tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36622748176363666022024-03-20T23:40:04.606-07:00Ravings of a MadwomanAn excess of thoughts... without rhyme or reason.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-32934953099776613542016-01-15T19:18:00.002-08:002016-08-31T18:42:59.619-07:00Is That a Hat?Today, my dad asked me something that surprised me so much I had to make him repeat what he said. Never in my whole life was I asked such a question (from my parents), and it brought a deluge of nostalgia and longing inside me that I thought I was gonna cry right then and there.<br />
<br />
"You stopped drawing, have you?" He asked without any malicious tone. He was simply asking me about my previous "hobby."<br />
<br />
My face was blank, but inside me was a torrent of emotions that I have locked in the deepest part of my heart (or mind, or soul) threatening to burst out. I can't believe that after years of trying to fool myself into believing that I shouldn't waste my time doing things I have no business dabbling into - coz I'm a talentless wimp, thats why - that a single random question could still hurt so much.<br />
<br />
I swallowed. I said, "Yeah, I stopped. Years ago." Then I went inside my room.<br />
<br />
In my bed, I thought of how I used to be. My child-like passion for everything beautiful. I used to draw bad drawings and think that they're world-class. I used to dream of playing the violin. I used to play with my keyboard all day long, making up my very own notes because I can't read musical sheets. I used to write stories. I used to learn about new words and foreign phrases just so I can use <i>fait accompli</i> when a situation calls for it - it's funny that I only get to use that phrase to describe my life. <b><span style="font-size: large;">I used to lock myself up in my room and dream of foolish dreams that only dreamers could ever dream of</span></b>. I used to read books and imagine myself doing exactly what the characters courageously did.<br />
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I wanted to shout and cry and tell my dad, "Yes! I have stopped doing that. For years! You just noticed now? I have stopped doing what I love. I have stopped drawing. I have stopped trying. I have stopped being a dreamer. I tried living normally. Whatever the fuck that means."<br />
<br />
Yes. <b><span style="font-size: large;">I grew up and got duped into living how society wanted me to live. And after years of wasting valuable time, I am just starting to open my eyes and realize how wrong I was. That this kind of "living" is not really living. At least not for me. The moment I forgot about my dreams, let my creative juices dry up to the last drop, the moment I decided to be a mechanized adult, was the moment I stopped living.</span></b><br />
<br />
I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could time-travel so my present-me could tell my past-me to never fall into the abyss and forget about my soul.<br />
<br />
I wish.<br />
<br />
But, it's never too late. Life begins at 30.<br />
<br />
I could still start fresh. I may be lagging behind, but it's never too late to choose another fork and run in that direction.<br />
<br />
Never travel in a road that has been paved for others. Create your own path. Hack at those weeds in front of you and just make your own road. Whether it's the road less traveled or god knows what, just make sure it's your own decision and not something dictated upon you.<br />
<br />
Also, never stop re-reading <i>The Little Prince</i>.<br />
<br />
Never forget your dreams. Be who you really wanna be. Live.<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-87860024913410772182015-07-19T03:37:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:43:45.517-07:00Cerebro"I don't belong here."<br />
<br />
A white screen of smoke obscured her face that for a second I thought I just imagined her talking. She said it so softly I almost thought she was commenting about the weather, or something absolutely irrelevant. For several seconds I just stared at her, watching her intently, but always never guessing what's she's thinking.<br />
<br />
We've been friends since forever, grew up together, but I still don't know her. We're best friends, but I know nothing - only what she chooses to divulge.<br />
<br />
She's an enigma. I don't know if I'm fascinated or scared. I take a sip of my cold beer.<br />
<br />
Plaster a sign on her forehead that says, <i>"I'm an alien, an outsider, a weirdo. I don't belong here, goddamn you all!</i>" and a passerby would just think she's joking. She looks absolutely normal and happy.<br />
<br />
But I know better. She can be the most inquisitive and concerned human being when the situation calls for it, she can be as lively and goofy as a damn kid high on sugar, she can be breathless from an intensely animated storytelling and then lapse into a catatonic state the next minute, oh and she can listen to your stories for hours - smile plastered, nodding at the right moments, laughing at the punchlines - and you'll never guess that her mind is blank... Or thinking about ginormous black holes. She's a chameleon, a mime, a great pretender - because in reality, she's not here.<br />
<br />
You know how I know?<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Because I see it in her eyes. Those eyes! Sometimes they scare me. Those sad brown eyes that give away her true self. I can't stare at them too long because I feel I might drown in them and then die. Her eyes burn with such intensity you can almost see her soul wailing, banging at the door, trying to break free. Her longing to belong, to express, to be herself, to live - you can feel that when you look at her eyes, straight to her soul. Sometimes I get it, you know. What she means when she says what she says. Because people with those kinds of eyes really don't belong among people whose eyes have never burned with such passion. Put her in a crowd and she'll blend in easily, doing her robot dance, mimicking human puppets as what she calls the others - but one look through her eyes and you'll know. She really doesn't belong.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The first time I witnessed that it really caught me off-guard. I felt the loneliness, the frustration, the angst, - and it hit me so hard I almost felt nauseous. For a second I felt my body turn cold - like a corpse suddenly decided to give me a hug. I can't explain it better, but for that few seconds I felt, uhm, <i>death</i>. <i>Nothingness</i>. Can you even feel <i>nothing</i>? I pity her, because I see the sadness. The mediocrity of these human beings is like a fire hose to her burning house - it douses her flame and there are days when she forgets and you see her eyes become vacant. Dead. A dying ember in a fireplace. Convention kills her.</span><br />
<br />
No, she doesn't belong here - whatever <i>here</i> means.<br />
<br />
But still, I want to fully understand her. This mysterious being - I wanna get her. I had to swallow several times before I mustered enough courage to speak up. My throat felt dry.<br />
<br />
"What do you mean you don't belong here?" I asked her. Cautiously, unobtrusively. I try to look as calm as she seems to be. Quite unsuccessfully to tell you the truth.<br />
<br />
She stares at me. Totally unsettling. Like she has x-ray vision and she sees through my skull. Either she sees through my soul or I'm invisible - one or the other. I feel like I'm a huge lump of warm shit under her stare. I'm dog poop to her, something you look at only so you could avoid it, then you forget about it once you step over it. Shit. I'm inferior to her. Can you believe this woman? I get stared at for several seconds and she already made me feel like I'm stupid and a worthless piece of shit. That's talent, man! I'm actually impressed.<br />
<br />
"Cerebro. You know that, Sid?" She lights another cigarette. The way she exhales that toxic smoke makes me wanna smoke too. I almost forgot that I hate the smell of it. Like she's having amazing sex with her cancer stick, you know what I mean? Like she's having orgasm I almost get a hard-on just listening to her intake of breath. And when she lets the smoke escape her lips, god oh god, I wanna die.<br />
<br />
"Sid, the fuck are you thinking?"<br />
<br />
I blinked a few times thinking of a believable reason why I was staring at her with my mouth slightly open - like a fucking brain-damaged dimwit. Can't think of anything even remotely funny. Fuck.<br />
<br />
"Umm, Cerebro? You mean X-Men?" I laugh consciously.<br />
<br />
She raised her eyebrow and smirked. That meant <i>yes</i>.<br />
<br />
"Is this the part where you tell me you're a mutant and you're joining Magneto's Brotherhood?"<br />
<br />
She rolls her eyes. At least she's amused. For a while she doesn't speak but when she does her voice has changed. It's quite a subtle change but I've known her long enough to know that this is her soul speaking. "In a way, that's what I am, man. I need to find other mutants. Shit, I need Cerebro!"<br />
<br />
Oh god she's serious. I fidget in my seat. She's weird.<br />
<br />
She continues, oblivious to her surroundings, "The other day I was in a bus, travelling out of town, and I'm looking at the people we pass by. And they're like these blue people in Xavier's Cerebro, and I'm this red thing, miles and miles away from another red dot on the radar. These people, they're so normal. They just go on and walk around and do their shitty little routines, and bump against each other and they won't even notice because they're so absorbed in their own little shitty bubble. And call it <i>life</i>. These brainwashed robots think they're living. And I was so sad, Sid."<br />
<br />
"Why were you sad?"<br />
<br />
"Because at that moment, I felt like giving up."<br />
<br />
I heard her voice crack a little bit. I had to look up from staring at the froth in my beer to check if she was crying. She's not. Duh. Of course she's not crying. She has a tough exterior. Inside? Well, you know, those with hard shells usually have that to protect something soft inside. Something fragile. I waited for her to go on.<br />
<br />
After a few puff from her newly-lit cigarette, she continued, "<span style="font-size: large;">In that moment, while staring at those little robots - puppets with invisible strings -, I felt like giving up. I felt like dying. Is this life? Hurried steps from point A to point B. Oblivious to everything. Running, eyes half-closed. Minds numbed. Hearts duped. Brains, wait, what brains? They're puppets. They don't question, they just move to the pre-taped rhythm of monotonous life! I can't live that way, Sid!"</span><br />
<br />
I saw her shudder. She shook her head as if that will make the lovely thoughts in her head go away. "Live how you want to live." I told her. I don't exactly get her, because I'm one of those people she just described with derision. To be honest, I'm quite hurt. I didn't tell her that though.<br />
<br />
"I know. But I feel so alone. Like no one gets me. In that moment, at the bus, I felt it. I felt my darkness. I felt so different. An alien. You see? I know there are people like me out there, red dots trying to mingle with the blue ones. That's what I want.<b> </b><span style="font-size: large;">Cerebro. To find people like me. People with delicious darkness. Too much fake brightness in here, Sid. It blinds me. Their ignorant bliss makes me wanna set my hair on fire and dance naked to a Nicki Minaj song. And then stab myself to death with an old bread knife..." Then after a few seconds, she added, "And take cyanide while I'm losing blood on the pavement, just to be sure, y'know."</span><br />
<br />
What could I say to that? Her despair and hopelessness is rubbing off on me I couldn't even manage to say a single word. My throat dried up because I felt what she's trying to say. I couldn't grasp it completely, of course, but I felt it. What could you say to an alien who lost its spaceship? <i>Sorry, you're in a different world and you obviously don't belong here, but just suck it up, my green friend, coz you have nowhere else to go?</i><br />
<br />
She spoke again, but this time I hear a difference in her voice. Colder. Instinctively, I grabbed my beer just to feel something comforting.<br />
<br />
"You know the saddest part?"<br />
<br />
"What?"<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"</span><span style="font-size: large;">Even if you find someone like you, it's irrelevant. Life has no meaning. It's just the way it is, you wake up, you survive, you sleep. You do this cycle until you don't wake up anymore. Finding your kind of people won't matter. Human connections are fake. We just pretend it means something as a way to comfort ourselves temporarily. We like to think it means something, but it doesn't. It's all fake."</span> She took another drag from her fast-dying cigarette.<br />
<br />
I look at her and I wish I stayed at home today watching re-runs of X-Files.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-14492096796932196692015-07-12T04:21:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:43:59.001-07:00The Monster Within MeI'M A MONSTER.<br />
<br />
I would wanna kill you someday, you know, full-on murder. Assassination. Blind homicidal rage. Sometimes, I imagine myself stabbing you in the neck with a big glass shard, feel your blood drip all over my hand. Warm, wet, sticky, red... so red. Tasty.<br />
<br />
I'LL DRINK YOUR BLOOD!<br />
<br />
I imagine staring at your eyes while the light in them slowly dims, feeling your pulse gradually weaken, listening to your heart until it beats no more.<br />
<br />
Oh, I'll surely get off to your weak pleas, your pathetic whimpering, the fear in your widened eyes, the trembling of your thick lips. You're pathetic. The thought of your begging makes me wanna prolong your agony. You'll make me so happy! You reek of fear - thick and cloying. That makes me so inspired!<br />
<br />
Am I a monster for wanting to kill you? Do you deserve to live?<br />
<br />
What did you say? I'm horrible? I should die? Oh ha ha ha, I can't breathe! Stop, my stomach hurts! Stop, that's hilarious! Me? Die? Honey, I'm already dead. You can cut me open any way you want and you'll see nothing inside. I'm dead. I've been dead a long time ago.<br />
<br />
You, on the other hand, are not dead yet. But you will be.... soon. I'll make sure of it.<br />
<br />
DAMN RIGHT, I'M A MONSTER!<br />
<br />
I'll peel away your skin, inch by inch. Slowly, perfectly. Have you ever peeled an apple? Tonight, you'll be my juicy, pretty, red apple. Call me Snow White, coz I'm gonna take a bite and taste you. Except that there's no curse from an evil, narcissistic queen. The only thing cursed here is you.<br />
