Look outside. Look at the men carrying babies with wives behind, with a cone of black currant ice cream in a hand, and a billion reasons to mock her man on the other. Look at the round shaped asses rushing to the gym, working out for real, Instagram, and hashtag foodie. Get a cup of coffee and sit here because this is going to get a bit of a drudgery and a boring piece of write-up, like always.
“Don’t expect from people”; this one line, I tell you, this one particular line is told to make someone feel good after a heartbreak, because the sun up above is on a roll. Now, don’t quit reading after the last sentence; you didn’t understand anything because you are NOT SUPPOSED TO. That was some random bullshit on my part, and I assure you that there is going to be more.
Well, people are strange. I am strange. You are strange. The world is strange, and life too is. The people who praise ‘Old Love’ are the same people who praise Bale’s character in ‘American Psycho’. That’s kind of sad, but never mind. Whenever someone asks me about going back to the start, I tell them to go fuck themselves, because why not? Even if I go back to start, I’ll be the same person with sin and discontent doubled.
Now, ask yourself, if you’ve ever thought it this way, and think what a pecker-sucking-full-of-random-bullshit-post this is. I am going to talk and I will talk about the random-est of things (if such a word exists, but don’t waste time searching for it, there’s nothing like that).
From the pull-the-shorts-peeing-toy from your childhood to the diameter of the neighbor’s butt, from the lizard’s tail to your first ever tricycle (now don’t get all the nostalgic vibes and start pondering on what’s gone). From banging Megan Fox in a parallel reality, to watching ‘Benjamin Button’ at 2 A.M. From talking to your soulmate for hours, to listening to Puth’s ‘We Don’t Talk Anymore’. From the pink straws at the juice centre, to not giving a fuck about the viper that slithered out from your girlfriend’s undies.
Oh, did you get a cup of coffee yet? I wish I could have one. Sitting in the dark. Writing letters in this age of technology. Letters which I will never post. Letters which I will burn. Letters which I will mean. Letters which will mean a lot to me. Sending wishes to the No-Ones. Cursing some.
Letters in cursive. Envelopes from the desk, in the dark room. But I am afraid to go into the room. I have always convinced myself that I am not scared of ghosts, spectres, apparitions and what not. You will laugh, but I am scared of witches more than the undead, because they are dangerous. They are humans.
Dark? I am scared. Not of it. But what’s at the end of the tunnel. Another world. Another life. Another option.
But it’s getting all clichéd. Keep it random. And that’s where you’ll play.
Now, let’s talk about nebulae, blackholes, magic, afterlife, and us.