It takes nothing to see your loved one succeed

It takes something to 'fix' your loved one in hardship

It takes everything to see that one fall, fumble and stand up by himself

It takes absolute ignorance to see that one fail himself again and again

Writing and Age

When i was young
I wrote what was in my mind
And let it float around

As i become older
I edit, re-edit and i am still not ready to let go
I have patches of text
Punctuated with criss crossing lines

Yet not in possession
of the pleasant void
when you have your thoughts out

I hope i am not the only one

The juicy meat above

withholds the fibres of memories.

of being held above the window

beneath the pink sky

above the thatched huts,

like the floating fleece.

Hard grounds, a broken nose,

And scared knees marked my growth.

Pheripherally loved,

Periodically loathed,

Befriended during junkets,

Appointed in haste

Left as an afterthought

The above i foresee.

Accustomed i am to my ways

Though these change.

i mark these fibres

with a cut for every measured time 

and  wander along, carrying them.

Laying them near the shore

Only to be washed away

And gather them again.

I was talking about this, rather i have talked a few many times than it should have been thought or spoken about. It is about my light purple couch and me. We have a love and hate relationship. I sit on it in the evenings when i am back and i blame it for the inactivity in the last evening. It is simply an endless cycle...like everything else.

Life is a cluster of infatuations, and the couch at the moment is one, and i am simply not yet satiated.

I come here in the evenings, and perform the daily web, carbon emitting rituals, by searching google for the world smallest economy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niue) and pitying my account balance at the same time. I dream of myself (at times ) of being the poster boy of my family (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter what your background is ) and at times breaking every norm set (for which one has to be a optimal hypocrite no matter who you are ). It is completely incredible that one says that one is driven by his own passions and commitments when most of them are set by the times that one lives in. Every motion, stinging nose hairs, sweating eyelids are simply grains filling up the remaining time. They are controlled by precisely randomly timed infatuations of animated beings.

If everything is so pointless, then just make it more 'cheerful pointless'. Back to the couch.