Aladdin

Someone sent me a diary on excel today. Being used to writing by pen on paper in middle of the night, a soft version seemed like worth a try. the trouble started when i found that i had a lot to say, plenty of things to account for in 15 days of 09. Having abandoned the routine, it’s difficult to let go of this state of unaccountability. Well begin is half done people say, can't say I started out well, but then i didn't expect to, and it didn't matter as the pain or happiness lasts for 15 minutes and then there is a something brand new to encounter. As the day winds down there is nothing much to account for it, no debits, no credits, just another day gone by in the series of interminable days of light amid infinite sea at the centre of earth. No one knows I exist, I do not see much evidence of others either. it's a journey full of adventure except that even though the grind of enterprise might be good in afterthought; the boiling springs scald flesh now nonetheless and it is pretty boring to be frank. No that's not my name, I am not Frank though I liked his music in good old days, if I ever did get a chance to hear it that is. It started out exactly one year ago, my adventure trip with interminable pauses. that was when i had finally arrived at the famous oasis in the middle of desert. The oasis was as they should be, full of hustle and bustle and banters and fights; full of life that place was. Now that i recall with by green tinted specs, the oasis seems so much greener and happier than what it seemed at that point of time. That is what green tinted specs are made for I am told and I do not complain. When you are bitter, even happiness from days bygone hurts you somewhere deep inside; it still means you are alive. I refuse to be bitter-i hope it won't hurt as much this way, and it does not, not even as much as i expected, and i feel cheated/scared/ afraid. I will not write my account- I know I have some bad entries to settle, I do not want to be precise, I wish to keep the fickle hope alive that this might all be a mistake, that It might all turn out well in the end. ( That much I know- it will turn out well in the end. How? well I did a bit of cheating, I turned the last page of this little book, I blacked out the last few paragraphs and rewrote these in exactly the same font, I even replaced the last pages later so that you would not even notice..) When you live in short bursts, first thing you need is survival, and then you have so much time to do these things once your unconscious mind takes over the essentials.. if you have ever been out to sea for days, alone in vast expense except for your emails and unfilled diaries, you'd know what i am talking about, to some extent i guess..
Why did I start this journey? The simple answer is that it was not my choice. what was my choice then? To be a fisherman. Why? because it gave me a chance to be alone at sea, all by myself, away from everything I wanted to stay away from, taste new-old saline, become the another footnote in the endless list of people who conquered the sea-which is interesting as it might better be described as surviving the sea in your little or not-so-little boat, not dying from drowning, sea sickness, or by boredom, or by other unpleasant means if you've got company.
So my dear friends, I am out to conquer the sea, find the lost worlds and untold riches, and that is because there is nothing better to do.
I have sailed far out to sea because I am afraid of the lost world that has been growing within. I am scared of the rain forest that keeps creeping up all around. This forest has gobbled up almost everything of my past already, I almost feel home with the fresh breeze inside, new life created from old, eating up the dead-wood, or killing it for the purpose. I like the sound of new eating up old- it makes for good excuse-or is it the hallucinogens from the parasites?
At the moment it's philosophical question and thus one might put it aside till one catches the lunch and dinner and of course the treasure outside..
I have always believed in treasure islands, which is quite surprising for skeptic me.
It's a good distraction in any case.
Now is the time to talk about the treasure then- the big fish (the BIG FISH). The big fish and I share a bit of history you might not be interested in. the big FISH and i were great pals once; really close chums. Then something happened that created bad blood. What was it? The great treasure the big FISH gobbled up dishonestly-without sharing, without making the sacrifice for me. Now I am out to reclaim the trophy. (Trophy? for what? well for itself...Maybe... I don't know.. We shall see...)
It's dusk, a time where you are not supposed to do pretty much anything, except of course, telling stories and listening them.. Soon it will be night...

shah of blah