Synthesis

glitter-graphics.com

You are not much different from the others. Of course, you claim to be special, the antithesis of every man, who has come before you. But let me tell you this...your being different, your being special, I have no use for these things. True, I may not know if it will be sooner or later. But I am quite sure that in the end, you will say the same thing, "I am just a man." And you will leave. And you will wish that you did not say how different you are. And you will be sorry for the efforts you have invested to make me believe in you. And I will cry, yet again. Because maybe, just maybe, I am still like every woman--trying uncertain things at the cost of everything.

Reposted: The Love Letter That Couldn't Write Itself

Words have never failed me. In fact, my biggest consolation in life is that I can always articulate what I know, how I feel and who I am at any point, any way, any junction of life as it unfolds before me. I have never had a problem with searching for the right words, they find me instead, sometimes none too subtly.

My guess is that my writing muse abandoned me, not when I met you, but because I let you take over her space in my head. I imagine her pain as i let the auteur in me slowly atrophy, to a point beyond recognition. You overwhelmed me with emotions and caused me to exist outside myself, the self that delights in weaving yarns and expressing the soul. You were context and subtext, every theme and reason. I was consumed in all the wrong places, robbed of sanity and speech. And only in the cruelest hand of fate, will retaliation be exacted upon me. I cannot be regretful enough for my muse to forgive me. And she has served me with enough ironic sense to let me write you a letter that chokes upon writing itself...I cannot help but try.

And so, a thousand considerations blur the peripheries of my lucidity. I begin to feel physically ill as I struggle through emotions I couldn't identify. The onerous task of projecting thoughts to paper is one that I never feared before. I wanted to dispense with the cliches, the sentimentality, the sheer banality of it all. But there's a greater need for me to have you realize, to have you experience--even for a moment, the chaos in me. For how could you know that you are the axis of my world...That my need to exist is eclipsed by my need for you. Didn't you know that my happiness hinges upon your understanding? If this letter fails, the dam that holds my pain in will break and my soul will shatter.

Newfound Appreciation for Noel Gallagher

I have been listening to this song (this particular version) for two weeks.

I may be developing Asperger's syndrome.

Noel is my new Barney...

Putting LOA to the Test

glitter-graphics.com

Happiness is just a few days away.

And it's all because of my renewed faith in the universe.

Besotted

When I'm profoundly drunk, I like to believe I'm a better person than I truly am. I like to pretend that all the meaningless things I have done, are nothing but natural effects to natural causes. I like to delude myself into thinking that I am much smarter in person, even if reality tells a different story...that I have as much appeal as peeling wallpaper. And that come the daylight, I will sober up and realize how much of a lie I AM.

Pix Credit: http://autumns-lament.deviantart.com/art/Alcoholic-79376700

Office Politics

Okay, a) this is nothing at all like my current work situation, b) but it does remind me of my first boss--kinda spot on, actually, c) except for the "I AM THIS CLOSE TO RAPING YOU" part, d) which is not to say that the trident incident never happened...because it did, only I was stabbed 15 times instead of Tarkanian's 33.

Stream of Consciousness V.2

because my Yahoo 360 blog is dead...


Thursday October 12, 2006 - 09:51pm

It's never gonna happen for us. For some reason, we totally missed the window of opportunity there. The timing's never right, or maybe I'm never ever right. Either way, I need something more to hold onto, and you need something, something that's not me. I'm hardly ever self-sacrificing, but we've been at it for years. We hint at possibilities and we toy at the idea of the idea of a relationship, but somehow I doubt if I'm ever gonna be on the same page as you are. I'm essentially damaged, tragically flawed. And you tell me you wanna take that on, but how can I in good conscience, let you. It's just never gonna happen for us and I'm really, really sorry.

Saturday October 28, 2006 - 12:38pm

This is the guy I wanna marry:
He's lazy, he's a brilliant tactician and I never thought I'll use those words in the same sentence. Nara shikamaru is 60 points more brilliant than me and the only way I can get him interested in me is if I reincarnate as a logic problem. He's not motivated at all to do anything. I'd be content just to watch the clouds roll by with him. I heart Shikamaru.

Wednesday December 20, 2006 - 02:53pm

I realize that gratitude is a process, not complicated, sure, but it can never be formulaic--doing so will only negate its significance. These days, I'm learning that being thankful requires effort, patience and grace--three things that can only be sourced from above. One thing I know today is that acceptance is more than the end stage in the grieving process, it is actually a subset of gratefulness...

