Skip to main content

Just A Thought...

Maybe its just me.
I've never come around to appreciating overly-eloquent writing - yes, I see your superb command of the language, thank you very much. And? I mean, its one thing to get your sentences right, its another to have whoever reads it drown in its complexity and highfalutingness (if there is such a word). There are those out there, of course, who are eloquent and highfalutin but write with panache and style - they're so good that you - I, at least - seriously contemplate the point of continuing to write. Why bother, when everything you dish out gets seriously owned and pawned by people who weave out magnificent, grandiose, and eloquent, but very understandable and easily appreciated lines out of their minds as easily as they take a poop (unless they're constipated)? It's just so unfair. And yes, that was my insecurity whining.
Some of you out there might subsequently want to seek me out and bash my face in for sounding like some self-important, arrogant, elitist bastard. But hey, I did say up front that it may be just me, didn't I? And I could always be wrong.
Of course, people who like to bandy their hard-sounding and odd applications of the English language have every right to do so, no matter what I say. Who am I, anyway? And even if I was somebody, so what? "Walang pakialamanan," as one of my friends would say.
Well, just my two cents. To his (and her) each own, eh?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

No Rest for the Damned

I stare at the blinking cursor in front of me and wonder what’s next. I let myself get swallowed up by the monotony of office life: wake up, eat, travel, work, sleep; I try to revel in its off-white walls and the cacophony of voices that course through my head like nails scratching a blackboard. Funny, that word – blackboard – like my mood, black and bored, or better yet, like me – a black board. But the human tendency for self-preservation drives me to find things to fill the void; sometimes with fleeting trifles I try in vain to attach meanings to, or sometimes with things intangible and profound, like hope, or faith. But it seems that there is no rest for the dammed. Damned by the reminders of past mistakes, damned by the hollow tedium of today, and damned by the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Or it could be that I’m really just bitter, as someone pointed out not so long ago. Not a bad conclusion, really, with me allowing myself to be consumed by memories of failure, or by the bana...
7 comments
Read more

Scattered thoughts on relationships

We all know relationships are hard. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that we all have at least a vague idea that real relationships are more than just kisses and walks in the park, or candlelit dinners and holding hands while watching a movie. Nevertheless, it is not unheard off, that two people who previously thought that their promises would hold suddenly drift apart and discover that all that remains between them are broken pledges, old hurts, and that good old “sorry”. They ask themselves whether they could have done something to prevent it, they ask themselves where along the road did they lose it, they ask themselves what went wrong and who’s to blame. But at this point whether or not these questions are answered is of little consequence—the damage has been done, and the whole house of cards has long since fallen down. I guess it’s just as simple as saying that people who are always there are also the ones who are the easiest to take for granted. They’re low maintenanc...
4 comments
Read more

Vignette: Still Life

She had always looked good in pictures. He had come across a collection of them stowed away in a square tin box he had put on top of the closet, years ago. She was smiling in this one, a black and white he had taken and developed himself. He remembered putting in the film on the projector and counting from one thousand one to one thousand fifteen for the image to burn into the paper. He would then wash it in chemicals and watch the picture slowly materialize. The picture would go to a tray and taken outside, where he would wait for it to dry. She had kissed him when he presented it to her, thanking him for making her look cute. Another black and white. This time she was putting food down on a mat they had set for a picnic. She had looked so perfect then – lover, friend, and future wife. He remembered fingering the ring in his pocket, nervous and ill-at-ease. When she asked him what was wrong, he went to one knee then and there, and asked if she could be his wife. She had laughed and hu...
5 comments
Read more