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Showing posts from June, 2018

Of Love, Betrayal, and Death

One question often pops up in my head nowadays. How to make your life normal? After all these years it has been officially proven that my life could be labelled as anything except that N word. I make odd life choices. I always end up meeting odd people. Or I share odd relationships with normal people. I gather odd experiences, which sometimes border on being fatal. A part of me is irrevocably damaged because of those encounters I can guarantee. I mean I know I can never lead a normal life. Partly because people around me always turn out to be the first class sons of bitches. Inevitably and invariably. And partly because I am a psychopath. Chaos and instability turn me the fuck on. Result? I live in a world where everything is made of fatal, toxic waste. And even when a normal person steps in the poor bastard turns into a freak and when it all ends and the person fucks off for good they dump their share of toxic garbage behind.
When my last boyfriend dumped me he cited the reason that…

Remnants

And I wait for you
Like a melancholy new bride
Whose husband has gone
On warI keep looking for you
Like a thirsty nomad
Losing his shadow
Under the relentlessness
Of the twelve o'clock sun
In a desertAnd I keep hoping
Like the three Magi
That if I follow that star
I might end up in a barn
And my soul might get saved
Just this one time.I don't have much left to hope from life anymore.

Netflix over People

I am someone who uses WhatsApp quite extensively. Mostly for BS purpose. Like putting up twenty status stories per day and discussing outfits or MCCU. Or having endless but incoherent filthy chat with BFF. Or mild flirting with few men who actually bore me to death. So basically it's more of a mindless habit than an actual addition. Same goes for Instagram. Few days back one of my best friends called me and said that some fashion page on Instagram had reminded her of me and that had made her call me. Needless to say, I hurled a flurry of worst cuss words in response. But really, you can't blame her.
Not long back I finally joined the 'elite' class of people who watch Netflix and 'chill'. Honestly, 'chill' has never been a word in my vocabulary. Mostly because I never chill. A person with anxiety disorder never chills. And also, given a chance I would prefer some fancy, Victorian synonym for the word. Somehow, the word 'chill' always reminds me o…

Moroccan Chicken

I know right! Me posting about cooking and stuff! And who said miracles and magic didn't exist? I usually don't experiment much as cooking for one could be very tedious at times. So this weekend I cooked Moroccan Chicken and invited some poor guy to be my guinea pig. Well, he didn't vomit or die so far so I can safely declare that my humble endeavour was a hit. I am not going to post the 'how to' part though as the recipe was stolen from this blog. The only improvisation I did was to marinate the chicken in red wine, black pepper, salt and meat masala for three hours prior to cooking.  And my message to all those nutcase fucking losers who tried to belittle me in the past -- suck it, fuckers.

Sad Girl

"Whenever you talk about him, your eyes become so sad. And I hate to see you sad."
"Well I like being sad. Life is just a big piece of nothing until you have ripped your heart out for some cause. So just let me be sad," my voice goes down to a raspy whisper, "It's my drug. I get off on it."
-- Excerpt from a real-life conversation.

New Flatmate

The first animate member in my otherwise lifeless house. Last night when I was carrying him (I don't know, but it looks like a masculine plant for me. Tall, lean. With a sombre touch to his calm disposition.) from the Subba Nursery and Seed Store I could feel how happy he was to go home with me. Every two minutes he was bending down to kiss on my neck. I have decided to call him Mr. Fitzgerald. I know what you must be thinking. But no, Groot would have been too unoriginal.