faces and names walk into nothingness with time, gladly literature brings them alive. Bolano awakens the dead and give them their voices once again. He brings Sophie Podolski back into my room. This 55-piece fragmented articulation is a lyrical ode to asphyxiated bureaucracy and to countless who rebel with transparent dragons.Play the flute, O dear death, Wild figs eat themselves,From their rancid flesh,Humble ghosts ascends.

Patriots and Partisans

Patriots and Partisans - Ramachandra Guha To someone who is well-versed with the nitty-gritty of Indian political panorama and exceedingly vigilant to the chimerical democratic garb that Indian politics adorn, barring a few nostalgic personal textual pieces, this book is akin to reading newspaper articles and magazines scouting for scholarly debates over eloquent verses surpassing tapered attitudes to a universal perceptive of secularists farce under autocratic, fascists and pluralists mirages. To the unknown it's a revelation.

Aristophanes Birds

Birds - Aristophanes, Nan Dunbar Nephelococcygia, a metropolis in air,Zeus' cloudy nightmare,Unlikely a bedroom scareFrom a sparrow’s wild rare.A respite between heaven and earth,“An avian heaven”, says Pisthetaerus, Flirting with the nightingale’s mirthHoopoe consents ; what a fucking putz!Sacred chants float over the lustral waters,The birds join the jubilant choir,The peacock dancing in a tutu simply backfires,It’s not an ass-whooping Le Ballet Noir!The pelican, the spoon-bill, the horned-owl, the teal, the stormy petrel and the titmouse,Solemnized the laws of the land,Harboring the Olympians grouse,I rather be chained and canned.Messiah to Bitch Dependency,“Birds over bitches!” proclaims a pimp called Slickback,Pleading for wings is a bitch tendency,Cloud-cuckoo town- a two-cent hustler.Rainbows descent on womanly divinity,“That’s a bitch!” , yelps Slickback,Iris, messenger of Gods, heart of Zeus’ affinity,“That bitch’s gonna fuck y’all".Perching on twigs, the birds laud the forgotten heroes,A choral interlude, a cry for pigeons,Howl the pigeons preening their Afros,“You came to the wrong neighborhood, motherfucking wigeons!”A cry of an amateur,Verses may not rationally clickLeast an award clincher,I care a fuck ; I just blasted a stick!

Clouds (Clarendon Paperbacks)

Clouds - Aristophanes, Kenneth James Dover “Well, what do the slanderers say? They shall be my prosecutors, and I will sum up their words in an affidavit: 'Socrates is an evil-doer, and a curious person, who searches into things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the worse appear the better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others.' Such is the nature of the accusation: it is just what you have yourselves seen in the comedy of Aristophanes (Aristoph., Clouds.), who has introduced a man whom he calls Socrates, going about and saying that he walks in air, and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters of which I do not pretend to know either much or little—not that I mean to speak disparagingly of any one who is a student of natural philosophy...... As little foundation is there for the report that I am a teacher, and take money; this accusation has no more truth in it than the other... a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong—acting the part of a good man or of a bad."Plato’s version of Socrates’ confession during the latter’s death trial (399BC) insinuates Aristophanes to be a conservative thinker, an affirmation later established during the play. Although several of Aristophanes’ works are a philosophical think-tank debating the validity of orthodoxy dogmas, his rebuttal to Socrates’ Western philosophy stemmed from the argument discourse on atheism (a grave offence in the 5th century) and deficient holistic theoretical rearing. Aristophanes’ dismissal of the ‘sophists’ philosophy outweighing traditional values by means of scientific reasons was acutely delineated through lampooning caricatures of Socrates and his school of reasoning. Thus, portraying Socrates as a dangerously hypnotic figure of modern values which could be detrimental to a just society; the complete idea of “one man’s virtue, other man’s vice” being ridiculed.Despair, without which happiness would never be the nectar of the heart, is a demon mocking melancholic cries; a curse to human soul. The burden of his son’s gallivanting debts deprives Strepsiades from peaceful nightly reveries. He laments the day he got married, the root of his misery –Phidippides, his son. Anxious about his escalating financial woes, Strepsiades relentlessly pleads his son to acquire eloquent verbal skills as a plausible defensive method to escape the problematical debt. In a turn of unfortunate events, Strepsiades takes utmost responsibility of eradicating the prevailing misery by enrolling in the “thinking” school presided by Socrates himself.Kierkegaard in his moralistically aesthetic tome articulates, “Aren’t people absurd! They never use freedom they do have but demand those they don’t have; they have freedom of thought they demand freedom of speech”. How truthfully one can assert these words to be, rightfully in the case of Strepsiades! A man ridden with monetary obligations to his lenders chooses to escape his moral responsibility by sheltering his shortcomings in the veil of eloquent orations; Strepsiades comes forth as a desperate man, yet, a coward to own up to his follies and chooses the art of glib as his weapon to envelop the quarters of corrupt thoughts. When questioned by Socrates on how would he win his case without any witnesses, Strepsiades resorts to the absurdity of abducting the moon through witchcraft; an obnoxious notion of lunacy and if vulnerably cornered he would kill himself as no can prosecute a dead man. Aristophanes satire screams the deviant tactics used by numerous scamming actors in various walks of life. The bankruptcy claims filed by corporate giants and public figures in bid to escape grave punishments are personified through Strep’s each irresponsible procedures. The question of suicide being the remedy of a defenseless