Whatever this means...

Thought recollection didn't give abhas1 a hard time. He was hooked on to it like people on nicotine. What proved to be an adversary, though, was his contribution to some of those thoughts, which seemed to do what gasoline did to a hostile flame.
Menial jokes were acceptable to a certain degree, but laughing it all away and using speech as a spanner in the works didn't quite help. In fact, uncontrolled information coupled with confusion went its way to spew protectiveness, completely uncalled for, and the perception of such events as something ranging in the positive range could only be contemplated by those with somewhat of a myopic vision.

Abhas1 kicked the door open and draped himself in black.
After a little talk with the man in the mirror, he realized this was better off not being thought about.
A slight apology would do good, though.

--

You didn't get a word I said, did you?
Yeah, I was bored, too.

Blah?

Well, it's that day of the year again; the time when you light up the night sky with fireworks and blow stuff up like it was in Iraq.

Blah blah blah, Happy Diwali and whatever.


Blah.

On a personal note

Remember the seventh of November.
The day when truth saw no light,
yet was crazy enough to please, it might
continue still to linger on longer
like a bumper sticker's adhesive - stronger;
the day when possible it was
to possibly lie
and make people feel
like they thought otherwise;
the day she apologized
for something she did,
perhaps it left her demoralized;
the day she took her words back
maybe now
she wanted us back;
Remember, the seventh of November
the day I remembered V
and made poets gathered tremble;
the day I saw her eyes
like a man from December.

Soe what?

At times, it just gets tiring.
The going gets tough, and you don't know if you're tough enough to keep going, to make it out.
At times, it just gets tiring to see yourself in the mirror, to see yourself draped in that blue cloth in hope of hitting the microphone again. It gets unassumingly unimaginable; to succumb to fear and know it, and pretend to escape it. At times, time seems to tick slower than it was a second ago, at times, unwillingly fast.
At times, you just lose it.
You see them on TV, the people who you think shouldn't really be; the news that isn't really still; the counter-reality runs. He's a superstar, and so is she, and so is that guy, and so is he, and that girl in red, and that guy with a plaid shirt.
At times, it's just plain annoying; to see what you wrote, read and re-read to see it still makes as much sense as it did before you read it.
An unusual shot of compulsive impulsiveness kicks in to synonymous behavior as sentences start to depend only on perception, and the reason you started out is only another vague memory.

And just as I felt it couldn't get worse, a kid woke up all the way on the other side. Silent transmission - State of Emergency.