#Scurf169: a few words of nostalgia
on my birthday
#Scurf168: Nudity of Body, Mind & Soul
My first memoir published in 2014 on its 10-year anniversary for a (now) defunct website called Helpost
#Scurf167: U-bahn paraphernalia & ors., circa Oct 23
I think I should put this out there
#Scurf166: Prabha Atre, Pune & my Thumri Blues
A wee bit of Ali Sethi, too
#Scurf165: hello, goodbye
we need a bit of waiting on the sidewalk sometimes
#Scurf164: How January Closes in, Ghazalistic
The senses fuse and coalesce into an old place with a myriad new secrets
#Scurf163: thinking with the radio
going gaga over the radio as a musical nostalgia minting device
#scurf162: A Year of Deaths
Holding place for all lost souls
#Scurf161: My Piece of Knausgård
On the Knausgårdian urge to sink one's teeth into the nothings that compose our lives
#Scurf160: a movie night alone
A movie date alone about forgotten love when a stranger becomes more than that
#Scurf159: kaleidoscopic kolkata
this time in the city of relationships and friendships
#Scurf158: Who's an all-time chaotic, poetic mess?
I wonder if all terrible people who are equally terrible writers have to endure these caustic insults in their private lives.
#Scurf157: Sentence thoughts 💀
On tweeting sentences that stand suspended in nether (forever)
#Scurf156: In between places
Ways of describing one's (meta)physical presence
#Scurf155: Me? A good-for-nothing
Wanking on about being a pile of leftovers
#Scurf154: Dazed and confused in Frankfurt
A language known yet unknown
#scurf153: A photoessay on a photoessay
Notes on Kyle Chayka's New Yorker essay on In the Mood for Love
#Scurf151: Writer in the dark 🌃
Lorde fixations 🍂 🤎
#Scurf150: Brown noise
A poem which is also a 😱
#Scurf149: My writing was changing with age, and I kept notes**
Allowing writing and thinking to exist, even foment, like mildew in an otherwise drab life
