Too much

I think I have had too much. I am frustrated of complaining  and writing about every problem I have. Sometimes you have to put your foot down and decide that it is enough.

I think I might already be defeated. And it sucks.

Man on my edge

I see myself too clearly now

And my heart aches, it’s tired of beating for a man who has taken so many beatings himself

My lungs rest in their sombre mood

Why breathe for a man who can’t catch his own breath?

My eyes, they droop, and my eyelids rest in grimace

Hidden well between the wrinkles on my face

What is left for me to see now, I have lost all courage to see and observe

The world spins quietly for me, a man who has lost his place in the world

And my tears seem to make my vision a bit blurred

I know deep down, there has to be a single last thread of hope and joy, which I can cling to selfishly, unabashedly,

But I don’t search, out of the fear of finding my own soul shedding a tear

The world can push me to a limit, which I cannot accept as my own

And after the limit, I am a free man, a wandered child, battered and grown

Ed lithium

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My Friend Grunting

And then slowly my heart sunk. I woke up, and I hoped, like the end of all frightening stories today, there will be a twist in the tale, there will be a red herring, and I will not die. But this was all too real. And I knew I was minutes away from death.

Days before, I had already died once. It would seem like good friends always come through for you, no matter what. But my good friends hid their heads in the sand once I bit the dust. I was left alone. And so I decided to make myself a new friend. Every one needs friend they can call their own. Some times, when the world deals you a bad hand, you have to assume the impossible is extremely probable.

And so I sat down, and I stared at the wall endlessly for hours, neither blinking nor crying. And I felt sorrow, I felt pure unadulterated grief. But I did not cry. I stopped myself from crying, when all I wanted to do was break down into pieces and wish to be able to pick myself up. I let the sorrow build up inside of me. I let the desperation, the frustration, the anger and isolation mold up inside my soul, right next to my heart, my heart burnt as my emotions took refuge near by. My hands shook, as anger very quickly took over every emotion in my brain and my eyes went blood shot. And I realized it was now time to make my new friend.

And so I cried.

My new friend was made out of sheer sorrow, grief and anger. Frustration and desolation gave it a heart. Isolation gave it a soul. My new friend was extremely dark, with red shot eyes, just like mine. Just like an angry friend is supposed to have. He had almost no form except to me he looked like a very dark cloud. His feet never touched the ground, and he seemed to hover inches above the earth, with a aura so dark, it made me blink. My new friend was dense, and he was speechless. All he was was a reflection of me in an extremely dark mirror.

The first few days he simply floated around with me, not blinking, not breathing, emotionless as a rainy cloud. All he did was grunt, and he grunted every time I felt a pang of pain- either from anger or hurt. I did not mind the dense entity follow me around every where I went, even when I slept he would simply stand besides the bed and stare down at me.
Grunting.

After all, a friend is supposed to be a dense, mute, grunting companion.

It was after a few days that I realized a few things. My friends came back to me. It grunted. My girlfriend came back to me. It grunted. My family accepted me back. It grunted. Every time I heard it grunt, I felt grief, I felt anger, I felt frustration all over again. I felt trapped in an overwhelming sense of guilt, every time it grunted.
I was unquestionably trapped. I tried my best to smile after things became alright again. I tried my best to keep happy thoughts lingering in my brain, when fate decided it was supposed to be nicer to me. When things were happening as I always hoped, I could feel no hope. My new friend was now getting denser by the day. Its eyes, coal shot red, widened by the minute. And with each second, I could see a very thin smile develop on its formless face.

My friends were confused about my depression. My girl friend left me again, unable to deal with my erratic mood swings and rage tantrums. My family stuck out with me the longest, and tried to get me all help possible. I visited doctors and I saw psychologists. They poked me, gave me pills and even shot radiation through my brain to confirm I was still in control of my own sanity. They all looked down at the chart and sighed. And with that my family lost hope, and lost interest. I was now back with my friend. Grunting.

And today, I can hear its grunting right next to my shoulder. Its getting louder. I am getting weaker. I did not foresee the fact that I had made a monster, who was, without doubt, hundred percent anger, grief, desperation and isolation. And it fed on exactly the same. It needed me to be depressed. It needed my to be suicidal. The more I cried, the more it grunted. My friend. It wanted to see me suffer.

