“I could scarcely believe what I saw
and I had the sense as in a nightmare
of being involved in something both wildly improbable
and relentlessly inevitable.
This had to happen.
Yet how could it have happened?”
Iris Murdoch
“The heart’s seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words upon some golden day when the little creatures of the air and meadow were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living? Who among us has not come home, singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, in the midst of a pouring rain?”
Myrtle Reed, Old Rose and Silver

“Nirvana”


Not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose,

he was a young man riding a bus through North Carolina on the way to somewhere.

And it began to snow.


And the bus stopped at a little cafe in the hills and the passengers entered.

And he sat at the counter with the others, and he ordered, the food arrived.

And the meal was particularly good.

And the coffee.


The waitress was unlike the women he had known.

She was unaffected, and there was a natural humor which came from her.

And the fry cook said crazy things.

And the dishwasher in back laughed a good clean pleasant laugh.


And the young man watched the snow through the window.

And he wanted to stay in that cafe forever.

The curious feeling swam through him that everything was beautiful there.

And it would always stay beautiful there.


And then the bus driver told the passengers that it was time to board.

And the young man thought: “I’ll just stay here, I’ll just stay here.”

And then he rose and he followed the others into the bus.

He found his seat and looked at the cafe through the window.

And then the bus moved off, down a curve, downward, out of the hills.


And the young man looked straight forward.

And he heard the other passengers speaking of other things,

or they were reading or trying to sleep.

And they hadn’t noticed the magic.

And the young man put his head to one side,

closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep.


There was nothing else to do,

just to listen to the sound of the engine,

and the sound of the tires

in the snow.




Tom Waits

“Life is similar to a bus ride.
The journey begins when we board the bus.
We meet people along our way of which some are strangers, some friends and some strangers yet to be friends.
There are stops at intervals and people board in.
At times some of these people make their presence felt, leave an impact through their grace and beauty on us fellow passengers while on other occasions they remain indifferent.
But then it is important for some people to make an exit, to get down and walk the paths they were destined to because if people always made an entrance and never left either for the better or worse, then we would feel suffocated and confused like those people in the bus, the purpose of the journey would lose its essence and the journey altogether would neither be worthwhile nor smooth.”
Chirag Tulsiani
Good Luck.

Good Luck.

“Consider carefully the merest event: in the best of cases, the positive and negative elements that participate in it balance out; generally the negatives predominate. Which is to say, it would have been preferable that it not take place. We should then have been dispensed from taking part in it, enduring it. What is the good of adding anything at all to what is or seems to be? History, a futile odyssey, has no excuse, and on occasion we are tempted to inculpate art itself, however imperious the need from which it emanates. To produce is accessory; what matters is to draw on one’s own depths, to be oneself in a total fashion, without stooping to any form of expression. To have built great cathedrals derives from the same error as to have waged great battles. Better to try to live in depth than to advance through centuries toward a débâcle.”
Emil M. Cioran, Drawn and Quartered

Queen Nymphet"


You’re too young
You’re just a child
A grain of sand
A willow still bending

Go run along
You’re on your own
You have to learn
How the world can hurt you

When you’re older
We’ll have a time.
When you’re older
There will be a place for us
When you’re older
When you’re older
When you’re older
When you’re older

Give me something
To remember you by.
I see the flower
The chain around your neck.
You’re too young.
You’re just a child.
A grain of sand,
A willow still bending.

When you’re older
When you’re older
When you’re older
When you’re older

When you’re older”
The west coast pop art experimental band

Lights In The Sky"


She’s mostly gone
Some other place
I’m getting by
In other ways
Everything they whispered in our ear
Is coming true

Trying to justify the things I used to do
Believe in you

Watching you drown
I’ll follow you down
I am here right beside you

The lights in the sky
Have finally arrived
I am staying right beside you
Trying to stay away
Just in case

I’ve come to realize
We all have our place
Time, time has a way, you know
To make it clear
And I have my room and yes, I can’t disappear
Or leave you here

Watching you drown
I’ll follow you down
And I am here right beside you

The lights in the sky are waving goodbye
And I am staying right beside you

Songwriters: Trent Michael Reznor
Lights in the Sky lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Limited

You & Me In Time


You and me in time
You and me in time

The river flows down
The flower grows up
The snow makes no sound
On the mountain top

You and me in time
You and me in time

We’re saying goodbye
We’re waving our hands
The waves and the tide
Move the grains of sand

You and me in time

Broadcast