Saturday Slowgrind

It’s Saturday, and I am at work. It’s horrible I tell you; the worst bit is that there really isn’t anything to do here.

So, I was done reading the news, searching for universities, and exotic recipes, and then just before I got here, I clicked, like I always do, the blog that was updated this very minute.

Apparently, Heavy Metal is a more nuanced genre of music than many of us would like to believe. It is still about thick and massive sound, extreme machismo, pulsating beats, getting your body pierced in all sorts of places, and volume, really high volume. But do you know that as an art form, this most exquisite variety of sound has evolved and branched out into, Brutal Death Metal, Deathcore, Doom Metal, Epic Gore, Goregrind, Experimental Porngrind, Mathcore (??), Melodic Doom Metal, Neo Thrash, and Symphonic Viking Metal. Of course the creativity doesn’t end here; we have Anal Cunt, a band that is at the cutting edge of modern day Grindcore. Their latest album is, a fifty track magnum opus, I Like It When You Die. It begins with the sombre and inviting, All Our Fans Are Gay, the title song is, You (fill in the blank), and it contains the hugely popular Being a Cobbler is Dumb, Ha Ha Your Wife Left You, I Only Hit You Because You Are Pretty When You Cry, Phantom Pharter and Clottage Cheese.

We should send these people into outer space; I think they would be happier there. It would be funny though, AC floating in space, battering their equipment, yelling, hitting, biting and yet there would be no noise. Neo Hush.

It’s the reason crowded streets look so fascinating from inside a building, because from behind the glass you cannot hear the dust, the heat or the hurry.

******

Every now and then all of us have a day that is absolutely perfect. It needn’t be filled with achievement of any kind, might just be a regular day but a really pleasant one. Sometimes I wish I could be caught in a day like this.

Sometimes I wish we could all be caught in one never ending day, it would begin, and all of us would go through it and then it would end only to repeat itself in exact manner. They should tell us when it’s going to happen, six months in advance, and we could all stock up on love, happiness and everything else.

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I watched this tragic story of a young woman shot dead while on her way back home. The incident seems quite random and without any motive, the police are clueless and the media has found new fodder for the month.

For some reason I was reminded of school, our Principal would give these really long lectures on Wednesdays. Most of us looked forward to it because it meant a few lost lessons, but I just liked to listen to what he had to say. I didn’t pay it much attention later, but in the chapel I was all ears. I remember very vividly, him telling us about how none of us factored death into our calculations for the future. Really, we don’t, the poor woman would have had her plans and dreams and everything, not just for the next ten years but for that evening. And then suddenly this happens.

Of course no one will ever factor death into their calculations, least of all little children and I don’t know why he was talking to us about that.

Once, he told us how as he ate breakfast that morning and threw some pieces of egg to his dog, he wondered whether the dog would ever share his meal with him if he was dying of hunger.

Being an ardent lover of dogs, I was very worried that day.

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I discovered this really cool new Google feature. You can now write a post and time it so that it gets published in the future.

Ladies and Gentlemen do not take this lightly; it’s not simply a way of writing your customary birthday post well in advance and timing it for midnight.

We can now have someone speak to us even after they are dead. Imagine, like Van Gogh, a blogger celebrated for his writing after his death. And the suspense! Unlike paintings, which were all there in front of us, the posts would come suddenly and irregularly. Imagine - the cult-following, the betting on when the next post would appear, whether the last one was the last one, whether there will be a last one! Oh, and the enticing possibility of the ‘dead’ blogger actually being alive.

Alternatively, and if you have limited quantities of literary genius, you can just use this feature to speak to your future self.

I am sure Google didn’t think of all this.