This thing,they call it blog,goes out to all the lonely people waiting for someone or something. To all the lonely people,you are not alone. But all that I have told is what I do, not who I am. So I will start again. Why did I start with my name? Does my name define me? If my name was something else, would I have been a different person altogether? Come to me, my friend,. I will hold you tight. When you are not up to your mark,. When you are in dark,.

No wolf has ever been so radical. Long time, no post. Yaay! Friday, December 19. Walking on a lonely road amongst evergreen trees, capped with snow, as the rays of the setting sun reflects a golden glow on the snow flakes by your feet .

How many clacians can you find in the photo? Friday, July 03, 2009. Compressing through a Key Hole. Most important, however, a blogger, at least who wants readers, has to be and should want to be a wanton exhibitionist. I heard you play your guitar. Me? Teach someone to play the guitar? But Wait, there usually is a catch to such offers. I went to the hall .

When you want to know another side of nonsense. Monday, November 23, 2009. MBAs became masters of arbit jargon by years of constant practice, starting with their 2 years in b-school. The starting point, however, is a small set of terms that form the basis for a successful career in BS-ing. If you wonder where your manager learnt to be a. Saturday, September 12, 2009.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens . Brown paper packages tied up with strings . These are a few of my favorite things . When the dog bites . When the bee stings . I simply remember my favorite things . Monday, August 21, 2006. It was a peaceful death, she was a happy soul and died with a smile on her face.

Sunday, September 19, 2010. Monday, September 13, 2010. Meanwhile, the move watching junta had slowly and steadily divided into a.

At this point, the top half of the outfit came off and a wizened Chinese lady emerged with a wad of dollar bills in her hand. I invite any Times Square haters reading this to Beat That. What the Columban had, however, was that rare, fuzzy warmth which I can only best describe as a sense of. How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb. I wrote my first short story when I was eleven.