In search of copy

​So whatever happens to you is fuel for writing.

~ Dave Trott

I believe in this. Whatever life throws at you, whichever grit you be a part of, its going to help. As a tale in a pub perhaps, or a blog post like this one, or check my previous 

Dave + Dave = Dave

Predatory Thinking is still in my reading list, but his blog turned out to be a riveting collection of anectodes. He marrys the tales and news in a fine narrative and sends you off with wise and sage advice. 

Boggled by Maria with brainpickings, Dave seems a lot easier to engulp the similar life learnings in a much easier manner. 

Krishnamurti’s “observe without judging ” comes to mind. As the writers discussed above just do that. And, I’m trying to apply it

One must start to observe and reflect upon it. So momentary peace may be at your grasp. 

What you observe – you can enhance. 

Recently ‘ve been doubting and hesitating to write. Often enough I’ve scrapped my words, scrutinising the tone and angles in which it twists and turns (probably randomly).

Dave’s blog changed all that, I muster yet again to wordsmithing. With courage and a rekindled enthusiasm to tie words and stories together. In search of copy…

We live.

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Even a tea master knows what he’s doing

Yeah, even a tea master, who makes 100s of teas and less coffees knows what he’s doing.

I’m more than a little intoxicated. There’s no editor or proof reader to suggest me otherwise.

I’ve wasted a good time on being someone who I’m not. Since childhood I’ve had my eyes on words. And, till now my fascination with them hasn’t dwindled.

I could be better or worse. But, I’m a writer. I obsess with words. And, fuck the grammar and language and all the BS in between. I’m known for getting my point across. Through these little words of text.

My love for life. Words. Poetry. And beauty hasn’t diminished The love of my life has admired it. More so in the following. That’s saying enough.

I might be sucky at it, depending on your ridiculous and misplaced standards. But I am a wordsmith, minus the editor and the consciousness you have the luxury of.

I’ve wasted time enough. To learn what I am not good at. Be it editing, the visuals. Or, the designs and artistry am obsessed with right now.

I’m a good observer. Teeny details don’t go unnoticed.

But, I remain a foolsy writer. With words that I can muster. Vocab that’s shrinkern towards a puddle.

These words remain a testament. For I’m true voyager. Sailing across the tides of life.

Expecting something more out of a fish. Who’s the fool now?

I do what I do. Because I’m what I am. Not a blogwalker. Not a ranter. But a fellow writer.

Maybe I’m alone. Maybe I’m foolish with my comings. But, I am in the midst of a cluster of things. Trying to fish out clarity.

A purpose.

A life.

That’s beneficial.

To You. Me. And beyond.

Sayononare mediocrity.

I’m known.

For words.

And.

I shall remain.

Beyond criticisms.

And.

Doubt.

A witer.

Waiting to be read.

The masks of an invisible meglomaniac

Crashing on the moon he cried ‘NO!!!!’

“I ain’t no play toy, launch me back!”

Removing the mask, he wasn’t an ape. A human after all. Tears didn’t roll. Rather a thick stench of rage. Poisoning the air surrounding.

“Can’t joy last a feeble more?”

He was marked unfit. Unearthed from the cusp of motley he play fought up on.

Adversity a commoner, a friend – a shadow.

Shouldn’t love be somewhere in the vicinity?

Clouds of hatred. Miscommunique and judgment blinded him.

The mighty warrior is a kid. Natures ploy was to test him.

Be a wrought iron, or wither like a dandelion. Breaking the fatey words and fighting mediocrity, he liked to destroy rules. All the clues left behind, were mere & mystic – hard to decode.

To dethrone his illusion, curs murred incessantly. Turning a blind eye or ear isn’t a tall. But, the call was on; “are you up” or “down like a cowardly lion?”

Where did the ego raise up?

With whom are the rage and fights to be resolved?

Abled zombies bent by desire?

Chilled hunters with pretty talks and slyed eyes and slight of hands!

The mystic robot hands wouldn’t batter. Falter in any manner to rest. Not a second of nonsensical thought could be taught to the infected inhumane & apey monstrous megalomaniac.

Losing the baggage, wearing opinions, cast away. An ostrich tale was the life of the tool. Buried with analogy, and not a thing original he was to be down in dumps. Maddening things wrangling in the corners of the mind. Horns glaring creature tapped on his shoulder, “be with me”.

