Prejudice...
How I wish I had not said what I did, if only words can be taken back or better, time.
Wishful thinking.
- - - -
A trip down to the outskirts of shameville carving my name on marble and erecting a statute for that little malodorous blooper.
I was looking for the building they so named VSB… at the 3rd floor, it’s where I’ll supposedly find my unsociable classmates and my illustrious S.H.T.(yes, sht… sounds a little familiar eh? *lol) professor, Mr. A.
Out the main gate I go ambling past the lethargic security guards who were pretending to be busy checking students’ bags for anything suspicious, I reckon, that’s rather unlikely. Opened up my `red umbrella for I cant let the sun graze my ruddy face, then slowly promenade forth the yawning unfamiliarity I call, a new school, and to that building I was supposed to be in. Feeling all aware of the invisible stares thrown at me by the surrounding audience, and the sweltering heat sprawling up within me… I…
Walk…
One step,
Two step,
Three steps…
Walk an inch of a step…
Oooh… I caught a glimpse of a building that sort of fits the description provided for me by one of my cousins who graduated there and claims her temporary amnesia when it came to the matter of classroom locations.
`I have to walk fast, I don’t want to be late...
I said to myself, with my eyes still fixed at the building.
Feeling all awkwardly demure in my nursing uniform, surreptitiously swearing in my head how simply impractical it is to wear such inhibiting clothes. Chin up… Uneasy… walking like how a silly Japanese geisha would in her kimono. Okay, that is an exaggeration… but its close to that.
With umpteen students marching with me, plenty in front and more behind… heading towards the same building, I dislike to think. The scenery was practically painted with these white glaring school uniforms, and it would be pretty obvious if there was one person in civilian who’ll stroll with the bunch.
I tripped.
And as I said, with all that white… it would be pretty obvious if someone made a fool out of themselves just like I did. Imagine me on all fours, with my 3 inch heels and freaking unnaturally short nursing uniform (well at least it is unnatural for me). My umbrella flipped out of my grasp to some far away place unreachable for me that time, considering my discomfited position.
A classmate of mine, from my previous class picked it up for me.
You know what he said,
“Oh! It’s you… “ and stifles a giggle while he handed out the errant umbrella to me.
Shocked and Humiliated like I never was before.
BLACK OUT…
Good thing, there was no razor blade in sight.
~What just sucked is that nobody even bothered to help me up. Tsktsk. What a Cold, Cold world.
--oOo--
Friday, April 27, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Yikes...
Nursing… is truly a draining course, and unless you have guts to touch and extract blood from a person, stand next to someone with a contagious disease and conduct assessments and stuff, gosh. The stamina to stay up until in the wee hours of the night studying, plowing through 6 inches thick references, sometimes not be able to recall any of it in the morning… that determination to press on knowing it will only get worse from there, all those community service, duties on hospitals, having to put up with unruly mentally unstable patients… lots and lots of other adversities.
You know what frightens me most?
The probability of being assigned to a leprosarium…
And you know what else?
It’s the topic chosen by my groupmates for our S.H.E. and I have to add it was decided without my assent.
So we’d have to do research’s and everything needed to be able to present a decent report. And we’d have to demonstrate it all… in front of the whole…. Class.
Great, two of the worst situations I could ever imagine myself to be in.
*Visiting a hospital of uhm, leepers. No offense, I really don’t know what is wrong with me. But it terribly scares me, the idea of it all.
*Having to talk to an audience, and more so, like a professor. In my wildest dreams.
To cap it off… we’ll be the first group to present a report.
Its going to be a busy week.
I am scared. >.<
--oOo--
You know what frightens me most?
The probability of being assigned to a leprosarium…
And you know what else?
It’s the topic chosen by my groupmates for our S.H.E. and I have to add it was decided without my assent.
So we’d have to do research’s and everything needed to be able to present a decent report. And we’d have to demonstrate it all… in front of the whole…. Class.
Great, two of the worst situations I could ever imagine myself to be in.
*Visiting a hospital of uhm, leepers. No offense, I really don’t know what is wrong with me. But it terribly scares me, the idea of it all.
*Having to talk to an audience, and more so, like a professor. In my wildest dreams.
To cap it off… we’ll be the first group to present a report.
Its going to be a busy week.
I am scared. >.<
--oOo--
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
My eyes are particular
What is with a name that you would be so attached to?
Rather queer of me to bear so much of an aversion towards a particular name, and rather coincidental of him to bear that particularly aversed name. I would have never thought, for all the world, that it would be his last name. One which I promised not to be doing anything with, not even having it spoken, or seen. You must think me lunatic for rendering such an opinion of a perfectly innocent thing.
I just sometimes, dislike things without even knowing why. Like people calling me `baby’, see, I personally do not like being called that. Most particularly in an amorous way. Its okay though, if I am the one who says it. But if its other people, it will just make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t have any qualms with other endearments, only this one. Don’t ask why, I would not be able to give you an accurate answer. Anyways, back to the name.
Now that I have known this tiny delicate fact about him, it might affect the friendship I have with him. I know it is perfectly silly of me, but there are just certain things in this life that I am not ready to change. The only thing that bothers me, is how perfectly adorable he is. Adorable as to which would almost make me want to reconcile my opinion of him. How self-righteous could I get, eh?
