I've been meaning to write for quite time now. Months, actually. Yet I haven't been able to bring myself up to the task. So much so, it topped my list of action items for consecutive weeks, until i saw the funnier side of it .I have been busy, not that much though.
I am not the sort of person who misses people everyday or hangs on to things for too long.I seem to have a world class formula for these sort of things. Some days, though the formula doesn't work.Those days, it's like cold turkey. It rips you apart,rends you heart.bares your mind to your feelings of fear, passion and of course no denying, love itself.But then the formula itself is too strong, there is no getting out of it. Even on one of these days, it controls you, like an invisible force. What do I make of these days?
There are so many things I want to write about, things which I care about, socially, personally, in some ways, professionally too. There are changes about these things,which,of course I am incapable of bringing about.The helplessness kills you.Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I had a smaller head.
I have read books,watched,heard true stories.My heroes have inspired me to carry on with my life.I am guessing their biggest quality has been to hang in there. Stick to your shit, work on your principles, make a difference and hang in there.It does more than you think.Then maybe you got a fable, which can be told in the end. In an antique land.
In the meantime, scribbling about it, just feeds your ego, makes no fucking difference. And that's why I loathe to write.
I am not the sort of person who misses people everyday or hangs on to things for too long.I seem to have a world class formula for these sort of things. Some days, though the formula doesn't work.Those days, it's like cold turkey. It rips you apart,rends you heart.bares your mind to your feelings of fear, passion and of course no denying, love itself.But then the formula itself is too strong, there is no getting out of it. Even on one of these days, it controls you, like an invisible force. What do I make of these days?
There are so many things I want to write about, things which I care about, socially, personally, in some ways, professionally too. There are changes about these things,which,of course I am incapable of bringing about.The helplessness kills you.Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I had a smaller head.
I have read books,watched,heard true stories.My heroes have inspired me to carry on with my life.I am guessing their biggest quality has been to hang in there. Stick to your shit, work on your principles, make a difference and hang in there.It does more than you think.Then maybe you got a fable, which can be told in the end. In an antique land.
In the meantime, scribbling about it, just feeds your ego, makes no fucking difference. And that's why I loathe to write.