*toying with the idea of resurrecting the dead*

20/20 Vision

glitter-graphics.com

"Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses," so said Dorothy Parker because...

well, frankly I have no freaking clue. Maybe she got so traumatized by an encounter with a meganekko. Who the hell knows? Still, if her wikistub is to be believed (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dorothy_Parker), and that really is her with the ridiculously ginormous hat, then I would have to assume that a) the stupid thing is impairing her sense of humor or b) her sense of humor is fully intact and the statement above was uttered satirically. In which case, I would seriously urge all the girls who wear glasses to march or simply burn said glasses. Of course, that wouldn't help our case at all, but the point is...

long lost, which can be said for all my random randomosities and inane musings. I don't really care, after all Holden (Caulfield) "prefers digression."

Lurker

If people knew how much I constantly watch them, they'd make sure I was locked in a padded cell...

Preference Versus Possibilities

I prefer Wislawa to Sylvia and believe in all the possibilities implied by that preference...

Tortures
By W. Szymborska

Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.
In tortures all this is taken into account.

Nothing has changed.
The body shudders as it shuddered
before the founding of Rome and after,
in the twentieth century before and after Christ.
Tortures are as they were, it's just the earth that's grown smaller,
and whatever happens seems right on the other side of the wall.

Nothing has changed. It's just that there are more people,
besides the old offenses new ones have appeared,
real, imaginary, temporary, and none,
but the howl with which the body responds to them,
was, is and ever will be a howl of innocence
according to the time-honored scale and tonality.

Nothing has changed. Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances.
Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.
The body writhes, jerks and tries to pull away,
its legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,
it turns blue, swells, salivates and bleeds.

Nothing has changed. Except for the course of boundaries,
the line of forests, coasts, deserts and glaciers.
Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,
disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,
alien to itself, elusive, at times certain, at others uncertain of its own existence,
while the body is and is and is
and has no place of its own.

Auction (a.k.a Sold to the Wimpy Guy Wearing a Trucker Cap)

While in this lifetime, I'll never be anything other than a writer, I am convinced that I'll make a good auctioneer--who knows, maybe in the 25th century. Seriously, my experience in fleshing out a character ought to come in handy during those bids. Of course, with my personality I'm much more suited to the atmosphere of livestock auctions, rather than Sotheby's. Still, it makes for an interesting (not to mention rather unusual) career choice. And there's nothing more appealing to me than the "unusual." Heck, my whole life has been (and still is) a testament to the wonders of the "unusual."

And so, without further ado, please enjoy this clip.



AN: I disclaim. And yes, I can also sell things "to the man with the bigger breasts." Toodles!

Fuzzy Memories

glitter-graphics.com

Me: I get it. Fan of self-flagellation, are you?
You: Get over yourself. I'm here because I see you're looking a bit dead behind the eyes.
Me: Sure, you are. I don't recall ever asking for a rescuer.
You: Suit yourself. I hate rabid fan girls anyway.
Me: Oh, I hope you're not talking about me, Mr. Pornographer.
You: You're calling me, Mr. Pornographer? That's rich.
Me: And true. Don't forget true.
You: Only if you admit that you're in denial.
Me: In denial about what?
You: Your everlasting love for my person.
Me: If by your person, you mean disgusting pig with the sensitivity of a dumb bell...
You: Just admit it.
Me: I'll admit to your stupidity. In fact, I'll vouch for it.
You: Fine. I'll give you this round. But only because I'm convinced you harbor such strong feelings for me.
Me: You are psychotic and you should get your head examined.
You: Wow. You really, REALLY like me.
Me: End of conversation.
You: Next time, there'll be tears.
Me: You wish, idiot.
You: Buh-bye now, fangirl. I'll look forward to our next battle.
Me: You're still an idiot.
You: We'll see.

glitter-graphics.com

Worst Matches

glitter-graphics.com

I think I will never be in a relationship with a mathematician. It's because I'm scared that I'll be exposed for the idiot that I really am. Here's the thing. Most of the time I really don't give a rat's ass about most of everything, but then again, I have enough pride for five people. So if I decide to argue my case, know that not only will I fight till I'm blue in the face, I'll fight until my opponent admits defeat.

