hi again,
I fucked up again. Kinda like the story of my life. Something struck me while I was looking around for a card ( Another Luxury Gandhinagar cannot present to you -- good greeting cards). If I could be better in any terms it would have been alot better talking to you. I feel lost for words, stupid, Anti-humourous and all the other things required of a person you are conversing with . I think I say this because i want to feel sorry for myself, but so be it, i'm not deleting anything. I'm allowing the thoughts in me flow out through my fingers just to see what i mean.
Well all this shit above you can skip it. I think you could skip rest of the parts too. But still i put them to you.
As I say that the hollow of my mind reverberates with strange questions. Why am i writing this. I am a narcissist. I somewhere deep inside believe that some idiot will like what I am putting down at that moment.
Somehow I want to belive that in the future, however distant, but one day my life and what I have done with it will mean more than what it is today.
Why are we here to just crawl a few steps in pain and wastefulness and then die. Is there no greater cause for me. I guess that is the reality. But fuck reality I want to be happy, I write this having full faith in the greatness and purpose of my being.
I could be usefull, people tell me, if I were focussed, if I was organized, they say that I am intelligent, I can do well if I work harder. That is my problem, I don'
t work hard, I can not work hard. I wander from topoc to topic and read few pages from, every book to move on.
I have no solid background of anything, I can speak shit about ten thoudsand different things but not sense about one.
I must hav purpose. Is there no space for people like me. Who do not focus, who wander about.
Who cannot walk from one room to another and pick up a book. because they stop to something to eat instead, or are never on time for dinner, cause they realized that the song playing in the car was worth completing.
Well all this shit above you can skip it. I think you could skip rest of the parts too. But still i put them to you.
As I say that the hollow of my mind reverberates with strange questions. Why am i writing this. I am a narcissist. I somewhere deep inside believe that some idiot will like what I am putting down at that moment.
Somehow I want to belive that in the future, however distant, but one day my life and what I have done with it will mean more than what it is today.
Why are we here to just crawl a few steps in pain and wastefulness and then die. Is there no greater cause for me. I guess that is the reality. But fuck reality I want to be happy, I write this having full faith in the greatness and purpose of my being.
I could be usefull, people tell me, if I were focussed, if I was organized, they say that I am intelligent, I can do well if I work harder. That is my problem, I don'
t work hard, I can not work hard. I wander from topoc to topic and read few pages from, every book to move on.
I have no solid background of anything, I can speak shit about ten thoudsand different things but not sense about one.
I must hav purpose. Is there no space for people like me. Who do not focus, who wander about.
Who cannot walk from one room to another and pick up a book. because they stop to something to eat instead, or are never on time for dinner, cause they realized that the song playing in the car was worth completing.
posted by lev at 12:01 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home