Future (postscript)

I think I should explain myself cause in hindsight I’m on another trip when I comment.

When I say you’re the future, I mean it in a..how do I put it…accepting(?) way cause it is inevitable(?). I don’t mean it as anything else. I get(I hope I do) the overthinking, worrying, wanting to be left alone-sort of closing up on friends and understanding if they decide to move on cause they’re tired (?) of trying.

I see myself making the exact same decisions so future will play out the same right?

The other person I felt I could relate to was the single gay man in his 70s…he would post the poetry he had written all through his life-something I guess I would expect me to do. The last I read anything from him was about 3-4 years ago. I have now accepted that he won’t be writing again… Is it wrong or a ‘psychological condition’ that I’m in almost a fantastical blog world and I care about what has happened to the other writers. Who knows if they really exist…


Am I the only one?

If you ask me what music or band I like I’ll be more likely to say what music I don’t like-I’m not picky otherwise.

Same is true about many other things. I have stronger opinions about what I don’t like (things I wouldn’t do to make myself feel uncomfortable), I have no opinions about other things and am happy with whatever the other person likes.

Axios: A Spartan Tale by Jaclyn Osborn

Okay that book was horrible! So horrible that I am writing about it. It’s a typical m/m romance however she has written the story with love. She has researched her history and her pace has not faltered anywhere. I was expecting the battle scenes to be short but she has handled them deftly-they are too stark and realistic. I don’t think I will be able to read it ever again cause I bawled my eyes out for about half an hour after I finished it and I’m still down in the dumps after about 7 hours including a nap. It’s one of those stories that clutches your throat and then stays with you. The last book to do this to me was Call me by Your Name. I repeat there are not many lines which you may show off as a connoisseur of tasteful literature but mostly the stories that stay with you are told in the simplest words.

As a rule I avoid reading/watching tragic stories (till I can confidently say I’m happy and content with my life) so this was sprung on me by an Instagram friend. I still love it but I won’t read anything similar anytime soon.


We have almost a weeks holiday which is now coming to an end. I mostly woke up, painted, read (of course a few days were wasted in participating in festivities but I’m gonna let that slide). I could do this forever.


Our actions and choices decide how we will live out our future. Sometimes we are forced to make decisions with our eyes open whose bleak consequences we can easily foresee. That is when we feel life falling apart and nothing is in our control.

I wore a sweater for a couple of hours today. The long winter days are upon us. Long because we try to sit out in the sun savouring the light. The city being in a Valley, we are fortunate to have almost no wind during winters. Also the sun is out everyday except a few days in January when it snows in the mountains overlooking us. I hate the cold though. While making the new building plans, I recently discovered, that the sun reaches a maximum altitude of 36 degrees during the peak of winters-hence the long shadows and the accompanying nostalgia.

I’m reading a novel called Axios by Jaclyn Osborn. It’s a historical m/m romance. It’s ok good. Not high literature but good enough (why do I apologise so much for my love of Mills n Boons type romances? Why should I feel embarrassed?) . The historical details are accurateish. Anyways, the story dwells a lot on what could be. The hero wants to get out of the military life imposed by Sparta but ultimately he and his lover are swept into the Spartan way of life and can’t escape.

The bright sunny holiday reminds me of Greece (of the movie Sebastian). I have not put on any music and there is hardly any sound outside while I sit an paint. It’s nice and all when u have someone. It seems empty and pointless alone.

Right now I am excited for Italy but after that what?

I fear for the next person, if there is one. I’m like a love seeking missile. There is the ten years of past along with all the buildup, hidden behind the steel wall that binds my heart right now.

Starry Starry Night

I have a problem with the lyrics of this song.

This world is not meant for someone as pure and beautiful as you.

Why must someone with a mental illness be called more pure and beautiful than any other person? I’m really tired of this modern disease of romanticising struggle or mental illness or poverty as a virtue. Would van Gogh choose schizophrenia given a choice? I don’t think so. Then why is this song implying that it was a gift and he was lucky to be slightly crazy?

I’m really fed up of this constant virtue signalling. I’m sure Chaucer would have some really interesting insights to this craziness.

I seriously can’t wait to escape. She used the paint drum lid, that I had rescued to use as a palette,to cover cocopeat drum. Now the paint has got all cocopeat on it. I fucking need to go and never return.