Friday, 30 September 2011

Tragedy Herewith

Fallen from grace, did I
Toppled by the twilight's blinding darkness;
These things do not merely represent harbored hate
But hate sprouting out of the increasing love, which
Wards today towards dismay

Feed

I swerved past the Jaguar and smiled against the burning sky brimming with relief that finally my route has finally reached smoothly on its rightful path. I didn't linger long, the battle was an honest fluke. The fact is I won for a day and I wouldn't have it any other way. A luck's sufficient enough to prove my mettle. 

It took me quite awhile but I finally reached the destination, garnering enough limits to know that the time it took for me to get there was better than most of the other rides I've ever had. An hour and a half. Not such a bad thing considering the circumstances, and yet it's hard to conclude victory when tails are pulled on your behalf. I pushed the pedals as hard as I could, gaining more speed and, at the same time, risk. Unbeknownst to even myself, there formed a warming smile on my face that only recently reminded me of the same time the rush was conceived. Last days are hard to recollect, if only because there's never an expectation of it being the last.

There was hardly any parting goodbyes. When I came back they took it away, including the smile on my face. sinking my heart upwards to my throat.

The only biggest thing that bothers me is that it's never going to needful hands. But to dependent noses.

Thursday, 29 September 2011

Lost: Bicycle

It only took less than an hour for my bicycle to be stolen outside Westfield near Wood Lane station. Didn't linger much, clearly frustrated, but what can I do?

Luck's a bit down and it's not helping any. Might as well walk into the dark side.

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Dark Souls


This sudden inclination, this urge, to partake myself into the otherworldly land of Dark Souls has recently been becoming overwhelmingly urgent. I have had my own shares of souls having repeatedly -- not to mention dominatingly -- won over Demon's Souls for over two years now, and also having recently revived that fascination in order to achieve the only frustration I have of the experience, the platinum trophy. This time though the media has worked well its collective magic into marketing this wonderful piece of art -- and I say that confidently without me having to be told of Roger Ebert's scandalous hubbub over an argument whether these types of magical things are even considered art.

To renew this interest, I have to keep pushing forward over and over again until such time that finally I get my hands on that ever-evasive platinum trophy that I have been clamouring for much of my entire playthrough. Best be sure to remind myself though of achieving this right before next week when the successor finally arrives lest I be buried in priorities.

Tuesday, 27 September 2011

Five Minutes

05:55

Thinking of coffee. Second interview. Underwhelming.

Towel in shoulder prepped for shower. Random thoughts jumble in head like passers-by on a high street.

05:58

Biting towel. Two minutes left in the clock. Rubbish. Farts here and there. Feel remorse for the chair.

05:59

Fuck me. It's still dark. Should I stay or should I go?

No hope to stay. Towel tastes like...

06:00

Mayday, mayday. With lemonade in hand.

Monday, 26 September 2011

Job Finally

Yet purposefully declined, as its wrapped yellow collar of loss and ambiguity beguiles the sensitivities.

Touch, that when it stalled catches my levity unawares driven slowly to desperation and unwilling cooperation.

Saturday, 24 September 2011

Mi Ultimo Ubo

Adios, patria adorada, polluted na ang karsada
Perla del mar de trapiko, nuestro perdido tambutso
A darte voy a brownout, para ka na ring na-knock out
A fuera mas mainit, taong bayan nagngingitngit
Tambien por ti la diera, para tayong nasa giyera.

En campos de basura, singhutando con delirio
Otros te dan sus microbio, sin duda, con ubo
Emergency power nada importa, Ramos de Venecia o Angara
Napocor o Meralco cerrado, generator o cruel martirio
Lo mismos es so expensive, por la pitaka de Pandoy.

Yo muero cuando veo, patay na raw and kabayo
Y al fin anuncia el dia, matrapik daw sa Buendia
Si grana necesitas, para close down las fabricas
Vierte la sangre mia, kawawa ang maralita
Y dorela un reflejo, de apat na kandila.


Mis suenos cuando apenas, mga trapo nakakabanas
Mis suenos cuando joven, pen pen de sarapen
Fueron el verte un dia, naka=air con ang mga buwaya
Secos los negros ojos, sa epifanio de los Santos
Sin ceno sin arrugas, pulitikong mandurugas.

