Monday, August 4, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Personal Theory on Lies
One lie is a lie. Two lies make up one truth. Three or more lies except the ultimate lie make up nothing but lies. So what is this all about, you may find yourself asking. We all lie; big lies, small lies, etc. each provides its unique consequential turnout. There is no way around it. Whether the feeling consists of regret, remorse, or evanescent happiness, a lie is a lie. Continuing with this idea, what do two lies make up? Mathematically, it is the reversal, the truth. Logically, this statement may sound absurd; two abstract forms cannot invert into its polar reality. After all, how can two lies make up a truth? This would not be a valid statement if lies were not identified as definite alluding facades. Lies exist as fictional matrixes, void of truth, submerged in fantasized disbeliefs. As born sinners, everyone establishes and accesses these surreal settings on a daily basis.
Parallel to binary reproduction, each lie branches out to form a new level. The only way to escape is to confront the parental generation of its plaguing flaw, thus the efforts of the first generation. The second lie, symbolic of the first generation, must intertwine with the first lie to fix the catastrophic reaction in the long run. In a way, its orthogonal component serves as a deviation from the lie’s linear structure by taking a derivative path towards truth. However, as more lies build up, the line will continue to perpetual and seeking the reversal will become exceedingly obscure and difficult.
Lying can become a habit for some people. For others, it’s a dump in a forest; you never return to it. There are multiple ways people utilize the intentional untruth; some to their advantage and others to conceal their sacred information.
Looking into the matter though, a new story unfolds. People have been robbed, robbed of their hearts, countless times year-round. So begins my very own story. It started with one harmless lie: I can’t like you, but the truth was concealed very neatly in the depths of the heart of the two, a feeling like no other. Unfortunately, this feeling lacked delitescency and strove to express itself. In succeeding to do so, follows the second lie: I can’t go out with you. This was also the truth that resulted from such a statement. As time passes, another lie adds to the collection. Inveracity fortifies the foundation of the relationship like a pyramid; beginning at the base and making its way to the flagrant pinnacle. When nearing the tip, the retreat from one side of lies shattered the infrastructure that sheltered its precious ruby hearts. Without the support of the first side, the second side followed its former’s path and crumbled its heavy bricks upon the unbreakable gemstone. Is this forever the fate of our beloved treasures? In an instinctive act of preservation, I begin to reconstruct the pyramid before any thieves try to steal the hearts of lovers. To do so, I curse myself by indulging in a flood of prevarications that form a web (similar to spiders) to savage its treasure. In a sense, I divert the tragedy towards a temporal illusion that everything is fine. Of course, in reality nothing is fine and everything is amiss. Instead, it seems as not only the pyramid but the planet itself has collapsed onto the both of us. So you see, even if one side stops the deception, the chain of lies will never break so long as all things good seek its perpetuation. Truth must coexist with lies in this double-edged blade analogy.
In retrospect, I think by far this has been the most anticipated entry I wanted to write for the past few months, but I did not have it in me to describe such mixtures of contrasting feelings on this topic.
So the first lie originated from Satan in the form of a serpent, tempting Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of the Good and Evil by telling her, "No, you shall not die the death" (Genesis 3:4). Eve was not persuaded, which led to Satan's second lie, "For God doth know that in what day soever you shall eat thereof, your eyes shall be opened: and you shall be as Gods" (Genesis 3:5). These words bring light to truth. Eve shall be as Gods, like Satan, the fallen angel, a minor god, once was; she will become corrupted like him. Her mischief decision becomes the origin of sin. Coincidentally, lying contains the word yin. In Chinese philosophy, one understands the concept of "unity in duality." Therefore, yin inevitable existence substantiates humanity. The reign of deception and corruption follows the living until their final day, when the last lie becomes truthful. By nature, people wish to find "peace within oneself" before their eternal sleep.
Parallel to binary reproduction, each lie branches out to form a new level. The only way to escape is to confront the parental generation of its plaguing flaw, thus the efforts of the first generation. The second lie, symbolic of the first generation, must intertwine with the first lie to fix the catastrophic reaction in the long run. In a way, its orthogonal component serves as a deviation from the lie’s linear structure by taking a derivative path towards truth. However, as more lies build up, the line will continue to perpetual and seeking the reversal will become exceedingly obscure and difficult.
Lying can become a habit for some people. For others, it’s a dump in a forest; you never return to it. There are multiple ways people utilize the intentional untruth; some to their advantage and others to conceal their sacred information.
