Q : Hey guys i have been referred to this website by a colleague. He said you people can help me pick out a new pc. I live in the UAE.
Here is my current weak system.
processor: Intel Core Quad Q6600 2.40 GHZ
memory: 4GB ram
motherboard : ep35-ds3l
GPU: ATI 3870 512 MB
Well, i have played almost every single game that came out on this system. Last game being just cause 2. At a decent rate of 30-40 fps. But ofcourse, graphics werent too high.
So i thought i know how to build a new pc, but i came to read your forums and i got confused really fast with all your talks about microstutters or what have you. This pc has been with me with for two years, and when i bought it, it wasnt the top of the line either.
I don't want to play games at a resolution of above 1680x1050. So what do you think i should go for? Lets say a budget of 3500-5000
So can you guys pick out a system for me that will last me a while, say two years again? Something not too fancy, but something that can run new games without compromising much on graphics.
A : Disregard everything said before.
Here's what you do, and you need to follow my instructions to the dot, or else it will not work.
Procure a duffel bag, roughly 11' x 34'. Inside it, put in all your worldly posessions that will fit comfortably, your phone, wallet, passport, yearbook. Basically, everything that means anything to you.
Also, you will need a series of post-its in 3 different colours. The selection of colours are immaterial to the process, just as long as they are different. Write down your address and homephone number on each.
Stick one inside the duffel bag, another inside your wallet, and the third one should be taped to your chest, you will need to remember where you live in case you forget due to circumstances that shall be explained to you later.
Head over to COMPU ME, and head over to Tahira Computers.
Ask for Vinayak, the head salesman there, you will recognise him on account of him having a desk in front of him with a lot of paperwork.
Tell him that you "know all about the cheese"
He will nod, and take you to the 'backroom'.
When you're there, do not say a word and try not to make any noise until he says "Guatemala?"
At this point, you should nod your head, and take your shoes off and put them in the bag.
Hand him your bag filled with your worldly posessions, and he will hand you a red box.
Do not open the box until you are home safe, inside, you will find a Mendocino Celeron Processor capable of running Commander Keen at lightning fast speeds.
The rest of the items will be in the mail, hence the two other post-its that are safe inside the duffel bag that Vinayak now holds.
Around this time, you will begin to feel a bit strange, but don't be scared. You will be fine, although the events that have just transpired will be completely forgotten.
When you regain consciousness an hour later, you will instinctively check to see if you had been raped, and this is how you will chance upon the post-it on your chest.
Eventually, you will find yourself home with a proc that is almost God-sent.
You will be the envy of all your friends.
--------------
Unfortunately, he didn't buy it.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Graffiti
Graffiti
By Dayaan W.
Act I
4:20 AM
Cold morning in Prague, he shuffles through the snow,
Runs back because he hasn't shut his door.
Dressed in a cheap Chinese import Diadora track suit, his breath is steady despite the biting frost building around his spectacles.
Blinded for a moment,
he wipes away,
puts them back on,
regains composure, and makes for the Old Town Square.
Act II
Almost deserted, he surveys his canvas. The old fountain forming the center seems to have frozen as it stands lifeless, staring back at him in equal indifference.
A pigeon defecates into the frozen fountain bowl, a futile attempt at breathing life into the barren square.
The artist smiles, and wastes no more time, as the window now, for his magnum opus, is almost fully shut.
He tears away the breakaway, stripper track pants he'd borrowed from his nephew the previous night,
takes a deep breath,
exhales,
and walks into the open square as pigeons beat a hasty retreat for the skies. If the slippery cobblestones could fly, one would imagine that they would follow suit, had they any idea of the events that would follow early that morning at Wenceslas.
He takes yet another deeper breath, squats down, not so low that his derrier would kiss the smooth cobble stones below, yet not so high that one would sit on a chair, he needed it just right.
Act III
A perfectionist, like any artist worth a second look of evaluation, that morning , gazing up at the Tyr Cathedral, he did not have to stop himself from instinctive prayer, there was no need because..
...THIS, truly this!, is what his life was all about, this was what he had lived for, and this...
...would be something!.
The cold would, to a layman, effectively freeze a pair of supple, tender cheeks together, restricting the flow of feces, but the artist was...well, the artist. He was a professional, a cut above the rest.
