my work gets a little more bizarre each day. one of the new trainees bit me.

dead butterflies

a silver golden background. exquisitely crafted butterflies on them.
then you take a closer look. they are alive. they won't be for much longer anyway. you watch life ebb out. you make life ebb out. you call it art.
damien hirst's art.
they are not from endangered species, they said.
but they still make me cry. no matter what you think, they do.
why is it getting so difficult to get what's going on? this is not the way things are supposed to be.

for the first time in my life i stopped midway through buying shoes and and and... did not buy them. but then i got blue bubble tee that i am yet to make up my mind on.

this sunday i was afraid.
sunday evening i went for a jazz performance - a bunch of people - friends, friend's friends - the kind you get. all posh and cocktail-sipping "in: crowd.
the music was very good as long as they didn't try fusion. close your eyes and you could feel the breath of a hot dark summer night, with faint stars in the distance, a little leafy-smelling fire somewhere and the primal energy of the night just outside your reach. it was good jazz. and then of course it became sort of nightmarish with attempted fusion of rabindrasangeet with jazz and it took me a while to figure out that it was real and i wasn't drunk beyond redemption. it felt like being trapped in a badly made bengali art film.
that was the beginning. the group seemed to have nothing to say against the fusion, in fact considerable time was spent lauding the effort and then thankfully (at the moment) we went for dinner.
we had a round table given to us and just the way long dinners go, the people became more relaxed and started being themsleves. which wasn't altogether a good idea.
there was obese man puffed up with self-importance who thinks only people with the "right pedigree" can be successful and the riffraff can't be tolerated nor worked with; semi-normal girl on his right who thinks the sun shines out of said man and sets best in new mexico; to her right was the spoilt rich entity with the loudest voice and manners who had disrupted the performance every five minutes, who has serious issues with life, self-perception, family and other people and has no qualms sharing them with the world and its brother; across her was her cousin - old, bald, uninteresting but could be a nice man for all i know but had horrible shoes and great degree of social awkwardness; on his right was R - distressingly nomal in all moments. on my left sat the potential communal rioter and elitist friend of mine and on my right decent Oxbridge guy who practices law.
the token normal presence from people-i-don't-know-world, the guy had impeccable manners, a good conversation to him, a sense of humour, generally the mature, understated sort of a person who still manages to have a presence.
all good, except for one thing - his habit of taking his car out at night and running over stray dogs. in serious, logical, well-thought out manner.
i have never been this scared. or so i thought till the Cow asked on her way home if she should call the guy over for dinner next week and when R started spluttering, she said casually "it's ok i guess. so many people kill chicken and lambs and eat them. this is ok."

thought of the day: i am incapable of being an adult. particularly so in adult relationships. whatever form they may be in.
i cannot deal with decision- making, commitment, responsibility and of course sanity.
and THAT makes me happy, according to 99% of people i know.
except it does not and i'd really like to grow up now. if only i knew how to.
and if, actually not if, when, i hurt people, i don't mean to. sometimes, i just don't know how not to.


and unrelated to all of this, i'm very confused about some other things as well.

i didn't realise it's been this long. i'm too sleepy to do anything else and too tired to go to sleep yet.
life is not much the same. but that's all i feel like typing at the moment.