Noun for Pathetic

Patheticalness.
Blah.

Blah

"He asked me if I am free. If I could be me. If I could dance like there is no tomorrow. Like there's no one watching.
I said ofcourse I could. I do that everyday, in my living room. Of course I shut the drapes in case anyone is watching."

Humour. Irony. Pathetic [Noun for Pathetic actually. What is that now, pathetism? (Note to self: look it up after you're done procrastinating.)]

Moving on, I plan to get out the writers block. Actually thats being a little presumptuous because for that I'd have to presume I'm a writer. I refuse to take that blame. Maybe we'll just call the block 'blah'.
See, there's a reason why I need to get rid of blah. Its because I've started calling it blah.
Bleauh.
A lot of my sentences have started to end with blah. In fact, a lot of my sentences have now succumbed to blah. Its actually a very convenient word.
But that is not the point of this post.
I also have no idea what is.

But I started with a dialogue. Its not an adaptation. The conversation also never really happened. But it just came to me.
(Those are some very short sentences!)
(The shortest sentence still being - yes, you smart fellas...its - blah!)
(Tadaa!)
You know what is a good word? Procrastination. Its almost magical. Its lyrical. Pro-cras-ti-nation. For one its got a T. In fact its got two Ts. But thats just not it. Its got a 'ti' too... (Read ti as in tee).
The point of it all?
Don't ask me you loser, I didn't ask you to read it!
Go away now, I'm done for today.

If I were The Beatles

If only I were The Beatles. Maybe I am saying this only because grass is greener on the other side. Maybe I would have been stuck if a constant sense of dissatisfaction had I been The Beatles. Thats the deal with the Geniuses of the world. Yes, the Geniuses. With a capital G. They are full of shit.
The best Beatles song ever?
And I love her.
Yesterday it was Hey Jude.
And then there is Yesterday.
There is the tryst with Norwegian Woods.
And Strawberry Fields.
Of the fields.
The Fields.
I get this weird sense of satisfaction amongst the Capitals. Maybe We Should Write Like This. Thats the only way its fun.
Thats also probably the most annoying way to type ever ever.
Im weird today.
Bleah.
You know what the best wish ever would be?
If I could read your mind.
No, I am not yapping romanticism here.
I mean the opposite.
I mean if I could read Your mind.
You - a stranger.
It would be a clean slate. Like starting a book from the middle. Being out of context. I've always felt its safer to be out of context. Context is scarier. It attaches a meaning where none exists.
You are a Bastard. You are wondering in what contxt have I written this, aren't you?
Yes, I will add an emoticon here.
There - :)
Thats all you get.
Thats really all you get.
Today atleast.
Im still weird today.
If I got a dollar for every time my mood swung from one side to the other.
Thats another good wish.
Blah.
No, its Bleauh.

KASHMIR:The distant hour. A morning, a weeping afternoon or a silent night destroyed every hour that it never lived. All of them.The little twilight hours and a hope that rises again. The tempest. A thought, two thoughts, a third one…The apocalypse

- (ripped off the profile of this friend from facebook)

...

Kya bataoon maa kahan hoon main
Yahan udney ko mere khula aasmaan hai
Tere kisson jaisa bhola salona
jahan hain yahan sapno vala
Meri patang ho befikar udd rahi hai maa
Dor koi loote nahin beech se kaate na

Dilli 6

Dilli. The hot summers, the cold winters, the ever-so-short rainfalls, a drive along Rajpath at night, Route no 85 (m not kidding about this..!), purani sadak, janpath, GK, CP, Mandi House (for those who understand my extreme obsession with the place...!), Metro, Delhi University, Lodhi Road, the UN office with its fully packed but good for nothing security, the violet coloured dome of the Pakistani embassy,the wannabe-ish fast cars with tainted windows and blaring music, the ice cream vendors at India Gate, the Preet Vihar McDonalds, the sector 18 market, Big Chill at Khan Market, the forgotten beauty and myriad memories of Puraani Dilli, the treasure island that appeared only on sundays at Daryaganj, American Diners at IHC, IIC, the way back home from the never-ending circle of India Gate (Hahahahahahahaaaaa!!!), GIP, the hoardings at Pragati Maidan red light,NH 24, the pav bhaji stall opposite Parinam, the secluded ways in Pocket B, Sapru House Library, BCL, the beggers in Sector 18, the over enthusiastic shopkeepers at janpath.....
need i say more?

Bada kaske gale lagata hai,
Dhadkan ki dhun sunata hai,
Iske baaye taraf bhi dil hai,
Iske daaye taraf bhi dil dil hai,
Yeh shehar nahi mehfil hai
Yeh delhi hai mere yaar,

blah

It’s been quite a while
I’ve come so far
Choked at the voice of my own thought
I dream an endless maze
The czar demands a sacrifice
I have nothing to give
I sold my soul for a deadened rose
The rose spoke of a memory now forgotten
The ripples of black and white
The grayed touch of your smell
Your presence
The grace of being looked upon
You touched me without reaching out
And now I stand
Reaching out with both arms
I end up in vacuum
I think I’ve forgotten to breathe
Or was it to smile?