Tomic Riter

Tag: shortstory

  • The path never taken before.

    So far, whatever job I’ve had and whatever job I’m having right now, I have been fairly good at it. That is not to boast about myself. I am just stating what is. And that’s precisely the problem. I am stuck doing something that I can do well and that which I do not want to do at all, even for a minute. It’s time I stand up for myself and invest at least 50% of the time I spend at my job in doing what I really love doing. And what I love doing is writing. I can write all day and night. I have done it. I have never run out of lines to write, and I’ve been doing serious writing since last five years. I’ve never had what people call ‘creative block.’ I just never had it. I could sit in a closed, locked room and write pages. I have done it so many times and I do it often.

    But why am I writing all this. Why am I sharing all this. As always, I’m just letting a few things out. I am walking a new path, one that puts me in a vulnerable situation. Still, I’ve got one foot on the old path and the other on this new path. I cannot walk like that for long, I know. For now, I will do whatever I can to not stray totally from this new path. Just trying to do my bit everyday. It is hard because it is to be done all alone. If by day’s end, I have written at least a couple of really good paragraphs if not a couple of pages, I feel alright.

    About today, it was a quiet day. It’s never all quiet though. Not much rain. Summer is back or so it seems.

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  • Modern problems.

    Dabbling between Instagram, Twitter, and here. It’s hard to keep up with all the spaces. Life was so good before social media, or one can say life was so good when I wasn’t on social media. I used to put more time into myself and not just pointlessly scrolling up and down like a robot. Back then, I used to read more. Nowadays, I am writing more but not as much as I used to read. Is there a relation between the two? Not an obvious one. The gist of the matter is that a lot of time goes into getting distracted by trivial shit on the social media. I am still saved because I am here for the sole purpose of connecting with other writers and readers and artists and sharing with them what I wish to share, and getting to learn whatever I can from them. But most of the time, the sharing and the exchange doesn’t happen at all. There’s hardly any word of exchange either through comments or emails or in whatever way suitable and possible. There’s hardly any learning, well, often there isn’t for me. I really wish the social media didn’t have to grow into this. Just saying. Social media isn’t a bad place. Social media is nothing without us, the people. As always, it all comes down to us what we make of it.

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  • Not again!

    A quick one from my mobile. It’s a sunny morning. The crows are crowing again. People coming and leaving. A man of patience is hard to find. A man who embraces life, who knows what life is and is not, will naturally become patient with time. Sometimes one doesn’t realise when solitude turns to isolation. I have a life outside of work. But do I? I am having this feeling that I am headed the wrong way. It’s a feeling that has lasted for quite some time now. It’s a feeling. Just a feeling. A feeling nonetheless. A bitch of a feeling. This day feels nothing like a night. Why would it. A day is a day and a night is a night. Nights bring no greater relief and yet I wait for the night as I walk bloody fisted through my damned days knowing I can’t do a damn thing about it.

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  • Sometimes the sun sets at night.

    Writing as much as I can. In journal. In here. In a few other places too. I haven’t done poetry in quite some time. I do not feel the need to write poems anymore. It’s as simple as that. I love prose. I love it very much. Prose lets me explore so much. It’s a wonderful feeling to write paragraphs and paragraphs of nonsense. Luckily, my speciality is in writing nonsense. And my lines are ruthless. My pages banished from society. My hands cut and bruised. My knees dislocated. Red spit of blood in my mouth. In my lines, there can be no win for me. In fact, even outside my lines, there’s not much of a win for me. I am a fighter, of course. I can fight anything. But I am not a winner. There’s no win for me here or anywhere.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • On writing journal.

    Started writing journal some time in last September. Almost a year has passed since then. There is so much in the journal now. So much. Most of it won’t make sense to anyone who reads. So much is in there, and none of it would make any sense to anyone. Think about it. So many pages. So many words. So many paragraphs all written by one man in innumerable moods, innumerable positions, innumerable seasons. Looking at it gives me a strange sense of happiness. Surely I cannot go through reading it all again myself unless exclusively for the purpose of editing it someday. I never read my own stuff unless it is to edit. My lines are for the world to soak in. I write and then I move on and write some more.

