Symptoms of Cretinism

It's always about the things you can't have, isn't it? The nice, smart girl, the cool car, the laid-back lifestyle, the lasting relationship, the high-paying dream job, or maybe even the quiet, peaceful death. Sometimes you gamble, hoping against hope that things finally turn out the way you've always envisioned them to be, then BLAM! You are officially screwed over - by a crappy boss, your partner, by some random shithead on the street - by life in general. And this does not happen once or twice, it happens ALL THE TIME. You want to flash the finger at someone, and then you realize that either you can't accuse anyone; or everyone, even you, is to blame. How shitty is that? Suddenly I'm angry at the world again. -------- A big thank you goes out to Peachy (damn it, the closest Blogger.com would give me was lavender), who was so nice as to recommend this absolutely depressing and arrogant song. I just love it. The World is Full of Crashing Bores Morrissey You m...

I am aimlessly wandering through cyberspace, looking for things to help pass the time - browser games, blogs, poems, manga - waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. Deadline's almost over, and all that's left to do are some late revisions. Two days more 'til Friday. Yes, I am counting, and I am looking forward to doing something different for a change. Something to break the sad, bland routine of my life. I say thanks in advance to that brave soul who's never seen me but was nice enough to agree to wait an extra four hours just to watch a movie with me. Just please, please, please don't kill me. ----------- How's this for strange: along my boredom-induced travels in the web, I have met someone who's almost completely like S - entirely by accident. I meant to never write anything - even the smallest thing - about her ever again, but this is just too richly entertaining to pass up. They look the same, think the same, were born the same month, have almost the ...

Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious - I have changed the template. The other one gave up on me (on an emo note: who doesnt? T_T [LOL]). It looked all screwed up, so I changed it. Geez, whoever thought that adding a link would turn out to be so troublesome? Me and my HTML ignoramous-ness. Sigh.

Today, I am a zombie. I walk around with my eyes half closed and sway like I have a bad hangover, which I don't. That it's raining outside makes it all the worse - I wish I were sleeping at home right now. The price of being a nice kuya.

I am totally beside myself after watching the trailer for Ghost Rider . Never mind the technical errors such as Blackheart being described as "the son of the devil himself" - when he's just Mephisto's son, or that a part of the trailer that is - if I'm not mistaken - grammatically incorrect, or at least could be written better. I still can't wait to see the 1337 leather jacket and 1337 chain, the 1337 bike, and the h0t Eva Mendes. The flaming skull-head could use a bit more work though. Nevertheless, I'm quite sure that I'm going to be one of those lining up to see it come February next year. On a different note, The Devil Wears Prada looks quite promising. Meryl Streep as a soft spoken (in the trailer, at least) but very b*tchy cutthroat EIC for a fashion magazine and Anne Hathaway as her un-fashionable assistant might be the low-of-lows plot wise, but it's the possibility of great, not to mention amusing, perfomances from the actors that I...

The screaming voice in my head has finally gone away. Of course, it'll be back for sure sometime next week, bellowing the same thing all over again. I'm not quite sure if I should be feeling extra nervous about it, new staff and all, but I don't know - my natural tendency for pessimism tells me that something's going to go to sh*t. Of course, I can always look to the heaven, pray, and hope; but there's a big, big difference between "God" and "Genie of the Lamp". Damn, it feels good to finally relax after all those nights of obsessing over pages and proof. Whew. As soon as the office dismissal bell rang, I all but whooshed myself to Megamall and arcaded my all my stress away, and got a nifty white EVO VIII in the process too. It's also quite strange (at least for me) to be able to NOT think about all that emo crap I usually wallow in. I guess today was a good day, all things considered. The reminders I frequently see in faces weren't as...

I stare at the vast expanse of sky outside my office window and let my mind drown in dreams and thoughts as big and as sad as the night. In "Lost", Sun Kwon says to John Locke, "I don't think I've ever seen you angry." Locke chuckles and answers, "Oh, I used to get angry all the time; frustrated, too." "You're not frustrated anymore?" asks Sun. "I'm not lost anymore." John replies. When Sun responds by asking, "How did you do that?" Locke simply says, "The same way anything lost gets found - I stopped looking." I should stop looking.