And so I lie in my bed today, very sure of the fact that this is not all just a simple nightmare, but exactly what would happen if I befriended depression. My friend, my monster, my demon now haunts me every day and not day.

Every Calvin is not meant to have a Hobbes.


Ed Lithium

Manmadhan

    I think I am going crazy.

    The pitter-patter of little feet would have made me smile before. Today, however, I am paralyzed. With each childish footstep and the following innocent giggles, my heart sinks and I rethink every single intention of mine to marry my fiance.

     Trust me, Viraj, you will see it. You will definitely come face to face, and you will be scared. You will be scared Viraj, and you will not know what you should do. And that is what it does, that is what it wants to do all along. It will play with you, and it will make you question every thing you ever felt about her. 


     The dark room is not dark enough, and I soon realize, finding me crouching on the cold marble floor would be nothing besides child's play. I see the child's chubby little foot in the family mirror in front of me, and then I see the cold silver steel for a bit more than a single instance. Something about the way the steel shone, made me  sweat, and it made me gasp.
     And one gasp is enough. The footsteps stop. The giggles cease. Through the corner of my eyes, I see a small little curly haired head turn.
     I try to not look directly at it, and end up gazing at its smile. And what bothers me most was, how even while the tiny little cherub hands reached slowly for the silver steel, it's smile was undeniable child-like. Innocent.

      Not just a little kid, Viraj, Manmadhan.  

     Never did I think, I would believe in such old wives tales. However, in this case, the old wives weren't paying the price for love. It was simple. And incredible. And people somehow fail to see that incredible is used in a negative connotation. The legend was well to the point, Manmadhan would do anything to see true love. Armed with a silver steel bow and arrow, Manmadhan would not smile all the time.

     I am telling you, I don't think you love her. Don't go ahead with this if you have even one small ounce of doubt. 


      But I love her.

      I see a shadow sweep past the wall in front of me and it comes to a rest in front of the old Victorian mirror. I can see it now.
     A three foot fair skinned child, curly golden hair swaying with the wind that didn't exist. All it wore was a pitiful white diaper with an enlarged silver steel pin, and I can see some vague undiscriminating stains on the white cloth, which look unusually like dried blood. On its chubby back, it sports a silver steel container full of fine arrows that seem to shine in an unholy eerie mist, which surrounds Manmadhan itself. Till now I can see its back alone, but it soon it steps out from behind the wooden desk it had hid itself behind.
     A smile that every mother would be proud of, a shining silver steel bow rests within its hands. Its hands rested well on its chubby stomach and it breaks out into a nice little smile. I am almost mesmerized as it slowly pulls back the arrow with unexpected dexterity. It is not holy, it is now sacred. I can see the evil that it exudes from within, with its childish smile and the unearthly giggle.

       I am extremely afraid now. But I cannot move. I am forced to think. I definitely do love her. I have loved her from the day I met her. I have always called her up every day and told her how much I loved her. She knows I love her. I have always made it very clear. I love her.
   
       The arrow strikes me clean in between my eyes. And so does something else.

        Do I, really?


      I open my eyes and I see her, standing over my head, crying. She hugs me as soon as I can get up. She explains how everyone found me unconscious in the old attic next to the old Victorian mirror. I touch my forehead and I find no mark of an extremely sharp silver steel arrow. She explains how the doctors have no explanation for it besides extreme stress. I confess, to myself, I am baffled as well. But some how things seem clearer now.
     I look to my right and I see a mother holding her new born son, and crying in joy. I see the father doing the same as well. A fair skinned little child, that looks me directly in my eye.

     ' I don't want to marry you.' I find myself saying. And I know she will ask me my reasons very soon. I am very clear. I know exactly what to say.


Ed Lithium

     

Of hope and human

gasping for air, hoping to breathe

a monument of something that never dies

crumbles to dust under the weight of its own lies

and a heart beats, out of sheer compulsion and fright

some poor little child is still afraid of the night

and he questions his own strength

and determination

where is hope

when all i find is distraction

and all there is to life

there also in death

so on what basis do we decide

to go through life, as means or mode

in hope to reach a better abode

life or death, all a man wants is a day when he doesnt have to hide

ed lithium 

7 AM 3.05 PM ---- My first encounter with Tamil cinema ( A review of Seventh Sense)

      I like sincere movies.

