Again, music saved me.
Listened to this and I know I have to get out of this rut.
A new day begins.
Again, music saved me.
Listened to this and I know I have to get out of this rut.
A new day begins.
(Or why you are not meant to tap your own back)
Hiya No. 1!
I didn’t think you could do it, never expected you to. Why, you tried it only once before and it sucked and I know why you think you shouldn’t do it again. I do, too. But you decided to just do it; decided to just get on and write that stupid short story – that one about some baby from hell type of flippertwit.
Again, idiocy reigned.
And blast me twice, but you’ve really finished what you set out to do this time. Why, you even made an awful series out of that rubbish!
I know this wouldn’t sound much of a success to anyone but you, now don’t give me that face you know it’s the truth! But well, yes, I believe it was really an achievement for you. And I’m proud of what you’ve done. Oh come on, I mean it! I know how you didn’t have enough guts to do it; all for a number of stupid reasons if you ask me.
They’re not stupid? Pfft! Not having an English degree, not being a native speaker, inability to fluently describe what an adverb is or to distinguish who from whom, too lazy to be any good with deadlines – how are these reasons not stupid enough?! And don’t even tell me you believe those bona fide writers really know what’s different from who to whom except the letter M.
Now you believe me? Well, of course I’m proud of you, moron. I know it’s not easy to let the world know how much of an idiot you are. And it really wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean the whole experience. After all, it made you happy. And it’s great fun to stop pretending to be smart and sensible and just let out the idiocy within sometimes.
So there you have it. I just wanted to say, “Well done!” and “Don’t get used to it because I know what you have to do come the third week of this month!”
*Evil laugh time*
Mm, is this the part where I say, “It’s not you, it’s me”? No? Fine, fine.
How about bye, then?
Your amazing-er self,
“Now, now you heard it,
Tales most far from sweet,
Her music gentle, clear,
Yet each note hides a tear,
From Great West to Far East,
Rough North, Treach’rous South,
Where songs begin, nurtured,
Melody she sings to you now.
You may or may not believe,
She only speaketh what she sees;
No friends, enemies, allies, or foes,
The Wind simply exists -
To collect mem’ries long forgotten,
Tales without her would’bin lost,
An’ when End arrives she’ll bring it,
To Time, waiting on his post.
But End still lies in slumber,
The World sees not his face,
But you, m’dear, have met him,
Now you must leave this place.
So hold my hand now, don’t fear,
For I am only Death,
To other worlds we’ll venture,
A new tale you must set.”
I know it’s a little late for the latter, but then again…
Let me start by sharing to you the works of my, err,
good friend, Landix.
“The Deal” created for the story Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Devil’s Child
“Le Pedofile“, this time for Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Music Box
Now tell me you think they’re horrifyingly beautiful.
I know, I know.
It’s vital you understand here that Landix is a lunatic. I asked for his permission to place a link here to his website but the doofus declined. Yes. Crazy, just crazy I’m telling you.
But he’s also really good, so it’s not much of a question why I collaborated with him. At least to me.
Really now, Landix is not all that bad. A little crazy, but an artist and more importantly, a friend. You’ll be seeing more of him soon. Well, I hope.
Now second, my niche.
I started this blog without much of a niche – more of decided to make an outlet for my random thoughts, rants, and music I’m too chicken to share to my mainstream outlet – the magnificent FB. I was just putting random brain droppings time and again. But very recently, it just dropped on me one late night staring-at -the-ceiling-with-headphones-at full-blast session.
My niche would be to tell stories.
I know it’s another kind of brain droppings, but at least brain droppings you can categorize. Blame it on my control freak streak. But yeah, I have decided to communicate with the world in a new way. This time I’ll use an old friend, “fiction”.
I’ve always loved stories. I learned to read because I was told those boring-looking things called books hold so much of them. I look forward to my father’s bedtime stories as a kid. As a teen, with great reluctance, I wore glasses because I won’t give up this love for stories. The glasses grew thicker with time. Yes, until now.
Maybe it’s the little truths stories always have, even though we call them “fiction“. Many men, women, and children could attest to the great power some of these little truths hold. Still, some of them are also just as what they seem, little.
And yet, it doesn’t make them any less.
I guess I will always love stories. It’s really not something you can stop. It’s part of what makes you you. Or me. Yeah, you get it.
