Selective Amnesia There was a point to this. But I forgot.

The twentyfifth Chennai PhotoWalk updates and other things

In a recently resurrected annual performance, the rains, and roaring rivers running on roads, ravished Madras. So Vatsan et. al had to reschedule the 25th Chennai PhotoWalk. The new dates to mark on calendars and diaries: 29th November 2009. For details and to generally pester the brains out of Vatsan, call 9444999456.

(Don’t you just lurrrve the way the Rs roll?)

On to other things. I wrote this a while ago. Since then, I’ve learnt that I cannot perform poetry for shit. Or any incentives whatsoever. At best I can hem and haw and glare mightily at scraps of papers. But I do know I can do one thing – recognize good poetry when I read it, and put critique on bad ones. I also know I can do Dennis Leary in ways even Dennis L cannot do. I really am an asshole.

On the other hand, I am not. Or how else would you explain why people dub me the perennial brother? If a group of people (namely most women) were asked to reduce me to an abstract of my best qualities, I’d be a statue entirely broad shoulder and listening ears.

Not having much to do in Bristol (except climb hills, chase credit points and provide brotherly services) and having too much time to do it in, I have discovered many ways of keeping up with what other people are blogging about. Pity is, save for three, nobody is really writing anything worth repeating. In fact, the more pitying is that most people are purely repeating, without the rinsing.

Therefore, I am currently reading (besides the much treacly and academic essays as part of my course) Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. Yes, yes. I know. Behind the times and all. And not exactly highbrow stuff. Plead guilty. But in my defense, I should note that I never had a brow, its position on my face, therefore, does not enter the debate.

Drafts are still fishes behind glass.