Symptoms of Cretinism

One of my favorite John Mayer songs: WHY GEORGIA I am driving up 85 In the kind of morning That lasts all afternoon I’m just stuck inside the gloom Four more exits to my apartment But I am tempted to keep the car in drive And leave it all behind. Cuz’ I wonder sometimes About the outcome Of a still verdict less life Am I living it right Am I living it right Am I living it right Why, why Georgia , why I rent a room and I fill the spaces with Wood in places to make it feel like home But all I feel's alone It might be a quarter life crisis Justa' a stirrin’ in my soul Either way I wonder sometime about the outcome Of a still verdict less life Am I living it right Am I living it right Am I living it right Why, why Georgia why So what so I've got a smile on But it’s hiding the quiet superstitions in my head Don’t believe me Don’t believe me When I say I’ve got it down Everybody's just a...

Since deadline's over, and I have lots of time to kill, I've been watching a lot of Yakitate Japan ! (Freshly baked Ja-Pan!) on Youtube these past few days. Who knew that a story about a genius baker boy ( bake a girl, bake a boy... ) with warm hands could turn out to be so exiting to watch? I actually started out reading the manga, but the scans at unrivaled.info only ran up to Volume 7, which obviously left me not only with an insane desire to consume large quantities of baked goods, but also left me hanging. So it was off to Youtube. I've currently gone through 26 episodes, and boy, are they entertaining. Of course, if you're looking for a deep plot, this shounen anime should be one of the last places you should look. Nevertheless, the squid-like waving motions I first saw in Fruits Basket and the comedic scenes animes are famous for have always delighted the hell out of me. The dialogue and Ryo Kuroyanagi's different reactions to the bread he ate I found funny...

I did say yesterday that I'd pray that today would be better than yesterday, and it is, except for the rain. Of course, things could still go to hell like they always do. Yes, I'm a pessimist, thank you very much. I don't get it why people keep insisting that I compare myself to people who have it worse. Really, who wants to be worse off than he or she already is? It's human nature to always look up, to want something you don't - or even can't - have. Besides, if I start stacking myself beside people who suffer from terminal illness or who live on 35 pesos a day, then I should also start comparing myself to folks who are in perfect health and stroll about in their haciendas on golf carts and play golf. Because there are people on both ends of the spectrum. It's actually not so bad to be a pessimist, really. You get disappointed less, because you expect the worst, and good things become welcome surprises. You do get the overall impression that life sucks, a...

It is, yet again, one of those days. It’s when time slows down to painful crawl, and everything you see seems to devoid of life and color. All the people look pissed off, or depressed, tired, and downtrodden, there’s too much smoke everywhere and they sky has the deadest blue hue you’ve ever seen. Everything you eat tastes flat and drab, your fingers and hands feel as heavy as lead, and no matter what you do, your body always manages to revert itself into a slouching position. You go through the tasks you have and then forget what you just did a few minutes later, trusting its quality to your previous mental capacity, which really wasn’t much at all. You suddenly find your job boring and unrewarding, and then contemplate on leaving, and then you suddenly remember that you need the money and that it’ll be hell to start all over again. And then all those annoying things you've stored way back in your head and labeled as "information" start to stir from t...

This is what I look like today: My head's been spinning and throbbing like crazy since yesterday, then compounded with chills, a really bad cold and cough, things are really all sunshine and rainbows. And the final touch - a terrible poem only a Vogon can make. Read it and die. Untitled Its always gray outside my office window - from top to bottom the endless ash of all those sky-high tombstones and dead leaves that move in lines; of the undead who shuffle silently in their chiffon and their cotton mumbling silent prayers to the gods of mammon and coitus and nescience. It's always gray outside my office window - a sky on the verge of tears. But it smiles too, sometimes. It's always gray outside my office window, and as I look out into the world through magnified glazed glass eyes I wonder, I ponder, and I dream - because though it's true that we share a sky, I ask myself if we share the remembering as well.