- - - -
1 Perfect day to go before my flight back… “home” as some would call it. I am both anxious and excited at once. My mom, I bet is just as anxious and excited… and probably worrisome too, of the expense of the vacation I mean. They’d already set up plans to go to several beautiful places (which I’d love to go to someday) in the Philippines, and do stuff while we’re there. Cramp up all those activities in 2 full weeks. Sadly, by 16th I would be going back to school again, so I cant be with them. Almost 7 months, if I can remember it correctly, of school break for me. It paid off I guess, my once almost blind disinterest on education has been replaced by this overwhelming, might even be voracious need to learn and do school stuff, stay up late at night to finish a homework, conduct projects, mingle and interact with both school and class mates, feel that frightening pressure, the inexorable drive that stems from fear of an impending exam, and most favorably so... meet the terror professor that would make my remaining college years a more admirable experience. I terribly missed all of that, and I am proud to admit it. For I am a reformed slacker. Yes I am!*lol* I sure do hope so, for I like to think that.
I want to write something for and concerning my mom. Because she has been such a most wonderful company, counselor and mother first of all. She is simply… the greatest woman I have ever known. I don’t tell her, but I know that she is aware of this, that she is my hero… the one I look up to and try to emulate. And I am too embarrassed to actually say those things to her, but I will find a way somehow. Alright, enough with the mushy stuff. Here is something I wrote… hope you like it. And as always, it’s the art of all of it that I want to etch upon you.
- - - -
Have you ever looked at someone and know what they are thinking about?
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical… What could be behind those dark sad eyes of hers… those two cold heartless eyes looking back at you…
They say the eyes are the windows of the soul.
They say you’d know a person by staring into their eyes.
They say all this,
But they do not know…
They will never know,
Never understand…
Ever.
She always stares blankly into empty space… adrift into her deep ponderous thoughts… to a place only she knows and would never let anybody else know about. Each time I come across her, it always impresses a sense of idiosyncrasy. If I could only buy her thoughts for a penny, or a dime perhaps, for it is all I can afford for now, I would.
It has become rather frequent.
These broodings of hers.
Her eyes, remind me of the sweet gentle spring. It is what you notice first when you see her. Those beautiful eyes of hers. Quite a lot of people have paid due flattery on them. I haven’t said mine to hers yet, but she knows how much I admire them. Those eyes of hers are indeed a thing to behold, like the sunshine… or flowers, or anything vaguely beatific. Especially when she broods,
But I wonder though;
Why do they look sad, if they make people happy?
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical…
One time I came up to her and reluctantly queried;
For I wanted to know,
“Are you… unhappy?”
She was in one of her brooding moments that time, when I came up to her… she just stared back at me with those beautiful eyes of hers that had me speechless for a minute, but she did not answer.
I held myself together and asked another question;
For I needed to know,
“Is this all a… pretense?”
She smiled at me… then, I saw her slowly close those eyes for a fleeting moment, and then opened them up again for me to see. This time, they looked strangely… pleased.
The room suddenly went dark… as dark as her pleased mocking little eyes that we’re both fixed at me. The warmth of the room was somehow turned into a chilly cold almost heartless space. Everything around me just seemed too lifeless.
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical…
I did not notice her stand up and walk forth me, when I did she already was beside me. All I could see of her were her two glaring dark eyes never wavering…
“Everything is a lie. Everything is just a version of a truth. Fabrications of our own fallible minds to make up for what we lack, for we all are so deficient. You see me, I am a lie. A big big lie without a purpose and without an origination. Other people only see me as they wish to, if they see me any other way they would be repulsed and look at something else. So I let them see whatever delights them most. I let them see me as they want, and that becomes what I need them to see in me. For the truth might be too jarring for both my audience and me; for they would not ever want to set their naïve eyes on me if they saw the true version of my truth. What you see in my eyes only reflects a part of the truth in me that I could not help but let everyone see. But it would not matter for it is only a tiny part… and cannot be inferred upon. That is what makes it so beautiful.”
She says to me.
`Why then are you so afraid of the truth?’
“Did I say I was afraid of it?”
Then she moved to the curtains behind me… and peered into the magnificent world outside with her beautiful, sad sad eyes.
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical… Puzzled.
`What a pity that with all that beauty lays so much criminality.
--oOo--
Rather queer of me to bear so much of an aversion towards a particular name, and rather coincidental of him to bear that particularly aversed name. I would have never thought, for all the world, that it would be his last name. One which I promised not to be doing anything with, not even having it spoken, or seen. You must think me lunatic for rendering such an opinion of a perfectly innocent thing.
I just sometimes, dislike things without even knowing why. Like people calling me `baby’, see, I personally do not like being called that. Most particularly in an amorous way. Its okay though, if I am the one who says it. But if its other people, it will just make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t have any qualms with other endearments, only this one. Don’t ask why, I would not be able to give you an accurate answer. Anyways, back to the name.
Now that I have known this tiny delicate fact about him, it might affect the friendship I have with him. I know it is perfectly silly of me, but there are just certain things in this life that I am not ready to change. The only thing that bothers me, is how perfectly adorable he is. Adorable as to which would almost make me want to reconcile my opinion of him. How self-righteous could I get, eh?