He, of course, had accounted for the cold weather, and had trained himself to loosen almost every ligament and tendon that connected his bone and flesh together with simple exercise.
Tightening and loosening the muscles below the hips, he soon thawed out the frost until all numbness below his waist, had all but gone.
Act IV
Steady breath, he slowly released his payload of yesterdays stroganoff onto the almost inviting cobble, and waddles forward proudly, with the finesse and gait, of a well decorated, duck general.
It had begun to snow again, tiny flakes were gradually descending onto what had now become, a well decorated town square,
"Perfect!"
He thought to himself, "the icing!, it comes forthwith!".
Anyone watching would have not believed that so much, could have come out of a vessel so small.
Was he human?, no in fact, he was not.
He was an artist, THE artist.
Thirty minutes later, the townsfolk were already gathered, staring in disbelief.
Some fainted, others fought through the cold for words that never came, some even screamed.
The majority of the audience just stood silently, as if the artist had a thousand fingers resting on everybody's lips. Nobody dared move, the local law enforcement had let their batons slip from their hands into a slow swing around their wrists.
It was too late.
It was complete.
Act V
The artist could hardly stand. he'd lost a lot of energy, having completed his masterpiece that stretched atleast half a kilometre across the square in diameter, on both sides.
He had just completed the first and largest copy of The Vitruvian Man using only fecal matter. He had earlier planned to add the finishing touches to the eyes, face, hair, lips but was too fatigued, as was his audience.
Now facing the Tyn Cathedral to the North, he sighed a prayer, and collapsed on the street.
The air was ripe with paint, to the point where even the most iron-stomached were finding it difficult not to regurgitate their breakfasts onto the already defiled ground.
No, the old cobble stones had had enough.
The first voice heard was a woman, cutting through the silence like a swing of a rusty axe on flesh.
"This is an outrage!".
The last syllables cut short due to her almost vomiting after breathing the dense air.
The Town Mayor stepped forward, over the motionless body of The Artist.
Taking a deep breath,
exhaling,
he said,
"No."
"This is art".
By Dayaan W.
Act I
4:20 AM
Cold morning in Prague, he shuffles through the snow,
Runs back because he hasn't shut his door.
Dressed in a cheap Chinese import Diadora track suit, his breath is steady despite the biting frost building around his spectacles.
Blinded for a moment,
he wipes away,
puts them back on,
regains composure, and makes for the Old Town Square.
Act II
Almost deserted, he surveys his canvas. The old fountain forming the center seems to have frozen as it stands lifeless, staring back at him in equal indifference.
A pigeon defecates into the frozen fountain bowl, a futile attempt at breathing life into the barren square.
The artist smiles, and wastes no more time, as the window now, for his magnum opus, is almost fully shut.
He tears away the breakaway, stripper track pants he'd borrowed from his nephew the previous night,
takes a deep breath,
exhales,
and walks into the open square as pigeons beat a hasty retreat for the skies. If the slippery cobblestones could fly, one would imagine that they would follow suit, had they any idea of the events that would follow early that morning at Wenceslas.
He takes yet another deeper breath, squats down, not so low that his derrier would kiss the smooth cobble stones below, yet not so high that one would sit on a chair, he needed it just right.
Act III
A perfectionist, like any artist worth a second look of evaluation, that morning , gazing up at the Tyr Cathedral, he did not have to stop himself from instinctive prayer, there was no need because..
...THIS, truly this!, is what his life was all about, this was what he had lived for, and this...
...would be something!.
The cold would, to a layman, effectively freeze a pair of supple, tender cheeks together, restricting the flow of feces, but the artist was...well, the artist. He was a professional, a cut above the rest.
He, of course, had accounted for the cold weather, and had trained himself to loosen almost every ligament and tendon that connected his bone and flesh together with simple exercise.
Tightening and loosening the muscles below the hips, he soon thawed out the frost until all numbness below his waist, had all but gone.
Act IV
Steady breath, he slowly released his payload of yesterdays stroganoff onto the almost inviting cobble, and waddles forward proudly, with the finesse and gait, of a well decorated, duck general.
It had begun to snow again, tiny flakes were gradually descending onto what had now become, a well decorated town square,
"Perfect!"
He thought to himself, "the icing!, it comes forthwith!".
