Tell Tale 10
The princess
I write this blog with a faint prayer that she might read it. This is all there is now, this blog. I carefully choose my words, because she might read it. I don't lose context a bit for art's sake. Every word a carefully chosen pearl; the sentences forming beautiful pictures that I hope bobbles up in the ocean of blogs to tell tales. I don't even use the "f" word, "s" word or even the "x" word like I promised once.
I dont miss a single opportunity to quote her. She comes in most of my stories. My darling angel always keeps away from me, always keeps getting angry even if she is just a character in a Tell-Tale. It was supposed to be a joke; I did not mean to say that, OK?
Sometimes I dream about her browsing through my blog in a shiny white Apple-Mac, gasping at the million sparkling mentions of her. I even dream of her smiling at the stories, her huge eyes gleaming with pride, cheeks blushing and tempted ever so subtly to comment, at least anonymously. The dream haunts me; I wake up with a jolt and check my blog for some girly comment with a faint trace of acknowledgment, but never saw any. Irony as it appears, is not without a sense of beauty.
My blog layout is simple. It is wide enough to fill the full breadth of the screen, so that the lengthy stories are easy to read and the short ones fit in a few lines. My font size is big enough to not let my blog look like a swarm of bees buzzing on the monitor. My blog does not have a counter because I know that any http redirection takes extra time. No hit-counter, no fancy blinkies, no weather forecast, no international clocks, no pictures or even a background image. The page loads in the fastest time possible, optimized to run like a jaguar.
Like the 17 year old princess, all dressed up and waiting to be rescued. Only her prince never turns up.
I write this blog with a faint prayer that she might read it. This is all there is now, this blog. I carefully choose my words, because she might read it. I don't lose context a bit for art's sake. Every word a carefully chosen pearl; the sentences forming beautiful pictures that I hope bobbles up in the ocean of blogs to tell tales. I don't even use the "f" word, "s" word or even the "x" word like I promised once.
I dont miss a single opportunity to quote her. She comes in most of my stories. My darling angel always keeps away from me, always keeps getting angry even if she is just a character in a Tell-Tale. It was supposed to be a joke; I did not mean to say that, OK?
Sometimes I dream about her browsing through my blog in a shiny white Apple-Mac, gasping at the million sparkling mentions of her. I even dream of her smiling at the stories, her huge eyes gleaming with pride, cheeks blushing and tempted ever so subtly to comment, at least anonymously. The dream haunts me; I wake up with a jolt and check my blog for some girly comment with a faint trace of acknowledgment, but never saw any. Irony as it appears, is not without a sense of beauty.
My blog layout is simple. It is wide enough to fill the full breadth of the screen, so that the lengthy stories are easy to read and the short ones fit in a few lines. My font size is big enough to not let my blog look like a swarm of bees buzzing on the monitor. My blog does not have a counter because I know that any http redirection takes extra time. No hit-counter, no fancy blinkies, no weather forecast, no international clocks, no pictures or even a background image. The page loads in the fastest time possible, optimized to run like a jaguar.
Like the 17 year old princess, all dressed up and waiting to be rescued. Only her prince never turns up.
posted by The Kid at 12:00 AM
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