Something's died...

Something's died inside of me. Some teeny part which used to make me look forward to celebrating life. Its the end of another year - people are full of bonhomie, making plans for the night, sending missives full of good cheer etc. I wonder what the fuss is about. Maybe its a phase with me, maybe its today. There's only one reason for me to be alive. I do try to create others but somehow I stumble. And that miffs me.

Death seems like a more dignified, desirable topic. The end. The big sleep. God knows, I need a good looong sleep, light-sleeper that I am. The great leveller. The final stop. I don't know the bit about it being the transit station before the next adventure blah blah. How come ppl don't celebrate death, worship the grim reaper, since it has the final word on all the noise we fill our lives with.

Don't know where I will be 5 years from now...sounds morbid, but maybe where I am now. Ugh. I am messed up inside, I think. And as i grow older, its getting worse.

Life suddenly doesn't seem like anything worth talking about anymore. Maybe if I buy a swish bag, things might brighten up. Pure conjencture at this point.

Here's to the End then. When it does come. And to the rest of the normal happy ppl world, happy new year...indeed.

My hair's killing me

i badly need a haircut. i need to get rid of my towel, the orange one, which refuses to leave me after 5 or is it more years of grime-wiping. Eeyuuuu would be an accurate enough sentiment.

My blog(s) don't look bloggish enuff.Most of the stuff i chance upon look so...perfectly blog-likewith enough spice and introspective strands etc. Come to think of it I, if I look at I as I should be, am not I enough. Make sense? Lots of loose ends, no lifelong friendships, no grand passions, no particular searing hobbies or skills. And still not average enuff to be the average. Hmm.
Sample this, in what was a first, went for a test und interview, which seemed like a no-brainer, right up my alley etc. But, didnt get it. Maybe my overwhekming honesty reg. my work from home conditions un-did the trick.

But am a fighter, if an unlikely one. Still looking, fishing and being myself casually, stubbornly. Like the last memorable lines in 'papillion' - i'm still standing, you W@$%#%$@#!! :-)

Words

another day
meaningless
is it a burn-out or just a passing thought
hope lies smouldering beneath the concrete
always there
gibberish i am

Spew some...

What do i write about? All that has to be written about has been written already. All the stories, the opinions, the diatribes, the eulogies, the paeans, the flame mails. All permutation combinations gone through. The physical world and its stepsibling, cyberspace is full of noise, babble, words. Everyone has an opinion, a tale to tell. Some win the Booker, some grab all the eyeballs. Some like me cower in my blog-hole and vent some more static, hoping someone will notice and consume and regurgitate anew.
The problem is not nothingness, its the reverse. So much to tell that has been told already, leaving me numb and frustrated. The great collective unconscious. The world vomiting the ideas, the labels, the tales, the concepts it has not been able to digest. These in turn coming back,timelessly, in new packages, or worse, in old. Regurgitation. Goodness, evil, happiness, sadness, avarice are as old as human consciousness. These remain the driving force of all the chaos that is played out on the world's stage. Nature watches, amused, or worse, indifferent.
The same stories, the same audience, you and I. We too return through the ages. Nature vomiting, recycling her innards. What do i write about. What is there to write about?