acquittal however is debatable over humane grounds of self- sacrifice, though not escaping the cowardice stigma. On the other hand Phidippides, the carefree youth who initially mocks the Sophists for their preposterous sermons, ultimately succumbs to sophistry fluency exercising the training on his own father. Aristophanes’ handling of Phidi’s education as a metaphor exposes the intricacies of Socrates’ Western philosophy; the assault of Strep by Phidi rationalizing the violence as a equalized moralistic chastisement affirms Aristophanes’ fear of scholastic radicalism despite the fact that it implies the Aristophanes very proposal of challenging stagnated principles. Soren Kierkegaard in Conspiracy of Irony esteems Aristophanes for his meticulous portrayal of a sardonic Socrates;" It is of importance first of all to be satisfied that the Socrates brought on stage by Aristophanes is the actual Socrates. Just as ancient tradition fortifies this conviction, there are various traits found in this play that either are historically certain or at least prove to be altogether analogous to what we otherwise know about Socrates." This seems a bit incongruous as both these thinkers stand under the same existentialists umbrellas. Further, the scene where Strepsiades derides Socrates for hanging mid-air cuddled in a basket questioning the validity of GOD ;uttering the inferential ‘Clouds’ to be superior (as events of thunderstorms, rains, etc...are scientifically proven to be the effects of evaporation rather than miracles) affirms the skepticism over Socrates ironical works. As Kierkegaard surmises,“The ironist, to be sure, is lighter than the world, but on the other hand he still belongs to the world like Mohammed’s coffin, he is suspended between the two magnets”; a perfect case for Socrates mid-air illusion of looking down on Gods yet somehow he remains attached to the ground- earth. Speaking of ironical suppositions, one cannot overlook the emphasis on the Socratic Method used in the initial stages of Strepsiades enrollment in the “thinking” school; two opposite views pitted against in a series of debates to extract the beliefs and stance on an exacting issue. Soc. And for what did you come? Strep. Wishing to learn to speak; for by reason of usury, and most ill-natured creditors, I am pillaged and plundered, and have my goods seized for debt. Soc. How did you get in debt without observing it? Strep. A horse-disease consumed me—terrible at eating. But teach me the other one of your two causes, that which pays nothing; and I will swear by the gods, I will pay down to you whatever reward you exact of me. Soc. By what gods will you swear? For, in the first place, gods are not a current coin with us. Strep. By what do you swear? By iron money, as in Byzantium? Soc. Do you wish to know clearly celestial matters, what they rightly are? Strep. Yes, by Jupiter, if it be possible!Similar concept is applied in the powering dispute between the ‘Just’ and ‘Unjust’ regarding the establishment of the education system. At this juncture, Aristophanes does not fail to impress the reader with his strong views on a holistic education. Rationalizing the need for a traditional yet, liberal education, he addresses his ideas through the ‘Just’ mouthpieces criticizing the “new unjust education” of slippery rhetoric and murky morals. Satirizing orthodox teachings Aristophanes elucidates the dire need to challenge longstanding societal decree, whilst adhering to moralistic virtues, an ignorant aspect with the sophist’s radicalism. Strepsiades setting fire to the school, the flea ridden bed onto which Socrates shoves Strepsiades, the thrashing of a father by his son on moralistic grounds, speaks volumes of Aristophanes’ disdain for scientifically rationalized atheist edification. Thus, it can be carefully deduced that the lampooning of Socrates and his methods was for the very reason of Aristophanes dreading that “know thyself” existentialism might take a sinister turn; a fear of sinners becoming saints. Aristophanes not only subjects Socrates’ philosophical teachings to logical reasoning, but criticizes his contemporary methods to impart the virtues of good and evil. The satire which now seems more to be a battle between the sophists and realists rather than a frantic solution to a father’s debt problems, encircles each controversial issue from religion, education and moralistic corruption.Lastly, ‘The Chorus of Clouds’; the finality of Aristophanes’ hypothetical dogma. The symbolism of clouds bore utmost responsibility in diagnosis of Socrates atheist beliefs debating the eternal dilemma of religion v/s science as well become the voice of the writer; primarily being the voice of scientific validation, and in due course substituting as a virtuous mediator imparting the repercussions of ‘karma’; a boomeranging bitch that chants the "reap what you sow" hymn. Cho. What a thing it is to love evil courses! For this old man, having loved them, wishes to withhold the money that he borrowed. And he will certainly meet with something today, which will perhaps cause this sophist to suddenly receive some misfortune, in return for the knaveries he has begun. For I think that he will presently find what has been long boiling up, that his son is skillful to speak opinions opposed to justice, so as to overcome all with whomsoever he holds converse, even if he advance most villainous doctrines; and perhaps, perhaps his father will wish that he were even speechless.“A choice is a radical one. And its radicalness still lies in the total redefining of the values of a human life. It is important to realize the compass of the redefinition. It isn't a matter simply of turning over a new leaf; the choice of oneself means rewriting the whole book.”Taking Kierkegaard’s expressions in perspective I wonder if it is ever possible to live an aesthetically moral life or we as human are compelled to make a choice weighing the pros and cons that life throws at us. And, if undermining traditional values was detrimental to a well-organized social order then saints would eventually become sinners.

