Waiting

She waits for me.

Always.

Right there.

Sometimes she roams about. Sometimes she talks to her friends. But eventually, she always stands there waiting for me.

She has a pretty face. I like to see her smile.

When she’s annoyed at me, she pretends she hasn’t noticed me. She ignores me and talks to her friends. But eventually she returns there, to meet me. Always.

I find that cute.

But on the rarest of rare occasions, she isn’t there. Maybe she has fallen ill, or maybe she has gone for a trip. But her absence is felt.

And it makes me sad.

And lonely.

When she isn’t there I read a book.

I have been reading a book there for the past month.

Where is she?

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The Inspiration Deficiency (L. U #8)

Hello.

How are you?

See I’ve got nothing to write. My mind is blank. Nothing in there.

Nope. Nothing. Nada.

Then, why not capitalize on my lack of inspiration, and inspire myself to write about this inspiration deficiency?

Or maybe not. Maybe this post will just be random, unfiltered ramblings from my mind.

So this week we had something called a Durga Puja. So it’s a Hindu (not being technical here I’m not going to explain it in depth) festival, where the main attraction is the socializing and carnivals and food stalls!

I’m introverted.

Although I went to a bunch of carnivals with friends, I found my battery draining quite quickly. So when I return to school on Monday, I’ll just return tired and annoyed.

But the food was great! Good enough to give me a stomach infection, actually.

Also my cousin got married. She got married to some British guy who also is a quiet, introverted person who also likes video games (approved!), so that’s a thing.

But I will have to comment on the adults who attended their wedding ceremony.

So get this, the legal drinking age where I live is twenty-four. I’m sixteen. And the adults were encouraging me to drink. I’m not (completely) against that, but it wasn’t just one drunk person encouraging a minor to get drunk. It was a whole group. Peer pressure is one thing, but this is taking pressure to a whole new level.

(But did I give into this pressure?)

You know, I’m starting to miss school. I find myself enjoying most of my time there, although most people I know don’t.

Also Toblerones are the most overrated chocolates ever.

And having sushi in a landlocked area is the worst desicion you can ever make.

Douglas Adams is dead.

Using long words doesn’t make you smart.

What’s that color called where it’s white but it’s slightly yellow?

Puns are annoying.

There lives an old man

You know,
There lives an old man on that hill

He lives alone in a little hut

He goes to fetch water at dawn

He goes to buy flour at noon

He goes to gaze at stars at night

Maybe he had a family

Maybe he had a past

But he is old now

So,

He lives

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Okay, so I have come into a lot of wealth recently.

The wealth of free time, that is.

And so I announce this new project.

Project Linked

Aim: This project aims to bring bloggers together, and collaboratively write a whole story of around 7-25 chapters.

Okay, now I’ll answer the pressing questions which may come to your mind.

1)Process-

I) Each participant will write one chapter of around 2000-3000 words for the story.

II) The order of writing will be selected randomly. So the first person writing the story basically gets to decide the base theme.

III) Each chapter will be of 2000-3000 words, and each participant will have 4 days at max to complete the draft and submit it. You’ll be informed when it is your turn to write a chapter,you’ll have four days from then.

Contact

1) You can email the organizers here at:

i) seldomincognito9000@gmail.com

ii) Meghashashank926@gmail.com

2) You can also ask your queries through the WordPress comments.

3)I’ll probably also create a Discord for this.

Other Info

1) The chapters will be compiled and will be put into a Google drive site.

2) If you feel like it, you can post your chapter on your blog, or link it to the Google drive or one of our posts.

3) We will need a minimum of 7 bloggers to get started, and a maximum of 25.

4)Those who are interested should comment on this post along with how to contact them.

If you’ve got further inquiries, comment down below!

Feel free to spread the word guys, the aim is to bring writings of different bloggers together after all!

a poem about sunflowers

You will cry tears of scarlet
After you have done your deed

You will cry tears of scarlet
After you’ve satisfied your need

Your lust, your greed
You envy and your pride
Will be taints, of scarlet tears you cried

You shall cry tears of scarlet,
As your throat shall be ripped
As limbs are torn apart
Under the devil’s grip

Death himself will look upon you and wonder,
What did you do to throw your life asunder?

You shall kindle the inferno of hell itself

And in all that
You shall cry tears of scarlet
You shall cry tears of scarlet
YOU SHALL CRY TEARS OF SCARLET
YOU SHALL CRY TEARS OF SCARLET

Oh really?

“I love him!”

I sighed. How many times have I heard this? From friends, in TV series, in romantic poetry (God those poets were desperate) I have heard these three words over, and over again. Just the ‘him’ changes for to a ‘her’ from time to time.

“Oh really?” I respond dryly.

And then the conversation trails off.

And I’m alone.

Alone in every sense possible. Physically. Emotionally. Romantically.

And for some reason, for some absurd reason, it feels wrong. Being alone, feels wrong. The purest form of existence feels wrong.

And that’s the problem.

We have been taught if we are alone, we are unhappy. If we don’t find the love of our lives we are failures and if we don’t exist for someone else we are selfish.

We have effectively romanticized romance and made happiness a poisonous deal.

This is the true toxicity of society. Being alone feels like a social crime.

You know a really wise man described life as a collection of jigsaw pieces. But there is always this one central piece in life that’s missing from everyone. That piece, according to this analogy, is someone else. That piece signifies love.

What a beautiful analogy.

