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	<title>Drumster&#039;s Den</title>
	<link>http://www.drumster.net</link>
	<description>Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead - Bukowski</description>
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		<title>Lost&#8230;</title>
		<description><![CDATA[A quart of whiskey. A pack of cigarettes. Life pissed away while waiting for something to happen. Loneliness. Hysteria of being alone. The search. The failure. The pretensions. The sadness. End it all. Drink it away. Wish you don't wake up. Hope for utopia. Hatred for mankind. Where does it all end? Struggle. Constant struggle. [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/186</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Turn the Page</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Change is good :)
My apologies to all those people who had the patience to read my ramblings and post their wonderful opinions. I could not hold on to the comments. But sometimes its best to let go of the past and start afresh.
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		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/175</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Untitled</title>
		<description><![CDATA[ ⁯I still remember that evening over Coober Pedy. The sun setting against the backdrop of a lazy mining town with a hundred dimly lit homes bracing themselves to see through yet another night. We were weary travelers back then... It was one of those evenings when life couldn't get better. I long for that [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/170</link>
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		<title>Evenings in Paradise</title>
		<description><![CDATA[The joint was burning out at a blazing speed as he took suffocating long drags, the smoke from which burnt everything along the way - at least whatever was left. In one final exhale he let go of the smoke, caressing it slowly with his lips, as it curled up densely towards his nostrils for [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/164</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Traveling Through&#8230;</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Hundreds of palm trees crowding out a small mud-house as if waiting for the perfect time to encroach. The house itself lies obliquely along a small hillock overlooking the rail tracks. It seems completely oblivious to the  drone of the mechanical monsters that thunder by every day. Evening descends early along these parts as [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/163</link>
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		<title>Still There</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Somewhere along those blessed roads, a lone traveler must be tearing through that calm blanket of darkness. Somewhere near the Ayers rock, life must have unraveled its great mystery. Someone must have ordered his last pint of beer at the Kulgera pub. Life must have changed for many, but for us it just stood still [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/162</link>
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		<title>Made by Men, Touched by God</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Mumbai airport. Terminal 2. Gate 7. I'm finally here. It all started off as a drunken babble. Or it must have been something similar. The fact is it all happened so long back that I'll need another drink to delve into that part of my brain which acts as a dump yard of unwanted waste. [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/161</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Stoned</title>
		<description><![CDATA[That evening I sat and I wrote and I wrote and a million different ideas would pour into my head. Thoughts about why someone never thought of these ideas. They would be discoveries and inventions never attempted. They were ideas of radical thoughts that would alter the way the humanity lives and thinks about its [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/160</link>
			</item>
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		<title>Finagle</title>
		<description><![CDATA[And that's how you keep going on; through fever, illness, bad health; tired, battered and bruised but still trying to stand tall looking your best. And half the life passes away in this endeavor. But what's left of you then? Nothing but pieces of your past lying along the way; and losing sight of them [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/159</link>
			</item>
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		<title>On that Sweltering May Afternoon</title>
		<description><![CDATA[On a sweltering May noon I stood there waiting for my bus to Pune. There passes by a man in his late sixties, old and haggard. He was carrying a satchel which was tattered at its ends as if waiting to be finally put to rest. I was enjoying the weekend's first cigarette trying to [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://www.drumster.net/archives/158</link>
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