In Parenthesis

Some days back this space turned two years old. NO BIG DEAL! After all, it’s the law of nature that things must keep moving. I mean, people and things keep getting older without any special interference as such, and FRISSON too would continue to age irrespective of my active documentation or lazy negligence. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you but blogging for me has always been something that I station in parenthesis and, things written in parenthesis seldom contain any grand theories or notions to attract or interest one deeply and thoroughly! You simply tend to pass over!


Now, coming back to FRISSON, I’ve been able to sort out a few distinct differences between my attitude (in writing) at present and the first year of blogging. It began with the keeping of memories and recording of experiences and all the other furniture that brings out the existing side of an individual. This virtual space became my way of relaxing, of working off my frustrations over my incapabilities, in other words, it became my strange way of compensating for not being a genius. I guess I was living under an illusion that there’re no evidences beyond experiences and in the writing of these experiences, I thought I was simply expressing my existing side, but there’re enough evidences beyond experiences and it takes a while before we get to acknowledge their magnificence!


And in one of those odd silences which sometimes fall on blogs, I started to worry about “words”. For, whatever else we may do, we’ll be using words all day and every day, words continue to matter. Words are the vehicle of thoughts and I knew I was reaching nowhere because I was using all the wrong words for locomotion and I was as good as a heap of stones could be. That was when the waiting game began, and when the words came, they came not in masses but mere numbers, and all I could write was poetry, although the prospects of prose continued to seduce me for a long time. But a return to prose has been really painful and uninspiring for poetry tempts me more and more.


Be it prose or poetry, I still lack the gall to speak my mind, letting the truth out only in half explained words and phrases. To me at all events this deposit of vagueness would be preferred more than all other confessions, for it is physical, wholesome, nourishing, and refreshing to the last degree!


Thank you dear reader!


Now Playing:: Wake up Sid (club mix)