Friday, August 09, 2002

Darn right, I’m going to write.
All these logistical constraints over the last few days, not the least of which being, blogger overturning my carefully constructed verbal context, have taken away the scarce kegs of creative juices I strain to possess.

‘Tis the old argument all over again. Safety versus impulse, with the two not necessarily being mututally exclusive domains.
Of course, only in hindsight will the ‘intersperse’ show. So what the hell do I do?
All signs point to the obvious, anthropology it is, with the future carefully chalked out and direction signs mapped to scale.
But the motive power behind quitting was the ‘write’. And hence the MFA and all resultant jubilation. Doesn’t seem to be the safest option actually. Check the shelves at Crossword, overflowing with confetti and packing paper. Signs of a healthy, wholesome industry with unhealthy component parts. Writers starved for words, epicurean audience with the freedom to pontificate and reject. I can make a better career writing Hindi film lyrics.

Still figuring out the whole mess, slowly, surely…

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