To be the one
to be the only one
someone has to give a lot
something has to give a lot
And who am I to give you what you need
when I’m learning
just learning
Learning how to live and to…

Bear the weight
and push into the sky
its easier to lie easier to lie
And honestly to look you in the eye
its easier to lie
its easier to lie

To fill the space
the space you made for me
try to be the one you want
try to be the way you want
And maybe i could be the one
you need if you’d only show me
Show me how to live and to…

Bear the weight
And push into the sky
its easier to lie
easier to lie
And do what’s right
when everything is wrong its easier to run
its easier…
Never have to look you in the eye
its easier to lie
easier to lie

To bear the weight and push into the sky
its easier to lie “

The procrastinating chunk in my head:  There are three blogs I have forsaken and this one is my last stab. I am tired of well, giving in into you.

The radical hair: Please behave yourself till I wash you again. You mean insolent, headfucker!

SS and AN: Please take a hike and stop giving me this shameless, almost shrug of an excuse that you won’t ever bleed to your deaths because you are males. And yes, please get out of my life, you two, while you are at it! For the sake of my rocker, I don’t wish to spit out refusals everytime like a demented cola machine! I am done with both of you. AN, you arrogant pusher and SS, you sappy cheeseball!

Dearest Enginium : Please get a life of your own and stop screwing mine just because you can’t get a life of your own. I don’t even feel like working on you anymore! No, it’s not you, actually. It’s the P.C. in my head! Damn you, Sod!

Major Project: Please go to hell and take your goddamn ten credits with yourself! I completely detest your swagger and your attitude that you flaunt so in-my-face. Stop making me work my behind off for you. You have already eaten a gazillion brain cells already. Leave the few hundred alone, please!

Phone: Stop ringing or else I am going to dunk you into a cesspool of grease oil and vodka. More often than not, dry humour is sugar coating for disquiet and that’s exactly what makes me incommunicado for you. Drop dead, you!

Dirty Laundry: What’s with the phrase anyway? Why don’t you go and get yourself all washed up in a public place? At least that would keep my hands a little less dirty if you know what I mean.

Assignments: My love for you has been legendary for the past four years now. About time you left me alone. Get your long fingers to catch hold of anybody else’s ankles to dangle then upside down and spin them around. All the blood in my body has already oozed out of my nose and ears.

Contact Lenses: You are nice and useful too, sometimes. But please, I guess it’s time I went back to looking mousey-two-eyes. I hope your cows are happy, though.

AN, again (can’t get enough of you, you see): If you think that you are smarter than you look, you can for sure talk to me on a day that doesn’t end with a ‘Y’. Also, tell me what ‘NO’ means in your dictionary and I’ll tell you what “Killing Yourself” means in mine!

Darling Julian: Thanks for being so scratchy, catatonic, prowling and gnawing in Juicebox and Heart in a Cage, “the” weary epic of punk-soul chiselled from concrete and steel. I am already drifting through a washed-out cityscape in search of the unnamed .The sheer volume is flying with the riddler in here. Your confessions are superbly supererogatory to say the least. Grip me in a Julianesque hug of rock’n’roll excess.
Me: Stop meditating between the reservoir of need-gratification impulses such as the primitive instinctual drives of wrath and aggression. Stop requiring immediate gratification or release without concern for external exigencies. The sense of being paranoid doesn’t prohibit you of being in the external world as well. And yes, you have started to foam at your mouth now. Halt!

Ah Well…Vive la inner vileness.
Yours truly,

Deeply pained and demented.   

~Hanging Around, Counting Crows

Yeah, right!

It’s not like my female intuitiveness never gave me a chance to stance upon it, but it came at a bad time. And the fact that I always thought that he seems too aloof when we talk and too desperate when we communicate by writing. Also, he never really gave me the idea that he would like to go out with a Bridget Jonesesque person (only much younger and much more paranoid) like me.
He’s calling again. But I guess I am gonna skip it. Or else, I would be in for the next hour or so in the midst of another unsettling and demanding conversation. Yes, demanding. He is a demanding conversationalist, AN. I have to be on my thinking toes all the time and he won’t let me off the hook for even a tiny little fermisecond!  One can never converse with him for enjoying the conversation. You got to be all slick and quick and thoughtful and blah blah blah!This whole lotta fuckwittage, talking to him!

And then this. He said he’s into me. I could never really understand this whole being-into-someone phrase. How can he be into me when he’s all that I am not? He’s so self assured which almost borders on being so full of himself, groundbreaker, arrogant and just plain irritating! His coming clean was like waking from some unconscionable dream and had it nailed to my forehead again. We are like two people who are infatuated with the idea of being with someone and neither of us having a clue of what we actually want. Maybe I should jump out of the window or something of my groundfloor room. Humph.

Got another reminder of the fact that I would be leaving in two months! Bleedin’, bloody two months! WTF? What am I supposed to do with that? Its like finding those lingering voices which are just my ego’s attempt to make it all clean and nice and make a moron out of myself crossing the bridge on weakening cables all huddled up with fear and hate because I know my goddamn fate. Humph Humph.

Had a nice evening walk back to the room though. The thought of dancing like the queen of the eyesores occured to me. Twice. Made me chuckle. Thrice. Zaphod stood me up for the chat we were supposed to had. But he was sweet as hell to make up for it by calling me! God, why do I start fluttering like a stupid, blonde butterfly when I think of him? It has to be the older-men-damn-sexy-as-hell syndrome. And he’s thrice as nice as the nicest guy I have ever known. Droooooool!

Humph. Humph. Humph. (Maybe I should put it in a loop or something. Got to show off some of my non existent computer sc engg geekiness. Yeah, right. Talk on like you do now and you’d be declared a hazard to national security. )

 Some ideas turned to dust. SOD! Haven’t you noticed I’ve been shedding all of my mind?

P.S.  Thank you, God, for the Internet, ear phones and Zaphod. Zaphod most of all. Why don’t you make more men like Zaphod anyway?

Rip of the oblivion.
An ocean raptured.
Shovelled sanity.
Pull of the moon.
Fumbling towards ecstacy.

Every moment airbrushed.
Falling,Rising,Standing.

Frump sitting on the door,
Steps do the same
Can’t be dealt with
Everything changes
and remains the same.