Everyday i wake up with ideas to blog. why can't i blog this. or is that better. finally when i reach the comp, the ideas just seem to fade away. they are too elusive. today also the same thing happened. but then how can the blogger in me let go just like that? so i decided to write down the ideas and blog them down one by one. right now the ideas list is growing. the blogging isn't! i salute all you hardcore bloggers out there, you are too great. i realised blogging is no child's play. i hereby promise that deja moo will have something solid to mull over. yes, solid cow/bull pats on the way folks.
I have to write. Those were the words that escaped the dying man's lips. He was found lying unconscious near a mountain of blank paper. His autopsy revealed over exhaustion as the reason. But what did he want to write so badly that it killed him, no one knows. The task was designated to the junior cop who was part of the investigation team. Let's call him Namura. So here we are with Namura in a room with the mountain of blank paper. He is awed as to why should there be so many papers near a dying man. He picks a sheet on the top. He studies it. It's as blank as blank papers can be. No pencil or pen has violated its virgin whiteness. Namura thinks of the white bed sheets back home. He is tired. All he wants is to crash on his bed. He feels angry about the whole situation. Here I am, staring at a blank piece of paper, wondering why someone who wanted to write so badly didn't write a single word, while the whole world is sleeping on their comfy beds. He wanted to tear the ...
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