Looking into the matter though, a new story unfolds. People have been robbed, robbed of their hearts, countless times year-round. So begins my very own story. It started with one harmless lie: I can’t like you, but the truth was concealed very neatly in the depths of the heart of the two, a feeling like no other. Unfortunately, this feeling lacked delitescency and strove to express itself. In succeeding to do so, follows the second lie: I can’t go out with you. This was also the truth that resulted from such a statement. As time passes, another lie adds to the collection. Inveracity fortifies the foundation of the relationship like a pyramid; beginning at the base and making its way to the flagrant pinnacle. When nearing the tip, the retreat from one side of lies shattered the infrastructure that sheltered its precious ruby hearts. Without the support of the first side, the second side followed its former’s path and crumbled its heavy bricks upon the unbreakable gemstone. Is this forever the fate of our beloved treasures? In an instinctive act of preservation, I begin to reconstruct the pyramid before any thieves try to steal the hearts of lovers. To do so, I curse myself by indulging in a flood of prevarications that form a web (similar to spiders) to savage its treasure. In a sense, I divert the tragedy towards a temporal illusion that everything is fine. Of course, in reality nothing is fine and everything is amiss. Instead, it seems as not only the pyramid but the planet itself has collapsed onto the both of us. So you see, even if one side stops the deception, the chain of lies will never break so long as all things good seek its perpetuation. Truth must coexist with lies in this double-edged blade analogy.
In retrospect, I think by far this has been the most anticipated entry I wanted to write for the past few months, but I did not have it in me to describe such mixtures of contrasting feelings on this topic.
So the first lie originated from Satan in the form of a serpent, tempting Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of the Good and Evil by telling her, "No, you shall not die the death" (Genesis 3:4). Eve was not persuaded, which led to Satan's second lie, "For God doth know that in what day soever you shall eat thereof, your eyes shall be opened: and you shall be as Gods" (Genesis 3:5). These words bring light to truth. Eve shall be as Gods, like Satan, the fallen angel, a minor god, once was; she will become corrupted like him. Her mischief decision becomes the origin of sin. Coincidentally, lying contains the word yin. In Chinese philosophy, one understands the concept of "unity in duality." Therefore, yin inevitable existence substantiates humanity. The reign of deception and corruption follows the living until their final day, when the last lie becomes truthful. By nature, people wish to find "peace within oneself" before their eternal sleep.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Prime Time to Turn Back
Psychologically, time plays a crucial role in how people react to various situations. Acceptance to a certain ideal cannot be overlooked. When people realize something past the point of comfort, they fail to identify the hidden hiatus for acceptance. That is to say, they do not recognize there is an opportunity for correction or redemption. Yes, there is guilt and that gut feeling for not seizing the situation earlier, but it’s better than to have a haunting conscious later on. Therefore, I will direct this next question to you, the reader. Will you go back to reclaim your pride for re-seizing the recumbent chance or will you forever bury this lost opportunity and continue life with a restrained conscious.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Equivocal Relationships
The Beginning:
It’s not my time, yet the distant siren calling draws me nearer. Wind-struck, my venture into the eye of the storm was a difficult one. The hiatus between me and my destination seemed ever so far. I row faster to close into my target while steadily; the bitter coldness begins softly eating towards this Zion. I hurry on, but I appear lost in this vast ocean as if gods have led astray my ship, but my mind remains to lay focused on its heaven destination. The rhythmic stroking robbed me of energy, but the dwindling hope robbed me of spirit. Struck by inanition and without a neither straightforward nor definite road to follow in this labyrinth, I am forced to make my own golden road and hope that luck chances me to lead me in the right direction. Serpents that dwell in the sea won't catch me off guard like Laocoon, the priest who lost his own and his two son's lives to Poseidon’s two snakes in Greek mythology. Nevertheless, such a challenge is blasphemy. These supernatural forces impede not my attention nor focus in my destiny. Perhaps a dietary change of being ophiophagous would secure my problems with inanition if serpents were really to hunt me down. Suddenly out of nowhere, I felt this cold sore feeling channeling through my vertebrate. I turned around to see my past tracks and that is when I realized. Time, not the devious serpent, was my competition in this race. The water looming behind my raft was falling into the shadows. What borders water and time were dissolving particles that will soon reach me? Trapped in the genesis of nihility, I just kept paddling forward as fast as I could. My mind in a state of oblivion with only the sole command of stroking forward jammed pushed my efforts of survival to the edge. After moments of uncertainty, I look up and get blinded by the avant-garde scene.
Translation: There are many fishes in the sea, but I reverence this particular one. This is the tale of my arduous journey to meet her.
