I don’t lie. Not when I am writing to myself. And especially when I am writing here. But yesterday I caught someone, a friend. Lying. I was hurt. I read the paragraph again and again. And I am sure that the same person when reading this would pluck a hair. Don’t ask me from where…ha ha
There are a few reasons, I believe, that prompt a person to lie. But here, on Blogger there is just one reason: A desire to reach an imaginative climax with mental masturbation.
There are writers, and then there are writers. Writers like the ones mentioned above, will talk about how the world is a weary place, and they will step back and look at the macro picture to present a worldly-wise view of everything they see around them. In the process, they will clutch their balls and weep at night about the size of their ping pongs...
In their desire to impress readers, or rather to hammer into themselves the belief that they are bastards of Freud or N Chaudhuri, they would unknowingly step over that thin razor sharp line which separates the ‘are-s’ from the ‘wannabes’.
Their whole life, they will write, molesting the keyboard in their bid to have satisfying ejaculations, but here, the seeds would need artificial insemination in unsuspecting minds. But what they don’t realise, is that the trick is not to masturbate. The trick is to give birth. And if they keep on lying, they will only be procreating artificial bastards like themselves.
And Freud or N Chaudhuri will continue disowning. In hindsight, it’s better to have a genuine father. But people lie about that too. :)
There are a few reasons, I believe, that prompt a person to lie. But here, on Blogger there is just one reason: A desire to reach an imaginative climax with mental masturbation.
There are writers, and then there are writers. Writers like the ones mentioned above, will talk about how the world is a weary place, and they will step back and look at the macro picture to present a worldly-wise view of everything they see around them. In the process, they will clutch their balls and weep at night about the size of their ping pongs...
In their desire to impress readers, or rather to hammer into themselves the belief that they are bastards of Freud or N Chaudhuri, they would unknowingly step over that thin razor sharp line which separates the ‘are-s’ from the ‘wannabes’.
Their whole life, they will write, molesting the keyboard in their bid to have satisfying ejaculations, but here, the seeds would need artificial insemination in unsuspecting minds. But what they don’t realise, is that the trick is not to masturbate. The trick is to give birth. And if they keep on lying, they will only be procreating artificial bastards like themselves.
And Freud or N Chaudhuri will continue disowning. In hindsight, it’s better to have a genuine father. But people lie about that too. :)