- - - -
1 Perfect day to go before my flight back… “home” as some would call it. I am both anxious and excited at once. My mom, I bet is just as anxious and excited… and probably worrisome too, of the expense of the vacation I mean. They’d already set up plans to go to several beautiful places (which I’d love to go to someday) in the Philippines, and do stuff while we’re there. Cramp up all those activities in 2 full weeks. Sadly, by 16th I would be going back to school again, so I cant be with them. Almost 7 months, if I can remember it correctly, of school break for me. It paid off I guess, my once almost blind disinterest on education has been replaced by this overwhelming, might even be voracious need to learn and do school stuff, stay up late at night to finish a homework, conduct projects, mingle and interact with both school and class mates, feel that frightening pressure, the inexorable drive that stems from fear of an impending exam, and most favorably so... meet the terror professor that would make my remaining college years a more admirable experience. I terribly missed all of that, and I am proud to admit it. For I am a reformed slacker. Yes I am!*lol* I sure do hope so, for I like to think that.
I want to write something for and concerning my mom. Because she has been such a most wonderful company, counselor and mother first of all. She is simply… the greatest woman I have ever known. I don’t tell her, but I know that she is aware of this, that she is my hero… the one I look up to and try to emulate. And I am too embarrassed to actually say those things to her, but I will find a way somehow. Alright, enough with the mushy stuff. Here is something I wrote… hope you like it. And as always, it’s the art of all of it that I want to etch upon you.
- - - -
Have you ever looked at someone and know what they are thinking about?
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical… What could be behind those dark sad eyes of hers… those two cold heartless eyes looking back at you…
They say the eyes are the windows of the soul.
They say you’d know a person by staring into their eyes.
They say all this,
But they do not know…
They will never know,
Never understand…
Ever.
She always stares blankly into empty space… adrift into her deep ponderous thoughts… to a place only she knows and would never let anybody else know about. Each time I come across her, it always impresses a sense of idiosyncrasy. If I could only buy her thoughts for a penny, or a dime perhaps, for it is all I can afford for now, I would.
It has become rather frequent.
These broodings of hers.
Her eyes, remind me of the sweet gentle spring. It is what you notice first when you see her. Those beautiful eyes of hers. Quite a lot of people have paid due flattery on them. I haven’t said mine to hers yet, but she knows how much I admire them. Those eyes of hers are indeed a thing to behold, like the sunshine… or flowers, or anything vaguely beatific. Especially when she broods,
But I wonder though;
Why do they look sad, if they make people happy?
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical…
One time I came up to her and reluctantly queried;
For I wanted to know,
“Are you… unhappy?”
She was in one of her brooding moments that time, when I came up to her… she just stared back at me with those beautiful eyes of hers that had me speechless for a minute, but she did not answer.
I held myself together and asked another question;
For I needed to know,
“Is this all a… pretense?”
She smiled at me… then, I saw her slowly close those eyes for a fleeting moment, and then opened them up again for me to see. This time, they looked strangely… pleased.
The room suddenly went dark… as dark as her pleased mocking little eyes that we’re both fixed at me. The warmth of the room was somehow turned into a chilly cold almost heartless space. Everything around me just seemed too lifeless.
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical…
I did not notice her stand up and walk forth me, when I did she already was beside me. All I could see of her were her two glaring dark eyes never wavering…
“Everything is a lie. Everything is just a version of a truth. Fabrications of our own fallible minds to make up for what we lack, for we all are so deficient. You see me, I am a lie. A big big lie without a purpose and without an origination. Other people only see me as they wish to, if they see me any other way they would be repulsed and look at something else. So I let them see whatever delights them most. I let them see me as they want, and that becomes what I need them to see in me. For the truth might be too jarring for both my audience and me; for they would not ever want to set their naïve eyes on me if they saw the true version of my truth. What you see in my eyes only reflects a part of the truth in me that I could not help but let everyone see. But it would not matter for it is only a tiny part… and cannot be inferred upon. That is what makes it so beautiful.”
She says to me.
`Why then are you so afraid of the truth?’
“Did I say I was afraid of it?”
Then she moved to the curtains behind me… and peered into the magnificent world outside with her beautiful, sad sad eyes.
… Curious… Interested… Quizzical… Puzzled.
`What a pity that with all that beauty lays so much criminality.
--oOo--
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Clear and nice
After the rather ambiguous entry below, I’ve thought about writing something that would be a little more clear to the typical readers. Because my friend told me how simply unreadable my posts were and my readers might lose interest in the first few sentences if they cant relate to what I am talking about. So, here I go.
*Thinks of what to write for over an hour* HAHAHA,
Today I’ve tried being a bitch online. Just for the kicks of it, after all… its only 6 days from now and I will stop chatting in there… like, for a long time. Because of personal reasons. *giggles*
Yeah, as expected not many chatters liked it. Well, really, who would?
Uhm… I would. *lol*
I strangely am fond of bitches and badass people who go online and trash talks everybody. I mean, that takes guts man. To flout every written rule about the channel in the presence of the operators who must be extremely psyched to kick or ban or do whatever they have to do, to anyone who even comes close to breaking one rule. And the difficulty of getting their attention, or getting them to respect you, or just amiably talk to you, its like a prize. Because rarely do they become friendly to anyone… and having gotten their trust would somehow instill a sense of confidence in you. Confidence that you see in them. Oh, yeah the wayward in me.