The Journey:
They say seeing is half of the adventure. The other half is walking it, and so I did. Literally. When I finally approached this lacuna, I realized my expectations were flawed; it was not a castle in the sky but a tree up high. Bear with me here in this uncanny speculation. This stairway to the crescent angel was no immanent illusion as I planted my first step onto its misty plateau. As I proceeded to ascend upwards, my hands pricked along the sui generis imbrications of the tree's bark formations, which confirmed my encapsulation within this matrix. At this thought, my burdened heart begins to pace unsteadily upbeat as if accompanied with war drums inoculated with the tone of poison. Reminded of the insufferable hypochondriasis, I tensely grasp these spinose walls, bleeding while this opium-like feeling gyrates my suppressed conscious. Unfortunately, my soporific body continues to climb these flights of stairs as if I was a patient of anesthetic awareness. Strangely, the continual trail of crimson droplets only strengthens my spirit, empowering my oneiromancy. The lacrimation from the lancing pain freezes as I reach higher up in this towering mass. Advancing against such ravishing avalanche, my weary legs begin to stiffen from the coldness as if oncogensis has occurred. At last, I reach the end of the onus expedition and all that is left is to ascertain the fruits of my effort.
Translation: And so I started from the bottom and built my way to one of her top people, but along the way are some challengingly tough obstacles.
It’s not my time, yet the distant siren calling draws me nearer. Wind-struck, my venture into the eye of the storm was a difficult one. The hiatus between me and my destination seemed ever so far. I row faster to close into my target while steadily; the bitter coldness begins softly eating towards this Zion. I hurry on, but I appear lost in this vast ocean as if gods have led astray my ship, but my mind remains to lay focused on its heaven destination. The rhythmic stroking robbed me of energy, but the dwindling hope robbed me of spirit. Struck by inanition and without a neither straightforward nor definite road to follow in this labyrinth, I am forced to make my own golden road and hope that luck chances me to lead me in the right direction. Serpents that dwell in the sea won't catch me off guard like Laocoon, the priest who lost his own and his two son's lives to Poseidon’s two snakes in Greek mythology. Nevertheless, such a challenge is blasphemy. These supernatural forces impede not my attention nor focus in my destiny. Perhaps a dietary change of being ophiophagous would secure my problems with inanition if serpents were really to hunt me down. Suddenly out of nowhere, I felt this cold sore feeling channeling through my vertebrate. I turned around to see my past tracks and that is when I realized. Time, not the devious serpent, was my competition in this race. The water looming behind my raft was falling into the shadows. What borders water and time were dissolving particles that will soon reach me? Trapped in the genesis of nihility, I just kept paddling forward as fast as I could. My mind in a state of oblivion with only the sole command of stroking forward jammed pushed my efforts of survival to the edge. After moments of uncertainty, I look up and get blinded by the avant-garde scene.
Translation: There are many fishes in the sea, but I reverence this particular one. This is the tale of my arduous journey to meet her.
The Journey:
They say seeing is half of the adventure. The other half is walking it, and so I did. Literally. When I finally approached this lacuna, I realized my expectations were flawed; it was not a castle in the sky but a tree up high. Bear with me here in this uncanny speculation. This stairway to the crescent angel was no immanent illusion as I planted my first step onto its misty plateau. As I proceeded to ascend upwards, my hands pricked along the sui generis imbrications of the tree's bark formations, which confirmed my encapsulation within this matrix. At this thought, my burdened heart begins to pace unsteadily upbeat as if accompanied with war drums inoculated with the tone of poison. Reminded of the insufferable hypochondriasis, I tensely grasp these spinose walls, bleeding while this opium-like feeling gyrates my suppressed conscious. Unfortunately, my soporific body continues to climb these flights of stairs as if I was a patient of anesthetic awareness. Strangely, the continual trail of crimson droplets only strengthens my spirit, empowering my oneiromancy. The lacrimation from the lancing pain freezes as I reach higher up in this towering mass. Advancing against such ravishing avalanche, my weary legs begin to stiffen from the coldness as if oncogensis has occurred. At last, I reach the end of the onus expedition and all that is left is to ascertain the fruits of my effort.
