A TIRING PROLIXITY.

The train of thoughts has enough amount of the measure of motion, to run down any other wild beast of imagination that dares to cross paths with the galloping giant. The intemperate crush of this ruthless juggernaut is such that even in its……obviously this is not going anywhere. I mean, just look at the hackneyed ‘train of thought’ and ‘the beast of imagination’ expressions. Huh… I can’t imagine where these ideas come from, and definitely not, the proper substitutes for them. Yes, you can keep flooding my comments section by pouring in your vomits on what could have been the suitable alternatives for the aforementioned ideas. Also, I thought if you could help me on what could have been a suitable place for these giants, the mechanical and the biological ones, to collide, the feeling would sink better into your minds. What is important before you read further, expecting the writing to pick up, is a little insight into the frame of mind of the writer.

I have no idea why am I even wasting 3 drops of ink and the only available sheet of paper in my room, in writing something ‘literature’ I don’t know the contents of. But it has been tiring- to sit down every time and try to think, and eventually, prove everyone wrong (the ones who think my writing deserves a reading, and even those who think I don’t write well enough to be writing a blog. Either ways, I am on the safer side when I say this). With the quantity randomness and Brownian motion my thoughts possess, one actually ends up in comments stating the visible digression from the original thoughts, which remarkably is true, though, and about the strangeness of the characters in the no-longer-the-sane(can be replaced with same, as well) plot. I have honestly been trying to write something that does not have any starting point and which does not seem strange. Your job is to keep flooding my inbox with the extent of strangeness and digression. Ultimately, it sounds the success knell.

You see, whenever I try to swim across the “river” of my “_______” (you have the liberty to call whatever this is, a sea as well), there is this flood (you will then have the swelling tides to disturb you). And with one short breath, a novice swimmer, who did not attend the first six days of a swimming camp, invariably drowns. Particularly, when I try to avoid the gaze of an over-enthusiastic coach, is when I feel I should have gotten myself a beaker, at least. Bathing would have been a lot easier then. Joining the camp, in here has been just another attempt towards satisfying one’s voyeurism. But you see, with the water level reaching my shoulders, given I don’t know anything about making correct movements when in water, I don’t even have the leisure of the so-much-craved-for ‘nayansukh’; one either ends up in swallowing the chlorinated pool water, which today bore a great semblance to an insect bed (how I wish it were roses instead of those creepy insects), when the approach is a causal one, or ends up being kicked out of the pool by someone called the PTI and landing in deep trouble, on the grounds of “tharak”, when one tries to be overly cautious. Either ways, you risk your own life (career would have been more appropriate). The pool water along with the insects and the poisonous, dissolved human waste (children and adults have equal shares in this contribution) is an environmental hazard; and the professors’ family leads you into a feud with him, verbal was well as academic. Ehh…. What is the most appalling is the irrelevant itch in the coach’s loins, when the object of voyeurism is not the professors’ families, but the institute girls.

Yeah, I have joined the swimming camp.