<br />
I'LL EAT YOUR FLESH!<br />
<br />
Are you afraid?<br />
<br />
Which do you fear more? Me or your impending doom?<br />
<br />
Speak clearly. Don't babble! Answer me, what's the purpose of your existence, aside from annoying me?<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I wanna hang myself just so I won't see you anymore. I don't wanna feel you, hear you. I don't want to succumb to your deathly grip anymore. You took over my life, controlling me, drowning me in fear. Not anymore. I'm in control now. Ya hear me?!!<br />
<br />
The things I wanna do to you. God! Not only will I skin you alive, I'll also rip your innards out! One by one, I'll cut your limbs. Hack, hack. I'm gonna make sure the knife I'll use is not too sharp. That's how much I love you. I want you to feel the pain. Pain is good, right? You haven't really lived if you haven't felt pain. Right? Yeah, that's what you told me before!<br />
<br />
Oh wait, I'm not done yet! I'm gonna eat your organs, of course I'm gonna share, you gotta have some too! And when you're drained of your filthy blood, I'm gonna bathe in it Bathory-style!<br />
<br />
Are you still unsure of your fate?<br />
<br />
YOU'RE GONNA DIE!<br />
<br />
HAHAHA!<br />
<br />
I'm a monster?<br />
<br />
You got that right.<br />
<br />
I'll fucking kill you and I'll enjoy every goddamn minute of it.<br />
<br />
SOMEDAY.<br />
<br />
Not today. I can't live without you. You've been with me for so long, we have breathed the same air, thought the same crazy ideas, made the same mistakes together. In fact, you're the one who made me do all those things. You're also the one who kept me from living my life. You're the one reason why I am who I am right now. You're my shroud of darkness. You're my twin.<br />
<br />
You're my demon.<br />
<br />
I hate you.<br />
<br />
No, I can't kill you yet.<br />
<br />
I'm scared.<br />
<br />
I'm not ready to step out of the darkness and into the blinding sunlight.<br />
<br />
I love you.<br />
<br />
Don't let me go.<br />
<br />
I'll kill you some other time.<br />
<br />
Please don't leave me. I need you!<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-11995075710063226022015-05-31T04:51:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:44:12.843-07:00Welcome to the Dark SideI see your brain, with grooves and all, an explosion of colors instead of a boring grey hue. I can only imagine the things that go on inside your mind - a party of thoughts and ideas. The potential is limitless. You could conquer the world. Hell, you could build a rocket if you want to.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
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But wait, what's that dark cloud swirling around your brain? A thick smoky wall of darkness that's preventing your good colors from spilling out? It's overpowering your mind, the colors are barely showing. The colors are trapped. How can you get rid of it?</div>
<div>
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
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You can't? What do you mean you can't? Surely there's a way. Right? I mean, that darkness needs to be let out. Right??</div>
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<div>
You mean it will always be there just swirling around you forever? It will never leave you? What about the colors? The beautiful, lively, happy colors??</div>
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Yes. Yes, I have seen clouds. Yes, I know some days the clouds cover the sun or the blue sky. But there are days when the clouds give you a glimpse of the immense beauty that it usually covers. So, what are you saying? That awful darkness that you have inside you, it's like the clouds? Well, if you put it that way.... I guess it does add character to the sky. I mean, the fact that sometimes it keeps you from seeing the real face of the sky or the sun, it makes it more exciting when you get a glimpse, however momentary, of that deep blue sea of beauty. Wow. How can you paint such a picture of pure beauty with something that's so... utterly dark?</div>
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It's like you love it. You love the darkness don't you?</div>
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But I see what you mean. You are you because of what's inside you. You're dark, but you're beautiful inside. I know you have something inside you more than your darkness and there are days when it shows and it's astonishing, seeing the real you even for just a moment.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But that darkness. It's swallowing you whole.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How can you love it? How can you embrace something that is the sole reason for your paralysis? The anxiety, the fear, the loneliness. You're alone in the dark and I know you can barely stay afloat. I know you have drowned several times in that black cesspool of whatever. You have barely survived each time. But you love it? Need I remind you the times when you can barely open your mouth, words fail to come out, coherent thoughts failing to materialize - because your darkness, out of sheer cruelty, decided to seize you and choke you with illogical fears. Anxiety so deeply embedded in your brain, it surprises me you're still sane. Well most of the time you are.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Still, explain to me.</div>
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You can't? Well, I guess you are indeed crazy.</div>
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Can you at least admit that you are an addict? You're a slave to that darkness inside your head. Yes, don't even argue - it's all in your head. You have all the weapons to fight it off, to make it disappear, to change your life. But you hold on to it like an addict dependent on her dealer. You thrive on that darkness. You live inside your dark little head and you refuse to come out. It's your air, isn't it? You crave it. You worship it. You need it to stay alive. Without it you're nothing.</div>
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Oh, I'm wrong? So now you're saying you wish you didn't have that darkness that makes you different from the rest of us? You're saying you want to be normal? Are you sure you want to be "average" as you so fondly call the rest of us normal humans? Are you saying you want to have a regular grey brain instead of that dark-yet-colorful convoluted thing you have inside your skull? Do you mean that? You look like a parrot, honey. You're mimicking human sounds, but you don't mean it. You don't understand it. You think if you pretend to be one of us and act normal, you'll be one. </div>
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Accept it. You're different. You pretend you care about human things like a job or stability or family or money or a career or goals - all routines. You don't. The minute you acknowledge that out loud, then maybe you will feel better. </div>
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I can't even imagine how lonely it could be inside there. It's your own little prison, but ironically, it's your own little paradise as well. You are only free when you're inside that darkness. God, that's depressing!</div>
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Don't you have friends you can talk to? Woah, no need for bad words! I'm not pushing you to socialize to cure your darkness. Well, uhmm, I was just wondering. Won't it help? Ok, ok. I'm listening.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hmmm. Curious. So you're saying that no matter who you're talking to, no matter who you're with, there will be moments when you just wanna run away from all those human interactions? That it's nothing personal? That no matter how much you enjoy one's company, any moment, you will get that panicked feeling, the urge to sigh and wish you disappear, the desire to run away and escape any human contact? The feeling that you're wasting your time because it's all useless. It's all fake. You're faking it. But you get guilty because you know they're good friends. Good people. And you're not. You're dark, and you're not one of them. You get so guilty that you plaster a smile on your face until it gets sore but you don't mind coz it's the only way you know how to deal. It's the only way you know you think they'll get. </div>
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I get it now. You don't think they'll get the real you.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25IhuEsbjJwtpKH-gqsp-2zLPRETLjmPVkuUrzifE0o3egNMexRB5urNQJoNozrb29qO33lpIskfSUN70CPq6T3BuVEfLgFGR1knTYkvL9qB-14OAQRUyW1HgPEnm_StNQlw3RzHx/s1600/crazy+horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25IhuEsbjJwtpKH-gqsp-2zLPRETLjmPVkuUrzifE0o3egNMexRB5urNQJoNozrb29qO33lpIskfSUN70CPq6T3BuVEfLgFGR1knTYkvL9qB-14OAQRUyW1HgPEnm_StNQlw3RzHx/s400/crazy+horse.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Crazy Horse" by Gerard Stricher</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Let me ask you something. Have you ever met someone that's exactly like you? I mean someone who's also dark. Someone who's also anti-humans? Haha, sorry, I was just kidding. Oh you call them mutants? So you're saying you've met your kind of people? </div>
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So few? All those years of living, and you can count them in one hand?</div>
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Tell me what it's like. Meeting someone like yourself.</div>
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Oh?</div>
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How is it complicated? I mean, you meet someone like you, don't you tend to gravitate towards each other and be great companions to one another?</div>
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Wow.</div>
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I need to get comfortable, let me light up a cig. Wait, I'll grab a beer, you want some?</div>
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Okay, go on. Whew. I gotta say, this conversation has made me feel all sorts of weird things. Makes me thankful I'm normal. Oh, I'm sorry. Go on.</div>
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Just so we're clear. You mutants, you guys are the same. Darkness inside your brains. And you get each other. You understand what makes each other tick. You enjoy each other's darkness. So what's so complicated about it? I mean, you can't tolerate normal people, and yet you can't tolerate your fellow mutants as well? God, you're twisted. And blacker than a black hole. </div>
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Fine, I'm picturing magnets now. Yeah yeah, the north pole attracts the south pole. But when you try putting the same ends or poles together, they repel each other. </div>
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So it's like an invisible force field that's keeping you from annihilation? I think I get it. Negative + Negative will drain you. I'm not saying you're negative. I meant, a person with such darkness couldn't be with someone with more or less the same kind of darkness for a prolonged period of time without repercussions. Implosions, explosions, collisions. Black holes. One side will inevitably suffer more than the other. Self-preservation, even for people living in constant self-destruction. It's romantic actually. My heart is melting. The one thing that could actually comfort you is the same thing that's gonna destroy you. Wow. Even Shakespeare couldn't have thought of that.</div>
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I'm not judging you. I just don't want to be in your position. I embrace my average self. My normalcy. My weak self. You mutants are a different species. I think you're only so few, because only a few could handle such burden. Or is it a gift? I really don't know. And the sad thing is, you don't know too, do you? I guess it's how you handle it, right? Is it a gift or a curse? It's all up to you.</div>
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What are you gonna do next?</div>
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What about your desire to find the other mutants? You told me you've met a few. How was it?</div>
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Oh....</div>
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Are you sure?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Here, let me light that for you.</div>
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Need a hug? No? Jeez I was just being nice, no need to be snippy about it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-82396380765902089852015-04-06T22:23:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:44:26.794-07:00UntitledI simmered for a while, with what I don't know.<br />
Then I felt a glimmer,<br />
of hope? Nah, just a random, vague shimmer.<br />
I let it cook, just watching it boil.<br />
bubble bubble, it said.<br />
I took it out of the oven,<br />
fresh from the pot, I tasted.<br />
What the hell.<br />
My tongue got scalded.<br />
<br />
<br />
Never again.<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-92212366944554187032015-04-06T09:29:00.002-07:002016-08-31T18:45:00.344-07:00IgnitePen in between teeth,<br />
<div>
Legs under the sheet.</div>
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Dark thoughts swirling. </div>
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To entertain? </div>
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...Contemplating. </div>
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Back, against the wall,</div>
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Eyes adrift. </div>
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A pack of Pall Mall. </div>
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Heart skips a beat. </div>
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Ah forget it.</div>
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Give in. </div>
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Light a stick. </div>
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Words being sifted, </div>
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tongue almost tasting them. </div>
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Choke. </div>
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A cough? </div>
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No. </div>
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Words being held back. </div>