Anyone watching would have not believed that so much, could have come out of a vessel so small.
Was he human?, no in fact, he was not.
He was an artist, THE artist.
Thirty minutes later, the townsfolk were already gathered, staring in disbelief.
Some fainted, others fought through the cold for words that never came, some even screamed.
The majority of the audience just stood silently, as if the artist had a thousand fingers resting on everybody's lips. Nobody dared move, the local law enforcement had let their batons slip from their hands into a slow swing around their wrists.
It was too late.
It was complete.
Act V
The artist could hardly stand. he'd lost a lot of energy, having completed his masterpiece that stretched atleast half a kilometre across the square in diameter, on both sides.
He had just completed the first and largest copy of The Vitruvian Man using only fecal matter. He had earlier planned to add the finishing touches to the eyes, face, hair, lips but was too fatigued, as was his audience.
Now facing the Tyn Cathedral to the North, he sighed a prayer, and collapsed on the street.
The air was ripe with paint, to the point where even the most iron-stomached were finding it difficult not to regurgitate their breakfasts onto the already defiled ground.
No, the old cobble stones had had enough.
The first voice heard was a woman, cutting through the silence like a swing of a rusty axe on flesh.
"This is an outrage!".
The last syllables cut short due to her almost vomiting after breathing the dense air.
The Town Mayor stepped forward, over the motionless body of The Artist.
Taking a deep breath,
exhaling,
he said,
"No."
"This is art".
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Not for the week
I received some troubling news yesterday. I can't say it didn't affect me upon hearing the whole thing.
But what really gets to me is the days to follow. I subconsciously envision every aspect of my daily life, adding several mental weights and amusing myself by thinking about how long it would take for me to drop to the floor in an almost catatonic state.
Unfortunately, this is the only solace that I can derive from said situation.
Am I scared about the present?, or the not so distant few weeks?.
Fuck it.
'Fuck this' indeed.
But what really gets to me is the days to follow. I subconsciously envision every aspect of my daily life, adding several mental weights and amusing myself by thinking about how long it would take for me to drop to the floor in an almost catatonic state.
Unfortunately, this is the only solace that I can derive from said situation.
Am I scared about the present?, or the not so distant few weeks?.
Fuck it.
'Fuck this' indeed.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Circle
I eat to be full,
I drink for my thirst to be quenched,
I walk to be tired,
I smoke to be happier,
I argue for submission,
I love to be loved,
I lie to trust,
I am dying to live.
-Dayaan
I drink for my thirst to be quenched,
I walk to be tired,
I smoke to be happier,
I argue for submission,
I love to be loved,
I lie to trust,
I am dying to live.
-Dayaan
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Gedankenexperiment
Olive green turtleneck, dark denims, Birkenstocks , cafe latte in one of those mugs with something silly like "#1 Dad" or "World's Best Bastard". The T.Vs turned onto some news channel or the other, who really cares, he knows his morning routines are pretty much scripted to whatever was on that show with the normal family in that average house somewhere Downtown, or whatever. If he wanted to, he'd probably be pulling out a warm pair of his own jeans from the oven, in the nude, with a toothbrush still in his mouth, it's amazing how easy it is to picture yourself doing that. But once you leave the house, and interact with well dressed people, you feel dirty, immediately deleting the memory of that morning and replacing it with something,
Normal.
----
Welcome to my take on people and society in general. I'm not the best at what I do, but that's only because I have no idea what I'm doing, the story may shift here and there, there may not be a story at all , I may guide you into many walls, but I guarantee, the nano-second of disappointment will not be alien to you, an emotional medic that's constantly working in your head, keeping you content, making you feel important, building ego, repairing fault lines after a fight. If you really aren't feeling that familiar self-worth, it's likely that your medic is stuck in traffic.
"Can I get the cheapest vodka you have?".
D.W
Normal.
----
Welcome to my take on people and society in general. I'm not the best at what I do, but that's only because I have no idea what I'm doing, the story may shift here and there, there may not be a story at all , I may guide you into many walls, but I guarantee, the nano-second of disappointment will not be alien to you, an emotional medic that's constantly working in your head, keeping you content, making you feel important, building ego, repairing fault lines after a fight. If you really aren't feeling that familiar self-worth, it's likely that your medic is stuck in traffic.
