A lament

In another arduous episode of self analysis, I will attempt to analyse why I havent felt so bloggy over the last year or so. These rather sado-masochistic blogging habits being the chronologically prime reason, even if it is probably not the most immediately contributing reason, as it led to a severe fall in the readership of my blog, which in turn took away the compulsion factor, ( to be read as unwarranted policing at 2 AM by an equally insomniac member of your gtalk chat list as to why you havent written a blog post since your last one 3 days, 22 hours and 16 minutes ago), and lazy that I am, It probably effected the quantity and quality of my output adversely, and also should indicate to the (non?) existant reader that this sentence is still on, baby. Ok, now its over, so fucking what?

Oh yeah. Why I havent bloggy over the last one year. I suppose it has to be attributed to a combination of factors really, apping (yuck) being a big one, and I suppose the absence of marquez and cortez and joyce from my literary existence for a very long time would count as well, departure from "artist->album" mode towards "listen to 5 vids on youtube over and over and over again till you could draw the notes that both guitars are playing ambidextrously if only you knew how to draw the notes" mode would also contribute.

I s'pose getting old would count. The wide eyed days of yore are long gone where you still believed that the world was nice and fine and artist recommendations at 2AM would culminate in an 8 hour marathon till 10 that would see you getting well acquainted with 4 albums when you'd suddenly remember something and rush off without shitting to optics lab and sing Child in time at the top of your admittedly shrill voice, when in a suddern downflux of noxious post digestive fumes, you'd come to regret both the aforementioned: your singing and your NOt shitting, when a summary kick to your rear end would serve to blind the perprator in a further onrush of said fumes, and make you grateful for the sorts of defences nature has deviced for you to utilize against beasts who'd tear your creamy flesh into violated shreds :O

That was when I was bloggy. Life was so fresh and surprising. Life was full of discioveries, Life was exciting. That, and when I studied in class 9C . that was magical too. But i wasnt bloggy then, though my 24 page essays would indicate that the only thing that kept me from being bloggy was the fact that I had no fucking idea what blogging was. were. was.shit.

Damn man, I love magic. My life is so unmagical, because I have painstakingly endeavoured to opress my wild side, and I have endeavoured to govern my life by cold hard rationality, but being the medieval romantic i hve always been, have hopelessly but gallantly failed in said endeavour, and as a result find meself turned into this grotesque shadow of my former self. Bloated, literally, egoistically and emotionally, I face my doom, dark, final, inevitable.

So inspite of the deceptively frivolous tone, this blog post is a lament. Not only for my unblogginess, but also for those glorious days in my youth when the world, pale and shrivelled, lay listless at my feet, and I , its master, poked it with my glittering boot, sure that it would never eat me up, that I would never feel fallible, vulnerable, Sure that the day wouldnt arrive when i'd wonder what the fuck I am doing here, and boldly sit my arse down on this plastic chair, old and cracked now but brand new and a treat to said arse back then, and dazzle the (blogo)sphere with my amazingly,intricately and ultimately delightfully nonsensical blog posts.