Who am I?

I wish I could say Batman but that would require a thief to shoot my billionaire parents in a dark alley in the year 1998 which is impossible since we’re in 2015 now and my parents aren’t exactly billionaires so I’d end up in some orphanage and have more chances of being Oliver Twist than Batman. I would have called myself an asshole too but again, this post isn’t about my honest confessions which leaves us with the question in the title again. Who am I? Or since I have bored you for one whole paragraph, who the fuck am I?
That’s the kind of question that surfaces your mind when you have second thoughts about some name you have taken up. I write this blog as Subtle Humorist which of course isn’t my real name unless my dad is the Oxford dictionary and my mom is the Webster. Now Subtle Humorist doesn’t sound as grand as the Prince of Wales, but it sure is nice to some extent in its own manner which worries me. Because that’s the real question. Is it okay to call yourself something nice regardless of how appropriate it is and without taking in consideration the opinions of others? Am I subtle? Am I really even a humorist? Or am I just trying to bend down real hard and suck my own dick?
So I decided to take someone else’s opinion,  a critic perhaps. And who can be a better critic than your own girlfriend? But Isha is already strongly opinionated about who I am. Apart from believing that I’m a pyscho pedophile and a killer, she also thinks I am ‘not so subtle’ because of the fact that on our first date while we were standing by the parapet of a rooftop lounge looking at the horizons with our hands clasped, I asked her what she thought about the teeth of a friend of ours. But she’s a dentist so I still think I was right. So anyway, I then decided to ask Ameya because who else can help in knowing your identity if not your closest ‘bro’? I was in the shower when it striked me that I could ask him this. So I walked out, with a towel on and said, “Hey man what do you think about me? Who am I?”
“Gay”, he said.
That left me with two opinions from two really close people in my life. Opinions which aren’t really going to help apparently. And I’m sure if I ask this question to other blokes, I’d get equally weird answers which is why, there’s no point asking.
So I asked it to myself and thought a lot about it. Perhaps I am a subtle humorist, perhaps I am not. I can’t really say. Its the same way when you put on your best suit and
1. *look into the mirror*
Mind: “Yes it looks great sure.”
2. *look at your best friend who is smirking at you*
Mind: “Or does it?”
For me you’re that best friend, reader. So I don’t really know if I’m what I say I am or nope. But I have come to realize that whatever I am or I am not, I should keep doing what I’m doing regardless of everything else. And therefore, I am going to keep writing and tickle you a bit with every of my post. Because work,  not name, should be your identity. That simplifies the whole thing I guess. I am a writer. (Who is trying to mastur-blowjob-ate by calling himself the Subtle Humorist). That’s about it.


Love Isn’t Easy

Its not easy.
Its not easy being a hopeless romantic.
Its not easy to love someone madly and get nothing but scars from the relationship.
It isn’t easy to fall in love over and over again even after knowing it makes you prone to heart-breaks.
Its definitely not easy to see your friends find love in their first relationships while you’re serving your heart on a platter all your life and only getting a new fork to stab it.
When you’re a hopeless romantic, coming to grip with the fact that you haven’t found The One and after all this while you perhaps won’t, is not easy at all.

However if you keep looking regardless of everything that knocks you down, one day you will find someone who likes your crooked nose.
Someone who will listen to you and keep looking at you endlessly for hours.
You will find the girl who will find your social awkwardness cute.
And you will find the guy who will keep looking at you like you have always wanted a guy to.

If you keep looking, you will find The One.
Yes love isn’t easy but if you keep trying, you will see, its worth every last effort you took. Its all worth it.

The Hound

Smack! Smack!! Smack!!!
He crushed the men.
And all his life
He crushed the men.

Knights and servants and soldiers and peasants,
To him, they all looked the same.
And women and beasts and lads and babies,
To him, they all looked the same.

For in their faces he saw his brother,
A lad of ten.
For in their murders he killed his brother,
A lad of ten.

The lad who held him on fire
For playing with a wooden knight.
The lad who punished him when he was just six
For playing with a wooden knight.

He could still feel it in his face,
The heat and the pain.
He still avenged it in others,
The heat and the pain.

That night while his face melted,
His brother roared in laughter.
And every time he dealt with fire,
His brother roared in laughter.

And he avenged that laughter
A thousand times, all in vain.
He pulled his blade in and out of hearts
A thousand times, all in vain.

The fire burnt his face,
And the revenge burnt his heart.
He could have been a better man
But the revenge burnt his heart.

Smack! Smack!! Smack!!!
He crushed the men.
And so, all his life
He crushed the men.

How To Write a Poem?

Poems are beautiful to read and therefore, not easy to write. There are certain things you need to follow while writing a poem of which, I know nothing. Honestly, if I knew how to write a poem, I’d have written a goddamn poem instead of luring you into reading this post. But since I have lured you anyway, read on. Perhaps I might be of some help.