Translation: And so I started from the bottom and built my way to one of her top people, but along the way are some challengingly tough obstacles.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Blinded by the Forthcoming Time
Perhaps the mere knowledge of my inevitable departure secures the twisted fate of such distraught thoughts of opposition. As if just merely knowing was an apocalyptic crime punishable by an ironic end. Though one must endure such venom coursing through my constricted vessels, tense with agitation, my pupils involuntarily dilate as if I appear to be suffocating from a stubborn reincarnated tumor along my narrowed trachea. Such nearly fatal pulmonary parenchymal alterations met with seemingly acceptance as each gulp of air reflects the faceless reality of the morbid situation. With each breath paves way an exit route. The direction no longer matters like converging trains bound by the stiff law of the railroad tracks. As if life walked me towards the light but blinded me in the process. Upon the guidance sprouted pure chance. Unfortunately dabbling through such delights lifted the veils to my vulnerability, unsheathing a gloom plague over my drain life. Alas, Lucifer lied by sealing my contraband heart's confinement. So be it shall I continue to drag my accursed corpse along the desert-like journey to over the horizon. Such is I the pathetic fool to grasp a drink of sand in this oasis. And for what purpose is to perpetuate this cycle of pitiful temptatious act and to annihilate one's innocence? There is no force that can withstand the opposing juggernaut. However, there is a silver lining (which I first heard this phrase from her), and that is the reversal. The reversal of time. It is indefinite whether I may fall susceptible to reunite with the cycle, but if so be the case, and then may life again uproot hope from the soil of innocence and grow by the tears of happiness. "And let there be light" to help as well. And perhaps one day this flimsy abstract product solidifies its stance on earth as a fortified trunk of real and definite matter. Under the growth of this tree will I (and not Buddha) succeed in the completion of my epic quest in search of enlightenment. Perhaps this abstract depiction obscures the analogy pertaining to my own life. But like a convexed mirror, even flaws cannot hide from the reflection. Instead, they implode. Or so it looks. Maybe you understand or maybe you're detached from comprehension just like that loose LCD connectivity problem that I somehow just never manage to troubleshoot. Hopefully your parahippocampal gyrus is functioning properly to comprehend that. Oh well, that concludes tonight's incoherent rant.
Well, picking up from last night's rant... what options are left for me to choose? I can act like an inconsiderate snob. After all, this sudden turn of face will result in abhorring my hidden nature. Isn’t that my forgoing intentions; that is, to demonstrate sincere appreciation by whatever the means? Let the color of the water painting of my paper heart bleed through. Drenched wet, the sheet may disclose cognition when realization of its hairline chasms slowly ripples the very thin boundaries of instable cohesion to allow the epiphany of turbid repercussions. Anyways, I’m deviating from my discussion. Perhaps an algorithm for dealing with such situations is in order. Albeit multiple the problem's factors, they all lead straight towards a common source where ascertaining the core formula may require a light touch of logically conclusive psychology. The simple-minded approach is a linear yet addlepated progression towards a dilemma, where one is led in between two disconcerting choices. Absolute hatred or a showy false impression of a want-to-be hatred. The latter, being the one lacking clarification as of this point, is essentially self oppression, dealt with a live flooded with lies. Let’s venture to the genesis of mankind, where evil lurked since the first man clubbed his neighbor. Vexed into a tainted vortex of deception, which is so called earth now, and surrounded by the pounding drums of opposition, we view ourselves generations back to notice our lives haven't changed much since. We all remain mesmerized by our selfish desires and needs that even we are subjected to our romanticized dreams that further enhance our indulgences. Home and all things good centralize what is perceived as a stately sanctuary, untouched by all things poisonous. The serpent needs not dwell though because all around deception mirages the surroundings know it or not. Carelessly, we live life as normally as we can without knowing that our eyes have been shut since the dawn of time. Once again to reiterate. In the grand scheme of enlightenment, this is the paradigm change. Oh dear, once again I have partially let astray my subject of discussion. Alas, where was I? I ask that because I’m also not quite sure where my position stands at the moment. Perhaps I should continue to ponder on how I should act upon pinching myself that reality is at hand and lingering through dreams may not possibly be the appropriate action while my reincarnated life once again commences its entropy management. Now, having said all this, we must find the key to remediate the notorious situation. Perhaps to relieve you of all sensible duties is to abolish the twig that sustains my existence. To do so requires my guidance that will lead to my ultimate sacrifice. That is to say set myself up for failure, so being an illusion of the heart, both very much heart-breaking cliché phrases. Anyways, delving into the matter, I am given the option to employ a carefree mindset, where the goal being emancipation of any affectionate terms. I suppose this may be a little harsh though. So being a bit more realistic and taking it down a level, I can temporarily change my nature by becoming a jerk. It’s a steady painless process of absolute detachment. Although for this plan to fully succeed, I must not lift the veil to what is behind that faceless Chinese opera mask and show my genuine nature. Why must I persist such painful endurance, you may ask? The answer lies within my linearly steadfast response, defaulted in the folds of my brain when our eyes first met: the clear memorable promises I made and know I will be able to manifest my words with loyalty. These promises that shield us from the serpiginous aura that try to shatter the glass dome framework have already protected us against Satan’s eternal and crushing embrace. First, I promised to continually support you. That is quite a realistic promise, but there's a trick to that. What defines support? I can support you by abandoning you. No longer will I be the subject to your procrastination. Perhaps to you, with this change of heart and mind, I am, in your eyes, belittled to mere fetters that bind you from achieving your optimum potential. Take away the ties, and the problem is solved via quid pro quo; trade me for success (despite its inhuman beckon). Secondly, I promised I would never leave you. Once again, twisted this covenant. I take my inevitable departure to physically remove myself from your life temporarily, but a part of me has and always will stay with you. Memories, they will persist to remain and perhaps even grow like fuzzy green mold forming on a warm summer's day. I’d naturally relate myself to the rock on which the mold resides, but the analogy extends unrealistically by comparing me to such a hunk. Alas, another parahippocampal gyrus check and comic relief from such a stern self expunging conversation. Anyways, this I call the anti-plague that I left my spiritual self with you. A piece of mind, a piece of cake. As to be so kind, I insist you partake.
