The only charactor in Lost, which seems to be unaffected by time. He’s also the only brown-eyed guy with the sufficient amount of charistma to make me swing the other way.

The guy seems to be a mythical creature hiding behind the scenes of the chaos and drama in the world’s most acclaimed TV series. He’s seen three generations of leaders in the island and was probably influential for their ascensions as well. There are many theories behind his strange existence, but as with everything else in the universe I believe that he’s just a piece in the grand scheme of things.

The serendipity of Richard Alpert is that there really is a guy called Richart Alpert in real life. Known as Ram Dass, he’s an old soul and a harvard professor who experimented with LSD. Both on a professional and recreational basis.

I’ve been reading his book and it’s also induced a sort of LSD affect on me. But I dunno, I’ve been drinking my own blood for the last two weeks and eating lots and lots of pills, which could also be the reason.


I just realized that I can gulp up more than five tablets in one go. With only a teeny weeny bit of water. Yaay!

We anonymous wayward bloggers have the ability to change our alter-egos whenever we wish. As long as we don’t give a fuck about comments and readership, there is no real incentive to build up a ‘character’, like in real life. We can be ourselves, we can write about what we really feel, at any given moment and get away with it.

In this blog, I’ve been many things. A jerk, a saint, an epicurian, an alcoholic, a pessimist, an optimist, a boy with an innocent heart, a guy with a big dick, a man with humility, an iconoclast to sinhala-buddhism, an avid activist against marriage, a seeker of true love, and many more…

This is because I can let go of my ego. And build another one in the very next instant.

The same cannot be said for bloggers who choose to reveal their real-world identity. Or for bloggers who choose to create a fixed blogging identity. They are forever prisoners of a sole ego. And when something goes wrong, they try vehemntly to defend themselves. And the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Nibras Bawa fell spectacularly yesterday. I bet it hurt. A lot.

The only blogger that I’ve seen capable of blogging without anonymity is Indi. Remember once, some guy made a filty comment on his blog using the name “Indi”, but the real Indi never took it down. Sittingnut’s threats and accusations may have stirred him a little but he never moderated those comments.

The rest of the blogsphere still has a lot to learn.

Conditional Love

April 6, 2009

Java’s post got me thinking.

The world aspires the notion of unconditional love, which I think is due to some sort of hippie spiritual awakening that happened in the late 90s. But it was just a fad and no one really understood it. In real life, we are much more interested in practicing conditional love.

Marriage (a social construct upheld by law) is of course the epi-centre of conditional love. Prostitution is it’s mirror image. Whether you like it or not, conditional sex and conditional love are more or less the different sides of the same coin. It’s a bargain or an agreement between two people. Sometimes it’s three or more, but it’s still the same.

Love belongs to the present moment. Whenever you cling on to the notion of a past life or consumed by the fear of the future, love becomes unreal. It’s simply not love anymore.

No wonder there’s so much jealousy, hatred, anxiety, and fear in the world. We don’t love each other, we love the notion of a future filled with love.

Too much Testosterone?

April 1, 2009

She’s been watching me watching her. Our eyes meet, and she instantly looks down, with a I’m-sorry-to-have-flirted-with-you type of grin on her face.

I lock my computer and move to her table with my cup of tea.

“Good morning.”

She lightens up and acknowledges. I let out a breath of relief. Usually encounters like these end up with a humph, snort and a i-don’t-want-to-get-raped-by-you sort of look.

Our conversation jumps from excellent wifi speeds to stray dogs and then to the hazards of long-term relationships.

“How old are you by the way,” she slips in the question. “Thirty?”

“No. Do I look thirty?” I ask heartily, but she shrugs and becomes silent.

“In my mid twenties.” She obviously needed an answer.

“Are you Married?”

“No. Do you see a ring on my finger?” I fired back.

We were both silent for awhile. Thank god the cup of tea was not empty.

“Oya hari wasai neda?” [Translation: You get angry easily?]

I was a little pushed, but I wasn’t angry.

I wanted to end the conversation on a lighter note, so I complimented her on her long earrings and made an excuse to leave.

On my way down, I kept wondering if what she said was true? Do I come off as imposing? I do speak very little. And maybe I don’t show my emotions as well as I should. Perhaps it’s the testosterone.