It's disappointing, even, that something significant you took care of could end up to be only infinitesimal, if eyes were pointed to the rational.

And to think that everything you have was infallible, is the most futile thing one could ever ought to do.

Aside from the fact that I have presaged something similar, I never imagined it to be this tangible, this irrefutable.

It's as if the Celestial Nagas were utterly disappointed. The long wait was in vain.

The Kadupuls never bloomed. Voyagers to Sri Pada, they never loomed.

Everything were just delusions, distinctly drab ones, should I say.

Nobody's to blame, however. The final act has yet to unfold.

Let the legend die, let the petals wilt, let the Nagas cry.

And even as a vinyl cloth covers the velvet sky, I, thy servant, shall never go awry.

Until the evening of our Moonlight Waltz, I shall wait, my dear, and prove that what Alisngaran did to defy the mandate of heaven was of the intolerable unthinking.

As Owl City would've put it, I'll forget the world that I knew, but I swear I won't forget you.

Be that as it may, if my voice could reach back through the past, I'd whisper in your ear, oh darling, I wish you were here.

P.S. Check out John Mayer's newest single. Who Says it could be better? ;)

Aside from the fact that this would be another journey in solitude (haha), I have realised that helping out in relief drives should be part of some categorical imperative.

And as the aghast citizenry ponders on what to do with the muddy remnants of their homes, many, still, are too insensitive.

As I am speaking against a thousand with at your service included, I just wanted to point out that MMDA should get all the blame.

Haven't they dwelled for long in the digging-covering-digging cycle, which I myself think is only for show, the six year old boy could've experienced Grade 1.

And his mom could've had a surgeon after twenty more blissful years.

But that is, if he wouldn't be so lucky to be taken ashore once more by the waves of a flood from a super typhoon, or by the foot of some debauched government official turned business tycoon.

And the crocs accidentally released from some farm in Pasig?

What bitter irony. 

I have just realized that it has been two weeks since I made something out of my subconscious sphere.

As much as I missed doing so, I also longed for a deeper and darker fulfillment.

The thought of breeding cockroaches in a water jug was being conceived have I not thought of that being really unlikely.

And a plan of executing the next three generations of such pests was being construed have I not realized that it would be seemingly impossible.

Pretty.

Now that takes care of number one.

For number two, how the hell would the teacher expect us to attack a question without its back being visible?

And why does number three have to be only a little less different?

Bah, I believe doing this is nonsense. For what it's worth, life revolves around something more intricate than transforming into a vermin or taking away the sea.

As the general miserably exhorts his efforts to rejuvenate a futile nation, and as Gregor's attempts to communicate with his sister results to a big sham, we are inexorably drawn into living with threads of fantasy.

What's just awesome's that weaving them is a step out of reality, but always a leap ahead of surreality.

There's no such thing as magic.

Everything's pure and distorted logic, bred in our minds and nurtured in our hearts.

Instead of rectifying my deeds to achieve an optimum byplay, here I am, afflicting Squall with the Braver of Cloud's Buster while inflicting more damage by disregarding other pressing concerns.

Indeed, this virtual world had become so compelling, that studying for my Orgchem exam on Tuesday, well tomorrow, would need to prove itself to be somewhat redeeming.

The extermination of such an appalling abstraction, such as Sephiroth, would produce a major experience gain as a product if a more stable attack, well without getting much damage to maintain bravery, would materialize.

Now that would be Saytzeff's Rule of Elimination...

...in terms of Dissidia: Final Fantasy.

Fuck.

It's just that sometimes, these new things do not fall to any of the two aforementioned class.

They might belong to somewhere explicitly in between, somewhere which could never be put in words and only deduced from the mind.

It's just funny though, that whenever we feel something like it, we accede to just looking at the sky(for we don't know what to do with it) hoping that, one day, we would find the answers to life's skepticisms.

Or if we're really lucky, to its goddamn demeanors.

Those are plumages that fall off from cherub wings whenever they snappily divulge their flight instrument.

It's awesome though, on how they make the character look so arrogant despite exposed humility and those protagonist cliches.

It's as if that's the only time wherein the hero can exhibit a piece of his dark side.

Angas, eh!

Anyway, it's also really nice that whenever I try to set a goal, I fall an inch short from reaching it.

This is one of the times that I want to start believing in karma.

But due to extensive let's-do-this-and-see-if-that-happens trials, I firmly believe that the term exists only as a mere term.

It's something that has deceived everyone and was actually able to blanket the cornerstone of human morals.

