Sreekanth.in

An essential entity. The fruit of a painstaking journey through school and college. Is it? I really dont think so. I dont even think I have it. I was never the wise kid. Nobody ever accepted any bit of wisdom in me, For I never distinguished between Wisdom and Knowledge. I think I know. Or do I? Lol!

The point is, I have no right to blog about this. Or brag about this. Bragging and blogging now seems to be one and the same. I brag and blog and blog and brag. Am I repeating what I am saying? Does it feel to you that I am writing this for the sake of writing? No I am not. I am not. Seriously, I am not.

Paragraphs. More of it. Writing and writing and writing. I dont even know how to split what I want into paragraphs. What I want or what I want to write?

Does it mean I dont have wisdom? Does it mean I am the proclaimed dumbass? Does it mean I am a mere dumbu? Just a dumbu? Yeah. I am. I really am. Dumbu! Dumbu! Dumbu! One who cant make decisions. For decision making needs wisdom!

Its an old title. And new meanings to it. You shouldn’t have done that to me. You really shouldn’t have. Now I’ve grown envious. And more, sad. Did I push you? Did I push you into this? I think I did. Didn’t I? This isn’t what you wanted. Art was your way of expression. Your jealousy reminds me of my crime. I behaved like an adamant parent, who wanted his kid to do IAS, because he was a screw up who couldn’t do it. 

Don’t tell me more. Don’t justify my actions. Your words have told more. The gleam in your eye when you looked at your passion have told me of my crime. Guilt. More of it. Different forms, and different reasons. But all looking at me, with their fangs, ready to drain my life through those two tiny holes it can make.

Facebook is crap. We all know that. But the point is, it has grown too much into our life. Like a big tumor in our tummy. We know its there. We know its growing. We know it will kill us eventually. But we cant do a thing. If we cut it off, we’ll die immediately. We all want the slow death. Because we are all afraid of dying.

Cut the crap. I am not talking about death. Nor about tumors. Its fucking facebook. See, I am a crappy person. I post crap on my wall. There is no compulsion of you people eating my crap. The point is, we must only share non-crappy substance. I dont want to see crap shared on my wall. But crap posts are fine. 

Shares have some value. The left value in this crappy facebook. Dont share your crap if you think its enjoyable to you. Share if you think its enjoyable to the “end-user”, ahm!, the reader.

Share comic photos, funny things, interesting articles, mockery. Dont FUCKING share sad stories, which needs some involvement of brain to evaluate if its actually true before shedding my precious tears.

PS: Examples, the m’fucking crap about limbless humans, abandoned bastards, and so on. I have all limbs. I am born proper (as far as I know). So, I aint gonna care much about the charity needy freaks out there. Because the world is too polluted with false information. I wont trust you assholes if you share such crap on my wall. You dont even know who that is. I put up a photo of a poor soul, write some crap to cause sentiments, you share it and get a million hits. I dont TRUST you bloody ASSHOLES. GET OUT OF MY WALL!

Boredom is a fascination of the unspoken state of not doing anything. Its a recursive trace. But the problem is, I can’t talk of boredom, actually doing something. Like, posting this for example. So can I say I am not bored? Lol. I’m scared. That’s what I am. Scared of every moment of my life. Of the uncertainty. Of the unpredictability. For those who kept track of my blog, I once posted of all the certainty in my life. Now, what has happened to it? I want all the certainty back. I can’t live like this. Scared of what might happen the very next moment. Don’t scare me. I wouldn’t stand it. Please?

After infinite migrations, here are more of them. Migrated to Tumblr. Feels good. Feels fresh. And a better theme. Thanks Inkhorn. Hope I’ll have something to write. Something.