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Writer's Block: Six-Word Story

Aug. 15th, 2008 | 01:32 am
mood: artisticartistic

Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” He is believed to have called it his greatest literary work ever. Can you write a story in six words?
 An outcast's touch is always electrifying. 
Another one,
Shre M. feeds upon collation-nostalgia.

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Sky

Aug. 15th, 2008 | 01:20 am
location: underground
mood: soresore
music: Sail to the Moon - Radiohead

I am talking to you again today. I took a break from all that frigidness you forced upon me nearly, or maybe exactly four years back on that dubious street I still visit sometimes and it’s still dubious. Today is exactly the same overcast with the same assonance in lightening. After a navy blue, black, silver, pearl, pink, green and even a golden nose ring, I’m wearing the same turquoise I wore then and I still wonder if you liked it on me. The scabs on me then, I’ve replaced them night to night for freshness sake. I am talking to you again today not because there is hope oozing out of your strong disapproval of doing justice, but instead, I am talking to you again today because this time there’s a reason and the reason is lame and its lame because I always have to tend to find one, maybe for the heck of an explanation I have always felt I owe towards you and absolutely never the other way round, in the exact amount, that is, at the least. Sid called today. I’m meeting him tomorrow. He sounds changed. Had you been around to see him, we could have rolled laughing on those stairs. That’s exactly what we’d have done, so that’s exactly what I’ll do, which is why I fixed that as the meeting point. No matter where you are and what you’re doing; I think I know you wouldn’t want him to see those stairs. He wouldn’t get to. But tell me something about you. Something about airplanes. Can they take you to a sphere of a sort where satellites can’t reach and all you have is words people release? If yes, then look out for my screams. Catch and swallow them. Go there soon, if a plane crash is not what it takes to reach there.
 
It’s a melee out here, in my mind. Of your airplanes and your safe landings and your crashing, into me. Again.
 

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And when I was bored, I looked teri ore.

Aug. 15th, 2008 | 12:37 am
mood: chipperchipper
music: Teri Ore (!!!)

 Everybody's gotta learn sometime
Learn, of my wonderful talents. ;-)

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Stop and Stare

Aug. 14th, 2008 | 12:43 pm
mood: anxiousanxious

 

No thoughts occur these days. My world has been generalized, two layers of routine coated over it – hectic routine topping depressing routine, for routine is good. Like orange lacquer to make those hands looks manicured.

 

So that nobody takes it for a c r i s i s.

 

 

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Sense

Aug. 12th, 2008 | 12:36 pm
mood: irritatedirritated
music: Maybe I'm amazed - Jem

What's with the AC and peeing anyway?
And the belly and the mind?
And policemen having free food?

And dogs getting beaten up everywhere? =(
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For all I KNOW

Aug. 9th, 2008 | 03:02 pm
mood: lovedloved
music: Save Tonight - Eagle Eye Cherry

"Save tonight
And fight the break of dawn
Come tomorrow
Tomorrow I'll be gone."

Some times it’s funny. I act like that Bollywood tongue in cheek thief who discloses all. 
Some times like the prophetess who wants to make easy little money.
Some of you would be relieved you’d have to no longer lift my heavy spirits up.
Some of you would worry in duress.
Some of them would chase and trace, they’d be the reason for me to disappear anyway.




I keep on saying this, so that some of you who really care, get less and less scared everyday.
 
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The Yummy Sun

Aug. 6th, 2008 | 04:00 pm
mood: boredbored

Makes the world go orange
And paints me
A dark chocolate 

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No.Way.

Aug. 6th, 2008 | 11:36 am
mood: cheerfulcheerful

It's so embarrassing if a piece of work you've been thinking of altering for too long, suddenly bags an award! 
One of the reasons I don't read too much. One of the reasons I'd rather cook than write a book.

Hey Shrey,

I did cook this one poem up sometime back, infact I nearly burnt it, but it got an award!!!!
You should know which one.
Here goes,


                                                    
THE ROOF, THE ROOF, THE ROOF IS ON FIRE

Each night I play our break up in my head

Don’t want one, don’t expect one

It’s just an exercise for imagery forming a medley

With some obscured pleasure, aside, yet always ahead

Mostly we are about dramatic seer-talk,

Because you’re so damn predictable

Sometimes we creep into silence

For the many words, deep within locked

 

Remember when I told you about my past

Because I read on a urinated wall,

‘disclosing is trust building’

You had said, “I feel like I don’t know you at all”

Now after so many gullet-scratching kisses

And secret-scribbling on wrists

After promises tattooed with canines

As if you think otherwise!

 

Don’t know if it’s the phantasmagoria talking or genuine hurt

The roof of our house is on fire

And it’s all coming down wall by wall

Burning off the wallpaper of mirth

Ooh, I know what to imagine of tonight,

Our house’s roof on fire!

And me head banging to Coal Charcoal just outside the house,

Screaming, “We don’t need no water, let the * burn!”

 

 

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Of happy endings.

Jul. 28th, 2008 | 02:26 pm
mood: crankycranky

Sometimes, the mind is disposed to an oblivion of a sort that makes one a denizen of his sweet illusion, so much that no amount of rationality in things can be seen or fathomed. Such is my state. I’m a dreamer of the events that must take place in a year and two from now. I can never help it and in effect to that, live my present king size. But.

 

Sometimes, reality strikes harder than the wistful cupid and realism is a state of personal crisis. And I have to plan it all over again. For the better, always. This is not oblivion talking, mind it.

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Writer's Block: Last Call

Jul. 27th, 2008 | 05:31 pm
mood: busybusy
music: Hate to love you - Ne-Yo, Rihana

You are on a plane that's about to crash. You have time to make ONE phone call. Who do you call and what do you say?
 Hmm, tough. It actually depends.

If I'd be petrified about dying, I'd call my mother, tell her I love her and ask her to tell father, brother, boyfriend and some friends that I love them all. 

If I'd be 'aaah whatever', I'd call my best friend and say, 'Dude, plane's crashing. The top cupboard's got my secret writings, never let anyone see them. And brown drawer's got my money stock and old tapes. You can have that. Alright, gotta go.'

If I'd be excited, I'd call Pary Tosh and let him know where I'm at and that I really meant his extreme good throughout my life. 

If I'd be depressed, I'd call my boyfriend and tell how ever much he means and is loved. And maybe have a quickie over the wireless connection. Hah, for all I know.

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