       This week for me, I believed, was scarred and blistered after the weekend RA.one debacle. Three hours trapped in the middle of nowhere ( IMAX Wadala) I believed that I was not going get through this. Needless to say, I was much relieved to be back home and be able to yes to a film with one of my closest friends.
     The fun started much before going to the actual movie.


     One of the more genuine attempts at movies, and definitely of the most sincere movies this year- 7aum Arivu (Seventh Sense) is definitely a movie worth watching. Starring Suriya and Shruti Hasan, and directed by the impeccable Murugadoss, this was my first Tamil encounter in the cinemas.


     Being born a Tamilian- Marathi , and having spent my entire life, first in Bombay and then in Mumbai, I obviously had no understanding of a single syllable of Tamil. Jalebi language, what I used to call, and for no understandable reason did I make an effort to learn it. Me and my friend had decided to catch 7aum Arivu (sevent sense) a movie by the Ghajani director and starring Surya and the extremely noteworthy Shruti Hasan. Having heard a lot about the film, I had great expectation, and it was with these great expectations that I called up Cinemax and asked about the timings.
     The conversation was as follows-

Me: I wanted to ask if the film 7 AM Arivu at Cinemax Sion has English subtitles.

Cinemax Lady : Which show?
Me: 7 AM Arivu?
Cinemax: I am sorry the show is at 3.05 pm, Sir.

     When I cleared out my mistake, her fluency in Tamil made me sense a slight disgust in her tone for my lack of knowledge of Tamil. It was almost as if she knew I was half Tamil. And, in my defense, I really am.

     And then me and my friend landed in the cinema, hoping to find the perfect seats to be able to read the subtitles.

     The movie banks heavily on the crowd pulling Suriya and noteworthy Shruti Hasan to work out strong roles. Murugadoss writes and directs this epic, spanning over two time periods. The movie begins with a bang, taking us into the past to 1600 AD, where Bodhidharman begins is journey from his Tamilian kingdom to China. The production value instantly strikes us and I really hope more movies would watch such movies to see the effect and impact of production value on the selling prowess of a regional movie.
     Suriya shows skill and charm as he shifts his roles between an 1600 AD healer-warrior-legend to an extremely talented circus performer.

     Shruti Hasan, (huge fan), plays out the lead role in the movie with grace and ease, that of young Tamil biotechnologist, proud of her culture and using science to study our heritage. She plays the anchor in the move, her character joining the threads of this plot together till the very end. Her acting skills impress and amaze.

      The movie proceeds with a lot of flaws, and a rather jerky time line, but with fluent direction and excellent cinematography. The characters are well painted and while the director/writer takes time for their development, this makes the movie a bit too long for one's taste. The music goes well the film, but could have been much better, as is the expectation with Tamil movies. I dont want to go into the details of this movie, but want to point out a few important facts that I came out with, after leaving the cinemas-

---- The message Suriya and Shruti Hasan leave us with, as the camera moves slowly on and away from Murugadoss, impressed me, and it seems to patch up some of the holes left in the movie. Suriya explains how the Tamil heritage is slowly being lost in the same place which it should be preserved. Shruti points out that no one should be forced to resort to Science to 'awaken the Tamilian within us' when we all have the power to do it ourself. This small and seemingly unnecessary and pedantic interview at the end of the movie explains how well the metaphor of 'helping to bring back Bodhidharman to life' is, in fact, an effective metaphor to bring out the true message, as it was intended by the director.


---- Regional movies, I agree, will always be bound by certain frames, and I feel that is necessary to keep regional films regional. However, this movie is a good example of how great production, direction and a big budget can make a regional film not only at par with, but also above the quality of Bollywood films.


---- Innovation- something 90 percent of all movies in Bollywood consciously exclude from their process. To explain this in one single line I want to point out a scene where Suriya takes Shruti for a ride on his elephant on the streets of India, and how Shruti manages to ' awaken Suriya's genetic memory' within 15 days. The base line is that 'innovation pays'

----I would really hope films like these help directors realise the importance of taking risks. This movie goes to prove that taking a risk with the right talent and good attitude is better than the fan following of any super star. RA.one was tangled mesh of a half a dozen sci-fi movies and depended only and only on SRK's appeal and special effects to sell a film that basically lacked any script whatsoever. RA.one- good movies can be made without being so bland- SRK, take notes.