Behind me, perhaps I should discontinue this seemingly endless post, but alas I shall proceed in tormenting your strained pupils with my nonsense. Well, where was I now? It’s been three days after the incident and perhaps I have not encountered that crushing storm that I am expecting soon. Or perhaps I lucked out with my optimistic perspectives that such a reaction only hides within the shadows of pessimistic discomfort. Nevertheless, the thought of what happened remains freshly haunting my frontal lobe these past few days. In actual, my endeavors to avoid such thoughts succeeded to a certain extent but as daytime forgetfulness steadily ensconced into its caliginous sheets, the inexorable truth of reality grasps the opportunity upon the falling sun, leaving but an intolerable shutter as time begins slows down. The sunset seems redder than usual and within this Californian burning zone, the kaleidoscopic atmosphere shifts according to the polluted ash-filled air, a familiarly derisive mimicry of my personal complications. This feeling of unease that begins to burn within me tackles my bewildered mind, anxious to extinguish the impaling sensation. To my surprise, I was near a lake. As I heaved my comatose corpse to the muddy edges, the water's reflection ceases me by my mind. What’s this I see? Hollow and lifeless, a caricature of whom I have become. And the sky behind my reflection with its colossal allochromatic crimson becomes the waves, in which I surf my life in seek of that moonlight smile, glistening within the overcoming shadow. I guess I’ll mention about this last post in the next one since this one is already so long. Perhaps you may find my dithyramb to be slightly incomprehensible, but know that you're not alone in this fragmentation. Oh yes, and I humbly apologize for having you bear with me as you read such myopic font.
Well, picking up from last night's rant... what options are left for me to choose? I can act like an inconsiderate snob. After all, this sudden turn of face will result in abhorring my hidden nature. Isn’t that my forgoing intentions; that is, to demonstrate sincere appreciation by whatever the means? Let the color of the water painting of my paper heart bleed through. Drenched wet, the sheet may disclose cognition when realization of its hairline chasms slowly ripples the very thin boundaries of instable cohesion to allow the epiphany of turbid repercussions. Anyways, I’m deviating from my discussion. Perhaps an algorithm for dealing with such situations is in order. Albeit multiple the problem's factors, they all lead straight towards a common source where ascertaining the core formula may require a light touch of logically conclusive psychology. The simple-minded approach is a linear yet addlepated progression towards a dilemma, where one is led in between two disconcerting choices. Absolute hatred or a showy false impression of a want-to-be hatred. The latter, being the one lacking clarification as of this point, is essentially self oppression, dealt with a live flooded with lies. Let’s venture to the genesis of mankind, where evil lurked since the first man clubbed his neighbor. Vexed into a tainted vortex of deception, which is so called earth now, and surrounded by the pounding drums of opposition, we view ourselves generations back to notice our lives haven't changed much since. We all remain mesmerized by our selfish desires and needs that even we are subjected to our romanticized dreams that further enhance our indulgences. Home and all things good centralize what is perceived as a stately sanctuary, untouched by all things poisonous. The serpent needs not dwell though because all around deception mirages the surroundings know it or not. Carelessly, we live life as normally as we can without knowing that our eyes have been shut since the dawn of time. Once again to reiterate. In the grand scheme of enlightenment, this is the paradigm change. Oh dear, once again I have partially let astray my subject of discussion. Alas, where was I? I ask that because I’m also not quite sure where my position stands at the moment. Perhaps I should continue to ponder on how I should act upon pinching myself that reality is at hand and lingering through dreams may not possibly be the appropriate action while my reincarnated life once again commences its entropy management. Now, having said all this, we must find the key to remediate the notorious situation. Perhaps to relieve you of all sensible duties is to abolish the twig that sustains my existence. To do so requires my guidance that will lead to my ultimate sacrifice. That is to say set myself up for failure, so being an illusion of the heart, both very much heart-breaking cliché phrases. Anyways, delving into the matter, I am given the