Tragedy is Gregor Samsa being given the boot my the charwoman who worked at their house. Oh, Gregor, oh.

Yeah, i just read Metamorphosis. it's quite extraordinary.

Days are spent with the wheezy cough and a wait for that funny jolt I get before i start panting for a lack of breath.It isn't much worth living. Only the engaging company of a very engaging paperback named Kafka on the shore keeps me alive. For the time being. Or else. Who knows?

Fuck, man.

Desperately in need of a blank page. One i can write on. Write anything other than crooked line integrals and draw figures as far removed from the roundness of say, an equipotential surface. I think i might be driven soon to insanity, I keep dreaming of being swallowed by a wormhole. Or falling through a vacuum. This is all so surreal, I might just be a very depressed, a very hungry electron for all I know.

A grey realization

And well, tonight, its raining sultry in Kolkata, i feel like logging into youtube and checking out the weather in Buenos Aires, find out if the sky over the country, so far removed from our own, the one for which I seem to be burning in dismay, is anywhere as sad as the sky over this city this night.

I will admit unabashedly that the dream was shameless. It is only after its over that you realize that. For even now, there is no shame, only a strange realization, as grey as the sky.