Albert Einstein's dog said: Bow!

After close to a billion years, Men still don't seem to be able to tell in public that all they love is tits and asses.

Occasionally they tend to love the carriers as well. Which is when the dolts call it "love". Love doesn't exist. Sex does.

The point is not sex. Usually is. That will be dealt with soon on my blog. But not this time.

The point this time is my growing beard and my twisted mind.

Today, after 20 years of patient waiting, I finally got my first genuine schizophrenic attack. Usually when I bang a chair on the wall or tear away whole magazines it is after coming to that precise decision; that nothing else will do to vent my frustration. But this time I didn't have to think. In fact for two seconds prior and until two seconds after I had no idea what went on.

I got up from the chair, was looking down and had a whole deluge of fucked up thoughts running course in my mind. I sure wasn't thinking what to do next then. And then, out of the blue I started drilling my fist in to the helmet. For some 4 odd seconds there was no stopping me. I had zero control over myself. I doubt I'd have restrained myself if it were steel nails I had in front of me, or some person for that matter. The minute I regained some sense of occasion I was so abysmally embarrassed that I had to smile at myself. I wasn't planning on such an ostentatious show of frustration. It certainly didn't do much to make my image in front of a class.

I'm glad it happened. I'm just glad that I could at last become genuinely psychotic for a few seconds:-)

I love psychology and astronomy and management studies. And they have absolutely nothing in common save the few vowels and consonants. By the way, I'm stuck with graduating in Mechanical Engineering.

That says a lot about me I think.

About the growing beard part, I'm 20. What do you expect?

I am not as interesting as I used to be before, at least online. I can't talk fun anymore. I miss someone a lot. Not 'coz I wanna spend the rest of my life with her, do heroic things to save her from the clutches of the evil dragon or 'coz I love her so deeply and truly and madly and can do anything for her; just that I miss her. And even accepting that makes my ego raise a serious question mark at the face of my masculinity.

I hate people when they make elaborate statements about their love. It sucks.

I hate expressive people, some thing about them always make me feel they are faking big time.

I hate people who smile a lot, most often than not they are cunning.

I hate the smell of rust, and I love the smell of petrol.

I hate it when people keep ranting about their shit. I personally believe your shit is yours. Why spread the stench?

I hate it when I'm made to wait on people. I wanna kill the ones who make me wait.

I hate being in social gatherings. I despise the public. Their voices disgust me to the point that I'm perennially afraid my tympanum would vaporize.

I hate not knowing everything. I'm trying to come to terms with it.

I hate when I'm made to feel like I can't understand something. When something appears beyond my scope.

I hate a bloody lot of things.

In fact of all the zillion things you can generate at random, the only ones I like are the ones with my family. The only people I care about. If you are not my family and you think I love you, you are wrong. I don't. I'm incapable of loving people forever. I get bored of your rational, regular, orderly humdrum existence. I see what you are, before you figure out what I'm. I honestly am not bothered about you.

So to the rest of the world that I hate, I say, Eat my shit. You're worth it.