Songs of the not-so innocent

A good friend sent me a message today. Which said that Leonard Cohen had died. I stared and stared till my knees trembled. Then I sat down and cried. I shed some tears for that fine mind. And some for that voice so deep. Some for the simple beauty of his words. They're all we have left and it made me weep. Then I gathered up the pieces of me. And left home, lost and grim. Something has changed forever. This world is poorer without him. We'll carry on without you, Leonard. We'll shoulder our burdens again. We'll listen to your songs over and over. And one day, they'll dissolve the pain. Rest in peace old man. Though you've left me a little broken. I'll never write as well as you, perhaps. But maybe, you'll look kindly upon this token. Song for the moment: Hey, that's no way to say goodbye - Leonard Cohen

My blogging schedule is somewhat akin to what regularly used to happen to friends on bike trips. Like their rides, the year started decently enough and I averaged a steady 2 posts a month. Which, considering my 'dull-as-ditchwater' life, is awesome. Then the wheels came off in August (like a Bullet's silencer on one ride) and there just wasn't anything to write about. Nothing cheerful anyway, and my loyal readership of one hinted strongly that I should put a sock in the melancholy blathering. So that was that. But Diwali happened and it's given me an excuse to pen this. I like Diwali. The goodwill, warm wishes and hope for the new year affects even a curmudgeon like me, so there's some mighty powerful waves floating around I reckon. The sibling and I gave up on the dreadful Tamil Diwali custom of waking up at dawn for an oil bath many years ago and our parents got the message. Of course, the fact that we'd get to burst firecrackers and eat like starving