Ensueno de mi vida, hithit-buga, hithit-buga
Salud! te grita el alma, alingasaw ng industria
Salud! ah, que es hermosa, di na sila tumatawa
Morir por darte vida, puro grasa na ang mga mata
En tu pollutada tierra, sumalangit nawa sila.

Si sobre mi sepulcro, polusyon nakakabobo
Entre la espesa yerba, masamang hangin nakakabrenda
Acercala a tus labios, huwag mo akong mayapus-yapos
Y sienta yo en mi frente, tulala na si tinyente
De tu ternura el soplo, lahat tayo inuubo.

Deja a la luna verme, wala na namang kuryente
Deja que et alba envie, su resplandor ungas
Deja gamir al viento, manood ka na lang ng sine
Y si desciende y pose, nang hindi ka maturete
Deja que el ave entone, la paz, la paz de funebre.

Deja que el sol ardiendo, ang hanging nakakahilo
Y al cielo tornen puras, diesel po ba o leaded gas
Deja qe un ser amigo, da polluter es muy tonto
Y en las serenas tardes, Pilipinas walang kapares
Ora tambien, oh Patria, hindi ka na humihinga.

Ora por todos cuantos, ang Napocor sobrang bastos
Por cuantos padacieron, ang bulaklak naging chicharon
Por nuestras pobres madres, dugo na ang ating pawis
Por huerfanos y viudas, na hindi na makatakas
Y ora por ti que veaaas, sa puno daw ng bayabas.

Y cuando en noche oscura, sabi ng Hapon, Kura! Kura!
Y solos solo muertos, second-hand engine nang makamenos
No turbes su reposo, hinihika ang esposo
Tal vez acordes oigas, ayaw nyo ba ng bio-gas?
Soy yo, querida Patria, papanaw na, papanaw na.

Y cuando ya mi tumba, sa polusyon ako'y matutumba
No tenga cruz, pasang cruz, kawawang mga musmos
Deja que la are el hombre, mga macho naghahare
Y mis cenizas antes, poisoned air, masama sa buntes
El polbo de tu alfombra, alikabok pala.

Entonces nada importa, gusto nyo ba ng torta?
Tu atmosfera, walang pera, walang ilaw, walang agua
Vibrante y limpia nota, dedbol na ang limpia bota
Aroma, luz, colores, hinihika si Dolores
Constante repitiendo, la esencia de mi ubo.

Mi patria pollutada, laging mali ang kamada
Querida Filipinas, gusto ko ng pong lumayas
Ahi, te dejo todo, bakit ayaw nyong matuto
Voy donde no hay esclavos, di na kayo puedeng matubos
Donde la fe no mata, matapobre minamata.

Adios erpats, mga utol, troso ng mga logger
At ikaw na law enforcer, arestuhin mga smoke-belcher
Dad gracias que descanso, People Power, People Power!
Adios, EDSA, Bayang Sawi, how dirty the Pasig River
Adios, Baha, Adios Lahar...morir es respirar.
(Ubo! Ubo!)


- GL, SJ

Friday, 23 September 2011

Rhadamanthine, a limerick

Mother's best is promise kept
Soon discovered the boy's a klept
Rocked the winds with his fist
Acted like a malignant cyst
But then he slept

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Would I bleed if I said I'd like to kick a god?