Would he settle for the dark eyed bidder?

Or Fall all back?

Into oblivion?

Pride blinding!

“Chide away you damn Chester, picked the right moment to die you buster!”

Befriending a stranger

meet

Reading a couple of Dale Carnegie does you wonders. I tried implementing them, it has really opened up my doors to getting acquainted with people. Real conversations and meaningful adventures are just a whack away.

All you need is a push to greatness…

I like to meet people. From different walks of life. I want to know the backstory of every interesting person I know. Digging in with questions, a few feel uneasy. Mastering the art of conversing is a way deep conversation for this post. But, I muster on.

“That’s the ideal meeting…once upon a time, only once, unexpectedly, then never again.”
― Helen Oyeyemi

The digital and tech interfaces do more masking than revealing. Who really is the person that hides away inside the thousands of likes on Instagram?

I know a girl, who is quite famous in the online media. But, deep inside she is a wee kid seeking attention; broken, depressed and self-diagnosed bipolar patient. Poor gal, all I could was get her Vodka.

Meeting up a stranger with just a conversation about bikes (RE) we got acquainted. Smoked (up) and started to have a real, meaningful conversation. Talking about travel, movies and the books. It’s been ages since someone mentioned their discovery of Harry Potter. And, to trust someone. Riding out on a hinge. That needs true gut.

Roaming around the lonesome roads. Discussing a bit about the untapped history of Tamil. It was a peaceful and wonderful little adventure. I recommend one to you, meet new people. Expand your horizons and discover a beautiful you!

Like attracts like…

If you believe into that, it does you wonders. Shedding the little egos, trying to be a better person in theory is easy.  Once out of the shell, you learn to care a little less about your fragility. The mushy ‘id’ that you think matters fade away into nothing.

When after a fight, colleagues discuss inviting me to a coffee break. “He’ll probably tell no”. No, No is the least favorite word of mine. I want someone to ride with in the middle of the road. Out for coffee, fags or chips? I’m in let’s go!

Sometimes I wonder, how come this day is pure bliss?

Venting out and channeling at the right moments. I have stopped pissing off people for no reason. People have been kind to me, why shouldn’t I be?

In this sense, I have come to meet the new me. Thus, a stranger in me has awoken. This day could be marked as a real & eventful day. So, this post wouldn’t just be a slightly censored page from my diary.

It was really cool meeting you too!

I had a wonderful day, and if you are here – you must be a wonderful person to read thus far. And, the most interesting thing the stranger I acquainted today told – he reads a lot. When a writer and a reader meets, then the decisions and topics of conversations are endless.

Shout out if you want to meet, if not a quirk like me. Someone wittier could be standing right next to you 🙂

Hoarder’s can’t be leaders

If I’ve learnt anything, with lo many years in media, it’s this – those who hoard, can’t lead.

People grab their material belongings tight. Somehow their ego is fulfilled by the little toys and things. Which has more sentimental value than an intrinsic purpose for day to day life.

1. Hoarding is a mechanism for coping loneliness

If you hold a bunch of coins, it’s called a coin collection. But, if you hold onto your well to run bikes. When you can use only one, you’re a damn hoarder.

2. Fragile egos get hurt easily

While we tend to rely on these little things, we are conditioned to be happy in Thier presence alone.

If any mishap happens, a daily routine is spoiled; instead of adapting to the surprises we tend to turn buurish. Blaming external circumstances to mask our inability to tackle events spontaneously.

3. Materialistic attachment detaches oneself from people

If you’re so attached to your tape collections, or books, chances are the same bond can’t be attained with humans. It is easier to fall in love with books, movie and music. But also human beings, the physical and emotional connect can’t be replaced by thousands of AI.

4. It’s hard to move on

If you’re stuck in a place, tending to your huge collection of ‘things’, you won’t find the need to travel much. Getting in a rut with the same old routine has lots of dangers. From depression, social anxiety to the early onset of Alzheimers.

5. Trust is a big issue

We tend to judge people, if not deeply, superficially by their sense of fashion. We have our own damn standards so in order to keep our ego satisfied we tend to look up or down strangers.

