no te metas con el toro

Amongst other random, strange things from my mornings - a Huffingtonpost report on how a celebrity couple no longer sleeps in the same bed, a video on too many of my friends' Facebook Walls on teeny tiny girls doing some sexy dance (so much irony in re-posting a video that you find nauseating), an image of the matador that got gored through the throat (you've been warned), brief musings on how I'm getting increasingly irritated by photographers who are too in love with their own work, shock at news of Sygma being closed down, and trying very hard to recall the last dream I had before I woke up and not being able to and then suddenly remembering it as I brushed my teeth that I had dreamt of two toddlers standing on a parapet and yelling at them to come in IMMEDIATELY and then somehow my mom was there and asking me why I was yelling and I explained to her and she seemed not to quite get it and tried to fall out of the window to see what the fuss was all about and then there was a lot more yelling (from me) as I grabbed her feet and dragged her in.

And then, my Mom metamorphosed into a young Caucasian man with suicidal tendancies ("This is my third try but I keep failing") and I sat with his hands in mine as his wife sat beside us and I tried looking into his eyes to try and understand why why why why why. And his wife, who was blonde with big eyes grabbed my arm and pleaded to help her understand as well.

The daily act of reading newspapers in the morning is always a bit of a despondent affair.
Today's papers, for instance -- An an 18-year-old boy beaten to death in the middle of the night at Kamalapur railway station. A 14-year-old domestic worker who was "found" hanging from the ceiling fan in the house of a policeman where she works. The last line was a particularly nice touch.

The deceased went to sleep around 11:30pm on Saturday and did not respond to repeated calls the next morning, he added.

And the International pages -- out of the six stories on one page, five of them had some variation of the word "kill" in the headlines. Kill. Killed. Killing. Assassination.

I don't really have pleasant dreams, but even my imagination isn't that fucked up. I think now about that line from that speech Meryl Streep gave at a commencement ceremony in NY (another FB-linked video) about how you should pay attention to the cracks because that's where the light gets in.

I like how she whispered this line, leaning in close to the microphone but whispering it so softly that you just had to lean in to listen and thus listened to every word she said.

And this in turn reminded me of a dream I almost had - I can't remember now if I made this up or I dreamt it, but either way it is all very real to me.

And also, there was this:

I subscribe to an RSS feed that feeds (I do beg your pardon) me with lots of interior design images which I usually click through with a Pffffft but this one elicited more of a gutteral purr quickly followed by a brief imagination session about the many ways one can climb into a hammock.

Of course, in my version of this room, there is at least one cat sprawled belly-up on the stone floor, soaking up the sun.