Pictures of her

And with that, the ties that bound her to being a picture of what the world wanted her to be were gone. She turned around and faced the rest of the crowd with her real face, her game face, the one that said that she owned everything that was in her mind, even the silly thoughts, even the ones that were ill formed, the ones that were not formed, the ones that she was ashamed of. They were hers. And she would stand up for them, because they were hers.

Confessions

I am an impostor
I am barely there
I am not all that I say I am
I am not what you think I am

Moderation

My attention seems to stretch and stray towards these polar opposites. I read articles online about daily happenings and news that are scholarly and almost snobbish. On the other hand I view pages and pages of gif-based 'memes' (I hate that I put those quote marks there but I can't help it),  pictures with punch lines in bold Impact font and the infamous cheezburger pictures. I am afraid that my brain will split in two pieces: each of them will mock each other with contrasting language styles: long, pedantic snobbery versus misspelled punch lines. The battle that will rage on between these warring parties will blow everything around it up and then from the ashes will rise the mediocre writing that I myself will create. I can haz sum hurrays pleez?

No longer

That little girl
In a yellow summer dress
Wild hair and wilder mind
She reminds me of me
But I am no longer her

For 10 minutes or less

This blog: 
An effort to be clever
For 10 minutes or less everyday

Takehome messages

A feeling of awe
Declining invitations
Talks of falsehood and lying
Social inability and awkwardness
Jubilation over successful survival
 

For the faint of heart

Start a project like this and daily thoughts and feelings are recorded for you forever. But is this something that you would want? Do you want to remember the days when hardly anything happened? Do you want to record every single day when you tried to think deep thoughts about the weather or write witty poetry? Think about it, this is not photography. This is not just an act of clicking a device when even pointed in an arbitrary direction generates an image worthy of oohs and aahs. So writing is going to be you capturing monotony, running out of ideas repeatedly and shrinking in your seat thinking of the trash that has been written in a predictable rhyme the previous day and the day before that and the one before that...

Are you ready to face the truth about your lack of originality? Are you willing to write out the best of your thoughts on blank canvas literally everyday of the year and then have your worst, most cruel critic look it up the next day and judge you for it, be unhappy, throw epithets about being the most boring blogger on the internet? You better be, because this person is you and there is no escape from you. You better realize this before you start and stop if you think you cannot take it.

If you have gone through these questions thinking that you can take it, it is easy and don't know why I am fretting so much... This exercise is not for you. If these questions scare you and make you feel uneasy, take this project up. You will ask/feel/hate/judge, but it will be one of the most liberating feelings ever felt.

Where

Where does my inspiration come from
From the blue skies
From sunsets
From star light
And everything else
Where do my words come from
From your words
From you

Sleep-time Solliloquy

I moved as though I was floating across the lawn. My long and flowing robes rustled around me and moved gently with the wind. Then I decided, not consciously though, that I need not walk at all! I could bounce along the small grassy mounds. And I did. I bounced like a ball and leaped to thrice my height effortlessly. It was an exhilarating and beautiful feeling. While I bounced up and down the lawns I thought : "Gravity is like our concept of God. We do not see it. Yet we feel it and know it is there. We believe that it is going to keep us rooted to the ground and not let us float away into space."

I don't remember the rest of the dream.

Normally, I mix some of my waking imagination with the stuff of my dreams when I write about them. But this dream is just too precious and wonderfully weird to write as a story.

365 Diary Entries

Day 24: I feel spent, unoriginal and some what stifled. There is a pressure to say something and make sure that that something is true to me - it has to be honest, it has to represent what I feel at this moment. Also it is important that this is in a form that is at least mildly entertaining to others. I know that people read my blog because my hit counter keeps ticking, but the lack of feedback sometimes makes me feel a bit unhappy. Yet I think that maybe with feedback I would get nervous and write untruthfully. Or maybe grapes are sour I want to do more here but I don't know how to proceed.
 