Beauty and Sadness

Beauty and Sadness - Yasunari Kawabata, Howard Hibbett The acrylics are laid on a wooden table with monochromatic perfection. A blank canvass waits to be explored. Water droplets glisten as they leave the auburn bristles of the brush. A flurry of horizontal strokes awakens the sordid paleness. A dash of vertical Prussian blue collides with wavy ochre. Vermillion over emerald. Sienna peeping through the cobalt notes. The brushes fall and fingers reign the dyed paper. The fingers run wild, flooding the whiteness like an angry rainbow across the empty sky. The sanctity of the easel lost to the festering colours. The tinted viscosity blurs the didactic depiction normalizing irrationality between the artist and the portrait. Consuming art. Consuming love.Basho writes :- The temple bell stops. But the sound keeps coming out of the flowers.Isn't the consciousness of love like these temple bells? Long after its physicality ends, the essence lingers through budding emotions within the delicate sounds of the past. How is it to experience a love so abstract that death seems a friendly stranger? Ueno Otoko, loving a man who stole her childhood, delineates the purity of an overwhelming emotion –love and not clemency. Otoko lost her baby during a painful childbirth; a tearful goodbye with only the memory of her child’s pristine black hair. Otoko was 16, when she overdosed on sleeping pills after her baby’s death; a bid to escape the encumbering deficient love. As a solitary blossom among the sea of stones, Otoko bloomed amid the darkness of a distorted love perplexed at her long survival. The colours in her portraits were tales of Otoko’s poignant heart ; the brush strokes searched her child’s face."She had no idea of the face and form of her baby, only a vision in her heart. She knew very well that the child in her. Ascension of an Infant would not look like her dead baby, and she had no wish to paint a realistic portrait. What she wanted was to express her sense of loss, her grief and affection for someone she had never seen. She had cherished that desire so long that the image of the dead infant had become a symbol of yearning to her. She thought of it whenever she felt sad. Also the picture was to symbolize herself surviving all these years, as well as the beauty and sadness of her love for Oki."In a Girl of Sixteen, Oki immortalized the woman he considered his only passionate love. A woman who at a tender age of 15 lost her virginity to a much married man in his 30s. Kawabata delineates Oki as a man lost in egocentric love; even though ridden by guilt of blemishing Otoko’s youth, Oki pursued the forbidden tenderness as though the inherent madness of it all kept him alive."It was the tragic love story of a very young girl and a man himself still young but with a wife and child: only the beauty of it had been heightened, to the point that it was unmarred by any moral questioning."The stillness of his memories kept Otoko alive through his writings and the ringing of New Year’s bells in Kyoto with each passing year."What were memories? What was the past that he remembered so clearly?..............he could not escape the pain of having spoiled her life, possible of having robbed her of every chance for happiness.......the vividness of the memories mean that she was separated separated from him...."From flaunting his affairs to Fumiko to consciously leaving his wife out of the memoirs for an untainted tale of intricate passionate love and earning his generous royalties from the book; Oki is an outright amoral man. Kawabata gives a picture of a reckless man imparting ugliness through beautiful sentiments. In the autumn of his life how could he hope for forgiveness from a woman who lived his aberrant repercussions?Keiko on the other hand is a misguided passionate lover. One could say her love for Otoko was mere teenage infatuation, but her determination in seeking revenge from Oki throws a different light on Keiko’s commitment to Otoko. Kawabata underplays homosexuality limiting Keiko’s relationship with her teacher (Otoko) only to the idea of revenge. It may be due to Otoko resisting of letting go her past ghosts spinning a web of jealousy for Keiko. Or Kawabata hesitated in exploring a lesbian love due to cultural restraints."Otoko still loved Oki, her baby, and her mother, but could these loves have gone unchanged from the time when they were a tangible reality to her? Could not something of these very loves have been subtly transformed into self-love?Of course she would not be aware of it. She had been parted from her baby and her mother by death, and from Oki by a final separation, and these three still lived within her. Yet Otoko alone gave them this life. Her image of Oki flowed along with her through time, and perhaps her memories of their love affair had been dyed by the color of her love for herself, had even been transformed. It had never occurred to her that bygone memories are merely phantoms and apparitions. Perhaps it was to be expected that a woman who had lived alone for two decades without love or marriage should indulge herself in memories of a sad love, and that her indulgence should take on the color of self-love."Keiko- Otoko’s protégée and a jealous lover avenged Otoko’s melancholy through the malicious play of her physical splendor consuming Taichiro in her seduction. Fumiko whose love was loyal and simple towards Oki, yet appallingly as she prospered in Otoko’s printed exhibition. Otoko who still loved Oki, her mother and her baby and never let go of her 16 yr old from her soul, the very reason of her being hesitant in sketching Keiko somehow seem to be her teenage apparition. And, Oki who could never distinguish nostalgic remorse from factual remorse. Akin to the moss covered roof at the restaurant that never had the chance to dry out because being weighed down by the huge tree, all of Kawabata’s characters were stuck in time buried under the obscurity of memories and prejudices"Time passed. But time flows in many streams. Like a river, an inner stream of time will flow rapidly at some place and sluggishly at others or perhaps even strand hopelessly stagnant. Cosmic time is the same for everyone, but human time differs with each person. Time flows in the same was for all human beings, every human being flows through time in a different way."Issa writes:- Cherry blossoms in evening. Ah well, today also belongs to the past.Love is narcissistic, deviant, vengeful, powerful and yet somehow beautiful. It breathes life into one’s solitude only to revel in the silence of emptiness,. Happiness is transient and it is in sadness that tranquil loveliness bloom like a white lotus on fire. Beauty encompasses sadness through a spate of sorrows and death; the fleeting exquisiteness of cherry blossom that eventually meets the earthly grave.

Hardboiled and Hard Luck

Hardboiled and Hard Luck - Banana Yoshimoto, Michael Emmerich Ms. Lizzie D’souza used to make the most decadent marzipan Easter eggs a palate has ever savored. Nestled oh so cozily among the delicate weaves of satin cradles, unwearyingly waiting for enthusiastic strangers through the glass casement, somehow brought ephemeral magic to the quaint bakery down the leafy street; evermore dazzling with Lizzie’s welcoming smile. Easter is still a month away, but the commencing of Lent has brought in an inventory of pre-orders of the sugary almond confectionery. “We take Easter egg orders- original, caramel and chocolate” ; shone through the marble interiors of a grand patisserie. I put in my order for a two dozen of lavender hued and beige marzipan goodies with sugary icing. They now come in stylish boxes and not in those satin cradles. Ms. Lizzie has been dead for more than a decade now and the bakery has been lost somewhere in the gigantic commercialized edifice. The misty eyes and half-woken smile that followed me home was not in the commemoration of the deceased bakery or Ms. Lizzie , it was the wakeful memory of my first ever road tantrum ; an obstinate demeanor that soulfully made my grandfather splurge our cab fare on Ms. Lizzie’s marzipan creations. I was the happiest 4-yr old carrying my prize all the way home.Closure is the trickiest word in the human psyche. Closure -- the desire or need individuals have for information that will allow them to conclude an issue that had previously been clouded in ambiguity and uncertainty. I am way too old to be in denial of my grandpa’s demise, but, undying memories never seem to be fading. Although, the conclusion of existing physicality two decades ago seems a distant past to those copious tears that flowed in the initial years, yet dormant emotions triggering with the slightest hint of nostalgia can never bring the said rational closure. Maybe, because I never got say a proper goodbye. I was in school when he departed this very earth. Closure is certainly the most passive sentiment.“Time expands and contracts. When it expands, it’s like pitch; it folds people in its arms and holds them forever in its embrace. It doesn't let us go very easily. Sometime you go back again to the place you've come from and close your eyes and realize that not a second has passed, and time just leaves you there, stranded, in the darkness.”Chizuru was an enigmatic personality. External noises striding through her apartment walls never bothered her, if truth be told; they actually comforted her in some weird ways. I reckon her alienated life yearned for sounds all round. The music prancing around the CD player, couples sharing intimate conversations in the neighboring flat; the resonating gradations reassured her anxious disposition. Chizuru’s untimely death left her lover in a quandary of mystifying culpability. Mr. John belting out “sorry seems to be the hardest word” in the background questions the narrator’s supernatural illusions on a mountainous trek and begs the validity of Elton’s words. Did Chizuru’s baffling death left a hollow space in the chronicler’s burdensome heart? Would she attain the said closure of over her lover’s demise if only she could tell Chizuru how her decision to end the relationship was entirely her doing and if she could she would have stayed back? Incomplete farewells weigh one’s heart down more than the encumbered consequences of a hardboiled life; mystical reveries being the definitive pied piper to the veiled fretfulness. “Death isn't sad. What hurts is being drowned with emotions”.Kuni’s hard luck distorted her sister’s sanity with tearful valedictions each day as Kuni slowly succumbed to obscure comatose depths. Coming to terms with the frozen reality of bereavement as the boundless spirit flies from the morbid bodily haven; undoubtedly the nastiest occurrence of life and death. Emptiness looms its ghastly countenance when we move from old to new relationships; the living endures the melancholic adversities of the departed. "To focus on the unbearable only marred what was scared…….. If any thing was a miracle, it was the lovely moments we experienced during the small, almost imperceptible period of relief”.'Rest in peace', as we bless the departed soul, the genuine prayer is sermonic for serenity of the living. Yoshimoto’s undemanding prose may not be alarming and plays around surrealism similar to other Japanese literary compatriots, but, its fateful characters are memorable. Indeed, there is no closure to a heartfelt remembrance.

Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades, #1)

Fifty Shades of Grey - E.L. James These days I must either be unconsciously walking the sanctimonious path to righteousness or in denial with the predicament of my sexual death. The 90s sitcoms mysteriously pop up on my television screen when my eyes count the oiled lashes bestowed on a stripped breasts of a writhing submissive. It never happens when I earnestly comprehend to Brzezinski rambling about how human race is caught between scientifically enhanced eras and he has no clue to sustain his ambivalent optimism. Unlike Joey who climbs through Dawson’s window, Vinnie had no Freudian inhibitions when he enters Doogie’s bedroom. Vincent Delphino was a quirky lad, clueless about Doogie’s diary. Doogie typing his daily conversant generalizations on a computer mesmerized a little girl. She took the diary with a vengeance, scribbling every word that jumped across her slothful mind; each night she wrote; ripping pages out the book dearly, wishing how wonderful it would be to have a computer like Doogie. Several years past by, the girl got a computer, her joy seemed no ends, she could type just like that teen she saw on the television. Then, the horror, the trauma of globalization; a certain E. L. James took to WORD churning out listless passages of bondage....., the girl came to know, she was curious , aghast and crushed. How could someone be so brutal to mock the very existence of wordy sexual reveries? That night as owls listlessly wandered over a cold roof and porous cherry red walls gave way to animalistic noises prevailing in the humidity blurring the moistening senses of pain; she wrote to the music of keypads misplaced in the deafening moans. If sex was so intensely rejoiced regardless the copulating demeanor, wouldn’t it be fair to justify the act elegantly on paper?----------------------------------------From:- Bogged Down by Sexual MonotonySubject:- Airy FingersTo:- E.L. JamesThose deep green irises undressed her through racing altitudes, stripping her to a little red number she had shopped during one of her trips to Munich. The nipple baring bra fiercely stretched over her pale skin. What was she thinking of wearing it on a 3-hr plane ride? She could have waited till she got into his apartment? Eagerness was getting the better of her and now she was vulnerable in this stranger’s eyes, feeling exposed. She trembled as his fingers glided over the black slacks, wetness dampened the linen on her thighs and sweat glistened on her lips. How she wanted him to stop, but her mouth gave away a loud assertion. As he inched forward her toes curled kicking her brand new Loubotins in aisle. I must be crazy, she thought. What could this stranger possibly do? Does he know I’m a trainee? Could he be…? Is he..?.....Could I pen an erotica like you too? I guarantee I can churn out more series than Stallone can film Rocky. I may deter from using elementary vocabulary for such a ravenous sexual act, nevertheless I would not mind spurning a “holy fuck”, or a “holy shit” or even a voluminous repetition of “oh dear God…oh dear God!! Is that really you God or Elvis”?Write back soon.------------------------------------------From:- BDSM Sub:- Is Mr. Grey in fact Edward Cullen in disguise?To:- E.L. JamesDoes Christian Grey harbor a blood sucking fetish? Or is really Edward Cullen who gave up stalking teenagers and now indulges in some bondage sex? Could you enlighten me on the whole “twilight fanfiction “euphoria, Master? I’m quite the naïve sub here who needs your teachings in these maddening comparisons? If I may speak Master, I reckon the “twilight notion” is in fact the brightening prospects of how both seem to miraculously excel in irksome literature. Am I going to be punished for this, Master? Write back soon, Master.-------------------------------------------From:- BDSMSub:- Sexually adventurous or a sexual juvenile?To:- E.L.James“Holy shit! I’m on Google”…Could I be more excited?” Are you depicting on how Chandler would bang Monica in their lavender hued living room? Hmm....could I be hornier?. Symptomatic peculiarities accompanying hyperventilation, genital excitement, twitching of limbs which can lead to a crossbow maneuver, parched thoracic uneasiness and in extreme cases a heavy bout of cold showers; the vigor of a sexual act that screams orgasm seems to have lost it way among juvenile incoherence of foreplay and verbal foul play But, all is not lost and there is after all a dim flicker at the end of this unexciting tunnel. The classification of the BDSM hits the right nerve. Dominant….Submissive……Switch….? Although it may look sadistic, bondage lifestyle is consensual. Some like to indulge in a caviar cream while others in a furry handcuff tightly cuffed on a St. Andrews as the oiled whip lashes away on bare skin. Clandestine acts are highly respected as it is frown by sexual prudes. If one likes troubled waters rather than smooth sailing, why hang the mutineers? Christian is a high-quality Dom but lack the severity that comes with the title. Ana seems to be a virgin until the end page. “Five more lashes on the bare ass” sounds more desirable than “Hope he removes my panties”..... too soon or too audacious? Are we a bunch of sexual prudes or sexual nincompoops who will fall for any categorized erotica for it mere usage of a BDSM glossary?Write back soon.-----------------------------------------------From:- BDSMSub:- Is it farewell?To:- E.L.JamesA goodbye seems a distant thing now. There is more pain coming. Are you pleasured enough to experience it again? Write back soon.-------------------------------------------Afterword. The girl measured each word that her fingers danced to. How could she stop now? She yearned for more. This was not sufficient; the voice from the adjoining room became louder with every thump on the treacherous walls. Deeper and deeper as her thoughts pierced the murky air, she knew the woman across the room did not see Elvis but something much more ravishing.To improvise Henry Miller; What’s a fuck, when I want is a spectacular erotica?

Fantasy's Fear

Fantasy's Fear - Vonna Harper When re-runs of Full House and Uncle Jesse seem more thrilling than a sex scene in an erotica, it is time to bid adieu to throbbing vaginas convulsing at a fantasy club and guzzle down a chilled lager.