option to employ a carefree mindset, where the goal being emancipation of any affectionate terms. I suppose this may be a little harsh though. So being a bit more realistic and taking it down a level, I can temporarily change my nature by becoming a jerk. It’s a steady painless process of absolute detachment. Although for this plan to fully succeed, I must not lift the veil to what is behind that faceless Chinese opera mask and show my genuine nature. Why must I persist such painful endurance, you may ask? The answer lies within my linearly steadfast response, defaulted in the folds of my brain when our eyes first met: the clear memorable promises I made and know I will be able to manifest my words with loyalty. These promises that shield us from the serpiginous aura that try to shatter the glass dome framework have already protected us against Satan’s eternal and crushing embrace. First, I promised to continually support you. That is quite a realistic promise, but there's a trick to that. What defines support? I can support you by abandoning you. No longer will I be the subject to your procrastination. Perhaps to you, with this change of heart and mind, I am, in your eyes, belittled to mere fetters that bind you from achieving your optimum potential. Take away the ties, and the problem is solved via quid pro quo; trade me for success (despite its inhuman beckon). Secondly, I promised I would never leave you. Once again, twisted this covenant. I take my inevitable departure to physically remove myself from your life temporarily, but a part of me has and always will stay with you. Memories, they will persist to remain and perhaps even grow like fuzzy green mold forming on a warm summer's day. I’d naturally relate myself to the rock on which the mold resides, but the analogy extends unrealistically by comparing me to such a hunk. Alas, another parahippocampal gyrus check and comic relief from such a stern self expunging conversation. Anyways, this I call the anti-plague that I left my spiritual self with you. A piece of mind, a piece of cake. As to be so kind, I insist you partake.
Behind me, perhaps I should discontinue this seemingly endless post, but alas I shall proceed in tormenting your strained pupils with my nonsense. Well, where was I now? It’s been three days after the incident and perhaps I have not encountered that crushing storm that I am expecting soon. Or perhaps I lucked out with my optimistic perspectives that such a reaction only hides within the shadows of pessimistic discomfort. Nevertheless, the thought of what happened remains freshly haunting my frontal lobe these past few days. In actual, my endeavors to avoid such thoughts succeeded to a certain extent but as daytime forgetfulness steadily ensconced into its caliginous sheets, the inexorable truth of reality grasps the opportunity upon the falling sun, leaving but an intolerable shutter as time begins slows down. The sunset seems redder than usual and within this Californian burning zone, the kaleidoscopic atmosphere shifts according to the polluted ash-filled air, a familiarly derisive mimicry of my personal complications. This feeling of unease that begins to burn within me tackles my bewildered mind, anxious to extinguish the impaling sensation. To my surprise, I was near a lake. As I heaved my comatose corpse to the muddy edges, the water's reflection ceases me by my mind. What’s this I see? Hollow and lifeless, a caricature of whom I have become. And the sky behind my reflection with its colossal allochromatic crimson becomes the waves, in which I surf my life in seek of that moonlight smile, glistening within the overcoming shadow. I guess I’ll mention about this last post in the next one since this one is already so long. Perhaps you may find my dithyramb to be slightly incomprehensible, but know that you're not alone in this fragmentation. Oh yes, and I humbly apologize for having you bear with me as you read such myopic font.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Luck in Mud
Alone, dragging his torched feet through the scorching infernos: the one man exodus. As if sin casted a plague on him. Seems like the stairway of heaven is missing a step. A blind turn into such abyssal fate. And the fall. It was not a shallow one. It was not a shallow one... I begin to close my eyes, but I kept falling and falling... and falling. It just kept hitting me. Over and over again. As if a gauntlet made of frozen tears broke through my sternum, followed by countless endeavors to tear out my shattered-bone pierced heart. I try to struggle by resisting its pull, but my body lay helpless to its inflictor. A dark smirk underneath the shadows of the hood mock me as I relentlessly try to savage my soul that held the memories of the one I love.
