Dreams for an Insomniac

I watched Macross Zero over the last week , an animation continuation of the popular Japanese Anime mega series Macross ...Watching anime was once a favorite past time. I was hooked onto Robotech in the late nineties...

All the stars seem to be looking down upon me , and having a nice big hearty laugh, with a snicker, they seem to chorus "Loser,loser..."....It is perhaps apt. I am so not in control of anything....Like a troupe of vultures scavenging, perhaps....Maybe those stars are just me seeing stars!! I am sick and tired of not doing anything useful...Maybe it all boils down to the moral paucity one feels in driving oneself to suicidal mania...Or it could be just the caffeine talking...Sleep comes unnaturally, at unghastly hours, these days... Maybe it is all divine direction...Reminds me of the dialogue from Rang de Basanti about youth and usefulness...

The mere thought of the stigma of failure, and the gathering of heavy clouds right over one's head seems all too familiar...especially in context to what comes to mind of Wordsworth and his little gloomy interlude, when he wrote zero works of literature in nearly a year....Being driven into subsuming madness, and amidst repeated defeats at the hands of fate, one does get dark ideas....Amidst extreme self-inflicted pain, and coffee-induced multiple day insomnia...I finally dream of dreaming...Yes...

I can now see why people have breaking points...The mere fact that I am typing this load of BS when I have tonnes of work over the next week, shows the pathetic state of affairs...

It is often difficult to hide happiness, and far easier to hide sorrow, a wise man once said ( Vishwasms , remarkably , concurs ), but for someone who's almost never happy in any situation ( the kind Redford talked about in The Color of Money), my attempts to be cheerful have often lead to drastic drops into spouts of sadness, nay , depression (denial?Me? Naah). Hyprocracy? Never...

Ah well, self analysis will get you no-where...or is it now-here? Space-time curves and figments of warped time-space in singularity, with the altogther wrap of being solo ( prnounced 'so low', maybe 'hollow' as the Phillipine island of the same spelling goes in pronounciation ). Twenty Two was a far cry.... Able was I. Vous cherchez, mais vous ne trouvez pas que vous cherchez......Lost ctrl :-(


Jay

p.s. Coz my keyboard's broken ;-)