for all the times there was something to write but words did not mean.

for all the times there was something to write but words did not mean.

Writing is the hardest (and only) thing that i've wanted to do. It's not easy. The thoughts that are so clear when i'm dreaming on a train, walking in the night, lying down in my room, taking a shit in the morning, become clouded and impossible to pen when i turn on my computer. I used to blame the machine, but the machine was willing to take only so much blame.

grandfather

Poetry in quicksand, that is love embraced or spurned. My grandpa's words. He didn't seem like a man who had loved that much or that well but these words gave him a gravity otherwise absent, like one of those women possessed during a theyyam. I liked him, not too much, not too little - just enough. i liked what he said about love better. I can't claim to have been in love or not been in love, too much ambiguity. His words were the closest i've ever come to have words express what i felt once or maybe twice or even thrice in my life. I'm hope he did not get it wrong.

Cheap is my high point, I ain't going any higher. (i have my reasons)

Cheap is my high point, I ain't going any higher. (i have my reasons)

While i'm not particularly proud of this very honest (i'm not being funny) statement, it does make life easier to know, for certain, that you're an arsehole (but can hide it really well, or not). i know i got to try and change, i guess, you know in the we've-to-evolve-into-better-human-beings-as-a-purpose-of-life sort of way, except i don't want to. i mean who're the morally upright beings going to compare themselves to if i evolve. it's like the chimp has to exist for men to know that they got the better deal. besides, i'm not hurting anybody, i swear. if i have a totally biased opinion about an otherwise decent fellow, i keep it to myself. also, who made the rules that decides who's a prick and who's a nice guy. i judged myself based on rules that i learned in the course of my existence, not once did i make a rule and say i have to abide by it. so as fucked up as it is, i'm judging myself because i think other people are judging me because i judge other people. i knew i shouldn't have written this down. forgive me.

miles davis

been threatening to do this for a while now but never got around to it. but listening to miles davis' bitches brew has inspired me to get off my arse and turn my brains back on (meaning dick off) and get back on the horse (such a pathetic phrase but call me rusty, the clown who just got back on the horse). it's amazing, makes you want to rhyme in dazed drawls, close your eyes, go on to dream a wakeful sleep to dream of great things to do in life, like write a book or be inspired by something. call this a prelude to the inspiration. i've always been a wanderer, my mind rarely resting long enough to make a connection. i've often piss off myself and those around me because of this filthy habit. it also gives me a pseudo sense of a warrior living in a primordial state of existence - call me ronin without a blade (though nothing compared to the hunter-gatherer life i would, in all probability, suck at so much that i'll beg for a glass of beer and a book to pronounce judgement on while trying to regain my senses soaked in the smell of burning meat). the wandering has had a profound effect on my inability to be inspired as well. the thing with inspiration is that i never know when to stop being inspired and start doing something about it. so i time myself to be inspired for a whole 15mins and i'm too drained to make up something of my own, and when i do, it is for too short a time, say 6mins. i get bored half way through my efforts at creation. there is also a question of how i should be inspired - you know write, sing, go out and live, and other such assorted forms of very expected responses. i end up giving up in time to do the next best thing - usually a show on the tele or a much more satisfying piss. i need some serious help. come on, i'm a nice guy and could be a possible nobel prize winning writer.

bored

how bored can you get? what does an educated 23-yr-old who hates human contact and is not very inquisitive about the world do for fun? add to this, being only slightly less introverted than a crash-test dummy (who does not say no when somebody insists it's alright to smash up the car you're in for fun) and you get one bored creature. at this junction i wish to express my gratitude to whoever invented the television. i did for some time think about a girlfriend and from first-hand experience learned that being a penniless virgin does not add to the intrigue; whatever happened to romance.

food

This age is dedicated to intelligent men, overachievers and the child geniuses. What of mediocre talent? How do we survive the onslaught of people who are skillful at what they do? I try and understand the mind that came up with 'everyone is good at something'. Positive but what a load of bull shit. So I'm good at inanity, that is not going to help me. Admit it world, there are stupid people among you and you are going to devour them. The bellies of such are going to be filled with scrap from the world's table, not that i mind it, but once in a while good food does appeal to me.

graduate

In the midst of the gloom of an economic downturn I graduated, without a job and almost no future. Now a study shows that those students who graduate when the market is weak are likely to have a slower climb up the occupational ladder and earn less for the same period. Good news never fails to brighten up the day does it.