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  • With a tongue on fire.

    People usually have morning rituals or evening rituals or some sort of rituals in their lives. I do not have morning rituals or evening rituals. I do not even have mornings or evenings. I go to work, I work, I come back from work. That’s how I measure my time.

    It’s a holiday. Again, I cannot feel the excitement of it. What am I? A fucking stone?

    Soon, my body should begin to show symptoms of withdrawal. That’s natural to happen to an addict.

    Just another rainy day in my life. Splashes of rain on my window. Curtains moving in the air. Sparrows resting on window rails. Times have changed, and with that, I have changed too. And what is change but to come to realise a lot more than you already realise. I changed to grow my own experiences of life. I cannot always be the same man, nor would I ever want to be the same man, nor would I ever want to change. That is to say that I want neither. I am just flowing with this life.

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  • Rain and this and that.

    Back home early. The day turned out to be better than I had expected. Owing to certain external factors, I didn’t have to work at all today. Instead, had a day long discussion with this lady on varied subjects – mysticism being a prime one. Also, what could possibly be the rationale behind a sane man eating another man, preferably a dead man. I can’t tell about the bits of discussion here. That’s not the point I want to convey here. I want to convey, as usual, nothing. I am just typing shit in one breath. Tomorrow, I am out on the road again after a gap of almost two months. To hell with all this rain. To hell with everything. I can’t stay back. I want to be back on highways and country roads. I want to be out there. I feel like a bitch without limbs. I feel like a bitch. A BITCH! I am close to freedom. Now is not the time to lose my shit. It is true that we need a space in our lives where we can openly discuss just about anything. I feel that most of us lack that space in our lives. Without that space, we would only suffocate ourselves on a daily basis. It would be like being dead without actually dying.

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  • One from my goddamned desk.

    This one is a quick post from my mobile. That is something I never do. So if you’re reading on laptop or PC, apologies if it doesn’t look good. Also, about that, I do not give a shit. Ha ha ha.

    It’s been raining heavily since this morning. No electricity. No mobile connectivity. It all looks so bad when I look out the window. So bad and so wet and so dirty. That’s why I hate rain. It brings in more dirt than it washes away. At least that has been the case with me. Always. It would have looked better had I been on a holiday. But I am not.

    – Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • An evening like no other.

    An evening like no other. A completely worthless evening. At least my sickness hasn’t worsened. No sudden rise in body temperature. The weakness is still there. Maybe reading a little Dostoyevsky will make me feel better. Notes from the Underground. Started reading it a year and a half ago. I am a terrible reader. A bad fucking reader. I love to buy books and I hate to actually read them. And I buy only gems. I haven’t bought a single bad book in a life, except for a couple of times from Instagram fucking trash poets. Fucking trash poets! Not all but most of them. Just fucking trash. Can’t write a fucking simple sentence, and they write boring shit. It’s all fucking boring nonsense there these days. I have found WordPress to be a much better platform for sharing writing and finding other meaningful writers. I haven’t found many, here or there, but this place beats Instagram by any standard. Now, off to drinking hot bitter coffee. I can’t even make coffee right these days. FUCK!

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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  • This is something else.

    This is not how the day was supposed to go. It’s raining like hell. Can’t go anywhere. Can’t even step outside. In my room, locked, listening to music. The sickness is leaving my body. Last night was terrible. My body was on fire.It was a a strange, terrifying feeling. I was shivering. I am shivering now as I write. I just want some rest. A good rest. Haven’t been on a road trip in two months. Terrible. I hate rain. Road trips on a motorcycle are my only cure. I want the cure soon.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    CLICK HERE TO VISIT MY AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE AND PURCHASE MY BOOKS