Loved.
Heard.
No Joy in being feared.
Malice.
Distrust.
He dare defy us.
Clink…Clink…
30!
Deception.
Keeping in the Shadows,
One Brave,
Some Scared.
Captured.
Shunned.
No need to run.
Questioned.
Answered.
Willing to be martyred.
Thrashed.
Lashed.
For breath he gasped.
Innocent yet Accountable.
Burdened.
Immense will he summoned.
Stoned.
Jeered.
Still no fear.
Nailed.
Stabbed.
It was all planned.
Revenge.
Wrath.
They deserved what they got.
Resurrection.
Light.
They had seen his might.
Peace.
Serenity.
Averseness turned to Affinity.
Amen.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Douceur
I remember seeing this poster in V.V. once… It had the signs for MAN and WOMAN (the same as you would usually find on public bathroom doors) with a heart on the Woman’s left hand side of the chest, and another heart on the Man’s loins. The caption read, “The Simple Truth”. To quite an extent, I often find that to be true.
Gaurav Panday
I love the sweet smell of perfume on a Friday night. The way it wafts up your nostrils and has a tendency to stir the sort of emotions that only something sweet can. Sweet! The word itself has so many connotations. Hmm... Nice to touch, taste and smell. However, sweet on Friday nights, for me, has only one possible explanation. Nice body, the type that grinds and gyrates itself into oblivion and has a tendency to wrap its legs around you at a moments notice.
No, I’m not sexually deprived. I’m just another man trying to establish his point of view. You see, when man reaches puberty the only thing stirring his mind (which happens to be in his loins) is the idea of Sweet.
“Dude, what are we doing tonight?”
“Not what, you idiot, but who?”
Random ass conversation succeeded by liberal doses of alcohol and hopefully a night of illicit sex. Man has no purpose in life but to breed or feign the same act and give himself pleasure. Reach a club, drink, scope, make eye contact, and feel good. Drink some more, dance to weird music and try to get closer. Touch, talk and then smell. If Sweet, the night could be interesting. If not, see you later. There’s nothing like sweetness.
Fortunately, I’ve met a few Sweet girls. And I’m willing to say that my life is pretty sorted. I tend to get this way when the mercury dips below a certain level and a blanket is not good enough. Enough has transpired in my life to make me feel otherwise.
X&Y. Two seldom used letters of the alphabet. Till about 7th grade the only thing that I knew the letter X stood for was Xylophone. But, when it meets with Y it still plays a lot of music, if you know what I mean. Fornication not copulation. That’s what we should stand for (literally).
We could be happy doing anything, Substance or not. It’s just that genetically we feel that we have an obligation, hence the tendency to pounce on someone with half a brain but with 34-36(B, C, D).
I don’t intend to speak on behalf of the entire species, but, I feel that it’s much warranted in these trying times, especially if you happen to live north of the equator.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Southern Comfort
It was a cold night. The fire was burning low, the wood a delicate shade of amber. He couldn’t recall it ever being so cold. The weatherman hadn’t mentioned anything on the news but he had learnt not to trust the weatherman since the flood last year. The family was seated at the table eating supper. He wanted to stay away from the table tonight. Somehow he had lost his appetite.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was her fault. Her constant bickering had almost driven him crazy. “CHOP THE WOOD!! DO THE DISHES!! TAKE OUT THE TRASH!!” “YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING SON OF A BITCH!!” He had learnt to turn a deaf ear to her sardonic tone.
All she ever did was tell him what a miserable piece of shit he was. There was no love, no compassion, no sense of longing left in him. Sometimes he just wanted to kill the whore.
It had started a year ago, right after the flood. He used to work for a gentleman called Gary Sutherland, the richest land-owner this side of the Mississippi. His father had worked for Mr. Sutherland’s father and since he had never been to school, all he knew was how to sow and reap cotton. And he was damn fine at that. He was better than them Nigers, oh yes siree, he was. Then, out of the blue it had started to rain and By Jove!! Rain it did. People started joking that they would have to start building an ark. Their jest was to be short lived.
The Mississippi swelled and by the fourth day of incessant rain, it had crossed the red line. Fields of white soon met their watery grave. Houses were swept away; hundreds of people lost their lives, thousands of livestock were lost. He didn’t know how they had endured the cold water sitting on the roof, the rain pelting down like nails on their half naked bodies. He had prayed, prayed really hard.