Now, if I'm dating a mathematician, I don't want to ever be in the position where he'll be able to make his point using equations and formulas. God forbid that I'll be all "Oh no, you didn't!" (head movement a la Beyonce plus finger snap trademarked by proud sistahs)...and he'll be like, "Well, according to Riemann's hypothesis..." The outcome of that conversation will be absolute crap, at least from my point of view. He'll win hands down and I'll be left with an unstoppable nosebleed. Not the prettiest picture, I must say.

Magicians. Now, there's an interesting demographic. In the middle of a fight, I don't want a guy to be pulling rabbits out of my ass. And if he tries to pull any now-you-see-me-now-you-don't trick on me, I'll slap myself silly six ways till Sunday. Shame on me for picking such a weirdo. Note to self: One weirdo in a relationship is enough. Guess, I'll just have to look for magic someplace else.

Crushing on Myself

I don't want to use the term 'soulmate.' It's just too . . . what's the word? Oh yeah, icky icky poo (shoutout to the always fabulous perezhilton!!!) But then again, how can I describe Joel McHale in relation to my sarcastic yet weirdly lovable self?

Watch this video and worship the greatness that is Joel Mchale.

Manga Addiction

Thank goodness for scanlations. My manga habits are becoming worse by the second. Crunchyroll and onemanga--you both are more dear to me than personal hygiene and 0.55 percent of my soul. I love you more than growing dust bunnies in my hair. I love you more than my collection of toenail clippings. Seriously, if I can have crunchyroll and onemanga's baby, I'd sacrifice my vajayjayjayjay forty times over. I love you crunchyroll. I love you onemanga. Let's watch sunsets and sunrises from 18 different cliffs from now on. Kissy, kissy. Bang. Bang. Bang.

You kill me. And it feels so right...

Self-gratification

"Who do I write for?" is not a question. Because this blog is not about being read, it's about being written (to quote extensively from peoplespunisher.com). In that respect, writing is like masturbation. It's all about need and self-gratification. Sometimes, guilt does come into play. But when the process is done right, in terms of environment and mood, writing can be healthy for both body and soul.

Of course, for the most part (stretching the metaphor further), writing can be a frustrating, discouraging task. Do it often, and soon you'll see that you are slowly desensitizing yourself from the whole experience. I am a writer 'tis true. But to normalize writing is not something I am keen on doing. Writing must always hint or obviously convey an elitist, specialist vibe. It's an understanding that mere mortals must not attempt to inflict their prosaic selves on an audience. And on that note, I may have paradoxed myself into a corner. Nevertheless, I will continue to write for myself--even if a singular collective or plural individual takes the time to read this self-absorbed piece.

Perfect

glitter-graphics.com

People say that the best version of me is when I am with you. And somehow, it makes sense, considering who we are and what we mean to each other.

But I have my way, my need to complicate things. And you, you have your way of hating me for it. You tell me that I am incapable of happiness . . . that wallowing in self-pity helps me validate my existence. You see this as unnecessary. I see it as self-preservation.

It turns out that I am not satisfied with the best version of myself, after all. Because maybe, just maybe, being me and being with you, is not what I am living my life for.

Tabula Rasa

Oh yeah, I swiped this picture from Jan's friendster. Global Gutz was a fitting sendoff. Of course, I wished all sem-art folks were in attendance. But really, I was just glad people came--the whole thing not bein' free and all.

Thing is, it hasn't really sunk in that I've left the sinkhole that was my workplace. A part of me is very much relieved, while another part wonders what would have happened to me, if I stayed. And then there's the part that's just all excited 'bout the new job. I am so looking forward to sightseeing in Greece, eating fusion Vietnamese/French cuisine, and just visiting friends in Australia and Canada (hopefully, the last two...basta I don't want to jinx it).

I'm missing a lot of things, I know. For now, I'm going to busy myself with wiping the slate clean.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!!!

Needing to Regroup

glitter-graphics.com
Today, I am betting on your maybe. Because maybe is good enough, at least for now. And today, I am gladly sacrificing my pride. Because between us, there is no such luxury. Today, you are the prayer on my lips. Because more than anything, I want God to champion our cause. And today, I am as you are--unsure but willing. Because chances have come and gone. But for us, the perfect moment is still at large.

Can't Get Enough

My latest obsession...



Starting to develop a girl-crush on Hayley Williams. Right up there with ninjas.