I am the kind of philanthropist who doesn’t try very hard to express his gratitude for humanity. It’s all up there-in the control centre. I know what I am. I am a maverick who hasn’t yet realized the potential of this world to turn you against what you believe in. I am like that needle in the haystack which lays there, emotionless, cold, forgiving, tactless, helping,all at the same time, doing everything that fulfils the duties of a philanthropist except the self preservation agenda. The one which so easily makes you left out, makes you alienated in your own kind of way. It is when you feel sympathetic for those empathizing with you. It is these moments which push me in the dreary forests of imagination. Imaginations- running livid in the sanctuary of my ‘definite’ brain, pouring in from grotesque perspectives, presenting a situation and decimating within no time. It becomes frustrating at once, you feel like composing yourself. You do compose yourself, only to realize that now your start contemplating the thought more arduously. Then, there is the moment of distraction and you go blank. You come back with the light of the distraction and merely become a part of it. And this is how you think, forget and carry on.

It is as good as getting high.

Btw, it feels good to reflect on your past, absurd to write about present and trifling to write about future.


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