Anyways,
Yep. I’ve transformed into a bitch today and I barked at every single unassuming chatter whose nick happened to catch my eye. What I don’t like though is… when I come across a chatter who would not know how to properly respond back without sounding stupid. It just makes me feel all guilty about behaving badly.
There was this one person that told me to `seduce him cause I was such an interesting little creature to him. Methinks he is one of those hurt-me-oh-please-spank-me-good-cause-I-love-it types of guy, in short, he liked hard-to-get snobbish and thinks-they’re-all-that women who’d boss him around till he cries for his momma. He wanted me to be as arrogant as I could be cause it turned him on. So I did pretend to be that egotistical conceit and well, for I do like a good verbal interlude I uhm, said a few nasty words. Then some guy came along, ruining it all for me, taking me out of my character, or rather tearing me out.
He said;
`Suddenly I feel quite cold.
In layman’s terms, he thought I was being too proud. The idiom had to do with uhm, the weather.
That meant I played the part rather convincingly. *laughs*
So yeah, when he said that… I was shocked. Because he usually is nice to me though I haven’t spoken to him on pm yet, well… what do I expect right? *lol* But still, he could just have not said anything. I think it was because I did not want him to see and think of me that way that made it seem so wrong on my part. Hmm, or I just cant really be completely bitchy.
I just don’t like it when people think of me as arrogant, boastful, egotistical or anything that would make them assume that I think I am better than them. Because I am not like that, I am a simple person with simplistic ideologies and an even simplistic life. Though that is temporary *lol* the simplistic life and ideologies bit.
I suppose, yes, I am a snob at times, but it depends on my mood and the preceding circumstances that put me to my mood. One thing I don’t like about myself is that, how I cant stand people not liking me. Not liking me as a pretend and the real me. Because it makes me even more detest the social fad that I so badly want to get into but cant seem to. Because I so awfully need a consent that they like what I did for me to continue it. For that would make me think I am doing something right, or cool for the matter. But if by doing that I cross the line and hurt some one who has been nothing but nice to me, it does not make me feel good at all, in any way. Reason why I am mostly nice, at least I think I am nice, to people for I cant bear the thought of hurting somebody or making them angry with me. I remember there was this guy, I talked with way back, he told everybody how he was duped by an ex girlfriend cause she showed him fake pictures of her, then they broke up because of that. Yet later that ex girlfriend of his came back to him telling him how Very sorry she was for lying to him and she felt extremely Guilty. Then he said, `that is why I just choose to be nice to people, eventhough they are not nice back, because if they hurt you and they know that you did nothing wrong, they will be the ones to feel guilty. Obviously, he is right. So, let us all be nice, okay?
Though sometimes I tend to be a domineering, opinionated, and a wanna-be alpha female. But besides that, I am completely… harmless. *evil grin*
I want to write more about this but I have no time, I still have to sleep.
Night.
--oOo--
*Thinks of what to write for over an hour* HAHAHA,
Today I’ve tried being a bitch online. Just for the kicks of it, after all… its only 6 days from now and I will stop chatting in there… like, for a long time. Because of personal reasons. *giggles*
Yeah, as expected not many chatters liked it. Well, really, who would?
Uhm… I would. *lol*
I strangely am fond of bitches and badass people who go online and trash talks everybody. I mean, that takes guts man. To flout every written rule about the channel in the presence of the operators who must be extremely psyched to kick or ban or do whatever they have to do, to anyone who even comes close to breaking one rule. And the difficulty of getting their attention, or getting them to respect you, or just amiably talk to you, its like a prize. Because rarely do they become friendly to anyone… and having gotten their trust would somehow instill a sense of confidence in you. Confidence that you see in them. Oh, yeah the wayward in me.
Anyways,
Yep. I’ve transformed into a bitch today and I barked at every single unassuming chatter whose nick happened to catch my eye. What I don’t like though is… when I come across a chatter who would not know how to properly respond back without sounding stupid. It just makes me feel all guilty about behaving badly.
There was this one person that told me to `seduce him cause I was such an interesting little creature to him. Methinks he is one of those hurt-me-oh-please-spank-me-good-cause-I-love-it types of guy, in short, he liked hard-to-get snobbish and thinks-they’re-all-that women who’d boss him around till he cries for his momma. He wanted me to be as arrogant as I could be cause it turned him on. So I did pretend to be that egotistical conceit and well, for I do like a good verbal interlude I uhm, said a few nasty words. Then some guy came along, ruining it all for me, taking me out of my character, or rather tearing me out.
He said;
`Suddenly I feel quite cold.
In layman’s terms, he thought I was being too proud. The idiom had to do with uhm, the weather.
That meant I played the part rather convincingly. *laughs*
So yeah, when he said that… I was shocked. Because he usually is nice to me though I haven’t spoken to him on pm yet, well… what do I expect right? *lol* But still, he could just have not said anything. I think it was because I did not want him to see and think of me that way that made it seem so wrong on my part. Hmm, or I just cant really be completely bitchy.