         This movie not just helped me recover from a bad bout of RA.one from the earlier week, but it actually gave me a feeling of pride of being half Tamil. It reminded me that even though I have lived my entire life in Mumbai, I have been born in Bangalore. It reminded me that I have more than one hometown.
     It showed me the best part of being an Indian- you get to enjoy two cultures at the same time. You get to be proud of any number of cultures you want to. Considering this movie got its message out to me, and made me feel what it intended me to feel, and also not forgetting I have been completely blinded behind a Marathi veil for my entire life to my Tamil culture, I think this movie is not bad at all. It made me think, and I like that in a movie sometimes.

       Everyone appreciates sincere movies.


Ed lithium
   

The day which led to the day when the world was subjected to ' K3G'- Happy Birthday SRK

     My relationship with Shahrukh Khan goes back a long way, and like most relationships I have endured, it has not been an easy one. Today is 40-odd birthday of King Khan and I cant say I am not impressed by the sway the King Khan has over the Indian minds these days. He has definitely changed the face of the planet forever.

     But then so did Hitler, a few decades ago....

     With SRK, it has always been a classic hate-hate relationship, extremely easy to sustain, thanks to the continuing endeavors of the KK himself. In my early childhood, my only image of the King Khan, has been that of a messy haired short guy with a speech impediment, who runs around trying to kill beautiful actresses in the movie. I dare say he crossed the line when he tried to mess with the ever-fantastic and never-hated Madhuri Dixit in 'Anjaam'. I would have forgiven him for trying to stalk and menace Juhi Chawla, and completely ignoring the fact that Sunny could have restructured his face ( and may be, just may be, fixing his speech as well). But, I agree, that was a quite younger Khan who probably was still trying to find his own ground in this maze of Bollywood.

   If there a lesson taught to me, imprinted on my mind, by KK, is that popularity never translates to talent. Popularity is, and always is, just popularity. And KK understood this and realized he had to take a decision now - decide between improving talent or improving his popularity. As a spew of Switzerland based movies wit h him raising his hands towards the heaven, Rahul found his ground in this Bollywood maze- and the masses love him for it. Movie after movie, in each one of them, he spent trying to woo girls and earn the respect of his parents ( which part was harder is quite obvious) and slowly his movies created a niche for themselves.

    Another lesson I learnt from KK- make a niche for yourself, as repugnant as it may be, but make your niche.

     Some of his less niche- centric films were watchable, to a certain extent, if my eye lids were glued to my forehead. And it would have to be a pretty strong industrial glue for that matter. My Name is Khan- its a sentence in itself, and describes the movie in itself. The first scene where KK stands in the line, his acting suggesting he has a yet to be diagnosed mental illness, which makes him shiver and shake and takes a minute to finish any sentence he wants to speak out. Swades was probably his only sincere attempt at movies, but again it might be extreme bias for Gayatri Joshi which is making me say this. Nonetheless, after Swades I believes KK could pick up his act.

     A special mention to Om Shanti Om - thank you for introducing Deepika Padukone to us, SRK. For that, we adore you. This movie highlighted SRK's friendship for Arjun Rampal - he served two purposes. 1- He is pretty much the best looking actor in the Industry and 2. His Oak tree bark expression face can make SRK's 'acting capabilities' look oscar winning and heart -warming.

     Don came and went, and I hoped against hope, that Don ko pakadna wont be that impossible. But I very distinctly remember the popcorn in the movie theatre being really good. So, thank you SRK for the wonderful cinema experience. Also, the samosa's weren't all that great. But, I managed.

     And last but in no way the least - RA. one

     Here, I stop, I cannot bring myself to talk about this 'movie'. And thats why, I cant go on.

      But one thing is for sure, love him or hate him, he is truly the King Khan, and had it not been for most of his movies, I would have never appreciated the 'better' films of Bollywood just a little bit more....

Happy Birthday SRK

Locking lips

 

  In the past few days, due to a recent illness, I have had time to think. Of course, I did not waste the time thinking about anything productive. Which brings me to a question I always never ask people- why do human beings lock lips, why do we kiss, why do we smooch? I can no longer safely say a man and a woman these days, society has challenged me to the tilt. How did rubbing out slithery wet lips, as opposed to rubbing alternate shoulders, standing on each others toes or clapping hands, become a sign of affection and love? Again, society will question me at that as well.
     My first doubt takes me way back to Adam and Eve, sitting in a garden, the world's privacy central. Another very pertinent question lets me have the liberty of time travelling into Europe during the black plague. Its not wrong to assume that kissing, of all contact strategies, should have been eradicated first as a mean of transmtitting the dangerously clever Y. pestis which took even the untouchable rats for ride.
     Kissing is a sign of several emotions - love, affection (yes, they are very seperate), respect, good luck and even vendetta (guys, I know you would understand. Again, as a simple note of clarity, I have never kissed a guy over vendetta. And I dont plan to start as well, any time soon) Mothers kiss sons, political leaders kiss each other, and the more blatant and perceivable- adolescents cant stop thinking about it.

