I know there’s this thing about blogging these days – it’s the new age, clinical parallel of digging a hole in the ground, whispering into it your deepest, darkest secret, then covering the hole up again. Only when you blog, you keep digging the same spot.

That's animal instinct. People with a special penchant for digging holes naturally dig several holes. Like ants. One cave for the regular heartbreak, the other for that mandatory bout of cynicism; one more hole for killing time, and that one last hole for killing more time. Ants going after amphetamine, foraging for some sort of a virtual contact.

TOUCH me.
Give me a revelation.
some cause for celebration.




So welcome to my black hole coloured blue. This moment I know just this one thing - that existentialism doesn’t work when your laundry’s taking over your room, and when that pimple on your nose knows no boundaries.
Go STUDY.


















Crack me a smile. Its amazing. 3 yrs have passed and here I am, still in the late of night, still with a pimple on my nose. I still love the wrong things and I still loathe school work. Laundry keeps defeating me. hooooga hoooga hooooga booonng heee! hooooga hoooga hoooga booonng heee! I'm my lone tribe doing my lone dance. My empire expands, but I'm nonetheless wiser. Happiness is that mosquito that kisses you then leaves little itchy bumps all over. Tonight I hug myself to sleep.