Does everything need to have a title?

"In a moment of murderous rage, the rain pounds against my window, splattering across the glass, threatening to engulf me in a film of suffocating stillness but then, wakes up to gravity and slips away tiredly along the surface, conceding defeat."

Interesting lines. Wonder how I came up with them while trying to drive in a torrential downpour, unable to view the road ahead of me. I typed them down in my mobile as soon as I parked the car at home, gleefully, I should add, contented that the trip to the medical store in the deluge had been not so useless, after all. Normally, on a normal day, with me in a normal mood, all such lines go into the vault, the database of disconnected pieces of crafted language that I sometime later, in a fit of inspiration, would try to weave together and produce a blog entry or a poem or a flash video or whatever other piece of 'art', as we might call it. But tonight, I'm in no mood to weave, no mood to contrive and above all, honestly, in no mood to think. A tryst with a few picturesque words and, unfortunately, fewer wordy pictures over the past couple of days has left me exhausted. And writing, no matter how distasteful and embarassing it might be to admit for us writers, is a painful process. So then, let's cut down on the pain tonight, shall we?

Wall-E's out. After a long, eager wait and a resultant weary resignation, that is. Damn Pixar. Yet, we all know what's gonna happen now, don't we?

Darren Aronofsky's new flick, 'The Wrestler' is due to premiere in some film festival this Sep 5th. I know I won't be able to watch it till a year or so when the DVD gets out in stores but what I'm more interested in is Clint Mansell's composition for its score. And for those who haven't heard it from me yet, Clint Mansell is god. People usually hark 'Lux Aeterna' when they hear his name (I was once one of them) but, The Fountain contains better written pieces of classical compositions than any of the ones from Requiem for a Dream or any of his earlier works (barring 'Lux Aeterna', which is a piece of divine brilliance that he may, in all probability, never produce again in his life). It's an album that's pure brilliance, complementing the movie in every sense, every single track exuding ceaseless emotion. Nothing else I've ever listened to in my life comes close. I've been playing it regularly for over an year now and still, everytime I play each track, I unravel something new.

And now, I think I should stop writing before I start talking in cliches. The rain has subsided, I hope. Yes, I can venture out into my balcony and savour the night's balmy radiance for a moment before I collapse into the waiting arms of Morpheus. Oh my god, who talks like that? And who writes like that?
[I tend to use a lot of commas, don't I? Banville's fault, to an extent, I'd like to say. And maybe, even Pynchon's. ;) ]

There's a certain pleasure in writing a blog entry while you're half asleep. It's like getting the best of both worlds, in a true sense. But still, there aren't any awakwardly constructed sentences and spelling errors. Oh, my obsessions.

I think I'm rambling. Oh, but then, don't we all?

To be written

12 33 am. I'm just back from a rainy night's drive. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy, if ever there was one. I'm tired. I have very few hours of sleep available to me before I wake up to the day and I would give a lot of things to be able to get off this chair and slink away into the night but this has to be written.

In a few hours, I might get on a train. After a long, long time. New music's being pumped into my player and my book is ready.

Somewhere, somewhere, a window waits for me.