The rain finally ceased, the water receded. Normalcy returned within a month. But....not for him. The river had not been kind to him. He lost his job, his wife’s love and his community’s respect. People don’t care about the past. All they can do is offer pity. He was a good for nothing son of a bitch but it had been his wife’s relentless display of hate that had made him defiant and incapable of doing anything. Them nigers had all got jobs due to some ‘trying to be magnanimous’ politician. His family had been surviving on dole.
But today was different. He told the bitch that he had found a job and wanted to tell her all about it, so if she could take a walk with him he would be highly obliged. She looked at him and with a huff picked up her coat. He led her to his favourite spot in the woods where he often used to sit and procrastinate. He sat her down and looked at her.
She still looked pretty with those big brown eyes and auburn hair. He reached out to touch her, she slapped his wrist. He held out his hand again and this time she whacked him across his jaw. “FUCK YOU,” she said. “What is it that you want to tell me?” she demanded.
“I Love You” he said, his eyes fixated on hers. She looked at him, confused. Then without warning, he hit her. “FUCK YOU BAAA…” another fist now in her stomach.
He threw her on the ground and started to tear her clothes off. She was delirious by now and half out off breath but somehow managed enough strength to sock him in the face.
“FUCK YOU WHORE….STOP SCREAMING… I’LL FUCKIN KILL YA” said he.
She decided to give into his will and he let his animalistic instincts take over. By the end of it, she lay covered in blood with a glazed look in her eyes and he stood over her like a lion over a fresh kill. He, then, reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger with which he started stabbing her. “BITCH...WHORE...YOU’LL NEVER SHOUT AT ME AGAIN”
He continued to stab her till he could almost see her insides. Then he proceeded to tear the flesh from her bones working legs up. He felt no remorse, what so ever.
He flung her ripped carcass into the bushes. “The wolves will take take care of that” he thought to himself.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His kids looked happy. They were eating well tonight. He had promised them a big meal and he had delivered. There was meat, lots of it and he had managed to steal bread and coke from the local store.
Little Annie picked a morsel, looked at him and asked “Where’s Mommy, Daddy?”
He looked at her and then at the food. She seemed puzzled but chose not to ask him again and carried on eating.
He smiled and walked away from the table.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was her fault. Her constant bickering had almost driven him crazy. “CHOP THE WOOD!! DO THE DISHES!! TAKE OUT THE TRASH!!” “YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING SON OF A BITCH!!” He had learnt to turn a deaf ear to her sardonic tone.
All she ever did was tell him what a miserable piece of shit he was. There was no love, no compassion, no sense of longing left in him. Sometimes he just wanted to kill the whore.
It had started a year ago, right after the flood. He used to work for a gentleman called Gary Sutherland, the richest land-owner this side of the Mississippi. His father had worked for Mr. Sutherland’s father and since he had never been to school, all he knew was how to sow and reap cotton. And he was damn fine at that. He was better than them Nigers, oh yes siree, he was. Then, out of the blue it had started to rain and By Jove!! Rain it did. People started joking that they would have to start building an ark. Their jest was to be short lived.
The Mississippi swelled and by the fourth day of incessant rain, it had crossed the red line. Fields of white soon met their watery grave. Houses were swept away; hundreds of people lost their lives, thousands of livestock were lost. He didn’t know how they had endured the cold water sitting on the roof, the rain pelting down like nails on their half naked bodies. He had prayed, prayed really hard.
The rain finally ceased, the water receded. Normalcy returned within a month. But....not for him. The river had not been kind to him. He lost his job, his wife’s love and his community’s respect. People don’t care about the past. All they can do is offer pity. He was a good for nothing son of a bitch but it had been his wife’s relentless display of hate that had made him defiant and incapable of doing anything. Them nigers had all got jobs due to some ‘trying to be magnanimous’ politician. His family had been surviving on dole.
But today was different. He told the bitch that he had found a job and wanted to tell her all about it, so if she could take a walk with him he would be highly obliged. She looked at him and with a huff picked up her coat. He led her to his favourite spot in the woods where he often used to sit and procrastinate. He sat her down and looked at her.