It has been a basis of gentle decisions and actions along with an expectation of congenial drawbacks.

I know, the oxymoron is bad. But hey, that's just how bad it is these days.

It's like saying that something such as perennial love exists.

Pathetic.

Back to what I am saying, the disappointment consumes me, like a shadow walking ahead on the wrong time of the day.

It only reminds me that the length of effort and time I spent to prepare for that something would somewhat be equal to the length of time that it would corrupt me on the aftermath of my failure.

And with that, patience wouldn't be a virtue.

Well at least I won't want it to be.

So as I now start to weave these broken strings and find my way about my own labyrinth once more, I realize that the only thing amaranthine in this world is your adamantine passion.

And as the feathers slowly descend from the sky just as the angel took her flight, I see you, those eyes that have painted the world with colour and those hands that showed me the way.

But as usual, always an inch short of reach.

P.S. Feather effects are really awesome. Games should make more of those. Haha.

It takes a couple of minutes to activate the park, another couple of minutes to generate fun, and about half an hour to load the game.

To make things worse, I haven't the slightest idea on how to make it work.

Things like these annoy me much, these things that I wanted to do and actually give love to.

Unfortunately though, the other party spelling the word reciprocate cannot actually get past the first letter 'c'.

As the word believe taught us that 'i' always goes before 'e', much as well the deceitful but beautiful E(i)ve at par.

Take and take, I'd presuppose.

Anyway, what I would really wanna point out is that we could never learn and do everything in the world.

My efforts of trying to be some well-rounded person are actually running around in, well, circles.

And as a jack-of-all trades wannabe, I do my best to sprint around the eternal curve, hoping that some centrifugal force's really existent that I'd be sucked out from this void.

It's as if I wanted something, a pole maybe, to cling on for I to be able to close my eyes and wait.

For I believe that the darkness would make me feel the slapping wind in a more perverse yet compelling manner.

And hopefully, discard events that we all could consider just part of a beautiful lore, once told and never remembered.

Each and everyone of us needs to start waking up. The things we see in reality are no different from the illusions our mind creates to fool us; to deceive us into achieving a certain state of complacency.

We cannot stay put in one place, suffer internally, and wait for some satisfaction to fall like rain.

Doing so would subtly corrupt us, spread false hopes in us like cancer, giving us boundless pain from an unintentionally imbibed poison.

There are lots of tracheas to cut, skins to flay, carcasses to construe, and lives to take.

Inflicting the maximum amount of damage is what we are concerned about.

What's perfect: A gradual corrosion of the body along with the decaying of the mind.

It wouldn't be nice to end things in an instant. The sensation should be abominably vexing.

A kindle of terror on a candle of harbor, fill the house with filth, engulf the rooms with guilt.

And as darkness falls from heaven's defeat, the angels' rapiers, all are in sheaths.

P.S. I know I made no sense, sorry. Sitting idly produces atrocious thoughts that're more or less a representation of what I feel and/or feel doing unto others if I won't start anything productive in a few.

Okay, that'd be enough.

Bah, I'm sorry for that sugary introduction. I can't piece a good one as of the moment, for what I have in mind lately are those annoying stereograms.

For those who're incognizant(cough-thesaurus-spit-cough), stereograms are 3-D images hidden within a picture that's usually bombarded with excessive repetition of deformed objects. (pardon the informality, you could google 'em up anyways)

So they actually work like optical illusions, 'cept that stereograms hide more than what they should show.

For with much displeasure, my successful attempts to produce the certain 3-D image count to, about, zero.

And discarding the word successful from the aforementioned would yield a count of about a hundred or, to make it more specific, enough time to finish the Chem28 homework, the Chem33 take-home quiz, and the MuL9 paper.

Reading Beloved doesn't count yet, for I'd be dwelling too much on self-pity and unnecessary exaggeration.

But my point really is that looking at something not visible is totally crazy. It's like reaching into the toilet bowl's depths to retrieve the soap that accidentally slid off your hand. You wash it with copious running water, return it to its rack, and walk out whistling as if nothing has happened.

Sorry, but this is the best visual image(which is not imagination-friendly; stereogram-ish should I say) I momentarily could construe and probably one of the things the hand hygiene freaks would want to be oblivious about. (heehee)

On other thoughts, I pity you for delving so much into your delusions. If I could just shake you up and bang your head against my Skoog, I would gladly do so.