From there I awoken the blood rushed forth through my nostrils and into my tongue
(Bang! Bang! Bang!)
She was banging on my door, and in my bed I hear her calling my name
Once again bringing me back my consciousness and troubled thoughts
I mutter, I mutter, I mumble to myself, reminding me of the hate of being interrupted in my sleep
I rose to my feet and paid little thought to my unkempt hair, wondering what it was that she woke me up for
(One last Bang!)
Before I opened the door, smiled at her precariously, greeted her stare in red underwear
Fortunately for both of us my phallus was calm and sore as the heat of the gloomy afternoon
Blood rushed to my head, felt something amiss between my teeth
Blood literally gushed forth in sputum form and almost choked me with it
The taste I can still feel inside me rushing, a locomotive sensation, unbridled
All the while she was talking and talking and talking to me
All the while I was nodding and nodding and nodding to her
My strength collapsed in that frail state of mine
There was nothing that could impose me into bludgeoned calm
Everything around me was tender, all but harsh
As she strolled there and about my room and the next in search of an answer
Mine was on my reveries waiting to be told, it rings, I answered
Lifeless images and vivid recollections sprang forth from my frivolous imagination
She began to dance in front of me dressed in blanched gown
Her horrible face remain notwithstanding, hard to digest
My fist crawled to a sphere wanting to mend its maker
As her demands slowly come piling up, whether or not I like it, she says
In between dreams, you see yourself create new realities, mine was my own personal limbo
Where I could have anything and everything I could have ever thought of and imagined
But still I decided to go against it thinking that my blood is not worth the price for this wasted longevity
Her gown was gone but she still stood right there and continued speaking
I fell to my own deeds and gave myself a new uprising
Wrapped my head in towel, tiptoed towards the shower, gave myself a clean thought
Yet I could still smell the faecal scent of air looming
Brushed my teeth with that same smell, I made friends with disgust
Turning towards my eye, I could see the reflection to my soul
She stood waiting in my room, gasping for air in the balcony right after gulping the same air where I was
Picture her dying in my thoughts, falling from the balcony, dying from her asthma, or all
My hand met my face and woke me up once again, only five minutes in to the shower and I was done
Pay me partly for her crimes, I say, as I would for myself someday
The trousers hang about waiting for the last call and there I was staring at it like a fly to faeces
I inhaled the thought and gave me warmth and high, she smelled my sock and found my sentimental photograph
Beside my pillow where I left it a couple of seconds after I stood up awake
And I turned the thought of having to smash her head with it, pardon my rudeness
Today was not my cup of day
Just like the day before yesterday and the day before that

Monday, 19 September 2011

Oh my days!

To prepare myself I have to put up a stitch, for nothing in particular, just a swinging mood. Then traverse the gloomy half-past-three London streets. Whether or not this is worth it, in the end nobody gives a shit.

One on the way

The confession came when opportunity stood idly in front of him earlier that day. This is that confession to a confession. All in all, it went easier than he expected, even though it was as anticlimactic as it comes. Trials stood by waiting as he nods his head in frustration, unwilling to speak on behalf of the pain that struggled to break through him. She listens on, as if she herself can endure more pains that she already possess and now shared to her. The carousel is bittersweet and numbing, to the point where one could honestly say he or she has had enough of it. The hardest part is the surrender because that is never a considerable option.

She left him with a smile and her best regards, and he responded with a half-assed wink absent love. The story for sure will never end there. She disappeared into the thick of fog yet her misty voice lingered on, daunting and severed.

Sunday, 18 September 2011

Transitive properties of manic-depressive

It's smiles like Audrey Hepburn's that we need to duplicate
The guitar man would have loved a cure for his blisters
The moment of Revelations comes a little bit late
Never have one person seen something so pretentious
come out of a single source
The balcony now seems a welcome entrance to an
alternate world of come-and-go's
Something thrown up from the deepest, darkest land
Where symmetry is but a fool's uninhabited calculation
Though does science ever end that theology can not

Walkabout (me fuck you long time)

That girl he was searching for was finally in front of him. It dawned upon him that chance finally got him a welcome opportunity to make something happen out of nothing at all. His lips twist and tie a knot, speechless, as the professor gives each one a tiny moment of introduction. He was at the back, pale, and sitting at a comfortable position away from the many people, beside his newfound companionship, and making slight remarks at others' expense. His opportunity to seize the moment overpowers him, demands things he can scarcely accomplish, only that he thought he couldn't, but in actuality had been doing so every moment or so, involuntarily as it may. His turn to introduce himself presents and he cherishes that moment, with eyes seemingly propelled unto his stage. The limelight was his for that short moment. His wits gathers enough momentum, and for a millisecond conjures up something out of the blurt-out portions of his brain. He sees the woman and he turns his sights away. There was no doubt awkward tension. The pressure manifests itself steadily, but his wits were never compromised. Its vile nature conglobates and forms unified strength, something positive for a change, a chance to make something out of nothing. His effort will not come to waste.

And he speaks. With his nondescript voice he introduces himself and injects humour. He manages to make some giggle, as if he cares. Then for another second turns his sight to the woman that captures his thoughts, as her smile reaches at ears' length. That was all he ever wanted.