She still looked pretty with those big brown eyes and auburn hair. He reached out to touch her, she slapped his wrist. He held out his hand again and this time she whacked him across his jaw. “FUCK YOU,” she said. “What is it that you want to tell me?” she demanded.
“I Love You” he said, his eyes fixated on hers. She looked at him, confused. Then without warning, he hit her. “FUCK YOU BAAA…” another fist now in her stomach.
He threw her on the ground and started to tear her clothes off. She was delirious by now and half out off breath but somehow managed enough strength to sock him in the face.
“FUCK YOU WHORE….STOP SCREAMING… I’LL FUCKIN KILL YA” said he.
She decided to give into his will and he let his animalistic instincts take over. By the end of it, she lay covered in blood with a glazed look in her eyes and he stood over her like a lion over a fresh kill. He, then, reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger with which he started stabbing her. “BITCH...WHORE...YOU’LL NEVER SHOUT AT ME AGAIN”
He continued to stab her till he could almost see her insides. Then he proceeded to tear the flesh from her bones working legs up. He felt no remorse, what so ever.
He flung her ripped carcass into the bushes. “The wolves will take take care of that” he thought to himself.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His kids looked happy. They were eating well tonight. He had promised them a big meal and he had delivered. There was meat, lots of it and he had managed to steal bread and coke from the local store.
Little Annie picked a morsel, looked at him and asked “Where’s Mommy, Daddy?”
He looked at her and then at the food. She seemed puzzled but chose not to ask him again and carried on eating.
He smiled and walked away from the table.
Friday, September 08, 2006
L'evangile d'Azazel
I’m falling,
I don’t know why.
Did I speak too soon?
Did I lie?
I used to be his favourite,
Of that I’m sure.
Did I rub him the wrong way?
Did I make him sore?
When it started,
I thought he was God.
Did I not obey?
Did I sway?
He said “Think for yourself”
“Use your brain.”
Did I not do the same?
Did I cause him pain?
All I wanted,
Was to reach the top.
Did I ask for a lot?
Did he know what I sought?
“Trounce me and you will die”
“My will thou shall not defy.”
Did he think I would cry?
Did he think I was just another guy?
The war began,
I ran.
Did he think it to be cowardly of me?
Did he think I didn’t try?
He should have killed me,
When he had the chance
Did he not foresee my plan?
Did he presume I would dance?
Now I stand on the dirt,
Can’t help but feel a sense of mirth.
My time will come,
My Will be done.
I don’t know why.
Did I speak too soon?
Did I lie?
I used to be his favourite,
Of that I’m sure.
Did I rub him the wrong way?
Did I make him sore?
When it started,
I thought he was God.
Did I not obey?
Did I sway?
He said “Think for yourself”
“Use your brain.”
Did I not do the same?
Did I cause him pain?
All I wanted,
Was to reach the top.
Did I ask for a lot?
Did he know what I sought?
“Trounce me and you will die”
“My will thou shall not defy.”
Did he think I would cry?
Did he think I was just another guy?
The war began,
I ran.
Did he think it to be cowardly of me?
Did he think I didn’t try?
He should have killed me,
When he had the chance
Did he not foresee my plan?
Did he presume I would dance?
Now I stand on the dirt,
Can’t help but feel a sense of mirth.
My time will come,
My Will be done.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
My Mother
Waaah….Waaah…..Waaaaaaah!!
She lifts her head and sets her eyes on a tiny form held upside down, trying to take its first breath. A Woman in white looks at her and says three much awaited words, “It’s a boy.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement and all sorts of thoughts start streaming into her head. “Name?” “How Big Is He?” “Is He Healthy?” “Is He Cute?” She has borne the pain, the heartburn, the vomiting for an agonizing nine months.
However, all that is quickly forgotten when she holds him to her bosom. Then, she looks at him again. Eyes shut, fists clenched, as red as a tomato, a glorious wonder of nature. Her Spawn, Her Blood flowing through his veins. She gently caresses him and waits for her husband.
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“Vinny……Vinny,” she yells. “Where is he?” She looks all over the house and he’s nowhere to be found. Her eyes frantically scan the backyard for any sign of movement.
She starts to worry. With trembling hands she picks up the phone and dials.
