Insanity on the menu

I do not feel like writing anything that makes the least bit of sense to anybody. Why should it, and why should I? After struggling with what to write for a few minutes, I want to laugh. Yet sitting in an empty room, laughing does not seem a lot of fun. With beautiful song playing on my computer, I am thinking of this and of that. Soon the room will be filled with one or two more creatures of the night like me. It feels good to be able sing out loud once in a while. What good will thinking about anything do? I suddenly feel this - I cannot do better than my best. I cannot. I have practically stopped praying for myself. I am not going to break this up into paragraphs - I am sick of writing proper compositions whole day. I am into self pity again - I read this post saying that bloggers are always whining about their lives - at least I do something that is contemporary. I am amazed by my friend's ability to work wonders, even when he has to worry about a roof on his head, and his wife. I read at least ten random blog posts today, thinking each time, which of those lives were better than mine. Hindsight is 20-20, but why do I do what I do - I need to remember that. Why am I afraid, and what am I afraid of - I need to remember that too. Too many hyphens are bad writing style, but considering what many people are writing these days, a few extra dashes won't harm anybody. I do not know what is next. I know what I want: I mean eventually. Well that too, maybe I know. Okay, I have a fair idea. Why is the next thing always important? There was a time when I could gaze at the sky and wonder. Today, when there is a full moon in the sky, on the 36th anniversary of the first moon landing, where is that wonder? My last crush was quite some time back, and my present one is kind of half way. Most unsatisfactory. Why won't the new Tomb Raider game work on my home PC. Well, actually I know the answer to that one, but still! Today I must have murdered at least 50 ants when I stepped on a colony of ants. What business did they have in the middle of my room? Incessant thinking. How do I stop this? Will a bullet through the gray matter help? Will it hurt very bad after that? Have you ever seen the lines on the palm of your hand change? I wrote a dark poem yesterday. I sketched all night the day before that. Potential to create. Creating something burns fuel. What is burning? So many many things to do. Yet. There was a time when I could write without caring who was reading. Even when nobody was. Will it ever come to that? To giving this up. If "this kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime," will I have other lifetimes? What kind of people die alone? Okay, this is getting too morbid! I ate a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut all by myself. Indulgence and bad teeth. I read Sanskrit after a very long time. And also a Batman comic. I have started my second Bangla novel. There are times when it feels good to be alive. Somebody seems to have appeared behind me, and is complaining that his monitor is not working. Does only sleeping beauty get a prince charming? What exactly is feminine in the words "sleeping" and "beauty?" I guess sleeping beauty can also get a princess charming as well. Now don't blame me for corrupting a fairy tale. Fairy tales are for fairies only. I am not one. Though what would it be like to be a fairy? What does one call a male fairy? Mairy? Till more madness takes hold... adieu.