And it is finally just me

Why does yesterday keep repeating in my life? Its feels like all of my tomorrows are mirror reflections of my yesterdays. And today, as I gave my final shot at the only future I wanted to be in, it’s blew up in my face. And finally after years of running round in circles, I finally am alone now. Truly completely on my own. All my crutches are gone and now I am forced to stand on my two feet. It feels wobbly. It feels scary, but, I also know now that I have choice. I probably never did, and I kept postponing this day for various reasons. And now, I don’t know whom I am angrier with, myself or the entire world around me. It would be easier to be angry with myself as it is a single person, but, if I have only myself to live with for the rest of my years then, it wouldn’t make sense to be angry with myself. So, I choose to be not angry at all. I scream, yell and release this unending pain that I feel in the bottom of my heart. It will always be there and I will never be complete. Always a part of me missing. And now I know that I have to live with it. With sorrow comes tears but with realization comes salvation. It isn’t possible to please anybody without hurting yourself. So, I am not going to try to please anybody. I have to scrape through my life and that is work enough. I am tired of trying to fit in. now, I am just going to build my own little world away from everyone else. Because I seem to be happiest with myself. And that is probably the saddest thing anyone ever wrote. But, I just did and it does not feel sad anymore.

Readability

A writer's ability is gauged by the readability of his work. Readability is not just how your reader reads your work, it entails a great many rules. When I studied readability in great detail, it worried me to no end. As a writer (if I may be called one), I have never really considered so many points before penning down my heart's song. So, today, as I sit here with a steaming hot cup of tea, I wonder if what I am doing follows all those rules. Ironically, I had heard when I was very very young that there are no rules to being a writer. A writer can say what he wants, how he wants and where he wants. Apparently, that does not hold true in today's day and age when writing has become more or less a business.

One must have a clear picture of his theme, then he must zero in on his target audience and then choose the medium of communication. He must not use flowery sentences and he must use simple words.

If I were to consider all that, then I would have to stop writing because I have always believed that the essence of one's writing lies in the imagery one can create with the use of flowery words. I truly believe that writing in simple, everyday language can be done by anyone. A writer would use words that are rare, so that the reader picks up something of literary essence from the writing.

But, all that said, to be effective and to sell, one must follow the ground rules. Which means the phrase writing for pleasure is to be dumped in the heap of garbage that I had to throw out last weekend, but didn't.

The wild soul that I am, I have never really followed any rules. Not the rules of society, of institutions, organisations or any such. So, following rules to writing goes against my principles. Or not. If I have some dreams, I will have to make some alterations to my thinking.

In the past few months, I have made a great many alterations to my thinking and have changed all my beliefs. At my age and stage, it was a herculean task to change who I was, but, I can proudly gloat that I changed and am now well accepted by those who I care about. Those who I don't care about and those who cannot accept the new me, can go eat grass.

As for my writing, I am going to make special efforts to suit the writing that will be enjoyed by my target audience, will sell like hot cakes (do people care about hot cakes anymore?) and bring me lots and lots of money. Because at the end of all the serenades we tell each other, the only thing true that we probably don't admit is that money rules the world. And no matter how artsy we want to be, at the end of it all, we need lots of money for a roof on our heads, food on the table and clothes on our body. Nothing to cover the soul, I must add, because the soul is free, wild and wonderful. Whether I can be artsy in my life or not, I swear to allow my soul to always be artsy. Nobody can take that away from me. If anyone tries, I will forget readability and all that jazz and pull out my sword and cut his or her heart out. Or maybe not. =)

back again....

I have not been around these pages for a while now and I feel a bit out of place coming here now. So many things have changed in my life in these past few months that I have a constant heady feeling that leads me to believe that everything is super good all the time, which may or may not be true. Producing good work is not easy and in my case it seems to be a tedious job whenever I sit to write nowadays. Somehow for the first time in my life, I don't need to use my writing as a tool or a medium of communication. Back in the day, the only way for me to hear myself out would be to write down what I feel. Now, I just need to pick up the phone and vent my feelings. It is not about the sickeningly sweet sensation called love. I am too old and too mature to believe that love changes everything. It does not. I am not even sure if I can say that I know what love feels like. I probably don't. I have just found a bunch of people who genuinely care about how I feel. The one person who leads the pack of people who care about me is my father. I found him and I don't think anyone, ever, in the history of mankind got that lucky, not even those who discovered diamond and gold. I just know that finally, I have the one shadow over me that is not going to darken my life, but, protect it. I wanted to write a charming and interesting blog, but, I think I am writing something that is totally 'emo', be that a word.
What's it about paragraphs? I have to really put my mind to include it in my writing. My English teacher just returned a test paper with the words, 'paragraph, please', written across my answer in big bold letters. And Dezy, of course was the first person to tell me that my writing is preposterous because I don't use the coveted 'paragraph'! So, now, I making an effort to use paragraphs at all times. But, I wonder if I can use 'literary license' as an excuse for not using paragraphs? No, I won't. That would be wrong. Or not.
I know what I want to write about, but, the words are just not coming to me. Maybe, I should write a poem about it first, to get my thoughts flowing and then write a blog entry about it. Yes, I am using the whole suspense formula with not being clear about what I want to write about. But, you must realise I need something to get readers to come visit me and my last post did not help to keep my reader's population alive.
So, that said, I think I am going to stop here and come back when I have more to say, or rather more matter to discuss. Now, I obviously don't. For those who bothered going through this, Thank you!!
Take care and keep smiling.. =)

until i am famous!