And because of the aforementioned romanticism of romance, we always look for this piece. And we force ourselves to find this piece. Even though it may not be anywhere near us and that is just sad.

We do it every single day, in hopes to get that right person.

Whenever a friend says that their significant other is the perfect match for them, inside my head, I just go:

7.5 Billion people in this world, and you find your perfect match living 2 kilometers away? My God, isn’t that a coincidence”

My point is it is absolutely fine to be alone.

And all those other couples who post their ‘happiness’ on social media, you have no idea what’s going on in the background of their relationship.

I would rant about social media for a bit, but that would be a bit off topic.

Here’s an interesting fact:

99.0% of relationships started before the age of 32 don’t go last for more than ten years. (Source: Joseph Sloss)

So whenever someone says, “We will love each other for ever!” you can now roll your eyes and say :

“Statistically speaking, no you won’t ”

But on a serious note. If this is correct, isn’t a relationship a massive waste of time? Isn’t being alone better?

Another thing, the worldwide divorce rate is 40%. (Imagine being a divorce lawyer, huh?)

More proof that societal concepts ingrained into our brain are making us take incorrect decisions to find the love of our life.

All this cynicism is getting m tired now. But I’ll end with this:

I just want to be alone, not lonely.

Coffee House Blues

I have really gotten into blues and jazz recently, especially for improvisation. I sort of discovered this little riff and I improv’ed over it. I probably sound terrible but here it is anyways.

The Balks Series #1- My Meeting With Balks

The move to my new neighborhood was, to say the least, toiling.

My routine for the first few days consisted of heavy lifting which would make Jason Mamoa heave and huff for breath. In other words I had to move my own furniture.

My house was nice enough. Two stories. A lot of room. Smelled slightly like a rat had died in there somewhere, but that is probably just me.

But look at this! America!

A new life, filled with opportunities. A new place, filled with great people and—

“Get out of my fuckin’ way, ya fuckin’ Arab!”

It was a large man. I was blocking his way on the street. Well, a normal man would have been able to walk past me, but he would have some difficulty due to his…. Girth?

“Sir” I responded in my most polite tone

“I am not Arabian, I am—”

“The next time I see you, I’ll call the police!”

This can’t be the typical American, right?

A brief walk around the neighborhood would lead one to the conclusion that the average American is fat, racist and smells quite strongly of cheap perfume.

But not my immediate neighbor, Balks. He was a tall, well built man, probably of a Northen decent. He spoke with the heavy and slurred accent of a drunkard or maybe he was Russian. I couldn’t tell. By profession he was a sculptor; his front yard was full of statues of well-endowed, muscular, naked men. I assumed he pandered to the female demographic.

I had been acquainted Balks before. It was… an interesting experience. I went like so:

It was the first day I had moved in. I had noticed the gaggle of naked statues in my neighbour’s front yard and I had immediately concluded that my neighbor was a either a sexual maniac or had a mentally degenerative disease.

While I was observing these statues (they have a strange magnetism) a large man came out of the house. For a moment I was blinded by the giant car reflector on his head, only to later realize that he was, in fact, bald. And magnificently so.

“Comrade!” his voice boomed, slathered in a heavy Russian accent

“You are new, yes?”

The question put to me was vague. I am certainly new this neighbourhood. But not newly born. Is everyone here so vague?

“Yes, yes I am new here” I responded

“Good, comrade, good”

Is he trying to be funny by saying comrade, or is this how he always speaks?

“Why don’t come over here and admire one my statues? I would love some criticism on them” he said

I glanced at the statues. Their magnificent aura had faded and now had been replaced with a malicious intimidation. Compared to them I felt very small. Or should I say one of my organs did.

I jumped the hedge separating our yards and I arrived in front of a statue.

Only to slip on the wet grass and fall face first on its crotch.

It hurt.

Balks basically stood there laughing. He later invited me in for vodka and the rest is history.

I have only been here for a week now, and I have been treated to racism, brass penises, fat people and Russian people. Each one much more exotic than the last.

I wonder what the next week will bring.


This is going to be a series of short stories featuring this character. It’s mostly going to be satire or humor. Maybe space travel.

An Empty Account

She died.

Died.

Committed suicide because of depression. She was bullied, hurt and tormented. She cut herself. Her parents didn’t help her, maybe she didn’t even have parents. Her friends knew nothing about her condition.

It wasn’t some teenage angst. It was real. And it was your social and moral responsibility to stop it. To make her life better.

Everything that has happend is on you. You couldn’t make her feel safe. You couldn’t console her. You didn’t even try.

She wasn’t depressed for the jokes, she was truly depressed.

I’ll admit, I don’t know what that feels like. I’ll admit, that I can’t imagine what made her do it, but you were obligated to help her and you failed.

This one is on you.

Do you know what her last picture was on her Instagram? It was a photo of her, all happy and lying on flowerbeds. It seemed as if she didn’t have a care in the world. This photo was two days before she commited suicide.

School is not a place where people go to die. And you should know that the best.

And what did you do after her death?

You put up a story, saying “RIP” and linking it to her empty account.


A senior committed suicide in my old school. Although I didn’t talk to her much, I thought she was a pretty nice person. I have no idea what she had been through but, what I was pissed at was our school Instagram account posted a story of her, just saying RIP.

Just fucking saying RIP. And then linking the dead girl’s account. I think that is just disrespectful.

What’s more, the school refuses to deal with its rampant bullying problem, and a lot of other things I shouldn’t mention.

The school refuses to acknowledge it.

And I am done.