There is never an alternative to good ol' crying. Too good a vent. But then, your head hurts.
Can't even advertise my blog since I am not writing anything...
Stranded alone by a road with a broken slipper. No auto in sight. A man on bike. Screeches to a halt right in front of me. Reaches in his pocket. Pulls out a feviquick. "You should really fix that slipper."
Earlier my watch was slow. I used to add 8 minutes every time I referred to it. I fixed it. Now it isn't as much fun as it used to be to look at the time.
Dev Anand- Perhaps the only one who can dangle a gun lop-sided and still shoot straight ahead.
I never carry an umbrella. Call it my silent rebellion against the rain.
I am sad because I am not happy.
The Delhi Metro is like an inside joke between every one in the city.
Frazzle me during the day, fine. I will dull down. You see, the fact that it is daytime will lull me enough for me to tell myself that it can be fixed yet. I may not do it. But, I know I could.
Just don't do it after 10 at night. I have a dream waiting and I will never get to see it.
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Or justified. I had a viral. For the second time. In the same week. Grrr!
Warning- I have taken to rambling.
Black. It is all black. No, wait, it is not. There is this tiny pin-prick of light, hovering in space. Its beam reach out towards me, but fade away as they get close. I find it irritating. I wish someone would turn it off. Click. Ah. Now it is all black. And I don't like it. I'd rather have that light on again. A single, constant focus for my irritation, to blame it all on. So much better than anger shooting off in all different and random directions without rhyme or reason.
So... I am done.
And to write this I have thunk and rethunk for the last one week. I have picked up my pen after what seemed like interminable years. It feels alien to my hand. My writing varies between font size 4 and 16. I thought my hand would shake too, but it didn't. It should have. It would have added to the rightness.
The past week has been a feverish hallucination. Today more so than ever. Now more so than ever. I fall into trance-like blues and tumble into hysteria which finally gives way into the mean reds. So has gone the cycle.
I have changed. I don't know what did it. I am now a bitch. And slow. I could be drunk. Or insane. Not suicidal though. So I like to think.
I have also become (more) dramatic. And repetitive. My apologies don't mean much. Maybe they never did...
I used to be nicer.
And I am sorry.
But don't believe me.
Also, don't comment.
Hm... No, I don't like this one. Not a lot. Maybe a bit... Maybe.
About CATE- They asked me about my favourite book. I should have written about Anna, just to show that I have read it. But I didn't. Would have been too big a lie. The Little Prince transcends description, which left me with Shadow Lines.
Dusty hot late mornings. Squinting through sweat and sun. Then suddenly a stranger comes along and does something trivial, but nice for you and you think about it for the rest of the day.
Drowning shadows... shadows drown... There are no shadows at night. There are no shadows also when there is nothing to cast it...
Report- Two cats recline before me as I write, one gazing at me intently, the other at the first. Another prowls around at its own ease. The second one is now on its feet. It jumps up next to me and seat itself where my head was until recently. Yes, indeed, LSR campus- positively feline.
Apparently, most of the likes of Murphy's Law, Peter's Principle and Harris's Lament can be more succinctly put by way of what is known as the Jenkinson's Law, "It won't work.".
Cole's Law- slimly sliced cabbage.
"Phones now come with inbuilt dictionaries. I still prefer to use the phone to call one."
After a long time I wrote something vaguely creative, feel less confused, had insane fun, finished a book in a day and then looked for another. Good to be back.
Cz, "I reached. Safe and sound, but dead."
It was raining. So I dragged a chair out and sat in it.
Feel drunk on overdose of satire. Want to turn up the volume of the radio enough to set the house vibrating. Also, have made standing in the rain a habit.
Shoot me already! No, wait until I am done with Stephen Leacock.
Long stretches of doing nothing do not go down quite as well as I had anticipated.