"Can I get the cheapest vodka you have?".
D.W
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Puddle
"... imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, 'This is an interesting world I find myself in, an interesting hole I find myself in, fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!' This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it's still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything's going to be all right, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. I think this may be something we need to be on the watch out for."
-Douglas Adams
Consider yourself,
moved.
-Douglas Adams
Consider yourself,
moved.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Harakiri
As I shed a single tear,
While you remain silent at my feet.
I am everything you wished I would be as dawn paints the sky.
The world awakens as you kiss the soil.
The hour comes sweeping,
While you stay kneeling.
You pray that I will be as swift.
Goodbye my brother
I will see you again.
Dayaan W.
While you remain silent at my feet.
I am everything you wished I would be as dawn paints the sky.
The world awakens as you kiss the soil.
The hour comes sweeping,
While you stay kneeling.
You pray that I will be as swift.
Goodbye my brother
I will see you again.
Dayaan W.
Friday, May 29, 2009
He lives
He finds home with the maps scarred on his arm, and the wounds unhealed within his subconscious.
He knows full well, that he cannot live out his hedonistic dream.
He is the dying mother of his own mental being, conceived and experiencing the world folded onto itself.
He is born out of myth, and exists by reacting with what we accept is reality.
Awaken.
Dayaan W.
He knows full well, that he cannot live out his hedonistic dream.
He is the dying mother of his own mental being, conceived and experiencing the world folded onto itself.
He is born out of myth, and exists by reacting with what we accept is reality.
Awaken.
Dayaan W.
Friday, May 22, 2009
This must stop 'Tree'.
Look,
I'll level with your tall, towering ass.
I know it isn't eaasy being a tree, especially with the Swedish running around.
But really, you cannot, honestly think that people would mistake you for a human being, thats just wishful thinking tree!.
Stop being such a cunt and assume regular tree behaviour, you cannot run with those legs tree!, they're just made of bark, even a chipmunk with a chainsaw could catch up to your stupid ass!.
I'll bet your tree friends think you're all that with your two legs, but you don't fool me you bastard, I know I waved at you when we met, but that was just me feeling sorry for you.
Motherfucker.
Get back to your roots tree.
----
Alright so I decided to put up my own homage to the person who runs one of the most awesome blogs I've come across.
The tree I picked was one I photographed myself in an eco park at the Kandalama Hotel in Sigiriya.
Oh yes , big-ups to the 53rd Division of the Sri Lankan Military on finally putting an end to the LTTE Chief.
Thats all from me now.
Bai.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Rawr
I am a rebel
Or am I really?.
A long time ago, I used to rebel against anything that stood in the way of my pseudo-hedonistic lifestyle.
But that was me at 18, today I can admittantly say that I base my opinions on whether the information regarding the subject matter is easily accessible or not, which sounds pathetic really.
I hope that people who ever had a measure of respect in me can forgive me for this, but there have been incidents where I've come out on top without question.
I honestly have no clue why I decided to write this, I've been yearning to write about anything, for quite some time, maybe it's just me desperately wanting a magnum opus of my own, ignoring the fact that I've got a lot more time left in this world.
But I feel I've lost faith in faith itself, I could pass inexplicably, leave a trace for a year, and then be forgotten like a firecracker glorified.
A cousin of mine here in Sri Lanka recently reminded me that the emotions you show, the extreme ones that are born out of a social reaction, are the manifestations of God himself, i.e, you being as hateful and ripe with deceit, at your worst time, is but a mere measure of how vicious God can be. As for me, I've been loved and discarded, as well as loved and discarded, driven to sheer terror, madness, love, depression , each born out of each other like a chemical imbalance that can never settle.
And probably never will, but I don't really mind in a way, after all, to feel is to live.
I believe that in order to exist, to truly exist on Earth, you need to react with the environment in some way, no matter how small, or insignificant. You could bump into someone on the street that you've never even met before, and it would have some kind of effect later.
I actually typed this out a couple of days ago, thinking I'd complete it, but I honestly couldn't be arsed right now.
Sorry.
EDIT: I just got back from an awesome trip to Sigiriya last night, we stayed at a couple of hotels, the second one being the Heritance Kandalama which was just beautiful since it was built around a forest, almost everything left undisturbed
http://www.heritancehotels.com/kandalama/
Thats all from me now,
Bye <3 :)
Or am I really?.