Mother: “Baba, I can’t find him….I’ve looked everywhere….What should I do?” her
voice shaking with trepidation.
Father : “Who Love?” he asks calmly.
Mother: “Vinny!! He’s nowhere to be found. I asked the servants and they don’t have a
clue. Please come home quickly, I don’t know what to do.” She starts to sob.
Father : “Call Raju, I’m on my way.”
She calls her brother and he leaves for the house. Two hours have passed and she starts to panic. The word spreads and phone calls start to pour in from concerned friends and relatives. Father reaches home and tries to calm her down. In the meantime, Raju starts to call whoever he knows in the police.
Seven hours go by and still no trace of little Vinny. By now she’s hysterical and the helplessness of the situation just adds to the same. Father tries to console her but to no avail. She faints.
A Brook….A River….An expanse of blue…bright light. She wakes up with a jolt, her throat parched. Its early morning. “Where’s my baby?” She walks out of the room and Father meets her. She’s never seen him look so shattered. His eyes say it all and her heart begins to sink. “Where’s he?” she asks with a quivering voice. He hugs her. “WHERE IS HE?” she screams. He holds her tight and leads her to the verandah.
His body is still, fists clenched, eyes shut. She gently caresses him and the pain returns.
“AAAAARRGH……” Bright light, lady in white.
“Relax Rani, one of the stitches had to be attended to,” says the lady.
“Where’s He?” she asks with a worried look.
“Look to your left.”
She looks and reaches out to hold him. “Never, Never will I ever let you go,” she vows to herself.
She lifts her head and sets her eyes on a tiny form held upside down, trying to take its first breath. A Woman in white looks at her and says three much awaited words, “It’s a boy.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement and all sorts of thoughts start streaming into her head. “Name?” “How Big Is He?” “Is He Healthy?” “Is He Cute?” She has borne the pain, the heartburn, the vomiting for an agonizing nine months.
However, all that is quickly forgotten when she holds him to her bosom. Then, she looks at him again. Eyes shut, fists clenched, as red as a tomato, a glorious wonder of nature. Her Spawn, Her Blood flowing through his veins. She gently caresses him and waits for her husband.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Vinny……Vinny,” she yells. “Where is he?” She looks all over the house and he’s nowhere to be found. Her eyes frantically scan the backyard for any sign of movement.
She starts to worry. With trembling hands she picks up the phone and dials.
Mother: “Baba, I can’t find him….I’ve looked everywhere….What should I do?” her
voice shaking with trepidation.
Father : “Who Love?” he asks calmly.
Mother: “Vinny!! He’s nowhere to be found. I asked the servants and they don’t have a
clue. Please come home quickly, I don’t know what to do.” She starts to sob.
Father : “Call Raju, I’m on my way.”
She calls her brother and he leaves for the house. Two hours have passed and she starts to panic. The word spreads and phone calls start to pour in from concerned friends and relatives. Father reaches home and tries to calm her down. In the meantime, Raju starts to call whoever he knows in the police.
Seven hours go by and still no trace of little Vinny. By now she’s hysterical and the helplessness of the situation just adds to the same. Father tries to console her but to no avail. She faints.
A Brook….A River….An expanse of blue…bright light. She wakes up with a jolt, her throat parched. Its early morning. “Where’s my baby?” She walks out of the room and Father meets her. She’s never seen him look so shattered. His eyes say it all and her heart begins to sink. “Where’s he?” she asks with a quivering voice. He hugs her. “WHERE IS HE?” she screams. He holds her tight and leads her to the verandah.
His body is still, fists clenched, eyes shut. She gently caresses him and the pain returns.
“AAAAARRGH……” Bright light, lady in white.
“Relax Rani, one of the stitches had to be attended to,” says the lady.
“Where’s He?” she asks with a worried look.
“Look to your left.”
She looks and reaches out to hold him. “Never, Never will I ever let you go,” she vows to herself.
Monday, September 04, 2006
' D.U.I '
Have you ever wondered why people choose to live in constant denial? Makes life a lot easier to live, doesn’t it?
I for one am a speed junkie. Nothing exhilarates me more than the sound of a ‘V’ revving into oblivion.
I know speed kills, however it’s a choice I make and it sure puts a smile on my face.
