Weary

I have lost the desire to blog and some possible reasons for the same are as follows:

1. I am and was not a regular updater and hence have no emotional attachments with 'my diary'.

2. Not many people visit my blog anyway and there can be only so much of narcissistic gratification one gets after writing something.

3. Most of the regular bloggers I know either lead more interesting and bohemian lives than I do or whose lives are so mediocre that their blogs spit philosophical pretense which inturn helps them derive some narcissistic and pseudo-intellectual gratification. I feel I have neither as much improved to wear the coat of the former nor so much deteriorated to wear the shoes of the latter.

4. I find reading a book, cacking, playing scrabble or watching a movie more fulfilling in necessarily the same order.

We live our life trying to rid ourselves of the burden to propagate it.

Inevitablility is not an excuse for mediocrity. Inevitability is mediocrity.

Lust is the means; love is the end. My existence floats on the hope that there is an irrational end to my rational notions of life and truth.

Genius

They come down, each one rationed a single pint of intelligence. The street-smart scoops his share equally in all his inclinations. The other fails at the same for he is biased towards a single love. He weeps woefully while the world calls him genius.