What the world needs is a detailed revision on its vicious cycle of life and returning to it. Everything has derailed beyond what is comprehensible and sustainable, much like putting an end to the mutter of silent grunts of the gentlemen at the end of a vast parade.
What intrigues me most, like always, is how people put false hopes ahead of themselves, return and then think it was all but factual fate and luck.
Then comes the prolific-speaker-juggler professing his intimate lust for a listening ear that could jolly well become that return fire.
Sparks, my friends, sparks. We need to strike a little heat to start a little fire that could then grow with us, forever elevating us from darkness and the uncertain. Where would you be going today to trade a few sparks?
To get to the closest, it's almost adding Bold and Underlines, you no longer just highlight, you create emphasis. This, strictly followed by throwing in differentiation for prominence.
Providence never ever sounded so serious.
I hit the wall today - not because of a lapse in concentration, but its more of going through things like a jaggernaut and then getting stuck smack centre in a whirlpool.
I have a question, please help answer. Do you people actually understand what I type here half the time?
I actually am quite irrate with the fact that people still think the partnership went awry because it would be so, despite the unusual circumstances in which it did. Angel met a couple of our ex-colleagues and when they asked, it was all the same.
I understand how much she refused to further comment, but I told her, just tell them the truth. The conspiracy theories were in actuality, now fact, not fiction.
And in all honesty, I don't wish to repeat the same story all over just to appease people's curiosity. That's being somewhat an innocent plea to clear my already very hurt conscience.
Nonetheless. Did almost absolutely nothing today except to dream about dreams. So yeah. Wasted a perfect day.
Is when you help a total stranger up after he trips and falls, is when you tell your best friend how much you miss her right after you guys split from dinner, is when you bring the flowers out into the sun after the rain, is when you buy 2 charity tickets to watch the blind sing, is when you call your fiance after winning an award, is when you cut that fresh mango and pass one half to mom, is when you tell sis she's beautiful after her breakup, is when you nudge your friend awake after the film ends, is when you tell the world you love them in all shapes and sizes, is when you let the bee in the house back out into the garden, is when you stand guard by the kitten when she feeds, is when you spray water from a hose at your neighbor after a long run together, is when you tell everyone who calls you on the phone that - You are the sweetest.
Just like the haloed and winged guardians of good, you truly have a heart of gold, sweet Angel. Whenever there's a chance to pitch in, save the day or just make life easier for the people around you, you're the one for the job."
Dumb tests.
----------+----------
Something which I've always been living for:
The Moments of Merry
The Translation Of Languages
Taking It All In
Never Enough
Half my life dedicated to assisting those with real talents and pushing them as far as I could with whatever means I have, stretching limits and expanding boundaries, recreating imaginations and fusing ideas, goading new challenges, rediscovering new journeys and directions. And what has the authorities credited or rewarded me with?
One lousy dinner.
----------+----------
I would really love to reward the 20,000th visitor to this blog since tblog's revamp this year, which kinda happened last night, but tblog didn't capture any names or IPs to know who it was.
And, I just found out that I could no longer donate tBucks to other tblog users, which means another bummer.
In any case, althought we don't know who the 20,000th visitor was, I do know who the 20,001st visitor is!
Is killing me. I started writing 2 days ago, for a while it seemed good, then it got bad. Stopped for a day, picked it up earlier again, and got the rendition out. The darn ANAL thing now is: I wrote it, yet nothing is written!
I'm really pulling my hair over this man. Darn.
Somebody once said, "If things don't go my way, it's okay."
Sammy the mouse was a little late waking up today - he wasn't sure if he needed to get up to do something or if he should get back to sleep. Then, Gerald the Giraffe rushed by, seemingly on the way to something important. Sammy called out, "Hey Gerry, where ya rushing to?" Gerald turned back and shouted as he sped off, "To the Sacred Place! He's back one last time to paint!"
At that, Sammy gasped! He had forgotten all about the Painter! And if he misses this time round, he'll never be able to get any colors!
