Vignettes occupying the vacuum of my cerebral psyche, black and white omniscient, recurrent, accepted, registered! 

Benaras Standard Time: The Book (Chapters I-VI)

Possible table of contents

I. 2009: Benaras Triptych
             i.a. Four Days In February
             i.b. Monsoon's Moonson
             i.c. Archaeology of Qurobear
II. 2010: Traces of Dara Okat & Hinterland
III. 2011: The Shiva Incident + Aftermath
IV. 2012: Shivala Ricochet
V. 2013: Subterranean Entropy
VI. 2018: Anonymity Almighty

The book elaborates on subjects ranging from strangely banal to supernatural, detailed analysis & character-studies of people I have met on all these visits, the conversations and music we shared and collectively created, ideas for a future utopia, drawings and diary notes of mystic encounters, apocalyptic incidents in a little oasis in Shivala Ghat, the depth of the Indian Raga, the unexpected discovery of the Dhrupad Sampradaya and Pallab Das, the alleged captain of the ship sailing to the North Star, fooling around for the camera in a bear costume (from Chowk), scaling walls to shoot in ancient haveli's on the Ganga, cryptic studies of nature's wear-and-tear via the macrophotographic form manifest as Abstraktkollisions on every nook and corner of this place!

He had helmets for eyes, minisafety video-recording devices connected directly into the arc-eye of the absolute. Aesthetics, anagrams, algebra transfers from the corner of the universe, his silent hill in the ocean, a radiogram of radioactivity reminiscent of a seven-year itch. 

Q&A(2101)

Question: Does Time have a form and a face? Are we trapped in this illusory fractal of forms or do we free ourselves into the absolute formlessness?
Answer: Let the wind find its way right through the left hemisphere of your brain and paint shapes in autumn red and turbulent indigo in a superconscious superunknown we call the temporary life. These few years in this particular form, this peculiar cut, the few inches occupying a dot on earth, its a journey through time and space, time being the eternal now alone, past stashed away into cerebral corners, future containing no discernable script, a timeless horizon over Ganga, orange-clad sunlessness castaway onto shores of shamanistic shadows. Kashi, release the Shiva onto the Ghats, make a pencil-sketch of a Trishul on Narad Ghat next to Mark's Redhouse. Bhom!

Question: Is the artistic image the only eternal one? 
Answer: As transparent as it seems, the aspect of fluidity within art is what provides a state of temporary relief, a sense of divine contact, touching the thread hanging above your head to let the supersonic hum sing through the vessel that is your body. In this state of grace, a oneness appears to have manifest itself within the corridors of your corpora callosa.

ShivaGangaLodge/Room1

motherevolution

Cricket beside Mother River, Motherevolution circa twentyeighteen, this time the addition of the Ave Maria Factor from the city. Madhuvanti on Ghats, Resting at Everest, Jesus Alone blasting thru the BOSE vortex in Shiva Ganga, once again. Revisiting the clouds from twentyeleven. Seven years ahead, 6 months left for the cosmic conclusion to Saturn's Spectrum. Pallab's cinematic nuances at Das Complex, Technicolour humming birds holding porcelain seagulls, vibrations on Harishchandra of cockmanbulldog surroundsound, Vishwanath wants to go on a boat journey, once again! Kashi is forever, time unknown, address unknown! Anon Mouse.

Ganges Transition / 21012018 / Day of A

To think and act was all, to enjoy and breathe;

This was the width and height of mortal hope:

Yet there came glimpses of a deeper self

That lives behind life and makes her act its scene.

A truth was felt that screened its shape from mind,

A Greatness working towards a hidden end,

And vaguely through the forms of earth there looked

Something that life is not and yet must be.

Fifteen Days In Celesta Kashi.

The Atmosphere's figurines mist through memory
Creating cyclical movements,
       a sleight of hand,
       the number 8 in infinity,
Of all that was, of all that is and of all that will be, ultimately
      its the solitary candle,
      a Purity of Essence,
The Voice Within Without Vice
Visudha's vortex surfer.

Fiftytwo years of a neon union,
      Oh Father, Oh Mother release the strength,
Let the Cosmic Energy burst out via nad yoga thru
      Sahasrara's made of frequencies and idiosyncracies,
Resplendent oranges bloom thru the poisoned blue
Trishul's plugged into Shiva Stratosphere!
      Bhom Har Har Mahadeva,
Corporal Klegg inhale, exhale, evaporate...

Exodus Esoterica

Distorted diagrams descending onto the universal plain

Carving remnants of the mundane past with nothing to gain

Whirlpools of whirling wanderers accept the insane

Casting revolutions and seeking revelations in the rain

And tapestries of travellers on a train

Writing these words in Bangalore city, a premonition weaving a formless shape in front of my hundred eyes. Kashi calling into the supermundane dance of delight. A deluxe waiting to happen in the cosmic supertone of the seedsound Dhrupad and intonations of frequency via Pallab Das Harishchandra Ghat. Benaras, I love you!

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