A long time ago, I used to rebel against anything that stood in the way of my pseudo-hedonistic lifestyle.
But that was me at 18, today I can admittantly say that I base my opinions on whether the information regarding the subject matter is easily accessible or not, which sounds pathetic really.
I hope that people who ever had a measure of respect in me can forgive me for this, but there have been incidents where I've come out on top without question.
I honestly have no clue why I decided to write this, I've been yearning to write about anything, for quite some time, maybe it's just me desperately wanting a magnum opus of my own, ignoring the fact that I've got a lot more time left in this world.
But I feel I've lost faith in faith itself, I could pass inexplicably, leave a trace for a year, and then be forgotten like a firecracker glorified.
A cousin of mine here in Sri Lanka recently reminded me that the emotions you show, the extreme ones that are born out of a social reaction, are the manifestations of God himself, i.e, you being as hateful and ripe with deceit, at your worst time, is but a mere measure of how vicious God can be. As for me, I've been loved and discarded, as well as loved and discarded, driven to sheer terror, madness, love, depression , each born out of each other like a chemical imbalance that can never settle.
And probably never will, but I don't really mind in a way, after all, to feel is to live.
I believe that in order to exist, to truly exist on Earth, you need to react with the environment in some way, no matter how small, or insignificant. You could bump into someone on the street that you've never even met before, and it would have some kind of effect later.
I actually typed this out a couple of days ago, thinking I'd complete it, but I honestly couldn't be arsed right now.
Sorry.
EDIT: I just got back from an awesome trip to Sigiriya last night, we stayed at a couple of hotels, the second one being the Heritance Kandalama which was just beautiful since it was built around a forest, almost everything left undisturbed
http://www.heritancehotels.com/kandalama/
Thats all from me now,
Bye <3 :)
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday, May 08, 2009
Once held
"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire."
-François de la Rochefoucauld
-François de la Rochefoucauld
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Omegle what?
So recently I came across this anonymous chatroom called Omegle, it's basically the online equivalent of being thrust into a dark room with a complete stranger and forced into conversation.
This of course irked me, for no reason other than, what is an omegle?
My failure in finding a meaning behind it, and my newfound disdain in stupid words that lack a purpose other than to describe a retarded idea that it was made for...
...led me to write out this post at 5 minutes to 5 AM :).
Now I'm sure that, like me, you guys see how this idea can go terribly terribly wrong.
So I decided to try either annoying, or freaking out my given 'Stranger' into disconnecting, this way I can be a nuisance and nobody can really do anything about it. =D
I should give up therapy.
Anywhoooo..
Stranger: How are you?
You: I'm good
Stranger: where you from?
You: Croatia
You: what are hobbies?
Stranger: cool
Stranger: capoeira!
Stranger: are you man or woman?
You: wow
You: I like to nun slapping
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
SUCCESS!
Lets try again, I think I'm getting the hang of this :).
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You: HEY
Stranger: hello
You: MOTHERFUCKER , GIVE ME BACK MY CAPSLOCK BITCH
You: FUCKER
You: GIVE
Stranger: son of a bitch fuck of
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
I'm a pro!
Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: Hi
You: *drumroll*
Stranger: Huh?
You: NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP
You: NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN
You: NEVER GONNA TURN AROUND AND
Stranger: Asshole
You: DESERT YOU
You: NEVER GONNA LET YOU CRY
Stranger: Go to hell im leaving
You: NEVER GONNA SAY GOODBYE
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
w00t RickRoll' achievement!
Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: Hey
You: POOP ON MY FACE
Stranger: HAAHHAH
You: PLZ?
Stranger: that was funny XD
Stranger: d00000000d hizzlemynizzle yo
Stranger: wazzup?
You: MY BEARD DESIRES TO BE STAINED BY YOUR ARSE NUGGETS
Stranger: take that on my ass please!
Stranger: nananan sing with meh
Stranger: comeon comeon
Stranger: dont play so cocky come on.
You: look, I want to post this as a funny conversation on a website
You: why won't you cooperate?
Disconnected.
Well you can't win them all.
Also with that last one, I realise I'm in danger of raising a few eyebrows o.o.