Unfortunately I also happen to have a craving for alcohol and when the whisky induced ‘Dutch Courage’ translates into a lead foot, THINGS can really go wrong.
Its 3:00 am. The night is chilly, with a light mist floating over the cobbled surface.
A middle aged gentleman saunters towards a row of cars parked neatly along the pavement. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of three keys. Click….Click, takes two keys out and tosses them away. Then, he looks at the key-chain and stops. It’s never looked so beautiful, what with its intricately carved silver horse shining ever so slightly in the dim light. He can’t help but reminiscence about his adolescent years, years spent yearning to own one of these. With the key held firmly in hand he carries on.
Beep Beep!! Two indicators flash. He reaches for the door and as he opens it, admires the swooping lines of the car. Marina Blue, gunmetal finish wheels wrapped in seductively detailed fenders. This was no ordinary car. It had a soul.
After swinging his foot over the wide sill and easing himself into the snug adaptive sports seat, he shuts the door with a resounding thud and takes a deep breath. “Nervous,” he thinks, “Maybe.” Excited? “Definitely.” The key is inserted and turns with a mere twist of the hand. What follows next is mind-blowing. The engine roars to life with the butterfly valves going about there business in the most synchronized manner possible. Right foot mashed against the floor, the exhaust blurts out a sound unparralled by any other. He fishes out the bottle of Petreux from his coat, proceeds to uncork it and then without thinking twice puts it to his lips. A few swigs later the bottle lies shattered on the road.
Sweaty palms grip the steering. Clutch engaged, First Gear, Wheel spin…Power steer. He smiles. Repeats the process but dials in less power. She lunges forward. 7000 rpm, Second Gear. He’s already doing 70. Corner…. Brake, downshift, tail out, accelerate…..SMILE.
Eases her on to the highway and she starts to pick up speed. 70…100…130…150...Truck…..blips throttle, third gear, engine wailing, flick of the wrist…..SMILE. Eyes bloodshot, courage builds. Ears tuned to the fantastic sound behind his back, he drives on.
180….bend fast approaching, “Take able?” hmmmm….. Down into 5th, tires squealing, nose out, tail in….UNDERSTEER…..frantic downshift, third gear…..130…..7000 rpm
trying to induce oversteer….too much traction…..railing……CRUNCH....ROLL….THUD.
Police, today, found the remains of the 550 Maranello stolen from Nice. According to eye-witness reports, the driver lost control while trying to negotiate a bend on The Grand Corniche. The body of the thief has been found and the post mortem report suggests that he was driving under the influence of alcohol. Police have yet to verify the identity of this man however he’s not French. Interestingly, the thief had what appears to be some sort of a grin on his face.
I for one am a speed junkie. Nothing exhilarates me more than the sound of a ‘V’ revving into oblivion.
I know speed kills, however it’s a choice I make and it sure puts a smile on my face.
Unfortunately I also happen to have a craving for alcohol and when the whisky induced ‘Dutch Courage’ translates into a lead foot, THINGS can really go wrong.
Its 3:00 am. The night is chilly, with a light mist floating over the cobbled surface.
A middle aged gentleman saunters towards a row of cars parked neatly along the pavement. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of three keys. Click….Click, takes two keys out and tosses them away. Then, he looks at the key-chain and stops. It’s never looked so beautiful, what with its intricately carved silver horse shining ever so slightly in the dim light. He can’t help but reminiscence about his adolescent years, years spent yearning to own one of these. With the key held firmly in hand he carries on.
Beep Beep!! Two indicators flash. He reaches for the door and as he opens it, admires the swooping lines of the car. Marina Blue, gunmetal finish wheels wrapped in seductively detailed fenders. This was no ordinary car. It had a soul.
After swinging his foot over the wide sill and easing himself into the snug adaptive sports seat, he shuts the door with a resounding thud and takes a deep breath. “Nervous,” he thinks, “Maybe.” Excited? “Definitely.” The key is inserted and turns with a mere twist of the hand. What follows next is mind-blowing. The engine roars to life with the butterfly valves going about there business in the most synchronized manner possible. Right foot mashed against the floor, the exhaust blurts out a sound unparralled by any other. He fishes out the bottle of Petreux from his coat, proceeds to uncork it and then without thinking twice puts it to his lips. A few swigs later the bottle lies shattered on the road.