You see, the world started out all black and white, no colors existed till the Painter came when he announced that he shall give every thing (who so wishes to) some colors till he runs out, so that the world may become more vibrant and exciting. And today, the Painter would be back with his last batch of paints.
Sammy panicked, and immediately prepared his breakfast of white toast and grey butter. Then he thought, "This is no time for breakfast!" and dashed for the door. It was going to be a really long trip, but he had to make it or he will remain all white forever.
As he started for the Sacred Place, Sammy passed Randy the Rhino, "Hey Randy, the Painter's here today, aren't you gonna hurry?" To which Randy answered uninterested, "Nah, don't think I need any colors..." Sammy thought for a while, then waved goodbye and carried on his way. Did I mention Randy had always stayed grey ever since?
Then Sammy spotted Philippe the Peacock: "Hey Phillipe! You didn't ask the Painter for more colors?" Philippe moaned at Sammy, "Oh Sammy, my dearest Sammy, I was the fifth in line, of course I asked for all the colors!" With that, Philippe spread his wings and wiggled his long tail, fanning it open in a myriad of the most delicate paintings ever done! Sammy's eyes nearly popped, and he told himself he better hurry!
It must have been an hour before Sammy finally reached the entrance of the Sacred Place - it was amazing! The Sacred Place was all shades of dark grey and black, but after the Painter did the place up, it looked like the root of a rainbow - vibrant, colorful, and shiny in the now golden sun.
Sammy couldn't wait, and he dashed right in, but the queue was still long. Sammy would have to wait a while before he could get his turn, and peering from behind, he could see the Painter working on Chuck the Cheetah, "Perhaps you need some nice spots to go with on this yellow body, just to spot a difference from Leo, the lion. What you think?" To which Chuck was elated, "That's a good idea! Spots then!" And the Painter picked a darker brown and started drawing spots on Chuck.
Next, Perry the Parrot started her requests, "I was thinking, perhaps some red would be nice on the tip of the feathers, but I'd like a dash of blue on the top, and some green at the bottom...oh, could you please put some yellow at the beak and perhaps a sprinkle of purple on the neck..." But before Perry could continue, the Painter laughed, "Hahaha...okay Perry, how about if I add a little of everything, but still tidy you up with white as the base?" Perry was happy, and started yacking away again.
Sammy was getting worried, if everybody asked for all the available colors, what would he be left with?
But Sammy was in queue, so he couldn't hurry anyone up. The only thing he could do was to wait, as he watch the Painter paint Gerald the Giraffe (who got ahead of Sammy), Linda the Ladybird, and even Henry the Hippo, who was shy and asked for earth tones so politely, to which the Painter decided to add some gradients to the short fur, tail, and hooves.
Many hours passed before Sammy finally got to the front of the queue - well, actually, he was the last second in the queue. Sammy asked politely, "May I have some colors?" By now, the Painter had almost exhausted his supply of paint, but managed to squeeze a bit more out of the tube of red. "I'm so sorry Sammy, the only colors I have left are Blue and Red..." and the Painter's eyes welled up in tears.
Sammy was rather disappointed, but not wanting to even miss a single color, he proposed, "That's okay! Just paint me in whichever way you can!"
The Painter's heart ached when he heard that, then he thought for a while. Right behind Sammy was the spirit of the sky, and that gave him a briliant idea. The Painter told the spirit, "Can I offer you the most brilliant blue ever, like sapphire that burns the deepest blue high up above the rest, so that you, and the deep green sea, can let all other beings have a chance to be spotted?" The spirit smiled and nodded, and the Painter got to work in no time. Within minutes, the spirit was done, and the whole world was forever covered in the deepest blue anyone has ever seen - cool but not straining to the eyes. A true sapphire gem was born.
Then the Painter turn to Sammy who is now getting worried - he could not possibly be covered in red? How awful would that be? And certainly he cannot be covered in spots of red? That would make him look like he was sick!
The Painter patted Sammy on the head, and said in the most gentle voice, "Sammy, because you gave me a chance, and that you didn't give up, I shall offer you the last drop of my most precious paint!" To which, he gave Sammy the most fiery ruby red in the eyes, and the shiniest white sheen over the furs. "And Sammy, that is all the paint I have..." The Painter said sadly.
