The last post.

I can’t create art any more. I am afraid of it. I have become impotent in a way. Barren. Infertile. All I can come close to are ideas. But ideas do not constitute art. We can find ideas in art, but somehow I would like to think of art as being something more than a collection of ideas. As being a part of life, while being distinct from it. While being something more, something which cannot be grasped by mere reason, but can be understood through itself alone. I feel scared, it is like almost like being castrated. I am debating whether or not to take up WIP, whether it will help at all. Whether or not I will be able to create again. Whether or not the ability to procreate can be regenerated for me in a classroom.

Once upon a time I wouldn’t have thought twice if asked to write something. It was easy. I even made a major life changing decision based on my abilities. While I do not regret that decision in the least, I find it hard to justify it now. I find it even harder to take further decisions bases on my earlier decision.

This blog has seen me through a lot of troubled times. The best times of my life. The most challenging times of my life. It has grown with me. Evolved with me. Been like a part of me. I have said things here which I wanted to say, but had no place to. I have said things here which I never should have said and had to later retract. I have tried to represent what is me, what is not me, lied like there was no tomorrow, spelled out the harsh truth when every one thought I was joking. Learned what can be thrown out onto the public sphere, and what should be kept private. I have learned a lot.

Dear reader, as you can see, even what I write now, fails to flow smoothly. The ideas do not connect. The words feel uncomfortable beside each other. the paragraphs above do not have a sense of continuity. It doesn’t feel natural enough. Artificial. Contrite and contrived. Like the painted hooker from Dev D. Unnatural and out of place.

For once in my life, I don’t know what to write. I am at a loss for words, I have no words to write what I want to. A reason for that could be that I no longer have the time to read. I return home too tired to think. I leave home early, for I sell myself out for the comforts of a car ride. I try to forget the emptiness of my life as much as I can while I am in college. But. I still don’t know what to write. Until I manage to figure out, I lay this blog down to rest, with thankings for giving me a platform to write this on, to put some of my troubles into words and let them loose.

Thank you.

This is utterly incoherent and meaningless. Those who read this are particularly deranged.