Why I don't write anymore.

Well, I just don't.

It had been ages that I had even come by here. And then, I realized I have exams in a few days. So, I needed a silly adventure I can indulge myself in so that I can later on blame this exercise for the debacle that will surely be the exams. Like, in my tenth standard prelims, I wished I wished I would get a mysterious illness so I would be pardoned even if I did not top. Talk of magic realism, I did get the illness. Bad rashes all over the body. But what I had not thought of earlier was the possibility of being poked on both buttocks continuously for three days. Pain in the ass, bleddy.

During the prelims in first PUC, I did the same thing. Wished for an illness. I hated I PUC. It was probably the most depressing thing I have ever put myself through. What classmates I had, what a positively horrible college that was! I made no friends there, bar a couple really awesome ones. But then, that's not the point. During that time, I had been to Delhi to perform at a show (which by the way, was most disastrous. I took the wrong pitch, forgot the lyrics, misled the actors, monster's headgear fell off, he was small boy, everybody laughed, sword of foam snapped in two, the other's sword was mysteriously lost, everybody laughed, big story, not relevant) after which I had to give my prelims. On my way back in the train, I had the Kunti urge to wish for things again. It was probably the Sun god again that heard me. Traveling second class in Karnataka Express is a pain in the ass beyond all pains in the ass I know of. (Including the one I mentioned above.) Shining down on us as he was, making barbecue of us, he heard me, after all. Voila. Bad rashes all over the body. But no pain in the ass this time! Thus, those exams were escaped.

Now another exam beckons. And my explanation is that this blog, piece of my heart, apple of my eye, essence of my existence was wilting, and that I had resuscitate it with Wilt Whatman-esque flair. Wait, was he Walt Whitman? Whatever.

So here I am, writing without thinking. Setting myself a target of nonsensical writing. Filling it with whatever happens around me right now. The computer hums. Te modem shines orange. The ACT button on it flickers indicating something is downloading. Oh yes, that is true. Fuck you, Adobe updater. It pisses me off this thing. Nonsensical downloading. I don't need no updates, no. All I need is for some state head to die. How I wish Rajkumar was alive. Another abduction. Another two weeks of bliss. I liked Rajkumar. Kannada Rakshana Vedike zindabad! Sa Ra Govindu, you are superhero! I even watched your film, promise. You were awesome. But one thing though, why were you romancing your daughter throughout the film. Okay, don't kill me. Vataal, you are of course my superhero. The vigor with which you shake the house is something I would pay to watch. Khunnada Thhaayiya mukkhhalu nhaavu. Ooh.

Among other things, Solzhenitsyn is completely cool dude. Going by the name, that is. Also, Sholokhov. Who reads them all? The hair on the back of my hands has not grown in a while. I like Phoebe Buffay. In fact, I love her. You know, these rotating chairs are tricky. I once sat on my bed with my legs propped on this rotating chair. It rotated and rotated away, taking my feet with it, and then dragged me off my bed, and I landed with a thud on the floor. My right bum is sore, which is why I sit and type like a dog pees on a pole. Lopsided. Anyways.

There were some PJ's I read. I like them. Do you? So, here is a sample. The mail doing the rounds is called PJ World. It would be fun to live in.

Kalidas ka ek bhai joote banaata hain, uska naam kya hain?
Adidas! Harr harr harr.

What is the plural of Shah Rukh Khan?
ICICI. Main hoon na, hum hain na. Wow! So much coolness. Bleddy I was this close to cracking, when my eyes by mistake saw the answer. So I will snap them shut. And type.
egg ggjL Hooki .
Okay, doesn't work.

I like funny people. Do you?
I like Borat. He is coolness itself, or himself. Or whatever. Whoever.

I think my blog is resuscitated. Now I will go and study why the dude with a leukemia can't survive for too long, and how the bloody cells fuck the body up. Oh, the pun on the bloody was way too unintentional.
(Or so I will have you believe)
(Ha Ha, I am so cool)
(I remember I once wrote a poem-
The hazards of being a genius,
everything you say is believed to be serious)
(Call me cool and intelligent okay. Bye)

Bye.
Blog resuscitated.

Now I can go and pee.