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nomad_from_hell
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Name: Neeraj
Country: Hong Kong
Metro: Hong Kong
Birthday: 12/15/1986
Gender: Male
Interests: Licking my elbows...Try it.
Expertise: Only women know where my expertise lies. If you don't know already, ou won't be finding out.
Occupation: Writer/Journalist
Industry: The Press
Message: message me
Member Since:
3/9/2003
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| Yes, Finals time.
For those lucky bastards outside North America, may you drown in grossly imflamed gall bladder..
Despite this hatred, Neeraj is happy. Some would say bursting with serotonin.
Flowers.
Bunnies.
Happy.
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| Hah. After realising what an existential cliche my previous entry was,
I'll get off that topic. I cringed and felt like one of those jerk-offs
that put CARPE DIEM all over their web pages thinking it'd be clever to.
Well, back to Penn in one day. Back to my Russian hamster, my korean
ex-wife, Indian rhesus monkey pet, and Romanian half-sister. Too bad
the lanky Lithuanian and the Squirrel -less Frenchman aren't on campus
anymore.
Dying to get back. Wish teleportaion was possible. Hate Star Trek for filling my heart with hope.
If everything goes well, i'll actually have my life back in a month or
so. Hope has an annoying habit of rearing it's head at the most
convenient times.
Until later, Khuda hafis
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| Sometimes you get a harsh spash of reality, like hard liquor burning your throat.
Life does suck, and it will continue to do so. Life is a continuous downward trajectory with several upswings at quite ranom intervals, leading ultimately to an end. Every ball that you throw up in the air is going to fall back to the ground, within plausible parameters.
It's hardly shocking that death brings the best out in all of us. The realisation of a point of termination in a long series of ups and downs catalyses us into positive action to make the best of those high points, and as little as possible out of the low ones. Yet, there it exists, somewhere, maybe this instant, maybe far in the future, a sword hanging above our heads.
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| - 7th Symphony It's the middle of my return to school. Nearly.
It's been two weeks already, and I am having back-flash dreams of times forgotten. Great. Fun. What to do with all the spare time but dream?
Too much time to think, ponder, dwell, and finally philosophise on every past second of your life. It'll kill you. Hindsight is 20/20, but the smallest faux pas or regret a curse. That sharp twinge behind your jaws while eating a lemon. Harmless, for the most part, yet so incredibly sour. Each memory adding up; blood cells clotting, just waiting to give you a stroke.
Starting from a clean slate would be so much easier. If only the mind was wont to forget, and forget so entirely.
But then this is reality. Reality blows: even if the present moment is proto-orgasmic in it's nature, it's polluted by the past.
Hence alcohol. Or sleeplessness.
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| - Backdrifts Don't you just love this feeling of fundamental emptiness?
It feels like the whole world is just a transit lounge, waiting for something to happen.
The whole idea of life seems like a farce, almost to the extent of a living hell exacerbated by factors beyond control.
Boredom perpetuates gloom and gloom results in unjustified depression. A vicious cycle that will never really break as long as the perpatrator is alive.
Depression also results in paranoia of the worst kind; a fear of betrayal by anything and everything. The very ground beneath our feet may give way at any second, just out of spite for the pathetic creature you've become.
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