Tuesday, July 16, 2002

Wed Morn : 2:30 a.m

It’s a perfect night to weep. For you, me and the ants on the street. For our movements and our plans. For feet that scamper and eyes that dart. For life that will never be.
When I’m sad, I bawl. And hug. And sleep. Mornings, I move on. Emotion is trivial and survival the noblest goal of all. Every problem has a stopgap arrangement. The meaning of life is 42.
I asked a friend how he would like to be loved, sensibly or senselessly?
And he said 'sensibly'.Knowing if he were loved because it was him. And if it were ever to be gone, he wouldn’t wonder if it was ever his to keep or lose.
I don’t think he would much appreciate the irony though:)

Tragedy is awesome. And love magnificent. Burning embers are grand. Yeah yeah, that too!

Tragicians don’t bawl. They weep, in blood-sucking agony.
In raising sorrow above all else, they drain themselves of the ability to adapt.
We bawl and move on.They weep and die.

I loved ‘Devdas’. Screw the critics. Costumes, sets, colours, no doubt amazing. But the protagonists have outdone themselves.
For a change, SRK is really really good. I went with the sole expectation of seeing him ham frame-to-frame.
Love Bollywood when it does a great thing every once in a very long while…
Smashing ‘pikchar’.

Don’t understand his love. But is easy to feel his despair. And know his faults. And weep.
Clincher in all good stories, ‘focused conflict’.
Push. Pull. Fall.Break. Repair. Run.
Beautiful.

I wish I could write stories to make you weep.

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