কেঁচে গেছে

i want a new blog. i stopped blogging there because of Polau . yes unnecessary fetisization, perhaps. yes, more a show of sorrow than sadness. but I've given up my blog, meat, elevator. so this is a new beginning. i wonder why i yearn for new beginnings so much. they are neither new nor beginning. this is meant to be a brutally, unsparingly frank blog. we'll see. well, I'm cynical and perverse. প্রমাণ? এই blog-টি . will somebody please frame a petition to blogger about Bangla transliteration? [অভ্র sucks] i have a class test tomorrow for which i haven't studied, don't feel like, don't plan to. here i sit watching all hopes of any academic prospect go down the drain, not caring anymore. no caring, in a detached way still, for i'm a conservative at heart. a life without academics, i say, for it sounds suitably outlandish to my folks, suitably revolutionary to impress my peers but it sends squirmy waves of uneasiness down my spine. i was planning to be a goodgirl. just turn around and dazzle them with my brilliance. stop dressing shoddily, stop looking tired and uninterested and clumsy all the time. was i ever 'the pure gold baby'? was i ever someone's opus? i turn and burn and melt to a shriek all right. but not spectacularly. truth is i still haven't come to terms with my mediocrity. hence all the bang before i go out with a whimper. hence this blog. hence the claim to be Frank. confessions in the public sphere. since i can't write confessional poetry. or any poetry. this i'm hoping would be my claim to fame. cause nobody takes someone who runs after dogsandcats seriously. ও তো পাগল! একদম পাগল হয়ে গেছে। no, not even if they travel to singur and attend queer studies classes. i think i suffer from cfs or depression or something like that. but nobody agrees, not even my therapist. but it isn't all that i imagined. not that glamorous hell. not if you can't make poetry or novels or stories out of it.