A ranting window. 


Dear Fellow Human,

Before we get into the discussion of why am I writing this, let me just make it clear that I am no creepy guy even while I do occasionally stare and listen to other people’s conversations mostly without any consent, my behaviour has its own history lessons, it came in existence only recently due to this odd seminar I once had where me and a bunch of pretentious writer friends sat down to listen to how important it is for a writer to peek into other people’s conversations.

However i try and keep this behavior in check, always trying not to make terrible use of it, especially since most of my friends are already irritated with my repetition of the same questions on our social networking apps and warnings of the police being called over. However each time I fail as a miserable pretending writer, author or whatever you want to call me I find myself doing the above mentioned tricks. 

I must also mention that my house has a rather immense window peeping right outside at the main road, which was not intentionally for the purpose you might think, since the house is much older. How perfect are these memories. Scattered at places with origins past us. It’s nothing unusual and yet how bewildering does it seem. On Nostalgia and the odd sense of re-establishing in a new city back in the one that we left behind.

Sadly no matter the biggest window in the goddamn neighbourhood, it is mostly cars honking and cats screeching is all I get to witness. The same old usual stuff stories are never made of, more so than not because we are asked to avoid cliches. As if it’s raining cats and dogs in this genre. 

Today is no different. Which is why I closed down the window and as I continue my rant on Twitter, I realise that it barely matters. Despite this usual rant about not being able to write due to the lack of any inspiration (which is total bullshit by the way) any interaction with a human being only leads to me rating them on a scale of 1 to 5. Ironically enough one of my first published articles focused itself on critiquing an upcoming app ‘Peeple’ which allowed the same. At my present age, I might consider it an outright bliss.

Much development in my attitude, eh. Oh by the way did I get to tell you that I am accustomed to being known as this one guy who can find fault in anything. I can hate everything and anything. That’s my specialty, apparently. 

Don’t take me wrong, I absolutely love writing, though I love ranting quite a bit too. Evidently apparent in a meant to be blogpost which I am by now desperately trying not to keep too short. 

While if you still continue to read this and ask yourself any point behind the article, i’ll tell you one, there is none. Trust me this is no apology for my odd behaviour and it’s definitely not a new form of literature that I might win a Nobel for either. 

It is that one piece of writing from that one place someone told you about. A piece that you cannot bring yourself to liking while that friend stares at your face, for that one nod of approval. You fear for your life and read the whole thing. Congratulations!

And while I talk to whomsoever you might be, I am also secretly baking a cheesecake, a horrible one at that, for the next person who crosses the street and loves cheesecakes, for that one person whose day I am going to ruin.

Yours lovingly,
An Oddly pretentious writer. 


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