Skip to main content
“

 this is the age of rampant computing
and of
quantitative mania
and of 
search algorithms running on GPUs
looking for a person shaped piece
missing
dead perhaps?
but with a digital trace.

 leave it to the hypertext of imagination

 ”

Popular posts from this blog

लाल वस्तू

महाराजबागेतल्या गुंजेच्या झाडाखाली आईबरोबर बसून घालवलेल्या संध्याकाळी गुंजेचा पाला खाताना गुंजा वेचून, गोळा करून, घरी आणून सजवताना तशाच लाल गुंजांसारखे मखमली किडे पाळताना, त्यांना पावसाळ्यात पकडताना त्यांचा पाला गोळा करताना त्यांना लाजून गुर्फटताना बघताना, आईला दाखवताना मला थोडेच माहिति होते की हे अनुभव, आणि ह्या आठवणी कधी अशृ होतील आणि लाल शर्ट घालून त्या पावसाळ्याची आज तहान भागवावी लागेल
Read more

dumb tweets

are dumb tweets poetry? those about comical self deprecation? those about absurdity of lunchtimes the absurdity of predetermined systems the shit that is the economy the shit that is self preservation of social groups and the shit that is my period. aren't these the footsteps of revolutions built upon the personal that is the political a naked lump of clay - the self that has no rights without its body and identifiers. weren't the beats just writing tweets words, that fill up the spaces in empty cultural discourse a space for, a valence towards charged and electric words ionic words words that seem appropriate words in a new absurdist language a torrent, a warm current of intercontinental symbolically void and poisonous words. that live for a small slice like us and cicadas, chirp and die.
Read more

plant cuttings

 i am jealous of the seven plant cuttings that i got from my friend one sunday afternoon - a succulent called vicks that smells like a camphor some spotted snake like leaves a chain like cascade with cardoid leaves some needed to be cut exactly somewhere for the severed roots to understand they cannot sprout as leaves on the underside that they are needed to draw water that they used to be something that function is something to perform not something they were. all this for houseplants that wouldn't survive a day in soil outside i perhaps send my hands in this soil hoping they will become roots and my ears someday become leaves.
Read more