Randomly rambling on ethics

Some of us, try as we might, desperately scurrying hither and thither, yet unable to escape the burden of our own given name, which was written, so what to do? I keep telling myself its all a dream, Alice, and you will wake up soon.

My own circumlocutious rambling in peripatetic alliteration and odd cadences of rhythm if said aloud just right can be a hypnotic influence on me. I have a terrible confession to make, I often sit here and read my own writing, how much more can you navel gaze, I should be ashamed of myself.

I am so glad to have found my homeland. Where I belong. Where I do I come from? I now have an answer. Why, I’m from Calcutta too, aren’t you?

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