So it was a musty huge library that did it this time. no alcohol, no music, no overlooking waiters. just racks of dusty books and fading lights. there was a comfortable reading sofa though. so it took off where the last one stopped. there was no explanation, no stories.
she put it perfectly, it is a search for comfort more than attraction.
but there is the difference you see, attraction has its own attraction.
"when i am with you, i am in a different world" she said, different from the world we are running away from, the world we'd rather be in, the world we should ideally be conquering.

The begining of the end

Oh, it is the 20th already. Life is surprising. I am depressed. My heart has been beating like an overworked public bus engine. I was lying down and sleep would just not come. Food I don’t feel interest for, conversation I don’t feel the need to make. I am what I am, distant and cold. I cannot relate to the world that I see. I want to die. I am deep and reserved. The smile that I smile is artificial. I do not have a reason to be sad, neither do I feel happy. Hurt exist in me. Reading, music and movies, friend, drinks, parties, smoking all seem vain. This small room I am in is claustrophobic. The world outside is intimidating. I am a boy in a mans world, a man in a boys body. Love that I scorned, scorns me back now. I don’t need to exist, the world wouldn’t know my passing. I don’t exist. I could be anywhere now, now is all that matters. I don’t want to be anywhere. Not here, not there. Time strolls by, the only absolute, he acknowledges me, and I nod back to him. March on, I remain. I don’t exist.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I feel that my friends are not my friends anymore and I feel the same way - abandoned and alone. We have to choose between cruel laughter and calm acceptance or a possible liebitzian optimism.

a self obsessed, boring, depressed, slightly maniacal, guy, not really single, lacking exercise, looks ok, smokes, drinks, no drugs, philosophical, twisted, yet to cut off one of my ears.

The amount of time it took for the second entry,..perhaps self professed love for writing is just a fantasy, for when you finally get down to the front of the screen, gotten rid of gtalk which has already swerved your thought pattern from what you really wanted to write, they just seem to vanish - thoughts i.e. then when you actually write whatever crap u do, save it and google presents you the page in all its glory you run to press the delete button because it all sounds so darn fake.
a good writer, cant say author, should be good with coming up with titles and names right? then i must be a terrible one, cause i bad with names. for instance i was out with frinds all day yesterday having a great time, and this girl who was in the same qualis you know blah blah, and the end of it all, at 1AMish we say 'cya' and after the bye i cant remember her name for the life of me..she says bye whoever, and i can only smile..
and see, this blog is called nonsense's boyfriend, what a wierd name, but i cant come up with another one.it should not be called this.
i hope my better half is better with names for otherwise d kids will be nameless, or i shall call them junior.. what about prince.. king. great names for malayalee kids anyway.
another problem with writing is, the temptation to go on and on, not only do i realise that it becomes boring, is a sign of self obsession and boredom, i also have to mention that writing more progressively increases the temptation to do 'Cntr+A' and then 'del', in other words to junk whatever was written. thoughts are like that, they better remain in the head, it is always, Believe me, ALWAYS a bad idea to put thoughts into words. now i need to go turn off the quirky washing machine before it turns my shirts and underwears into the cotton pulp out of which they were made. yeah! i am washing clothers at 7 in the morning on a sunday, after going to sleep at 4..

The beginning

To her... how is that sometimes we are so free and as one and sometimes rude or just cool and then cold :) you must know what i mean.. we were cool, then rude before new year.. we were lovers at the birth of 2008 we were in love.. once it dawned.
but i like you for this. there is some anxiety, some pain, lot of .. what do i say.. bliss?
the wait and the blood than ran amok in my veins when i couldnt get in touch for just one hour.. today... it was amazing.. then i was speaking to you.. and you was just.. there ... plain. strange.
you know what they say.
that there are three things that are never satisfied,
four things that never say. "it is enough"
the Grave
the barren womb
the earth that is not satisfied with water,
and the fire that never says "its enough"

but i think I too will never be satisfied of you. i will never have enough of you.

Sometimes there is this intense need to shout out, to tell everything as they were, without language doing the bad job of interpreting thoughts, when thoughts are but ghosts of dreams.
jump off a cliff, and if there were just those five or ten seconds for all your thoughts, wouldn’t they come out clear. When you are falling free, how would the world matter? How would the future matter? How would illogical conviction, ethics or beliefs matter?
If fear were to be removed, it would be pure thought falling down, just the mind. Nude and in all its glory, pure emotions of love and hate.
The future, just the thought of it is binding, for if not for it I could be doing so many other things right now. I could paint my masterpiece, I could write down thoughts that now drift away.. I could learn to do all the things I wanted to, I could learn new languages, read all the books I wanted to, drown in some diluted spirit, sit in a quiet shack somewhere and watch the rain. I could do all this before I hit ground and landed back on reality square.