Nomological Net

Stray thoughts from here and there. The occasional concern for construct validity. No more logic. Fish.


faults in the clouds of delusion

Tuesday, July 03, 2007


Following up on the echoes from ten years ago theme, and also since we're talking about Bombay banshees.


August 1997

Inside the museum infinity goes on trial
You shouldn’t take it too personal
Sooner or later one of us must know
Red paper blue checked bedsheet
Tomato salad
Didn’t realize how young you were

Take two. Fill it up again. The hammer of the rain on the window pane. Incessant unceasing insatiable driving blowing raging lusting rhythm of water flung in from Arabia to lash at my walls. And we sat with our backs to the wind, bodies fortified by concrete steel reinforcements minds wandering far and hither thrust by drunken propulsions of alcohol and recorded sound. Words phrases lines notes reached out to us by men who will never know that four such as us sat one night empathising with their thoughts their sentiments & the feelings that made them rich. I want you honey I want you so bad. And the dangling conversations, stagger sometimes, race at others, the music stops, we change the side, change the tape, get another bottle from the freezer half-half? Hang on a sec, I’ve to take a leak cool cool no problem – fuck these mosquitoes man how do you bastards manage to survive in this place remember the time when oh ya oh yes oh yes funny wasn’t it?

And we share our memories & contribute new ones to the one or two who maybe (why maybe actually definitely) had no idea what was being talked about & so the process of sharing of memories & transferring of incidents relives itself once more in its self-propagative viroid way. And we carried it on, & we know that it’ll be the same next time & every next time just as it has always been.

So I tell you a story, & he tells one, & she too chips in with a bit. All agog to tell of various little incidents that may have happened or perhaps just embellished just a little bit but what the heck it’s a good story anyhow & it fit in so well. And so I hear out your story & wait for the pause after the laughter & maybe sip my beer again & then deftly insert my did I tell you about the time when or perhaps two of us can share a little private joke & then should I tell them no you go ahead ok.

The music stops. Someone change the tape. Someone gets up. The wind rips its way through the crack in the window. We all have this lovely cozy feeling – each a million miles from home & context yet totally at ease for once in this lonely city with lonely circumstances lonely life funny isn’t it how you can rub shoulders & bodies & armpits with a hundred people every day & yet feel as if you’re all so alone turning the key to step into an empty shoebox flat. And it isn’t just you or me, is it? You and I live our lives over & over again in any number of other young people all over this city. Why this city? I’m sure, definite, they are everywhere yet in the smug consolidated comfort of my previous lives I never thought to turn the stones and look for them. But now I am one, and so, dear friend, are you.

And that is why we sit, four of us here tonight, sipping our beer fuck it’s good when chilled man & feeling good not about the beer (though putting it in the freezer was a studly idea) or the music (just perfect though if the speakers were bigger we could have played it softer) or the fact that we’re sheltered away from the wind & the water & the misery on the other side of that window there, it’s just that we feel good being with each other as in the whole is greater than the sum of the parts & we’re just building subconsciously on the very fact that we’re all there together & though we’re all different people just for one night we’re all one just like four limbs of a quadropus & we can share our experiences & laugh about our lives & superficially forget all about the pain & misery that I go through & so do you, though we all hide it so well so practiced are we at it, so good have we become.

But that superficiality is all that matters, you know, it is that that will see us through to the next occasion of bonding, be it with a totally different subset of tentacles, it is that which will recharge us till the next time whenever it is. You know, it is that very superficiality that will keep us alive when you go your way & I go mine.

Thanks, guys.


Simba, Random, and Tatoo, this one's for you.


Blogger ??! said...

the master teacheth. we learn. quite lovely.

7/03/2007 11:10 PM  
Anonymous Brown Magic said...

I like

7/04/2007 1:59 AM  
Blogger Tabula Rasa said...

thank you :-) flattery will get you everywhere.

welcome back. is nice?

7/04/2007 9:51 AM  
Blogger Chronicus Skepticus said...

Oh very nice, TR.

And tapes..! *sigh* I miss tapes.

7/04/2007 4:03 PM  
Blogger Revealed said...

Talking about tapes, I found a bunch of my old tapes with *handwritten* titles. Totally had an awwwww moment.

(The first song on one of the tapes was Lady in Red - totally had an awwwww-what-a-different-chump-i-used-to-be moment :D)

7/04/2007 10:14 PM  
Blogger Tabula Rasa said...

thank you! yes, i too had a similar moment while i was typing this out. but then i realized that while they were cute and all, what we have today is certainly an improvement.

welcome back. i have a bunch of my not-so-old tapes lying around -- all handwritten :-) all my old ones i gave away. recently (you know when) i realised i missed making mix tapes for others. used to do that a lot.

7/05/2007 8:24 AM  
Blogger Szerelem said...

Tapes!! I remember in school when birthday pesents used to be compilation tapes :)

7/05/2007 11:44 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Shenanigans! Total Shenanigans1

I refer you to your own blog a mere two posts ago.

like that amateur, with real opinions on real matters, would even register on the same Superficiality Scale as me.

Shenanigans I say!

7/05/2007 11:57 PM  
Anonymous Brown Magic said...

sorry that last comment was me - Brown Magic.

7/05/2007 11:58 PM  
Blogger Tabula Rasa said...

ok we admit you're older than we thought.

heck yes, but you have to make allowance for someone whose *every* recent post is about falstaff and jap. while you actually have real outlines of real feet.

7/06/2007 12:01 AM  
Blogger km said...

Quadropus could be a great title for a concept album.

/"concept album". Sigh. I'm OLD. BM even wants to call me "Uncle".

//thoroughly enjoyed the post.

7/06/2007 12:41 AM  
Blogger Tabula Rasa said...

thanks :-) i like how the post still resonates, ten years after it was written.

i think you should let bm call you uncle. just to see how it plays out.

7/06/2007 8:37 AM  
Blogger Szerelem said...

hahaha........did you think I was a teenager?!
Im not that old any way :P

7/06/2007 4:07 PM  
Blogger Tabula Rasa said...

no no, we always thought you were a mature sophisticated self-assured young lady -- just not *that* young.

7/07/2007 10:24 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yes! The 90s! Growing up! George Michael's "Freedom 90!" Prince "You don't have to be beautiful to be my girl.. I just want your extra time and your (muah-muah-,muah-muah-muah-muah) KISS". Sir Mix-a-lot "I like BIG BUTTS n I cannot lie". And Nirvana. Always Nirvana.

I even listened to my first Janis Joplin today.


7/08/2007 9:04 AM  
Blogger Tabula Rasa said...

hmmm. yes.
now go listen to some more janis.
and don't come back till you can sing all of mercedes benz.

7/09/2007 10:02 AM  

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