Zealot of the mainstream antithesis, unabashed cynic within reason, erudite esotericist, solipsist in solitude – compulsive colloquialist. Inveterate day dreamer and nocturnal scribbler who clumsily hops from one project to the other and never writes two books in the same sub-genre. Reclusive musician and demonstrative athlete. Stuff my recent existence in a nutshell and this would about sum it up.
As fate may have it, people tend to know a lot more about me than I do myself. Trust me, it’s true and mildly.
Ending up like Dennis Rodman, worse yet arguing spirituality with a Scientologist.
I watched Fifty Shades of Grey, the movie, in one sitting without topping up the barf bag ready in my hands.
The four years in college, if you know what I mean.
The later purge.
Hard pressed to mention just one, I’ll mention two: Mom and Dad.
Barack Obama with his fiction of peace and the gourmet media catering of his Nobel laureate image.
Muammar Gaddafi. Wink Wink.
Plato, Ezra Pound, Ayn Rand, Walt Whitman
Ulysses, Plato’s Republic, Atlas Shrugged, Anthem, VALIS
Fire in the minds of Men by James H. Billington
The Star Wars series, Pi (Not The life of Pi), Good Will Hunting, Rounders, Shichinin no Samurai
The power to see through women’s discreet little wallets in their snazzy handbags and discern if my financial suitability is being judged unfairly.
My tombstone must say: You’re Next. - Last line in my biography: And now, you’re free to pop your aspirin.
France, 1789 in the Age of Enlightenment.
Seductive Demagoguery.
Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club.
Nocturnally, under the hazy table lamp at my humble study.
Music, always. And that too, specifically over an ever growing spotify playlist which I call Randomness.
“What’s in it for me?”
None. What a prodigal waste of zeal and fortitude that would be.
Some things are better left to the imagination.
I do have a humble advice: Don’t!
After circumventing the sphere of fine arts, in the spirit of altruism, the twenty-five-year-old Shashank has reached a point, where his expressions are withheld only by inadequate mediums. Music gave him the flow; literature gave him a puritanical voice and the spirit of being ethical in a world, exceedingly critical of constancy. His conclusions, although apparently subjective, are the keynotes of his own personality. Hence, defining a character in and out of an abstract is something that motivates him to write. He says that he is in no way a genre-hooked, romantic fiction novelist, rather, a stark enthusiast of human nature. He believes in a vision and his work helps make it visible. For as fast as times are today, he feels we always need new perspectives.
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