"But what about Randy? And Zach? They can't be grey, or black and white forever?"
The Painter smiled warmly, "Sometimes, not everything needs color. As long as their heart beats a loving beat, it does not matter what colors they are in. The colors I have painted are to add that dash of beauty and excitement for everyone, but deep inside, each and everyone is gold in color - the heart is always golden!"
Sammy smiled and nodded at that wisdom, and the Painter started packing. "Goodbye Sammy, may I be able to make more paints to paint everyone with more colors the next time!" And the Painter made his way out of the Sacred Place.
That night, Sammy's neighbors surrounded him in awe, all admiring that sheen that was never painted on anyone else.
I orphaned tBlog 2 days back, thinking it might sorta come out on its own. Truth is, I hated the last color combi and just needed a little tweaking before I can sit back and tell myself it's fine now. The fun part wasn't how the colors get together, but is what colors I put together and then everyone goes, "um..."
Stoned in today for quite a bit. It's a nice place with a nice view and all, just short of some decent company. By company I mean colleagues to actually hang out with. Doesn't look like its gonna happen anytime soon.
It's funny too. A few people actually thought having about a thousand square foor to yourself, surrounded by all that high-end equipment is actually a wow thing, a cool thing, and even a luxury. I wonder how that idea came about.
Anyways, been pretty beat. Seeya later cyberspace!
..thought it was gonna be easy - don't get me wrong, I never took it for granted that things should be where they should be, although I must add, they are. An acre of grassland is a deathtrap for a tortise but a reward for a deer.
And so begins another journey of sorts - to fulfill an onwards climb to the top with seemingly no room to fall. How safe.
----------+----------
So here comes the reality when 14 years ago, Old Bill retired from his fourteen hundred-a-month job and moved to the country. He would fish after breakfast, read out in the waters, tend the gardens in the afternoon, and watch the telly at night, 'just so to catch up on the news' he says.
And rain or shine, he'll find time to make ornaments which he puts out on the front porch on Sundays after church, sell them to travellers passing through, and donate the money to the town's charity fund.
Old Bill found his purpose in life, even though it was beginning to draw to a close. But hey, he was like a good book, and anyone would be reading the last chapter now.
And so it goes, this last chapter would be filled with colors, adventures and a dash of love.
Paul had been travelling southwards for the last four days, yet, he has not gotten to his destination: a new job awaits and he was eager to get started. Having passed countless of countryside towns, he finally pulled over at Old Bill's as it got stormy on this Tuesday afternoon.
"I'm sorry sir, but the storm's too heavy to carry on. Would you mind if I seek shelter till it passes?"
Old Bill was never fond of strangers, but on this occassion, this stout young man looked honest enough, "Get in here, son, before the storm gets the better of you!"
Paul hurried in, leaving his coat out on the porch bench so that he wouldn't be dripping all over. Old Bill grabbed a towel and handed it to Paul, and led him to the kitchen, "What's your name, son?"
"Paul, sir. Paul Halwert."
"Well, Paul, you have a seat while I get us some coffee."
Plain chatter ensued, and both were just as plainly entertaining as any other. A couple of hours passed, and the storm was beginning to die down, seemingly sorry to have held the poor chap up on his long drive. As Paul gathered his stuff, Old Bill handed a bag of cookies to him.
"Why thank you! It's definitely the best thing on this drive so far! Say, would you leave me your number? Maybe we'll catch up next month again?"
Old Bill was impressed: for someone half his age, Paul certainly was more polite than he imagined. They exchanged numbers, and Paul went on his way. For the next 3 weeks, Paul called Old Bill regularly to check on him, making sure that Old Bill's okay, and was enjoying his retirement.
On the forth week, while Old Bill was having his supper, he heard a car drive up round the front, and a quick knock on the door followed. Old Bill grabbed his shotgun and answered the door, "Who's that?"
"Old Bill! It's Paul!"
