Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Dreamy's Vlog - 2

Minuscule Diary entry

I wish I could scatter all parts of my brain into something vast.  This happiness could spread as far as the sky and beyond; these vast acres of my happiness spreading out large between the different spectrums and hues and grooves and rhythms.  Calling out as my hunger is, as physical as it could possibly be.
So why am I hungry, you might ask? It is because I ate early and will sleep late. This void in between will be filled with pangs of hunger so vast, almost as vast as my happiness could possibly be,
Wow that was some deep shit I wrote. Possibly under the severe effect of you know what. I don’t idolize and celebrate the habit, as much as I used to, when I was younger. I just take it all in. and realize how bloody good it used to feel. Yet, good as it was, it also created this huge hazy illusion of perspectives. Like truths that were created in your affected mind, truths that are far away from the real truth. Things you believe and feel all jumbled up and getting further away from the real thing. Make-believe feelings don’t go that far out, so somewhere you are bound to stumble, like suddenly getting slapped by someone you least expected from.

This feels good. Writing feels good. Things I write down for myself to read later. Maybe I will try and write a paragraph each every day. Maybe that will never happen; maybe tomorrow. 

And now a random picture of me with a waterfall for a background and suede boots for shoes.

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Overdo

Sometimes, things are so very simple; it takes some kind of an effort to understand them. Especially when it comes to feelings, people tend to overthink so very much; it takes a double effort on their part to see a spade as a spade, nothing more nothing less. He did not love her, and that was that. What she could have done, she did not do. She could have not wasted millions of minutes overthinking, analyzing, overpreparing, and contemplating; she could have just moved on. Instead, she chose to mull. And overmull she did. As much as the  fleshy labyrinths, waves  and sinews inside her mind cried out loud for being worn and torn due to overuse and misuse, she kept on thinking.
She did achieve something out of all of this; she spoke less and lesser out of weariness, because speaking would require the wear and tear of not only her brain muscles, but also the throat. She thought it was best if she did not speak unless it was an absolute necessity, like saying “there is a queue” or “fuck your balls off” or just a simple “do not have change for 7.5 bucks” Of course, her sincerity was overtly helpful when it came to earning a paycheck per month, so it was suffice to say that she did not have much to worry about as long as it was about talent, or a career or bathing a pet on a Sunday, or saving for a marriage. All she worried about was something that deep down inside did not need no worrying, because deep down inside, she knew he did not love her; therefore, in a strangely comical and complicated way, she was very well aware of the fact that she was, basically, wasting her worry.

Humans waste so much; food, money (although THAT is hugely debatable and highly relative) talent, potential (technically impossible; if you have potential/talent you are not wasting it by not putting it to good use; again, by inhaling insane amounts of dope  and just tripping off the colours on the screen of a switched on/off TV or going meticulously through one’s own folders in one’s personal laptop or googling one’s own name again and again or trying to bake butter cookies with leftover margarine; point being, talent is not getting wasted, it is simply not being used to earn money or appreciation or both or to incite enviable amounts of jealousy in other people who ma/may not be that talented) 

This seems relevant now. I had a dream last night. While I was living through this dream, I felt an essence of something that I thought I had left far behind, since its been a whole of three full years. but then, when you experience a feeling in your dreams, you find this similarity that your gut identifies as something you have already felt, you know you haven't quite left that feeling far behind. It has stayed within you, no matter what.

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

The typical December blog post (I am 28 years old and I still blog)

I was just randomly checking my blog (one of the things one does when one has loads of work to do and hence naturally one is heavily procrastinating) and I had this sudden urge to find out whether anyone still reads my blog. After checking the Feedjit counter I realized that people from places like "pantai negeri sembilan" have visited my blog three days ago. After, of course checking where this place is exactly (Malaysia, apparently) I decided to check google analytics and found out that people actually do read my blog: this blog has been viewed 42 times in the last one month.

Well, so I readily deleted a dozen or so posts bordering on the murderously depressing and the painfully pathetic zones, and here i am.

That brings me to the fact that after reading my blog posts of the last year, I really do feel like I was, indeed, terribly depressed, the whole of last year. Now that I am not, I can feel the difference; what I was feeling on the 23rd of December 2014 is so vastly different from what I feel now, how I am now, I think I should thank my stars.

(And get back to work, because I think I should keep this job, no matter what)

okthankyouTatabyebye

Thursday, April 2, 2015

What if this universe that I am existing in explodes all of a sudden. Everything smashed to the core, everything ceasing to exist. All thoughts, particles, plants and the human form just vanishes from the face of reality to give rise to a constant nothingness that prevails mightily. 

I sat for hours staring at the laptop screen, thinking of what to write; and this is what I came up with. i don't find words nowadays. Words fail to come to me. I am at my most inarticulate best. I wonder what happened to the old me.