Call me sick at will, if theres a job to be done, I'm going to do it right.
IshouldprobablybesupervisedbyentirelifeIknow
Bai <3
This of course irked me, for no reason other than, what is an omegle?
My failure in finding a meaning behind it, and my newfound disdain in stupid words that lack a purpose other than to describe a retarded idea that it was made for...
...led me to write out this post at 5 minutes to 5 AM :).
Now I'm sure that, like me, you guys see how this idea can go terribly terribly wrong.
So I decided to try either annoying, or freaking out my given 'Stranger' into disconnecting, this way I can be a nuisance and nobody can really do anything about it. =D
I should give up therapy.
Anywhoooo..
Stranger: How are you?
You: I'm good
Stranger: where you from?
You: Croatia
You: what are hobbies?
Stranger: cool
Stranger: capoeira!
Stranger: are you man or woman?
You: wow
You: I like to nun slapping
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
SUCCESS!
Lets try again, I think I'm getting the hang of this :).
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You: HEY
Stranger: hello
You: MOTHERFUCKER , GIVE ME BACK MY CAPSLOCK BITCH
You: FUCKER
You: GIVE
Stranger: son of a bitch fuck of
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
I'm a pro!
Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: Hi
You: *drumroll*
Stranger: Huh?
You: NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP
You: NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN
You: NEVER GONNA TURN AROUND AND
Stranger: Asshole
You: DESERT YOU
You: NEVER GONNA LET YOU CRY
Stranger: Go to hell im leaving
You: NEVER GONNA SAY GOODBYE
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
w00t RickRoll' achievement!
Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: Hey
You: POOP ON MY FACE
Stranger: HAAHHAH
You: PLZ?
Stranger: that was funny XD
Stranger: d00000000d hizzlemynizzle yo
Stranger: wazzup?
You: MY BEARD DESIRES TO BE STAINED BY YOUR ARSE NUGGETS
Stranger: take that on my ass please!
Stranger: nananan sing with meh
Stranger: comeon comeon
Stranger: dont play so cocky come on.
You: look, I want to post this as a funny conversation on a website
You: why won't you cooperate?
Disconnected.
Well you can't win them all.
Also with that last one, I realise I'm in danger of raising a few eyebrows o.o.
Call me sick at will, if theres a job to be done, I'm going to do it right.
IshouldprobablybesupervisedbyentirelifeIknow
Bai <3
Monday, May 04, 2009
iCan't Sleep
I was just telling a friend (this post is going to come off as boring to you now that you know what it is so move along, you know who you are haha) , sometime after I finally got around to watching that Benjamin Button movie,
I wish I lived in a movie, and I know I'm not the only one who probably feels this way.
That way, you'd know when something bad was about to happen because of the rise in tempo of the music, which would give you enough time to get out of the way because that killer panda moonlighting as a ninja is totally going to rip you a new one.
Some people want to know how their story ends, some would rather wait for the surprise, or for some, an anti-climax.
I'd want to know whats in store for me really, I'd have a chance to improve on it, or just be content with the way things are when current affairs go awry.
I guess for a select few, you'd really be able to categorise life with movie genres, you'd be able to tell one personality from the other that way non?.
If I had more readers here, I'd ask them to post a comment with what director they'd want their lives done by, but clearly I don't.
Incidentally, I'm loving this two sentence minimum shift thing I have going here.
Ingenious.
I've realised theres really no point, or cohesion with this entry so heres a picture of a sleepy hedgehog.
I wish I lived in a movie, and I know I'm not the only one who probably feels this way.
That way, you'd know when something bad was about to happen because of the rise in tempo of the music, which would give you enough time to get out of the way because that killer panda moonlighting as a ninja is totally going to rip you a new one.
Some people want to know how their story ends, some would rather wait for the surprise, or for some, an anti-climax.
I'd want to know whats in store for me really, I'd have a chance to improve on it, or just be content with the way things are when current affairs go awry.
I guess for a select few, you'd really be able to categorise life with movie genres, you'd be able to tell one personality from the other that way non?.
If I had more readers here, I'd ask them to post a comment with what director they'd want their lives done by, but clearly I don't.
Incidentally, I'm loving this two sentence minimum shift thing I have going here.
Ingenious.