Maybe I won't understand my venting in the future, so I guess I’ll help myself later on by making it clearer now. At least the last part. I guess I can say I’m jealous... actually, I am. Who am I jealous of? Those who've got what they don't realize they have. It seems like our lives are the lucky pair to be selected in being made difficult. But wait, I’m being a hypocrite. let's take a step back to open up our eyes once more, and we'll see that we still have each other and new obstacles that yield creative ways around it (and surprises that come with it). Despite this, I’ve lost the ability that I envy in others who may freely act. That is to say, hug. I see it all around. Though I dearly want to, if it weren't for these self imposed fetters binding me back. It is my respect and honor that strip the pleasures in my life, imprisoning my heart behind these jail-like ribs.
Puzzles aren't solved. Their mysteries remain a secret until the right person comes around and understands it.
Maybe I won't understand my venting in the future, so I guess I’ll help myself later on by making it clearer now. At least the last part. I guess I can say I’m jealous... actually, I am. Who am I jealous of? Those who've got what they don't realize they have. It seems like our lives are the lucky pair to be selected in being made difficult. But wait, I’m being a hypocrite. let's take a step back to open up our eyes once more, and we'll see that we still have each other and new obstacles that yield creative ways around it (and surprises that come with it). Despite this, I’ve lost the ability that I envy in others who may freely act. That is to say, hug. I see it all around. Though I dearly want to, if it weren't for these self imposed fetters binding me back. It is my respect and honor that strip the pleasures in my life, imprisoning my heart behind these jail-like ribs.
Puzzles aren't solved. Their mysteries remain a secret until the right person comes around and understands it.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
A Brand New Light
Albert Einstein once said "in the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." well, seeing as how prom's rolling in, and I’m no longer attending, I will try to find such opportunity. Thinking about it, I’ve developed and cherished this new personal connotation of "prom" in a different light. This year, "prom" symbolizes any moment when I get to spend time with the one I love. I guess it is inescapable to say now that prom will come one day early for me. :)
Friday, May 2, 2008
Oasis
It was only an oasis. Such a false illusion was short lived. Why must such tears dry so soon? When will this drought be spared and replenish with the reviving rain? We’ll soon see.
Despite our kismet. The foreseen future. Everything will be okay. My intentions shouldn't be glossed over as seemingly hastily thought over though. It was not an act chosen out of the blue. On the outside, it seems like a purely instinctive act. Even though I know the probability of a positive response, my reason for even acting so subsumes the desire to make new cherishing memories. I even predicted the manner in which the response was to be given. I even thought about how the other side would be thinking. My act would be viewed as plain stupid because it's idiotic to keep asking, keep striving, especially when pushing the limits of irrationality. Yes, I admit love makes us all do such a silly thing, seeing as how I even dared going through with such a headstrong thing. It’s okay though. What remains, I don't regret. What I’ve done, I don't regret. It’s only the things that can't be achieved or hesitated and never followed through with, that I do regret.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
Thinking back on it, it may seem like I’ve given a lot. But in retrospect, for the coming few years, it will probably seem like I haven't given enough. All these little gifts exchanged between the two of us. On a similar note, least that's how I always thought about pictures. After looking through a countless number of times through a photo album, don't you wish you could go back in time and take more? As if you would want to capture every single precious moment in a picture or video? Of course. but I would not like to go into that extreme because then it would impede our natural lives; we wouldn't be appreciating the moment we're living in. but I guess there's always that want for more pictures that will forever decorate our memories.
Despite our kismet. The foreseen future. Everything will be okay. My intentions shouldn't be glossed over as seemingly hastily thought over though. It was not an act chosen out of the blue. On the outside, it seems like a purely instinctive act. Even though I know the probability of a positive response, my reason for even acting so subsumes the desire to make new cherishing memories. I even predicted the manner in which the response was to be given. I even thought about how the other side would be thinking. My act would be viewed as plain stupid because it's idiotic to keep asking, keep striving, especially when pushing the limits of irrationality. Yes, I admit love makes us all do such a silly thing, seeing as how I even dared going through with such a headstrong thing. It’s okay though. What remains, I don't regret. What I’ve done, I don't regret. It’s only the things that can't be achieved or hesitated and never followed through with, that I do regret.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
Thinking back on it, it may seem like I’ve given a lot. But in retrospect, for the coming few years, it will probably seem like I haven't given enough. All these little gifts exchanged between the two of us. On a similar note, least that's how I always thought about pictures. After looking through a countless number of times through a photo album, don't you wish you could go back in time and take more? As if you would want to capture every single precious moment in a picture or video? Of course. but I would not like to go into that extreme because then it would impede our natural lives; we wouldn't be appreciating the moment we're living in. but I guess there's always that want for more pictures that will forever decorate our memories.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
In the Mist of Bitter Resentment
A ranting or thanking entry? I don't have much of the latter though I should. But I don't think that this is going to be one of those happy entries. I wish it was. After all, to whoever may be reading this or chance over this while browsing about blogs... I guess I have your ears and understanding for now. Least when my mind is a bit ready and cleared up to make up semi-coherent thoughts, which you may denounce for all I care. Like a victim. It’s all the same.