Old Bill was delighted, with no children to speak of, Paul was beginning to feel like a son. He hurriedly opened the door and welcomed the young man in with a bear hug.
"It's good to see you again Bill! And look what I brought you?" Paul handed a bag to Old Bill, and the fragrance emmanated the room quickly: he had brought the finest cocoa in this part of the country. Old Bill beamed uncontrollably. "I know you'd be happy to receive them, and it wouldn't be right to have someone else send it over!"
Delighted, Old Bill held the bag up to his nose and took in the fragrance carefully - it was not only the finest, but was of the best harvest. He quickly recovered and brought Paul into the kitchen, where he prepared his best coffee, and presented his best work to Paul - a solid-wood, hand-crafted mustang with two raised hooves, as if it was permanently reaching out to the stars.
"Bill, it's beautiful!" "I had it done real quick for the last 2 weeks!"
And a night of chatter grew quickly. Paul stayed the night and both men were bonding.
For the next 6 months, both men took their time spent seriously - Paul would visit every few weeks, and Old Bill even drove to the city where Paul worked, twice. Their friendship grew strong till it seemed no son could replace Paul, and no father, Old Bill.
This Sunday morning, Old Bill got ready for church as usual, and after dressing up, he went to the kitchen for his regular dose of cocoa. Just as he was about to finish, Old Bill felt a sharp pain in his chest, he dropped his cup and clasped his chest sporadically. Then he blacked out.
What followed was falling in and out of consciousness, and Old Bill was beginning to fear the worst: he was not afraid of dying, but he was afraid he may not see Paul again. Several hours passed, and as he witnessed himself being rushed to the hospital, Old Bill began to feel nothing. And then, there was nothing.
It seemed like along time, and for all that's good, Paul finally got to the hospital too late. He cried uncontrollably at Old Bill's lifeless body, but alas, he knew it was the end. But he promised himself that Old Bill would be buried with the utmost of dignity and honour.
And it was at this time, that Old Bill suddenly jerked awake in the middle of a plains. A warm breeze blew and the rustling of the grass was musical. As Old Bill got up, he saw a man standing under a big tree not too far to his right. He walked over, feeling cool about the whole thing.
"Hello?"
"Old Bill..." The man shouted back, and Old Bill recognised the voice. He hastened over, and looked carefully - it was Paul!
"How have you been Old Bill?" Surprised, Old Bill answered curiously, "Why, Paul! I'm doing great, but I think I had a heart attack earlier on..."
"Indeed Old Bill. You had a heart attack. And you're dead." Old Bill was now really surprised, "Dead? But we're still here?!"
The man walked forward to Old Bill, and as he did, spread two giant feathered wings on his back.
"Yes, Old Bill! Welcome to the land that never sleeps, His Glorious Kingdom, Paradise, or whatever else you so choose to call it!" The angel smiled, "We just call it Heaven around here!"
Old Bill was speechless, but he could sense the reality of it all, "But Paul, are you dead too?"
The angel laughed, "No, Old Bill! I was sent to fulfilled what you were not given!"
The funeral was beautiful; Paul had flowers that lined the room that Old Bill's friends thought were the sweetest thing on earth for him now. Each and everyone who came took Paul by the hand and offered their condolences as if Paul were his son. This, Paul felt, was the closest to having a father and he knew it was the best thing that ever happened to him as an orphan.
Old Bill's lawyers came, and presented Paul the will that Old Bill had drawn - in it, Old Bill left all his estates to Paul, but advised to donate some to charity.
Paul did so subsequently, and in it, received the most precious gift: the joy of sharing, and having.
All this time, Old Bill walked behind the angel, "Paul, could you tell me something? Were you real?"
"Of course, even now, as we speak, Paul continues to remember you." "But you're here?!"
"Angels can look like anyone you want to believe. What's important is that, for whomever we look like, you know you left that most beloved person behind."
With that, Old Bill stopped, and started to cry. Immediately a storm brew from behind, the skies turned dark and thunders rolled in the distance.
