Sunday Sirens

I wonder what his dreams are



Yes, we'll help you have a bright future.

katrina

swell. i was looking for pictures of you. trying to remember you. trying to recall how you were when you were still.. trying to see how you looked like with that heavy make-up. is that a blue sequined gown? oh god. what the..

trying to picture you on that glassed thing. can we see your whole body? or would it be just the upper half? why not make it the lower half? mahogany? narra? brass? is that your choice of urn? classy. jade. nice. nice.

wait. why am i so moved with your funeral? and what is this bed sheet doing here?

oh.

If women were pets,

we would have been cats.

When a cat makes lambing, its sweeter - kasi they don't usually do it.

I miss my cat. I miss its furry body and its smell that reminds me to have it bathed. I miss its distinct air of sophistication and its refusal of negligence. I miss Rar badly :(

He was here when everything seemed strange and not quite right. We would often end up in habulan till we were both exhausted, then we'll talk. Nice conversation. Him and his human.

He'd often cry in the middle of the night. Somehow he knows that I'm just there, awake and troubled too. He'd stare at me while I go though pages and pages of books like Cell Biology and MorphoAna. If only he knew that my block mates and I and tons of scientists were responsible for the death of his family.

I miss how its stare manipulates me. I miss how it makes me do things without even asking me to do so. Rar abandoned our home a few days after I left. Either he missed me, or he knew what was really happening.

Something tells me that that cat was me.

And now he's just nowhere to be found.

This is

one of those mornings when I don't feel like talking but have a lot to say. Can't construct the sentences, things just flowing out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

kill the mood swings

These mood swings are killing me. Been having it since I have no idea when, but the past few days had been pretty awful (wow, pretty and awful). Can't even write about things - the second an idea comes, half of my crammed brain contradicts the other half. A dialogue on it's own and I'm not even part of it.

Madness.