If you live in a growing city like Ahmedabad. And you quickly grow out of your friends. Make sure you live far away from everyone else. Make sure you meet noone regularly. Make sure friendship doesn't become routine, drab, a ritual.
If you live in some other city. You can decide. Music, midnight, love in a bottle, confusion, loan of a 50,000 rupees. None of these things let you slip into a state of blissful foretfullness. A street is wavering in my mind. Where is this? Meerut? Where?
Maybe that is why I avoid my relatives. I cannot accept a state of normalcy very easily. I push my perspective onto people. Unless they are those, of whom I do not think in the same context as myself. I think of myself, how?
A struggling, toungueless writer, a starving artist, an over-productive introvert? I think of myself as a fantast on hot wheels and vinegar. When I am in a super-critical mood? Don't mind me tonight, I am in one such mood : )
Well, more bitching. I am this. I am that. I can't. I can. What does it matter who I am when I shit my poetry into the gutter. Find a way to sell into the world or suffer extinction. Annihilation.
She said "don't write on the walls of your room. Sleep when you have nothing left to say." So I will sleep. When I wake - the sun will again shower chargin in my eyes. I will again remember the pile of work I must complete, before I can smile. Why do I take everything so seriously? I feel - the wind is not good for me to fly. I wear a frown on my face as if my digestion was apathetic to my needs. I will hide my face into the pillow - refuse to wake up, until I can manage to work and stop planning the next day, the next day arranging this meuseum of farting governers, trapped in mouse-traps.