"You turn every head but you don't see me."

The life of a construction worker is at the moment going at Rupees One Lakh.
Any higher bids?

Going once. Going twice.
Gone

I'm beginning to have grave thoughts about my ability to have independent thought. Unless I force myself out of it, I find that I prefer to follow rather than think.
A sheep that turns left is no safer than the rest.

Savita Bhabhi is the best thing that happened to me since chocolate.
But then I always had chocolate.

Savita Bhabhi is the best thing that happened to me since learning what defense mechanisms meant.

I love the sense of immense passion. The fullness that tries to rush out of the body.
Unfortunately the moment its expressed, I find it disappear.

Someone told me that to preserve anything that mattered, one must avoid talking about it.
How would everything I've said about love, sex or rock and roll measure up against this?

There is something about missed opportunities that is just so ridiculously annoying.
It has this awful habit of poking at present happiness and saying what if.
And present happiness being the easily-influenced, that it is, finds itself dwelling on the question.

I hate what ifs.
There should be no more of them.
Missed opportunities have no business exploring once decisions have been made.

I was accused of not writing anymore.
Of not writing about anything but love.
But, all i feel today is love.
A bit of anger, perhaps. But primarily love.

My need to proclaim arrives.
To proclaim so as to enlarge.
Is hyperbole the word, well-read people would use?
Or am I wrong again?

I have an old air about myself.
Or merely old hair.

Spaces are closing in on me.
People know people. The world is small.
It allows for gossip, but forces with it claustrophobia.
I hate worlds clashing. But, they do.
Just when one believes they've been forced apart, they hit each other again.
Bang. Ouch. Bang. Ouch.

I suppose one could say I'm back. With my bad grammer, wrong word usage and complaints.