Bared to You: A Crossfire Novel

Bared to You  - Sylvia Day Who Wet that Pussy??? :- Gideon Cross, A Pimp and Sexual Parasomnia.Gideon Cross :- Uh, who the hell are you?A Pimp Formely Called Slickback (aPFCS) :- Mr. Cross this is ‘A Pimp Formerly Called Slickback’ and I have come for an intervention. Gideon :- What are you called now?aPFCS :- Are you an imbecile, boy! It’s ‘A Pimp Formerly Called Slickback’ like “Artist Formerly Called Prince".Gideon : - Is this some kind of a joke?aPFCS :- Are you a Michael Bolton fan? Say with me now ‘ A Pimp Formerly Called Slickback’.Gideon : - You’re a pimp then?aPFCS:- Are you deaf? This is an intervention. Word is that you have a Chronic Pussy dependency.Gideon : - A Pimp Formerly Called Slickback , I do not need any help from you.aPFCS :- Sir, let me tell you that chronic pussy dependency is a serious matter. A hungry pussy fucks with your money, your health and may give you an erectile dysfunction in the long run.Gideon :- I do not need your help. I simply do not approve what you do to women.aPFCS :- Oh well, do you see me running around searching for a pussy, pretending to be a Master Dom.Gideon :- But, you hit women.aPFCS :- No way sir! I do not hit women. I do them hos hard.Gideon :- Eva is neither a ho nor a bitch!! I love her!aPFCS :- You love nobody, boy! You and that Christian Grey, you like them wet pussies.Gideon :- You gotta trust me. I really like Eva and she ravenously craves my dark side.aPFCS :- Now, look you crying over some pussy, again. Let me help you.Gideon :- No way!! I just can’t!!aPFCS :- It’s okay Mr. Cross to be a ‘pussy-holic’. Some, boneheads can’t get it inside , you can’t get outside a bitch’s pussy. We can beat this!Gideon :- For the last time Eva’s not a bitch and I really like her. You have to trust me. Even take pills for my sex parasomnia.aPFCS :- You sleep sex? Mr. Cross I’m unhappy to say, but you my boy are sleeping in them pussies.(A Pimp Formerly Called Slickback recites a prayer asking for a divine intervention.)aPFCS :- Lord, please pray for the soul of the pussy. And guide my pimp hand and make it strong, Lord. So, the one who wet the pussy might learn his place. Amen.Gideon :- You are not going to hit any women!!aPFCS :- What woman , Sir? This here is a wet pussy.

clownfucker

clownfucker - Snedwick P. Philebius All was well after the horrifying storm last night. The electrical circuit was back up and running and the dysfunctional Linux system in a safe mode. Nothing was to be feared anymore. All clandestine deciphering modulated files were once again sheltered in DARPA’s cyber security crypt. It was a dull Tuesday, glorious spring was about to knock at the door. People were seen taking the day at a slow pace. How could you blame the poor office staff after yesterday’s lunacy? Masturbating clowns prancing across the desktop;shattering reminiscent of a climaxing Super Mario , playing “Whatchamacallit !! A candy that makes my dick dandy”, was horrifying than those ejaculating robotic bumblebees. A cyber nightmare indeed!A – Here you go with your Cuppa Joe.B - Do you have an Advil? A - Advil…eh? Headache? Menancing clowns eh? B - (Twitching in his chair) Er… more of a backache.A – (sensing the uneasiness of his colleague) Did…no you didn’t? Hahaha! Good ol’ bastard did some anal probing last night. Was it those candy licking dandy clowns?B – No shit! Er...Just tried a mock test of Snafu’s Productivity Dildo. Blame those slutty Kardashians! A - Deep eh? Was it better than those robotic bees?B - Jeez…. Chewed on like 3 packs of Junior Mints on each grunt.Out of the blue, the dragging computer screen flash a staggering repetition: - ‘Alice in the Palace’; flooding the screen approximating a hacker’s vendetta. B– (still experiencing posterior soreness) ..I’m on it….. the IPO supply…..A – Hey! Hang on a sec… that name rings a bell for sure. Alice…..Alice….Alice…. Aha!! The bloody clown groupie!!B – Clown groupie?(Frantically working the keypad deciphering the source of this cyber terror)A – Yeah… Alice Taraquin, the candy lady.B – Huh?A – That tight piece of ass who likes to suck on caramelized apples while she twirls the candy canes.B – Twirl where dude?A - Hahaha!!.....How’s that ass pain coming?( B sniggers at the laugh. How he wished he wouldn't have dugged dip? Fucking Kardashians!)A – Do you remember Tim from Snafu? Hahaha!! Sure you do? the motherfucker tells me ,Alice has a serious fetish for clowns with big feet with an affinity to no. 9. She says, "the bigger the better".B – Hmmm.... so it is true what the ladies say about big feet.A – Why do you care? The lunchroom is buzzing about you shoe number. Five is it?B – Shut the crap out! Tell me more about this Alice chick.A – Well.. rumor has it, she has a thing for some Sir Johnny and that Towel clown. She ravenously fucks them between the dog training acts; circle jerking to minty obscenities. Bitch! seem to like some posterior explorations too. If it wasn’t for your feet, you could have been a good candidate for Reese ass Pieces. Hahahaha!! That’s some crazy ass orgy.B- Fucking Bastard! Maybe try to press a button or two sometimes. Heck! Clear some things up…will ya? Where does Alice finds all those horny clowns?A - Brisette’s Big Top Circus!!B – Big Top , eh? ( sniggers at the very thought)A – Oh yeah! That’s one mysterious lady, who hates when asked about dead clowns.B- Dead clowns? Huh?? Praying mantis ordeal??A – Boy! That’s chick’s got a nice rack.B – A nice rack, eh? That’s why the Big Top Banner. Hahaha!! I get it now.A - Dude with your assfucking, don’t even think about tapping that piece of ass. Word has it , she’s a fierce vixen…..might give you another treacherous anal probing.Once again the computer screen went blank again. The name disappeared and so did the input source. Fear crept in those languid minds again. Who was it now? CIA…some covert operation? Those guys from RAND? There was a buzz about some classified Antarctica expedition. Zilch was the answer to all; just some clown jerking off to the sounds of peanut coated candy.A – Let it be. It won't do any good. Are you planning dildo experimentation?B - What’s your fucking problem?A – Relax, dude! If you're free tonight wanna chill at the bar downstairs?B - only if you enlighten me more on that clown orgy. Maybe that can get all worked up for another Snafu product.As those oblivious men locked their offices to get some rounds of Jack Daniels, the screens lighted up again…. Every time a woman fingers, a clown is born with a licorice.

