Depression Dog’s V Day

Well, I was trolling 4chan and here are some depression dog jpegs just for you sad lonely people on V Day. Enjoy and relate.

 

   

            

Marriage ala TRex

Greetings with a Smile

MDTL is proud to present our very first guest blogger, DarkeRose. Here is her first post -

Say not the struggle nought availeth,
  the labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faint not, nor faileth,
  And as things have been, things remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
  It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
  And, but for you possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
  Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back through creeks and inlets making
  Came, silent flooding in the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
  When daylight comes, comes in the light,
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly
  But westward look, the land is bright.
                                   ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

Greeting the morning with a smile.

We used to have a cheap blue alarm clock which we acquired early in our marriage after we realised that our body clocks were just not doing their job after a late night of partying. It served us well through the years. Only now and then would we fail to wake up to its dulcet tones. On those days I and my better half (worse half on those days) would miraculously find ourselves on our feet with staring eyes and hair on end screaming at each other for not hearing the alarm. Then there would be a mad rush for the loo, sometimes in the wrong direction. While doing the job and going through Femina's tips on how to greet the morning with a smile, I would be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door and a voice asking frantically where the sugar was for the tea he was making. Grumblingly I'd crack the door sarcastically asking if this was a hotel or what that he didn’t know where things were kept. Then I would give directions that the sugar was in the cupboard whose keys were in the other cupboard whose keys were in the--------. This exercise was a painfully failing attempt on my behalf to curb the pilfering activities of my maid servant, who invariably when I lost them would hand them to me with a smirk. Hence the continuous change of hiding places. Finally after the keys were found, he would make his way to the kitchen, but not before passing snide remarks on senility and Alzheimers. I would go back to what I was doing hastily. No time to peruse through that article now!

Nowadays we wake up to the ring of a brand new alarm clock, which has come all the way from Disney land, Paris and was presented to us by our son. Its ring in the morning is enough to wake up the dead. Its ring is also a cue for me to cower under the bedclothes as I see my sleeping partner flail his arms searching for the clock and bringing crashing down all the doodahs with the vase of flowers I had placed on the headboard following another mags advice on how to spice up your bedroom life. In the ensuing silence I'm asked, ’Where did you say the old blue clock was?' I mumble something about senility and Alzheimer’s and turn over.

The Real World.

Whoever told you that a long vacation refreshes, relaxes and get's you ready for work is a dirty stinking liar. After being pampered, fed and generally coddled for two and a half weeks at home, returning to work is like emerging for a warm, cushioned womb into a dismal dystopian reality. Not that its not warm here.. oh no! Delhi's burning heat of June may be over, but the weather here has unleashed a new weapon in it's arsenal - humidity. The air is so sodden, so damp, that goldfish would probably find it salubrious. Any small exertion and you're pouring out streams of sweat and gasping with your mouth; much like afore-mentioned goldfish. Contrast that with my home in Coimbatore where an air conditioner is never required.

Add to this the tedium of office. My cubicle, which was chosen carefully for its solitude and distance from everyone, has been filled to the brim by sincere hard working drones. The person next to me, so awed by his manager, reads out lines of code to himself in a semi-panicked mutter which does much to drive away all my peace of mind.

And of course, in Delhi I am at the whims and fancies of outdoor food. Whereas at home, I am secure in the knowledge that all I have to do is turn up at the dining table at prescribed intervals and be fed; in Delhi every meal takes at least 15 minutes of keen descisions. Do I eat or skip? Do I subject my stomach to the tortures of the cafeteria, or do I venture out in the broiling sun to eat at a resteraunt? Will a bowl of musceli stave the ravening pangs of hunger or should I go whole hog on that cheese burst pizza and pay for my indulgence with guilt ridden sleepless nights? Decisions, decisions...

More than what is.

Arthur C Clarke passed away today. He saw more than what is.

Carpe Diem, 2008

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song
still in them. - Thoreau

That is the saddest but truest thing I have read. People travel through life shackled to their crosses. Only those of us unaware of their burden can ever be content. The rest of us peer up to the night sky through the bars of our school, our job... our life.

