Whoppers and Roundhouse Kicks

It's really funny how something meticulously and carefully built up collapses with a nudge.

It's disappointing, even, that something significant you took care of could end up to be only infinitesimal, if eyes were pointed to the rational.

And to think that everything you have was infallible, is the most futile thing one could ever ought to do.

Aside from the fact that I have presaged something similar, I never imagined it to be this tangible, this irrefutable.

It's as if the Celestial Nagas were utterly disappointed. The long wait was in vain.

The Kadupuls never bloomed. Voyagers to Sri Pada, they never loomed.

Everything were just delusions, distinctly drab ones, should I say.

Nobody's to blame, however. The final act has yet to unfold.

Let the legend die, let the petals wilt, let the Nagas cry.

And even as a vinyl cloth covers the velvet sky, I, thy servant, shall never go awry.

Until the evening of our Moonlight Waltz, I shall wait, my dear, and prove that what Alisngaran did to defy the mandate of heaven was of the intolerable unthinking.

As Owl City would've put it, I'll forget the world that I knew, but I swear I won't forget you.

Be that as it may, if my voice could reach back through the past, I'd whisper in your ear, oh darling, I wish you were here.

P.S. Check out John Mayer's newest single. Who Says it could be better?

The brevity of completing this Formal Report is no different from the progress of those road projects.

Aside from the fact that this would be another journey in solitude (haha), I have realised that helping out in relief drives should be part of some categorical imperative.

And as the aghast citizenry ponders on what to do with the muddy remnants of their homes, many, still, are too insensitive.

As I am speaking against a thousand with at your service included, I just wanted to point out that MMDA should get all the blame.

Haven't they dwelled for long in the digging-covering-digging cycle, which I myself think is only for show, the six year old boy could've experienced Grade 1.

And his mom could've had a surgeon after twenty more blissful years.

But that is, if he wouldn't be so lucky to be taken ashore once more by the waves of a flood from a super typhoon, or by the foot of some debauched government official turned business tycoon.

And the crocs accidentally released from some farm in Pasig?

What bitter irony. 

I was in the middle of a horrible english homework when I felt fillernotebook-y that I forced myself to log in.

I have just realized that it has been two weeks since I made something out of my subconscious sphere.

As much as I missed doing so, I also longed for a deeper and darker fulfillment.

The thought of breeding cockroaches in a water jug was being conceived have I not thought of that being really unlikely.

And a plan of executing the next three generations of such pests was being construed have I not realized that it would be seemingly impossible.

Pretty.

Now that takes care of number one.

For number two, how the hell would the teacher expect us to attack a question without its back being visible?

And why does number three have to be only a little less different?

Bah, I believe doing this is nonsense. For what it's worth, life revolves around something more intricate than transforming into a vermin or taking away the sea.

As the general miserably exhorts his efforts to rejuvenate a futile nation, and as Gregor's attempts to communicate with his sister results to a big sham, we are inexorably drawn into living with threads of fantasy.

What's just awesome's that weaving them is a step out of reality, but always a leap ahead of surreality.

There's no such thing as magic.

Everything's pure and distorted logic, bred in our minds and nurtured in our hearts.

As each day passes with common thoughts wearily running around my head, I have, for all practical purposes, found some affinity with my brother's PSP.

Instead of rectifying my deeds to achieve an optimum byplay, here I am, afflicting Squall with the Braver of Cloud's Buster while inflicting more damage by disregarding other pressing concerns.

Indeed, this virtual world had become so compelling, that studying for my Orgchem exam on Tuesday, well tomorrow, would need to prove itself to be somewhat redeeming.

The extermination of such an appalling abstraction, such as Sephiroth, would produce a major experience gain as a product if a more stable attack, well without getting much damage to maintain bravery, would materialize.

Now that would be Saytzeff's Rule of Elimination...

...in terms of Dissidia: Final Fantasy.

Fuck.

Everyday, we experience something new. Something we would either regret or cherish for a while.

It's just that sometimes, these new things do not fall to any of the two aforementioned class.

They might belong to somewhere explicitly in between, somewhere which could never be put in words and only deduced from the mind.

It's just funny though, that whenever we feel something like it, we accede to just looking at the sky(for we don't know what to do with it) hoping that, one day, we would find the answers to life's skepticisms.

Or if we're really lucky, to its goddamn demeanors.