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Showing posts from 2009

My Second Wishlist!

Read all the classics Help someone in a truly remarkable and life changing way Paint Attend an Opera Witness a Ghost Have a Near Death Experience, only to value life more than I do now Reunite with old friends Get very inspired Star in a Movie or a Play Learn Accents Try Stand up comedy Acquire a Phd. in any language, or maybe Psychology or Philosophy Be able to make the life of an invalid(s) better Learn sign language Shave my head Discover certain mysteries of life Make my rating in Scrabble in the 2000s Get amazingly good at other smart games like Chess and Go Be part of something big, world-changing Write alot And have readers for my writing Volunteer alot for Librivox or Recordings for the Blind Make amends Change for the good

Book of Names

Angelo Desilva, thirty-nine years of age, from the modest little town of Palajoy, lived a very mediocre life. Not a single thing about him or his life was unique; he was one of the crowd. As a preteen, he always wanted to become a musician. Listening to all the great legends, he fuelled fantasies about becoming a great musician himself. Simple middle-aged Angelo worked fruitlessly as a music director. He was not popular as he wanted to be; he created cheesy jingles for TV ads. There was nothing outwardly characteristic about him; he was ordinary in the highest degree. Angelo was a voracious reader. Like in every creative oriented job, he found himself many a times being idle for lack of ideas. And so Angelo absorbed most of that time in reading. Reading transported him to a different world, a world of make-believe, where he could forget for a while his purposeless, insignificant and drab existence, and pretend to be part of a happier world. It so happened that one time, he had to leave

Short Story again

Cheque in a Bottle Imagine being the richest man in the world. Then imagine being the unhappiest. Will Bates was one such man; richest and unhappiest man in the world. Being the founder of Macrohard; a multi-billion dollar software company, and the brainchild of the modern computer generation, Will Bates had created history. As much as he was filthy rich, he was also very charitable. He and his wife Rebecca of 22 years, had established a world renowned NGO, generated billions through charity work, eradicated several diseases, among other great world changing achievements. However, Will Bates was unhappy. He had everything, but he felt unworthy of it all. It was not as if he’d never been happy. It was a phase he was going through, a mid-life crisis if you may. It was at this point in his life that he started doing some serious introspection about his life and himself. He wondered if it was destiny that made him “Will Bates”. He wanted to play with his destiny; challenge the forces that

An amateaurish short story.

Shelly Belly Those Bells. It was always those bells that made me think of her and of those times when we were free. Free to be whatever we wanted to be. It was GREEN and it had a wonderful tinkling sound. Reminiscent of the sound of Christmas and toy trains. We were four when we became friends. I was playing in the yard of our preschool. The big boys were bullying me. I had the fanciest shovels, you see. She was always the strong, protective one. She saved me then and countless times after that. Always put me first. More like a big sister than a best friend. Shelly saved me a seat in the cafeteria in middle school, fought with other kids over my seat in the bus. So brave and so good-hearted she was. Yes, WAS. My Shelly is no more. We were in high school when she WENT. No, she didn’t leave the country, she didn’t leave me. She could never leave me. We were inseparable, the two of us. She was there when my parents died. She was there when I couldn’t understand the bi

Lame-ass Resolutions!

Today's the day. Today's the day I'll put my foot down. Today's the day I'll finally do what must be done. Not tomorrow. Not tonight. Now is the time. The only time. I'll listen to the songs I've had for so long but have never heard. I'll listen to you and you and all of you and all you'll have to say. I'll listen to me. I'll do what I think I should do and do it today and not wait for the time I'll not want to do any of the things I wanted it to do before anymore. I'll make those calls. I'll get up early. I'll speak my mind. I'll be honest and real and only smile when it's genuine. I'll be more on my toes. I'll stick to what I need to do and not distract myself or let other things distract me. I'll not like anyone for sometime. I'll be more obedient. I'll not raise my voice. I'll not be lazy. I'll read more. I'll not waste so much time on the computer. I'll read the paper everyday.

Another Rant!

Why do we have to become things, and achieve certain goals in life? Why does human life have to be purposeful and goal oriented? If we have to aim for something then it should be of true happiness. And true happiness comes out of feeling satisfied about everything. But the human mind is corrupted to not be satisfied and to always want more, to always want to achieve goals. Can anyone be truly happy? There's always fear in the end, if and when you do get all you ever want and wanted. The fear of losing all you have. What is life about then? Becoming what you want to, doing all the things you want to? But the wanting never stops. So, life is just an endless spiral of wanting and getting and then wanting even more and then getting again and not getting means failure? What's the point? What are we trying to prove? We want to be so rich and so loved and so famous and so happy. That's all, right? We want no war and yet we're so frustrated and raging war perpetually. Why do we

A New Poem. If free verse random lines strung together makes one.

A song without a chorus. A wallet without a picture. It's the same sky we're under. But we're not going to be the same tomorrow. The sun is sure. We are not. It's the same face we see in our mirrors our whole lives. That face seems to us different everyday. Our thoughts. Our difficult minds. Our fragile hearts. Our lives. My life.
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I took the 43 Things Personality Quiz and found out I'm a Self-Knowing Traveling Builder

A Psalm of Life by H.W. Longfellow

TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act,— act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn mai

She

She is running down an endless staircase, all she can see is what's down. The stairs are crooked, she knows she must walk carefully lest she falls but she's wallking so fast it's almost like she's falling. She can hear the creaking sounds from the wooden stairs she's treading upon. There is darkness below, it feels like she's in a house, except that it's not a home, it's eerie, there is fear inside her gut, ever increasing. She knows she's being followed. Apart from running away from them she's also heading somewhere below; to something in the darkness below that's so tempting, and with the feeling of morbid fascination mixed with overwhelming fear she's falling and falling and falling inside this deep gorge of nothingness. Her mind is devoid of thought and she can't speak even if she wanted to. The Listeners will never hear her voice, for they are reading her soul. Then... THUD. There is a crash, a loud deafening crash that pierces