broline

On the matter of some soulful singing

2008-12-27T21:03:00.002+05:30

He steals your Interests without anything as to much as an acknowledgement. He steals your favorite songs.

…how he puts himself into the songs he sings. For an accomplished if not talented singer it’d have seemed rather normal or even great, but with him it’s all the more awkward as he infuses “plans” into what’s thought to be a tune.

He uses his middlefinger to press down on the inner flap of his right ear. What’s the deal with that? (in Seinfeld fashion, by the way…) I really don’t know I may not have a point here but will you tel me what that’s supposed to help with. Would that make his voice clearer or how the original strand of sound is produced. Would that help him concentrate more on the tune at hand.

He thumps a little tune on the table with his fingers as he sings.

His head moves with the way he sings … his hand moves tracing a tune … his face emotes awkwardly to contour each word he sings… his hand gestures as if he’s teaching his lone bunch of music freaks.

This is the place where …

2008-12-27T17:17:00.001+05:30

I’ve started again, to write about him. This must be crazy. I’ve turned crazy. He may be among the stupidest people I know. If he’d a strand of humane thought in him, I’d rejoice. Now, I’ve nothing like that even in far-distant domains and it itself is a pipedream, I guess.

He doesn’t know about this place. That there exists something documenting the saga. This must be crazy. I’ve turned a paranoid, putting together fresh madness.

It’s the strangest thing, like everything else. The way strangeness sits between us, when we’re at a table, he owns most of it. Yes, I’ve admit if not blatantly that I’ve a shitty bro.

Among other things, I HATE his singing his voice is the stupidest when he sings.

To write about him, he’s a self-confessed double-lifer. He rarely talks to his dad. Rarely, really really rarely. He mostly uses mom to get his things done.

I wish I could put sanity into his head, wherever he’s headed. But we don’t talk. He wouldn’t call it sanity that I’m trying to put across to him.

The talking whenever it happened in the past come with restrictions. Not restrictions wholly, I’d say, like added risks he’d use an old old story, re-invent it to his advantage and use it against me.

It’s the stupidest to be around this bro.

It’s easier to let it happen. Like I don’t notice anything. Letting it be.

The meteor heading for collision.

It’d be my sweet revenge for his plotting cold war against me.

This is the story of me at least a part of it. Every part of this is real. I’m not the one re-inventing old things to make anything (even, a good read) out of it!

This is about my Bro

2008-10-28T17:25:00.000+05:30

Who I don't really like.
But it wasn't always like that.

I now think, it wouldn't be the same anymore. Like it was some 5 or so years back, when all was normal and okay. Then, I used to like my bro. We made dreams that we'd fulfill together. Ah, not anymore. I wish, it wouldn't be ... but, it isn't. Our worlds have begun spinning in totally opposite directions...

Now, we don't speak to each other anymore. We sit at a table in a restaurant, both our eyes never crossing each other. I look at him and he looks away. I keep looking at him and he keeps looking away.

This blog is my (or rather, OUR) story.