Three things

If you're not a thinker, you're lucky.

I drive myself mad thinking about things - things that are probably absurd, totally out of context, yet at the end of it, I feel yet a little bit more enlightened than before I thought about it.

It happens to me every now and then. Ever wondered what would happen to you - your mind - if you thought deeper into things than you actually 'should'? Deeper than 'normal'?

You'd be me. You'd be abnormal, just like me. I am not like you. I look like you, just a little quiet, sometimes a little sad, mostly alone, but I ain't like you.

Maybe that's why I'm a writer, not a great writer, I know, but still, I am a writer.

I think... about things that might have nothing to do with you or me, at least on the cover, but deep down, what I eventually think out is the truth - a truth that most of us never cares about. And you shoulnd't actually. It doesn't really matter. Not to you.

But someone's gotta do it. Someone's gotta make it easy for you. Everyone, after all, can't think.

But it's a catch 22 situation... for me, a solution to which I might have found.

I think about stuff that's divine, stuff that could make me go insane when I relate it with something. But most of the times, my originality, or clarity in thought comes only when I'm high. I have no problems with that.

I totally believe to think crazy, you need to be on the other side. The fuck up, however, is that I think because I drink, and I forget because I get drunk.

Yesterday, I started to write down what I think. If I could count how many plots, how many ideas for books might have surfaced in my mind while drinking or smoking up during my life and eventually drowned in the high as well, I woulnd't be able to.

I dream of writing a book one day, every word of which will be written while I'm stoned. I just wanna see what comes out of it.

I've been getting a lot of mails - people telling me that my blog has changed. Some say the passion is lost, some say it's become very "different" than before, some say it's become "thoughtful", and it's almost certain my blog has lost quite a bit of it's traffic.

Most of the reason for it is that I can't access my office computer after midnight. Midnight is when I'm high, midnight is when my mind's at its best. I can write what I think.

I write so I can learn what I think.

I think as a kid I was stupid. I was strange. I did strange things. When I'd be bored, I'd walk into the kitchen, switch on the gas stove, and i'd pick up all the ants roaming around somewhere and then burn them alive!!!

I saw a small tiny little thing walking around on the bar counter yesterday. Really small.

As an instant reaction, just like probably anyone would do, I picked up the glass kept on the side to put it on top of that thing so as to crush it.

I stopped.

I wondered, what the hell is it doing to me? It's breathing, right. It may have somewhere to go, some things to do, right? It's a life after all.

Maybe I'm overreacting to the life of an ant, but how do you kill something you see walking around, for no rhyme or reason? Just because it's not supposed to be there?

How do you take away life? I don't think anyone has the right to. No law, no court, no judge should have the right to take away someone's right to breathe.

What's the idea of giving someone death penalty, that he isn't alive to commit the crime again. That in fact is the entire concept of law, to prevent crime.

What if the person, who's been sentenced to death for a crime, truly repented? What if it was the last murder he ever committed?

You want to punish him? Sure. Lock him up in a room for his entire life, give him basic things though, like a television, a nice bed, neat food, a neat toilet, and never let him come out of there.

That's quite a punishment.

But let the guy breathe for cryin out loud. Let him die a natural death.

Why do things enjoy killing other things?

Why did I enjoy killing those ants?