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<br /></div>
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One last hit, </div>
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The glow slowly fades. </div>
<div>
Symbolic. </div>
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Die just a little bit, </div>
<div>
with every cigarette stick. </div>
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How melancholic.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28-IUe4N4YQy0a9vHXhg3qSKGemPzcwgvTnEd3EGRAx0IRwcdA2ZIo5K_W3Yp8B0wmqWkpRhurAfttJP02m9cf6dvdflww5ldg4aKFHOH3rvEKIKSzPTKQIMkx6vfXeEsciJV2ASN/s1600/smoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi28-IUe4N4YQy0a9vHXhg3qSKGemPzcwgvTnEd3EGRAx0IRwcdA2ZIo5K_W3Yp8B0wmqWkpRhurAfttJP02m9cf6dvdflww5ldg4aKFHOH3rvEKIKSzPTKQIMkx6vfXeEsciJV2ASN/s1600/smoking.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Painting by YukiCryHikari</i></span></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-18286135998192093482015-04-03T01:07:00.001-07:002016-08-31T18:45:16.576-07:00WRITING PROMPT #1: The Scream<b><span style="font-size: large;">Writing Prompt:<i> You've been given a pencil, a sharpener, and a piece of paper. What are you gonna do with them?</i></span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Years ago, I would have sat down peacefully and wrote something. Anything. My writings bore me but they cleanse my soul.<br />
<br />
Now?<br />
<br />
I'm gonna sharpen that pencil, slowly, thoroughly. Then I'm gonna stab your eye with it, repeatedly. Over and over and over. Squish squish. Blood squirts all over, cheesy stuff drips all over your face, staining my pencil. You scream like you've never screamed before. In pure agony. Your annoying shrill voice drowns out my laughter. Squirt squirt, your eye socket fills with mush. I wanna tell you a funny joke about vitreous humour, but you're too busy crying tears and blood to get it, I'm sure.<br />
<br />
So I sharpen my bloody pencil again while I stare at your pitiful face.<br />
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You're still screaming like a crazy banshee. Edvard Munch' The Scream comes to mind. At least you look artsy. I chuckle as I continue sharpening my pencil. You continue to scream. I stab your tongue once. Blood mixes with your thick saliva, almost choking you. There. That'll shut you up. Only pitiful gurgling can be heard now. Choked sobs and tearful begging. Music to my ears.<br />
<br />
I feel connected to you now, soul to soul. Your silent screams & curses fuel me. I softly caress my pencil again. Hmmmmm. It needs more sharpening. I smile my most evil smile as I slowly insert the tip inside the sharpener, I stare at you, deliciously registering the way your eyes - err, eye - widen with fright.<br />
<br />
The scraping of the wood against the sharpener's blade magnifies the tension. I love it!<br />
<br />
You know what's gonna happen next.<br />
<br />
You close your eyes, or what's left of it, as if resigned to your fate. Frothy spit dribbling from your mouth as you try to control your sobs, trying to die with little dignity you can muster up. I feel so tempted to plunge my pencil someplace else. But, I'm not at all evil, you know. I touch your cheek softly, like a guy would touch his virginal girlfriend right before kissing her. God, you're a messy work of art! <i>My</i> work of art. I smile as I try to memorize every bit of the bloody mess I made out of you. Your whimpers are pathetic. I know you're begging me to end it. Oh well. So be it.<br />
<br />
I whistle a random tune as I plunge my No.2 pencil in your neck. The blood from your artery splashed against my shirt, some on my face. I close my eyes in ecstacy.<br />
<br />
I pull the pencil from your neck, blood still spurting weakly. I sit down, grabbed the piece of paper, and with your blood as ink, I write down the story of my first kill.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHRasFUbDG4gnuOg3zawz4Dna-fLnugQfzzp-ceNwAHTwLW4nx2NxYXBz29E1LMOTVn-g5zKbl9-A7Y1M4t-Deu-MRLLDz5WljjpLwxwy009V3gw9BeypVYRzvpfeFYPGyPjJUm45/s1600/The-Joker-Scream-by-ben6835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHRasFUbDG4gnuOg3zawz4Dna-fLnugQfzzp-ceNwAHTwLW4nx2NxYXBz29E1LMOTVn-g5zKbl9-A7Y1M4t-Deu-MRLLDz5WljjpLwxwy009V3gw9BeypVYRzvpfeFYPGyPjJUm45/s1600/The-Joker-Scream-by-ben6835.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*photo not mine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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*If you write a story using this writing prompt, you can share your link below, I would love to read it! :)<br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-47508165007665370112015-03-17T08:08:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:45:29.153-07:00Table Manners Matters, Bon Appetit!Lay her down - the bed or the floor,<br />
or slam her body against the wall.<br />
Brush her hair gently away from her face,<br />
or grab a fistful of it -- Ahh, that sweet grimace.<br />
<br />
Kiss her face, her lips, her earlobes.<br />
Feathery, spine-tingling kisses all over.<br />
Watch her expression's subtle change,<br />
Feel her shiver under your gaze.<br />
<br />
Caress her throat.<br />
Bite her, mark her.<br />
Down, down, she groans.<br />
Worship her breasts.<br />
Feed your urge to suckle.<br />
Suck her nipples until her knees buckle.<br />
Down, down.<br />
Her skin is on fire.<br />
Unrestrained desire floods her.<br />
Watch her squirm.<br />
Mindless mumbling.<br />
Moaning obscenities.<br />
Lower, lower.<br />
Feel her legs tremble.<br />
<br />
Watch her open up.<br />
Unconsciously, involuntarily.<br />
Touch her ever so lightly,<br />
Feast your eyes as she spreads her legs widely.<br />
<br />
Smell her.<br />
Taste her.<br />
Feel her.<br />
Devour her.<br />
Make her go crazy.<br />
<br />
Look up.<br />
Look in her eyes, tell her what you want.<br />
Look in her eyes as she stares back,<br />
<br />
<br />
That primal desire - animalistic, raw.<br />
Ignite it with your greedy mouth,<br />
Hear her moan.<br />
Let her rub herself against your face. Violently.<br />
Let her beg. She's at your mercy.<br />
Let her lock your head in between her legs,<br />
Your face buried deep.<br />
Let her flood you with her sweetest nectar.<br />
Drink, like you're in a desert and you're thirsty.<br />
Lick. She's a popsicle dripping in a hot car.<br />
You're a slave to her pussy.<br />
Lick. Just lick.<br />
<br />
Feel her succumbing,<br />
feed on her.<br />
Feel her submitting,<br />
open her up.<br />
Eat her.<br />
C'mon, lick.<br />
<br />
Violate her deliciously.<br />
Intrude.<br />
Enter.<br />
Explore.<br />
<br />
Fuck. Don't stop.<br />
<br />
You still have your pants on.<br />
<br />
It's gonna be a long night.<br />
<br />
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<b><span style="color: #b4a7d6; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Goodreads:</span></b><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7138534-jukang-liwayway" target="_blank">Lucresia Strange</a></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-26634512698084350322015-03-07T00:35:00.004-08:002016-08-31T18:45:40.740-07:00Manalig Ka Lang.<div>
Minsan, darating talaga sa buhay ng tao na iaalay mo na lahat ng meron ka sa kung sinong santo man ang pwede mong tawagin dahil nasa isang sitwasyon ka na sobrang hirap at di mo na alam ang gagawin mo. Yung feeling na atheista ka pero bigla ka mananalangin sa diyos na maykapal na sana.... sana....</div>
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Natigilan ako sa pagmumuni-muni dahil tagos sa eardrum ang boses ni manong barker na nagtatawag ng pasaheros.</div>
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Punyeta. Anim? Ano, anim na duwende? Kalahating-puwit ko na nga lang ang nakaupo ng matiwasay, yung kalahati patay na, tapos anim pa daw, tig tatlo kaliwa't kanan? Punyeta talaga.</div>
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Walang tigil ang pag-sigaw ng barker.</div>
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Panandaliang nagdilim ang paningin ko. Pumikit ako at huminga ng malalim. Pagmulat ko napatitig ako sa nanlilimahid na leeg ng lecheng barker na naka-highlights pa ang naka fishcut niyang buhok. Gustong-gusto kong kunin ang ballpen ko at itarak sa matabang ugat sa leeg niya, - yan, habang nakatingin siya sa kanan niya - ang sarap yatang makitang tumalsik ang dugo niya sa bunganga ng mga nagdadaldalang call center agents sa harap ko.</div>
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Makakapatay talaga ako ng tao! Kahit anong ibigay niyo sakin - martilyo, kutsara, baso, sandok, lapis, kahit charger - makakapatay talaga ako. Huwag niyo ko susubukan lalo na taimtim kong kinakausap si lord. </div>
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Di lang pawis ang tumutulo, pati ata luha. Ang hirap. Walang nakakapansin pero sa loob ko parang sasabog na. Akala lang nila wala akong pasensyang maghintay. Akala nila wala akong konsiderasyon. Pero pasensya na tao lang, di ko talaga napigilan na napalakas ang mura ko ng sabihin ni Mr. Fishcut na "dalawa na lang aalis na!!!" Deadma, kunwari wala ako alam, pero sa isip ko sinusunog ko na siya ng buhay, pati na mga katabi ko.</div>
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Pucha. Eh sa taeng-tae nako eh? Di pa ba aalis? Lord, please po magpapakabait na po ako, bigyan niyo lang po ako ng strength na malampasan to.</div>
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Ganyan mo mako-convert ang isang atheista.<br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-57492988420807154272014-09-11T04:39:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:45:52.997-07:00Iced Tea, Cigarettes, and DeathA gust of polluted wind blows in her direction, reminding her where she is, her soft black hair swaying gently across her face.<br />
<br />
She looks around her without really looking, and her mind barely registers the people bustling past her. After several minutes of mindlessly staring at strangers, her eyes finally focus on her fingers – or what’s in between them— and she smiles bitterly. “My only companion in this world,” she mutters under her breath, “the best... and the worst.”<br />
<br />
She puts her “companion” in between her moist lips and sucked in hungrily. She sighs inwardly as she feels the wonderful sensation only her menthol cigarette could ever give to her. She knows she should quit. Everyone tells her to. She chuckles darkly as she finds that amusing. Yeah, everyone. Well, where is everyone now? She is in the middle of a busy crowd and yet she has never felt more alone. But she’s used to it. That’s why she still hasn’t quit smoking. Because who the fuck cares? She doesn’t. That balding man in the wrinkled suit doesn’t. And <i>that</i> one picking at his nose obviously doesn’t too. She gazes at the approaching waiter whose only thing he probably cares about right now is refilling empty glasses. She feels a little envious – how simple life must be for this guy, no great expectations, and no one expecting him to do anything but refill glasses and not break anything. She stares at the waiter’s calloused hand as he puts iced tea into her glass.<br />
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"Thank you." Mr. Iced Tea Guy gave a tiny nod at her almost inaudible words. He left her immediately. There are napkins to be folded.</div>
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She loves the iced tea here. It’s just the right amount of sweet and sour and it’s always ice-cold. It refreshes her. That’s a nice feeling so she always orders bottomless. Sometimes it’s the only thing she orders. Even if that’s the case she believes the waiter appreciates her presence -- because this café rarely gets filled. So they welcome whatever they can get. That’s another thing she likes about this place. Solitude in the middle of a crowd.<br />
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She doesn’t care. She wants to be left alone. <br />
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To think. About what, she’s not sure. Her mind is a jumble of fleeting ideas. So most of the time she feels her mind is blank. Filled with nonsense that leaves her brain too fast before she even makes sense of it. That’s how she can best describe her state of mind on a regular day. If she manages to focus on one idea and be able to sit and write about it in such a way that other people could understand – then that’s a special day. <br />
<br />
That’s what she does all day long. She sits. She smokes. She thinks. And yes she drinks iced tea while doing all that. <br />
<br />
She takes a final drag from her fast-dying cigarette and put it back on the ashtray. She doesn’t put it out. She always let her cigarettes “die naturally”. She thinks it gives them dignity - to not be snuffed out of their
short existence after being drained of their essence. She watches until the
last glimmer of light is there no more. She signals for the waiter to give her
a new ashtray. This one’s full. All hers. That’s a lot of dead cigarettes.
She’s a killer of cigarettes. And she knows one day, the ghosts of those
cigarettes will have their revenge. Oh how they would laugh when it’s her time
to die. The best and worst companion ever. She finds that extremely funny. So
she laughs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Death. The cigarette killer still thinks about death. <i>What’s our purpose here if we only die so
swiftly? </i>Life is so short that she fails to see the logic of living as
these people around her live. Always busy. Rushing. Stressing. Climbing
towards their goals. Battling against deadlines. Wasting all those years
working for something which in the end would be totally useless. Why? Because
they will be dead! How can people be so stupid? Are they aware that the average
life span now is shorter than before? So why waste your time going through the
motions? All these go through her mind and she shakes her head as she lights
another cigarette. “I would never live that way….” A cloud of whitish smoke
obscures her exotic face for a few seconds. “Never,” She said emphatically as
if she’s trying to convince herself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She plans to live her life unlike most people. She would not
waste her time dwelling on unimportant things. She plans to live her life to
the fullest. Do something exciting daily. <i>Yeah,
like sit in a lonely café every single day, killing yourself slowly as you
watch “stupid” people waste their lives doing useless stuff? </i>Her dark side
whispers to her. She shrugged mentally. <i>I’m
just waiting for the right opportunity.</i> She tries to reason with herself.