I've realised theres really no point, or cohesion with this entry so heres a picture of a sleepy hedgehog.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Taprobane
Like a flower with war-torn petals,
Where the people live on cold showers and hot nights.
The sound of the wingless birds expelled from corroded cannons,
Will drive your flock away from sight.
To sift through the reddenned grain seems a chore
To lay motionless in a pool of tears is much more than I can bear
I wait head-strong and patiently until the sounds of marching men fade, swallowed by the trees
To rise and take stock, and start all over again.
-Dayaan 21/04/09
I'm still in Sri Lanka, taking in the sights and sounds at a moderate pace, due to my stay being unceremoniously extended. On the whole, I don't really mind, I can't believe that so much time has past already.
For everyone I've left in Dubai, I miss you guys loads :), hopefully I'll be back soon.
Cheers,
Where the people live on cold showers and hot nights.
The sound of the wingless birds expelled from corroded cannons,
Will drive your flock away from sight.
To sift through the reddenned grain seems a chore
To lay motionless in a pool of tears is much more than I can bear
I wait head-strong and patiently until the sounds of marching men fade, swallowed by the trees
To rise and take stock, and start all over again.
-Dayaan 21/04/09
I'm still in Sri Lanka, taking in the sights and sounds at a moderate pace, due to my stay being unceremoniously extended. On the whole, I don't really mind, I can't believe that so much time has past already.
For everyone I've left in Dubai, I miss you guys loads :), hopefully I'll be back soon.
Cheers,
Sunday, April 19, 2009
It will all be over and here we are
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-Q5t4Q26o0
The silence keeps it easy
Keeps you safe for the moment
As you're walking away
Your footsteps get louder
All you needed was time
But now time will destroy us
It will all be over and here we are
We're stuck inside this salted earth together
You'll pierce my lungs
My limbs go numb
As my colors fade out
You watch me bleed
You watch me bleed
I gave you everything but die with a smile
All you wanted was to live for a while
You took everything but it left you empty
You can't replace me, you can't
It's almost over and here we are
We're stuck inside this salted earth together
You'll pierce my lungs
My limbs go numb
As my colors fade out
You watch me bleed
You watch me bleed
It will all be over and here we are
We'll die inside this salted earth together
You'll pierce my lungs
My limbs go numb
As my colors fade out
You watch me bleed
*sigh* <3
Meanwhile, I can't want to get back to Dubai.
The silence keeps it easy
Keeps you safe for the moment
As you're walking away
Your footsteps get louder
All you needed was time
But now time will destroy us
It will all be over and here we are
We're stuck inside this salted earth together
You'll pierce my lungs
My limbs go numb
As my colors fade out
You watch me bleed
You watch me bleed
I gave you everything but die with a smile
All you wanted was to live for a while
You took everything but it left you empty
You can't replace me, you can't
It's almost over and here we are
We're stuck inside this salted earth together
You'll pierce my lungs
My limbs go numb
As my colors fade out
You watch me bleed
You watch me bleed
It will all be over and here we are
We'll die inside this salted earth together
You'll pierce my lungs
My limbs go numb
As my colors fade out
You watch me bleed
*sigh* <3
Meanwhile, I can't want to get back to Dubai.
Friday, March 27, 2009
iLive
I live with every crack of the sky that brings tears to thirsty soil.
I yearn with every grievance struck upon me by human spite.
I seek the judgement day brought swiftly, ending this mortal frame.
I am but a lone wolf seeking shelter.
I will be forsaken.
I will be.
Dayaan
I yearn with every grievance struck upon me by human spite.
I seek the judgement day brought swiftly, ending this mortal frame.
I am but a lone wolf seeking shelter.
I will be forsaken.
I will be.
Dayaan
Sunday, February 15, 2009
I collide
One, two three
Lets meet and cavort like old times
In the same apartment towering over city cars
painting bright neon lines in a slow shutter
Lets roar louder than the fire engulfed
In, out and around a dying building sacrificed
Twirling and twisting around a promise broken
Time beats with the sound of scurrying seconds
I'm thinking, running, screaming faster now until sunshine
The clicking hands fall to the floor
It's left me in the middle of my own little choreographed breakdown
As the dust settles
The sun will be my own, and only witness
Goodnight
Dayaan
In his own right
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