"Do not cry, Old Bill. For every tear you shed now, this loved one will know it."
Paul stopped his breakfast all of a sudden - his heart ached and he yearned to see Old Bill again. Yet, he knew it was all impossible. As he paused, he remembered the time he spent with Old Bill, and how much he was of a father.
"The more you cry, the harder it would be for Paul to move on."
"But I just wish I could see him again..."
"And you would be satisfied?"
Old Bill hesitated. Indeed, he missed Paul and there were still so much to tell him. But with that, Old Bill also knew that for all the time they had, it was more than enough. "Old Bill, Paul would miss you too. But your time has come, would you not pass the pearly gates?"
Paul got up from the table and made straight for his car. He dropped by the florist before making his way up to Old Bill's grave. There, he knelt and presented the flowers and said sadly, "Old Bill, I do miss you much. God has given me the best present, and I will treasure all the times we spent together."
The distant clouds cleared quickly and revealed the doors of a shining gate not too far ahead. "Old Bill, you have a choice. The gates await, but you can choose not to let it wait. If you so choose to see Paul again, the gates will close."
Old Bill stood still, not wanting to hear anything else. He would want to spend one more day on earth than to have the gates open.
Won't you just take my hand, walk my way, and we will find the sweetest place! To fall in love yet again... Over and over till our time fills and ends the day.
And I just found out that the internet is crawling with useless products that probably don't need? Instead, you get to buy bombs and radioactive materials, little accessories which are a pure waste of time, and equipment that only a space shuttle will require?
Try searching for something so mundane and you end up with historical archives and writings, theories, subject matters, and everything else all except - that thing.
I should be in the movies. I think I can really act. I think I can win an award for my trying on the role of that happy-go-lucky. I think I'll get my make over done to don on the covers of magazines. I think I'll make the perfect villain for a cheesy B-Grade film. I think I am quite smart for a dead-end script. I think I would prepare my acceptance and thank you speech for my awards ceremony. I think I thought I was thinking too much.
Facts caught up with me today when I sat at the usual coffee shop sipping drink slurping lunch - broke and completely unsustainable. Today's Vesak Day, what, honestly, can I ask?
Health to strengthen my batteries so that I can screw up more? Longetivity so that I can see how bad I eventually do? Wealth so that I don't need to work so hard and start praying for health or longetivity? Or should I plain ask why.
Why I've got the most precious of things on this earth, yet unable to fulfill them. I'm a thing too, and I'm precious. But. So?!
2 souls cried today - one over love, the other over love. I saw one, heard the other. All because of love. The honey sap that turned bad.
----------+----------
The continuation of my parcel story: went straight up to the lady behind the counter, "I want a box." Paid, then loaded my stuff in wrote the address, went up to another lady behind the counter, "I want to send this parcel." She received it, and I asked next, "How soon?" That's when she said, "1 to 3 working days starting from Monday."
Great. So getting it to the post office getting the parcel registered getting the fastest mode of mailing getting it quite expensively and getting it all out taking me close to half an hour, all just to have it arrive earliest next Monday. Just great. Looks like the weekend's squandered. Sorry box.
Picked this word up from the song, "Praise", originally written by Mario some time back, which I took, arranged, recorded, and performed on. I just like the last bit though, it's just somewhere between wanting to do it and not doing it.
And Colin + Kero... cute mah! Cherisse say not cute...
I stole some time out of today to stone a little, wipe the mind blank, and just to forget I am alive. Whenever it feels the uphill journey's gonna crash, I'll withdraw into a stage of holes, where every step is a risk of falling through. Reasons aplenty to do just that today, not because work took a toll, I mean, it sort of did? But I think it's all about emotions. If I can put emoticons here for today's, it be one of rainbow in a thunderstorm.
Came to realise the fundamental theory of being - we're born hungry. Just that. It's all about filling the tummy and switching off. Challenge me on that.
