Obsessions.

I have no idea what to fucken write anymore. Damn this rottweiler part of the creative brain.

Anyways, yes, obsessions. Currently-

I have to stop myself. Apart from writing cliche sentences like some corny fucked up geek (no offense to you mate, metaphors, really) I just saw two copies of the same book in front of me. Well not really in front of me but... One is two inches away and the other is uh... a feet away. Still, they are in a way in the line of sight, no? Digression. Damn these ramblings.

Where was I... Ah yes, obsessions.

1) Hindi movies.

No, I have no fucking idea why. It just crept from behind and pounced like some fucked up ravaged mutant grasshopper. Oh and the part where I can understand bits and pieces makes it all the more bearable. Heck even the damn songs and 'Blink-change costume-Blink-change costume' thing becomes bearable. In fact, the love songs, albeit corny as uh... corn, turns out to be actually fucken poetic. Which is good. You know. *Cough*

2) Pissing you off with big words and twisted explanations.

Again, no, I'm not congenitally born with it. Or was I? Sorry, turns out that when you're a day old, it's hard to remember stuff when all you can feel is a fucking gloved hand smacking your ass. Talk about child abuse.

Anyways, it seems particularly pleasing when after a long argument, the argumentee (See, I just made up a word!) gives a Fuck-you-I-give-up-you-know-it-all-fucktard-twit laugh/look/stab. Scratch that last one, they usually don't go that far. Apart from satisfying my huge parasitic ego, it's kinda fun actually. Oh and I'm the argumentor, see, that way it makes sense, me argumentor, you argumentee, we make sense here, no? Oh and it could only be done to full uh... fulfillment in English apparently. Damn those hard to translate Bahasa words.

3) The Sahara

How do I put it so that it doesn't sound as if I have a fetish for deserts. Ah, got it. See, I thought of writing a whole blog post on it but I can't seem to start. See, I look at everything with this sense of 'Is this it?' but as soon as I got in that fucken desert, there's this thing that keeps on ringing in my mind. It says: HOLY SHIT.

Seriously. It's hard to imagine how that massive piece of land could be covered in just sand, sand as far as the eyes can see, sand everywhere; fuck man, I came back to Alexandria and I had fucking sand in my fucking hair. And ear. AND EAR! I mean. Fuck. I was brought upon my knees by... sand. If that wasn't bad enough, the jeep stops and in the midst of everything... There was a fucking huge pool of fucking water. Ice cold water. What. The. Fuck. In the middle of the fucking desert. A fucking pool of water. Apparently, I'm the only one tripping over this. Then night comes and the fucking sky is filled with a shitload of motherfucking stars. That is the first time in my life that I had trouble looking for Sirius. Why?

This.

I'm not shitting you. Those shit aint noise. It's stars. A shit-fucking-load of them.

Okay fine, take this instead.

I think the only thing that would do justice is this.

In the Sahara, everywhere I looked, I saw God.

4) Jhumpa Lahiri.

She's an author. With a fairly weird name. Anyways.

Her material is usually what I kind of stay away from, it's boring reality, predictable stuff ya know. Or so I thought. Oh man, it's reality alright, but fuck man the way she tells it, and that final fucking twist that eventually twists again... That's the shit that makes it real absorbing. And it's all Indian. Jay Hind! Really good stuff. If anyone asks for the reason I miss my lectures, it'll be her name coming up. Among other stuff.

5) Getting into fucking OneExposure.

Go here. And you'll understand. Or not. Either way, I don't care.

For those who do understand, here's a rough sketch of what 1x is all about. Amazing photographers meet and makes awesome webpage. Awesome webpage attracts more awesome photographers. More awesome photographers makes awesome community. Awesome community plans on world domination. Awesome world domination leads to awesome world.

Uh. I think you know where to stop.

Somebody once asked me to my face; 'Do you think you have the talent? Do you think you're actually fucking good enough to be a photographer and make it a career? Do you?'

See, I said something back there in which I had no proof of, no solid evidence to shove back into the other's face. I said 'Yes.' Well, with a bit more aggression and confidence, but you get the point. Later I thought of it I felt fucking stupid. In what position was I to say that? In what fucking base was I standing on? Fuck that shit. Fuck that to the circles of Dante's hell. To this day I regret what I said. Why? Because it made me a fucking hypocrite. It made me stoop down to the level of posers, to the level of phonies and shit. Getting into 1x will be my fucking ticket towards my redemption. That's why with each and every reject I'll feel like a fucktard. An inferior fucktard. It means that what that person asked was true. And I do not like to be proved wrong. My ego is way too big for that.

6) Finally coming to the day when my fucking overdue short stories and fucking novels are done.

Yes, that. Referring to the very top of the post (Yes, begin scrolling up now.) the creative part of me brain is like a... shot of endorphin. It's awesome when you get it, then as time goes on, it fades, then something triggers it and then it goes away again and then the cycle repeats itself. See usually for this trigger to launch, the environment comprises me in addition to some other exciting stuff eg. having a debate on some god knows topic that nobody else could understand, running round dodgy staircases to get to the rooftop, taking long walks in the rain or whatever you know. Here, on the other hand, well lets just say the environment serves no purpose except to cage me in a glass prison and/or fill me with hate. And you people ask me why I haven't been writing as much. Ha-ha. Fuck you.

Oh and if you missed it the first time, those purple underlined stuff are links. Yeah, who could've known.