The night was young but his sweat and tears imminent from the glow of happiness. It forms a nasty streak of panic. Imagine a sauna suit meant for a summer night's crisp shadows. The friendship was blooming for something special, and he knew he couldn't have done it without taking action.

Six years later and his memories begin to fade. The shadows of that night's shadows were no more than deceptive. His life is no longer his. In fact, it was never his to begin with. The girl now lingers in his thought like a distant movie from an absquatulating grave of memories. She now finds solace in the farthest corners of the smallest continent with a man he barely even knew. Nothing became of that smile of hers, although their friendship were already made concrete in their sentimental hearts. She carves a legacy for herself, goes on as if nothing ever happened, and he is left to wonder whether a chance like his ever come twice. His life is in complete disarray. Her guidance would be tremendously life-changing, if only for news of her where and whatabouts and her joyous hellos.

He recalls of a certain scrapbook that was shown to him by this girl, about a time where he could no longer understand what it is he began to feel, as he was clearly taken aback by the woman's emergent kindness.

Alas, memories are self-delusionary. Her friendship was merely masking her own bipolar self-esteem. His presence made it all the more better. He goes along for the ride, ready and willing to die at her heart's private real estate.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Harbinger of Fool

The price of love
Greed and despair;
There was once a man
That no friends care

The price of life
It's always pathetic;
To find the adventure
Inhale copacetic

The price of luxury
Grant the necks with chain;
I will never forget
This life will sustain

The price of lust
When cunts are supply short;
At night we awaken
Mission: Abort

The price of lordship
It's not a fucking tell;
It's no better than lust
When cocks repel

The beauty of madness
I see it all come to life
Like dust to dust
It blows into one's eyesight

All knowing, cunning
Slumbers in your skin
Until twilight and fall
When the summers are far
The sky affects it
Like the sun affects the sky

Protruding blindness
Fading sadness
Lingering blessedness
Ruling steadfastness

The resplendence of freedom of thought
The beauty of madness
The thought that abides leading to salvation
The beauty of madness
The light piercing right through the night
The madness in action

Conglobate
Masturbate
Surrogate
Elevate

I can almost see her face now
I've never seen her ever
I can tell I wouldn't like her
That much I already know
She stands in a mirror
With a torch in hand
Illuminating the area from where she stood
Not a familiar face in sight
I'm blinded by the light
I almost wished I died an hour ago
Just so to lessen the sorrow
Avoid the conspiracy
This shit is tragedy

Places, places
It's rhetorics, here and there
Argumentative, spit or swallow
Two of a kind

Spirits starting to see the fade
Powerful images of the only one
Not even my ghost
There it is
Eyeing girls with malicious intent
Slowly slit its throat

The dog barks
I don't have one
The other side of the balcony
Sparkles to signal an end
Rejuvenate me
Make me believe
The madness is all there is
Like it or not

Broken the girl
Into tiny little pieces
Her voice flutters like karaoke
Slapped her cheek silly

She fell to the ground
Her sputum oozes out
I saw lights behind me
Green apple on the table
Grapes too
Such a sparkling formula
Where do I begin
Should I levitate my wit
To the highest degree
That's all it'll ever be
Irrelevant and otiose

The fodder and the creep
The price is always steep
The price is always creep
The fodder is I
The creep is I
My price is nigh
But why
It's just a lie

Monday, 12 September 2011

Cachinnate, my mind did so

Exotic sexy fruit
Sadomasochistic brute
There goes my breakfast out the window
Care to join me in my death row

Some nights are pink
Some days do stink
Whatever floats my father's boat
He only rises when it starts to bloat

Smile for the camera
Sweet child of America
The end is nigh
Please choose how to die

Selfishness is the only one cred
Says the woman with a fountainhead
The twist and turns are of no use now
The youth and I both disavow

Good lord money Jesus
The sorrow you touch is but contagious
It lies deep within the well
It signals the ocean with an iron bell

Spread the lands fall down with fire
Complete in package; lust and desire
Nasty was that one prick
As my cock felt like a ton of brick

Count the blessing
Stranger passing
Yellow road
From where I stowed

Your cunt speaks
Like tangerine beaks
Birds of a brood
It's time to intrude

Eyes from the sky look down upon its people
Philip K Dick laughs at the kipple
It's times like these we need to understand
Our lives are but some gloves in hand

Sayonara Beats-san


For every humble beginnings, there's always tragic goodbyes. Yours would be something special, for we have shared many a laughs, many a sighs. Not. But I would be lying if I said I didn't try to resuscitate you by any means possible. The problem lies internally though, and it would sadly be permanent. So to commemorate your bastardly short existence, I offer you a quick trip to heaven by means of defenestration. So fly to heaven if you can. Someday you will pay me the respect I deserve once our paths intertwine together more. For now...

