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Of the Darkening of Days

As I am writing something after a great many days, I hope to make a decent comeback and make this as eloquent as it may be made. One great thing about the whole time I have spent away is that, I can type relentlessly without looking at my, or for that matter, anybody else's keyboard. It may be one of the few consolations available to The One when there is naught else to be ineffably 'in revel' about. I have been reading 'The Silmarillion' lately, and it is beautiful. As a matter of fact, I should be reading it right now, but I am not. The point is, I have a considerable amount to be done, shenanigans to be rueful about, rubbish to write (as I am doing right now), but I am too lazy to not be phony. I do not see much sense in what I am writing, it is but a convoluted expression of the quagmires I behold in my day-to-day life; it is much the same with everyone. Who knows, they may all have their own blogs where they write posts which come to the attention of no one. Or maybe not; we'll never know....

which brings to One's attention the earlier resolve that One had, of being eloquent. That surely went to perdition. The other Ones may often wonder how The One contrives to be all that he intends to; ergo, let him take center-stage to present to you the coveted answer. The desired aurora is acquired by the constant use of third person, with particular attention to 'One', indulgence in the expression of the so-called uncommon constructions, a feeling of perpetual discontent and a fake sense of idiosyncrasies; which in turn, also reminds me to mention the all important self-condescension. Ah! the cauldron of all the self-belief One may desire. Blah Blah Blah. I have got to go.

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