So, logically, I created stories simply because. Like water flows because it is meant to. Like the wind dances and, yes sometimes, destroys. Destiny. Fate. Or simply choice. A choice made with ultimate love.
And like how some people treat their dogs, their dolls, or those things I think come from another planet (they say it’s called cars), I treat these stories as my babies.
There’s only one thing I ask of you. Love them or hate them, but treat these stories with respect. At core, they really meant good. For no story is evil by itself. They are what we, people, make of them. Respect them, and they will pay you back for it.
They always do – or else.
Now for the third and most important part.
Readers, Likers, Commenters, Haters, Followers, Spammers, and my dear Friends, human or not…
I thank you.
For what? Many, many things. Perhaps for licking mooses, for fighting for kids, for sharing less noticed beautiful works of art, for adding beauty to the world, for being a shcmuck of a clown, and a gazillion other as important reasons.
But most of all, for acknowledging that THIS exists.Of course, you know what I mean.
An’ folks’ come’s and go’s,
Each story will soon one day unfold,
Just as houses’ timid hushes,
An’ old graveyards ling’ring voices,
Each an’ every thing has a tale to be told
An’ as Time’s the One True Constant,
All else Change’s humble servants,
Now’s fairly not when
I’m a’ tellin my own
But let’s lean back, stay still,
Eye the Moon’s subtle beam,
An’ listen as the Wind’s gentle kiss,
Brings back the world’s preserved tears.”
A little girl whose years amount to three,
Has one peculiar taste people could see.
Instead of going out and play dirt with the kids,
She prefer to bury her nose ‘nside dusty lids.
Lids that cover mysterious other worlds,
Containing pictures of enormous ugly birds,
And robots, and cows, and castles, and seas,
These pictures made the girl immensely pleased!
But one thing there is, it makes those brows meet,
‘Twas the odd scribbles too extreme for her wit.
In every page she looks, those tiny, ugly scribbles,
Stares back at her making her brain gears wriggle.
Till the day she could stand the scribbles no more,
She asked granpa what are those ‘lil horrors good for.
Big old man chuckled, sending tummy fats a’ bouncing,
Told her ‘Those are called letters, and they are meant for reading.’
Day after day, a pencil comes smacking her head,
As the wicked old man taught her to read ‘til she bled.
And before long, ‘fore you could say ‘ichtroebgzjitschipklt’,
The girl mastered her alphabet.
Then her two, three, ten, twenty-eight letter words,
Making her the happiest girl who lives in her dusty world!
The day the sun rose again, the flowers bloomed, I sang, I didn’t wake up screaming, I danced, I kissed, I pooped without straining, I wasn’t hit by a truck, mom didn’t scream even once, he told me I’m beautiful, the TV wasn’t turned on, a 2-year old grinning nephew woke me up, my ear log book didn’t have politics signed up, I turned 20, I laughed, I didn’t find him naked in bed with a naked girl (or guy), I bear hugged him, my phone was on silent mode, bought 4 ooh la la books, had enough time to lie supine for hours and do nothing (in daytime), had a 2-second passing thought that all men must have some goodness inside or once had, I breathed, I existed.
Boy, was that a beautiful day!
And oh yes, that was the day I was born here in the blogosphere, too.
Great day. Great day.
I’m a speck in the sand
But still I am something
Weathering the sun,
Resisting the waves
Oh yes, I exist
The beatings I’ve had
It does make me mad
Though I labored to forgive
It’s not easy to give
All I thought was escape
Even nonexistence I sought
I almost went with the waves
Once I’ve always tried to fought
But the sun still shines,
People kept coming,
A child was born,
Reminding us of morn
Where love is pure,
Efforts are blessed
And the sun and the sea meet
For 4 years I have committed my life to finishing a course I don’t have the passion with – in the beginning at least. Unexpectedly, I developed an inveterate sense of affection and respect for what I have been studying.
But affection and respect are different from passion.
Some people find their passions in discovering things. Some on putting things together. Some on collecting things. Some on destroying things. And undeniably, some on controlling things.
Mine was to create.
It is my passion to create something beautiful to add to this world – although I have accepted the fact that it would be sublime for some, refuse for others. I have this naïve belief that the world is still a beautiful place and we people only need a reminder of that, seeing as we have been forced to eat nihilism in the hands of the all-powerful media (watch the TV and you’ll get I’m saying).
