Slave

I feel, in no other way, that writing should be brutally instinctive. It should be a reflection of the inner and true personality, which is seldom reflected to the outer space. In fact, it could also pass off as a definition of an artist's work. I have never had the sensibility of one. But today it seems to be coming to me, no exaggeration this, with oodles of help from the beautiful weather at cochin and the saturday blues (seems unbelievable, but they have been there sporadically in my life). So much so that i have decided to write without a rough draft straight onto this writing space.

I used to always think that the worst time in my life would be when i would stop dreaming. Pushing me out from my mundane life. But i realise there is something even worse. I have been working without retrospection for the past few months in alien conditions. But in this little rare moment of retrospection, i realise i have outdone my worst fear. What have i become? A slave of someone else s dream.