I really shouldn’t complain about how bad writers get popular reviews. I shouldn’t complain about how bad writing is still accepted because of the familiarity of the subject. I really shouldn’t complain because writing is tough and whether I think you’re writing is bad or the subject is weak you’ve put in a lot of effort and it takes guts to show your stuff to people.
So, I’m moving all my writing to a new tumblog. Most of it at least. Its called IMetAManWhoWasntThere. Yes, very creative. Anyway, I’ll be reposting everything on it and hopfully I’ll keep writing.
Wish me luck. Better yet, Follow me.
Google says that more people believe happiness is a state of mind than it is a byproduct of your own actions. About 15 times as many people.
Despite what the spiritual guru’s might tell you, it is not a state of mind. Most successful people - people who put in a shit load of effort into each day, will tell you that happiness is something you have to work at. It spontaneously does not generate.
Saying Happiness is a state of mind is akin to gaslighting. Hell, a sane guy would start to question himself if he I believed that to be true. It would mean you just had to sit at home and be happy because obviously it was what you were not doing enough of. It would mean there is no pursuit of happiness just the lack and then availability thereof.
Man fuck that. I find happiness in righteousness. You do something righteous and you get happiness in return. If it doesn’t turn out right you get contentedness of having done the right thing. There is no other way about it. You can appreciate things all you want while sitting in your garden and performing Kapaal Bharti but that in itself is not going to give you Happiness - Nirvana maybe, if you try long enough. You have to do something. Create, Fix, Maintain, Sort, Order. Choose your weapon and attack.
People must think of Happiness as an antonym for Depression. But despite what Merriam and Webster might have to say - yeah I checked, It’s not. The opposite of being depressed is not being depressed. Or bring mentally healthy. Depression and Pessimism on the other hand are a state of mind. So when people say Happiness is a state of mind, what they mean is Optimism is a state of mind. In that case I wholly agree with them.
She was born with a congenital heart defect. The same one her father had, which took him away too soon. It is in the back of her mind often if she will suffer the same fate, but she has never let it stop her from living a full life. She got that from him, too. He was fearless till the end. Her…
No disrespect meant. Here goes..
She feared a congenital heart defect. She suspected she had one, The same one her father had, which took him away too soon. It happened even before she was born. It is in the back of her mind often if she will suffer the same fate, but she has never let it stop her from running a marathon. She got that from him, too. He was fearless till the end. She tries to adhere to a vigorous lifestyle - Mom said Father was hard drinker, by exercising and eating nutritiously, but she will never know when her heart will decide to give out. Despite the moroseness of this condition, it has given her the impetus to not take life for granted and grasp each moment with a passionate zest. Besides, she is aware of completely healthy individuals who have dropped dead for no reason, and people with cancer and HIV who have lived to be 100.
She is convinced no matter what any test ever reveals, that ticker has little to give left. In this instance, fear is definitely a four letter word.
I was I dunno 20 and I was on the phone with a girl I had just got back together with. She knew me well enough to know something was bugging me and asked me about it. I was struggling with quite a few questions pertaining to the nature of man. I was very aware of the feeling of powerlessness and absurdity that generally is civilization and coping with the degradation that is every day of struggling in the fight for relevance.
At the time I couldn’t put any of it in words so I said ‘It’s difficult to be a man.’ I guess what I meant is ‘It’s difficult to stand people.’
This article puts to words thoughts I only angstily grasp at in my head. It explains the reasons behind the misogyny set in society so accurately that I found myself nodding along to every line.
The author condenses the article down in the finale to ‘Women are the motivation for almost everything a man does’. And its true some. How we would ever want to function without women is beyond me. But I felt he, the author, focused solely on that. I would like to believe we are motivated by things other than just the women folk; That women suffer from similar debilitating problems of being conditioned by society, if not the same. As you can tell, I related the article more to the misanthropy I see everyday. I’m convinced women must feel similarly. They must - We’ve all been brain washed with the same tools.
You should read it. The humor thrown in makes reading very .. humorous. Captioned pictures that break the narrative into paragraphs employ a bizarre satire that I found very stark.
After the 5th reason I was wondering how the author was going to justify it - the way we work I mean, in what was quickly becoming very obviously the end of the article. He concluded with the bare paragraph ‘Sorry Ladies’.
Five thousand years of civilization and we’re little better than the neanderthal. Sorry World I say.
She hadn’t wanted my help. She just wanted to see if I would help her.
The idea of a judgement is so seductive, you want it to be true. The final verdict to
a life spent dying an unfair life in an unjust world. You get to plead your case, that too to an entity who has been privy to every action and the reasons for it. A entity you have been told is loving and just.
And if things go well, a bounty greater than anything you’ve heard of is yours. And its forever. And the farm animals are convinced.
You could hear the swoosh even after the crack. Such was a slap from my father. It was like a sonic boom.
The sound of it meant one of us children was getting it. It meant my turn was coming up soon. I remember how the blood used to drain out of my body and how the abdomen would heat up purely of fear. I remember how a clean one would work like anesthesia; How disorienting it was, to be on the receiving end of one of those leathery wallops that Dad was all too generous in dispensing.