A few days ago I attended a seminar for writers by writers which was roughly about how to write a poem and why is writing a poem important. Now I don’t have a thing against seminars but I don’t have a thing for seminars either. The reason for this is, as far as I can remember every seminar I have ever attended has been a very useless affair minus the free coffee. That part is good. So anyway I attended this seminar where I was feeling like a horny man would feel if he was castrated and sent to a strip club. Wanting it but not excited at all. Ranting endlessly in the shoes of the speakers and not letting me enjoy my coffee in peace, were two men who claimed that they were poets. Both of them had reached the age where you need a lot of ego massage and where everyone else in the world looks like a foolish bastard. Other words they were somewhere in their late 50s and spoke a lot about their own poems but forgot the part where they were supposed to tell us about how to write our poems. Now I don’t know much about poems but after listening to what the speakers had to say – and yes, I could only listen, there was no room for seeing anything that happened on the dais thanks to the old lady with a saggy booty who sat right in front of me and did something with her phone which could be easily mistaken for weight lifting which had apparently blocked my view.

rising litera2

Sometimes I wish I was taller. This was one of those times.

So anyway, after two hours of continuous looking at her phone and listening to the speakers I realized two things:

  1. The woman had incredibly strong hands for her age.
  2. After listening to the wise words of two poets for about 120 minutes, none of the people who had gathered there to bag the know-how of writing a poem knew anything new about writing a poem at all.

This led me to wonder how really should one write a poem which also led me to realize that there is no certain manner of writing a poem in the first place, which justifies why the speakers talked about their poems for two hours. They didn’t know how to write a poem because perhaps no one does. Poems happen. You can’t possibly sit down and plan a poem because that would kill the very essence of any poem which happens to be spontaneity. And again, spontaneity doesn’t necessarily lead you to write something extra-ordinary always. You will write hundreds of bad poems and that’s fine because that doesn’t mean you’re a bad poet. With every bad poem you’re putting together, you are getting closer to writing an excellent one.

Another thing I saw in the seminar and that worried me a little was how some writers are programmed to think. While sipping the free coffee and munching on the free sandwiches and talking to pretty ladies I somehow found myself talking to a poet who could write beautiful poetry using simple lines but chose to complicate it he believed complicating the poem would make it look more substantial and essentially impressive. Now look, a poem doesn’t exactly have to be very complicated lest you believe that a good poem requires some difficult words and odd rhyme schemes. That’s like making a painting incomprehensible with odd shapes and odd color-schemes so that it can be called ‘contemporary art’ by snobs who don’t know one thing about paintings. Know what I’m saying? Don’t try to write an attractive poem. Just write a poem and if it is good enough in all its complexion, it will arrest and engage the attention of the very many. And finally, the last rule you should follow while writing a poem is, not follow any rule. Know why? Because you’re a god-damn poet!

(Chances are you might ask me if I have ever written a poem, so yes, I have and I reckon you could read one of those, so here it is.)

How Hard Can It Be?

First of all, this question isn’t related to dicks. So if you’re the average 20-something girl trying to find the answers to some fascinating questions about your boyfriend’s little friend Willy, this isn’t the place for you. But I’m a generous man and I like helping others. So here’s the answer to your question. Ask him how hard it is. If he says very hard, it is softer than jelly. If he is shy and ignores answering your question, congratulations. You are going to have a forty minutes of “Oh God! No!!” and “Oh fuck! Yes!!” combined together in a non-uniform, miscellaneous fashion. Now to the real question, how hard can it be, as in, how hard can writing in your own style be after having spent more than four months writing according to the instructions of others? The answer is very hard.

If you have been reading this blog for a long time (which is a shame because there are so many better blogs out there), the fact that I used the word dick right in the opening line is likely to lead you into the false belief that it mustn’t be hard after all because that word is anyway the only thing that keeps recurring in all my posts, innit? But the point is I write this blog and since I say it is very hard, it really must be.

And there are reasons why I believe it is hard. As a genuine writer I believe that once you begin writing according to the instructions of someone else, which is inevitable when you have a job as a writer, sometimes you have to write about things that you don’t believe in. Then you write stuff mechanically, you use words that you are supposed to use and don’t use words that are not in the interest of the ones you write for regardless of how badly you want to use them. And then you also don’t write about what you feel and once you stop writing about what you feel, you eventually stop feeling much as well.

I was however fortunate enough to have realized things just in time and to have taken the right decision too. What influenced me to write again is an altogether different story. While I was ranting about how am I not writing anything substantial and how I feel mechanical about my writing, Isha interrupted and said, “I want to read your blog.” Its a really nice feeling when someone demands you to write because they’re eager to read it. More so when its the person you’re in love with. So the thought of writing again and continuously had been on my mind since a long time. Then a couple of days ago, the triggering point came when I read an article on one of the blogs I follow. It had asked an question in the opening line: “How long does an average blog run?” Which led me to wonder how long should mine run. As You Like It has been around for more than two fantastic years now and the major credit for that goes to you, because since you read, I write. But with too many things to occupy my mind and my hands, I had almost given up on posting anything here again. Because I was in a belief that long as I don’t stop writing the blog, I won’t get time to write anything more substantial – like my first novel, because the thought of writing a free blog for a long time had begun taking its toll on me, and perhaps also because I thought the blog won’t take me anywhere when fact is, this blog is all that I have, that I can truly call mine and which has taken me this far.

So yes, for the love of writing and writing as I want to write, I will keep this blog going. Also, it won’t always be as boring as this and rather than talking about all the serious and beautiful and important things in the world, I will talk about what a dick I am and what a dick you are and what a huge dick this whole world is in all my sick humor, like I always have. Know why? Because I am a dick.