Karachi calling

Morning time, Saddar, Karachi, Pakistan

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What does it mean to be a writer these days?

Long gone seem the days when Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg sat at their typewriters, chain smoking shoddy cigarettes and creating works that stood the test of time. Even more far afield is however Oscar Wilde went about it. Today, if you are reading this, piece or whatever, you know someone sat behind a PC or a Mac and mashed out a jumble of words, a hipster trying to sound like she knows something about something, all the while never sure if she is making spelling errors along the road in her quest to be “heard” and “understood” and that all illusive dream: Taken Seriously.

I am tempted to run the spell checker, tempted to through in relevant pop-culture references to sound informed and aware and up to date. But the truth is that I wish i didnt have multiple tabs open in my Firefox, a youtube, a hotmail, a gmail, a google and that worst of all, a facebook. I wish I wasnt distracted. I wish I could actually WRITE!

Sometimes, in the dark…

So I realize I have nothing to do. I realized this a little while ago. Instead of doing anything to counter the languor, I have decided to veg out and float about like a cloud. I wanted to see how much leeway I would allow my mind, how far it would drift before my own natural inhibitions and limitations pulled it back.

If you love something, set it free, if you love it true, it will come back

And so, she says to her mind, “be free! go forth and do as you will and we shall see where we may meet again”.

Every now and then my mind will send me a post card. The last one was addressed somewhere in Aruba. My mind always liked warmer, beachy places so this doesn’t surprise me. Before that he was somewhere in Argentina looking at people getting down to the sexy tunes and wondering, “why the hell did I not take latin dance classes sometime in my life?”

Note to self: enroll in latin dance classes

We really like our throbbing beats and sultry nights, warm climates, clear waters. We like the smell of salt and oranges, coconuts and chocolate. There’s nothing like the smell of of lazy indulgence. I envy my mind it’s freedom.

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Well here I am

So this is not my first attempt at blogging. This will however, hopefully be more successful than all previous attempts. One of the reasons I really want it to work out is that I am going through some changes. I am by nature a generally creative person. I paint, I draw, I even like colouring books as a stress relief option. I’m not half bad with a camera either. And of course, I write. I just wanted one place where I could chronicle my life and what i get up to, the things I fall in love with, and the the things I hate.

I just want to keep track.

So this is a rantlogue, a DIY blog, a cooking and recipe collection, short story dumping ground, the guilty-pleasure shitty poetry box that smells of old roses, a travelogue and just a mishmash of my happy place.

Welcome penguins, to the machine!