She waits for her sarcastic dark side’s retort. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silence inside her head. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She waits.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She gulps down the remaining iced tea in her glass. Quite
unladylike she notices. She puts the empty glass down, more forceful than she
intended to. She sees Mr. Napkin Man glance at her. She ignores him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yeah. She totally does not know what to do with her life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With that realization she swears she heard her dark side
chuckle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A deep sense of dread engulfs her. Like a dark cloud
hanging above her head, bringing in cold air, wrapping all over her body, encasing
her until she shivers involuntarily.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wants to cry. But she can’t. She physically can’t. She
thinks she’s devoid of most human emotions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She thinks she’s dead inside. That’s why she doesn’t care if
she kills herself physically. She would probably find a way to kill herself
more quickly if she wasn’t such a wuss. No. Actually, she doesn't want to die. She has never been suicidal. She loves life too much, she's selfish like that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another cigarette. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another refill of iced tea.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, she doesn’t know what to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her hands went under the table and grasped the handle of her
suitcase. Where will she go? What should she do? Should she go with the flow? At
least she’ll be doing something. If she starts now maybe she could catch up.
Maybe, just maybe, she could still make her parents proud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looks around her and sees them all going in one
direction. All of them trying to get to the jeepneys or buses first. She
doesn’t know what’s up with people and their tendency to rush. W<i>e’re all gonna die soon. So why not take it
slow and enjoy the journey instead of focusing on the destination? She couldn’t
understand that. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And to think she’s considering to join those faceless
robots.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She felt a shiver of dread and cold panic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. no. no! She can’t decide now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For now what’s she’s going to do is order mac & cheese.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She’ll think about <i>that</i>
tomorrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She may not know what to do, but she doesn’t have to know <i>now</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She lets go of her suitcase. She felt the weight of it release from her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least for another day.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #999999; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Thank you for reading! </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Like</span><span style="color: #999999;">,</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Share</span><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">, or</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span></span><span style="color: #93c47d;">Follow</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #999999;">this madwoman's blog if you have enjoyed taking a peek inside her dark, cobwebby mind.</span></span></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-29412763267478258472014-08-04T06:27:00.003-07:002016-08-31T18:46:06.042-07:00Bakit Nga Ba Wala Akong Boyfriend? A "Liwayway Rant" Special. Be Warned, MedyoBitterOcampo.Medyo nababadtrip nako sa mga taong tanong ng tanong kung bakit wala akong boyfriend or kung kailan ako magpapakasal. <b>Medyo lang naman.</b> Ganon ako ka-understanding! Kasi kahit bordering on pakialamera ang level ng mga dora the chikadoras sa paligid-ligid, eh naiintindihan ko pa rin sila. Bakit? Kasi naging mababaw din ako dati. Naging judgmental din ako dati. Nag-aassume, feeling superior, nangengelam ng buhay ng may buhay. Thank god dati lang yon! Eh kumusta naman kayo mga chikadoras?<br />
<br />
So bakit nga ba ang hilig ng mga pinoy na mag-overstep ng boundaries? Tipong pumepersonal level na kahit "hi, hello" lang ang timpla ng conversation."<i>Wala ka bang boyfriend</i>?" - as if pag meron akong boyfriend eh makakatulong ang sagot ko sa buhay nila. Makakakain ba kayo sa Army Navy pag sinabi kong "<i>oo, ang sweet nga namin ng boyfriend ko eh!!</i>"<br />
<br />
Siguro sa iba eh walang malisya ang mga tanong, may masabi lang kumbaga. Pero di niyo ba naiisip? Na kaya maagang natututong maglandi ang mga kabataan ngayon eh dahil kahit 10 years old pa lang ang bata, and opening ni Kumare o ni Tito/Tita kapag nakita eh "<i>Kegandang bata! Siguro may boyfriend ka na noh? uyyyyy!</i>" LOL. Gusto ko kayong i-hadouken lahat! Yan lang ba ang ineexpect niyo sa mga tao? Na ang ultimate goal ay mag-boyfriend... tapos mag-aasawa... tapos mag-aanak.... (pwede ring ijumble-jumble ang cycle.) ... tapos ano? Nga nga? Try niyo kayang itanong for a change "<i>Meron ka bang natulungang tao ngayon?</i>" o di kaya naman "<i>Paano ka makaka-contribute sa ikagaganda ng society natin?</i>" ganon! Hindi yung pinupush mo pa na magpacute at mag hanap ng boylet/girlalu! Ang babaw lang diba? Di ba kayo nahihiya sa mga sarili niyo? Ang galing niyong pumuna sa ibang tao. Eh kayo ba pinapakialaman ko kapag hanap kayo ng hanap ng jowa. Palit ng palit. Status pa ng status sa facebook - may foreforever pa kayong nalalaman at sinasabayan pa ng hashtag true love, with sweet pic na kahit langgam magkaka-diabetes sa sobrang kasweetan. Tapos ano? Di pa man nakakalabas ang bagyo for the week eh break na kaagad? Then hanap ng bago. Masaya na kayo non? <b><span style="font-size: large;">Tuwang-tuwa ako sa inyo gusto ko kayong i-hug, wait for it, - sa leeg.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx19__uChqlKPeumAMBJ-m2eNBJ0bHF6xnqMbzxPx_kmARq-wrieR0M0Nn31Tm5PodBWneO95dYekDChBsjkNR6qjAyxmzm0mchDV9vjR0mla4yNgcbdygHyxk5th7mJ7g5mDSfOCI/s1600/di+ka+titigil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx19__uChqlKPeumAMBJ-m2eNBJ0bHF6xnqMbzxPx_kmARq-wrieR0M0Nn31Tm5PodBWneO95dYekDChBsjkNR6qjAyxmzm0mchDV9vjR0mla4yNgcbdygHyxk5th7mJ7g5mDSfOCI/s1600/di+ka+titigil.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a name='more'></a><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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Ok lang naman kung masaya kayo na may love life, kasi kanya kanyang trip lang yan. Kung masaya kayo sa married life then pak! bigyan ng jacket yan! Kayo na! I'm happy for you. <b><span style="font-size: large;">Pero walang pakialamanan. Ang gusto ko lang namang iparating sa makikitid niyong mga utak, ay iba iba ang goal ng mga tao. Hindi porket walang lovelife, automatic pathetic, - di ba pwedeng choice lang? Si Mother Teresa kukwestiyonin niyo rin ba?</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">So bakit nga ba sa edad kong to eh wala pa akong bf/asawa?</span></b> Simple lang ang sagot. AYOKO PA. It's my life. It's my personal choice.<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Tapos mag-aassume kayo na tomboy ako?</b></span> Dahil hindi ako girly? Dahil mahilig akong mag T-shirt? Eh dun ako kumportable eh! Sa taba kong to, palagay niyo magfi-fit ako na damit.. sa loob ng bahay??? Suman lang ang peg? Ayoko mag-dress kasi yung upo ko pang-kanto - edi litaw ang perlas ng silangan? Agad agad tomboy? <b>Ganon kayo kababaw mag-isip at hindi niyo ma-grasp ang idea na may ibang mga babae na hindi marriage ang pangarap.</b> Nakakababa ba ng pagkatao yon? Hindi. Kayo oo, kasi di niyo gets na hindi lang isa ang way of living. May alam pa kayong comment na baka tumandang dalaga ako - so what?! Paki niyo? Concerned citizen, bigyan ng standing ovation, clap clap clap!<span style="font-size: large;"> Kapag ba nag-asawa ako eh bibigyan niyo ko ng house and lot? Sige magboboyfriend ako, oh tapos? Bibigyan niyo ko ng monthly allowance? </span>May alam pa kayong "sayang naman, wala pa siyang asawa/anak/boyfriend" - LOOOL, naririnig niyo ba sarili niyo? Bakit sayang? Ang daming pwedeng gawin sa buhay! Para sakin sabagal (for now) kung maghahanap pa ko ng lalake na puro pa-cute lang naman ang alam, tapos mambababae pa kasi cool daw pag ganon. Paano ko magagawa ang gusto ko talagang gawin kung hahayo ako at magpaparami? May time pa ba akong matutong French kung nagpapadede ako ng 2 bata tapos kailangan ko pang magsampay ng labahin at magluto ng adobo? Wow. So exciting. Not. Kung may makilala akong lalaking may utak na type ako kahit walang make up, then why not. But for now.....<br />
<br />
Walang pakialamanan. Kiber ko sa inyo kung pang-100 niyo ng syota yan. Kiber ko rin kung may tatlong anak na kayo. Kanya-kanyang choice sa buhay. Basta masaya tayong lahat. Wag kayong judgmental. Lawakan niyo ang mga isip niyo. Presko sa pakiramdam, promise!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>I don't wanna be an ant.</i></b> Di niyo gets? I-google niyo, di puro pag-aabang ng tweets ni Vice Ganda ang inaatupag niyo. BOOM PANES!<br />
<br />
<br />
Hinde sige, eto na, LOL.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant. You know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know?"</i> -Waking Life</blockquote>
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-24811987767013024282014-06-11T07:54:00.002-07:002016-08-31T18:46:27.607-07:00Should we only love cute purebred dogs? How about the mutts? SHARE THE LOVE. (with UPDATES)<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>*To those who just wants to read the updates about DOGstoevsky, please scroll below*</i></div>
<br />
I love animals more than I love people. Just this this morning (like ten minutes before I had to leave for work), my friend tagged me in a post and wanted me to watch a <a href="http://www.reshareable.tv/a-dying-stray-dog-was-granted-his-last-wishand-it-was-truly-beautiful.html#WFPvPY8Ti6HdtSWe.01" target="_blank">video</a> of a dying stray dog that was granted his wish (I don't know how the animal communicator figured all that out though, maybe it's magic!) and I urge you to watch it.<br />
<br />
Long story short, after crying my heart out, sobbing like a lost kid in a carnival, I put some dog food in a container so I could feed any stray dog I see - and quickly left the house. I don't want to be late for work, and I had to go someplace first. You see, last week I kept seeing this sickly and terribly emaciated dog on my way to work - it's truly gut-wrenching to see him like that, but as you know life you can't always help every animal. I've been meaning to feed him since seeing him the first time but circumstances always prevented me from doing so (meaning, I'm always late for work).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNN6Qu1zv9hDse5YmCe5B9caPN6URk0P5Rukr4HczZ86OJVpA8R_qj_Fj6b_qTZpBJPtxN4Cuhtic7FbOzS5zux58es-Jr31tKgy2lVi_0_mWAAcMzk6EdzcINP0xyZIdHx-HBRk3A/s1600/stray+blog.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNN6Qu1zv9hDse5YmCe5B9caPN6URk0P5Rukr4HczZ86OJVpA8R_qj_Fj6b_qTZpBJPtxN4Cuhtic7FbOzS5zux58es-Jr31tKgy2lVi_0_mWAAcMzk6EdzcINP0xyZIdHx-HBRk3A/s1600/stray+blog.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The video I just mentioned (if you haven't clicked the link yet, I'm on my knees... watch it) <b>opened my eyes and heart just a bit more</b>. I have to do something now. I have to stop thinking and dreaming, and just do something. <b><span style="font-size: large;">The first step is always just a teeny weenie baby step but it's also the most important</span> </b>- this morning I decided to get out of the jeepney, when I saw the dog in his same place (under the tricycle) looking weaker than ever, and feed him! It may not be as grand a gesture as building an animal shelter or whatnot, but like I've said, the first step no matter how small is the most important. I approached him, slowly so as not to startle him (he only managed to raise his head and his upper body) but when I whistled and said in a soothing voice "Here doggie, c'mon eat!", he tentatively sniffed around the dog food as if it's the first time he smelled food, and to my joy he started eating piece by piece. It's a kind of happiness I can't explain. I wanted to stay there just to watch him eat it one by one, but I'm running late for work. I managed to take some pics even though the people passing by were looking at me curiously. As if feeding a hungry dog and taking a picture of him is something weird and frowned upon. <b><span style="font-size: large;">Should we always only take pictures of cute dogs? Should we only love cute purebred dogs?</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I hope that one day, all of us realize that these mutts or strays should be loved as if they are our own pets.</span></b> When I was feeding this dog, despite the poor condition he's obviously suffering, I still saw something in his eyes - a spark, like that of a slowly dying ember, but still there nonetheless - it's like I saw his soul (yes dogs have souls! Don't argue with me -_-) and <b>all I saw was kindness and loyalty and the need to be loved & sheltered. </b>It's heartbreaking. I wanted to take him home and bathe him and feed him as much as I feed my pets. But in reality, I can't always do that. I can't adopt every poorly-fed animals I see especially since he has an owner (and a terrible one!). What I can do is take that second baby step and bring him food and water tomorrow. And I'm looking forward to it. :)<br />
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<b><u><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: x-large;">UPDATES:</span></u></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;">(WEEK 1)</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">DAY 3:</span> </b>Again, I walked a short distance to feed this dog (I decided to name him <b>Dostoevsky</b> - or <b>DOGstoevsky</b> if I'm feeling goofy. But really, that's just his fancy name because in reality I just call him Doggie. lol.) and it's the first time I saw him stand up and walk! He did that when he saw me several feet away. He walked a few steps to where I usually put his food and waited for me to serve him the dog food. :)<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">DAY 4:</span></b> He's back in his lair (under the tricycle) and he won't eat the food while I'm looking. When I poured the dog food in front of him, he leaned forward to smell it, and I lightly/gently touched his paw. He flinched, but didn't react violently. He's just scared, and I'll show him that there are people that will love him and not hurt him.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>DAY 7:</b> </span>I had to bring my own container for his water because someone keeps on removing what I brought the previous day. Today, he greeted me again and waited patiently for his food. He's such a sweet dog.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Comparing this pic from Day 3, I think he's gaining weight :) </span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;">(WEEK 2)</span></b></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">DAY 8: </b>Dostoevsky looked sad or weak. He didn't get up when he saw me, nor did he eat the food I gave him. I tried walking away from him to see if he'll eat when I'm out of sight, but he still didn't touch his food. I'm assuming he doesn't like the lamb/beef flavor (I bought it a few days ago) so on Day 9, I'll try mixing it with rice and meat.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>DAY 9: </b></span> After being worried all day yesterday about my "new pet", I fixed his food immediately after waking up today. I mixed the dogfood with rice & meat and I made sure to give him extra servings. Guess what? He loved it! The minute he smelled the food that I brought him, he ate even while I was watching. He ate and ate and didn't care that I was still near him, taking some photos. It was an amazing feeling. I stood there for like ten minutes, just looking at him. Sometimes he looks at me too, with rice on his nose, his eyes just filled with melancholy & kindness. Sigh. I love this little guy.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;">(WEEK 3)</span></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Week 3</span></u> with Dogstoevsky was unpredictable.</b> There were days that he wasn't there in his usual spot and the only thing I can do is leave his food hoping that he finds it before another dog eats it. The first time that I didn't see him I was so worried & disappointed. Worried, because I kept thinking the whole day what if something bad happened to him? And disappointed, because I was bringing him a special meal of rice, dog food, hotdog, & ham.<br />