I just don’t like it when people think of me as arrogant, boastful, egotistical or anything that would make them assume that I think I am better than them. Because I am not like that, I am a simple person with simplistic ideologies and an even simplistic life. Though that is temporary *lol* the simplistic life and ideologies bit.
I suppose, yes, I am a snob at times, but it depends on my mood and the preceding circumstances that put me to my mood. One thing I don’t like about myself is that, how I cant stand people not liking me. Not liking me as a pretend and the real me. Because it makes me even more detest the social fad that I so badly want to get into but cant seem to. Because I so awfully need a consent that they like what I did for me to continue it. For that would make me think I am doing something right, or cool for the matter. But if by doing that I cross the line and hurt some one who has been nothing but nice to me, it does not make me feel good at all, in any way. Reason why I am mostly nice, at least I think I am nice, to people for I cant bear the thought of hurting somebody or making them angry with me. I remember there was this guy, I talked with way back, he told everybody how he was duped by an ex girlfriend cause she showed him fake pictures of her, then they broke up because of that. Yet later that ex girlfriend of his came back to him telling him how Very sorry she was for lying to him and she felt extremely Guilty. Then he said, `that is why I just choose to be nice to people, eventhough they are not nice back, because if they hurt you and they know that you did nothing wrong, they will be the ones to feel guilty. Obviously, he is right. So, let us all be nice, okay?
Though sometimes I tend to be a domineering, opinionated, and a wanna-be alpha female. But besides that, I am completely… harmless. *evil grin*
I want to write more about this but I have no time, I still have to sleep.
Night.
--oOo--
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
I have a secret
Mood: In low spirits
You ask what it is
Come, come softly tender
Sweet, sweet careless surrender
This shall I give you
Give shall I what is true
One day it might
Breathe your own plight
Hush, hush it hides
Line of reason it divides
What must be
Shall I see
So you shall
For it also is in thee
My, my this curious thing
An awful feeling it does bring
It holds no bound
And bears no ground
Pity, pity cause it makes you flout
But also makes you spout
Of the wonderful, so wonderful
World of wonder
Only this inherent hunger
Only and only it would
Make you say I could
Yet why do they say
Say words shall they
When it comes your way
It does hold sway
Dear, dear come here
Press your ear
Let me tell you this
Something is amiss
A secret is within
Within a secret it is in
In each who thinks
Thinking it links
Flutter, it flutters away
It will come back one day
Come back that day to stay
What is it? You ask
What it is that I mask
If its the answer you seek
Then I will reply
Of it you reek
If you ask me why
Because it makes you sick
Sick, sick…
Really sick.
For the hypocrites out there… hear ye, hear ye.
This is a freestyle poem… no rules, no conventions.
Offbeat, lithe, sweet, and discreet.
Yeah, baby.
It is all me. ~GPD
- - - -
**A song?
*It does not manage prudence, but it sustains both imprudence and confidence. Must I believe it flowers ignorance and much incredulity. Worldly praises and hidden facets have long been in written in gentle strokes of ink. Splash here and there, caricatures of liberal declamation of admiration for it, a whoosh of the pen then and there, a chink to the wall of morality, without it they trust, and with it we all are savages.
**What kind of song? I do like music.
*Contention is what they believe should be produced by it. It contravenes conservative traditions, bears a vast deal of repression to a familiarity, and it craves for an obscene emancipation. What of it that they so dislike to stamp insidiously a stigma to what it conjures; for so much is aberrant and uncommon. It runs, flows, and even seeps from our own skin.
**You forgot the title? How could you forget the title!?
*Take notation of it being intrinsic in our nature. It must be so rebuking a deed for them to be clandestine about it. Rattles and tattles our velvet imagination, the shackles of ethical foundations hang loose, in a jittery imbalance… wobbly, unstable, and the shiftiness. Rickety rocking the chairs of propriety, because of its forwardness. Everything is now forward. Proactive, may I say.
**Why don’t you just sing it to me?
*Clink and clanking, clattering boisterously about the brand that it had been labeled with. There it goes, to you, to me and to everyone else who breathes. Blotting of ink… clotting of it when exposed to the humid air, not your fault… for it is a lesson you have not been disposed with. Yet it will be a lesson that must be learned and have you experienced. Their words sting and lash stripes of blood on your naivety, the wounds would send you afeard but sooner get used to. Deal with and for it, they might speak in detention of the matter, for it is a passion they do not want to understand. Uncultivated minds and an infidel.
**You do sing quite beautifully… though I haven’t understood a word of it.
*Guilty.
**Is that the title?
*I am guilty of a crime.
**Nice… uhm, title… it is catchy.
*A crime everyone commits.
Nurse: She needs her shot, immediately.
(The medical staff pins a scrawny little girl down who had been mumbling to herself, and injects her with a serum to calm her down. Then they send her to a room of white walls.)
- - - -
I wanted to write something obscure but still have an artistic tinge to it… so, go figure.
Here is a quote;
“If you write obscurely you will have commentators,
If you write clearly you will have readers.’
I don’t know if I got it right.*lol*
I want the former.
