Kaolin’s breath

Continued from this article.

Kaolin doesn’t understand most of the magic we do here at Hogwarts. So far, we have been agreeing to whatever we put forth in the hypothesis.

Photo by Soyoung Han

An alien should not have been my only option for a friend with thousands of earthly wizards around me. But, I know better. I can’t be complaining about the way Kaolin’s nose always keeps dripping of hot pieces of glass or even that an alien is my friend here.

There’s a way in which Kaolin has adapted. To breathe on Earth.

The way it works is with a small invisible socket collecting these pieces of glass and somehow the other end of this portal still remains a mystery to me. Unlike carbon-dioxide, these pieces remain harmless in his village. My best guess is it’s even useful over there. It is frightening on earth to see those hot pieces of cruelty drip from the kind nostrils. And, maybe kindness has a different meaning in his village.

Photo by Orane Thomas

By the way, I confirmed that Kaolin should be referred to as a male. Happens that even their world deals with reproduction like earthlings. However, he still does not feel it righteous to tell me the name of his village or even his planet’s galaxy. Strangely, I have accepted this much of information having ignorant wizards around me who always remain silent when I show up.

I wish Harry Potter was here, every night before going to bed. I wish anyone from that year was still here.

It’s better anyways to have Kaolin by my side. We are meeting more frequently than ever. Only Dumbledore and us two know of these meetings. Until we find something, we have decided to remain as a secret. Much like science.

Yesterday, me and Kaolin felt like there’s a need of language other than magic between us. I mean, we do have ourselves working on the science. Only time will tell us how to speak.

To be continued.

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When I won’t be living

The day after I stop living, I wonder if we’ll still be here. We have to be somewhere. Or, is that what we want?

I don’t care about the rumors on death. Only what is dead would know how to even care about it. And, I won’t really be dead. My words will remain here as long as the language seems to make sense. We will find a way to remain eternal.

When I won’t be living, I won’t be dead. I am more than the flesh, the words and just what remains at their end. I am here to remain, to put glory in the eyes of darkness and to sing a song of love to the hateful eight.

Until death, I am living the story. And, when I won’t be living, I want to be the story.

Burn a candle with your….

I wrote that title. If you were wondering “Why did Shreyas do this? Why did he not complete it? Has he forfeited all the privileges of a good title? What will the real-estate on moon be like? Will Delhi survive another emperor? Why won’t Donald Trump sing karaoke?” – well, well, well you could go on and on. But seriously, what even, I got distracted and kept the title incomplete. “But you have the control over what you publish. Why would you still leave it incomplete when you could change it to better?”

Holy Macarena, hold your wits. I am, by Sergio’s will, here to tell why.

I didn’t want to write “Burn a candle with your focus!” as previously the title was planned for today. When I just came back from a distraction I could easily not be a part of, it’s a little not so easy to keep writing about focus. Is it?

So, here’s what we’ll do.

of focus out Let’s go !

Tempo Mama

Today’s word, be it whatever to the world, is “tempo” as in the school-van in my city Hubballi. This most probably applies to the whole country. I surely wouldn’t want to snore the prestige drums of DPS students. Damn were they so rude when debating, or at least their vocabulary made me feel so. It’s probably the vocabulary. In today’s post, let’s perform the anatomy of “Tempo Mama”. Sorry, not sorry, if I sound experimental.

The PFC, prefrontal cortex, voxels in me right now depict weird signals as my project on fMRI seems to be getting out of hand. Mostly, I have it under control. GitHub plug.

Even the “mostly” comes under my prefrontal cortex. Mostly.

Coming back to the anatomy of our title today. It comes with two words. A two…. you know what? Anatomy is best done using images.

Two words

tempo
mama
Mixed language
Their meanings