An exerpt from Neil Gaiman's blog: Dear Mr. Gaiman, I read your advice to the 23 year old writer ('tricia), about how to deal with feeling like a crap writer when you're so young. But what do you do when you're 30? I've written a novel that only my friends want to read (bear in mind, one of those friends is a book editor at a major US paper), but no agent or publisher wants to touch?What does one do when they can't get a break? I want to write, but no paper will hire me to write. Right now I'm an editor at a website, but I'd barely call it editing. I write screenplays and am working on other prose projects, but I guess what I'm getting at is, should there be a point when one must say "enough is enough. This isn't going anywhere. It's time to stop before this starts to hurt more than I can bear"?I bear responsibility for my actions as a writer, I know, and I've squandered many chances. I am at a low point, and I'm not sure th...

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...

I've been staring at the computer for hours, trying in vain to put down something that even remotely makes sense. Almost two hours have gone by since the office dismissal bell rang, and all I've managed to write amounts to a very measly 26 words. How's that for two hours' work? I'm still trying to get to grips with the intricacies and the details of my new assignment at work - which is basicaly slaving myself more and just hoping for more pay. The people here seem to think it's cool, though, and keep dropping hints that I buy them food - and by hints I mean big, good-sized hints as large as, I don't know, elephants? This of course, stirs my Chinese blood to fits of frenzy, so I restrain myself from clutching my heart, smile, and say "I'll try," or "Maybe one these days." And yes, I know, I'm being a scrooge and I cannot escape the inevitable - believe me, my wallet feels like Manji on Kessen-satsu already.

Right now, my brain is mush, so my mental capacity is moot. Earlier, I tried to poke it with a stick, to see if it would move or something, but all it did was make a disgusting squishy sound. I tried electricity, but then it transformed into something that not only made even more disgusting squishy sounds, but something that looked disgustingly squishy. So please, don't ask me any hard questions, or why my head feels more like a soup in bread bowl - attention: Hannibal Lecter - lest my brain completely liquefies and floods out of my ears or something. I won't be able to clean the floor. Squish, squish. There it goes again. -------------------------------- For Now Avenue Q PRINCETON: Why does everything have to be so hard? GARY COLEMAN: Maybe you'll never find your purpose. CHRISTMAS EVE: Lots of people don't. PRINCETON: But then- I don't know why I'm even alive! KATE MONSTER: Well, who does, really? KATE MONSTER: Everyone's a little bit unsatisfied. BRIAN:...

It been quite a long time since I was last gripped by WOT fever, but today I find myself jittery and excited over the paperback edition of Book 11, The Knife of Dreams, that's scheduled to come out this October. Its almost 5 months away and I'm excited already. They say somebody's going to lose a hand and somebody's coming back from the dead. Yes, I know I could have just downloaded an e-book, but I'm a purist. There's nothing like holding a good thick book in your hands and feeling your heart beat faster every time you turn a page. Of course, it helps that Orbit is publishing the paperback edition - I don't have to worry about TOR's crappy binding, though I'd still buy it if it were a TOR book. ------------------- Here are a few of my favorite quotes from the series: "Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain." - Borderland saying "Sa souv'raya niende misain ye" (I am lost in my own mind) - Mat Cauthon ...

Its past ten, and I'm still at the office. I've managed to hijack someone else's PC - my uber slow one quits on me when the office bell rings at 6:45. ----------------------- Now, my next problem is thinking of what to put down next - I've been writing in Tagalog for the past week, and I can't seem to think up a good English sentence like I used to. ----------------------- A nice and famous writer was nice enough to ask me to submit a story for an anthology he's coming up with sometime at the end of the year. Of course, I have to come up with an appropriate story first, submit it, then hope to God that's its good enough to get published. That my job requires me to write in Tagalog (which, by the way, I never really wasn't good at) and subsequently, think in Tagalog doesn't help at all. Nevertheless, the invitation has inspired me enough to start racking by Tagalog-infested brain for something I could possibly write about. T hank you, o great and...

I am really, really frustrated. I miss out on workshops, don't know squat about calls for submission of stories (the chances of my stuff actually getting published is another issue altogether), and I can't find the time to write. I go home tired and sleepy, and the last thing my brain needs is for me to kick it somemore after a whole day's work. I told a friend a few months back that excepting those who're really good (and I obviously am not 'really good'), the only people who can afford to write are rich people. While they lie around and stare at the sky and jot down ideas and lines all day, the rest of us are busy trying to make a living. Life is so bloody unfair. $%§!*#^£*()&!!!

