Okay, now
its almost been over a month that my pen hasn’t kissed his paper(no, it’s not some
kinky metaphor and for some reason I
believe that my pen is a male, it’s not deliberate),pondering over this very
critical issue I stumbled upon the fact that my life has entered into a phase
of dormancy where I am slowly giving up my urge to rise above all and slowly
succumbing to the malignant conventions of the world. On the next thought, “Is
it that bad?” , I have been asocial for a while now(not technically) but I have
cut most of my physical interactions ( we all have ,all hail social
networking for its services against the
mankind )as I wanted to figure out many aspects of lives with epiphanies coming
from endless soliloquies, but sadly there were lesser moments of truth than
remorse and maybe after spending so much time cramped up in this confined space I realized that I have been wasting the
most precious thing I have in my possession , time but on other thought what
could I have done with the aforementioned period of time to save me from the
remorse I’m currently facing and also reliving the said period is also
impossible, thus the futility of my remorse struck me.
Regret is one of our strongest emotions, and it is regret that teaches us many a valuable lessons in life and maybe makes us more human in the process but as I said the futility of remorse overshadows the handful of good it drops into our barn. There isn’t really any need of iterating the clichéd phrases to back and bring out what I’m really trying to bring out or am I really trying to bring something out, there is no purpose behind this post ,just plain gibberish, a little yammering ,rambling and some other fancy verbs related to talking.
What is it coming to, what are we working towards and does the working really hold some point? I shall write something, a handful of you shall read it, eventually it would get better and maybe someday I would be able to make a noticeable contribution to literature and then I shall become one with the dust, did I actually gain anything, maybe a brevity of recognition and a taste of sub-luxuries of what the present world has to offer. Who would be able to recognize my decomposed corpse from the criminals, rapists, the people labeled as poor, uneducated and others after a dozen months of lying under the ground. Even my priest wouldn’t guarantee my salvation and even if he does, would I be able to come back as a ghost and kick his ass by haunting him, in case I do not receive eternal life? What is the point of living and craving to survive in such a world of pointless existence where we earn bread by doing what we usually hate, hate what is hated in mass opinion, and have opinions that reek of desperate and worrisome cultural aspirations. Would caring about it create a difference? Would creating that difference be worth an effort? At the end of times , everything, our existence on this dwarf blue planet in the inessential corner of this colossal, colossal universe might be nothing but plain gibberish.
Regret is one of our strongest emotions, and it is regret that teaches us many a valuable lessons in life and maybe makes us more human in the process but as I said the futility of remorse overshadows the handful of good it drops into our barn. There isn’t really any need of iterating the clichéd phrases to back and bring out what I’m really trying to bring out or am I really trying to bring something out, there is no purpose behind this post ,just plain gibberish, a little yammering ,rambling and some other fancy verbs related to talking.
What is it coming to, what are we working towards and does the working really hold some point? I shall write something, a handful of you shall read it, eventually it would get better and maybe someday I would be able to make a noticeable contribution to literature and then I shall become one with the dust, did I actually gain anything, maybe a brevity of recognition and a taste of sub-luxuries of what the present world has to offer. Who would be able to recognize my decomposed corpse from the criminals, rapists, the people labeled as poor, uneducated and others after a dozen months of lying under the ground. Even my priest wouldn’t guarantee my salvation and even if he does, would I be able to come back as a ghost and kick his ass by haunting him, in case I do not receive eternal life? What is the point of living and craving to survive in such a world of pointless existence where we earn bread by doing what we usually hate, hate what is hated in mass opinion, and have opinions that reek of desperate and worrisome cultural aspirations. Would caring about it create a difference? Would creating that difference be worth an effort? At the end of times , everything, our existence on this dwarf blue planet in the inessential corner of this colossal, colossal universe might be nothing but plain gibberish.