--oOo--
You ask what it is
Come, come softly tender
Sweet, sweet careless surrender
This shall I give you
Give shall I what is true
One day it might
Breathe your own plight
Hush, hush it hides
Line of reason it divides
What must be
Shall I see
So you shall
For it also is in thee
My, my this curious thing
An awful feeling it does bring
It holds no bound
And bears no ground
Pity, pity cause it makes you flout
But also makes you spout
Of the wonderful, so wonderful
World of wonder
Only this inherent hunger
Only and only it would
Make you say I could
Yet why do they say
Say words shall they
When it comes your way
It does hold sway
Dear, dear come here
Press your ear
Let me tell you this
Something is amiss
A secret is within
Within a secret it is in
In each who thinks
Thinking it links
Flutter, it flutters away
It will come back one day
Come back that day to stay
What is it? You ask
What it is that I mask
If its the answer you seek
Then I will reply
Of it you reek
If you ask me why
Because it makes you sick
Sick, sick…
Really sick.
For the hypocrites out there… hear ye, hear ye.
This is a freestyle poem… no rules, no conventions.
Offbeat, lithe, sweet, and discreet.
Yeah, baby.
It is all me. ~GPD
- - - -
**A song?
*It does not manage prudence, but it sustains both imprudence and confidence. Must I believe it flowers ignorance and much incredulity. Worldly praises and hidden facets have long been in written in gentle strokes of ink. Splash here and there, caricatures of liberal declamation of admiration for it, a whoosh of the pen then and there, a chink to the wall of morality, without it they trust, and with it we all are savages.
**What kind of song? I do like music.
*Contention is what they believe should be produced by it. It contravenes conservative traditions, bears a vast deal of repression to a familiarity, and it craves for an obscene emancipation. What of it that they so dislike to stamp insidiously a stigma to what it conjures; for so much is aberrant and uncommon. It runs, flows, and even seeps from our own skin.
**You forgot the title? How could you forget the title!?
*Take notation of it being intrinsic in our nature. It must be so rebuking a deed for them to be clandestine about it. Rattles and tattles our velvet imagination, the shackles of ethical foundations hang loose, in a jittery imbalance… wobbly, unstable, and the shiftiness. Rickety rocking the chairs of propriety, because of its forwardness. Everything is now forward. Proactive, may I say.
**Why don’t you just sing it to me?
*Clink and clanking, clattering boisterously about the brand that it had been labeled with. There it goes, to you, to me and to everyone else who breathes. Blotting of ink… clotting of it when exposed to the humid air, not your fault… for it is a lesson you have not been disposed with. Yet it will be a lesson that must be learned and have you experienced. Their words sting and lash stripes of blood on your naivety, the wounds would send you afeard but sooner get used to. Deal with and for it, they might speak in detention of the matter, for it is a passion they do not want to understand. Uncultivated minds and an infidel.
**You do sing quite beautifully… though I haven’t understood a word of it.
*Guilty.
**Is that the title?
*I am guilty of a crime.
**Nice… uhm, title… it is catchy.
*A crime everyone commits.
Nurse: She needs her shot, immediately.
(The medical staff pins a scrawny little girl down who had been mumbling to herself, and injects her with a serum to calm her down. Then they send her to a room of white walls.)
- - - -
I wanted to write something obscure but still have an artistic tinge to it… so, go figure.
Here is a quote;
“If you write obscurely you will have commentators,
If you write clearly you will have readers.’
I don’t know if I got it right.*lol*
I want the former.
--oOo--
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Gray rose
“Where is it?’
She flutters, lifting his reluctant hand towards her bleeding face. The room was gray, and the darkness of it obscured the crude features of her face. She stared deeply and curiously into his watery eyes, slowly gracing down on his trembling lips. All she asked of him was the truth, the truth that probably isn’t there. So much of her hurts and desires to know it. She wanted it to come from him. And she ached for him to tell her, tell her everything that would make her feel the it. So she’d know it had been there.
`I dont see it… I cant touch it… It isn’t there, ’
He would not answer, for he was too guilty to say a word. He could not bear the cowardice and the fear of letting her hate him. For so much of him already hates the spoils of his own weakness. He could hardly stand it, much the thought of her remembering him like the puny yellow thing that he was. Her faint sobs gashed his ears, that look on her face maimed him senseless. He stared back at her, not yielding at the traces of tears on his ruddy cheeks.
“I cant feel it… Why cant I feel it?!’
Her clasp on his tremulous hand was tightened to a grip. The sobs she had been stifling to a moaning weep.
“Where… is this … love… you talk about, ’
He pulled away the hands that clutched his tightly, stood up and ambled slowly away… disappearing into the gray.
End.
You are free to draw your own conclusions as to what happened here, and why.
*lol*
- - - -
I talked to someone rather, lets say, willing to listen, today. He admitted he fancied the description I have on love. I suppose it was because he just did not have one of his own, so he voluntarily preferred mine. Anyways, when I asked him… what he thought of love. He retorted that he believed it just comes and goes, and that becomes consequential to his not looking for it. Why I did not agree that he believed that, is because he lacked conviction. He could not explain solidly why he thought so, and he just simply went with that hackneyed defense of someone not having their own inference on this matter, he supposed;
`Love cannot be described.’ Or something of that line.
And I thought, yes it can be described. You can put it to words if you have felt it, and if you desired to explain it, you can. For love comes at you always in a different form and of distinct level, and each description you make of it would be right. Because that is how you felt it. That is how the experience made you remember it to be. Though, he was right about, `Its not the same with each of us.
