Chewing the Cud

First things first. This catharsis was due. I do not know if I had a writers block, or whatever. I, however, strongly suspect that distraction, coupled with a healthy dose of stupidity had left me bewildered these past few years. Bewildered enough to take decisions, form ideas. But I would  like to tell myself that it has passed.It feels liberating to admit that I had been in denial indeed. I own up to who I am, would be a brazen, obvious statement. 

I just re read what i had been scribbling in these pages for the last few years.

Appalling. Lost time in which I could have been more expressive, at least summarize what was going on.

False promises are loose ends. 

I'm in two minds like always. But I have come to realize that it is indeed welcoming. 

I intend to post. Thoughts have been really sincere lately, rapt and engaging, constructive.
But I'm lazy. 

I want to make this a cheesy post about how my taste is changing BS, but I think I can't do that anymore. I'm way too brazen. 

I like travelling, but I'm outta money. Or I need more time to get about to it.

Everyone starts off with disrupting a structure. Then onward, they either soften or they pave their own streets.  They invited me over to a debate, an offer I declined at first but then agreed to later. I wanted to play the big-fish-in-a-small pond, I won. 

I spoke out that day, ended up learning that body language is plenty handy when you're hustling. 

I never had a clue that hustling can be so satisfying. I mean, that's exactly what I'm doing across the tables when I'm not managing the herd. Hustling my ideas over others', to have it my way. 

We are all control freaks and a little digression always ends in distress. Then again, it all settles down. 

This is getting slightly disconnected. I realized that the post will come out as a reflection. 

I miss Paris. I'm don't want to sound like I'm pretending to have spent years there, but during the short window of my stay the city has blessed me with its warmth. I have memories, few, but i do.

Everyone likes music and books. I like history, and stories that come with it. 

Lessons from the past are the only source of inspiration.

I like slow grooves now. More jazz with more coffee. Or the stories of despair emphasized in the hip-hop beats on the metro. 

I want to re-wind. Share memories (my version of events, feel free to judge) and either callously mention their bearings on my perspectives in a passive tone or dissect them.

Reddit is an informative website and censorship is bad. I hear opinions, I try to build concrete ones but they always end up ephemeral. That's a good thing in a way, tailored for the situation. One might also call them flexible.

I have realized that I love listening to music as much as i like gazing at paintings. These manifestations of creativity overwhelm my senses. That's why the museum hopping.

I spent two days at the Van Gogh and Rijks. Gogh, Gaugin, Vemeer and Rembrandt. I have witnessed all except one of Van's works. 

Pere La-chaise was beautiful. Morrison's hotel with Wilde, Chopin and Chaplin. Bless them.

Yes, I love chocolates. I like coffee (I think I said that) and waffles and fougasse. 

It feels right to feel right. Not right - winged but. Sometimes I feel like presenting my ideas on an open platter, but I exercise sufficient restraint. I believe it is best to respect borders others have set up, although I need not have my own.