Day 35: The series that I am writing now is a unique experience for me. I write whatever comes to my mind while trying to conform to the previous day's general layout. I have absolutely no idea where my story is going and which direction I would like to take it in. I do not know when it will end either. In the end I may end up with a story that is quite unreadable, but I get a kick out of inheriting a set situation from the previous day. This requires a different kind of creativity. My general aimlessness is a bit unnerving at times and at other times I feel really happy to have no direction. Heh.

Start

If not celebrated
It's deliberately wasted

So, here begins anew
A project especially for you

A project 365
A record for and of life

Here goes! Join me if you can
Wish you a great 2013!

B o r e d

She was bored. Again. She was bored of being bored.

She remembered the days before GreaseBook had taken over the world. It was not very different from now really. But she could look forward to some pseudo-human-contact in the form of cheesy forwarded mails.
She didn't really miss them either. She was left with one less chore in the day anyway.

What a snob. What a prude. What was so special about her that she couldn't just be unique and special just like everyone else.

She was sick of people expecting her to jump in with the milling crowd, in to the bandwagon and be one with the herd. If she felt sick of the whole idea of putting her life online, trying all the time to be witty and special and intelligent and unique when she really was not, there was nothing wrong with it. There were enough people trying to be all that and the world really didn't need her to spend all her energy in that.


Okay. Then why complain? She had chosen this for herself. She had made herself the outcast. And stuck to her deep and passionate boycott.

A shudder ran down her spine as she realized that she stayed away out of fear of being connected irretrievably and densely with hundreds, maybe thousands of witty, special, intelligent, unique people and yet be what she was already. Bored.

Some Resolutions

1. Eat appropriately when hungry
2. Live mornings
3. Get rid of addictions
4. Create habits
5. Spend time creating
6. Allow inspiration to present itself and be open to it when it does
7. Solve problems rather than try to bury them
8. Respect time
9. Stop to evaluate impulses before acting on them

Plea for ideas

I am currently battling a big, huge, large block that is threatening to kill this blog. I have discarded at least 8 drafts and am sure I will discard more. Whatever I write seems like the worst kind of rubbish and bores me to death. To force myself out of this I have decided to write about anything that you ask me to write about. Give me a topic/ ask me a question/point me to something that interests you/all of the above. Anything is welcome!! Just leave me a comment. Mail me or call me. Thanks!

Some more

I come down to this page and set my hands to the board knowing that what will flow will go nowhere - it will travel up and travel down.
It is that which pervades all space.
It is that which engulfs everything in it.
It is that which will not die.
It is that which has not a purpose and not a reason.
(It is the only thing that does not, you would say. Or scoff.)
True nonsense never has any intentions, beginnings, ends.

post mortem report

He had tried all he could. But anywhere he had dug, all he could find was earth. The treasure that had been promised to him, the treasure that had tantalized him and that had taunted him was no where to be found. Some people know when to give up but not him. He had continued to believe that he could find that treasure. He had found something sometimes that shone bright from a distance. But a closer glance had shattered his hopes again. Alas! what a fool he had been. He had gone right back to dig and dirty himself with the earth that flew around at contact with his worn out spade.

What could the problem have been? His spade could have been worn out. It could be that he was too trusting. He could have been looking in the wrong places. He could have been looking for it for the wrong reasons. He might not have trusted his abilities. He might not have had a direction and order to his digging.

But then the most important question is - had there been some basis to his idea that treasure can be got only by digging?

That's enough of nonsense I guess.

Power(puff) girl

I once blabbed in a packed class that I see myself holding a position of great power and control in my life in future. I was scoffed at and the instructor gave a very sarcasm laden comment about it that I forget now (very conveniently). This was around 3 years ago. I wonder now, what it is about power that people are crazy about. Power over other human beings? Power over nature? Power over destiny and future? Power to make, break and demolish? Or simply power over myself and what happens to me. Why should anyone go after the power to influence or control other people and their happiness?
I believe the power to choose what happens to me is much more important than the power to "control" the people of the world or any other power for that matter.