The Chosen One

4 years ago when I first came across her I could have never foreseen how intricately my everyday discussions would be tied to her. If I'm amenable to a change of mind, then certainly she has been a compelling impetus to set my priorities. To me, she's an amazing powerhouse of abilities that common beings can only aspire to attain. With my stubborn expectations always in over-drive, I feel that the only woman I shall ever want, really want, would have to be a flesh and blood replica of her character. My crazy obsession with everything Syd precedes my reputation as a Potter fan, and it is not wrongly suspected that I’d prefer martial-arts trained fox to a marital-arts maestro!
From the moment she bursts on to the screen, wielding a new disguise every other occasion, every other vital thought oozes out of my mind, I am deaf to all other sounds (a point of major consternation to my mum) – yes! I’m completely enraptured.
Adolescence is responsible for the onslaught of a zillion crushes -yeah, been there done that- but I discovered her just as that spring faded into summery adulthood, and I have looked up to her as the-one-person with a will of steel, and an irrepressible urge to do the right thing. Sure, they make it look easy on television, but it’s really out of my league to discuss the emotional depths of a person leading a double life. All of us need a hero to revere, and to feel unnaturally connected to, I can visualize her resolve any tangle and therein lies my faith- I know I can-do-it, will-have-to, because somewhere inside me there is a notion, that I’m just as potent as the chosen one.
She’s an enigmatic beauty; her smiles embody all the happiness she creates.
Now Alias is gone, and I’m unsure how I’ll gratify my yearning, no other woman fits the bill, I know a lot of regular people, but there’s only one Sydney Bristow.

Spaghetti

This is the third time I've begun this post, and every time I find my wrting skills inadequate to precisely express my feeling.
Eventually I get jumbled up in words and can't connect back to the main topic, or else it seems like a long-drawn dramatic salutation.
Help me!

Of My Own Volitions

I don't take insults well. My face exhibits a deathly pallor and cheeks feel puffy, every second feels like it has slowed down by a massive degree, so that I can meticulously examine the expressions on my victim's face. In my mind he/she is the victim. While taking in all that soot offered to me I can savour impending reprisal and just plead with myself to wait.....
I have just realised that I fall into the category of those irritating people who have horrible 'taste' - apparently in everything. My preferences in movies, music, tv and women have always accosted severe criticisms. Forgive me if I take these personally, but this is who I am. What I like, what I hear and whatsoever I see significantly sculpts my psyche, and if standing next to me, you can dismiss my picks as repugnant, how am I to convince myself that you don't carry the same notions about me?
I swear that I shall never say "You look fat in that dress."; it hurts mate! My rant, however, is not against those who do, but against those who go "You look bloated in that attire!"
There is a vast difference in being honest and being needlessly vicious. People should learn to disagree gently. BUT, testosterone is beheld as elixir to succeed nowadays, so all common politeness goes into the dustbin, or better still, spat upon companions. And nobility is stupidity.
Next time anybody goes for the jugular, I'm walking away.

Romance at short notice....

"Saki (December 18, 1870 – November 14, 1916) was the pen name of British author Hector Hugh Munro, whose witty and sometimes macabre stories satirised Edwardian society and culture."- Wikipedia
Why I should be concentrating on this gentleman's delightful accounts of mischievous shenanigans of free-spirited protagonists when Coulouris's and Shivratri's vacuous harangues on Distributed Systems should be ardently craved in light of an impending test is a question that winks at the ruinous corollaries of the vagaries of human nature.
Even more so, it should explain my jittery state of affairs and debilitated stomach hours before any examination.
But each such nervous breakdown is preceded by an intense feeling of unrestrained ecstasy; I can't imagine giving up these guilty pleasures!

An Ode to Dropdown Lists

Just so you know, I despise you.
Your pathetically ugly face is enough to invoke disgust from the deepest corners of any heart.
Your sickening demeanor can dissipate all notions I might have of my being a compassionate human being.
My heart revels in fantasies of gory revenge but there has been devised no retribution enough to satiate me.
Your words are poison, your presence infects me like a noxious breath that slowly fills my lungs and spreads through my blood enticing me to end your wicked life.
To do so would invoke exults from a million souls.

Thousand Words++

I love flickr.com. I can't even comprehend where to begin to express my utter fascination and glorious joy. Search even the commonest of words, the results will blow your mind away. There are images of places, people, sceneries, insects and animals, everything; and such amazing shots, that even when you think you've seen the best, you are continually surprised.
Photographers....are Gods in their own right. Every picture is shockingly beautiful, and yet so simple, pertaining to the mundane......are we commoners blind? I doubt if my eyes can see the beauty of the skies or the calmness of water as meticulously as their lenses capture! Sitting across the computer's screen, I can still feel the Brighton summer, stare rapturously at St. Peter's dome in Vatican, fantasise about living in Florence and count the days until I finally make it to Quebec and Toronto.
The favourites tab in my IE is beginning to bulge, but I'm still dissatisfied, there aren't enough people I've bookmarked, so many pictures I haven't looked at yet, and I don't want to miss a thing....

Feeling Static

He's just pressed the Pause button. He doesn't know why. The one who wanted to run away has just come back from a vacation. And suddenly its not just the sky that's turned blue. Ordinary everyday things irritate him to no end, and he wonders why his firm tolerance has deserted him! Skips everything and everyone, and shuts himself up, a part of him hoping that soon they will notice it and bombard him with queries! But past experience tells him that that isn't a great thing!
Why is he waiting for the world to change?
Nah, he needs to change himself, he knows it, and his utter failure at this exercise has rendered him so cynical and disappointed that he's beginning to believe that there must be something wrong with the world, after all, no man can be so flawed! He's been hoping, waiting for a opportunity to tear him away from his present life and put him away in a bubble where individual independence is not a selfish whim.
What next? Should he extend his reservations in Utopia or snap back to reality?