Courteously called an express company today to send a parcel out, asked like a hundred questions, queried another thousand ifs, then told me this: they can't sent negotiable items. And what's that you ask? I was trying to send some CD's and fashion accessories out. And did I hear you ask why can't they send those? The answer is: they can't send negotiable items. Are you wondering like me about why they can't make an exception? The reply was: they can't send negotiable items. So what's negotiable items? They told me they are the items I was trying to send. And why can't they send negotiable items like CDs and accessories? Simple: cos they are negotiable items. Right. Ask this company again and they'll probably tell you, "Dunno How La!"
So I searched other express companies, and apparently you can't send things like (mind you, they are actually in the company policies and government laws): Explosives (duh), Perishables (double duh), items with values higher than their original purchased values (DUH DUH DUH - like what?! shit?!), and it's like this whole long list of duh items. Ok. Maybe I'm ignorant about the laws, the regulations, the policies and whatever other rules there are, but I JUST WANT TO SEND A PARCEL!
So I came up with this idea of getting my friend to send it right, and I asked how much can I pay him to do it. Trust me, I might as well fly there myself. So I figured why not just pay a cab and get it driven just bloody delivered, then my friend said, "yeah right, he takes the money and the parcel, drives halfway through, dumps it out the cab, and goes home." Good point there though. So I finally settled, snail mail. Urgent, but, what choices do I have?
Anal. Dunno How La!
I thought this Easy-Black color scheme softens the white impact a little, easier on the eyes, and softer on the tones. Then again, what eyes and what tones?!
17,+++ Visitors since nobody-knows-when. So now have lucky draw! The 20,000th visitor will win:
Drum roll
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
100 tBucks! So start telling all your friends about it!
How is it like to love a mirror image? I queried the online love matches on astrology: what's it like to love someone like yourself?
Strangely, it's explosive!
I woke this morning with a slight snag in my back, apparently been sleeping on stuff that I've been throwing all over bed, and they just stayed there. And here I am, lamenting about it.
Someone said I didn't sound resigned enough, and I asked how it should sound like. Then this whole black, white, grey thing all came up, and kinda went nowhere. I think I'm just trying to waste some time here to make it seem worthwhile staying online for tonight.
A big package is going out later, and I'm just not too sure how to send it. Hmm.
It seems I caused a bit of civil unrest in real life via the last post - relax. I'm a peaceful being ;) Just don't let me see the select few and I should be as well behaved as a trained pup.
----------+----------
I walked out of the train station today and saw 2 blind people walking out the lift, sticks in hand, holding one another... but people just shunned from their paths.
At lunch, I sat at the coffeeshop people watching, saw this old man across the street, staggering in small steps to keep moving.
I heard about a boyfriend getting caught in bed today with someone else.
I was told about an incident involving molest.
I recalled how poverty kills.
And how jealousy spills.
I...
..
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I learnt to stop crying at the age of 18, when I was ushered into the bus and sent to the camp. Crying, no matter how muted, how private, how soft, how hurt, how little, I never did ever since.
I learnt to grow up from being a spoilt street brat and moving on to becoming one of the more reliable people around.
I learnt to forgive myself for being selfless, and for giving more than asked for.
I think I finally succumbed to my mental tortures - it's a whole mental meltdown far worse than watchin Chernobyl right in front of my eyes, or a fledging passenger flight dashing into the WTC. Cyberspace never felt this good cos everything else is factual, nothing else is real; and nothing is ever factual, and all things become unreal.
I spoke to the table today and it said it got tired of standing; the chair said likewise; the bed had it worse: it can't sleep within itself.
I also made up my mind - I'm leaving. For sure. It'll only be a matter of time. I can no longer comprehend the vastness of people taking advantage of people, nor can I truly appreciate how much sincerity is now worth. I gave my heart, but the world consumed it like some dark evil character in an anime picture that freezes over a spot of light. Such irony - when you feed yourself with pure white hopes, and the return key shows you on-screen the bleakiest picture ever.
Jean, I need a shrink. I mean it.
And then, hope stood between choices and decisions. Which do you go for? Truth? or go down with a fight? I fucking hate them. And by them, yeah, I meant those who helped pushed and zipped my devious plan to paint a beautiful picture of love.