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<b>But this week is also very important</b> because this is the time wherein he responds when I whistle & approaches me. I put his water and food further away from his usual spot (it's in front of the gate, so they always remove his containers/food) and I only have to whistle and his ears perk up & then slowly approach me.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;">(WEEK 4)</span></b></div>
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He's still skinny, with ribs showing, but that's understandable because I can only manage to feed him once a day (during mornings, on my way to work) & also because he's not usually around after work. But he's more alert now & he's not that shy towards me anymore. :)<br />
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">DAY 23: </b>He recognizes me and he approaches me even when I only nod my head. He eats even when I'm nearby. We're bestfriends now! hehe<br />
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<b><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;">(WEEK 7)</span></b></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">DAY 49: </b>He's still thin, and I so want to ask his owner to give him to me.. But with 6 crazy pets in our house, I'm still biding my time. Maybe soon, hopefully. :)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">DAY 50 (July 31, 2014):</span></b> This is the first time that he stood up and approached me without me whistling or nodding my head. It's a special day :) It's like he's been waiting for me and the second he saw me he became so excited - he usually waits for me to acknowledge him before he moves.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;">(WEEK 8: Aug. 6-13)</span></b></div>
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Finally, I tried patting his head. And he let me! Well, only for a few seconds lol. He was eating his special meal of rice/dog food/chicken and while he was eating and digging for his favorite - chicken breast bone, I seized the opportunity to try touching him. He was a bit startled but he let me pat his head for maybe ten to fifteen seconds until he grabbed his bone and went a few feet away. LOL. </div>
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<span style="color: #ffe599;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">WEEK 10 </span></b> </span></div>
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It's the first time I saw him sitting up like a guard dog while watching the streets - probably waiting for me. It's a wonderful feeling to see him NOT lying down like a sick dog. :)</div>
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<span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;"><b>4TH MONTH (Oct. 13)</b></span></div>
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I still regularly feed Dogstoevsky (I call him Doggie now actually LOL)... He's still super thin and frail-looking. I so want to adopt him, but I haven't gotten the opportunity yet to do so. His nails are so long, like eagle's talons, that's why he has a hard time walking. Most of the time he just lies down (bec. of his nails). He's such a kind dog. His owners obviously don't care about him. I will get him soon. </div>
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<span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: x-large;"><b>OCTOBER 30, 2014</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Today is a momentous day.</span></b> These past few weeks have been a bit unbalanced regarding my schedule/waking time and so I haven't been able to feed him daily. This time, I did. When I saw him, he was lying as usual. I put the food down a few feet away from him and I whistled. He didn't approach me, so it made me wonder what's wrong. When I whistled again I saw him try to sit up - with great effort, I noticed - then I saw him drooling. Not like a mad dog. Just drooling like he's really in pain just trying to stand up. I almost cried right then and there to see such a broken-down animal. If you have been following my updates, you would know that I have been wanting to adopt him for awhile now but haven't gotten the courage to talk to the owners. This time I felt it's the right moment. If I wait longer he might die of hunger or god knows what. I don't know his real condition, maybe he's sick, maybe he won't last long even under my care. But that doesn't matter. I just want to care for him the best that I can and give him a pleasant dog life. At least he'll die happy.<br />
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So while gathering enough courage to talk to the owners, I didn't notice that someone saw me feed him. The woman approached me (the wife of the owner), and she smiled at me and said "So you're the one feeding him all this time." I smiled back and told her yes. I made a little lie and said that he looks a lot like my old dog when I was a kid so I kept feeding him, and added that I wanted to adopt him so much. Well, guess what? They agreed! We talked for a few more minutes and I found out that his name is Cally (used to be Calla Lily). Anyway, I went to work with a big smile and a happy heart. I wish Doggie will wait for me.<br />
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Meanwhile, I brought these to prepare for the special day!<br />
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A lot of people ask "Why do you feed this "ugly" dog? Why adopt him when you can get cute puppies?" "He's dirty, sickly, god knows what you'll get from him" they say. But you see, that's exactly why I wanted to help him. Because nobody else does. <b><span style="font-size: large;">To make a real change, no matter how big or small, you need to do something what others wouldn't. </span></b><br />
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From Dogstoevsky to Doggie to Cally (his real name), I decided to name him <b>CHANCE</b>. Animals also deserve to live a good life - a new beginning, a second chance to live with dignity. I want his name to be something that means 'hope'. That however hopeless a situation one is in, someday, someone will change your world. It may be nothing to the rest of the world, but to this dog, this second chance is everything he has ever hoped for.<br />
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<b style="color: #ffe599; font-size: xx-large;">OCTOBER 31, 2014</b><br />
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Tried getting him today. He's too scared to be put in a tricycle. When we tried putting on his new collar, he almost leaped and he yelped. The owners promised to drop him off to our house tomorrow morning.<br />
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<b style="color: #ffe599; font-size: xx-large;">NOVEMBER 6, 2014</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The first and only real setback.</span></b> My mom (everyone in the house) wouldn't let me bring Chance home. Yeah. No 2nd chance for Chance. It may sound silly but I cried alot for not being able to bring him home as soon as possible and for not having the support I wanted from my family. One thing this has taught me is that most people would lecture you about giving & sacrifices & being a good person (and quoting the bible ad nauseum) but when you actually try to help, they tell you that you can only help UP TO A CERTAIN EXTENT. Yeah yeah I get it, Chance might have some diseases or whatever. But I've known this dog for more than four months. FOUR MONTHS OF FEEDING HIM DAILY! I have approached him, I have patted his head, I have touched his dirty paws - you would think if he's crazy or rabid he would have already bitten my arm off. So yeah, my mom said I could be an animal lover, I could help animals all I want - as long as I don't bring them home. That feeding them is enough. LOL. Is that what Jesus preaches???? To help others only once a day or whatever? ONLY if you DON'T let them inside your home??? Yeah. And my parents are wondering why the hell I don't go to church???? I'd rather help because that's what my heart tells me, than help because it's what a bunch of hypocritical priests preaches. (rant sorry. I'm just tired of hearing my parents bugging me to go to church - AS IF THAT'S GONNA CLEANSE MY SOUL! LOOK IN THE MIRROR!)<br />
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I've been called selfish alot, and I am. But is this particular selfishness (of wanting to adopt him) a bad thing?. Well, she said, EVERYONE agrees that Chance shouldn't be here. Well that settles it then huh?<br />
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NO! I will get him! I just have to find a way how to make them agree.<br />
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<b style="color: #ffe599; font-size: xx-large;">NOVEMBER 16, 2014</b><br />
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Finally! I got him! :) The transfer was a bit rough for him, but a few more days I hope he'll get settled. The owner helped me with the transport. He had to use a makeshift collar/leash. Chance fought with the rest of his remaining strength trying to struggle, I think he thought that he was going to be executed. You know that feeling when someone's got you pinned down and tickling you nonstop and you give your 100% trying to escape the torture? That's exactly what Chance did.. He was so scared, I felt bad. But there's no other way to do it.. I can't bathe him and cut his nails yet, he's too scared for that. I was patting him, and when Scout (my dog) tried to wiggle her way through the barricade (to sniff at Chance), Chance got rattled and he whimpered. I have to wait a few more days to do that. He also escaped the pen where he was supposed to be isolated (so the dogs won't stress him out) and he went into some corner. For now I put some tarpaulin to barricade him from the pups until I can transfer him to his pen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where he "migrated" </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's not eating that much. <br />
I hope it's just because he's adjusting.</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Stay tuned for more Chance-Dogstoevsky updates!</span></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-48559293764480878112014-03-13T04:33:00.000-07:002016-08-31T18:47:31.885-07:00Why CHOCOLATE is GOOD for the HEARTSo I was on my way to work, walking (the only exercise I get to do), when I saw an elderly woman scavenging a pile of trash. I have already walked past her, because admittedly I have become one of those people that have gotten so used to seeing such extreme poverty and can turn a blind eye & justify it with the phrase "<i>I pity them, but that's life, we all have our own problems to deal with.</i>" (and no I'm not proud of that), but this time something made me stop and look back.<br />
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Maybe it's the way she was hungrily licking an empty gravy cup that was inside a box of what has been a Chickenjoy Meal (now empty of course). It saddens me, really. It also makes me guilty - sometimes I complain about the food I eat, sometimes wasting it - while here's a woman, probably the same age as my mother, whose main course is the roadside trash.<br />
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I remember that I have a few bite-sized chocolate candies. I rifled through my bag... Only three pieces. Better than none. I approached the poor lady.<br />
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She was still licking her hands and the gravy cup, I said <i>"Excuse me po,"</i><br />
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She looked up with unfocused eyes, and I handed her the candies and said "<i>Gusto niyo po ng chocolates? (Do you want these candies?)</i>".<br />
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And I would never forget this - her eyes lit up, like a child seeing a toy she likes, and she said <i>"wooooow, salamat... (wow, thank you)</i>" as she took the chocolates.<br />
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I smiled at her and walked again (because if I stay a few minutes more I will be late for work, and I have to pay the penalty again). I know that three pieces of candies won't change her life, it's nothing as compared to what other good samaritans share, but for me, it's a start. Something stirred inside my cold heart, and it may sound cheesy, but seeing the lady's face as she was inspecting her candies, and hearing her say "salamat" in such a way that you would think I gave her a million pesos - it made my day. It actually gave me goosebumps. I was smiling while I was walking, then I remembered, those candies will make her thirsty. I wish I brought a bottle of water. -_-<br />
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I know I can't help everyone. I can't even help myself. But helping that lady felt so good, that deep inside, I know from this day on, I won't be as cold-hearted. I do help people more often than not, but I have grown disillusioned with our society, and mankind in fact, that I just shut off what I see around me. Maybe someday, I could be more useful, more worthy to society. Right now, all I could do is give bits and pieces of what I have to people who may need it, at the same time, be angry at our government and the 1% for obvious reasons.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-31365515995709380822014-02-22T09:01:00.002-08:002016-08-31T18:47:48.562-07:00Kristen Stewart's Sex Poem... And Why Not Caring Is Important.<div style="text-align: left;">
What seems like a jumble of words randomly taken from a dictionary, some seemingly made up, is actually a poem made by our resident brooding Hollywood A-lister, <i><b>Kristen Stewart</b></i>. This is probably one of the weirdest poems I've read, but definitely not the worst. People are too harsh. C'mon, is it really the worst? You guys still haven't read mine. LOL.</div>
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Some poems are straightforward, some are more abstract. KStew's teeters on the crazy, hazy side. And I love that! I love crazy! God knows what she means with this poem, but I see sex, and lots of it! So here's my tongue-in-cheek take on: </div>
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<b>My Heart Is A Wiffle Ball/Freedom Pole</b></h2>
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<b>(by Kristen Stewart)</b></div>
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I reared digital moonlight</div>
