Determined by, arising from, or marked of, being wise... In the end he chose to be a rickety broom!

The heart is wiser than the intellect. The ability to think abstractly or profoundly is absent from the very beginning in the mind’f Gilbert Holland and what he considered as wiser. When comparing “Heart” with an “intellect”, heart is being listed in Who's Who as what’s that? And the intellect writes that… Lol!

A bad moustache day...

I shaved ma French beard and stubs nearby ma cheeks but thought’f retaining ma moustache. It had been several years since I had moustache alone on my face, it suited me when I was doing my class 11 but I look like a typical “paranoid mama” now. He he!

Reactions via sms…
My sister: So how’s ma brother looking?
Me: You’ll not dare to spit on my face.
Sandhya: Edhavadhu loosu maadhri pannindu iru! :P
(What can I say after that? Hmpf!)

Reactions on sight…
My girl: (Hopped immediately from her place to my place)
Yaaaay! (She became hyper neurotic!) (In a shrilling tone) Kevalama iruku…

An unshaven version of hairs over ma upper lip made ma girl kick me!
I shaved ma beloved but ugly moustache... sob...sob... :P

May the eternal darkness in the spotless mind'f women dilute...

Oh God! That everlasting has not yet fixed their cannon guns to slaughter me but three two toed solid flesh of women broke ma heart and crumbled it. Weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me the only uses of this world. In this world a lot of things go unquestioned, a lot of questions go unanswered, few words go unsaid, few words go unheard, and few words are bashed up over your face. Some will be difficult to face, some will be difficult to hear, some romantic and cheesy words will engulf the entire you, some truth are bitter, some people may disappoint you, some may push you to the perplexed state on a good day, as I’m being… I’ve started scrambling ma brain which is already insane in its own way, tension is radically ramping up and killing me from inside and ma dearest people are hurting me from outside. This is the bloodless battle that grows admonishingly because of an inflated sense of one's own importance. Things rank and grow in nature that are being merely possessive to them. They want me to react on their way sometimes… but they don’t consider mine ever. Piff!