Belated Bio

Someone once described me
as an “animated book”.
Sucker for sychophancy,
it was a compliment, well-took.

Blogging’s a reluctant séance
I walked into — a stab to incite
my creative spurs back into
a world from where
they had taken voluntary retirement.
A vacuous space
where they indulged in nothingness
— my once-zealot urges
were Vladimir and Estragon,
waiting for Godot.
“Nothing to be done” read their logo.
Drenched in the meaningless of existentialism,
I ached for a catharsis.

In non-absurdist lingo,
I needed a space
to appease my now-out-of-order ego.

A Kafkaesque metamorphosis
trailed this reawakening,
now I verge on the obsessive compulsive…
That’s right I’m a knee-jerk skeptic.
Therein lies the irony of the paradox.