Few are those who dare to unfasten the shackles, to unbolt the shutters to walk in the light beyond. Because isn't that what society teaches us; shoulder your responsibilities, do the right thing, be part of the team. And most of us, cowed into submission, resolve to 'do the right thing by others', never imagining that maybe we were intended to do the right thing by ourselves.

And in the end when we look back, is the path not stewn with regret? For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been’…

So to you gentle reader, I entreat; live your life to the fullest and remember, your biggest responsibility is to yourself. Let not the fears, aspirations or opinions of your parents, your friends or society dictate the terms of your life.

It's not too late.

And so this 2008, Carpe Diem, baby.. Carpe Diem.

Emu Therapy

Humans are complex beings.. or so they say. I say, everyone is just fucked in the head. It's only the degree which varies. In fact, trust me, the degree to which peoples brains are dysfunctional rarely varies too. I mean why does anyone need meth, once life does a number on your brain ?

I guess everyone has moments when they wanna slit their wrists, sit in a dark corner and rock backward and forward, keening. These are called Emu moments, and don't worry; everyone gets them. My advise to you, is that when you get an Emu moment and want to slit your wrists, don't worry. Just remember, cutting across your wrist is NOT at all effective. For the best results you have to cut DOWN the wrist along the forearm. More hints here.

Remember this is not for teenage angst ridden Avril Lavigne listening emo-bois. This won't give you a cool scar. This. Will. Kill. You.

It's funny though; most of the music I like are Songs to Slit your Wrist by. Check out a few here. Maybe thats why I am the way I am, and maybe thats why this blog is called Mine Darke and Twisted Life. And mabe this is the most truth you've ever read here.

Besides slitting your wrist, there are other options open, of course. You could join the foreign legion and get fisted by a hundred other crazy fuckers. When bending down in the shower to get the soap has you scared silly, there's not much brain space left to contemplate the complex emotional tangle that drove you emu in the first place.

Or you just move to Australia for some Emu-therapy. Coz' when the world is looking bleak and you feel that you just can't go on, there's nothing better than the love of a large flightless Aussie bird.

And I know this, because I'm Mr. Brightside.

Home

I just had a dream about my little dog; my Julie. I was at the seaside with my friends, our house was right near. I guess the place was supposed to represent my grandparents house in Trivandrum, and though it looked nothing like that house, there was a feel about it.

My mother called me up from the beach while we were playing in the waves. We had to climb lots of stairs set in a cliff to reach our house, which had now absudly become a very queer flat. She told me Julie died. She was in a carboard box, lined with cloth, grey on grey. I said she couldn't be dead as she looked almost ready to wake up, and I kept seeing signs of subtle life in her like little breaths.

We buried her on the seaside.

As the sun set, under the sand we buried her where the sea would lap over her grave at high tide. I could still see her black button eyes almost hidden under the fringe of grey hair. My other dog Misha stayed under a chair the rest of the day. That evening as I sat alone in the house, reading, I heard a whine from my mothers room. I opened the door only to see Katie, Julies mother, who died more than four years ago. As I hugged her, overjoyed to see her again, she told me that Julie was still alive. I don't know how she conveyed that message, but she did. She leapt from my lap, and I and Misha turned and ran after her. As we ran down the stairs along the cliffs to the sea, everything seemed to go in slow motion, and Daughtry's 'Home' started playing in my head.

As I reached the grave, I saw every second wave was washing over it, and I feared that I was too late. I fell to my knees in the surf, and scrabbled at the sand frantically. I found the box, but when I opened it I saw sand had seeped in and filled the box.

But I saw movement, and soon Julie was coughing and shaking herself alive. I was so happy.

It was a dream.

Julie passed away yeserday at my home in Coimbatore, while I was a million miles away in a different country and I'll never get another chance to pet her; for her to greet me when I return home.

But, I still remember as she played that night in the surf under the moon, this song was playing

The miles are getting longer, it seems,

The closer I get to you.

I've always been man's best friend for you.

And your love, remains true.

And I don't know why.

You always seem to give me another try.

I'm going home,

Back to the place where I belong,

And where your love has always been enough for me.

I'm not running from.

No, I think you got me all wrong.

I don't regret this life I chose for me.

But these places and these faces are getting old

So I'm going home.

Well I'm going home.

And I will see you, Julie, Katie and all my dogs, when I finally go home.