November 18, 2003


I have run out of things to write about. No, this is not yet another of those "shutting this blog down" thingies. Just feel this journal has become so singular in tone that if you put in a bit of effort, you can almost predict what the next metaphor is going to be. In the three years it has existed, this journal has meandered from being a place to experiment with some fancy technology to an endless whining session in different metaphorical shades. I just do not have anything left to write about.

Over the period of its existence, it has evoked various reactions. People who have known me for real first and then read the stuff here always find it impossible to believe that I can come up with such depressive things. And people who have known me through the journal first are almost always shocked to know that I am capable of laughing even. But the truth is that the words here have often described things that I'd not tell most people in person, only that it is always well hidden.

You know, there has never been any earth-shattering happenings in my life. It has often been little, minute things that you or anyone else might have gone through. Nor am I blessed with a unique or wide enough perspective to see things differently from most others. So I often end up wondering, what do the 30 - 40 odd people who visit this place keep coming back for almost every day? I am not complaining, I am very grateful, still I cannot help but wonder, don't you get bored?

I have always lived my life facing up to my fears, always trying to push the envelope a bit further. In doing that I have walked in shoes that are larger than my size, worn clothes that would fit me and another of my own size and made my thoughts look as if they were of some great significance. In the end, it is all about the same little things, love, loss, pain, desolation and any other thing you can name.

Now I do not even understand why I did all that. Even in different sizes the world still looks the same. The only difference is that I have procured a fancier vocabulary, the lack of understanding is still the same. I could wax eloquent, but I'd be only serving the same tripe on finer silver. Somehow I am choking on things to say, but I do not want to utter even a single word. Expressionless, purely functional, will I pass? Do we have a deal here? Say yes, say no. Who is even asking you?

I've been down on the bottom of a world full of lies

I ain't looking for nothing in anyone's eyes
Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear
It's not dark yet, but it's getting there
Not Dark Yet by Bob Dylan