What is it with me and small talk? 99 percent of the people I know or have met seem to enjoy it, and I can't even pretend to be interested. Yes, I know, I'm weird and just more than a tad anti-social, but does that mean that it's not normal to even have a remotely intelligent conversation with someone? Does that mean that normal, regular conversation will always consist of how much you like having your picture taken in your spiffy little mobile phone or some remote mundane incident involving someone you know but I don't? Of course, I also do realize that I'm being really subjective here - who am I to say that small talk isn't intelligent conversation? I mean, maybe I'm just trying to get people to think the way I think and have conversations the way I want them to. I think I should lighten up. But I can't. Well, I guess that means I just have to endure more idle chit chat and try to work on at least displaying a semblance of interest on the topic at ...

I don't know why, but re-listening to a bunch of anime songs I thought to store away some years back has made me feel all mushy and melodramatic all of a sudden. And I don't even understand a word I hear. I just move my head to a beat and I suddenly feel the urge to cry; not that I actually burst out into tears - now that would be really pathetic, not to mention really weird. ---------------- Many thanks to Peachy , who I don't really know, but was peachy enough to let me copy the lyrics from a (her) Ben Folds Five song. Gone Ben Folds Five I thought I'd write, I thought I'd let you know. In the year since you've been gone, I've finally let you go. And I hope you find some time to drop a note, But if you won't, then you won't. And I will consider you gone. I know that you went straight to someone else, While I worked through all this shit here by myself. And I think that you should spend some time alone, But if you won't, then you won't. And ...

Finally, after ages of waiting, we now have an internet conncetion at home. It's dial-up though, so that means I have to endure surfing through the net at a pathetic and measly 44kbps. So as early as now I say goodbye to all the MMORPG's I could be playing, not to mention playing DOTA online. Sigh. On the more "positive" side, I have a job again. It doesn't pay much, but it's work. I've grown tired of the frowns my father likes to sport whenever I announce that I've turned down another job offer - for legitimate reasons (at least for me). It's just bad timing that I'm currently suffering from a serious case of laziness. Last night, I went to bed at around 9pm - which is really early, since I usually sleep at around 12am onwards - and I just woke up. More than 12 hours of sleep and I'm still sleepy. (yawns) Anyway, after I drag myself to the dirty kitchen and help my mom with the laundry (because I am such a nice boy) I might get to watching...

by Pablo Neruda It so happens that I am tired of being a man. It so happens that I go into the tailor shops and the movies all shriveled up, impenetrable, like a felt swan navigating on a water of origin and ash. The smell of barber shops makes me cry out loud. I only want a rest of stones or of wool, I only want to see no more buildings or gardens, or merchandise, or eyeglasses, or elevators. It so happens that I am tired of my feet and my nails and my hair and my shadow. It so happens that I am tired of being a man. Still it would be delicious to scare a notary public with a cut lily or kill a nun with a blow to the head. It would be nice to roam the streets with a green knife screaming until I freeze to death. I do not want to go on being a root in the dark, hesitating, stretched out, shivering in my sleep, deep down, in the wet gut of the earth, soaking and thinking, eating every day. I don't want so many misfortunes. I don't want to keep on being a root and a tomb, dying o...

You Are 64% Open Minded You are a very open minded person, but you're also well grounded. Tolerant and flexible, you appreciate most lifestyles and viewpoints. But you also know where you stand firm, and you can draw that line. You're open to considering every possibility - but in the end, you stand true to yourself. How Open Minded Are You? You Are 30% Evil A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well. In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil. How Evil Are You? Just 30 percent? I'm disappointed. You Are an Emo Rocker! Expressive and deep, lyrics are really your thing. That doesn't mean you don't rock out... You just rock out with meaning. For you, rock is more about connecting than grandstanding. What Kind of Rocker Are You?

Its 7:35 in the morning - much, much earlier than I'm used to be awake - and my tummy hurts. I'm eating a cold chicken fillet burger from KFC, and I'm hoping I don't spew out its gastric juiced version later. Oww... there it goes again...