About Me

!nversed Poignancy!

...I am an eclectic amalgamation of many seemingly paradoxical things. This can be exemplified in both my seemingly endless persistance on many topics and arguments, as well as my careful cautiousness on other topics and arguments. This is largely due to how astute I am of the topic: more knowledge, more persistant; less knowledge, obviously more cautious. I also have times of obsessive compulsions regarding certain things (mostly just my thoughts, however)...

Life and Death

!nversed Poignancy!


An assembly

Possibly impossible

Perfectly interchangeable..


That lives most upright

Beyond the unspoken

Neither a squiggle nor a quibble..

She and Me

!nversed Poignancy!


A daffodil

Tyrannizer of me

Breaking the colors of dusk!..


The rising sun

Infringed with violations

The impurity in the salt..

Love and Poetry!

!nversed Poignancy!


A puerile desire

Buried in the heart

Never leaves..


Sentimentally melodramatic

Cursively recursive

My thoughts idiotic!

Writers writing about writing may seem to be a highly conceited act. Since I am not reeaaally a writer, or at least I don't claim myself to be one, I guess me giving tips on writing can be taken casually. Preferably with a pinch of salt. I may not have contributed much to the world of print but I do know a thing or two about being a connoisseur for writing. Apart from blogging and writing articles currently, I used to write award winning poems and short stories during my earlier days. Overtime everyone develops a style of doing something; anything. For writing, I know I have a certain style by now, though there is way too much room for polishing up.

The initial stage is the creative process which is something that we do not need to understand. There is nothing to understand because creativity does not have to make sense.

Creativity starts with a feeling. The kind of feeling to do something on an instinct. Artists, just like writers, start off by doing a piece of work randomly. It may not make any sense for a start, but at most times it triggers off a new idea in the artist's mind to create something creative. Same thing happens to writers, initial works may be shown the path to recycle bins but end up being useful by sparking off something of value in the writer's mind. Probably that is why recycle bins are named as such, to be recycled. Anyway, once we get an idea, we have to grab it quickly, just like grabbing a seat in an extremely crowded bus, and hold on to it in order to use it.

The creative process may seem complex. To ease the complexity we can simply develop the good old habit of reading. Actually not can, but we should read. Unless we read, we can't write. It is as simple as it gets.

The next simple, or maybe not so simple, task is to write frequently. As frequently as possible as much as time permits. Okay that seemed like a redundant statement but you get the point. The more we write the lesser the chances of getting a writer's block. When I mention writer's block, I don't mean getting some column to write in a magazine but I am refering to a mental block in terms of writing. The more we write, the more we learn to write in a fluid manner and develop a style of our own along the way if we have not got one already.

As we continue writing, we will slowly discover our voice. When that happens, we get to know about ourselves better.

Oh and one more thing, of course the nitty gritty details like grammar and spelling errors have to be avoided. That's right, totally avoided. For people like me *ahem*, it has become a habit long ago but that is because I made sure I was conscious of that. Proofreading is of high importance. Proofreading one more time after proofreading is of high recommendation. Most people don't enjoy it but fortunately I do.

Speaking of which, I just got to know some time back that there is actually a job for proofreading alone. Hmm, I am seriously considering it. Anyway, if you find the above useful, try it. If you don't, hmm, try it anyway because there is something to be gained along the way I am sure.
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I'm famous.

People recognize me. Some call my name. Others give me things. TV stations film me. I attend gatherings thrown in my honor.

All from fifteen years living on the street.
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I was caught for words
because the only words
I knew and could say
was those pesky four-letter words
You know the kind that
would bleep out on the television

The kind that would make
the spine curl, the dick shrivel
and would cause the nation
to loose the war

So I said them anyway
just for the hell of it
Nothing bad happened
except for the priest
gnashing his false teeths
for a minute or so
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