Thus, as the stars and my own selection would have it, I have been creating: modest ideas to share with others, music to soothe their senses (and massacre others’ tympanic membranes), ”edible” food (though the only person willing to eat it was yours truly), a better, imperfect person within to be a blessing for others (and yeah, a curse for a few)
You see, I have this odd opinion that sharing what you can to others, even yourself, is both a gift to give and a reward in itself. When you know you have made something that conjures even a micro-inch more of a smile in them, you can’t help but believe hope still exists.
Still, still there are people who are so difficult to bridge you’d have more luck in attempting extraterrestrial communication.They have been hardened by time and circumstances; they need more than just another little song, quote, picture, movie, event, or least of all a piece of petty writing from someone who “didn’t have a taste of hell yet”.
But well, the greatest transformations needed more than just a single effort.
And a big thanks to The Magnificent Mother Nature (and greedy politicians) for the law of accumulation – because we can be at ease knowing that every little, insignificant, and petty BUT good, beautiful and true things they have ever experienced are sure to sum up and become one giant ice cream of goodness that they surely cannot resist for long.
I know I should have entitled this “Idealism at Its Finest”.
So that’s my rant for the day. And yes, all is well.
*Evil Brother and Despicable Cousin (yep, that’s a RAT’S TAIL on his head :< ) discover the portal to the El Mundo Magnifico of The Ice Cream Land!!!
Once there was a Stick Man who lives in Stick Country with all his Stick Friends.
The Stick Man likes to walk around in Stick Country and stick his nose in all kinds of stick – y stuff.
In one of these nose – sticking hunts, he found a ‘Magazine’ with non – stick-y people on the pages.
He was so jealous of these non – stick-y people and all their shapes and curves that he vowed to do all in his power to stop being stick-y and start being like those magazine people – shape-y.
So he started his non – stick-y quest…
And set out on a journey to “Magazine Country”!
After 48,000 years…
As he entered its gates,
He went back to the gates and saw a sign posted:
And so, with a great incredulity, the stick man found out that the object of his desires…
*The original image of Chloe (girl with the blue-green hair) courtesy of http://lickthestranger.wordpress.com/
“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”
I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.
It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.
No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.
It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.
But life is a trickster.
Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?
I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that every human being was bestowed with from birth.
But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.
And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.
But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.
Image courtesy of http://www.cherrybam.com/sad-quotes.php
Last night, I was so hungry I hit the bakery and ordered a dozen of cheap, delicious bread. While the irritable bakery lady was getting my order, a dirty child approached two of the customers dining in and begged for bread repeatedly. The two ladies just kept on talking as though they were deaf to the world. I couldn’t hate or curse that they may rot in the depths of hell because if I should be honest, I behaved just like them more times than I can remember.
How often have you turned a blind eye to the misfortunes of others when it was supposed to be in your power to help easing the burden they carry? 20 times? 100 times? A million times?
No, I am not about to preach that we should all take care of one another because every person in this earth is our brother or sister. Nor would I help you to become a better person. I have enough shame on my pants not to do that. Rather, I would like to discuss why it is so hard for us to SHARE – our time, money, food, skills, boyfriends, services, among others – without getting anything in return
But why is it, really?
Theory no. 1: We have been raised to become selfish.
I love my parents and all the adults who helped in molding me to become the ridiculously self – righteous person I have become. They have all done their best to produce an individual the whole world could be proud of (read: a RARITY). But could you remember those times they told you to keep your toys to yourself and to your brothers/sisters because that (insert neighbor’s name here) child breaks anything he ever puts his hands on? Or those moments when they told you finishing education is a must (which it is) because only then could you be a successful person? At a young age, they have already unconsciously wired us up with the-world-is-selfish/there’s-no-such-thing-as-free-lunch anthem. Not that we could blame them.
Theory no. 2: We are scared.
Scared of what? Scared of being taken advantage of, perhaps? Maybe we are thinking that there are so many con artists and syndicates today behind homeless beggars that the thought of helping them and picturing those goons enjoying your loot is just too much to handle. Maybe we are so scared that if we do something to help people, they might milk us out until we cannot even help our own sorry selves. Maybe we are so concerned of what the noble, jealous, and insecure citizens of the world might think of our every actions that for the dread of being labeled as
good people phony philanthropists (a.k.a. someone feigning higher, humanistic, ENDANGERED principles), we prefer not to make any action at all. Maybe you have your own list of secret fears that keep you from lending a helping hand to the oppressed, lonely, hungry, hopeless people in this sad, dreary, miserable world. Yeah, probably that…or maybe
Theory no. 3: …we have simply become numb.
