Smaller than Life
Why a blog? Simple. Cacoethes Scribendi -- the urge to write! My literary pretensions and caprices bring me here. Like any writer I write to be read. All my posts, though fettered to my small world and trivially myopic, will live and yearn that somebody connects to them someday. Cognitive frenzies, sardonic musings, aimless banters, incoherent ramblings and trivial indulgences; this is simply an episodic narrative of my trivial world -- in a grain of sand… Smaller than Life.

Graffiti

When I am dead,
I hope it is said,
'His sins were scarlet,
but his books were read'.

- Hillaire Belloc

This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me, --
The simple news that Nature told
With tender majesty.

Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!

- Emily Dickinson

The thoughts of our past years
          in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction

- William Wordsworth

Wednesday, January 14, 2004
 
Dust unto dust I lay...

The past week has been my lowest trough in terms of creativity. I should never want to write my blog like this any more. The venomous spite in my blogs has apalled me today. I realised today that this is slowly transmogrifying me into a vicious cannibal. The malicious vehemence in my emotions have shocked my own self. Truth is like the sun, R K Narayan wrote. A wise man he was. Just as I wouldn't want to fly to the sun and have my wings scorched, I will not succumb to these insurgences of insanity and shall try to refrain from callowly venting out all my personal gripe and seeking hollow retribution in such a rusticated manner. This has led to the attrition of all my finesse. I will look to write about worthier things and lend myself more polish. The abyss cannot get deeper...

- posted by Dileepan @ 4:48:00 am
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