Poet and Beast


It’s not about dropping words like stones down wells,
Listening to the clanks and clunks ricochet off the walls
As you hover near the edge, pleased with your senseless noise-making.

It’s about dropping yourself down the well.
It’s about human skin against stone –
That warm slap that wakens the blood
And can be heard for miles.

It’s about getting inside, you know?
Crawling into the English language
Like a wounded animal and
Curling up beside its pounding heart.

That’s the music.
The steady thump, thump of it going on
In its endless monologue.
You sync your words with the swelling of its lungs
And hope they sound like keys of an accordion
Breathing in dust and bellowing out clouds.

The beast at the bottom of the well
Has never bared its teeth at me.
At night I bury myself in its fur and
We move as one – a…

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Time Travel on Facebook

This is one of the best things I have read on wordpress by far.

The Green Study


I’ve written before about my aversion to some social media. Besides the conspicuous consumption of time, Facebook is how I found out that my best friend from 5th grade had lost the use of both her legs and arms in a car accident. Which led me to a search where I found out that another classmate and her brother were both dead in their early 40s. It was jarring and traumatic. These faces, frozen in my mind’s eye, were young and healthy and living happy lives in some far off world. Anything beyond that failed to reach my imagination.

When I was in my teens, we moved to a house, town and school far away from where I’d grown up. It was, in reality, only about 40 miles away, but rural miles. No public transportation or extra family car or cell phone plans to keep in touch with old…

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The Reason Why our Society should Stop Giving Excuses for Rapists who cannot Control Themselves

“I can’t control myself.”

So your sense of control depends upon the size of clothes the girl in front of you is wearing? You cannot keep hold of your hormones if the girl beside you is wearing something which shows more flesh than you are used to? What do you mean by you can’t control yourself? You’ll end up raping her? What are you? Some untamed animal? Years of education, nurturing and values can go down the drain because hey, who cares? She was wearing something she wasn’t supposed to, after all.

If the education system of this country, the moral background of the society we live in and the environment we grow up in is only producing people like you then I am very sorry to be born in a place like this. Even not ever being born would have been better (that reminds me we also have an arrangement for that too, courtesy our extravagant performance in practicing female foeticide.)

My country, India, is a proud (yes, that’s the keyword) rank holder for one of the most unsafe places for women on earth to exist. Politicians (ministers, no less) give excuses like “boys will always do mistakes” and some (a well renowned paedophile himself) even have the shame to say, “she (the victim) should have called him (rapist) bhaiya (brother)”. You see, madness is not a rarity here.

Yes you are the same people who’ll beat a guy to pulp if he happens to be your sister’s legitimate boyfriend, but you’ll shower a lonesome woman walking down the street with hoots of screaming lust because you can. Yeah, just because you can.


Yes. You, Sir, are a hypocrite of the first order veiled under the mask of some so called “traditions”. And I can give you no more credit than that.

Only if, only if parents taught their sons to respect girls rather than barking instructions to their daughters, we could have had a better a place to live in.

“Don’t wear that dress, your thighs are unreasonably exposed.”

“Don’t be so close to that boy. No need to have guy-friends.”

“Don’t go out that late at night. It’s not safe.”

Even if I did wear that unreasonably exposing dress, even if I did get closer to that guy — just as friends, no more — only because I thought of him as  a good person and even if I did go out late at night, does that give someone the right to misbehave with me? Is it all that takes for a guy to rape a girl?

Here’s one tip to keep your “uncontrollable” hormones in check: imagine the girl you’re about to pounce upon, is your sister. Imagine the girl wearing that exposing dress is your daughter. Think of the mother you love who’s also a woman. Imagine someone doing something like that to your  people. It hurt, eh? It should. And please, for God’s sake, do realize what kind of scum you are.

It’s only because of people like you, that parents think of their daughters as if they are some type of a burden. And it’s only because of guys like you, that there runs a misconception that “All boys are the same.” No they’re not. I have come across men who think girls are just like boys. There are some who think girls are even better than boys. And yes, even if a rare species, I know a lot of hardcore male feminists too. And they do exist — not in some parallel universe but in the same one that we do.

Anwesha Tripathy

image source: J. Schreier, Flickr Creative Commons


Consent: Not actually that complicated

rockstar dinosaur pirate princess

http://kaffysmaffy.tumblr.com/post/780535517 http://kaffysmaffy.tumblr.com/post/780535517

A short one today as my life is currently very complicated and conspiring against my preference to spend all of my days working out what to blog. But do you know what isn’t complicated?


It’s been much discussed recently; what with college campuses bringing in Affirmative Consent rules, and with the film of the book that managed to make lack of consent look sexy raking it in at the box office. You may not know this, but in the UK we more or less have something similar to ‘affirmative consent’ already. It’s how Ched Evans was convicted while his co-defendant was not – and is along the lines of whether the defendant had a reasonable belief that the alleged victim consented. From the court documents it appears that while the jury felt that it was reasonable to believe that the victim had consented to intercourse with the co-defendant, it…

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Jose Padua: The Night We Tried to Get a Poet Arrested

Vox Populi

I remember the night my friend and I tried to get a poet arrested
for his crimes against literature, his hiding
of horribly sentimental lines by speaking like a seller
of cheap real estate, those broken down houses
where everything and everyone leaks, in neighborhoods
divided by the tornado roar of long, slow trains, night and day.
It was just poetry, I know, words arranged like a landscape
of dark trees against the, whatever, azure sky,
but why should he escape punishment like the stealers
of poor people’s minority fortunes, the rule makers
who make us break our backs at hard labor
while they sit up high in penthouse suites
eating their feasts, drinking the best wine,
as they sneer at the riff-raff drawing heavy strings
and pushing square wheels along concrete floors
in the moldy basement, thump thump?
We called the police. “There he is,” I said,
“at the…

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Why Have Hobbies?

Aunt Beulah

In a recent Peanuts cartoon, when Lucy told Charlie Brown she was thinking of starting some new hobbies, Charlie said, “That’s a good idea, Lucy. The people who get most out of life are those who really try to accomplish something.”

Looking appalled, Lucy replied: “ACCOMPLISH something? I thought we were just supposed to keep busy.”

In the past, I thought like Lucy. Viewing hobbies as busy work to fill my idle moments, I pursued decoupage, macramé, origami, tatting, and yodeling. Each endeavor enjoyed the same success as my wish to be 5’6”.Wreath

My search for a busy-work hobby peaked when I scoured fields and ponds for nuts, pinecones, grasses, and twigs, which I used to make Christmas wreaths. I gave these creations to loved ones, who exclaimed happily and hung them in their snug homes.

I had used liberal amounts of a smelly liquid adhesive to attach my found…

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Dear Mom in the Waiting Room.

Dear Mom in the Waiting Room,

I didn’t see you at first. What I noticed as we walked in was a young, laughing girl spinning around with a stuffed animal at the end of her outstretched arms. She had that kind of pure laugh that made me smile just hearing it.

We were there for an ultrasound. Not a major procedure, but my son had major stress. My son is autistic, and has a boatload of medical trauma from his years in an orphanage. Add those together, and hospitals don’t end up high on our list. My son didn’t even notice the spinning, laughing girl.

I sat my nervous son down on the couch, gave him his iPad, and went to fill up his water bottle. (“Have him drink lots of water for an hour, and don’t let him pee,” they told us.  Yeah, okay. We had peed 4 times since the parking garage.)

The waiting room…

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