._.

Things are so random. Life is so fuckedup. "Fucked up only because of me".

The whole essence of existence question keeps plaguing me. Why do we exist? Is there a reason?

And somehow, I forget the simplest reason. We exist to justify existence. At least thats how I have been looking at the whole concept. I don't know, its a possibility, isn't it?

Bleh. I should stop writing shit like this.

I feel like I'm turning into some sort of really bored, bitchy person. A class-mate called me a 'nasty stereotype from Mean Girls(the movie)' and I think I may be turning into one. Yay.

And somewhere down the line, things are starting to make no sense at all. Everywhere I look, all I see around me is some kind of weird recurring regurgitated script of something similar to an American Pie movie. Its very freaky. I hate those movies.

And there are things. Things that I can't explain to myself. For no reason that weird, I am sort of ashamed to admit, feeling of loneliness creeps in to me. And then it goes away. Its probably nothing, but nothing is what we think about the most, is it not?

I feel like writing letters, I feel like calling names. I don't know anything that I think about.

Hello World.

The world has changed so much. The loops have turned loopier, the bends have further bent themselves. So many people are dying and yet no one cares even a little. The callousness they posses is extraordinary. The way we have removed that 'feeling' from our conciousness is extraordinary.

Is there a random kind of anger in you? I have rage bottled up in me, I don't know why...

There have been so many things that have metamorphosed into things that are so similar and still not that way.

I feel like sleeping.

There is so much to say and to talk about and I feel incapable of doing so. 

I will sleep. I will sleep.

Of Clowns and Jokers Other stuff which I'll think of by the time this is complete...

People joke about everything... And at times, it makes sense to do so. After all, when one lives in a world where you are supposed to be free, and still you can't do all that you want to, you make jokes. The thing is, I've never seen people make too many jokes about jokers. Maybe its because the jokers make jokes on themselves, on others and make the people forget. Or maybe its because most jokers are wise and keep silent except when they joke. And jokes aren't meant to be taken seriously... Anyhow, I read this joke about a joker...

I stole it from this comic book called The Watchmen...

Read the comic book if you are one for comic books...

This is how the joke went :

Man goes to the doctor. Says he's depressed, life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world, where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, "The treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go see him, that should pick you up." The man bursts into tears and says, "Doctor, I am Pagliacci..."

Funny, eh?


Now, moving on to other things...

Bob Dylan is The Man...

Yes he is...

And thats all folks!

Hope and what-not.

I have never understood what life is. Not that I haven't tried, but then I have not reached the pinnacle of comprehension. There are glimpses of it that I have caught, that have at times spurred me on to try and understand it and at times have disgusted me enough to want to stop trying. But then, I have never stopped trying to understand life. We speak about the purpose of life and much like that, but none have actually defined what that purpose is. It may be so, since the purpose is subjective to people. But then, there must be something general, something that connects us all. I don't say it is god, I don't think there is one. But there are similarities in folk-lore, in religion, in language, in culture which speak of a common presence. Maybe it was the way man evolved that was the same, maybe it was something else. But something does connect us. I know not what it is...

Maybe the purpose of life is self-eliminating. Once it is found, it will not let life to exist. Maybe that is what death is. The attainment or understanding of this purpose... Or maybe it isn't... I know not, again...

But this is not what I want to write about. Death, I have not experienced and if I had, I would not be able to write about it. And life, I have lived too little.

Yeah, whatever...

What I really want to talk about is hope. Hope, is one hell of a thing. Yes. It gives you wings, rebuilds your bridges and fills up your vats with milk and honey and sunlight and star-shine.
And it makes you feel that that, which you are hoping for, could be real...
Hope is, amazingly, insanely liberating. The only problem with it is, that is shows you what could be real and not that which is. And when you succumb to hope, you start to live in the world that could be instead of the world that is. And then comes the rude awakening, and it all ends. Hope, is like a kick in the nuts.
(yes, pardon me, I am sexist, but it isn't my fault that only males have nuts which hurt on being kicked at. Yes, I know how it feels being kicked there and no, I will not tell you about it ever.)
Only its like a kick in the nuts by, lets say, Jessica Alba after she strips halfway for you. (yes, I am also a pervert... so sue me!)

You know what is insane about life? Its full of hopes...
So its like a series of kicks in the nuts. I suppose that is why most people end up getting all impotent and useless by the time they reach 40.

But then there are other parts of life too, choices and decisions and what-not. They are important. Maybe thats why people go on living lives...

