Desktop Woes?

Posted directly from Mozilla by ScribeFire.

I chanced upon this blog here, which complains that “Everybody who’s used a modern operating system for more than five minutes has been met with the hassle of juggling too many windows.”
Such may be the case. I really don’t know exactly what sort of ease of use Mr. Paul Miller has in mind. But IMHO if quick access to the desktop is an issue, it has been addressed by a small application
called Winkey, many moons ago, produced by Copernic Software. It has long since been abandoned. But I have a copy from the yore and when I press Win+D, I get to look at my desktop, with all the open windows minimized with a single keystroke. And if I ever needed to look at the list of open windows, good old alt+tab did the trick.
Now all I use my machine is for Word processing, tramping around the web, a bit of page layout . . . and I guess that’s about it. Well, I do put on the odd music tracks over the VLC too. And it has been sufficient for me.
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Back to Love

I’m back to love
There are more thorns than roses this time
Because I chose to hurt myself before
You came along and took my pain as yours
You touched me to ease my pain
Even though I failed to feel your love
I looked for it elsewhere
I didn’t know where to look
You pointed yourself to me, but I chose to ignore.

From the printed word you reach out to me
And hold my hand,
I clasp yours.
And the little blob of blood is smeared on my palm
Exactly where they ran the peg through your palm
Two millennia before

You have been my first love . . .
Let this be my last too . . .
Till I’m rid of this world.

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Reality Bites

It is all around us. We are enmeshed in it. This is something we are forced to live with 24×7. Love it or hate it, you can’t leave it.

It is Reality. Yes, with a capital R.

The world around us is bound by a set of rules, governing the way things move around. We are tied by a several skeins of strings so that our movements are restricted. These restrictions are defined by who we are, where we live, who we live with, who we live around and what we do for a living. If we think more we can surely come up with more of these elements, but these factors restrict us somehow at some point of our lives. We cannot do what we want to do. So much so, we are afraid to think what we want to do. In this regard it is imperative to remember that we’re restricting ourselves to that arena of life, in which we do something for fun and not as something that is we’re supposed to do for a living or as part of our jobs.

I’ve never been to the US. All my images of that country generate from my reading and the films I have watched. I feel it would be wonderful to ride a high speed motorcycle along a broad tree-lined street in top gear in brilliant sunshine, chasing the mountains far beyond, watching quaint little towns swish by with the voice of Kenny Rogers or Merle Haggard emanating from my headset. It’s a wonderful idea – wonderfully pleasant and pleasantly wonderful.

But then there are some problems here. First of all, I’ve never ridden a motorcycle in my life. And the first thing I’d do when I begin is probably crash it against the nearest wall, the best efforts notwithstanding. Next comes the place I choose. Airfare to the US, coupled with the visa fees is something I probably make in five or seven years, given the state of my finances at this moment. And then I wonder how would a visa officer react when I tell him I want to go for a motorcycle tour of the US. Probably he’d reach for the REJECT stamp and politely advise me to stick to HBO and Star Movies for my regular fix of America.

But I don’t need a US visa to feel the red leaves of autumn gently dropping on the ground, painting the earth red and shades of bright yellow.  All I need is a quiet place and my own mind.

All right reality, if you are ready hurt me, I am ready to deflect your blow. I have imagination.

It is true. There would be prices that I cannot control. There would be a hot  and humid summer. There would be the most exasperating little things that will pester you at every second of your day to day life. But nothing, absolutely nothing can take away my imagination. I can live with and live in my own personal America inside my head. And tell you what, this one might be better than the real one. So far as I know, I won’t need any money to get there, no dehumanising immigration process (like I read in the papers). And when I do get there, everyone around is gonna be friendly and greet me when they see me, for the simple reason that these people are just figments of my imagination.

So, in this way we can very safely shut out the reality, the restrictions, the fencing that determines what we can or cannot do. Is that it?

I don’t think so.

Reality is – for all practical purposes – what it is. It IS real, tangible, and hard and cold. It has it’s own bitter moments, and yes, it has its own sweet moments too.


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Ingrid : Music close to the heart

Posted directly from Mozilla by ScribeFire.

There is an old four line verse in Sanskrit ascribed to ancient Indian sage Chanakya. It goes something like this:
Protects like a mother
Engaged in welfare like a father
Like a wife, washes away sorrows with entertainment –
What does not education do to its adherers like a philosopher’s stone.

