Veni Vidi

I came.
I saw.

And that is just about it. I just see with a ficker of interest in my eyes. The mild light which the flicker generates has to go through relection, refraction and absorption through my glasses, which makes it even more dim. There is nothing after the famed vidi.

I just realised that I don't have too many interests apart from killing time in the most ruthless fashion I can. I regularly come across many blogs, many profiles, and many people, who proclaim to have so many varied interests that my mind seems to whizz off in a frenzy of nothingness. Their proclamations are quite true also, for when I get to interact with the proud owners of those blogs, the personas behind the profiles, the guys those people are, I can and do realize that these are intelligent folk. Intelligent enough to keep learning in myriad ways. Intelligent enough to know which movie to watch, which book to read, which band to listen to, and in essence what to do to make them more snooty.

Snooty. That is what I aspire to be some day. Or do I? I just want to be this guy who knows and remembers a lot of authors, movie stars and band members. Not just a guy who somehow phone numbers of all the people he has met, and the licence plate number of every car he has been inside, or for that matter not been inside also.

What use is remembering your boss's car number when all you can do is piss him off? Well, you can hide at the sight of the car coming up from the next turn, but that doesn't make you snooty, does it?

I love writing. Anything, everything. No matter how much I hate academics, I love writing exams. Take out the need for preparation for an exam, and I would lovingly write one every other day. Just be sure to give me something new to write everyday. I love making up quotes. I love making stupid, silly jokes. I would probably do great as an advertisement copywriter. But I don't have the resourcefulness to go and do it. I don't want to be told by someone what to write. When to write. How to write. And someone telling me why to write would be blasphemous.

There are points in my writing where I stop making sense altogether. This might be one of those points. It may stop making sense to you. I probably won't know why you are reading this, or probably why I am writing this. Just that, this makes eternal sense to me.

I would write a book one day, which you might not want to read. However, if you think that you might want to read it, just keep in touch, and I'd be good enough to send you a copy, even if it doesn't get published. Probably you will help me.