Ah well, who knows...

Among other things, I succumbed to a hope again. The kick will come soon. Don't know why I did it this time. I haven't hoped for a lot in all my 18 grand years. Haven't left much of a doorway for any hope to filter through. Ended things with a finality, that at times, surprised me. Did so again, but can't help hoping for it to come back...

Of all the things that Pandora released from her stupid box, I'd say hope was the worst...

Lets all hope that she doesn't do something that dumb again...

:P

101!!

Yay!!

So we're on 101!!

That is, 101 people have actually read this blog...

I'm happy...

It could have been more...

Those about me's, may have driven a few off, but I won't complain...

We only need around a million more subscribers, and we'll be a Blog of Note...

Ganna!!

You'd better work on it man!!

My PR skills suck anyway...
:p

This is an utterly random post...

My wine is red!!

haha!!

I rewl!!

I have RIGHTS !!!

"Hello children", said the teacher.
"How are we today ?"

The children answered, "We're confused..."

"What about ?", asked the teacher.

"Freedom and Rights, Sir. "

"Well, what's there to be confused about ? Its really simple. Here, I'll lay down the rules for you", said he.

And these were the rules which he set down, for he was the First of The Teachers.

And the children were the First Citizens, the ones who control the world now...

Here are the rules :

We live in a free country...
There is freedom of speech and expression...

We have rights and we will use them...

We will protest and we will burn effigies...

We will shout slogans and we will burn people...

We will kill people and cause strikes...

We will defame people and stone them to death...

We will kill people if they are not of our religion and if they offend our sentiments, irrespective of whether they are right or wrong.

We will destroy houses if we are not happy with someone.

We will fight fire with fire and burn the house down.

We will fight wars and we will pillage countries for oil and for land.

We will burn down houses and we will plant bombs.

We will kill people for no reason at all.

We will manufacture orphans among other stuff.

We will lie blatantly and will deny everything that is true.

"In short, children", said the Teacher,"we will do everything, except the 'right' thing".

And he winked slyly at them.

Unfortunately, some of the girls in class thought that this was a rude thing to do, and so the students slit his throat, brutally murdering him.

After all, they had a right.

The City Of Dreams

2:53pm: The City Of Dreams

The pink sky was slowly turning dark purple as the sun went hiding his face behind the mountains which encircled his city. His city...
A great city teeming with people and smells and animals and things...a city where no one really knows who or what the next person is...where a thousand personalities live inside a single person or a single personality inside of a thousand people...where a riot breaks out in a second on political convictions or difference in race in religion...where people fight for water and little holes that they can call "home"...where a million people arrive from thousands of places just for the realization of a dream only to find out that the dreams have already been bought and that the only new ones that await for them are dreams of a real single room apartment and two square meals a day...where the rich and the poor and the people in the middle are all bitter and unsatisfied and want to be richer or poorer or dead...
His City...
A mass of people and emotions each more diverse than the other and yet all milling about in a single container like a cocktail made from the finest liquor and the cheapest country liquor…
A mighty city where power is held only by the weakest of all men…the kind that bow down to the first temptation they can find…
A beautiful city where the tall skyscrapers reaching into the sky are surrounded by dogs and beggars and dirt…

Where every street lane marks the beginning of something and every corner marks the end of it…

Where bodies and ideas are sold two-a-penny…

Where the living never sleep and nobody cares about the dead…

Where the fire never burns out and the fuel is always not enough…

It is a beautiful city…

His city…

A city where millions still hope for a better life and millions do nothing for it…

A city where thousands live and die and weep and cry all trying to survive somehow…

A city where the rain always wets the streets but never cleanses them…

A city where the winds only blow near the highest rooftops carrying messages to a god that exists somewhere…maybe…

A city where millions have lived and died and dreamed and cried and held on until they have nothing in them but a hope that somehow survives like a candle in a storm…

A resilient hope that enables them to survive…

A most beautiful city…

His City…

And he slowly turned his head towards the dying sun as it set itself behind the mountains…

And then he closed his eyes as he turned back to the city…

It was the same everyday...
His hope would rise with the sun and with the night it would almost die…
Only one thought remaining in his mind…
The fact that he would die when the sun never came up and that he knew that he never wanted it to…
And he walks back to his city, the city where he exists and the city that has defined him…
The city that gave him his identity and the one that took it away…
He loves the city and he hates it…

His City…………