Tuesday, September 30, 2008

The Aimlessness of being sad

How hard it is to not be sad.Sadness is such a waste. I never realised it could be worse than anger. Anger at least makes you DO something.Sadness just makes you reflect. And everything is diffused.And everyone who smiles is like mocking at you.Every loud word you hear is like someone yelling at you.I hate being yelled at. I hate loud words.I hate talks.I dont know why I am writing this.I have known writing to be a form of therapy.I am fishing for some kinda rest.I am fishing for some good things, some goodness. I would like to think that its just the fact that I am failing is making me sad.But the fact of others winning is making me sadder.I guess I am a bad person and all this mask of pretensions i wear is just falling apart.I am writing and deleting.It shouldnt be that way.I am wishing to talk with people who would just listen and maybe understand, but I know they cant. I wouldnt if I were them and they were going through this. Maybe I wouldnt have cared.Maybe they dont care either.what the hell.I might destroy somethings. I take things too personally.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

God Bless the Awake

How small is fear, a small dot
Almost a small dot, in
The white consciousness of his life
Heartbeats stretching into an endless
Echoes of train in an empty tunnel
Of course he would like to erase
Some strange mistakes
Freedom from the trail, a quest
To greatness by the time he dies
Death of fear must follow first.
A tiny dot, nevertheless.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Writers Block

What should I write? Writing is such a beautiful way to express oneself, ones thoughts and ones’ innermost core. Sometimes we don’t even know what our innermost core is. Sometimes we probably don’t want to know. Some fear, some guilt. Sometimes we write to express what we have read, the writing styles of people and sometimes we even take over feeling the same thing the author, which we read, experienced, without us really taking the pains to experience it. I find myself wondering what to write. I write stuff which is melancholy and sometimes profound. Am I writing stuff which I haven’t experienced? Am I as honest as I can be, and as original. Isn’t there a hint of Jim Morrison, a Kurt Cobain or some other person in my writing? I try my best to be original, but isn’t avoiding writing something which someone might have written about a kind of running away. A fear of comparison, perhaps. Or maybe a disgust at comparison.

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