They made me numb. The numbness is wearing off now and I find myself aflame. My heart burns as if a hot brand were put to it when I see him now.
I tell myself I still see him so that he wont feel hurt. I don’t know why I bother.
Growing up, my father always had something to say about how I looked. He never called me ugly - he called me a lot of things besides but he always made me feel like shit for trying to how do I put it - dress normally. He had a sort of Almish resistance against casual wear. His opposition to everything he considered to be against the principles of his fuckknowswhat belief system was of levels you would find common in Afghanistan and Iraq I guess. He’d point out kids who had some sort of glow on their faces that he alone could discern. Cocksucker.
He still calls me and I still answer his calls. I don’t want to but I don’t see any other way of doing things. What I really feel like doing is giving him a punch straight to the chin. If he was younger ..
I felt ugly in another way, like a bad egg.
I knew you would never want me as much as I.
Such sweet pain I never had before.
Every glance squeezed at my lungs
And wound me tighter in this whirlpool.
Every kiss I knew might be the last.
Growing up at home felt like being pruned to be a bonsai tree. The tiny pot they’d have me take root in was the shape of the flask they hoped to hold they’re dreams in. It was not what I wanted. The word bull-simple comes to mind when I think of how I behaved in my growing years. I spoke to my brother about it once. About growing up. He called the environment we grew up in hostile.
Coming out of home was the begining of me coming out of my shell. It scares me sometimes but mostly I am excited. This process of getting to know myself is unnerving. It’s like meeting a stranger you know you’re going to like.
I find myself blinded by their myopia. Your. Your myopia. Its your myopia that is blinding me. This is your cataract clouding my vision. I am lost in this fog of our combined illiteracy.I feel cold even as I burn from within. I see lights that look warm. Lights that look inviting but turn out to be no more than the combustion of idiocrasy fed from infinite streams of weakness. I am loathe to be here. I am loathe to be me, among you. And mostly I am full of loathing for the vileness that permeates from the cunning and taints us.It blackness my person and makes filthy my clothes.
Odd wrought the garden tamed
Oddly half and quarter maned
Yet his face no fear could ever weather
His will no force could cause to wither
And boldly brought he his lance, yet unnamed.
Mold, rot, and mildew rocky
Moldy roots to this tree stocky
Yet his back could not hold the green together
His psyche spoke when it fell to thither
And ghostly left he his home gawky.
Hustle, bustle to a romantic shape
Hustling none to his amorous escape
Yet his heart was at every elsewhere
His soul on a plane not anywhere
And rattly wrung his chest space.
Weak, wretched, this starved alley spectre
Weakly etched out a silhouette, this actor
Yet his mind was stuffed to brim with alien fallout
His learning of self was wronged and washed out
And speaking he sentenced hisself to noose vectored.
Birth began the journey he was handed
Birthly process, was more fool’s wisdom branded
Yet his every grain now seeks its mother
His bit by bit recalls its brothers
And yearly grows he his mild rewilded.
Beatty began work that very hour. His first task involved fetching files and sorting notes. His second task involved running errands. An envelope was to be delivered to one Mr. Abrax half way across Havering. Abrax was a friendly of the firm. The two firms operated as sister concerns, often referring clients to each other and also the one off instance of sharing of advice did take place. This day the envelope was thick from freshly typed summons and notices. Beatty was expected to deliver this one and return with a similar envelope.
He wanted to come off as a dedicated soldier and left at once. He took the 103 from South Street and arrived half an hour later at Manor Way. The second floor Abrax, Abrax & Pennyweather office was a short distance from the bus stop. Beatty hurried up the stairs and breathed heavily an introduction and his errand to the receptionist. She was Holloway. She had a librarian pompadour and matching blouse. She starred at him for longer than Beatty thought necessary, then took the envelope from him to inspect its contents. She took out a thicker envelope from her desk drawer and handed it to him once she was satisfied with the first.
He had not been told to confirm the files he was to collect, but the receptionists fastidiousness made him feel guilty of his laxity. He sat down to examine the hamper. The documents had notes scribbled along their headers where they were not attached to a formal reply. And they all were dated for the last month.
“The Maddocks’ files haven’t been cleared. They will be ready next week.”
Beatty got a distinct feeling that the receptionist was in someway responsible for he delay of this file.
“We will send them by post.”
He walked to the closest deli for a sandwich and was in a bus before the taste of it left his mouth. Back at the office, Riehle took the envelope and asked him to proof read a set of files that had to go out the next day. He shrugged off the delay on the Maddocks’ files, handed Beatty the keys to the room and left early to check on his wife.
Beatty did not leave until he was done proofing.
I remember little about kindergarten in the visual sense of the word, but i do remember the sense of being out of place. I never got what I was supposed to do there. School and college later I still don’t know what I needed an education for. I have been tamed to the extent that I don’t question this much, but I cannnot say I have learnt much.
I wish I had learned something in all those years.