They say: Speak up when angry and you will make the best speech ever. In my angst I write, because by the time I realize, am left with none to spit out. A few favor me by choosing soft option: It’s much easier to write when you’re sad. But you can end up isolated and depressed because you almost need to put yourself in that situation to have that angst to write from.
Feelings are meant to be shown and advertised rather than hiding ‘em out in your local.
Oh wait!
Is that the reason why my posts are so outrageous? No wonder none ever remarked even a single one as commendable! Normally, I don’t have much to complain about, just these existential angst, sometimes.
Apparently, I do have that want for writing, but freshly have nothing to write about. Past few days months have been utterly on my nerves. Waved bye to my close friend best friend boy friend yesterday and got fed up of goodbyes, which are over-flooded with unusual realizations and left upon theories. And unlike other times, the feeling was incomplete with a complete ‘nothingness’.
People say speak up when you hold up the chance. I believe I never stood a chance… in fact I’m so full of waving that I actually waved my damned chance off. Off to the cliff of my dreams. Well, this is what I actually wanted and well deserved.
“Oh! Really? Don’t you believe twas all you were actually scared of?” My soul questioned me.
“Come’ on, don’t forget I still hold the unbeatable record of missing god damn busses!”
“Yaah right! and YOU happen to know it very well too that you miss ‘em purposely for that extra iota of sleep!”
“Fun lies in not catching, but letting them wait.”
“Well then ‘deserved’ is that the word you choose for your ownself?”
“Ah! Don’t even go there! My diseased condition have been proved by many as ‘Much adoe about nothing’ thingy.”
“Sacrifice? Is that to decipher?”
“In any case, it’s never been easy!”
After some more such catharsis, I blanked out by barmy goose pimples. Screwy of being gazed up by those feelings, some told, some untold, some felt and some cracked… feelings that kept on stalking me over.
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Art is not only about angst.
And so not my writings as well.
