Today I lost one of my best friends. Bono and I met when I was seventeen and he was five. With more wisdom than anyone his age or species, Bono first played hard to get. My extreme emotional and irrational approach wasn't suited to beings like him. Bono was cryptic, yet transparent. He was stern and loving at the same time. I spent a good deal of my time in his house heartbroken and often inebriated, of which Bono was accepting but not welcoming. As I grew up around Bono, I got signs of approval, enacted by letting me pick him up or take him for a walk. I felt like I had made headway in Bono's school of Zen. He was my Mr Miyagi, my Master Schifu. Nish fish, Bono's one and only love and co-resident, tells me that you carry people you have loved with you everywhere you go. Today when I sat around Bono's room I felt him settle into the world. He wasn't an absence, but a strong presence. Even when he was sick and dying, Bones managed to look nonchalant and solemn about the entire thing. After burying him, I felt lucid grief, but not severe helplessness. Bones taught me more than anyone on two legs and with the power of speech ever could. In silence he taught me to grow up and recognize myself as the only person I could ever be.


I love you forever Bones. you were my Confucius. And the coolest friend I ever had.

(on a different note)
Facebook kills chances of any real connection, but also any chances itself. I do wish I lived in a previous age. One in which sincerity wasn't dead.

I wish the 80s would return so I could dance with a random cute person at a party to this song.

Last week I traveled to a pind in Punjab and felt my soul come alive. But since life is unfair, I had to alas! return to my life of aimless ambition. I want to write but I have become lazy as fuck and my mediocre writing has begun to anger me. But I pledge to return. With a bang. In black. Like a warrior risen from the dead.
You know that feeling when there's words in your head but they're not really bursting out like an impetus but they're there and you have to make an effort to form them into coherent somewhat poetic sentences but you just CAN'T and you don't want to and it's a miserable suffocating disabling kind of itch that you just can't seem to scratch even though itis absolutely within your reach. 
I am restless but hopelessly marooned and like all those who are lackadaisical, I have chosen to dawdle in this pool that I dislike but do not hate enough to work against.
The previous sentence was constructed merely for the purpose of the presentation of a new word I learnt today. If I have used it wrongly and you want to correct me, don't. You'll ruin it. 

Hear hear,


if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
 

I know this gets repetitive but today i got drunk with my friends and it was AWESOME.
I love the winters. I love the cold and the huddling and smoking through the mist and the absolute ecstasy while getting into bed. 

Tomorrow I have to figure out a way to convince my professors that I am not an absolute moron despite my disgraceful grades. At the risk of sounding juvenile, I would like to say that I have been beaten hollow by a classmate I spend days explaining concepts to. And it makes me a little furious. 

I can't write anymore. I am nearing the time when I realize that I never could. I sit at the keyboard for hours wondering what song to play and which word to type. All day I have sat online and witnessed people I used to know from school and life who I believed I was smarter than end up with huge pay packages and widely read blogs that they re-post again and again on facebook causing me to want to tear my newly cut hair off my head. According to remarks on my bleeding red Marxist theory paper I need to know how to frame shorter sentences. If I could draw, I know that life would sort itself out. 

Ma says I should keep my spirits high so maybe I should start arranging for that. 

I don't know a poetic way to say this. - I have been drunk for a week.
Today I gate crashed a wedding. Believing I was being led to a BYOB house party, I walked into a shiny Punjabi wedding of my senior from school. Uninvited and not unknown I stood in a corner feeling uncomfortable that I was freeloading off the family of a an ex-classmate who I hated. But two whiskeys down and all my dilemmas sorted themselves out. 
There's nothing in the world like free booze. Or sour grapes. 

It's finally cold and I'm suffering, yet ecstatic. It's Winter now which means whiskey and beds and Nick Drake and emerging through the fog. 

Yesterday my friends and I huddled in a circle like hobos to keep warm while drinking. It was awesome.