Sleeping Beauty and Sleeping Beautah.

Beauty is up after a long, long slumber and no it isnt acutally making things around her quite pretty, as happens in fairytales. So to make things better, she decides to blog and probably give Beautah an incentive to blog too, both enthuless people in this hopeless world leading dull lives, just like the dull eyes behing the soda glasses framing aged eyes that are witnessing colourful flashes of the panoramic images of an ancient television.

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Hey hey, guess what even i think that doesnt make sense, and this is precisely why i think at times i shut down my blogs, this is not just writer's block, its probably a plethora of blocks which has made this inefficiency into an incurable tumour. I think have probably lost all sense of conviction, so as to have nothing to blog about. I dont know what keeps me so busy, whatever it is, i dont think its making me a better person or a happy person. No its not just about not having the time to blog once a week or once in ten days, its losing the love i had for something which i treasured and enjoyed doing. No, i dont want to sound mellow and dramatic, and have readers nod their heads in sympathy, but i really wonder what kind of lives we lead nowadays. Not having time, and just not having it...it makes me feel so pathetic and oh so irritated.

Do we as individuals cease to exist, because we are engrossed in self-discovery, which mind you never ever ends, and probably one is not even sure what they want to discover in themselves. The aspirations are embodied right infront your eyes, only because somewhere you know it isnt just happening, and so we are hoping for the wrong
things, knowing that its bad wanting them, knowing that you would never get what you
anticipated. And endless fights with destinations and dreams, with aspirations and inhibitions, with love and hate, with you and me. I am so done, so very done with myself, i wish i could shed me like a snake does when it wants to get a new skin. Wow, finally i wish to be reptile :|. Bad joke, is it ?

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I have been reading too much of Lenin and Marx, of Foucault and Lacan, of Laclau and Mouffe, of Zizek and Roy, i need some life, i need some good books which can relax me
and help reinstate the aesthetic pleasure which flushed me in..into the endless dreams of a less complicated world, lover and society. I forgot Pamuk, Neruda, Plath, Morrison, Ghosh, Rimbaud, Hugo, Wordsworth, Keats, Xingjian, Murakami and Enid Blyton and so many more... Buy me my past ? will you ?