Between Two Ages

Between Two Ages - Zbigniew Brzezinski Brzezinski’s hope for a technetronic utopia and its Orwellian fear.In a Jan’2012, Foreign Affairs issue, Brzezinski in his essay ‘Balancing the East, Upgrading the West'; stresses on the fact that in order to retain its supreme position the United States need to revitalize itself domestically as well as internationally in order to promote a larger West and bolster a balance in the Eastern hemisphere to accommodate China’s fiery draconic global status. This is certainly, a far cry from Brzezinki’s Trilateral Commissions days where he alongside his politically potent coterie emphasized on strong American –Japanese correlation for a stable political environment. I first read this book in 2004, when Thomas Friedman was considered to be at the helm of international politics, Nye’s “soft power” concept was gaining momentum and “terrorism” was a pivotal word in the political circles and the PATRIOT ACT appeared like a page from Orwell’s doctrinaire to civil libertarians. Brzezinski’s philosophical analysis on the advent of scientific stage in life as we experience enhancing political and social reforms revolves around the idea of technology being the pivotal resource of libertine equalization freeing man from social incongruity and forming a global political cohesion of sovereign states.The third revolution in the American society or as Brzezinski preferred to label it – technetronic age; is a post-industrial Technetronic age phenomenon where scientific aptitude becomes the deciding factor in societal progression. Knowledge is the new “think tank” of social innovations and political stabilizations.The Technetronic era :-‘a society that is shaped culturally, psychologically, socially and economically by the impact of technology and electronics – particularly in the arena of computers and electronics.’The book begins on a sanguine observation the evolution global political process and its effects on domestic and international politics. The comprehensive assessment of the industrial and the post-industrial eras brings a constructive outlook on Brzezenski’s ideology of human race needing structure and communal equilibrium to thrive in the burgeoning international political atmosphere. The written text elucidates the onset of an electronically enhanced era that undervalues the archaic industrial age. Knowledge becomes the ultimate power and the mass media its weapon, Widespread and free education may lessen racial segregation, the emergence of television may diminish immunity to foreign problems and the idea of a global village dissolves the concept of “we” and “they”. Charts are drawn and statistical graphs are calibrated to specify the rise in mass media communication. The discussion in overcrowding cities leading to pathological and violent is a bit outdate, yet holds true in the current social functioning. The rural to urban shift has been on the rise since the industrial revolution and with the uneven mass to density population equation, the existing tranquil consistency is bound to be disturbed. The apparent rise in urban violence, drug crimes and other related issues has been a determining factor to Brzezenski’s concern of overcrowding outburst. However, before 2001, American domestic progress showed a positive census with increase in social prosperity, personal security and vast opportunity asserts the advantage of the technological era. The political and cultural pessimism that followed after September 2001 clearly depicts the problems of a technocratic environment wavering in the manipulations and false perception of mass media, once again putting American foreign policies in the Lippman’s gap whirlpool. (Lippman’s Gap - "consists in bringing into balance, with a comfortable surplus of power in reserve, the nation’s commitments and the nation’s power." If this balance exists, the foreign policy will command domestic support. If commitments exceed power, insolvency results which generates deep political dissension" The assertive propagandas expressed in the book may look fruitful, but one fails to see the loopholes in Brzeznski’s elitist ambiguous dogma. The debate of “internal man” and “external man” fulfillment stretches to a point of totalitarian madness."The possibility of extensive chemical mind control, the danger of loss of individuality inherent in extensive transplantation, the feasibility of manipulating the genetic structure will call for the social definition of common criteria of use and restraint....while the chemical affects the individual, the person is significant to himself and to society in his social context —at work, at home, at play. The consequences are social consequences". Is Brzezinski inferring that only through the creation of a “zombieland” can science achieve human homogeneity? Potentially, do governing elites need to resort to genetic and chemical alterations of human mind to bring societal equilibrium? This can be however dismissed on the grounds of futuristic possibilities of one man’s political buoyancy. Nevertheless, on the domestic front, Brzezinski makes a promising analysis on how the use of advanced scientific intelligence can minimize the gap between governmental and non-governmental institutions, reduce the racial conflicts and promote rationalization of humane values. Techetronic era aligns on equivalent information age planar. Indisputably; America is global identity for excessive personal freedom, homogenous existence and highly advanced in scientific technology. Hubert Vedrine verifies Americans being powerful entities as they can “inspire dreams and desires of others, thanks to the mastery of global images, through film and television and for these same reasons, large numbers of students from other countries come to the United States to finish their studies”. The soft power argument persuades the important reality of reinforcing adequacies in political agendas in the current ‘information age’ analogous to the tangible power of knowledge of Brzezinski’s flourishing technetronic era. The argument over the shift from balance of power to global governance falters effectively on the probability of the explosion of counter coalitions lest a leading nation adheres to hegemonic predominance. Brzezinski observation of the new global world lacking identity and cohesion and in need to discover harmonized stability, curtly suggest that globalized homogeneity is still a far fetched dream.What is westernization to the West , is imperialism to the rest. (Samuel Huntington).Brzezinki specifies the onset of world-politics and the crucial task of technology in acquiring information of global realities. The 19th century represents the quest for liberty, the 20th century strived on the quest of equality, but what the political analysts fail to foresee was the thirst for identity politics that emerged at the start of the 21st century. Brzezinski’s elitist attitude in correlating the usage of technology to lessen social and political fragmentation birthing global homogenous ideologies dangle on a skeptical edge of cultural clash. The escape from freedom v/s escape from reason debate assesses violence clashes and revolutionary rebellion that were ripe during the 1960s and 1970s, were termed as socio-psychological in origin and vaguely moralistic in content. Contrary to what Brzenski had inferred the world still in chaotic morality distinctiveness.Brzezinski’s utopian analogy comes to an abrupt end when he affirms a possibility of universal homogeneity. The term in itself is flawed as when applied on a global platform that streams of varied tribal cultures; liquefies the idea of a homogenous existence. . Huntington in his cultural epic, “Clash of civilizations” elucidates the modern and post-modern generational discrepancies. The text delineates the dilemma of those whose study abroad in American universities and absorb Western cosmopolitan ideologies and language find themselves in a parallel world compared to the generation who studied in their homeland diluted with the metropolitan culture and “knowledge is indigenized by means of translations. The problem arises when the former have to find means to assimilated in their parental societies to accommodate their societal values. The resulting insecurities and segregations may not be conducive for the notion of a homogenous world that Brzezinski’s technetronic optimism thrives for. Nevertheless, if applied to domestic policies expectation of a homogenous existence in a multiracial country like the United States sounds more plausible than creating a universal religion which is itself a call for social instability. Since, this book was written years before the disintegration USSR as a sovereign state, Brzenski’s adherence to socialism seems a natural outcome for his solution to a post-communist world.“The desire for equality has made most of the leaders of the new stated embrace socialism. They see in socialism a vehicle for ensuring the objectives which most of them shares….flowering of their nations, own distinctive cultures, national economic development and the gradual erosion of internal inequality”.This is quite puzzling and simultaneously contradicting. At this juncture, Brzezinski favors socialism as a tool to modernize the advancing societies and yet his push for a technologically privileged homogeneity makes the stated doctrine appear nonsensical in a world that may turn into a scientific autocracy dominated by a certain politically influenced “elite”.“More directly linked to the impact of technology, it involves the gradual appearance of a more controlled and directed society. Such a society would be dominated by an elite whose claim to political power would rest on allegedly superior scientific know how. Unhindered by the restraints of traditional liberal values, this elite would not hesitate to achieve it sends by using the latest modern techniques for influencing public behavior and keeping society under close surveillance and control”. The question of liberal democracy then arises masking a Orwellian future. An Orwellian The section on Liberal Democracy in this book puts forth an interpretable passage on Revolutionary Activity of the Violent Left, suspecting if Brzeznski had calculated the onset of global terrorism early on in this psychologically philosophized ultramodern vision.“Revolutionary activity—through terrorism, sabotage, selective assassinations, and urban guerrilla strife— is possible and even likely in the early 1970s. It will come not from the New Left but from its emerging successor—the professionally Violent Left; Not from the idealistic young people who infuse it with zeal and confusion but from those among them who have been hardened, disillusioned, and embittered by their experiences in prisons and penitentiaries".The onset of global terrorism:-"Persisting social crisis, the emergence of a charismatic personality, and the exploitation of mass media to obtain public confidence would be the steppingstones in the piecemeal transformation of the United States into a highly controlled society."The perennial debate of PATRIOT ACT( TITLE II) ; its application to counterrrorism v/s violation of civil liberties."The emergence of a large dominant party, alongside the more narrowly focused and more intensely doctrinaire groupings on the right and the left could accelerate the trend toward such technological managerialism. The inclination of the doctrinaire left to legitimize means by ends could lead them to justify more social control on the ground that it serves progress. The conservatives, preoccupied with public order and fascinated by modern gadgetry, would be tempted to use the new techniques as a response to unrest, since they would fail to recognize that social control is not the only way to deal with rapid social change. The American transition also contains the potential for an American redemption."The bursting of a methodological utopian equivalence and the predominance of Orwellian hegemonic opprobrium translates Brzezsinki’s technetronic ideology as an optimistic survival mode for the United States in an illusionary superlative international community while trying to define its national interests. However, this book is not some symbol of hope for policymakers or as the author himself assures for the text not being an exercise in “futurology”. Hence, Brzezinski optimism can be seen as a political reverie or a philosophy to crony capitalism and institutionalized democracy. Lastly, as the prose concludes, in technetronic era, philosophy and politics will be crucial as globalization only brings free markets but not cultural homogeneity.