Rest in pieces you motherfucker you!

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Antilove

Thankfully, at this very moment, I am afebrile and back to my own normal standing, although there still is a slight discomfort in the upper palate along my mandibles most likely due to the swelling. I attempted to rupture it because it was getting on my nerves last night giving me a hard time sleeping but to no avail. I could not pierce the swelling myself. I am that much of a puss, I admit.

Now, on to something important I need to bring up from out of nowhere: Marriage. These past few months I've been with no one but myself except for a few minor exceptions when I had to visit my family in their own home. Yesterday I woke up to the news that I am going to be a married man soon. Surprising? Not really.

This is one of those soap opera moments where it's hard for me to tell reality from fiction. How could a solitary person like me be getting married? My last lay was two years ago even. I've barely even touched a woman since then. Well, it has something to do with desperation and poverty. None of which I chose for myself.

I would not have expected someone like my father to condone of such immorality much to my understanding of his principled nature but I guess life takes its toll when you least expect it, when you're grasping at the edge of a fall trying to save your loved ones in return for your own life. Your identity, your nature, your persona, all negated, banished into obscurity due to desperation, and in that moment you question even your own self, wondering how I could atone for my misgivings. This is one of those sad instances where you partake in fate's perverted twists, as it makes fun of your frailty, stepping at your so-called life, as it squishes it remorselessly with its hard-clenched fists. It is not that I didn't expect this at all, it's just that it's so absurd that it hurts knowing it's really going to happen. Love is not a factor, only 'practicality' is the answer. That is what they all say. That is what I would've said, were I in someone else's shoes talking to myself at this very moment.

I awakened, groggy and hurt, to answer the phone. I've been aware of the calls even in my sleep. I knew it was going to be either from my mother or father, but I did not expect it would be this soon. I checked on it to find three missed calls from my mother. I called back to know -- something important must be at stake, I first thought. Then she answered, slowly lulled me into her voice, as if begging, being nice -- which isn't really her nature, funnily enough. Carefully she explained it to me, how finances have plagued their stay in this country, how she could no longer manage the future, how everything is slowly drifting apart. I listened to her without uttering a single word. It's all pointless if I would, her mind was flailing around, and I wouldn't want to add more to her fragile physiology. They have all convinced themselves of a desperate move, as if to sell me to a trade hoping to give me a better future -- only who can truly tell?

Her demands was that we talk more about it as a group face-to-face, but I hesitated and said probably not soon. Obviously, I was disappointed, but it was the fever talking and I told her about my condition, how something so lame started from a tooth issue. She dropped the phone and I went back to sleep, hoping this time that my condition wouldn't interrupt it. But it did. Not only once, but numerous times. I was in and out of the bathroom trying to alleviate it without knowing what to do. I spat, I gargled, I drank. Went back to rest every opportunity I could, with the book, The Chronicles of Amber, beside me to help me sleep and give me better inputs for an excellent idea. Thankfully it helped managed to give me intermittent sleep, and whenever I would wake up halfway, I'd just continue reading before I pass out once again.

I dreamt of a wedding with the concept of true love. Women I loved from the past strolling in my thoughts, and I was in the middle of it and aware. I did not seem to mind at all knowing fully well it is all just a dream. I wouldn't allow it to carry me away. That would only wake me up with more misery. So I just basked in the happy thought knowing there are no repercussions. It made me calm and without realising it, I slept for an uninterrupted seven hours. I could no longer recall the things in that dream but I knew I dreamt it. The swollen gum in my mouth gladly shrunk, and my fever dissipating along with the awful demand for bed-rolling. The sun was up and shining brightly than I've ever expected for somewhere in London. For something so extravagant, I suddenly knew my answer to that dilemma. It saddens me to think how awfully dramatic I would have been if I stayed longer but somehow I urge myself that this is the right move. I have long lost my religious vows, but personally my views of matrimony remain sacred. I would have to go against everything I know once more in order to prove a point.

