useless buggers

ok this is what pisses me off
you know i seen lazy ppl..and i seen maharashtrians..
they have their seista and all, and its all cool..i can appreciate that
but they are just lazy ppl...
now get this senario...
i walked into a mobile shop and this guy sittin there says "dukaan band hai" im like what the fuck? i jus want a scratch guard....its right under the counter..and hes like nai dukaan band hai

it totally pissed me off..


i went last night to score some pot.
now this is shady stuff done even more shadily..
you go deep inside some jhopar patti thing which smell of piss and garbage.
and this is all covert operations stuff..
so you go there ask for the stuff..he looks at you, asks for the money and goes into some shack, gives you your stuff, you dont even look at it, you put it in your pocket and run like a bat outta hell..

now yesterday was totally different.
this was a guy who came with good recos. any way i went to him at 7 and some one tells me that the main motherfucker aint there, so i go at 7.30.this mo fo tells me that hes outta stuff.
so he tells me to come back at 8 or 8.15. so i go at 8.15 and this main mofo aint tehre , of the 2 other dudes there one is already stoned and the other is gettin drunk on desi, they smell..(pew)so im standin in front of a stinky jhopar patti and shootin the shit (read backchodi) with my friend.... then abt 8.45 i get really pissed..
i mean this is taking laziness and inefficiency to its limits...
if you are doin shady stuff at least do it right..
so i leave without the stuff...
and i got so pissed that i couldnt even get stoned last night..
bitch!

one thing i cant stand is inefficiency ... at all cost.. its fuckin irritating...
so i may blaze tonit, or i may not,
the whole deal is i never go back to that bitch ass mofo, he's lost my binnis fo life.

signin out..
b back wit a story real soon.

cold dark and forgotten

she stands there.she stands in the dark.her face partially hidden in the shadows..
the only light that falls on her, comes diffused from two houses away.She is a pianist.but oh, not by profession.but by the heart instead.she stands in the shadows looking.staring. thinking.contemplating, yet undecisive.lost in thoughts only she can think.is she sad?i dont know.but this i do know.tht she is not happy. "whats the difference" you ask.

ask this not of me,not of her but to yourselves..ask that when you are not happy are you sad? or vice versa? it is but a state of mind .. but do lets get back to her..she still stands in the balcony.looking out into he dark alley.i mentioned she is not happy, so you may ask why isn't she happy...Ah !finally a question i can answer.she has lost her music. a music piece so beautiful that when she heard it in her head for the first time she wept with joy, but she had lost it, it had come to her along with a wave of emotions and was swept away just as fast.
it was lost and this is why she was not happy. she could also ave been sad. i wouldn't know.

she feels its loss.and the pain that loss brings also painfully gnaws at her insides.the pain of losing a piece of music that she was in danger of never hearing again.it was a catastrophic thought similar to saying that one would never see a sunset again.she tried, alas, in vain to piece back tattered and torn fragments of the music.trying to simulate the emotionms was a failure too.the inspiration was lost. it was already forgotten.

the black and cold around her does not simulate the emotions, the happy emotions , that allowed the gateway to that wonderful masterpiece she had heard and forgotten just as swiftly.

she still stands in the balcony, unmoving.a tear rolls down her cheek, telling the story, of how much the sound meant to her.music felt not heard.on the fabric of imagination but not on the fabric of existence.
lost forever to a world which may or may not have cared. but she did.she cared.and so she wept.and the tear rolled, continuing with a story of its own.

she tried to wipe it away but the teardrop had a destiny and a story of its own that it had to complete.and so it rolls off her cheek catches a gentle breeze , and going off into the world dissipating and breaking up just like the music whose story it told, leaving her behind in the balcony just as we met her.with her long hair blowin in the wind and gently tickling her long slender pianist fingers.