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Thursday, June 03, 2010

for sale

I found a bank receipt that says I deposited Rs. 78,645/- in mi account last year July 03. I do not remember where it came from, it’s irrelevant. What I do know is, year on, I could use an identical cheque. In fact, I reckon I need it more than last year. I had been clinging on to my cherished social status as a transitory vulnerable for years and I’m sure that cheque made my day then. Now, I’m not clinging onto anything. There’s nothing to cling onto, you see. There’s nothing transitory about poverty.

Cursor blinks. It will be wrong to suggest that I don’t have anything to say but it’s true that I wither under self-censorship. Hey, that is not to say I won’t be able to do whatever I could do last year. Yeah, I would dance naked for thaaat cheque now :) I dance terribly, but I would do better than I did last year. LMAO! I have no fuckin’ clue what made someone loose eighty large ones to me. I’m too old a guy to even whore myself for that kinda cheque.

“You internalise stress and deal with it through a process of self-destruction.” Can’t place where I heard or read it; I’ve been reading like – an avid reader perhaps. I’ve lost all hope of finding a book in my room which I haven’t already read. I’ve read these volumes and re-read them. I think I should frequent libraries but they lock down early; isn’t there a 24-hour book joint where one can read and panhandle his way through an occasional meal and cigarettes?

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