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You read its clock, scrawled neon across that black</div>
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Kismetly … ubiquitously crest fallen</div>
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Thrown down to strafe your foothills</div>
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…I'll suck the bones pretty.</div>
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<span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(<b style="font-style: italic;"><u>moonlight, crestfallen, black</u></b><i> - can that mean sadness or depression? </i><b style="font-style: italic;"><u>Ubiquitously, kismetly</u></b><i> - fate, both of them are sad. Thrown together into a moment of shared emotions. Leading to KStew, uhhmm sucking something, some kind of errr- </i><b><i><u>bones</u></i></b><i>? hehe.</i>)</span></div>
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Your nature perforated the abrasive organ pumps </div>
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<span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(<i><b><u>nature </u></b>- man's biology. <u><b>perforated </b></u>- entered. <u><b>abrasive organ pumps</b></u> - what a sexy euphemism for the female genitalia. hahahahahaha </i>O_O)</span></div>
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Spray painted everything known to man,</div>
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<span style="color: #a2c4c9;"><i>(sprayed all over her "walls." As probably quite a few men have known that particular abrasive wall)</i></span></div>
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Stream rushed through and all out into </div>
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<i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(seriously, do I really have to explain this?)</span></i></div>
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Something Whilst the crackling stare down sun snuck </div>
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<span style="color: #a2c4c9;"><i>(they were making love until the crack of dawn)</i></span></div>
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Through our windows boarded up</div>
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He hit your flint face and it sparked. </div>
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<span style="color: #a2c4c9;"><i>(I thought she was talking about Rupert Sanders. But she said he sparked - fairy vampire. That means Edward Cullen of course)</i></span></div>
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And I bellowed and you parked</div>
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We reached Marfa. </div>
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<i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(So I guess KStew is a screamer. He parked in her organ pumps and they both reached Nirvana. Or Marfa, wherever the hell that is.)</span></i></div>
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One honest day up on this freedom pole </div>
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<i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(wow. A whole day of sex. And by <b>freedom pole</b>, she means penis, of course)</span></i></div>
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Devils not done digging <i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(My, what stamina!)</span></i></div>
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He's speaking in tongues all along the pan handle <span style="color: #a2c4c9;"><i>(He's coming now)</i></span></div>
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And this pining erosion is getting dust in</div>
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My eyes </div>
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<i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(This act makes them sweaty, and the sweat is blinding her, like dust would)</span></i></div>
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And I'm drunk on your morsels <i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(what tasty <b>meat</b>. Yummy!)</span></i></div>
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And so I look down the line</div>
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Your every twitch hand drum salute</div>
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Salutes mine … <i><span style="color: #a2c4c9;">(Every <b>twitch </b>he makes, both of them gets satisfied)</span></i></div>
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And that my dear friends, is my ludicrous interpretation of Stewart's equally crazy poem. I'm not saying that's what she means, who knows, maybe she's talking about world peace. But interpreting this sure is fun. =D</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>* * *</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KStew</b> is probably the most judged celebrity of her generation. She acts indifferent and people say she's a horrible human being. She doesn't smile, and people assume the worst. She lives in her own world, not minding anybody (except for that time when she cheated on <i>RPatz</i> with a married man), and gets as much hate (or more) than, say, <i>Bieber</i> or <i>Lohan</i> or <i>Hilton</i> or <i>Kardashian</i> (any of those baboon girls) whose existence should be illegal. And I think that's so unfair. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKXBnnZAgO-FB86WDS4-L8czs7OQMMEQe7TVEX7-lfJtBvP2L4vDcoMksixeU8cFScP6vDgOKxrwzyQambYbG6GcKpOHCqSUryK1uTkQDEyK2lYwU7ebJ3_mSLidXq7f2DjZscHaT/s1600/kstew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKXBnnZAgO-FB86WDS4-L8czs7OQMMEQe7TVEX7-lfJtBvP2L4vDcoMksixeU8cFScP6vDgOKxrwzyQambYbG6GcKpOHCqSUryK1uTkQDEyK2lYwU7ebJ3_mSLidXq7f2DjZscHaT/s1600/kstew.jpg" width="251" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With <i>Twilight</i> & the <i>Rupert Sanders</i> debacle, any other average person will crumble to dust, wishing Hell would swallow them up, to be buried in eternal fiery oblivion. But not <i>KStew</i>, s</span>he's still there, seemingly unaffected. Her usual emotionless facade never changing - like a newly-botox'd housewife from Orange County... Or Miami... Or New Jersey. Again, she gets faulted for that. For not caring. For not giving a damn. And you know what, she probably doesn't care that you think she doesn't care. Because it's her life, not yours.<br />
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I'm not an avid KStew fan, believe me. But I don't hate her. Her being in Hollywood, in a cesspool of pure unadulterated shallowness and fakeness, she has managed to be herself and for that I admire her so much.<br />
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Saw this <i>Marie Claire</i> article, which you can read <i><a href="http://www.marieclaire.com/celebrity-lifestyle/girl-on-the-edge-kristen-stewart-4" target="_blank"><b>here</b></a>:</i><br />
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<i>Stewart lights another cigarette, and I am reminded of something she said earlier: "I have an embarrassing incapability, seriously, of summoning fake energy." And that's what is required of her, she explains, whenever she does media to promote her latest projects. "I'm just not very good on TV, and it's not my main goal in life to get good at it. People are like, 'She just can't handle'-for lack of a better word-'the spotlight.' No, actually, I can't, and that is totally who I am. I love being an actor, but I'm the last person to want to have a birthday party. I don't try to force it or turn it into something else or fabricate this personality … so I totally agree when people say I'm, like, the most awkward person." Stewart has reconciled that with her desire to be true to her poetic self. "If you're operating from a genuine place, then you can't really regret anything." </i> </blockquote>
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People just love to label people, believing that we should act this way or that because it's our society's norms. "<i>Oh you don't act feminine enough!</i>" or "<i>You're too weird.</i>" or "<i>Why don't you go out and socialize like a normal person?</i>" blah blah blah. I mean what does that even mean? If acting like a "female" means being submissive, or coy, or making sandwiches in the kitchen, then you can kiss my lovely bubble butt. How utterly boring life would be if you limit yourself just because it's what society dictates us to do. You say this, don't say that, act this way, be mindful of what others would say. Well I say bullcrap! If you're gonna spend all your life thinking about that, then you'll find yourself one day, old and grey, not having done anything exciting. And all the people you were so afraid to offend, or whose opinions you think mattered, are already gone and have forgotten about you. <b>And life has passed you by. Life is too short, live it.</b><br />
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<b>People will continue to talk, whatever you're doing in your life. They will continue to judge because it makes them feel superior. The key is to simply not give a damn. </b>That's one skill I'm trying to perfect. I'm nearly there. When that time of mastery comes, I would be so happy to just be able to do what KStew does best - not smile and flip the bird at anyone who judges me.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-15376941889490947702014-02-03T23:17:00.000-08:002016-08-31T18:48:10.771-07:00The Legend of the Killer Cockroach & the Madwoman's Plight<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I was abused. </b><br /><br />Emotionally... Verbally... Psychologically...<br /><br />Abused as a child.<br /><br />By my parents.. By my relatives.. By the people who raised me.<br /><br />And now that I’m an adult, those traumatic experiences are still affecting me tremendously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">LOL. No I wasn't. I was just being melodramatic. =P<br /><br /><i>Flashback to late 80’s - early 90’s</i>. When I still weighed like a cotton candy, sported bangs and ruffled/laced psychedelic clothes, pulled off tantrums in an irritating but forgivable way, and just annoyed a lot of people with my utter “spoiled little girl” nature.<br /><br />I remember, whenever I do something naughty, my babysitters would always scream “<i>aro ayan nayng ipas!! ('look there's the scary cockroach!!')</i>” or “<i>sige pag emuku pemintwan, puntalan naka ning ipas! ('if you disobey me, the roach will pay you a visit - and you won't like it!)</i>” IPAS. IPAS. IPAS. COCKROACH. COCKROACH. COCK-FREAKIN-ROACH.<br /><br />For the rest of my childhood years I’ve been constantly reminded that some <i>ipas</i> would crawl from under my bed, into my mouth/nose/and other orifices, and gnaw at my brains & intestines, lay their eggs on my ears, and then eat my soul (lol, pardon the melodrama).<br /><br />No wonder I turned out like this.<br /><br /><i>Fast forward to the present day.</i> At twenty-e — one.. at 21, I have this INSANE fear of cockroaches. Give me headless horsemen anytime, hovering coffins, blood-thirsty vampires, or rabid dogs, with open arms I’ll sacrifice myself. TOTALLY INSANE. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But one freaking roach. I’m dead. Paralyzed. Mind blank. Heart beating faster than a Tiesto mix. Dizziness to the point of disorientation. Neurosis. One freakin cockroach could kill me. The only thing I fear more than a cockroach is a FLYING COCKROACH!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">The word cockroach comes from the Spanish word “<b>cucaracha</b>” which means “<b>crazy bug.</b>”</span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Several times I have found myself with a bursting bladder, pee almost trickling out of my peepee, through my panties, and down my legs (ALMOST), just because I refuse to go out of the room (my patient’s room — me, on night duty).. because near the bathroom door, I have to battle 2-4 cockroaches, who seem to stare at me mockingly, daring me to step on their territory, their freakishly long antennaes swaying deviously as if at any time they could emit poisonous laser beams straight at my chest. I imagine them baring their teeth, flapping their wings, and flying straight at me, with their hairy six feet ready to permanently glue themselves on my hair, clothes, skin, every part of my body! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Too many times I have found myself crying on the spot just because a stray cockroach happen to scuttle near my foot. Or god help me, whenever I accidentally touch one! (*shudder*). Yes family and friends laugh at me. For acting like a weirdo whenever these instances happen. Whatever. IPAS is the bane of my existence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">"<u>Katsaridaphobia</u> is the fear of cockroaches. One of the primary causes of the fear for cockroaches is a more generalized fear of insects." </span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have done too many stupid things out of sheer ipis fear. It’s pathetic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I realized it’s totally because of those childhood years, when I was still a kid, too vulnerable and gullible, this unjustified, unnecessary fear was unconsciously instilled in my mind. My parents, yayas (nannies), relatives - without malice - were responsible for my neurosis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So to those parents, instead of scaring the crap out of your kids with utter BS like bugs, monsters, and ghosts - why not give them real frightening stuff to be scared about until their old enough to realize it on their own?.. —> Cigarette vendors (instead of the boogeyman), child molesters (vs. the headless horseman), politicians (vs. nasty insects & worms), the consequences of alcohol intoxication… teen pregnancy… STD’s… etc.. etc… LMFAO! Just imagine…</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID: </b>Mommy, what is venereal disease?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>YOU:</b> That’s what you’ll get if you play outside our house!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID: </b>MOMMY I want more candies!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>YOU: </b>NO MORE CANDIES, OR YOU’LL GET PREGNANT!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>YOU:</b> Now remember, lock the doors and don’t let the politicians in! Don’t listen to a word they say.. you know what’ll happen!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID: </b>yeesss… they’ll pretend they’re good people, and then rob us blind….</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID:</b> Mommy I’m scared to sleep in my room..</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>YOU: </b>Why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID:</b> Daddy said because I was naughty, the Child Molester is lurking under my bed, waiting for me to fall asleep and then grab me and take me away to sacrifice to a demon-worshipping cult!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>YOU:</b> ohhhh.. right!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID: </b>Moooom! I don’t wanna go to schooool!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>YOU:</b> if you don’t go to school, I’ll make you drink alcohol, and smoke cigarettes!! mark my word!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>KID:</b> (puts on her uniform and gets ready for school) no please! I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cockroaches have been roaming and scavenging since the world begun. They may be as old as the dinosaurs, hell, they may be older than God!