RANDOM

I am sixteen years and twelve days old. Yes, I am a teenager but weird enough, I often pretend to be much older than what I am and whenever i do so, the repercussions are nonetheless mere catastrophe.
Even as I'm typing right now, I keep wondering what to write further.I am completely blur and clueless due to agonizingly unavoidable boredom. I just want to blog, no matter how sensible or crappy my posts are. I just feel so relaxed and fulfilled when i write or blog. Well, I always wanted and still want to be a novelist in future.
Does it not feel wonderful when you get to express all your compressed feelings, notions and wild imaginations in such constructive ways like journals, novels and etc?? no matter how pathetic your works are, you will undeniably always have someone more pathetic than you who would phlegmatically read and enjoy your writings with nothing better to kindle in life and would later on classify your work of sheer insanity into some weird genre. it happens, always. Therefore, my advice, never be afraid to express yourself thinking that you will be despised and be sought after as a joke material as out of the whole of 9 billion human population walking on the face of Earth, definitely there will be someone just like you.
Getting back to square one,once again, I ask myself, what am I typing? The perfect answer is, I seriously have no convincable ideas my mind could think of right now. So, upon reading this piece-of-whatever-you-would-call-read-if-you-have-nothing-better-to-do-post, try your best to cope with me. I warn you, I write randomly on random topics at random times. I don't stick to one solid topic , after all, what can you expect from a typical, turbulent sixteen year old? Any better options , eh chap?
Prior to writing this utopia of lifelessness, I was thinking of just making life not so complicated by writng short notes on what I did throughout the day in my whatsthename-flower-scented little diary i bought six dreadful years back. However, luck as usual was not on my side. The diary was too thin, frail and undernourished for me, a complicated being who never knows how to be stingy with ink and papers.Do not blame me for that. Blame my no-good-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather. Nah, i never had a great great grandfather who loves to steal pigs. It's just a figure of speech i am fond of using due to this subtly humorous tone.
Another reason of why I happily declined the idea of diary writing is because I hate the maniac idea of diary writing where you have to list out all the silly things you did throughout the day. I mean, lets be real, why would anybody, including myself, be interested in writing and reading about me brushing my teeth twice a day (occasionally), bathing, watching Tv and etc? I do know that some people enjoy doing that, I am not ridiculing them , yet, my point is, what is the point of you doing so?
Whatever that you read or write should have some impact, some benefit, a sheer inner satisfaction and delight.I personally achieve inner satisfaction by writing in first or third person's point of view in a rather analytical and critical tone based on random subjects, be it human beings, places, current issues or even paranormal activities with pure honesty and sarcasm to garnish my dish.
Does it not drive you nuts when you have so much to say and you are never given the oopurtunity to speak, forcing yourself to lay silently, shackled and manacled within? After constant struggling, your effort seems to be of no avail. You end up losing all your zest to voice out and eventually give in helplessly. It always happens between parents and teenagers, an undefeatable norm of Asian way of life. Just imagine, when you, an already grown-up beast who is shamefully not mute and audible to all sorts of weird languages around you can't speak your mind, imagine the devastation and agony undergone by newly-born babies who could never successfully convery their actual demands and needs to the adults and always end up wailing and crying as their final resort? They smirk and smile provided they are given miraculously occasional privacy when they are not cuddled and left alone in their beds. However, these smiles too are misinterpreted by merciless adults who immediately lift the poor toddlers and cuddle them to the extent of suffocating them. Do you not know that karma even works for babies?
A grotesquely proportioned unclassified and yet to be specified being just walked past me and is now menacingly sitting cross-legged in front of me. Observing the rarity of these types of existence just moves me within and i despise God at times for being so heartless when creating such creatures. What a pity, I wonder. Nonetheless, i'm describing my one and only little brother, the insane child prodigy who is the cause of my blood's constant boiling. Looking at him slithering around and vying the corners of his room like a bloodthirsty vampire on a relentless blood hunt, I can assure you that he is just waiting to strike me down and start another fight. Yet, no way, not today, not today. Since I'm completely to my computer, he breathes haevily like an angry bull and storms away. My mother on the other side, is gaping into the television watching her favourite typical-waste-of-time-and-energy-watching indian serials, not bothered about either of us, at least I hope she's not, denying the fact that she is restlessly breaking her knuckles and furiously peeping into my direction every now and then.
The clock on my right which I call prehistoric as it has been under my family's possesion even before my existence ticks away phlegmatically from one miserable second to another. Its 7.13 p.m. My fingers are getting weak and tired after constantly tap dancing on my keyboard. My brains are slowly shutting down. The night is still young, yet this young genius is getting too tired. I now end my post by saying "it may not always be a perfect beginning, ut it should end nothing less than perfect".

Good night.