Hoarding ideas also come in this scenario. In a fantasy land, all our ideas are gold. And, they better stay the same. If exposed to the public ear, they will be criticised. Or worse, original ideas are rare, people will steal away yours.

Don’t kid yourself, throw away any idea that hasn’t seen the light of day in 6 months. This is the only way to come up with new ideas.

Elon Musk’s crazy ideas like Hyperloop and Colonization of Mars are open to public viewing.

And, these hoarders are quick to judge. They are an insecure lot. As they treasure their material more, any potential stranger can take away their precious toys. And, the whole world might collapse. Forget all that’s said in Gita, materialistic things provide a comforting calm in the late superficial society.

If you find someone with these symptoms, please guide them right. I can identify these traits, as I once (denial!) was a hoarder of books, pens and everything nice. It is a hard thing to grow up from.

May you leave your hoarding days behind.

Riding onto somewhere, a dream journal

This time around the sleep had a dream. And, there was a strange yet wonderfully beautiful girl. Perhaps I met her before in real life. 

We were shy. And the dream has brought us together. 

While I wantonly pissed her off. Like every guy trying to impress a girl. She was quick to respond with anger. But, unlike women in real life. Cooled off fast. 

Want a coffe?

“No, you’re going to buy me pizza and Redbull!” (Weird combination? I agree.)

She demanded. 

Taking her up. In my bike. Her angel like presence wasn’t so  overwhelming. But, the road was ridiculously rural. Narrow. And dangerous to ride around. 

Yet. We moved fast. In the direction of the non-existant coffeeshop. 

And then…

“La la la, la la la la….anything that you want….”

The Beatles ringtone woke me up. 

Aren’t we all Chasing Amy?

I have a theory, if it were to be a high – the low follows.

A very few understand that pain and pleasure are intertwined.

Let me try not to beat around the bush. I had a late lunch, not heavy. But, late enough for me to skip dinner. So, me walking. Trying to control my urge to smoke. Found myself a juice joint. Which sounded like a better alternative to a heavy dinner.

Of all the juice joints in the city. I walked into this one.

There was this couple. She was wearing an orange sari. And, am swearing – I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. But, she was almost cool to look at. And, the guy glaringly nervous. Tall and lean. His head was lingering in mid-air and she was straining her neck looking at his face.

As he confessed that he’s going to marry her. “I will talk to your mom. Don’t worry.” I could see there has been an issue. And, she was keeping him in her leash. Not tight. Yet on hold.

“Sathiyama idhu mathiri pesadha. En loosu mathiri pesitu irukka.”

“Stop blabbering like a fool. Don’t ever do this again. ” This was not a harsh command. Not a plea. She was devoid of emotion. Very cautious that I or some other was leaning in…

She could’ve clearly walked away. But, she liked something about him. And, he was clearly overwhelmed that he’s got a girl.

Most hopeless romantics are single. As they have a castle. Which is and isn’t like the cat. And, as the movie portrays. ‘Chasing Amy’ I though only guys do that. Chase after a girl. Who he could have had, and did have. But, couldn’t deal with his emotional BS.

Here, the girl is playing around. Whether to take him up seriously are not. Something in me told that he’s very new to the dating scene. And, dating a colleague has its pitfalls. Yet, she ventures. Boldly. Out in the open. And, the guy. Fragile. Bewildered. Will he ever get her? Was she seriously considering this guy?

These are not a ramblings of an introvert!

As is the world dominated by right handed people. The Extroverts outnumber us!

Let’s plan something. No. TPing won’t solve anything. Let’s think bigger. I’m sure, if we put our introverted minds together. We can do something weirder. Make them feel insecure. Yes! Let’s all shave our heads, and prove them that – they’re the ones who are out of fashion.

Terrible jokes aside.

fabric of society

“The fabric of society is very complex George” indeed. One must adhere to silly stuperstitions. Did I say Stuper? Superstitions. Sorry.

There is no society. We are society. It doesn’t exist beyond us. We are society, says Jiddu Krishnamurti. We just use the familiar understanding to get away from hard and layered thinking.

Let’s not go into the concept of thinking. As we introverts have plenty more head room to fill it with ideas and wisdom; extroverts turn stingy. Let’s not pin point their handicap.

