Camera's have little kids inside them. Who colour pictures for you.

I could hire a truck and drive away filmy style.

I could get bitten by a cow or a sparrow.

I could fall off a rickshaw.

I could get electrocuted while atop a train.

I could fall asleep in a roadside wastebin.

I could be at my wedding, smiling away to glory, and trip and fall into the pyre.

I could choke on a plastic bag.

Dude, I could want to freefall into the Ganges, scream of inner joy, attain peace, have my 'moment of truth', next, have some dead guy's hand in my mouth, and die of shock terror amusement whatnot.

So much could happen. But right now I don't really need a reason to shut ze hot blog for a while, i am just pulling the shutters down. I am just bored. But, my romance with this sexlikehot place isn't dead okay? Its just 'for a while'.

I know I'm awesome and wonderful and the best and you'll miss me and send me please come-back-emails and you'll come check this place everysingleminute for updates and all, but whattodo yaa, you have to move on mate! I can't be awesome all the time!

You know i meant to sound funny when i said THAT ^ :/

Hasta la vista, baby. Ekdum Arnold Schwarzenegger style.

Strawberry Avalanche.

No, you don't have to bother reading this at all. I wish for the silent screaming to up its volume a bit. And, no, i am not sad and mad.

Part I:

People, my best people, are all over the place. No, that is not the issue. Just that I wonder what happened to them? Have they lost themselves already? Remember the girl with a smile on her face and a candy in her hand? I spoke about her once? She's gone. No, she's not me. Moving apart is so much fun no? Like, you have one less person to bother you. May be you'll think about it once or twice or thrice, but then you do realize that there ain't a point in giving it a thought cause people wouldn't care less and you shut your mind up. Then, you sit miles away, literally, and watch the show. Most of the fun happens in the back rows remember? Hooting and all that. Cause now you wouldn't care much. Trust me, never advice people. That is one thing they'll never heed/need.

Part II:

Either there is nothing to be happy about or there is a lot to be happy about. Just that I can't find the other pair of sock. I can wear a gray one, and a red one. Not that it'll have a huuuuge impact on my 'aura' but, I want to wear either both gray socks, or both red socks. I can't decide. I will one day be screaming, running out of my place, dragging my television set along, my prehistoric cellular phone tucked in my pocket. I will go to the nearest dump and start collecting trash. May be there I find a pink sock to wear. I will do whatever it requires for me to become a mime artist cause that way the smile will be plastered on my face for ever. The mind is so cluttered like the room that thoughts refuse to die down. The thoughts are so random like songs on the playlist that sometimes I find myself thinking about the neighbor's couch cover. This place no longer seems nice. Its not mine anymore. It belongs to 85 other people. I can't be pleasing anybody anymore. Its constantly on my mind, constantly. I wish for this miserable feeling to disappear with the same speed as it appeared.

I'v ranted enough. this resembles 'the waste bin'.

If you miss the train I'm on, you'll know that I am gone.

Theres too much action happening everywhere and right in the middle of all that I sometimes simply wish to stand still and stand still some more. And give a tired smile, just like the one I give random people I don't even know. I'v seen a lot of bloodied pictures that'v made me flinch back. I'm supposed to sound intelligent and talk about human rights in some godforsakensuffering country. And so, to me it seems like i'm cashing on the agony of someone else. To get a nice bright-looking grade. My good old mother is miffed cause I'v asked her to not care so much for me. She won't talk. I'v slept little. And i fear am going to join the stick-figure club soon. I'v met a lot of new people and I feel a bit lost and disoriented. I'm amazed at how good I am at getting over things/people. I never knew. Its easy and simple, for me. Its not really the best thing, they say. I feel colourful. I feel pretty. I feel wanted. I feel missed. I feel happy. And if that isn't it, you'r making me feel special. I know it ain't going to last, but whattheheck. I want you to not believe me when I say I have nothing/no one on my mind. Please dont. I genuinely fall for each of your scribblings. You don't find people who write things for their mothers. And, admit it. You do and that I think is nice. Someday I wish to glue your photograph under the honey-coated-muffins section of my scrapbook. Oh and, I have been thinking typing erasing a bit too often. Must be the writers block phase? Makes me sound important. I hate it. So, I'm down with writers block syndrome. I'm leaving on a jet plane don't know when I'll be back again...

My Hair.

I have hair on my head. I am very grateful.

I call my hair "MY HAIR". They loved being called MY HAIR.

They are black. They are curly. They are short. They are messed up at all times.

I like my hair, mostly. When I don't like my hair, I cut them.

I cut my own hair. With scissors. I like cutting my own hair.

I tie my hair up. I dont leave them. I dont like them falling. I dont like them getting lost.

But, my hair, they don't like me. They mostly are grumpy and sad.

They mostly celebrate bad hair days. I don't like them celebrating these bad hair days.

When I get angry at them, I don't comb them. I never comb my hair. Never.

They like oil, shampoo, conditioner, mousse very much. I like them but. Its a love triangle.

I try very hard to win their love. I blog about them. I blog about them. And I blog about them.

But they don't know nothing about blogger.

Sometimes they make me look pretty. V Pretty. I love my hair. V much.

Do you love yours?