Novel & Cerita Poem On Daily Life

My life would continue the same, and at least I had weed. I sat down in Nabbo’s chair and took another puff on the pipe. Nothing happened. It had gone out. There was always the cooking fire, I could light it off that. I half rose out of the seat before noticing that had also gone out. The whole time we’d been here, the fire was always burning, except now. It was just so typical of my life, I couldn’t help but smile. The universe always had a way of letting me know how much of a fuck it didn’t give about me. Don’t be sad, it seemed to say. Things might seem bad now, but they could always be a little bit worse. Let me show you...

#Day 5 Tick tock, tick tock time goes on, but my life is stuck, my brain always going through a turmoil of emotions and storm of bitter memories, but my life has come to a stand still, you know why is that, because no matter how many storm comes, you still stand in the middle of it completely unaffected and rooted to your place, like a fucking stubborn leech, sucking my life out of me. ................................................. #Day 6 Today I looked myself in the mirror, I have wide black shadows under my eyes, I am loosing weight at the rate which will make me extinct from the face of Earth within a month or two. I am alive on sleeping pills which will put me to sleep to give way to

I lash out the memories away and start swaying my head and following the beat of the song. Today my life begin ....

**** Aaj hum nahi, kal Humari Yaadein hongi Jab hum na honge, Tab humari baatein hongi. Kabhi paltoge zindagi ke Ye panne, To shayad aapki aankhon se Bhi barsaatein hongi.... (Today I am here, but tomorrow There will be my memories, If I will not be here There will be the talks of mine) (If you will turn the pages Of life Then I think you will also cry Remembering me) **** Marna to sabko ek na ek din padega.

in response to the ongoing anti-extradition bill protests a day like this, or the train between us won’t stop - this life is too long, dear tourist - & you know this morning I have to pay the rent too – as you insist that demonstrations at Victoria Park crow an ashfall of a feathered controversy - scarred by heavy clouds – as poetry as a lesson in leaving seems like years – & everyday umbrella seems like months of our days, days of our months always like this sure it’s like this

“But I’m having writer’s block at the moment and can’t think of anything.” “Why don’t you write about Addy’s new job?” Shea asked, biting into her bagel. Brooklyn looked thoughtful, then looked at Addy and asked, “Would you mind if I did? It might give you some exposure for the future, too.” Addy nodded, finishing her coffee. “Sure,” she said, standing up. “Let me know if you need anything, but unlike the two of you, I’ve got to get to work. Luckily, I’m only working half a day.”

wouldn't hurt. I may sound pessimistic, but I like to call it realism. Many people come daily with the best words of encouragement anyone could hear, before those words brought me hope, now? Frustration, disappointment, annoyance and sadness. I feel the pressure on my shoulders as if it were my duty to stay alive when the disease gradually degenerates without being able to do anything about it other than follow the treatment to the letter and wait patiently for it to work, and in many cases not even a strictly regimented treatment can ever work.

Once upon a time, there was a meaningless life waiting to be lived. Once upon a time, there was a meaningless life waiting to be cherished, because that is a life for, isn’t it? What about those people who spend their lives complaining about the things they had and they don’t have? What about that life that was given to them to be lived as they pleased but preferred to look into other people’s lives to see what theirs are lacking?

Fast. The clacking of the keyboard and the overflowing ideas were typed on the white surface, the black letters vividly seen on the screen. Then the music matched the words and the feelings. I smiled at the words I put on, accurately matching the lyrics of the song. “If ganito lang din buhay ko, edi sana ayos lang ako” I smiled while looking at the screen.

More through ordinary Octobers, in fact. Because most of the time was ordinary. Most of the path was not the threshold. Most of it was the road between thresholds. And the road was not lesser than the threshold. The road was where the real living happened. Where the fire actually tended itself. Where the conditions actually built. One ordinary day at a time. I got up. The October morning continuing outside.