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Showing posts from September, 2007

Hiding

Gray Room
Damien Rice

Well I've been here before
Sat on the floor in a grey grey room
Where I stay in all day
I don't eat, but I play with this grey grey food

Desole, if someone is prayin' then I might break out,
Desole, even if I scream I can't scream that loud

I'm all alone again
Crawling back home again
Stuck by the phone again

Well I've been here before
Sat on a floor in a grey grey mood
Where I stay up all night
And all that I write is a grey grey tune

So pray for me child, just for a while
That I might break out yeah
Pray for me child
Even a smile would do for now

'Cause I'm all alone again
Crawling back home again
Stuck by the phone again

Have I still got you to be my open door
Have I still got you to be my sandy shore
Have I still got you to cross my bridge in this storm
Have I still got you to keep me warm

If I squeeze my grape and I drink my wine
Coz if I squeeze my grape and I drink my wine
Oh coz nothing is lost, it's just frozen in frost,
And it's opening time,…

This is why I love t-shirts

From www.despair.com:




Except that they aren't available in the Philippines. Ampf.
'Langyang buhay 'to oo. Maubusan ba naman ako ng tickets para sa Avenue Q.

Tsk. Kung hindi ka ba naman mapamura talaga.

Goodbye, RJ, goodbye, WoT

The light shine on you,
and may you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand.


We'll miss you RJ, and the story that you've told so well.

Thinking, travelling

I’m imagining looking out the window of a bus traveling at 60
Seeing nothing but the blur of things passed by,
silhouettes of people and places.
Maybe this is a song, or something else;
A prayer to whomever can hear.
I sing of misfortunes and sadness,
and pray for a happiness I can wrap my head around on.

There’s a song playing in my head, I just can’t sing it;
There’s a prayer in my heart, with words I cannot say.
Like looking out of a bus traveling at 60,
Songs are blur,
And prayers are merely silhouettes of what they really are.

It’s heavy, this journey of twist and turns and dead ends
Under a sky of grey.

Bwiset!

It's Monday again, which is not my particularly favorite day of the week, and I am in dire need of a stress ball.

I thank God for small favors like a thoughtful SMS from my favorite person, good anime, and the soundtrack from Hairspray that I have blaring on my earphones (in between anime episodes) in an attempt to tune out all of today's crap.

I'm tempted to jump the bandwagon again ang start ranting against fratmen, arrogant UP students, people who can't tell the difference between a legitimate piece of opinion and outright bigotry, and in life in general, just to let some steam out.

(sigh)

I told you so.

Apparently, Malu Fernandez has not resigned, and is writing again under the Manila Standard Today. Hence the spiffy online banner below.

I knew it. You can't change bad breeding overnight. Malu Fernandez is no different from that asshole who mowed down 3 students in a drunken stupor in UP in broad daylight a couple of years ago; or the people who kill in the name of "brotherhood" and "character building"--they all just get off with hardly a pat on the back, and then it's back to the same old.

She whines about getting insulted, never mind that she was the one who provoked such widespread outrage in the first place by insulting honest, hardworking people who never did anything bad to her and whose only fault was to wear perfume that was cheaper than hers. When you punch a guy in the face--even if you say it was only in jest--would you expect him to just take it and smile back at you?

She is a "have", I give her that. "Haves" always get away w…

Woe is me

It's frustrating, that's what.

I want to write, but I can't. I have a few ideas in my head, but I can't seem to get a hold of them completely--one moment I feel like I've gotten it down, but when I actually sit down and write, only horseshit comes out.

It's frustrating, that's what.

I hate that I have a job--no, correction, I hate it that I can't afford not to have a job--and just lock myself away in some quiet place with my books and a laptop (which I also cannot afford right now, even with my job) and just read and write the days away. (At this point I'd start writing about how joyful my job is, but somebody might see.)

It's just all so utterly and absolutely frustrating.