</span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We may step and step on them a hundred times, squish their guts, poison them with insecti/pesticides, they just make fun of us, knowing that they are the superior race. And as they hang out in their palatial mess of garbage/rottingwood kingdom, procreating by the minute, they’re just waiting for the time when the last generation of the human race dies out, because one thing’s for sure, the cockroaches will live long after we’re dead. Grrr.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">They can live a month without food, and they can eat almost anything, including human hair and human fingernails. If there is nothing else to eat, they can throw up and eat that. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">(ugh. yummy)</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Contrary to popular belief, cockroaches are not afraid of light. Although most species do prefer darkness, some are actually attracted to light and can be found gathering near windows or on television screens at night. Most of these nocturnal insects will scatter when a light is shone upon them. However, this reaction is much more influenced by their fear of humans than their distaste for light.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A cockroach can live for up to one week without its head!</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">The cockroach is a poikilotherm or cold blooded animal. They need much less food and a one day meal would be enough to last them a whole month as long as they were not extremely active. Without a head the cockroach would just sit around without doing anything much. </span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A cockroach can live about two weeks without water.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some female cockroaches only mate once and stay pregnant for life!</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A cockroach can live almost a month without food.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cockroaches can run up to 3 miles an hour.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">The world’s largest cockroach is found in South America. It is six inches long and has a wingspan of up to one-foot.</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">A cockroach can swim and even hold its breath for 40 minutes, at a stretch.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><u>Why do cockroaches die on their backs? </u></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cockroaches are not used to living on a polished marble or vinyl floor. They are more used to a ruguous living plane including leaves and sticks and other vegetable debris. Thus when a cockroach finds itself on its back (by some mistake in its orienteering) it may have trouble righting itself if there is not debris around to grab hold of with its legs. (Try it, put a cockroach on its back on a polished floor with and without some crinkled paper.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Often we come across dead cockroaches in buildings that have died of insecticide. Most of these insecticides are organophosphate nerve poisons. With extra ACh in the nervous system, the cockroach has muscular spasms which often result in the cockroach flipping on its back. Without muscular coordination the cockroach cannot right itself and eventually dies in its upside down-position.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-84387686322694985802014-02-02T06:08:00.001-08:002016-08-31T18:48:22.912-07:00Sinong nagsabing MATABA ako hah?!?<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>(Posted this on Jan. 4, 2011. LiveJournal account. As much as I hate to admit it, I have grown bigger and bigger since then. -_- )</i></span></div>
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PORKet ba dumagdag ako ng "konting" timbang (mga 22 lbs lng nmn ah. UPDATE: nadagdagan pa ng another 20 lbs haha.) eh mataba nako?<br /><br />PORKet ba umuusli at nakabuyangyang ng bonggang-bongga ang tiyan ko, nakaupo man o nakatayo eh mataba nako?<br /><br />PORKet ba lumaki ng "konti" ang mga braso ko (at iniisip nilang ng-gy-gym ako. body-building kumbaga) eh mataba nako?<br /><br />PORKet ba halos lahat ng kaibigan ko ay pinapag-gym ako eh mataba nako? (concerned lang sila sa health ko. gusto lang nila akong maging fit.)<br /><br />at PORKet ba inadjust na ng mama ko ang hook, butones, at kung anik anik pa sa lahat ng mga uniform ko dahil ang sikip na sa tiyan ko, eh mataba nako?<br /><br /><b>HINDE. CHUBBY LANG AKO.</b><br /><br />Kasi nmn mali yang term na mataba eh. Tumaba pwede pa. At least yon parang feeling ko konti lang ang tinaba ko.<br /><br />Tatanggapin ko pa yon ng buong puso. Kaya sa lahat ng nagsasabing "ang taba-taba ko",eto ang mga tanong ko sa inyo.<br /><br />• pag ba sinabihan ko ang kaaway ko na "you're such a bitch!", ay masasabi ba niya sa akin na "kung beach ako, salbabida ka!"? HEHE. HINDI SIGURO. (jez, tnx for the borrowed banat :P)<br /><br />• pag ba sumasakay ako sa pedicab eh sinusumpong ng asthma o kya nmn eh pinuputukan ng ugat sa paa ang padyak driver? HINDE.<br /><br />• pag ba sumakay ako sa dyip eh iniisip ba ng driver, barker, at mga taong katabi at kaharap ko na dapat pangdalawang tao ang bayad ko? HINDI RIN SIGURO.<br /><br />• pag ba magtatago sa likod ko si Chokoleit eh matatakpan siya ng bonggang-bongga? HAHA. HINDI RIN.<br /><br />• pag ba umupo ako sa isang upuan eh lumalangitngit ito ng walang puknat? NOPE. I don't think so :P<br /><br />• pag ba hinamon ko ng away ang lalake, eh papatulan niya ako dahil feeling niya ka-level ko lang siya, kung katawan at lakas lang ang usapan?<br /><br />• at if ever man pinatulan nga ako ng lalakeng yon at bigla niya akong sinuntok. pag ba nakahandusay ako at biglang napabilak, at tumaas ang skirt ko eh biglang tatalikod ang isang umuusyosong lalaki dahil diring-diri siya sa nakita niya? at hindi man lang ako agad tutulungan ng iba dahil alangan sila na baka hindi nila ako mabuhat? HAHAHA! HINDI AKO SI NYMPHA, mga kapatid.<br /><br />• pag ba pinaupo ako sa elementary school arm-chairs na dikit-dikit ay hindi ako kakasya, at mangangailangan pa ako ng monobloc? HINDI NAMAN.<br /><br />• pag ba dumating sa point na kailangan magkandungan, eh ako pa ang magkakandong sa boypren ko dahil hindi kakayanin ng powers niya na kandungin ako?<br /><br />• and last but not the least, kung mataba ako, edi sana malaki din ang boobs ko! PERO HINDI EH! Ang saklap diba? mas malaki pa ang tiyan ko sa boobs ko.<br /><br />at yan lang ang point ko mga friends. hindi po ako mataba. <b>Tumaba</b> lang. :P<br /><br />Gusto ko lang talagang magsayang ng oras, at sana nasayang din ang panahon niyo sa pagbasa nito, haha!</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-32002274200928192372014-01-21T05:32:00.000-08:002016-08-31T18:51:36.587-07:00An Illicit & Explicit Longing <span style="font-family: inherit;">The thought of your sweet scent makes my mouth water... makes me sigh with longing. Touching you with my fingers, oh those memories of me playing with you right before I put you in my mouth. The way you light up as I suck on you, devour your essence, clouds my mind with bliss and contentment… <br /><br /><br />I shake my head as if that will make me forget. Forget how being addicted to you made me feel. How insanely dependent I was on you. I ask myself how something destructive can feel so good inside of me? I close my eyes as another thought fills my mind. Another weak moment in my past. A memory of intense pleasure building up, making me feel breathless. I try to keep you inside me, but that sweet release is inevitable. The moment I feel you escape my lips I know I want more. I take another hit. Yes! I already feel satisfied and you’re almost drained, but it’s not enough for me. I want more. <br /><br /><br /> I capture you again in between my trembling lips. <br /><br /><br />My body relaxes as my lungs fill with your sweet smoke… Ahh, yes. That sublime feeling…<br /><br /><br /> <br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /><b>I miss you menthol cigarettes.</b></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-60907405083459450472014-01-19T04:42:00.002-08:002016-08-31T18:52:00.996-07:00Meeting Santa & Satan<div>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">(A repost from my LiveJournal account. Wrote this years ago.)</span></i></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thinking about random stuff...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />What if I went to North Pole? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It will probably go something like this. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">(dreamy music. enter imagined scenario)</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After a tiring but incredibly enjoyable tour of Santa's toy factory, a snowball fight with the elves, & a fun sleigh ride with the reindeers, relaxing in St. Nick's fairy tale english cottage while sipping a cup of good ol' hot choco drink courtesy of Mrs. Claus is very much appreciated.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> So Santa, why didn't you give me a present last christmas? I was a good girl, you know.</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SANTA:</b> (<i>with his booming voice & all his jolliness</i>) Ho, Ho, Ho! No you weren't.</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> What?! Yes i was.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SANTA:</b> Ho, Ho.. So you're gonna insist on playing this jukienice character huh? ok, let's see.. (he got his famous LIST).. hmm.. you don't pray at night, you don't do chores, you drink, you broke practically all 10 commandments, you s---</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME: </b>That's not true! I've been good!</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SANTA:</b> (<i>still ho-ho-hoing</i>) You lie, You-- ahem, do you want me to go on? I mean I'm just getting started. This past 2 months you broke the record by being consistently on top of my "naughty" list. You're a bum, you took v---</span></div>
<div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME: </b> OK! I get it! No gifts for me, jeez! (I said good-naturedly as I drank my not-so-hot hot choco)</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SANTA:</b> Ho Ho Ho! I'm just saying, you know! I mean, you could go to Hell for --</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn't hear the rest of his sentence...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">.. because i was again thinking.. Wouldn't it be COOL if i went to HELL & "chilled out" with dear old Lucifer?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Besides, it's so freaking cold here I can't even feel my tongue. Plus, the effing merriness in this place is too much for my pessimistic nature. blaah.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So from North, I went South. Way, way down south...</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My journey ended when I reached a cave-like dwelling. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">FIRE. HOT. HELL. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was astonished by what I saw.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Except for the 3-inch horns poking through his forehead & a long pointy tail, Lucifer a.k.a Satan/The Devil could easily pass off as a Hollywood star. His skin isn't at all red, (it just looks that way because of the fire all around him) (prior to seeing him, I thought he actually looked like "Him", that devil villain in PowerPuff Girls. But no he doesn't), his face is both angelic & devilish, his shiny black hair is slicked back.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He has the beauty of a clean-shaven Brad Pitt & the devilish ruggedness of Benicio del Toro.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In short, he's hot. Pun intended.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Plus, he's wearing a black shirt that says "I heart Madonna", faded tattered jeans, & those rare silver chuck taylors. Yeah. He's a rockstar. :P</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I knew it was indeed Satan I was looking at because on the throne he was sitting at, was an inscription that says "<i>ONLY SATAN SITS HERE.</i>" Clever, huh? ;)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So anyway, after the surprise I got upon seeing him, I approached him & was again shocked when I became fully aware of what he was doing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was reclining in his smoldering throne, toasting a marshmallow on a stick, reading -- you won't believe this! -- </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">"<b><i>A PURPOSE DRIVEN LIFE</i></b>"!! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My mouth hanging open, I stared at him for several seconds, completely dumbfounded.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He looked at me, tossed the book in the fire, & made a deep-throated chuckle.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His voice is drawling. Very sinister. So cool.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> HAH!! You should have seen your face. <i>HAY-LA-RIOUS</i>. I knew you were coming, so I borrowed that book from someone just to see how you would react when you see me reading it. What more if you saw me reading The Bible?! ROTFLMAO!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I got Punk'd. By the Devil Himself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway. I am a book lover so I can't help but react to what Satan did.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> But you burned it!</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN: </b>hah! it's not like ERAP reads it. It was just a gift to him you know. I bet he hasn't even read page one.</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> Yeah well. but you shouldn't have done that! That was a bad thing to do!</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> Do you even know who you're talking to? I'm BAD even when I'm asleep!</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME: </b>Oh right. Well, anyway, why are you all alone? Where are the sinners, the rapists, the -- uhmm politicians?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He chuckled. His face unreadable.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> Where do you think they are?</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> uhmm.. the torture chamber? in a pit of boiling oil? in a hostel-like setting? or are they partying like rockstars? cmon tell me, the list in my mind is endless.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN: </b> wrong, wrong, wrong & wrong.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> So where?</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> (<i>he rolled his eyes & stuck out his tongue</i>) up there. in heaven.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">(silence.... then cricket sound effects.)</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME: </b>What?!!</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> Everyone ends up in heaven. He forgives them all. makes me wanna vomit.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> You mean even Judas is up there?</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> That stupid two-faced suicidal clown?! Yeah.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So <i>Holden Caulfield</i> was right. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">"<i>I remember I asked old Childs if he thought Judas, the one that betrayed Jesus and all, went to hell after he committed suicide. Childs said certainly. That's exactly where i disagreed with him. I said I'd bet a thousand bucks that Jesus never sent old Judas to hell. I think any one of the Disciples would've sent him to hell and all -- and fast, too -- but i'll bet anything Jesus didn't do it.