     Let me repeat the definition of kiss from the old trusted wiki- Kissing is the act of pressing one's lips to the lips of another person. But this was just obligatory for a douche blog. Being an Indian, lets see how far we would go in the records of History. We date as back as 1500 BC, and I can easily say we have been pioneers in our own right! We invent the zero and we show the world how to kiss. There is no direct mention of the word 'kissing' but a mention of 'taking moisture from the other's lips' I believe that can be counted as kissing. Again, at the risk of venturing into uncharted territory, I would mention the Kama Sutra, a book that covers kissing as an act of passion.

      In ancient Greece, we see mentions of kissing in Homer's Odyssey and other works. He himself is reported to have been kissed by his slaves when he returned home after his voyage. These are some examples of kissing for respect, as opposed to love. King Priam kissed Achille's hands for his heroic feat of bringing back his boy's body.

     The Romans are attributed with the action of attempting spread of kissing through military conquests. Considering its Rome, its pretty believable that this could have been the sole reason for their conquests.  The Old Testament refers to kissing several times, I would not know the exact number, but Christians, please help me out here ? Its all educational.

     In the Medieval Ages, kissing was seen as an action of trust. The King's subjects would kiss the King's ring, hand or even the ground in front of his feet, to show his trust and respect. Knights would get a kiss from the person they saved, once a year, as thanks.


     How to world turned to the symbol of  the letter X for kissing- It was in the medieval ages, when people who knew now how to write, would make an X mark and kiss the mark as a sign of sealing and commitment .In fact, it was during the industrial revolution, that kissing transformed into the hand-shake, something every person goes through (bad and good, the terrifying and the soothing) every day.

     By 1872, Charles Darwin theorized that given the diversity and popularity of kissing and related behaviors around the world, humans must possess an innate desire to connect this way. As he surmised, kissing is rooted in our evolutionary past, but significantly influenced by unique social norms and customs. The more we kiss, the better chances of survival!


     It is always good to have a reason ready just in case you ever need one. And if you have lived in Mumbai, I believe you would easily have required such reasons a lot! 


     Here, I have just touched a small nerve of this vibrant issue- ' Kissing, why? really? when?'  The the beauty of this noble gesture is however seen from the range of emotions it signifies- 

a mother kisses a son/ daughter to show pure and unbridled affection and love

political leaders kiss each other as a sign of acceptance and respect

                        ( Kissing the Blarney Stone for good luck is a well known tradition)


kissing is well rooted in religious scripts and religious traditions

and finally, the kissing we know best - the spring time, when adolescence kicks in and out of us








to kiss is to love and respect
to acknowledge, to accept
to see to it you make the person in front of you smile
go ahead take a moment to kiss some one you love today
and show them you care


so goes a poem by some one who can never understand what a kiss and why a kiss, but definitely understands the world can not do without this undoubtedly confounding human behavior that we all live our lives upon :)






ed lithium 

Triskaidephobia

13 happened soon after 12, and the world would never be the same again....

We all know how to count, and we all know how to count up to 13. It starts with one and goes on, quite favorably and quite enthusiastically. And when we do count up to 13, we all know that a shiver runs down our spine and all of a sudden, the ease and comfort established by the enthusiastic 12 gives way to an ominous feeling that may be we should have stopped at 12.


Following a number as positive and energetic as 12 was never an easy task to begin with- this coupled with a rather unfortunate bout of bad luck, triskaidephobia was born. And man started fearing numbers now, because he had almost run out things to fear. The amount of effort put by man to coin a term describing this new-found fear tells us how significant this fear actually is.


