So after experimenting with a whole range of new templates, I have settled for this basic black one. I am growing old, I think. In literature, music and art I am beginning to appreciate minimalism more and more.
Now with all that gah is this reluctance to write. Maybe it is because nobody reads this blog anymore. I seldom come back to it. When I started this blog, it was about writing what I felt like and suchlike. But somewhere down the line, this blog, too, has become a performance. I think I always look for an audience. No matter how much I value inwardness. One part of me longs to creep into myself and never look out. The other part wants to be looked at while creeping in. And to admit this has taken some time and a lot of hibernation.
But this rusty green iron table is not to be discarded, yet.
Now with all that gah is this reluctance to write. Maybe it is because nobody reads this blog anymore. I seldom come back to it. When I started this blog, it was about writing what I felt like and suchlike. But somewhere down the line, this blog, too, has become a performance. I think I always look for an audience. No matter how much I value inwardness. One part of me longs to creep into myself and never look out. The other part wants to be looked at while creeping in. And to admit this has taken some time and a lot of hibernation.
But this rusty green iron table is not to be discarded, yet.
