Fucking Violin

I have been away for far too long, Zonk. And I have at least three-blosposts-worth of things to tell you but I can’t. Because there is no time and I have too much to do right now. But I will be back this Sunday, Zonk. I swear. And I will tell you some of the stuff I have to tell you. Until then, fucking violin.

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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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