Saturday, October 25, 2008



This isn’t a satire of Roman Polanski’s incredible 1996 movie starring Sigourney Weaver and Ben Kingsley, but it’s something personal: A satire rather of writing styles. I personally believe that writing has got to be in such a way that people reading it will actually be able to READ it and not try to DECIPHER it. It’s not a code: It’s just an assortment of words strung together to make music sound better :)

So in this notion, I write this ‘spoof’ on what I actually am writing simultaneously, a serious story which is as mischievous as it is a revelation. Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you, to what is certainly NOT going to be my very own, DEATH AND THE MAIDEN…

“The Cross – That deitified emblem upon which one of the noblest of mortals, and immortals together had been issued a termination from his post of worldliness. And mutiny though he did, or continue though his existence in the ages passed, the moments on the verge of becoming history and the ages yet to be rolled out the red carpet, mortalisation is still as prickly as the unearthly is blissful. But venture or venture not, the worldly mundane, the forces of universal integrity do happen to shove pioneers and gist-breakers up through dusty cracks on this blue planet, to set first foot on roads seldom ventured into. And if exploration of the inevitable could be considered as brilliant as it is insane, then these pieces of a quadrupled cerebrum would very well be the daredevils of a generation yet to surface…

They could very well be the next big thing…

And that precisely, was what they desired

The Cross – That was how the tetrad rested their parts of personal invisibility on four comfortably engineered pieces of teak, their heads enclosing an obvious void at the very supposed origin of all warmth and humanity sustaining chasms of good beneath expanses of red, green and black. And this notion of axial emptiness is never intended to be metaphorical, that people essentially are heartless, but rather a cacophony directed at the ignorance of the common when interpretation and the urge to perceive obstructed all access to that other sense that had been installed by mandate in every hominid mind the mortal are cursed to be oblivious about. A laugh as exhilaratingly gleeful, probably, as that of Mozart when musically abuse he did, his formers, contemporaries, friends and fellow foes: A mark of overconfidence with a steroidal dash of mischief, circumscribing it all…”

Anyway, I guess a satire doesn’t get any better than this: Don't you think???


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