lg question of the night

What's the difference between TRUE and REAL?

dogma

Why is it so hard to break from routines?

It's hard to let go of things that you've gotten used to. That's why it's hard when people leave. That's the reason why break-ups are so harsh. That's the reason why you miss places you've spent three days and two nights on. That's the same reason for addiction. That's the exact, same reason why it's sad when telenovelas end.

It's hard to miss things. It's hard to let go of comfort.

cornflake girl

Hey there Big Guy,

I know I've been a big disappointment. I’ve always been.

You see, I often try to be with You, but more often than not I seem to get lost along the way. I was a half-sheep (if a cooked one, medium rare). Only stupid and dull and not exactly obedient.

You know what I think I am? Some voodoo doll of yours who’s trying oh-so-hard to get out of the story. Someone who’s desperately trying to be smart and someone who has the delusion of being brilliant. Yes, I perceive You as reality, and You’re the only Someone whom I perceive as reality for that matter, but the thing is, I seem to love my imaginary world where I seem to take control of things. And right now, everything’s just a mess. It’s like the morning after one big party with nicotine and alcohol and balloons and all.

I think it’s very funny of You to give me this gift of messing my self and things up.

It looks like I’ve slipped somewhere again.

And right now, I guess I’m still under coma - between the party and the morning after. I don’t know what to do. No, I know what to do but the thing is, I can’t wake-up. I don’t know if I’m ready to wake up. I don’t even know if I want to wake up right now. I’m paralyzed. And I’m sorry.

things are getting kind of gross
and i go at sleepy time
this is not really happening
you bet your life it is
Tori Amos

frustrations and conversations with the self

I think I've misplaced my soul.

The thing with being an irony of being apathetic and highly emotional at the same time? It's madness.It's like chasing some memory. No, make it chasing some memory of something that never existed. What if my soul's just something I imagine to have? And how would one now that the soul's lost if, without the soul, one can't feel anything?

It's not sadness then, more of an idea of frustration. Like logical nostalgia.

i'm guessing that this is due to sheer boredom too

Most people I know were stricken by this thing called love. Or so
I think. Or so they think.

The Crush. I have this friend whom, lately, has been a source of amusement of this person whom we shall call, "The Crush". He's sort of kinikilig and is going back to the ancient practices of the "collegiala" (Yeah, you're not getting me wrong. My he friend is a collegiala. And mind you he's not gay, he's just really some collegiala inside.). Now they're sort of going out and I'm sort of terribly missing that person whom I enjoy drinking with. (And the kuwento. Oh man.)

Love that's sort of lost. One friend seems to have her "love life" tricked by mysticism. She has mastered the art of staring at blank walls and has drunk every alcoholic drink she can get ahold of. Quoting from her, "I'm miserable. And dying."

Cheese Decays. Due to sheer boredom, and after I disagreed to identify what "love is", Aden and I threw some "cheesy lines from songs" yesterday (Yeah, that's our lazy Sunday afternoon there.) , making me download songs by ate Shawee.

What's with the moon in Leo?

I think I'd get some sleep for a few hours more.

bagong tulog

Now my mind is constantly drifting to feelings that are unseen. Sleep is terrible in keeping people sane. It often brings me to things that I don't think should even be spoken of, like the haunting past and the much more haunting future; the scary and the lovely - the unknown. They're too beautiful to be ruined by the mind.

There's this thing about sleep that makes you feel tired, more of makes you realize how beaten up your body actually is. I mean, it's crazy. You go to sleep and defy the purpose of it after doing so, like sleeping off a headache then waking up with another headache which one gets as a result of over-sleeping
(Yeah, when one has a headache, no matter how long one sleeps, it doesn't seem to be enough.)

Another terrible thing about sleep (or after sleep, technically speaking) - it makes one feel more alone, and I think that that's one powerful word there. It's like starving the soul.

Now that's terrible and difficult and sad.

I think I'll just stay awake for a while.

error

I'm bored.

And I have this theory:

Boredom is not the absence of activity - it is the absence of the ability to choose a certain activity. Not option paralysis, more of the willingness to be paralyzed.

I'm sedated and my mind's not functioning.

OA. Sore eyes lang yan.

My eyes are trying to take control of my body.

I have a pair of jealous eyes. They want me to see them and them alone, and they only want to see me and me alone. Now they're driving people away. They want other people to be mad at me for staying near them. They want me not to go to work. They're crying for my attention, wanting me to attend to every need of theirs. Their allies are engulfing every matter that try to rape them both.

Now one by one my body parts are disintegrating.

Having eyes that are so spoiled, they're beginning to rot.

I'm beginning to rot.

Nightmares. Can't go back to sleep. Scared.

Lots of dogs, wanting and waiting to rip my body; several street kids who look like Japanese dolls, asking for things inside my pocket - as if they know everything in there; several old trees that resemble those from Alice in Wonderland; and some white "gas" that looks like some twisted wire, like those that bind your spring notebooks, ready to take over my body.

5418868000003378

Ring. Ring.

The oh-so-familiar voice is there again.

Hunting.

Trying to trick you.

Trying to grab your wits.

A bunch of codes then..

She's in.

There you are, hating her. But then again you can't do anything but obey every single command of hers. Every second you get shaky, as if she'll consume you if you haven't provided her with all her needs.

More than consume, actually.

You can't help but be manipulated by the sort of unseen speaker. Even extra careful with the words you're about to say.

You want the conversation to be over, and the least thing that you want to happen is for her to be mad.

No.

You wouldn't want that.

Alas.

"Would there be anything else, Ms. Clinton?"

"Nahh. That's it."

Click.

Several minutes past four in the morning. Last Saturday of May.

Then she's gone.

And damn.

Would you miss her so.