I should have made this my theory number one. I write according to what my head dictates at the spur of the moment and this didn’t come first. However, I have a very strong gut feeling this must be the reason we have ceased to pursue the carrying out of deeds for the greater good. The access to cosmic amounts of information (no, I am not condemning the Internet to eternal damnation) leads us to be knowledgeable about the bad news happening everywhere and anywhere that we have unavoidably become cynics – unfeeling cyborgs of the information age. The world is suffering from too much lack of money, food, savings, genuine friendships, toiletries, waterproof roofs, respect, originality, compassion, and tolerance that the act of GIVING out more of one’s self already seems to be a herculean task.
It seems that as I write, I have discovered that being good really means being generous with the things you can give that will be useful to the feat of the receiver becoming a better person. Becoming a person worthy of a space in this overpopulated planet is difficult when you have a gnawing stomach. Think about it, even forgiveness is something one gives to another which in its own could very useful for the other’s achievement of inner peace.
Ahhh…Inner Peace. Wouldn’t that be bliss?
Image courtesy of Google Images
There was once a lady with a human mind – one that wants something so badly one moment, and desire the exact opposite the next. HUMAN.
She woke up all cranky and ugly, answering the people who greeted her with the enthusiasm fit for the day of one’s meeting with the Grim Reaper. Despite of the efforts exerted by the people around her to cheer her up (or maybe because of it), she remained as Little Miss Stormy the whole day. And the root of it all was the failure of her prince charming to greet her on the first second of her birth date.
And so this person, who’s disputably the perfect embodiment of the word
shallow sensible, went on making everybody’s day as depressing as it could be. She never went out of the room regardless of the calls of her mom, grandma, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and pet dog. She wallowed in self – pity as she stared for minutes on end at that seemingly overpowering speck on her ceiling.
Boy, that was the best birthday of her life! Or it could have been…
It could have been, if she only went out the door enough to see the banner, with all the greetings and wishes the people she ignored the whole day, made for her.
It could have been, if she have bothered to respond to all the people who greeted her via text message, posted in her online accounts, personally shouted (they have to since the door was an unrelenting opponent) their greetings to her, and those that even tried to call her.
It could have been, if she had been humble enough to open that door and taste the source of the stimulating smell coming from the world beyond her door that she had been savoring for hours. But pride kept her.
It could have been, if she only appreciated the effort her prince charming gave out to compensate for his “fault” by sacrificing being the object of his boss’s tirade only to woo and try to get her to smile and open her door to the world.
It could have been, if only she hadn’t been so silly and frivolous.
It could have been the perfect birthday celebration, if she just tweaked her attitude. Even for just a little.
But she didn’t. And so she remained the cranky, old woman the whole day of her 20th birthday, and lived to write about it.
Image courtesy of Google Search
(The last sentence was not meant to imply that old people are generally cranky. Only some of them are. Some are perfect little angels. Others remain to be nasty demons behind wrinkled masks.)
I learned one new fact of life today.
It seems that as you age you continuously experience new stages of self – discovery. What you think of yourself when you were 18, however certain you were about it at that point in your life, will almost never be the same when you turn 25.
Some people say they have been self – assured early in life, but I don’t believe it. Because life changes you, it is a factory where we are all products that need to be upgraded and enhanced regularly. And those that cannot be changed turn out to be inappropriate and are sure to belong in the bin labeled
So it’s surprising to me how, say, a piece of literature with a theme concerning self – discovery could be limited only to a category of teen/young adult literature. Ironic, since you can see middle – aged individuals certainly still uncertain about their own identities.
But why do I concern myself with these things?
You see, I plan to experience different things from what I have always been doing – it simply fails to give me a sense of happiness. I am not so proud as to want happiness per se, I merely want a sense of it. There was just no passion (yes, that’s the right word) in what I am used to do.
And lack of passion (or excess of it) is in fact deadly. It has ended the lives of many notable men, and women of course.
That is why I am about to make this blog a sort portfolio of the things I would love to AND would do – pictures, stories, social commentaries, rants, random idiocy – and it doesn’t mean it would be in a chronological order. I’m so bored with chronological.
*An image I particularly like one googling session. Courtesy of thingsweforget.blogspot.com (obviously :p).