Lovell Dies Crapsite

(This is a true story that happened on 5th Dec 2003 between 8pm and 4am. This is real old shit hand picked from the archives…)

December 5th 2003, a quiet evening, stars in the sky, Christmas carols echoing throughout the neighborhood. Not always does the day come when metal fans get what they want, when dopers get what they need, when starved unnourished souls get vitamins and syrups, and when people get sacrificed. A weird atmosphere engulfed the surroundings of BTF - 6, Chandranath Apartments, Mapusa.

Not many people were there. Just a few, a few who mattered were present. Just around six people excluding the host. Three rockers and three dopers, of which all were hungry - some for food, others for blood. There was no special Birthday Cake, the only thing that did get cut was the birthday boy, and man he did bleed hard. Blood splattered all around the house, the victim quietly bearing the immense pain. A timely introduction of a waterproof band aid was the savior of the moment.

Initially Sepultura set the ambiance with ‘Roots’. Old friends did some catch up. The script of a movie was reviewed. Then came the dose of Pantera. Rockers head banged and tried to break necks. Though no necks broke, the attempt was worth it. The not so divine intervention of food saved the rockers. Seven people consumed a meal cooked for twenty. With all due respect to the mom who made it possible (Daniel’s mom of course). Those poor chickens who sacrificed their lives for the auspicious day should be now somewhere near the pearly gates of heaven along with the other billions and St. Peter.

Dessert was gobbled down in a matter of seconds. Seven spoons in one single gigantic bowl. The Alphonso mango ice-cream was consumed like a carcass feasted upon by hungry vultures. Then came the period in which all the minds were cooled off and some freaks started to make music videos. A web-cam, a Pentium III, some 256MB RAM made possible some really weird and rather depressing but energetic music videos. Sorry to say that only a limited few will have access to these videos.

What happened next was out of the blues. Four people left. They had had enough. But they went smiling. Left back were three old pals. A rocker, a freak and another rocker. They discussed topics which are too sensitive to be written and tortured and murdered a few mosquitoes. Before long the freak left and one rocker washed dishes, while the other just listen to his shit and offered some shit of his own. The washing of the dishes got over, but the talking went on till around 3:45 am and by 4 am, the two rockers lay dead.

Intro: An extract from the original Lovell Dies Crapsite. Initially published on 22 Aug 2004.

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And my walk took me far. A bit too far. I was lost now. I could sense it. My vision encountered a few stones scattered around. The place was way beyond recognition. The weeds engulfed the entire area. Of all the stones around, only one stood apart. I drew closer to it. It was a tombstone. Now I realized that I was in a forsaken graveyard. A closer look at the tombstone revealed something I did not want to read. It read - “In Ever-loving Memory Of Lovell D’souza”.

I thought to myself, ‘This isn’t true’. It took me a while to realize that this was a dream. I’m in one of my dreams. Dreams that only I experience. The urge to wake up and return to reality had suddenly gripped me. But I could not. I was inside my mind and had absolutely no control over it. But that’s what all dreams are like. You can never control it no matter hard you try.

By now I cleared all the dirt off ‘my’ tombstone. But the details revealed were few. ‘Few’……..but the impact of revelation was hard. The ‘Date of Birth’ was exactly the same of that of mine. But the ‘Date of Death’ conveyed “Dying But Not Yet Dead”. I wasn’t able to figure out the meaning. ‘Dying But Not Yet Dead’…….what does that mean?

It meant I’m dying, but not yet. Yet I know I’m Dying. The dream is my death. Not many of you know when your are going to die, nor you may know how your are going to die. But I know, I can sense and I can see myself dying. My dream is my death. Now, it’s not a dream anymore……….it’s a nightmare………it’s my death.

I kicked my tombstone in disgust. I’m dead, yet I’m also dying. The full moon above me illuminates the entire graveyard. All the weeds turn into lifeless foliage. The leaves of the old banyan tree have been sucked off of all the little life that existed within them, and now join the dead weeds on the cemetery floor. I see death coming. I feel the emptiness on its way towards me. I experience souls being sucked out. Souls of the remaining life that had been existing around me. All that is left around me now are dead plants and trees in this house of death. I’ve failed to realize………I’m also dead.

Or am I not? There’s no one around me. No one who can tell me if I’m alive or dead. Death just swept over the entire graveyard, but did I also die………did I? Am I dead? There’s one way to find out.

I run over to my grave and start digging. My bare hands acting as make shift shovels rip through the soil. The only way to figure out if I’m dead is by seeing myself dead. I continue digging. My bleeding fingers scooping out chunks of earth. Suddenly I feel something. What I feel is now what I see, that is a finger. I dig deeper. I dig harder. I dig till I see an entire arm. I recognize this hand. It’s my hand………..

Oh God !!! I am dead after all. But no! Why would the tombstone read, ‘Dying-But-Not-Yet-Dead’? I feel my buried hand, trying to feel what it is to be dead. But I’m not. I’m not dead. I felt my hand give a weak yank. I press my hand and I feel the presence of life. Life that still exists within me, but a life that is frail. I’m not dead.

My mind races on and on, not knowing what to do. I tug my arm hoping that the little life that still remains could come back. But I get sucked back into my body. I’m not dead. I am alive again. I’m dying……..because there’s no one to pull me back out. But I’m not yet dead.

This is what it takes to be: “Lovell-Dying-But-Not-Yet-Dead-D’souza”.

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For the selected few who might have not understood this extract: The “I” in the extract is ‘the Soul of Lovell’ which tries to bring the ‘body’ back to life. The ’soul’ gets sucked back into the ‘body’ but can’t get out of the grave coz everything around him is dead.

Content from the original “Lovell Dies Crapsite”. Edited here and there.
Please Note: All content that makes it up here is strictly for people who have brains and can read and then think bout what they just read. Morons can go kill themselves.

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Then again I fail to realize the world that I live in is not suited to my liking. F**k that! There are those who go around head banging and the myriad kinds that stray away with their butt shaking. Forgive me, coz I don’t understand this whole “Club” stuff and I don’t want to. And even if I get to, I choose not to. No offense to the ‘Tito’ guys but what you’ll cater to is just beyond my thinking. But on second thoughs, screw you! I can understand some people want to have a good time and want to ‘chill out’. Well if you want to have a good time, have sex. And, if you want to chill out, put your f*****g arses in the deep (freezer).

Then we have head banging. Most of you may not understand, but head banging is just for a gifted few. Firstly, if you intend to head bang for Bryan Adams, then you can cut short your trouble coz Bryan Adams is not even worth my shit . And secondly if you wanna head bang at home, then make sure you folks are okay with it, coz I’m sure some necks will turn (besides the one that might break).

Next, this ‘Bacardi’ shit. These guys don’t have the balls to advertise their booze freely and use some shitty event like ‘Bacardi Blast’ and other f*****g shit to get people drunk. They don’t have the f*****g balls to tell the public to drink their f*****g excreta openly. And also, they come up with this shitty ‘Bacardi Blast Albums’ which boast of some great tracks, but in reality they are just some cheap artistes performing. So f**k them.

This butt shaking is all bullshit. This club shit is bigger shit. It’s just an excuse to get some women drunk n f**k them up. Well sissy f****rs, if u want to f**k women, ask them if they want u to f**k them. Don’t f*****g use someone’s intoxicated state to get your semen fired all over the place.

As for those who head bang, keep it up brethren n f**k the clubbers. They can take their clubs n shove it up their petite arses, just like in those stone age days.