9 to 5

So my endeavor to write a post every night has quite simply gone to shit. Much like its many predecessors where I’ve managed to bring routine in to my way of life. A very futile exercise as I’ve now come to accept. Mating a shoe fly with a Pomeranian would be more in the realm of feasible, comparatively. Looking back at my blogging history, it is quite apparent, muses have become a rarity. Either that or I’ve been completely consumed by the crunch and caprices of corporate life. Offence intended, I think I would much rather be doing this than spending my days in the corner of some Bohemian fantasy, pulling at the fabrics of some ideology that a mere man much like myself or Lalith, my tuk guy, conjured in the depths of an ether and literature binge.

But oh well, everyone is entitled to vices, devices and choices of their choosing. Some dig the grind. Others yearn for title. Some lust for lucre. Others setup off with the purpose to search for purpose. And some sit around quivering about what’s wrong and speak freedom while chained to another’s thinking.

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