have i really said anything in that last post? besides leaving personal markers for myself which no one else will get? can i really write that after watching a few ultra stylish hong kong lives lived through their disintegration, i related pinpoint to (ay, there's the rub) my own insecurities about my own life? adding all that i've of late gone through to an already formidable 32-bit many-hued list.. with insecurity stemming from the fact that i somehow define my world-self in terms of what the world thinks of me.. and my world? ha my world seems to have stopped caring a long time back.. people whom i thought were friends have changed, have changed.. so when i look into that mirror to see what i look like, i see nothing, just vague, formless, nothing - and it scares the living daylights out of me. and its scarier to think that no one else is looking, not because they don't care, but because they're afraid of what they'll find there. so i begin to suspect that i'm crazy, that underneath the unconscious self living with thoibi and ma and baba in security, sanity and warmth lurks an unspoken insane self whose unspeakability is evident to just about everyone. unreal? who knows. result of too much staying alone? god, this is nothing new. all these thought patterns identifiably recur, like the halley's comet returning. tchah.

fucking moths all flying around, with yesterday's angelic heavy brown wings.