But I believe that this book possesses a rather valuable substance per se, that I don't want your filth to come in contact with it. (bago, eh)

On other other thoughts, it's really nice to see people giving effort to dig up what was broken to help you realize that you'll need to change about some things eventually.

It's like opening up, sharing to be more precise, but with the absence of words which, I believe, would just end up to be effort-splurging.

Thank you, you've done a good job with my stereogram.

P.S. For those interested, go check these: http://www.eyetricks.com/3dstereo.htm 

P.S.S. Denden! May nakita na akong isa. :>

P.S.S.S.(haha) Anyone, please get me an anklet, and I'll love you for the rest of my life. Haha kidding. But please, do so. *bats eyelashes*

And as it was Cory's burial as well, I was unverbally obliged to stay home to pathetically do nothing.

As I was lying down, thinking of what produce my cheerleading class would yield in about two month's time, I am frantically disturbed by the fact that I still have no Skoog.

Knowing that the previous sentence actually made no sense, I pray thee let me believe that it's still better than the ones people feed in Friendster via 'About Me' boxes. (''i CamE FrOm a SmaLL TowN wEr oL ThA GenGsTerS- kiLLahZ- DruG DeaLahZ- YounG bLoOdS- LiVin aLonE AnD biG TyM SinDiCaTe ArE OcCurS'' - Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Yea, fuck.)

And as Briggs did a really good job on culturing me with his music, Augustana and Amy Winehouse practically made it past my royal taste. (Pardon the Restaurant City pun)

Now they are swimming, shaking the little focus I have left for studying as well as reminding me that I am much much denser than water.

On other thoughts, I find it really surprising that I can actually get something by darting a look at bald beer-bellied bums right below Recto station.

They offer to make me any ID I'd want, as long as cash wouldn't be a problem. I actually thought of considering even after I waved my hand to shoo him away for I think I'd want something which could help me get my ass out of school anytime during Fridays, maybe some color-coding lifting card, prolly one with signets of our dear 'general, sir'. (Hahaha am starting to sound like him)

What just sucks is that they conveniently needed to throw their arm around me smelling of a mixture of rum, cigarettes, mixed nuts, xerox powder, and Femmeh Perfumes. (That wasn't a mistake, Divisoria has them haha)

Well my point really is that I quite pity them. Their job is to actually lie, to make customers lie, and for both of them to live in a lie.

But who am I to do so? I don't think that we differ much, would even have a lot in common, I guess.

It's just that I'm pretty lucky enough not to say...

"aqOuh?.. cHimPle LAng.. bUT cAn maKE yUr hEAd tURn,, *HoTcHiC**sEXy dAw..cHAvii nG mGAh fWEnDz qEw .. sVi qEw nAMn.. mAdAnDa aqEw.. maArTE?/..sObra ** hiHi.. nDi mHEii mAarTE.. kAla nYOuh lAng yUn,, kSHi cHigURo .. yU fOUnd mE.. wEAriNg uNiqUe eAriNgs..USing mAkEuP.. oWeYs lOoKing mY fACe in tHE mirror.. mAarTE bAh yUN?"

And not read "ThE pUrP0se dRivEn in LifE"

P.S. Sorry sa mga nasapul, I just needed to vent and these were what ushered me into writing something again after several days.  But I think these were old. Thank you, anyways.

Is it just me, or is it really fate stressing the fact that I failed at such a beautiful aspect.

Everytime I see hands intertwined, I seem to twitch and end up remembering that I carry on my shoulders the very weight of what I asked for.

I didn't regret what was shapened, nor miss what has happened.

And no, I don't really think I'd be needing another significant other, or as I define it, someone-to-fail. (for I have significant others and they're more than enough)

As of now, I've decided to delay myself in this department for I know that something extremely grotesque as this one still exhibits minute fluctuations despite right nurturing techniques.

Thus, I am contented in feeling like the grass under flower bells whose presence serves the purpose of completing the view.

But, sadly, never beautifying it. (Well, the grass is abundant anyways heehee)

On other thoughts, I hate it when things like these eat up my being on times I need pure focus.

Mehasanexamtomorrow-err-laterandIhavenotdoneanythingsufficient yet.

Bah. Chem's fucking everywhere. I could've sworn that at first glance on the previous sentence, there's the word hexane.

This time, I'm really dead.

For my are eyes going duller and duller everytime my mind remembers you.

P.S. I love lying down on cemetery grass. And there. My answer for the things you crappingly ask me, and a mediocre attempt to show you how I/to write. Please begone now, and get yourself a life.