He asked me, if I have ever been… in love.
I answered sincerely that I have sadly not, though I have liked someone very much.
And he said,
`That is why you wont understand what I meant.
But I do. I think I do.
Albeit it isn’t really an equivocal supposition. I have a rough idea, but enough to lead me somewhere. I know that it is special, but I do not know just how special. I will though, when the time comes.
He contrasted me on how I believed love is just a lucky accident, well some are unlucky… bottom line, it is an accident. (refer to post below). And how randomness plays a big role in it. That haphazardously we choose and decide whom to fall head over heels with.
Then I had to go, so we were not really able to disclose the discussion properly.
- - - -
I could not believe how Jean( one of my best buds) has grown to be quite dedicated to her major. A complete incongruity to myself. When I quizzed her about which family this and that flower belongs to, she was able to hand me an accurate response. My point is… she sort of told me which my favorite flower (which is a rose, rather common eh? Bah, I don’t care… I like it) belongs to, Rosacaea.
I liked that flower… because that of its prickly thorns, it still manages to be beautiful.
--oOo--
She flutters, lifting his reluctant hand towards her bleeding face. The room was gray, and the darkness of it obscured the crude features of her face. She stared deeply and curiously into his watery eyes, slowly gracing down on his trembling lips. All she asked of him was the truth, the truth that probably isn’t there. So much of her hurts and desires to know it. She wanted it to come from him. And she ached for him to tell her, tell her everything that would make her feel the it. So she’d know it had been there.
`I dont see it… I cant touch it… It isn’t there, ’
He would not answer, for he was too guilty to say a word. He could not bear the cowardice and the fear of letting her hate him. For so much of him already hates the spoils of his own weakness. He could hardly stand it, much the thought of her remembering him like the puny yellow thing that he was. Her faint sobs gashed his ears, that look on her face maimed him senseless. He stared back at her, not yielding at the traces of tears on his ruddy cheeks.
“I cant feel it… Why cant I feel it?!’
Her clasp on his tremulous hand was tightened to a grip. The sobs she had been stifling to a moaning weep.
“Where… is this … love… you talk about, ’
He pulled away the hands that clutched his tightly, stood up and ambled slowly away… disappearing into the gray.
End.
You are free to draw your own conclusions as to what happened here, and why.
*lol*
- - - -
I talked to someone rather, lets say, willing to listen, today. He admitted he fancied the description I have on love. I suppose it was because he just did not have one of his own, so he voluntarily preferred mine. Anyways, when I asked him… what he thought of love. He retorted that he believed it just comes and goes, and that becomes consequential to his not looking for it. Why I did not agree that he believed that, is because he lacked conviction. He could not explain solidly why he thought so, and he just simply went with that hackneyed defense of someone not having their own inference on this matter, he supposed;
`Love cannot be described.’ Or something of that line.
And I thought, yes it can be described. You can put it to words if you have felt it, and if you desired to explain it, you can. For love comes at you always in a different form and of distinct level, and each description you make of it would be right. Because that is how you felt it. That is how the experience made you remember it to be. Though, he was right about, `Its not the same with each of us.
He asked me, if I have ever been… in love.
I answered sincerely that I have sadly not, though I have liked someone very much.
And he said,
`That is why you wont understand what I meant.
But I do. I think I do.
Albeit it isn’t really an equivocal supposition. I have a rough idea, but enough to lead me somewhere. I know that it is special, but I do not know just how special. I will though, when the time comes.
He contrasted me on how I believed love is just a lucky accident, well some are unlucky… bottom line, it is an accident. (refer to post below). And how randomness plays a big role in it. That haphazardously we choose and decide whom to fall head over heels with.
Then I had to go, so we were not really able to disclose the discussion properly.
- - - -
I could not believe how Jean( one of my best buds) has grown to be quite dedicated to her major. A complete incongruity to myself. When I quizzed her about which family this and that flower belongs to, she was able to hand me an accurate response. My point is… she sort of told me which my favorite flower (which is a rose, rather common eh? Bah, I don’t care… I like it) belongs to, Rosacaea.
I liked that flower… because that of its prickly thorns, it still manages to be beautiful.
--oOo--
Monday, April 2, 2007
decisions
“There’s a moment, there is always a moment… when you say,
`I can do this, I can let this go on or I can resist it.’
~Closer
Do you believe in love?
Is love a choice?
That in each meeting with someone amazing, you would have to make the decision whether to feed on those feelings or just let it pass you by. Because love is a fleeting thing, the decisions we make from it are always risks. And we would not want to dare. For the idea of failure as a resultant shall always be dreadful for us.
So, the choices that are made in haste. Like a chance meeting with a person that made your heart skip a beat, and you would have to decide if you’ll love the person or not. They go unnoticed, but they would dearly affect a part of your life. Yes, there will be a moment, but it would be ephemeral that it would almost be instinct. Still, it would be you who’ll decide. And it is such a reality to me for people to fall randomly with some person they meet somewhere along the line. An arbitrary encounter with that special person who’d give you the sense of romanticism you’ve idealized. Then there will always be a moment just for the both of you. When you look into each other’s eyes and realize something wonderful is happening, and deep inside you, you are torn…
For what you’d have to do next is… choose.
