Saturday, September 5, 2009


It’s after a good two and a half months today that I have been home-alone, and what makes it better is that I have been unoccupied by any duties whatsoever today. While days like this came aplenty in my life prior to these two and a half months, it feels somewhat more awesome today; which is not to say that I didn’t enjoy them before. I've liked being idle and home-alone since as long back as I can remember, and, oh yes, I understand fully well that admissions like this one sprinkle, rightly or wrongly I cannot say, raunchy undertones all around them. Once I was telling a friend about it, and he immediately made a funny face and labeled me a closeted pervert. On the outside, I responded by laughing out loud which, naturally, was the normal thing to do; on the inside, however, a few seconds of involuntary deliberation confirmed to me that there was little, if any at all, perception, and further, no novelty in his conclusion. We are all perverts (while being closeted is just a byproduct) and those who are seemingly not, are what but just a little more efficiently closeted ones.

After much delay, I finally got my copy of Black Swan Green today which will reach me in an hour and I am looking forward to reading it more than anything I’ve looked forward to doing in some two and a half months now. Further, how much I like it could present me with a topic for my next post, and at least save me the pain of writing a personal post the next time I decide to blog my time away. I quickly scrolled through my blog archives moments ago, and was surprised almost to disbelief at how freely and indiscriminately I doled out tomes of humbug on what I think and what I’ve been doing, for years and years – the same things that now seem to me to be the most difficult, and slightly uncalled-for things to write about.

I keep taking these pseudo shots at writing verse from time to time, with the weird intention to ensure that there be no month in my archives which does not have a post to itself, and apparently that does not make for a great motivation behind writing verse: on the contrary it makes writing any verse very clumsy, and writing any worse very difficult. And then you feel like removing them, which defeats the initial purpose too.

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