Jealousies

I am a jealous fat oaf. Sometimes I am jealous of fictional characters - mysterious and unputdownable characters. I wonder, how are they capable of successfully weaving a realm of mystery around themselves?

I was jealous of Howard Hughes after watching the Aviator. I was jealous because he was eccentric. I guess eccentricity is my fodder. I am jealous of individualism because I am an individualist who is unable to practice it.

Signs of Stagnation

The first step to stagnation: You smell.
Secondly, you have small flies hovering around you buzzing their tiny wings and asking for a molecule from the nurtured maggots on your body.

Tragic Endings:

Does an impending death make you detached from the jurisdiction of a community? Or do you create a community of your own – of people who have known death? I have never known what death means. I guess it is traumatic. I have never lost somebody I have been emotionally attached to. I have never been in a near fatal situation. Then I learn about people and their brush with death. People, whose fathers died as they were growing up, friends who in the past have been paralyzed – almost dead, friends’ family living on life saving drugs – blood thinners, insulin.

And then there is another bunch - the thin string of attachment to their self is what delivers them from the embarrassment of choice. But the irony is to be taken lightly after being ‘almost dead’ as is the case with most attempted suicides. Yeah, the tag of ‘attempted’ is shit. I have known people who have faced near deaths, but did not inherit the enduring sadness and tragedy. What a wasted death experience.

It is somewhat discomforting don’t you think so – to have never cradled on death. Not avant-garde, enough. Whenever I have had a stomach ache from the spice adventure I would indulge in, I’d pray – it better not be a few pebbles at the bottom of my appendix. If it is something, it better be lethal. I mean, sexily lethal. By sexy I mean, tragic. I mean who would want to die with a bull horn inside his ass?

I was also wondering what a partition would do after all to a human psyche. Oh! Did I change the topic? Yes, I thought the last sentence of the ‘dead’ paragraph was killer. Funny yet bitter. I can’t stop laughing. It is like Homer Simpson on medical marijuana!

Promiscuous Amy

The idea is not casual sex with people but with identities.

Amy - one, amidst the zillion nick names I happened to gather like muck sticking to a wet tennis ball bounced countless times on a badly maintained clay court.

As I listen to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse, I resettle the idea of being Amy. I like the song.

People should never meet authors and other creative people they admire. It pains to see artificial intelligence, sometimes. My statement has nothing to do with Amy (Winehouse) though.

Do names really have meanings in the greater connotation of galactic existence?

FACE of FACEBOOK

Yes, it is a farewell note to Facebook.

I am trying to recollect broken shells of memories that may haunt me later and coax me to drop my idea of closing my facebook account. I still have one day. Today.

There was a time when I used to love filling up the About me columns. Self obsession? I would say self definition. All were attempts to sketch a personality. It took me a long time to realise that a person grows with and grows in and out of things. If Tarantino and Teri Gilliams excite me more than Truffaut, than it is no less than fine. All I needed to understand was that all of them are film makers and that is the constant here. No, wrong, all I had to understand was that it was the 'me' who is constant here. And that is me.

They say that it is a piscean trait. Escapism. Farmville helped me become an expert in that. It is time I quit and face.

I have not made any new friends through facebook. There have been unknown friends requests and at times I have accepted them. I have had no interaction with anyone of them at a personal level. There has been only one person whose facebook presence delighted me...not anymore. Too much traceability spoils the excitement of destiny and coincidence. There are few people with whom I reunited. Gautam for instance...and his maturity as a person has made me so happy that it is not funny.

My closest friends are most of the times lost in their own worlds. They are on facebook but either not savvy or too busy travelling in the most interior parts of the fuckin world. The point is I say in touch with them, no, I stand corrected. It is rather they who bear with my rude behaviour and remain in touch nevertheless. I treasure them and Facebook plays no role in that.

Till such time there was a professional demand, the social networking helped. I have managed to come out of that obnoxious cycle of professional networking with the blessings of destiny and with a minimised salary, but I feel at the top of the world!

I used to use My Read, because I wanted to see what people are reading, and take clues in choosing contemporary books at least. Mary was one of my favourites in this case. She is updated with books and I have hardly ever had a disappointment while choosing a book to read from her shelf.

At some remote point in time, it used to excite me to see people's comments on my photographs. Now I am not doing enough of it. Not the way I'd like to. The Birds! Certain surroundings are depressing in terms of presence of natural life.

Facebook taught me another thing. If you have grown, people around you, organizations around you have grown too. I am back in touch with my first school. The school whose ideas I chose not to choose. Now I realise, it was growing too.