Little Sister Snow (Illustrated Edition) (Dodo Press)

Little Sister Snow - Frances Little The third day of the third month, which in the long ago was set apart as the big birthday of all little girls born in the lovely island, and was celebrated by the Festival of Dolls.Hinamatsuri (hina means dolls and matsuri means festival) or the Doll’s Festival is celebrated on March 3rd throughout Japan for the well being of young girls , praying for their prosperous health.Isn’t it magnificent? Here is this country (Japan) who graciously honors a girl child through an ancient festival for their safety expunging the bad spirits from the dolls. For someone who grew up in the ‘Republic of XY Chromosome’ such rituals bring immense happiness, even if it is through reading a couple prose verses. And, then sadness looms when reflected over the surviving probabilities of a female foetus in my own country. Fortunately, lightning seems to have struck those ruthless bastards and nowadays January 24th is celebrated as 'National Girls Day' to prevent female foeticide and harassment against girls in India. But, that’s an entirely different controversial arena. This book does not veers towards political propagandas , but sometimes words take a whole new turn in one’s mind submerging in plethora of buried emotions. As I moved on to the next chapter, my heart dearly hoped the possibility of invalidating the UN inference of India being the deadliest country for a girl child. Arrgghhh!! See what a book does to me? It makes me go numb with painful memories. Let’s speak about petite Yuki Chan. Such a beautiful child; twirling underneath the pine tree, singing to baby Robin and hoping of not meeting the awful ‘fox spirit’ for being a rebellious kid and marveling at the peculiar demeanor of an American lad who prevents her from throwing the cat in the ditch.It was as if for the first time the great book of life opened before her and, though unconscious of its meaning; the first word she saw spelled Duty.Duty seems to be compelled word in a world prioritizing individualism concepts of familial infrastructures. It is seen as an honorable deed for a child to be dutiful and yet when the question looms over sacrificing one’s inhibitions for the welfare of the family, it becomes burdensome at times. Loneliness crawls in the darkest corner encumbering the heart with enveloped secrets and only a smile for the sunny horizon over troubled waters. Poverty undoubtedly plays a pivotal factor in deciding one’s actions and loyalties. Yuki San ( the honorific San is used for young adult women) was unaware of impoverished conditions and afterwards, ever since she knew that her marrying into a wealthy officer – Saito san would exonerate all the miseries, duty to withhold her family’s honor became her sole religion. Even today, irrespective to a family’s economical position, the thought of putting one’s parents in an old age home is inexcusable because a dutiful child will always look after the elderly parents, come what may.Each day as the burden grew heavier she fought her battle with the bravery and courage of youth. With jests and chatter she served her parents' simple meals, constantly urging them to further indulgence of what she pretended was a great feast, but which in reality she had secretly sacrificed some household treasure to obtain. She deftly turned the rice-bucket as she served, that they might not see the scant supply. With great ceremony she poured the hot water into the bowls, insisting that no other sake was made such as this. Her determination to keep them happy and ignorant of the true conditions taxed her every resource, but it was her duty, and duty to Yuki San was the only religion of which she was sure. But one day a great event happened in the little home. Yuki San was called before her father and told, in ceremonious language, that a marriage had been arranged for her with Saito San, a wealthy officer in the Emperor's household. She laid her head upon the mats and gave thanks to the gods. Now her father and mother would live in luxury for the rest of their lives! Saito San was to her only a far-away, shadowy being, whom she was to obey for the rest of her life and whose house she was to keep in order. He was a means to an end, and entered into her thoughts merely as one to whom she was deeply grateful. Youth and all its joys were strong within her, and the pressure of poverty gone, her whole nature rebounded with delight. Many times had marriage been proposed for her, for the story of her beauty and obedience had spread, but her father guarded his treasure zealously, and it was not until an offer came, suiting his former rank and condition, that he gave his consent.Duty as a religion. For richer or for poorer; till death do us apart. Isn’t it what all those sanctimonious vows are all about? Do not even get me started with certain vows recited during a Hindu marriage ceremony. With divorce being the common word among my friends and the most detested word to my mother, the idea of "being a dutiful wife, mind, body and soul" seems archaic for that matter of fact a verse to a funny limerick, but it means a lifelong commitment to my mother and several other Indian women. The close knit familial infrastructure where the wife does not wash her husband’s dirty laundry in public is still very much preserved in almost all marriages. Each year the struggle of obsolete methods of business and the intricacies of progress plowed the furrows a little deeper in the man's face, and when his eyes that in youth had blazed with ambition grew wistful and troubled, he dropped them that his wife might not see. But what silence could hide from this frail woman any mood of the man she had served with mind and body and soul these many years? When she came to him as a shy bride on trial, she knew no such word as love. Duty was her entire vocabulary, and she asked nothing and gave all.I reckon the very principle that Yuki’s mother adheres when she meant duty was her entire vocabulary. Not once did she let her daughter know about their extreme poverty or the pain that she endure during several still births to her husband fearing that her childless prospects would make her husband find another wife. Her happiness knew no bounds when Yuki was born as her fears of an abandoned future vanished.Oh! My mother would have loved Yuki San for her unquestioned acceptance of an arranged marriage. Even with all those theatricals melodramas that my mother played every week, I personally still find the concept of arranged marriage rather annoying. Explain my grievances to my mother and she proclaims that I’m a lost case. However, it is still a huge part of our culture and proudly looked upon. Where does that put the idea of finding love? Do you stumble on love and then marry OR marry and then eventually find love in your husband? My mother would assume I just inhaled an empty paint can. Although Dick Merritt called Yuki his “little sister snow” for having a pure heart, she fell in love with this blue- eyed American and his homebound voyage made her a “love recluse” trying to find appeasing shelter in the heartening verses penned in a small morocco book. Yuki’s was one-sided love and many would say a ‘teenage puppy love’, yet the dilemma to pursue love or the religion of duty never gets old in an ethnically rich moralistic culture.Ah, what funny little thing that heart is! In one half live the joyful. Other side have all the painful of life, and when the love come sometimes he knock at wrong door and give the hurtful ache to life.Many a time, readers do get an exploratory sense of diving into a book and agglomerating the secreted essence of its text. This is one of those numerous plots that rise above a naive tale of a young Japanese girl falling in love with an American boy, assembling the cultural pillars of Japanese society.For an author whose prose speaks volumes of cultural nuances, her biography is rather a modest paragraph. Born in 1863 in Kentucky, Ms. Little delineated an intricate cultural aspects broadening a canvas of a mystical Japan known for its pompous samurai and ghostly tales. Frances Little magnified the beauty of Japanese life for an ardent audience. It is an apt timing for me to re-read The Lady of the Decoration. A noble proposal indeed!