as i was surfing the internet for some desired information, i realised that every keyword typed into google leads to atleast one blogging site in the search results. it just proves that the new mania in internet land is the blogging mania. ofcourse, this is a great development which allows people to connect better and faster. but that also means, that every human being is a writer. where does that leave the likes of me? no, i am not complaining!
with all these actors, directors and other pseudo intellectual individuals blogging, it puts us, lesser known but equally talented people at the backdrop of events. therefore, it is only sensible that i tell myself that i can seriously consider blogging only after i am safely famous. that realised it puts a whole new perspective onto my list of goals.
as many of us complain, no one reads our blogs. but, why should the reader who wants to unwind after a long day, read our blog? what sets us apart? wouldn't he rather type out his favourite celebrity's name and read the blog that pops up? it gives him more insight into the life of an individual he admires and it also allows him to step out of his own shoes and live a different life for a while. movie watchers watch mindless romantic sagas with very much the same aim, to travel in a bubble of imagination that is different from his everyday mundane routine. what do we, infamous bloggers offer the reader? our take on life, movies, attitudes, nature et al? who cares? does you spouse, partner or sibling care? yes, mommy dearest cares, but only because she has no other business. i am not sure what fathers care about as yet.
what value do we bring into this world? what do we know that the rest of the world does not already know?
if there is a reader, he is wondering, why on earth am i reading a blog filled with questions? which is yet another question. i don't know, which is why i am writing this.
honestly, i would rather go and read farhan akthar's blog. and i am sure i am not the only one who would pick a celebrity over a faceless comrade. everyone likes pretty faces. so do i.
so, i guess, until i am a known and well loved face, i shouldn't really expect anyone to walk through these pages. and if somebody stumbles here because of a bad internet server, well, he knows that i support his want to not read this.
Good day and happy living!

maybe

maybe, it does not exist. the world i am so desperately looking for. clawing at the air around me, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, i will feel something. is there a world, where life isn't this annoyed at me? where things are not this complicated? is it an island i am seeking or have i just died inside? little by little? my recurring dream scares to the pitts sometimes. then, i wake up and am not sure if this world is still real. maybe it is and maybe i am not. wish this were a dream that i could wake up from. but, i don't wake up. and i try to shut my eyes tightly hoping that it will not hurt so much.. maybe.
why can't i have a normal family? why can't i be a normal child? why do i have to screw up so much if at all?
in my sordid dreams, i see myself holding a loaded gun and asking the person in front of me, "who are you? can i trust you?" and then,i start screaming,i wake up wet and screaming in my bed. it seems that i can't trust anyone and then moment i do, even for a second, i withdraw immediately. shut off completely and seem distant. i don't know where to go anymore. whom to seek out. i guess i've become too needy or not. i don't know. i know nothing. i feel like a machine. i am a machine. i laugh when expected to and don't cry at all. i am living a lie. pretending each day. and i am tired of it. i just want to be me. just the way i am. and i cannot do that. no one will like that. it won't be a very pretty picture. maybe. just maybe. one maybe. many maybe. may be. may it be. may it not be.

So, what's the story .... Morning Glory....?

as i stand over a pool of my own blood and stare at a distorted reflection of my face, i decide to finally, bare all. say it like it is and not think about how it may sound. because it is going to sound as it is, nothing else. it cannot sound any different from the stark reality. no flowery words or pretty frills are going to make me seem any nicer than i really am.
many aeons ago, i was dying to step into the real world and taste its many wonders. today, i've finally stepped into sea and it is doesn't give me a heady feeling of bliss achievement. it feels heavy on my heart and impossible to deal with. facing the real world means, your life will constantly have more than one problem, it will also mean that you cannot trust a single soul around you.
the real world, consists of bills you cannot seem to pay and people you cannot seem to stand for more than five minutes. i had this insane belief that i know it all, i sadly learnt that i know nothing and i control nothing.
so, as my first post said, i'd have to someday write here who really is morning fire and how did that name come about anyway. well, i stole the tag from one of my old memories. apparently, i willing to let the coffee go but not the tag. so, i stole it. no, i did not create it, i simply took it off someone who is of greater intellect than me and who i know, today, is a better person than i can ever be. i started writing here because i had nowhere else to go and no one who would hear me out. i believe i can do great things one day, and i also believe that i will go to my grave with that belief unfulfilled. not that it bothers me anymore. it used to, but, not anymore.
i try just like many others to attract attention. most of the time unnecessary attention. i do things that i shouldn't do and say things that mostly hurt. i am proud of the fact that in my head, i live on an island. i don't like people and i do everything i can to stay away from them. i sit for hours doing nothing, because i like it like that. it suits me better than doing something and then messing it up.
i read thick boring books and tell myself that i am being intellectual when in all reality, i am just escaping, because people usually do not get into conversation with somebody who has their head inside a book. it is easier. easier than having a conversation.
i am rude while trying to be insightful. insolent while trying to intellectual. so, that is the story, by morning glory.

why do you want to be like that;
like there is nothing new.
you are not fooling anyone;
you are not even fooling you!

connecting the broken strings..

as i sit watching these cars whizz by me in their superfast, extravagant speed, i wonder when i will get back into the race long begun and left undone. my unconnected thoughts force me to stay away from my keyboard. but, something within me pushes me to write lest i forget what i set out to do. i am scared i will lose touch with my inner reality. one of my primary thoughts goes back to the days gone by. the goddamn stars, water and pretty pretty lights. its funny how no matter what i do, or what turn my life takes, i remember broken, old promises. some i made to myself, some others made to me and some i made to others. i see this large container filled with blood and feel myself drowning into it. i delve deep into my soul and try to pull out the beautiful images i used to carry around in my heart not so long ago. i don't find any, and i don't know where to look anymore. so, i go back into the past, not cursing but remembering. wondering every day what it would be like had things not changed. maybe i wouldn't have been as wise as i am. maybe, not as strong. but, maybe i'd still have been innocent and trusting. many tell me the world is not worth trusting, but, sometime ago, it was. no?