Talk to me, my Useless.

I've been thinking about how I've not been blogging much at all lately, and I said to myself the time was right to sit down and type up the first random thing that came to my head. This was yesterday, fyi, and I fully intended to do as I'd planned, except when I accessed my blog it was all blue, red and white and looked more like a purposeful French flag than like the drab, demure page I created so carefully (through a process of correctly positioning all the shades of grey that vox has to offer against all the other shades of grey vox has to offer and woohoo I'm on a repetition spree again). 

Now, I have nothing against the French in spite of my 12th standard textbook where all Indian kids who went to Paris wrote home to their parents in French. Really now. But I'm not the type that holds a grudge too long, you know all about my sunshiny disposition and my love for all humanity and the Universe in general. But no matter how uncomplicatedly happy your nature is, its freaky when a Very Grey Blog decides to dress up like a cheerleader. So I fumbled for the mouse (the mouse tray still falls off the computer table when it feels like it) and closed the tab looked out of the corner of my eye at the gmail tab to see if it was about to go chameleon on me too. 
I assume you know all of that was bullshit. Yes my blog did change colour but it often does that and how chicken do you think I am really, freaking out about vox pages. I just said all of that cos thats how I feel like talking on some Mondays and most Sundays in July. I could give you a list of months, days, and writing moods but I only do lists on Fridays in November so you'll have to wait for that. 
Anyway, I'm in business looks like :) Have quite a bunch of shoes to paint and I think I must hike the prices soon in order to pay for the back and eye surgery I will eventually need at this rate. Nevermind the dementia induced by the absurdity of too-passionate human-footwear relationships. But while I was trying to look at my official Shoeriken inbox and decide Who Ordered First, I began making a list on the back of a notebook. Which was when I realized two things: 
1. Today's not a Friday, or even November, so screw the list.
2. All you need if you want to get into business is some new, expensive stationery. 
Feels good to be back. Love you too, all of you. Now come back later and look at my Wasteland sketch (the scanned version, not the crappy phone pic one).
DISCLAIMER: Do not take the content of this post seriously. 
Which means, of course, that if you buy a shiny new pen and go get a loan and rent office space and find out that nothing's really happening, you're a retard of the first order and I am not to blame. 
God save us. (And I do believe that this is the first time I've used the word 'god' in passing on this blog. Hmm..)

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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