received a small bunch of flowers
who can not cry.
Dewdrops stream tears
over my death. Now I realised, I am dead.
My mail box shut its doors over the erudite, yet dirty, mean and bad world. I lost my words. I have no hands to open the mail box. There is no promise of a response from me. I am DEAD.
Dear Antonia, I am deeply HURT.I learnt something very profound : humans would remain the same – dirty,insular, with their characters set in ludicrous plot machinations. They claim to be readers of great thinkers, indulge in heated and laborious discussions about human nature, those intriguingly etched with an exquisite cross-sectioned human emotions. But the ludicrously revealing fact is that they are mere readers. They fail miserably at the moment, when they have to extend themselves to other humans and strike relationships. Understand a human as a human, talk to a human as a human, rather than treating the person as a piece of meat to be lusted after or as a human system that’s just worth the bag of coins/notes it is minting or sweating out for currently. I resist, human worth comes from many other factors, beyond the jingle of money bag he or she earns at a specific moment. These are like purely rational cogs in the modern mechanism and fail to enjoy truly a human experience devoid of many ambitions and desires (*meaningless. Anyway, they happen in those mammoth, cold and steely conference rooms and cubbyholes at the work place)…They cringe with fear, and there emerges a well-crafted plot from their insecurities to kill a genuine heart….I cry standing in my balcony. My hand is caressing a flower, which seemed so excited to tell many tales it heard from the butterfly.
And I still think about him. Yes, Mr Renzo Rosso, It’s A BIGG mistake. I have made lots of mistakes in my life and I will continue doing so, but I will always try to learn something positive from each.
Umm, it’s time to go back to the case study that I am working on “BRANDED HEDONISM” and that fuckn iconoclastic attitude to fashion.