The answer came to me naturally and I knew what to tell them all when the right moment comes. It's difficult for me to pull a smile due to the swelling but I'm able to manage just that right now.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

Wankin' Toothache

In the wake of a toothache, please take away this decay. Pray this day goes away so I can make way for play maybe today, if not tomorrow. My mouth is in sorrow. Feels as if struck with an arrow then pulled into a gutter my eyes begin to flutter around as to mutter the sound of pain fall to the ground. This is insane. Someone end this bane, pull this chain, don't leave in vain, so I can finally train, put myself to the plane of sleep somewhere deep counting sheep without a single weep just because of something that's burrowing into my face. Fuck these awful ways that come without a trace. No more chase because this place is a disgrace. I need my injured tooth to rest in a booth somewhere with no pest. The best way to do test is simply jest lest the rhymes become dimes once these crimes come at the end of times.

Happy are those that are crappy as crows. They gawk, they can't talk. They don't need teeth to walk.

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

The Critic In Me

The link for my new (and old) blog about reviews: Reviews from C-Z

I'm also planning to add new stuff soon if willing. The amount of backlog is enormous!

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

I can already tell that I'll be your bestfriend in this forsaken camp

The whole band of clowns were still glued into their individual computers having LAN parties with Diablo II. Cammy walks over to Jules begging him and the others to help him with his final quest. He got disconnected on the very last minute with a very tense battle with Andariel to finish off the first act. He's so disappointed with himself and his computer he looks as if he's about to roll on the floor and sob. No one, as much as they love to piss each other out, would play a prank on him even. He was clearly devastated and would gouge an eyeball out of the next person to even attempt on making fun on his demise. Rand seems content with the flow, stuck with his own business of looting and simply being in the company of his friends, although deep in his heart, and his pockets, he's well-aware that the money he needs to continue raiding and parading with them will have to stop anytime soon if his wallet does not automatically fill itself with moolah. It's the most depressing factor he despised. He knows that friends are hard to come by without some form of finance. Bree does almost the same thing, but he's too hyper to worry about others. His attention lies solely to the comeuppance of himself among others. His only worries at that fateful night is to become the best there is at what he plays. His character, an assassin, is not popular amongst the others although he is well-deserved as a supporting role. The main attack group they have is Jules and Jay's barbarians. Rand's necromancer seem to serve as filler for another supporting cast but the sheer annoyance of using his skills are simply cringe-worthy. It just annoyingly fills the entire screen full of uber-weakling army of skeletons that he revived from many corpses loitering around. It didn't work well with Andariel. One wave of her poison cloud skill and every single of them faded from whence it came. That wasn't the last of Rand's tricks, to be honest. He still has his bone spear skill that he infamously used to humiliate Ferdinand's edited character paladin. Everyone loved to mock Rand and his necromancer because of the frailty of his defenses. One melee clash with the barbarians and he'd be done for, laughing and dancing around him and celebrating victory over his fallen ear. He was able to trick Ferdinand's paladin by staying on safe grounds whilst his iron golem did the hilarious antics for him. His bodyguard has a mind of its own, and if he so ever gets out would be futile, but he has nothing to lose for anyway. It was a hacked hero in the first place. Hilarity only ensues if he's able to kill Ferdinand's paladin without bothering to click the mouse. So while Ferdinand and the barbarians guard the outskirts of the camp hoping to lay a hilarious smackdown on Rand's necromancer, the iron golem works out his magic, with its bulky mass and heavy exterior, swiftly glides over to the other side of the screen and safeguards his master from harm, does the dirty work for him, sometimes to no avail. If others are well-aware of his presence, they quickly make do with his act and further embarrasses Rand and his skills. Dexter even joins in on the fun and includes his character in making fun of Rand. The funny thing was when Ferdinand was busy concocting something in his horadric cube, most likely full rejuvenation potions, and without even noticing that his character off-screen is being slowly decimated and flattened to the ground by the golem. The alter-ego, the man behind the character, screams in heavenly anger in his seat to everyone's amazement and to the others' extreme laugh tripping. It was his crowning achievement, his ear, which he kept on his cube for all the days his floppy disk remained living. Before the end of the night, everyone went to the server desktop to transfer savedatas and poke fun at each other more, reinforcing the bonding they shared; Rand still worrying about finances, everyone about to eat at a restaurant, awkwardness ensues, and a whole another story to reminisce that lasted through the ages.

