Thursday, September 30, 2010

I hate writing ratty posts. They are too revealing and narcissistic. They also make you sound like one of those emo-punks you hate and love to trash. Some times it is better to be nasty and pretend-strong. Then you got the whole world believing that you are a fortress that they can hide in. You dole out a lot of advice to people you care for? Yes, I do that. A lot. The happiness that you get from un-fucking someone else's fuckup somehow covers up a lot of the misery that is inside you. Helping someone else is so cathartic that you almost end up convincing yourself that you are happy too.
But the crushing friend never fails. It is always there. After you are done injecting other people with feel-good nectar, all you are left with is your own bile. No drug invented for you yet, is it? The ether only works for a while. And after the effects wear off, forget quoting Comfortably Numb to yourself. The crushing pain inside becomes physical at times. You can literally feel it, way beyond all the self induced numbness. Nudity of all kinds is rather shocking. So is nude pain. We can almost never deal with it. Which is why we remain, yours truly and pretend-strong.

Thursday, September 16, 2010


Its been a while since I have written. The last one month has been crazy, to say the least. I have always hated paperwork, and lately all I have been doing, is that. Running helter-skelter with this document and that. All I can see right now are photocopies and more photocopies. One of these days, I swear my birth certificate will develop a voice and start ranting at the number of times it has been stuck inside a photocopier. It is an utter sadness I swear.
My mind has been in a perennial state of funk and that has ended pissing off some loved ones. All apologies to them and they know who they are.
I have also being OD-ing on a number of television series. I suggest you OD on them too. It is great fun without having to screw your nervous system by overdosing on actual substances.
I like going places. It is the interim of preparation that I hate.
Sheer nightmare, this.