I hate them.
To the core.
I hate them. I really do. So much so I'll remember the 6th for the rest of my fucking life, which honestly, won't be too long.
Tell me about karma? I'll tell you about real life. I walk the streets every day looking at impossibles being done; I read in the news till I'm sick of the media; I hear stories till I find myself vomitting and falling cancerously sick; and what then? Tell me about karma? I'll tell you what survival does to a man.
He kills to live and swears to defend; threatens to get and loves just so to be forgotten. So ask me about real life again, no, don't even try asking me what love is. Try asking me about real life, and you see me, a real living person trying to survive.
I don't know what got into me. Really. I wish I knew, but it seems finding out why doesn't really matter anymore for I find no use for information of facts and figures, uninteresting, disruptive, and even irritating at his very moment in time, much like an active volcano that is purely uninterested in who lives below or what tide it'll bring.
Dear divined: You put me here today to suffer the wrath of what I have done before. Yet, you give me the best things I've ever had in this life. You torment my weak soul and break my mental strength. Please. Let me breathe. I need to breathe. I need to breathe.
And no matter what excuses, elaborations, reasons, or words said about my poor old zipper, I hencforth hold the 6th tormentingly haunting in my head.
I live a real life. Are you living a real life?
For those who frequent, not that I do not support your cause, but cyberspace has been a dear friend for many years, and I honestly don't want myself to be abused any further with forceful anticipation or reception. The spectacle of a hated fallen comrade wields great emotional powers that may eventually bring grief, but who else's gonna cry you a tear when your comrade dies.
I want to leave.
All the things that you might rememeber,
And all that hurts you cannot recover...
Some things were not meant to endeavor,
And the reason starts to blur altogether...
That is what life be - REQ
Hurt can be measured by what someone says, especially when more words in the vocabulary are being used. As far as it cares to go, hurt can become overly manipulative, obsessive, and somewhat perverse.
Take me for example, I hate to be questioned if I've been hurt; yet I cannot sit still or just toss in bed to sleep it away. And my best weapon against ill-emotions is to throw it all in a song.
But fact is, hurt is only mere words stringed together to form a nonsensical passage of time. And this time can be better utilised in terms of energy translation and pure diversion of interests; and by interests I mean people, things, hobbies, activities and so forth. Hence, if it can be measured, what is your quotient, say, as compared to joy or excitement?
----------+----------
The last message I received was at 4:01PM. And was I doing? Sleeping. And why was I sleeping? Good question.
It's strange - not that I'm complaining but tblog can use a decent updating system. It's been a rather trying time to access and update, and for a faithful subscriber like me, it's getting quite tough to keep myself here.
But fact is, it's getting harder to blog. Not that I don't have the time, but it's just one of those periods you suddenly feel like there's nothing to blog about, talk about, or even think about.
Something big came up lately, and by all good, I'm very impatient to get a hold of it, make sense of it, and even just be with it. I know it ain't going to be easy, but somehow it gave a brand new direction, a brand new motivation, even a proper introduction and initiation.
And I'm talking about D.C. with a lot of affiliations and emotions attached. It's like, suddenly, a rock can nail a wall in, and a sponge can hold a house up.
Such a major force is god-like - you waltz into the party like a superstar or get whizzed into the mountain summits like some VIP on a speed and steroids concoction.
It's kinda rare these days that I have any premonitions about my own future and those of others - perhaps I so chose to block it out and not be so hung up about it, or perhaps it just doesn't come anymore. But I think I just don't wanna know. I really don't, but one came.
Did I mention that I hadn't had sun for a while now. I love the sun - for the years I've been keeping myself in dinghy dark studios, this is like revenge. Anyways, this was started like 8 hours ago, but I guess I took my time. What's happening with everyone else?
Loug'rev vu rejp'oe klaus:jif opr-etis ju'Ohev. Plorev juse'wia kilurv mog ouf vu ye'su-et hulo'yux kol:jid amouz-l p'er kuxl bielamoau ty'vcax vu nujic-xe juse'wia muclio-serozial.