House of Angels Pb

House of Angels - Yvonne Strickland Yahoo! Lifestyle’s Top 10 Sex Facts from History.# Sex is the best medicine .If you were feeling sick in the 19th century then it was quite possible that your doctor may have prescribed you a dose of alone time with a sex toy, ladies. The Museum of Sex explains that vibrator-induced orgasms helped doctors identify “hysteria” and its symptoms..# The G spot was unidentified until 1950 when Dr. Ernest Gräfenberg underwent a few experiments and found that attention to this area could trigger powerful O moments in women. Dr. Ernest Gräfenberg is in fact the G spot’s namesake....An Epiphany!! It’s been nearly 36 days since the calendar proclaimed 2012 and not a single erotica read or reviewed. Born in the Year of the Sheep, it would be an utter shame to let my artistic trait singe by the fiery Dragon. Fuck the Resolution!! As long as I do not open up a Pilsner and restrict the over play of F-bombs for another week, it would be just fine. After all I’ve been a ‘good’ girl; the metacarpal assessment and bed sheets folds can vouch for it; all my neighbour’s testimonies are inadmissible. Ahem! Moving on with the epiphany; Cascada belting out “Little Piece of Heaven” awakened my sensual spirits and there as I was pondering whether the whip that caresses a naked bottom would have a sinister story aching to be released.Karen Williams, the prey of naivety to realise that massages which make you moan are more than aromatic kneading performances OR the pursuer of the mighty ‘O’ making her chastity an arduous inconvenience? And then there was the enigmatic Sonia who made her wear latex …. Boom! Another mighty orgasm!! So many orgasms, so little time. Aww.. poor child! Too many sexual doors had yet to be opened when Karen walked in Sonia’s office enclosed in a gorgeous French villa. A clique of sexual exploratory young women; a 30-something being considered a passé for fetish would do anything to please their clients. There is Sonia the enigmatic sexual chameleon, the ruthless bitch of a Dom- Pauline and her subservient sex toy – Jackie, the good ol’ masseurs Val and Kim ( who by the way give a fulfilling massage a whole new dimension) and the animated Cheryl and many more flavors to tantalize your taste buds. How would you like to be served? Extra charge for special toppings. A trip to Baskin Robbins pleasure chest down on 7th Ave, West Village; except now we have the amorous French countryside with overindulging sexual foreplays, vaginal exuberance amid fingers running all over the place and clandestine activities which may be significant to a certain Mr. Steve Hirsch.Since it is an opening piece of the three-part series , the modus operandi of the sexual tryst with the other male clients is downplayed and so is the S&M element( restricted to Pauline for being the definitive femdom) which the book claims to be a critical aspect of the plot. I reckon this plot being Karen’s foray into comprehending the clandestine classification of the BDSM world, everything else takes a second stand to Ms. Williams uncontrolled meticulous orgasms. Although not as heavenly as my desire, it is not an absolute turn off.

House of Intrigue Pb

House of Intrigue - Yvonne Strickland Juvenile citizens of Fornicateville!! Tsk.Tsk.... and you thought Karen would never return back to the Languedoc. How could anyone resist the temptation an orgasm enticing one’s corneas to shatter geometrical vertices? Karen Williams is a woman with a burgeoning sexual repertoire and not one of Issac Assimov’s elaborate characters. Richard, she inferred was not good enough to take her mind off her bisexual indulgences. Hmm... Richard’s dick did no good.... Valerie and Kim’s dual massage orgasm was a hoot.... a definite second-serve basis....have to go back to the sumptuous French countryside....my vagina can’t take it anymore.... got to call Sonia.... she has a thing for me....who cares the fuck about the hag- Pauline.....Mike , he’s got a good package.... Balls! He has a thing for Annette.... back to Sonia and those latex adorned climaxes..... yeah! Got to go back to my job..... Homecoming!!!! Finally.... * Air-kissing* (you would think so)...hey Val ! It’s been two weeks...how about another round of your “massages”.....stronger handcuffs this time, please... Aha! It’s Sonia...*more orgasm* (all over the place, moaning wildly)......OMG! There’s Pauline merciless tyrant as ever.... poor Jackie....What’s Inspector Gautier doing with Sonia?... Hope he is not fucking her....* fingers crossed*...* legs crossing action simultaneously*.... Nah! Gautier’s doing it with Pauline.... That’s new!.. To think that bitch had us fooled.... Whoa!... adult movies...anti-climax souvenirs??.. photographs...oh the clients.... Forgot about them... Rose..that girl is excellent....Jackie likes making her moan till she drops.... Hope Pauline goes away.... more Sonia...endless orgasms....I love this place.Ms. Williams loved every bit of Sonia’s sex dome and decided to settle, as for me , I am a forever thrilled audience.

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