</i>"</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, Judas in Heaven. Sheesh. That's so cheesy. Makes me wanna vomit too.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> So if God forgives all. Why didn't He forgive you?</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> like hell! I didn't want him to forgive me! I enjoy being the outcast. T</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">he black sheep. The prodigal son. The maverick.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME: </b> But you're all alone here..</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> Who says I stay here all the time? I have "friends" you know. Paris Hilton. Tom Cruise. Osama bin Laden. Hussein. Estrada. Arroyo. To name a few. I party, I attend scientology meetings, I influence my boys bin Laden & Hussein to wage wars, & I constantly backstab Erap & GMA by divulging their dirty secrets to each other! LOL! I enjoy that the most! Their filthy deeds out in the open, & them, frantically trying to cover things up. Which happens at least once a month. LMFAO. Classic.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Funny guy, the devil. I love his sense of humor. I'm sure we'll be good friends. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I have to go. This place is too hot for me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I said good bye to dear old Lucy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN: </b> Hey, where are you off to? I know lots of shortcuts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> You do? thank Go-- I mean, thanks Satan. I appreciate it. Lead the way.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And he led me to a long corridor with numerous rooms on both sides. So these rooms are shortcuts to his favorite places (meaning, those with people easily swayed to the dark side) around the world. There are labels on each room. I read some of them as we walked by.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">THE VATICAN. MUNICIPAL HALL (various cities). MALACANANG PALACE. THE WHITE HOUSE. SADDAM'S UNDERGROUND HIDEOUT, HOLLYWOOD...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I laughed as I read.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME:</b> You really do get around don't you!</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> Of course. These doors grant me easy access to the rich, famous & diabolical.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ME: </b>Hey, where are we going? it says here "BRGY. CAPTAIN'S OFFICE". This is close to my house.</span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>SATAN:</b> Just wait. I know a place CLOSER.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And he opened a door marked with 5 stars.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It read <b>"LUCRESIA'S ROOM"</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-20488285514293331582014-01-18T04:12:00.002-08:002016-08-31T18:52:23.374-07:00Cold With DreadIt's 5:30 in the morning, and it's chilly. <i>Really</i> chilly.<br />
<br />
She wakes up but her mind is still trying to drift off to sleep. She feels like she's been drugged. She rubs her hands & arms vigorously, trying to make herself feel warm - it's no use. Through droopy, sleepy eyes, she scanned her room out of habit and sees nothing but darkness, except for the hypnotic light from her computer monitor which is the only thing alive during this time. Everybody is still sleeping. Yet, here she is, awake and asleep at the same time.<br />
<br />
She <i><b>knows</b></i> she has to do it.<br />
<br />
She <b><i>has</i></b> to do it.<br />
<br />
But could she?<br />
<br />
Dread filled her as she thinks of what she has to do soon. Goosebumps crawl all over her skin as her icy hands try - unsuccessfully - to keep the evil cold from engulfing her senses. She lets out a deep, depressed sigh as she stands up.<br />
<br />
She has to do it now.<br />
<br />
Dragging her feet like a zombie, she walks towards the bathroom door, her hands stopping inches from the seemingly gleaming door knob - hesitating... Dreading. Breathing in deeply, she finally opens the door.<br />
<br />
<i>Another sigh.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"<i>Here we go...</i>" She muttered darkly.<br />
<br />
Uncertainty fills her mind. Her body recoils from the task that has to be done but her mind keeps telling her to do it now. <i>Pull the trigger. Plunge the knife straight to the heart. Cut the wrist and watch the blood drip. Whatever you have to do, just do it.</i><br />
<br />
She has to do it. She keeps reminding herself.<br />
<br />
She trembles involuntarily as she touches the cold steel.<br />
<br />
NO. She can't do it!<br />
<br />
It's too cold!<br />
<br />
She turns her back from the shower, turns off the light, and closes the bathroom door.<br />
<br />
"I showered yesterday anyway." She justifies to herself.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>DISCLAIMER: the madwoman always showers before working. LOL. =D </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<b><span style="color: #b4a7d6; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Goodreads:</span></b><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7138534-jukang-liwayway" target="_blank">Lucresia Strange</a></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-15905846580179829532014-01-17T02:49:00.002-08:002016-08-31T18:52:34.468-07:00Fifty Shades of LIFE and why living feels like torture.<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Life
is a bitch. There's no use sugarcoating that. Because no matter how much you
pretend that life is beautiful and easy and worth all the obstacles you have to
endure all your life, the sad thing is, Life will make sure you don't
forget that she is one helluva sadistic bitch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She
will whip, smack, punch, bludgeon, and strangle your fast-waning hope & positivity until you are in the brink of soul-death - gasping, begging,
whimpering, slowly fading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Until
she gives you another glimmer of hope. A tiny sip of rejuvenating water. A
false vision that everything is gonna be alright. To give you a surge of energy
to continue living, to fight another battle that life will give you, to
believe that we can do it. We can survive it. That everything will be better if
only we remain strong and steady. Yes Life whispers to us and urges us
"<i>just a bit more, almost there, it will be okay...</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And
then as any two-faced sadistic bitch, the moment you think your goal is within
your reach, SHIT HAPPENS. Life yanks you by your collar, pulls you back, and
chuckles cruelly, teeth gleaming, eyes sparkling with cruel glee, and tells you
in your face "<i>Not so fast, fool.</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*repeat
torture*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then life gives you another glimmer of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then
you stumble (or pushed) into another big pile of crap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 13.35pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The
cycle continues.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal;">
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<span style="color: #999999; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Thank you for reading! </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Like</span><span style="color: #999999;">,</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Share</span><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">, or</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span></span><span style="color: #93c47d;">Follow</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #999999;">this madwoman's blog if you have enjoyed taking a peek inside her dark, cobwebby mind.</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><u><i>You can also follow her on:</i></u></b></span></div>
<div>
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<b style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">Tumblr:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><span style="color: lime;"><a href="http://lucresiastrange.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Ravings of a Madwoman</a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #b4a7d6; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Goodreads:</span></b><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7138534-jukang-liwayway" target="_blank">Lucresia Strange</a></span></span></b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-43116229565983879392014-01-15T15:12:00.002-08:002016-08-31T18:53:00.670-07:00Backseat Brooding: Alienation Sensation<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3MS6oOg2-jE4uU5__soAIwClleyCs-MYYpt2-BJ_gYa8kHoxVP3F1nEmsvZSBV-mNP0mQFEUW-VMxKOFcmLfPM19GP8LsraEK3hWE5ugoZnSMrCXECAPhzJ0graLMSXA2Fl0fl5v/s1600/b+brooding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3MS6oOg2-jE4uU5__soAIwClleyCs-MYYpt2-BJ_gYa8kHoxVP3F1nEmsvZSBV-mNP0mQFEUW-VMxKOFcmLfPM19GP8LsraEK3hWE5ugoZnSMrCXECAPhzJ0graLMSXA2Fl0fl5v/s1600/b+brooding.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Photos taken on the way to Manila last year (2013)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">fast-paced city,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15pt;">life left behind.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">looking at the world<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><b>has it ever been kind?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">Progress all around us<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><b>Suffering everywhere.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">ignored with disdain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">by people who don’t care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">Yes they live fast,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">intent on leaving the past<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">What about those who can’t run<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">stuck in the mire<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;">burning under the sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><b>Will nobody help them?</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">Left to die in stagnation</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">forever in hibernation</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">waiting for reincarnation</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">wishing to any constellation</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">that in the next life,</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">in another world,</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">there’ll be no strife..</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;">no hearts so cold.</span></span><span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 15pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; outline: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="outline: 0px;"><span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 10pt; padding: 0in;"><b>No more alienation.</b></span></span></div>
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
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<span style="color: #999999; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Thank you for reading! </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Like</span><span style="color: #999999;">,</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Share</span><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">, or</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span></span><span style="color: #93c47d;">Follow</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #999999;">this madwoman's blog if you have enjoyed taking a peek inside her dark, cobwebby mind.</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><u><i>You can also follow her on:</i></u></b></span></div>
<div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">Tumblr:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><span style="color: lime;"><a href="http://lucresiastrange.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Ravings of a Madwoman</a></span></b></div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #b4a7d6; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Goodreads:</span></b><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7138534-jukang-liwayway" target="_blank">Lucresia Strange</a></span></span></b></div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18051178555536306029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3662274817636366602.post-20970698063229829082014-01-14T04:10:00.000-08:002016-08-31T18:53:11.504-07:00Why is it hard to deal with stupid people?<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Because they're too stupid to realize they're stupid.</b> You're the one who has to be the bigger person because they don't even know what "<i>being a bigger person"</i> is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's funny how people love to talk behind your back, criticize every little thing you do, compare you to other people they've met - and yet when you look them in the eye and ask them directly, they clam up and act like they're God's little angels.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I mean c'mon. You can't find another human being with the same set of fingerprints you have. Don't expect a person to be of the same mold as you (in my opinion, that would be horrifying. To be as shallow & as stupid as you are. My God.) Learn how to deal with different personalities, and stop gossiping about them. You gossip about your friends, what does that say about you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before you judge other people, look inside your heart. I won't ask you to look in the mirror, it might be too smudged for you to see clearly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't just grow old, <b>GROW UP.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #999999; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Thank you for reading! </b></span><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Like</span><span style="color: #999999;">,</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Share</span><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">, or</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span></span><span style="color: #93c47d;">Follow</span><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </span><span style="color: #999999;">this madwoman's blog if you have enjoyed taking a peek inside her dark, cobwebby mind.</span></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><u><i>You can also follow her on:</i></u></b></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">Tumblr:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><span style="color: lime;"><a href="http://lucresiastrange.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Ravings of a Madwoman</a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #b4a7d6; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Goodreads:</span></b><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/7138534-jukang-liwayway" target="_blank">Lucresia Strange</a></span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">movie/book blog:</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><a href="http://strangereview.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">A Moot Point</span></a></b></div>
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