Abhijit Naskar's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"

Download autotune and
everybody is a singer,
download midjourney and
everybody is a painter,

download chatgpt and
everybody is a writer.
This is not innovation, it is fraud,
and those who practice it, are
the lowest form of animals on earth.

Either do something original,
or expand on another’s originality,
with honor and integrity, but never
confuse plagiarism with creativity.

Chatgpt is cheatgpt,
Better do manual labor than lie.
Even onlyfans is more honorable
than content made by Generative AI.

Write till you drop dead,
that’s my motto of writing.
I don’t do promotions,
have never done book signings.

In fact, once I release a work,
I forget and move on to the next.
In an industry driven by book sales,
My principle is, publish and forget.

I never remember how much I have written,
though the vastness is staggering to many.
All I can think of, how much I have to write,
before I drift into the slumber of non-entity.

At birth we become elements to entity,
upon death the entity reverts to elements.
Make sure to make your trip mean something,
more reason to transcend foolish containments.

It took me a 100 books to realize this,
typos are not a stain upon literature,
typos are ornament of literature,
sweet reminders of human endeavor.

It’s great to have literature without typos,
like it’s great to have a life without regrets.
But in actuality, only the dead have no regrets,
only the uncreative make no typographical mistakes.

There are typos that are grievous, hence,
need correcting, but most typos are harmless.
Repulsed by typos means repulsed by literature,
repulsed by regrets means repulsed by existence.

Typos are the ornament of literature,
regrets are the ornament of life.
To make peace with regrets is the beginning of life,
to make peace with typos is to empower literary light.

Put your conspiracy theories aside, I’ll tell you why.

Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet)

When I started writing, I had a partner,
I had plans to settle in Sofia with her.
But then I lost my link to the Balkans, when
she grew weary and took the hand of another.

I couldn’t write a single word for days,
but then, I let the god complex unleashed.
That’s about when my writing skyrocketed,
as the heartbreak jolted my brain
into a hyper-publishing engine.

I had all the time in the world,
and enough pain to fuel my pen.
Every time I got my heart broken,
it benefitted my mission.

First time someone broke my heart,
I dropped out of engineering
and emerged as the Monk Scientist.
Second time when I lost my love,
Planet Earth received the Poet Apocalypse.

The pen is my paradise,
the pen is my grave.
Everybody has all the answers,
I seem to have only questions.

Good thing, I don’t know how to write,
methods are obstacle to my madness.
I’m vast enough to contain the world,
asylum pills don’t work on pilgrim brains.

My pen never runs out of ink, because
the pen is an extension of my anatomy.
Madness is the first sign of sanity,
oneness is the seed of infinity.

Stereotypes are sanity of the jungle,
prejudice is sacred in the animal kingdom.
Flags are the poison, cosmos is (my) kin –
I am no stereotype, I am the Prototype Human.