Ramblings of a delusional dumbass

It would be foolish to discredit the power of an idea (or ideas) that is vehemently acknowledged and ingrained in the minds of a collective group. Bloodied pages of history have shown us time and again, the incredible power that ideas wield. Ideas themselves are powerless. They are objective, unbiased and detached of all moral and ideological inclination. Only when the idea is acted upon, do we get the kind of explosive reaction that is capable of disrupting the very foundation upon which a civilized society rests. Only when an idea is passionately cradled, nurtured and moulded under the thin veil of biased false intellectualism does it transform itself into a weapon, whose prowess is directed by the strong allegiance of a dedicated group of followers. It is however, hard to get a group of people to pledge their allegiance to an idea. Ideas are invisible. Hard to see, hard to feel and hard to acknowledge. Only when you give the idea a tangible face to be acknowledged wi...

All he wanted was for her to spend some time with him An hour or half or quarter or two  She always made excuses, “Sorry, I’m busy!” “Not today, darling! No time for you!” He pursued her, nevertheless Unabashedly Shamelessly Expectantly For he knew, That time didn’t exist Before the Big Bang

I was at my desk trying very hard to not pass out from the sweltering Bangalore summer heat when trouble came knocking at my door. She was wearing a wide brimmed hat and a pair of big sunglasses, which obscured her face just as much as the long, black woollen poncho obscured her figure. Just looking at her made me sweat a little more. "I need you to find a man." she said in a thick, raspy voice. She was no stranger to whiskey and cigarettes. "The marriage bureau is in the next road, lady" I said, knowing very well what she meant. But it's not every day that a poor, private dick gets to chat up a pretty lass. I wanted to make this last as long as possible. "Please mister, this is no time for jokes." she said, nervousness slipping past her sandpapery voice. Maybe it was the way she said it, but I immediately cut the crap and up straight. "Does this man have a name?" She fished out a glossy eight by ten from her purse and slid it acro...

 “Yeah, and he loves midget porn” “I absolutely do not!” “Dude, shut up. Your favourite pornstar is a midget” “She’s not a midget, fool” “Wait, how do you know who his favourite pornstar is?” “Nigga she’s over 5 feet tall, at least” “So, she’s a tall midget. But she’s still a midget” “Shut up dude. There’s no such thing as a tall midget” “Yeah there is. You know Mountain guy from Game of Thrones?”  “He’s a midget?” “No dumbass, he’s a fucking HUGE normal person. So, it’s only possible that there are 5 feet tall midgets, equivalent to him in midget world.” “But isn’t he like Icelandic or something? And everyone there is like 7 feet tall, man.” “I wonder if the pipes match the building” “What?”  “It’s like if the carpets match the drapes. Except with size” “Dude that’s gross” “I knew you were a faggot.” “I’m not, you morons. It was an honest curiosity…” “Yeah, curiosity to suck a dick” “Fuck you!”...

If the doctor gives you, say six weeks to live from today, you will either a) appreciate the fuck out of every living second you have left or b) mope around until you finally kick the bucket. Guess which one will stretch time the most.  In the grander scheme of things, however, it won't matter how you spend your last six weeks alive. You'll be dead by then, so you won't sentient enough to give a fuck about what happens after. The ones you were with will either remember you as the cheerful happy go lucky guy who smiled bravely in the face of death, or as the sulking, sad mopey dude- a natural response to impending death. Neither of which will remotely affect how your near and dear ones look at you on account of you being earthworm food for all intents and purposes. You see, when you are dead, people tend to sympathize with you. People always tend to be compassionate towards people who have a prior appointment with death. I mean, we all do, but for most of us it...

Dear you, This is the second time I'm writing a letter to you. The first one was quite different- what I wanted to tell you was different, I was a different man back then. You never got a chance to read it because I couldn't muster the nerve to give it to you. But the intended message was conveyed,  albeit slowly. And this one, well, it's currently being read by everyone BUT you. So, I guess nothing's changed on the courage front as far as I'm concerned. I wish I could look into your eyes, those beautiful eyes that can swallow whole galaxies, loose myself in them, and tell you how I feel about you. How I'll miss your smile, that twinkle in your eye when you look at me and that annoying laugh of yours that I adore for some odd reason .Maybe because it's yours. And the way you smell, God I love the way you smell. It reminds me so much of my childhood. Our childhood. Goddammit woman, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. Not in my world. This clus...

11 October 2016 Went to bed at 11pm last night, woke up at 4-ish. But didn't get to work until the first quarter of 5am. My mind was still sleepy and struggling to make any semblance of my altered wake up time. The bright LED in the bathroom helped a lot. Wish I had washed my face as well, then I wouldn't have been so restless. This is common. I should know, I've done this before. It should take a few days to get used to and then I'll be on track, until I crash and burn. Then it's back to sleeping like a regular human being. I should probably take up some kind of exercise. Just the basic stuff, push ups, squats, planking etc. I can plank for  60 seconds, no problem. The burn begins at 40-isdh seconds, but done'st get really bad until the one minute mark. Like Casey Neistat says, it is possible to substitute a small amount of sleep with exercise and still be able to function at optimal levels. Or maybe it's the initial adrenalin rush, akin to a sugar...