Saturday, 3 September 2011

The girl with a thorn on her side

It's the smile and it's tragic. It's also deeply captivating and morose. It bends into a coil and slithers down her face and wraps around her ears, suffocating, recuperating.

The fundamental idea of her neverending conquest for her insufferable affection of roses speaks highly of the personality behind the enigma. She was born with thorns in her pockets, a sort of defense mechanism prepared for her by Nature in the will that the world is highly judgmental of other beings' own way of living. She has somehow accumulated enough resources to deny allegations of sorcery, not that it matters to her. In the end, it was all part of a widely-construed, mischievous plan. This plan entails many things that certain matters of taboo dare not explain. It is a self-explanatory accusation of man's infinite ambition for the grandeur obscurely hidden underneath the veil of hypocrisy. The roses she bore serve as powerful tools for her own ends. The moment she manages to sell one is a moment she spreads the contagion, airborne and guided by the flower's own mysterious biology. At any point in day that she is able to sell ten of these, ten men will discover for themselves firsthand the anomaly she possesses, leaving not a single trace of evidence afterwards. The disease merely masks the on-going suffering. The chronic suffering itself is persistent. The more we see the numbers of these fauna dwindling down, the more she goes to work her magic. It is then you witness that tragic, broken smile, her lower lip tucked beneath his upper teeth, her brows form a radiant separation, all calm, tender and dream-like in sequences.

The mystery begins to unravel one way or the other, as people grow more anxious and curious, as more news of travesty emerge from the papers. It takes one to step up to change the balance. A man, it just has to be. For a broken smile can only be redeemed by one with the courage and skillset to quell the woman's murderous desire for love.

Friday, 2 September 2011

John 1:1


John 1:1

The love that sees us through is the love worth dying for.

Debt to love

Were I to love a woman of the purest form,
Hers would have to be impaled with white gems;
For the highest praise the man can give her is
satisfaction above all else
Including that of her guilty pleasures
That even the man once held highly
in regards for himself

Hallelujah! a plate full of bones

What the storm wrought was nothing short of love
For the men now see life in hindsight
However short it may be to danger
The purpose is for longing and ultimately desire
Such things were never made to last

Precipitation

DIALOGUE


Clare Gertrude
Patrice Villanueva

Clare      -    I heard a very wonderful news about you, dear Patrice. Is it true?
Patrice    -    True what?
Clare      -    That you’re engaged to Miller? Everyone in town is in craze just hearing rumours about it.
Patrice    -    Well, he is quite the town’s darling, is he not? Sometimes I do not understand truly where my place is.
Clare      -    You will always have a place in mine.
Patrice    -    Clare, thank you, but you know better. I can’t do anything nowadays without people, journalists and the likes, clamouring for it. I’m like a media slut, full frontal nude for every person to see. My life is a difficult mess, love. Sometimes, I wish these times would just pass me by and then disappear all of a sudden. Like a night’s dream. You’re a lucky person, you know that? Having that luxury of freedom to spend when and wherever you want to. I’m no longer that kind of person. I’m something different, and it’s painful, because part of me wants to keep the old self the way it should be, not what it would be. All that is wishful thinking now.
Clare      -    Now, now. Surely you don’t mean those, dear Patrice. Others would kill just to have a slice of your pie, including me even. But you know how much I love you to know that seeing you happy is enough to content my envy. I will reach you one day, too, and together we shall be the most envied women in all of the world.
Patrice    -    Be careful what you wish for, Clare, for it is not heaven that you seek. We are no longer talking about playing and spending an afternoon in the park, lounging with the boys, eating, flirting, dreaming, kidding, fooling around. It’s hard when that instance comes to you and that realisation that you’re already grown-up. I don’t know about you but it hit me unexpectedly like a wall of bricks falling down on me, and then I had to climb up and stare at the sky all different. I can clearly tell that at that moment the sky was about to bring heavy rains, for the clouds were cumulonimbus, and only people with an ounce bit of wisdom would achieve that instinct, because it is an instinct learned over the course of life.
Clare      -    Funny you say that. I learned about clouds when I was eight.
Patrice    -    That’s not the point.

Search and destroy