Safe spaces

Introverts don’t get offended so easily. Except if you try to turn them into superficial extroverted zombies. And, we lot are terrible actors. Our lies are as transparent as a fucking Saint Gobain glass.

So, you’ve read this far. Expecting something more? Of course you are. After all you are spending your precious time, reading my blog. While you could’ve watched any shitty or maybe decent show on TV (Jio TV perhaps?).

I’m a writer coz I write. There are no better writers. Or better writing that extends beyond yours.

You use your standards to arrive at mine. -Puthumaipiththan

So, if any of them mo fos judge your work. Based on their shallow exposure. Smile them off with a gentle nudge, like Dos Equis ambassador. Meme-I-Dont-Always-Drink-Beer-Wait-Yes-I-Do-Image

Row, row, row your boat. That’s all there’s to it. Do your work. Irrespective of the ill communique. Beyond politics. Despite power & recognition.

Keep in mind. The words from Mahabaratha.

Do not lie down, defeated. Do not vanish in your misery. Make yourself famous through your own deeds. Do not be medium, inferior, or the worst. Be strong.

Sounds very much like, ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’

Don’t BS a shitter, have a Beer instead!!

Yeah. This is supposed to be a private message. But, who’s going to stop you from reading ?

People don’t have people skills. Beer does. Beer is your friend. 

I’m a writer. I obsess over words. Not just words. The power. The sound. And, the energy of each. And. Every. Word.

And, ‘Beer’ is a word. That needs to be mumbled. Stretched. SHOUTED!!!!

They help me write.

bEeR this #^:$+ in mind

Beer helps me stay super sane. Relaxes the anxiety ridden spots. Limits OCDs and ADHDs.

Chug!! Em. All!!!

Sane! Better. Less weirder. When beer hits your belly.

Beer belly isn’t a fact or science. It’s a badge of honour.

Forget about the traffic. The rains. The plastic grains. And, everything else.

Have a beer.

…Relax…

Stay buzzed. And, let your creative thoughts flow. One by one. Bottles of beers. Turns into words and ideas. That wait to be realised.

Every word that I write. Is trying to fly off the digital screens. To be made into an ad. Web series. All thanks to the rascals who introduced me to the magic of beer.

Let me know which brew you prefer. Let’s have one as we meet.

What’s wrong with writing for money?

I boast myself as a writer as much as ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow. But, what changes, when someone asks you to write, instead of the ‘inkling to write’.

“I need bricks to make clay”
-Sherlock Holmes

That’s the phrase or dialogue I used to ask for research.

I’ve been a part of organisations, where there were a clear lack of workflow. No one knew what they were doing. A few were aware that they require the money.

But, no one was concerned about the organisation. As, the CEO was just a face; behind the blacklisted CTO.

There were these two client service people. One male and another female. Seeking to have power, over responsibility.

I was fired by the female.

As, I don’t mingle well with muggles.

I have been fired thrice, as much as I remember.

And, I’ve quit more than thrice.

I boast this around, just now. Coz am a little intoxicated. Yet, capable of writing legible and cohesive phrases.

There are CEOs who have a vision. And, there are muggles who posses money. I’m not in a place to judge. But, I can’t help but observe.

Jack Of All or a King?

If someone asks the same to me, I’d say King of course. Even a layman will do the same.

But, who acts it?

I know editing.

Proof reading.

And, content as well as copy writing.

Can, I be a King of just one?

That, I like to choose and love to do?

Everything that we do, out of passion becomes a task after doing the same as a job.

Industry people refer to music notes as – that fucking note and this shitty note.

But, as a listener – we love to just listen to the tune. Obsess over it for a while. Do we have any idea of what goes behind creating it? NO!!!

Art – and its creation are different poles.

If you see beauty.

There was pain.

The pain.

Was a result of a overwhelming joy.

Here I am, not at all drunk. Yet, pretending to be. And, writing /  or just typing out words. Which, needs to be told.

There isn’t anything wrong, in doing what you love, that too – for money. It just takes patience, to get acquainted with idiocies that are abound.

Many a startups sprew themselves out of nowhere. A fewer stay. And a fewer still stay among-st them.

I don’t care about the politics and the management. I love to write. And, am getting paid for it. That’s enough. I’ll do this, until I’m fired – oh…sorry, until I’ve been let go.