A Surgeon Is Reverse of a Coder in Action while a Poet is a Reverse of a Psychopath in Thought

 Hello All 

After a hiatus of more than a multi- couple of years around same time I wrote my first ever words under this personal blog in year 2010.

So first of all a very happy anniversary . This is the 14teenth one and the second teenage anniversary .

As this blog ages , changes in view points are expected by my readers . But I personally think that it's not the view points changes but it's deposition of new views .

(written lying on couch)

Part - 2 

(writing atop terrace of my residential appartment building)

Just shot a small fun tonne video 📷 for the very personal emotions attached to the moon 🌝 n the cosmos .

With part - 1 missing all together let's begin with a psychopath .

He who has been a hates creature 👻 👽 He who has lives under mask 🎭 He who inhales blood n toast the same way together . He who ruins nothing .He who walks like air . He who namaste He who namaze He who is new everytime He who is old since the big band and even before .He is not a psychopath at all . 

Poetic facts and Poetic fantasy are so intermingled that appearance is blunt .

Surgeons precision and grandiose stature are both abhorred by the calm bodies . 

Coder has to take paise for paise and has to be a believer in God All Mighty .

Since hence therefore are all play of words .

Blogs are logs and at times a Bait 🪤 

...Rohit Tripathi , Earth Time XXXX Year XXXX 

"FearHasManyLanguage"

Releasing May 1st 

Electronic Media-Journalists Have Their Own Way Of Stocked Air-Time Clearance Selling  - They Label The Media-Averse Acting Talent As Under-rated and Start Gulping Silence .

Dear Double Standard Human-Society
Stop Blaming Governments/Monarchs/Dictators
 ( Representation Of Janata's Indifference To Anything & Everything )
Stop Blaming Filmstars/Rockstars/Popstars
 ( Fantasy Of Janata )
Stop Blaming Cricketers/Footballers/
 ( Star Of Janata )

START BLAMING YOURSELVES
START SPEAKING SELF-RESPONSIBILITY IN PUBLIC
START TAKING THE LEAD-CHARGE IN PUBLIC
START DOING HUMAN-THINGS IN PUBLIC
START ACCEPTING MISTAKES IN PUBLIC ONLY FOR MAKING OTHERS LEARN FROM IT AND KICKSTART SYNERGISTIC EFFECTS


Keep Your Inner Tempers At ABSOLUTE ZERO
Show Your Attitudes To Your Pet-Dog/s

STOP PARASITING
STOP PIGGING

START EVERY NEW DAY WITH A ABSOLUTE PURE SOUL


Because Neither You Nor Your Sick Self
Would Be A Matter To Anyone
Once You Are 'Not "SO" Boring By Just Being Out There'

How Big Is Big & How Small Is Small
Would Remind You Of The Similarity Between A "Plank's Length" & "Inter-Galaxy Travel Distance"

Tourism For Me Is
"An Overrated Geographical Combination "


A French In By Lanes Of Banaras Having Smoking Pot Is A Common Viewsite For An Indian
An Indian Taking Selfie At The Collosseum Is A Common Viewsite For A Roman

What Difference Does It Make To The WEAK NERVES is What Exactly Adds VALUE TO PERCEPTION .
In Reality It's Just A Exchange Of Few People , Here and Few There .


The Tourism Industry Thrives On Creating 'Referral Excitement' & 'Visual Concoctions'

IT ALWAYS TRICKLES DOWN

By this I mean when ever we come across a new experience , a new edge , a new personality or a new inspiration or consciousness for that matter . Our inner self which is that one part unreachable to the outer world and impervious to material destructions , boils the entire experience within fraction of seconds to give meaning to it within the context which our mind and soul can bear and sustain till we indulge and shower with the fresh new springs of chilled experiences to usher in the bright shining and blooming fields of new hope and fragrance.
Yes it always trickles down to few significant things , so one should always wipe the plate every morning , because its a new day altogether and should get re born everyday just like the sun gets birth and is killed everyday by the charm of the black nite.
Devil is in the details as they might often say , so be the god's son and read the cover page of the book to get into the upper line of this ever flowing stream of thoughts bogged down by the stifling and suffocating details . Just float on the clouds and you'll feel everything else will keep on looking up to you and would never look down on you!

SHORT STORY : FREUD FREDDIE AND F ! this sunday enjoy some reclusion to your hidden part long lost .

Freud , Freddie and F


“Researchers have to failed to demystify a conundrum-human psyche. Sounds like cliché but the significance is unquestionable . The premise of Freud’s theory of personality is still rated ostensible.

1200 Hrs: Minsk : Belarus . Freddie , 35 , a brash software programmer was in jitters. Aspirations were at stake . Previous indignations were enough to stimulate a whine that never came out. The tensed-board-room always felt inimical. And what followed was never thought. “Anna will lead the team” , said the directors .”Damn ….. “ , said Freddie .

Breadchest Hospital : Freddie was diagnosed with CVF( congenital ventricular fibrillations ) and the attack was psychologically triggered” , said the doctors. Porridge was served and soon Freddie went into sleep. It was raining heavily and distinctly audible was the croaky sound. The necromancer was firmly holding a frog , just when a noise of bullet shot brought the Amazon to a stand still. ‘F’. Yes , that was the new name , perhaps the first one. New grounds felt like velvet. “Why not?” I was inside a steel cage which the sentinel was holding. My owner , Madame Michelle was enjoying the razzmatazz. What a show it was. Glossy and effervescent . Just when I was figuring out my journey from Amazon rain forests to this opera house , the protagonist seemed a bit nearer and shockingly familiar through Michelle’s lorgnette, who was sitting in front . It was me , Freddie , potraying a selfish misanthrope inside a cage of thick glass.
He could always see ; but never listen .
Show ended . Fireworks and confetti falling all over .Some fell on me too . But this time I could feel them.
No wonder! The cage wasn’t there . Neither outside , nor inside . Myriad thoughts gushed into. I quickly recognized the porridge bowl . Emotions were on a high . I looked into Anna’a eyes. She was there with five others , who came to wish me health . Confetti had settled by now.

Even Sigmund Freud wouldn’t have thought that dreams could change some personality traits . I offered myself to this beautiful world and its people at large. Life has much to offer.”

ON the death bed at 61 , I wrote this letter to my daughter Jenny , narrating the incident that changed me for ever . I looked at firmament through the window and felt a second wind.
Realisation was long back ; Reclamation followed.