- - - -
Artiste is rather daft sometimes, set aside his extravagant claims for his incredible wit. He tells me I am not like the other girls, yet he treats me like them. He tells me I am quite clever, and he knows that well. Yet he disappoints me so in talking to me about things that happen to him, like what a joke some girls are on the channel, and how easily they are duped. And he talks to them like how he talks to me at times, most of the times… back then. Now, I don’t allow it, or I’ll just steer the conversation into something less indecorous. He should know that I would be clever enough to be aware of it. I am not sure if he just doesn’t comprehend that I notice it in him, or if he is just testing me. But I know what he does, and what he likes to do. Some times I would just badly wish he’d not pm me any more because he makes himself sound awfully pathetic. I would not want to see or think of him anywhere close to that. He is a great guy, and he is just that, a guy. And my goodness, how terribly egotistical they can get, and yes, daft. I know what he is up to, and sometimes I get kicks out of it when I just go along with whatever he says. Sometimes I do that to people; to see the effect it would have on them, and on their emotions. And to him, I wanted to see how he would react, and what he would tell me after that. It was such a novelty then.
Now, I want it to stop. Because I am tired of it, I am tired of him and his boring mind games.
--oOo--
`I can do this, I can let this go on or I can resist it.’
~Closer
Do you believe in love?
Is love a choice?
That in each meeting with someone amazing, you would have to make the decision whether to feed on those feelings or just let it pass you by. Because love is a fleeting thing, the decisions we make from it are always risks. And we would not want to dare. For the idea of failure as a resultant shall always be dreadful for us.
So, the choices that are made in haste. Like a chance meeting with a person that made your heart skip a beat, and you would have to decide if you’ll love the person or not. They go unnoticed, but they would dearly affect a part of your life. Yes, there will be a moment, but it would be ephemeral that it would almost be instinct. Still, it would be you who’ll decide. And it is such a reality to me for people to fall randomly with some person they meet somewhere along the line. An arbitrary encounter with that special person who’d give you the sense of romanticism you’ve idealized. Then there will always be a moment just for the both of you. When you look into each other’s eyes and realize something wonderful is happening, and deep inside you, you are torn…
For what you’d have to do next is… choose.
- - - -
Artiste is rather daft sometimes, set aside his extravagant claims for his incredible wit. He tells me I am not like the other girls, yet he treats me like them. He tells me I am quite clever, and he knows that well. Yet he disappoints me so in talking to me about things that happen to him, like what a joke some girls are on the channel, and how easily they are duped. And he talks to them like how he talks to me at times, most of the times… back then. Now, I don’t allow it, or I’ll just steer the conversation into something less indecorous. He should know that I would be clever enough to be aware of it. I am not sure if he just doesn’t comprehend that I notice it in him, or if he is just testing me. But I know what he does, and what he likes to do. Some times I would just badly wish he’d not pm me any more because he makes himself sound awfully pathetic. I would not want to see or think of him anywhere close to that. He is a great guy, and he is just that, a guy. And my goodness, how terribly egotistical they can get, and yes, daft. I know what he is up to, and sometimes I get kicks out of it when I just go along with whatever he says. Sometimes I do that to people; to see the effect it would have on them, and on their emotions. And to him, I wanted to see how he would react, and what he would tell me after that. It was such a novelty then.
Now, I want it to stop. Because I am tired of it, I am tired of him and his boring mind games.
--oOo--
Sunday, April 1, 2007
You cretin!
“It will be fly,
Don’t be shy,
Give it a try,
I will be yours…
And you can be mine…’
The thing about it is, is simply how easily they are to change their fickle little minds. Or, it could be absolutely something different. But still the same, they vanish.
I terribly hate indecision in men.
Women are supposed to be in that place,
If men do it… it just becomes boring.
- - - -
^_~He stopped talking to me. (that cretin. *lol*)
I just realized how easily they are fascinated, and how easily that fascination dies out too.
Bugger…
Next time you mess with me, you’ll be sorry.
- - - -
3 hours of intermittent snooze which was all the sleep I got last night. And probably tonight too.
I have gotten quite weary of writing lately. Perhaps, I need to give myself something to be preoccupied with. Reading sounds like a tremendous tempt. But I simply am too, emotionally drained at the moment to bother flipping a page off a book.
Two words…
You suck
--oOo--
Don’t be shy,
Give it a try,
I will be yours…
And you can be mine…’
The thing about it is, is simply how easily they are to change their fickle little minds. Or, it could be absolutely something different. But still the same, they vanish.
I terribly hate indecision in men.
Women are supposed to be in that place,
If men do it… it just becomes boring.
- - - -
^_~He stopped talking to me. (that cretin. *lol*)
I just realized how easily they are fascinated, and how easily that fascination dies out too.
Bugger…
Next time you mess with me, you’ll be sorry.
- - - -
3 hours of intermittent snooze which was all the sleep I got last night. And probably tonight too.
I have gotten quite weary of writing lately. Perhaps, I need to give myself something to be preoccupied with. Reading sounds like a tremendous tempt. But I simply am too, emotionally drained at the moment to bother flipping a page off a book.
Two words…
You suck
--oOo--
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