Sweaty palms grip the steering. Clutch engaged, First Gear, Wheel spin…Power steer. He smiles. Repeats the process but dials in less power. She lunges forward. 7000 rpm, Second Gear. He’s already doing 70. Corner…. Brake, downshift, tail out, accelerate…..SMILE.
Eases her on to the highway and she starts to pick up speed. 70…100…130…150...Truck…..blips throttle, third gear, engine wailing, flick of the wrist…..SMILE. Eyes bloodshot, courage builds. Ears tuned to the fantastic sound behind his back, he drives on.
180….bend fast approaching, “Take able?” hmmmm….. Down into 5th, tires squealing, nose out, tail in….UNDERSTEER…..frantic downshift, third gear…..130…..7000 rpm
trying to induce oversteer….too much traction…..railing……CRUNCH....ROLL….THUD.
Police, today, found the remains of the 550 Maranello stolen from Nice. According to eye-witness reports, the driver lost control while trying to negotiate a bend on The Grand Corniche. The body of the thief has been found and the post mortem report suggests that he was driving under the influence of alcohol. Police have yet to verify the identity of this man however he’s not French. Interestingly, the thief had what appears to be some sort of a grin on his face.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Why Ekta Why??
John Logie Baird invented the television in 1925 and revolutionised the way people looked at the world. Let me list for you what this brilliant invention has achieved over the years.
- I'm sure it brought a smile to many a face during the Great Depression.
- When the Enola Gay dropped its payload on Hiroshima, it showed us the grim reality of war.
- Emotions were literally brought to life with the advent of Technicolor.
- "WOODSTOCK" Need I say more?
- How can I forget Cartoons, which played a very vital role in my formative years.
- Movies, Sitcoms,News etc etc...
The list is endless. I think its one of the greatest inventions of the 20th Century.
Then, on the 7th of the 6th in 1970, a girl was born whose father at the time was popularly known as Jumping Jack Flash. She was named EKTA. I have no idea how she was brought up however I envision it to be something like this:
Dropped on the head when she was born. Then the good doctor proceeded to slap her derriere one too many times. She was never breast fed hence never received the right sort nutrients required to develop a brain. She was never sent to school but rather to a boot camp because she had caused her mother too much labour pain. She married at the age of 11 and her husband tried to burn her because she tortured his mother. She was divorced by the age of 12 and decided to carry on at boot camp. At the ripe age of 15, she married an alcoholic who committed suicide because she drank more than him. However, he was able to consummate the marriage and she gave birth to a beautiful she-male who is now learning the ropes in Thailand.
When she turned 18, Mr Flash(daddy) decided that it was time that his daughter attended college to break her monotonous & pitiful existence. College was no different for the poor girl. She hadn't given up alcohol and since she had visited her son/daughter in Thailand, she had turned into a nyphomaniac. Infact, in college, she was known as "Free Willy."
After being done by the entire college, she decided to foray into the world of Television. She was made creative director of Balaji Telefilms due to the fact that she had been through so much in her life(and since probably since no one else wanted the job). Imagine telling your friends " I WORK FOR BALAJI" Yipee!!! Then in the late ninety's she produced a serial called "Kyun Ki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi" which when translated into english means "The Most Ludicrous Piece Of Shit Ever To Be Screened." The story revolved around Tulsi who is married into the most obscenely dressed family ever. She is the quintessential housewife i.e subservient as defined by our glorified culture so they say. She is a good person as defined by the amount of make up she wears and her Mother in Law could be good or bad depending on the situation and the type of saree she's wearing. The show influenced a lot of people across the country and prompted husbands telling their wives to be like Tulsi. If I were a feminist I would have hacked her and fed her to the pigs. Unfortunately I'm not because that has it's own set of complications.
As you can see I have nothing against Ekta. I feel very strongly for Mr Baird who must be turning in his grave thinking of what one morally defunct and delluded woman has used his invention for. As you can see that she went through a lot of shit but then so do pigs but atleast you can kill and eat them.
Don't fret Mr Baird, she will grow old and weary and then probably this so called creativity of hers will just vanish. I will wait for that day.
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