The Chemistry of Tears / Peter Carey [book excerpt]

He told me that tears produced by emotions are chemically different from those we need for lubrication. So my shameful little tissues, he said, now contained a hormone involved in the feeling of sexual gratification, another hormone that reduced stress; and finally a very powerful natural painkiller.

"What is that one called?" I asked.

"Leucine enkephalin," he smiled.

The Lover's Dictionary / David Levithan [book excerpt]

detachment, n.

I still don't know if this is a good quality or a bad one, to be able to be in the moment and then step out of it. Not just during sex, or while talking, or kissing. I don't deliberately pull away -- I don't think I do -- but I find myself suddenly there on the outside, unable to lose myself in where I am. You catch me sometimes. You'll say I'm drifting off, and I'll apologize, trying to snap back to the present.

But I should say this:

Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.

---

Found this on my second flip of the book. It speaks my heart.. I so wanted to tell you that I truly love you. Pardon my detachment most of the time, but I do care, for you are the very home in which my whole existence resides.

Stealing Time In Between Music and Room-Cleaning

I was cleaning table, tidying up my books, papers and stationary a while ago when I suddenly thought of a wooden photo frame I had bought months back.

I am not a person who is into photo-framing, really. But in January, there was this awesome outing with a joyful bunch. And we had this group photo taken that day, which we printed out at shop and signed by all of us on the very same day, then distributed for everyone in the gang as memento. We absolutely love this photograph!

For this, I went and bought a frame. It is not an expensive one but I like it a lot, this dark wooden frame. Unfortunately it was too small for the group photo. So I kept it aside with certainty that it will be put into good use someday.

So, I was taking my own sweet time doing my cleaning just now. And as usual, I always find something else to do in the midst of it. I thought of this frame. Then it led to photo-scouting. And camera was out. Took a few shots. And then here it is. The frame I fancy, and the photograph it now houses.

Today is a hot day, as hot as previous two days. My room is like the mall's parking lot. But I still need to get houseworks done. In a jazzy mode right from the time I awake, am dedicating But Not for Me by Chet Baker for this morning load.

When I Am Sick of Sleep..

Let me recall how many hours I have slept in the last five days: 20 last Saturday plus at least 12 on Sunday plus 16 or 17 or more on Monday plus 10 or 11 maybe yesterday plus about 13 this morning through afternoon. I am sick, and I am sick of sleeping for once in my life. So I ate a bread, mounted my camera and tested my newly acquired white backdrop then realised how fond I am of Profumo di Limone.

And yes, I brought back some junks last week. Again.

Held Up

Can you see this?
A Transparent mold
masked by thin film of dust
with clear fluid bottled within
Can you see it? This mold.

Do you notice?
How its colour changes
from colourless to slight gray
gradually turns black and bleeds in red
Do you not notice? It cries.

It moves. The fluid.
Minute at first
sparingly then intimately
it rises: one, two, three
Army of bubbles ready to escape.

“Let me out,” it echoes.
Boiling with aggressive rage now
let me out, time’s not up
let me out, let me out, let me out
let me out, nothing could be seen
let me out, let me out, let me out
let me out, sound is deafening here
let me out, let me out, let me out
let me out, before precious air is exhausted
let me out, let me out, let me out
let me out, taste of metal everywhere
let me out, let me out, let me out
let me out, it’s not fair
let me out, let me out, let me out
let me out, don’t want to be drown
let me out, let me out, let me out

Let me out
let me out
let me out
let me out
“Let me out!”

Self Definition, As At Today

Fascinating! This tattooing business: if tattoo were the dream, clients would be the dreamer, and artists realise what is dreamt.

Accompanied a friend to the tattoo parlour today to get a string of long-overdue words inked, and now they shall be remembered for a lifetime.

Truly, I have been musing myself to have a tattoo too but I could not trust myself to get one. You see, I am living on two solid mottos now, and the third remains vague. But nothing is permanent in my life by far; not happiness, not even sadness, except perhaps, Change itself. It is as if I am everything yet I am nothing at all. And I long to know where I belong. Someone or something might be able to hold me down from floating.. Maybe an ink. Maybe? Maybe not.

Aah.. I still could smell the fragrance of jasmine drifting in the air that filled up the red room we were in this afternoon. It was, and still is, a comforting scent for me regardless of my feeling funnily strange.

Sherlock Holmes [script excerpt]

Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.