Stuart of Cleartrip
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.
Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
- Bob Dylan "Every Grain of Sand"
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Glimpses at life from Malad to Lower Parel ... movement without much meaning. Just go from here to there.
Hard Rock Cafe
Hard Rock Cafe
DP's, Ruia Naka
Chota's Kitchen Glass
Building whos roof is being stripped off, Lower Parel.
note : all photos with the SE k790i camera phone
Friday, January 12, 2007
the vanashing bus
Ramona, come closer,
Shut softly your watery eyes.
The pangs of your sadness
Shall pass as your senses will rise.
The flowers of the city
Though breathlike, get deathlike at times.
And there's no use in tryin'
T' deal with the dyin',
Though I cannot explain that in lines.
Your cracked country lips,
I still wish to kiss,
As to be under the strength of your skin.
Your magnetic movements
Still capture the minutes I'm in.
But it grieves my heart, love,
To see you tryin' to be a part of
A world that just don't exist.
It's all just a dream, babe,
A vacuum, a scheme, babe,
That sucks you into feelin' like this.
I'd forever talk to you,
But soon my words,
They would turn into a meaningless ring.
For deep in my heart
I know there is no help I can bring.
Just do what you think you should do.
And someday maybe,
Who knows, baby,
I'll come and be cryin' to you.
- Bob Dylan. "To Ramona"
Monday, January 08, 2007
I am sick and tired that I have hardly clicked any respectable photograph in the last several months. I post some old photo or some extremely crappy one. I write shite stuff. I have managed to not focus on the things I love doing. Without focus we just drift. But wrong focus is sick. It screws your happiness.