My fellow blogger in this twisty and turning but endless blogosphere, abichica from chicpress has nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. WOW Thanks a lot dear 🙂 She got such an awesome blog, which you would not regret visiting. A talented poet and writer, keeps me hooked with her short story in installments, which I clamor to read till the end. This award thing, at first got me a bit confused but after researching a bit, I was able to digest what this award means. Being nominated is kind of considered as winning. I feel so honored. And there are several official rules involved in order to accept the award:
- Thank the person who gave you this award and link back to his/her blog.
- Next nominate 15 bloggers for this award and notify them about the nomination.
- Finally, tell readers seven things about yourself.
I’m really delighted to be nominated for this award but as per official rules, but I would not be able to fulfill the second rule:
You must create a list of 15 blogs that you enjoy most and link to those as well. Then you must go and tell them you have nominated them. That means if you do not have 15, you cannot do this step. If you do not complete this step, then you cannot claim this award.
I don’t have 15 on my blogroll (I was oblivious to its charms and was lazy to grow the list) and neither do I closely interact with other bloggers, due to many reasons including lack of time to dedicated blog surfing and commenting. (and I’m slow in making friends) I’m deeply saddened, that I’m not eligible to accept the award. But I consider this a moment to introduce some blogs which I feel deserve more attention and encouragement. And also some established ones which I consider inspiring and deserving to be read.
Confidence . . . It’s word that doesn’t come up much to my conscious world these days, maybe it’s buried deep within my subconscious clashing around with those horrid, weird dynamics Freud seemed to explain with such clarity that even a dog would understand, well not me. My confidence is buried, maybe even deeper into my unconscious that I don’t even feel for it’s existence. How pitiful when you find yourself unable to look at a person in the eyes, when you lose your general swagger which accompanies your speech, in fact your speech is now staggering blabbering muttering incomprehensible and repetitive. You had lost all your sense of achievement and no longer feel the urge to survive competition. There is a sense of failure. You had given up.
Pete: Just come with me, Jenna please come. Hey it’s nothing to be afraid.
Jenna: Oh boy I’m scared, this place . . .this place.
Pete: All your hallucinations . . .it started after you started reading that damn blog. I’m more scared of that blog than this place.
To behind the tall grass of my coven high
Come softly like the tingling breeze
Over the deep, you see the hollow heads
Swallow the breezy air of windy willow beds
Jenna: No Pete please let’s leave, it is all true, all what he wrote . . .the blog is true every word of it.
Pete: Heck, Jenna . . And how the hell you know who wrote that crappy blog . . It’s just another plain crazy brain anonymous wannabe, who knows it’s a guy or gal . . Might be your cat wrote it.
Jenna: Don’t blame crooked Sam, I love him dearly.
Pete: You can marry your crooked black cat . . .and believe me if you want more superstitions. . .black cats are evil.
Sometimes we feel for the past. Because it is something we have experienced in our lives, something we like to reflect even it’s sad or happy. “Nostalgia is purely nauseous” That is a quote from one of my friends, he felt like that just because he is unable to pronounce or spell that word. Well if anything is to be pronounced and it includes the use of any other organ than mouth, I also tend to agree with him. Now forgetting my sweet friend of the past for a moment (thinking of him is quite a nostalgia) let me get in to the purpose of me writing this piece of crap.
True that I got some time to kill and I’m now using that time to write another piece of brain poison to make you readers go crazy slowly and achieve the maximum pleasure of dementia induce coma. Now to tell you a secret, “Poems are like Prions” That quote is not from my above mentioned friend but yours truly. Now if you are wondering what the hell is a prion, you can do some research online, some brilliant minds invented the internet before they went crazy, might be due to a prion induced disease. I’ve got no time to explain how a prion works and for matter can’t explain what it is in first case. Use the internet. And now if you are wondering what the hell is a poem, I assure you don’t need to continue reading because my goal of poisoning your brain had been achieved by someone else. So prepare your bed for coma.
They were trying to roll the thing back, it was not moving, not that it was supposed to, it laid there snug, like yesterday and day before. In fact eons ago it was there, not an inch differed in position.
“Fuck it all, we are not gonna have any luck, keep the bugger there and let’s get lost” steamed A through his muffler. A crash of steel was heard while B slammed his shovel in to the soil. “Boss, really what are we doing in this cold, if this goes like this we are gonna be numb like Z” it was a meek voice for a big man like B, but everyone knew he made sure his voice was heard. A was having nothing of it. “Z is a dumbfuck, he should have rested his ass on that bunk of his and said goodbye sweet world. Now we gotta pay for it”
“It’s friggin cold boss” comes the wheezing sound of C, “Leave that thing there, we got nothing from it, it’s not gonna solve any problems now howmuch Z swears on it” (more…)
As my good friend here uses to say, this world is full of stereotypes. I don’t know what put this wacky idea of applying the almighty self important theory of stereotyping to girls. Ya I mean how to stereotype girls.
Well you can get them in all sorts, thin and fat, tall and short, fair and dark. Thinking a bit deeper, you will find the playful sorts and serious sorts, the simple and the innocent. “Buddy, you will soon end with the dumb stereotype” chuckles my friend. “Take for example my next door aunt” Instinct tells me, he is now up to a long talk. “She uses to send me emails, then she would knock by my door and say Sonny I send you an email, check it.” My friend makes a pained face and demands, “If she can come up knocking at my door, why can’t she finish the story face to face instead of sending me stupid emails? Ya buddy there is your dumb stereotype” Declares my friend triumphantly. Hmm . . . forget that stereotype, by the way who am I to defend girls? (more…)