I wanted to write today but I didn’t know what. False starts, dead ends, and incoherent beginnings was all I could conjure. I used to listen to music every waking moment; now it’s recognition of tunes I used to hum. I have become nonchalant about what I treasured the most in life. My guitar lies in a corner catching dust and I am out of rum without which my characteristic eloquence flows like the mud clogged Mithi…but who the fuck cares.
Some time back, I mindlessly answered questions about where I see myself five years hence; it’s been five years as I wait for another evening of alcohol induced apathy, that will make me numb to everything…but who the fuck cares.
I need a smoke; but I’ve stopped hanging out with those soldiers of death. Here’s to alcohol, the cause of-and solution to-all life’s problems. Now, I wait for the pain to pick me clean.
* Started writing this long back; finishing now, may not be a reflection of my current state of madness.