Navigating The Blog

Labels

This Blogsite can be navigated with ease with the help of Labels. Simply click on the three lines on the top right corner and open the 'Labels' dropdown menu. It looks like this-

Labels are used to find desired posts on specific topics.

The Poetry and Prose Labels are linked to works of literature by me, or reviews of literature by others.

"Informative" Label are topics I share about which I found fascinating to read/listen about.

I also find it useful to organise some of my philosophical arguments / existential crisis' or shower thoughts (if you will) by grading them.

Scale 1 - Pretty much rambles.

Scale 2 - Everyday thoughts that are not necessarily abstract. 'Shower thoughts', if you will.

Scale 3 - Is when they get a bit more serious and are something to ponder about.

Scale 4 - Is when the ideas are so unique and awe inspiring that I find myself obsessing about it for long durations of time with no conducive end. (Rare)

There is no real difference between each scale but as the Introduction page says,

this organising is mostly for me ;)

(But you will find more posts with labels only on the scale of 1 and 2 as I am dimwitted :)

Have fun reading!

An Ode to Rain

An Ode to Rain “So what’s your favourite time of the year?” she asked, swinging a crossed foot lazily in the air, as she swirled a stirrer in a tiny cup of hot chocolate. Perhaps the time when I used to lick melted drops of vanilla from the back of my hand? blind to the fact that I was painting a modern art piece on the pavement with ice cream. What a charming memory. Summer, I should say. What about the little shivers my feet do, tucked away in the layers of heavy blankets, while my nose and ears complain of the biting cold to my toes. Hot soups, lazy mornings, clouds from the mouth when I speak and hoodies with cosy pockets to slide my hands into. Winter beats summer, surely. To be fair, I was born in spring, the perfect gradient from the cold seasons to hot summers. Just the right temperature, reasonably humid with a drizzle of rain here and there. It had never been dramatic enough to create a lasting memory of itself though. Glancing out the cafe’s window to an overcast sky

Mayfly Philosophy

One humid night outside my front door, I was sitting in boredom waiting for the sun to go down so I could maybe catch the twilight dusk. The sky turned dark pretty fast that day and it wasn't nearly as impressive as the day before. Flies started buzzing all around and to my surprise, were suddenly gone. In intrigue, I looked up. Turned out, the light above the door frame had been turned on. Like a pilgrimage, little bugs from all around flew right up to it and made tapping sounds at the glass casing. At first I felt pitiful. For these tiny beings could only have so much energy and were wasting it for no reason. Almost like they wanted to break into the bulb and touch the filament, they battered their heads on the glass repeatedly. Fluttering their little wings with all their might. It was indeed pitiful to watch. Still is, whenever I see them. Near bulbs, tube lights, signboards or open fires. “How could one of nature’s creations be so flawed?” I thought. Moreover, it wasn’t like m

My Notes-app Up For Auction

It’s a late night with Alex Turner on full blast in my ears, never on the speakers though. To make others around feel the full weight of unsolicited emotion of music, feels wrong. Who am I kidding, perhaps they don’t feel a thing. How rude. The flair of words seems to have abandoned me today so it’ll be bare bones. I find myself constantly backspacing the words I type with a vigour. A quickly written sentence followed by a slight pause full of fear, before my finger reaches out to the delete button on the far right. Desperately trying to put the tarp back on naked emotions uncovered bare. No more backspacing though. I’ve even gotten rid of the Grammarly extension. It shows me how a sentence rephrased, sounds more assertive but I digress. Enough fine tuning. Times like these I wish I had a typewriter. Imagine a canvas pedestal with hands, pointing to the parts where the acrylic paints fail to smudge. No one would ever pick up a paintbrush. Okay, enough rambling. This would have been be

Kopfkino

Search This Blog