Self analysis....

When I am home, I find some way or the other to keep myself engaged. A movie, is always palatable. I have a hunger for good cinema. If not a movie, then a good book.A good book that entails some hours of contemplation. I analyse.I over analyse, to be precise... Then, if I have nothing to do, I flip through my old diary...

I flip through its stained pages, through those scribblings that once made so much sense, a few newspaper cuttings that lie in between the pages, a few excerpts, quotations that were then my "pearls of wisdom"...

Sometimes, I wonder with awe "have I written this diary?"
While I go through the writes, it appears as if its a stroll down an oblivion lane, where memories are lying comatose. Memories that haven't withered but drooped with time... I sprinkle some water on them in the form of my recollections and they flower once again...

I intently observe my handwriting... I used to write so lavishly... my words were expansive, voluminous...they took ample space... Only 5-6 words could fit in one broad line.. I generously used space...

My letters were so legible, so very cursive. My "t"s slashed elegantly, the tail of my "y"s coiled perfectly... like a long prehensile tail of a chameleon, my capital "A"s drawn with an artistic , reckless yet perfect flair, my "S"s shaped finely etcetera... It looks as if I took special care to perfect my letters, as if I had no dearth of time, as if my letters were my ballerinas and they danced to my tunes...

Now, I see my handwriting...Its dismal... so business like... There's a certain hurriedness in it, a chaotic disorder... words left incomplete... words acronymed, shortened and thus killed... No one can savor their taste or smell... Letters seem to scuttle throughout on the pages... They go off the line, here there... somehow just scribbled... Now, i don't squander space. I write my letters small, my words compacted to fit in 9-10 or even more in one average lengthed line...

Well, that was a too intricate, an analysis...

Getting back to my old diary... I saw few solitary signatures... One page that is completely given to a proud signature of mine... A megalomaniac's signature... A sign swelling with pride,with recklessness and with an artistic elegance... Ceative signatures,those were!

I come across certain "words of wisdom" mostly penned down by me and a few borrowed from the greats like Einstein, Gandhi and Ford... I wondered if I could still imbibe wisdom from those... They didn't ring the same way in my ears as they used to do then...

I came across this little piece, that I still admire (though not THAT fervently as I used to, but still)
"Sometimes, you want to masquerade behind a veil. Sometimes, you want to assume an unknown identity to hide."

what made me write this?.. I have never encouraged pretension but this "veil" for a while, didn't bother me...

Then, I saw a few incoherent doodlings on my diary...at some lone corners... They were not bad..

Coming on to the pieces that I wrote... those writes were screaming their lungs out to say "See, I might lack on content...But my vocabulary is undeniably awesome!" wrds were forcefully stuffed and the theme died right in its incipient stages... Behind a self proclaiming vocabulary, the content lacked..Completely... Things that could be said in a line or two were stretched longer to an extent that they lost their crispness, their elasticity. They sagged...

Some contents made sense...they were quite readable...especially the "lovelorn thoughts" ... The romantic lines, on the other hand, were nauseating and sheer balder-dash!
I came across this write (that I think is "somewhat" better from the rest):-

"Like the hearth that burns
and consumes splinters of wood
in its pyro maniacal joy,
a similar fire burns in me!

A vengeful fire,
set ablaze to burn you,
is burning me from within.

I harbour fatal injuries,
unseen blisters.
I choke,
I am ash."

I have been good at such gothic themes... Gore, death and darkness have always enticed me...

Another good piece that I wrote then,
"A shroud called Life,
covers an otherwise dead me"

I find it quite creative... I envy the creativity that went behind this... but then, I have penned it! Why am I envying me? :P

Things that I used to and I still write about are very abstract... They follow a certain stream of consciousness... I endeavor to dissect out my sub conscious whenever I write a piece...
The conscious mind is disgustingly superficial... The sub conscious is deep, is unfathomable, in fact...

Yes, I found out a few unaddressed love letters too.. They were an interesting read but somewhat "over the top"... Very maudlin! :D

Then there was an unabashed post on "Periods"... Haha! That's my personal favorite...I shall post it on my blog someday...
Okay, I have been drumming myfingers for a while to type down this retarded post..I need rest...
See you, in my next