Buildings without 13th floors, never scheduling important endeavours on this day, praying twice as hard if an exam seems to be unavoidable- we all have gone through this, although the extent varies from person to person. Let me take a minute here and associate this number 13 with a few adjectives that devout triskaidephobics will agree upon-


ominous, scary, unfortunate, unlucky, death, pessimism

And, for most part, I do agree. The most cliched example being the Last Supper, where in Jesus Christ invited 12 disciples. Here the number 13 sparked off a revolution in religious terms, and for most part, people realised that the number probably played a big role in spurning out a religion. This example is always cited first, and I decided to not be an exception to that rule. Agreed, that may be things would have been same, irrespective of how many apostles showed up, but it does go a long distance in establishing a negative feeling towards this number.


The Norse people, people who claimed they did not know the meaning of fear, have their own story to tell.


The Norse legend of the slaying of Baldur ( the God of admiration, redemption, nobility) in a banquet in Valhalla (the Norse heaven) is another testament to the earlier point. 12 Gods were invited but Loki (the trickster) came as the uninvited 13th guest. Baldur was slayed by a sword given by Loki. Here once can see clearly how 13 plays trickster and traitor, killing everything admirable and noble. 


13 stands out as a bad omen, of things which would follow and of terrible consequences if this number was ever ignored. And soon from such gatherings people started paying close attention to who they invite. It is still believed that the first person to get up, when 13 people sit to have food, dies. And there have never been any conclusive studies to support this fact, but you never really know.

Go on, try it..... 


Moving on to other beliefs. 


In the Hebrew alphabet, the 13th letter 'm' is considered unlucky itself, since it begins and ends the word 'mem' which means death. Here we consider death in a negative connotation here, to illustrate the negative aspect of the number. 


The tradition of Sizdah-Bedaar in the Persian mythology, is an interesting one. Literally meaning 13, the Persians all leave their house on the 13th day of the first month of the year to avoid bad luck. People leave their houses, go to the country side, have a good day. This is a day of ceremony, but the ceremonial happiness only helps to mask the purpose of leaving your houses, leaving behind the 13....




These examples help us in understanding that several cultures have assigned a negative feeling to the number 13, some are scared of it and some are simply angry. 


However, I want to take some time here and help you reflect on some of the positive aspects of the number 13. After all, I always believed that every number is significant, and this means it has positive and negative aspects attached. 13 is no exception.


In Greek mythology, the number 13 is considered extremely lucky since the Greek God Zeus is considered as the 13th God and symbolizes power, courage and strength. He is considered to be the most powerful of all Greek Gods. Hence, power is also associated with 13 since ancient times.

I mean, just look at him-

If we look at the number itself, we realise that it is a prime number- incorruptible, cannot be divided, pure and a symbol of integrity. Prime numbers are probably the only quantities in this world which I believe lack the gray area. It is either that or it is nothing. It can never be divided, but it can only be finished by itself. 13.

In the Tarot card, the 13th card is the Death card, where it signifies change, recycling and transition- all in a positive way. Death, here, is looked at positively, as a way of surrendering to fate and as a way of not just self-cleansing but changing yourself. Death and metamorphosis can both be related to this number.


In Egypt, there are 13 steps in the ladder to eternity. It is said that upon reaching the 13th step, the soul reaches the source of itself and attains spiritual completion.


The Aztecs, one of the most powerful civilisations in history, believed that each day was ruled by one God. They divided their week into 13 days, and considered 13 to be extremely lucky. The 13th day was ruled by the God Tezcatlipoca who symbolized mystery psyche, illusion and magic.


However, the most relevant significance of 13 comes from the fact that 13 is the period of change and transition for every person, boy and girl, as he or she becomes a teenager. The Bar Mitzvah for Jewish boys is performed in the 13th year of their lives, when they transition from boys to men.




Ever since man began to count, he knew that he was not going to change his world forever. Every event, every person, every animal and every memory would now be related to a number. He also knew that men could lie, numbers could not. Numbers were pure, and numbers were constant, both values which he realised were slipping slowly away from man's grasp. And man slowly began living his life through numbers. He grew fond of some numbers, and with some numbers he began to get uneasy.....


13 happened slowly after 12, and the world changed forever. Be it good, or be it bad, man realised that no matter how much significance he would attach to 13, it would always be a little bit less than what the number demands. Be afraid of things you don't know, they say, or at least be very aware....

be aware of things not seen,
there are more than twelve reasons to doubt a thirteen,
put your trust in a number you can count on
there are things in your world, that only numbers have seen


ed lithium