I’d say – in my personal life – internet has been performing the same role as education like Chanakya said. It has led me to Project Gutenberg, the heaven of all impoverished bookworms. It has led me to Jamendo, the heaven of all impoverished music-lovers. It has led me to Robert Burton Robinson, who’s quest in the literary world has acted as a rebuke to me for my own stupid inaction – beside providing excellent literary entertainment.  It has also taught me to look for gems in nooks and crannies of this vast ocean of electronic information.
Of them I plan to write one by one. I know no one reads my blog. That is not exactly a matter of sorrow. On the contrary it – sort of – relieves me of the responsibility to write sensibly. It’s like being alone in a public park late in the evening, you can’t see anybody around you, but then you know you may not be exactly alone. There might be one or two folks lurking around, engrossed in their own business, but they might look up and steal a glance at you if you let things go out of hand.
Presently what occupies my mind is a bespectacled young woman. If that’s all that there was about her, it’d have been all right. First of all, she is pretty. That is an over-simplification. I personally have this thing for women with glasses. And she definitely looks like someone, one would want sit with and chat one’s head off, watching the dazzling sun turn into a crimson ball and still not feel bored. (Indeed, now that I write and imagine the scene, I think it’ll be quite interesting to watch her black curls shining off the sombre glow of the setting sun.) Added to that is her voice, divine and soulful. Then there is the way she strums her guitar.  You can almost smell the raw, dew-bathed blades of grass in that sound.

In brief she is magnificent.

She is Ingrid Michaelson.

Of late my focus has mostly been on techno and trance. I almost accidentally bumped into her in www., while roaming around in cyberspace, travelling from one site to another.

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A haiku about Danny the Dog

I never tried any disciplined form of poetry. This is a first. Good thing Plinky made me do it. May be it will get better if I do it more.

The piano sings

He fights the laden hearts to hear

music from his boyhood . . .

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Dear Diary . . .

Posted directly from Mozilla by ScribeFire.

The need to express oneself is often satiated through the written word. Not everyone belong to that category though. For me, however, it is always the written word – be it a form of entertainment through reading or expression  through writing. The latter doesn’t  always need to be put up in a post for everyone to see. Sometimes it is even necessary that others do not see what I have written.
To address such needs as these, I have been scouring the internet since this morning for a site that might let me post the numerous notes that I often key in in my Nokia N70-1. (That machine has a serious handicap in this regard, but more about that later.) At the browser, I got this inspiration and directly typed “” at the address bar half expecting to be slapped with an error message stating that such a page doesn’t exist. But to my amazement, the Firefox returned a site that apparently allows users to record their diaries. I was elated and wasted no time to register for this site.
The interface was almost minimalistic and easy to handle. Nothing to muddle you up here. One just types one’s name, user id and email and twice the password and you are ready to go. In the next page one is asked to choose a name of your diary from a list or choose one that says “I will name my own diary”. The problem is – in the following pages, it doesn’t ask you what you want to you name your diary, but names it after your user id, which considering the name of a diary, can be pretty dull. The only solution it appeared at the time was to delete one’s account and re-register, choosing whatever default diary name was available.
It is at that point that I am right now. I don’t know whether I’d be able to re-register with my old email address or not.

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The Lit Lamp Over One’s Head

Posted directly from Mozilla by ScribeFire.

I came across this interesting post while looking for other peoples’ views on Nokia N96. That is something I lust after. I guess all of us have something that we truly want – something that we think would make life complete for us. Whether it does so or not is a different question altogether. But getting what one wants, is what I fancy talking about at this point.

This chap had his heart set on a Sony Ericsson Model – an Xperia X1. I don’t think this one is available in India yet. There was the question of price as well as that of the carrier. I guess there aren’t too many options in the UK when you’re choosing a cellular handset. You have to limit your choice within what your service provider will offer. In India, if you are a GSM customer you’re quite free to choose which handset you’d buy – from the very basic 1110 or F3 to feature-reach N95 or MotoQ, the choice is yours. The user in the UK is not that lucky, I guess. However, I am not going into the technicalities, or the whys and wherefores. But the way he got what he wanted, bypassing the machinations of the companies. It is an interesting story, and I believe it should better be heard from its original narrator at the link above.

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