When time seems so far away and slowly approaching... you realize a bit too late that this wave is no ordinary tide, but a tsunami approaching you at 521 knots. In a blink of an eye, you get hit by realization and washed into bittersweet disorder, twirling and tumbling in its drowning grasp. Without even a moment to embrace such hasted chaos, your mind returns into a state of oblivion. Blank. Empty. Nothing. A forsaken paradise, where your momentary stay is disturbed and corrupted by the cleansing substance constantly eroding our tainted selves. Rocks and rumbles, tears and cries, trying to wake you up. But being pushed by the force of water, you freely fly for once not against the current but with, and crashing through, destitute of soul and spirit... till the waves calm down. You wash up onto a barren wasteland, where once lie a glorious civilization, but now just a graveyard of disbanded homes and forgotten memories. Or were these memories ever forgotten or forcefully secluded from minds? The surrounding stench with lost hopes and eerie uncertainty of the future. So seems the perfect place to end such a juggernaut of a collision. What hope remains in such a place lacking even life? You look towards the skies. You start to close your eyes... flashbacks of every single happy memories flicker like a malfunctioned slide projector within your mind as your eyelids slowly fall once last time. Millimeters before they fully shut, you stop. But why? A tear fallen out of your eyes and dropped upon to a nearby pool of water, resting calmly besides you. Your time has not come yet; your inner voice yearns for life. But how is there still hope? Succumbing to conscience, you awake as if from a dreaded sleep, enlightened under the embracing wings of the clouded skies. Though torn and broken, you manage to pull yourself up. Your head follows your body's ascension. What hope is left in such a destructive world? Your neck starts to loosen its gripping tension. Where can I find it? Your eyes begin to open as if time has reversed. What I am to do? Your body recoils as if jolt of current rushed through your hurricane-stricken mind. Your eyes glaring into space. Your last gasp for air has been revived, as if being granted one last chance. Slowly, your eyes walk down these steps of seeming emptiness to the ground, where you rest. A puddle of water. That’s it! Water! Hope remains within such holy substance. After all, water composites the essence of pure hope. Life around me will begin to restore, just as I will resume sailing life's unexpected journey.
When time seems so far away and slowly approaching... you realize a bit too late that this wave is no ordinary tide, but a tsunami approaching you at 521 knots. In a blink of an eye, you get hit by realization and washed into bittersweet disorder, twirling and tumbling in its drowning grasp. Without even a moment to embrace such hasted chaos, your mind returns into a state of oblivion. Blank. Empty. Nothing. A forsaken paradise, where your momentary stay is disturbed and corrupted by the cleansing substance constantly eroding our tainted selves. Rocks and rumbles, tears and cries, trying to wake you up. But being pushed by the force of water, you freely fly for once not against the current but with, and crashing through, destitute of soul and spirit... till the waves calm down. You wash up onto a barren wasteland, where once lie a glorious civilization, but now just a graveyard of disbanded homes and forgotten memories. Or were these memories ever forgotten or forcefully secluded from minds? The surrounding stench with lost hopes and eerie uncertainty of the future. So seems the perfect place to end such a juggernaut of a collision. What hope remains in such a place lacking even life? You look towards the skies. You start to close your eyes... flashbacks of every single happy memories flicker like a malfunctioned slide projector within your mind as your eyelids slowly fall once last time. Millimeters before they fully shut, you stop. But why? A tear fallen out of your eyes and dropped upon to a nearby pool of water, resting calmly besides you. Your time has not come yet; your inner voice yearns for life. But how is there still hope? Succumbing to conscience, you awake as if from a dreaded sleep, enlightened under the embracing wings of the clouded skies. Though torn and broken, you manage to pull yourself up. Your head follows your body's ascension. What hope is left in such a destructive world? Your neck starts to loosen its gripping tension. Where can I find it? Your eyes begin to open as if time has reversed. What I am to do? Your body recoils as if jolt of current rushed through your hurricane-stricken mind. Your eyes glaring into space. Your last gasp for air has been revived, as if being granted one last chance. Slowly, your eyes walk down these steps of seeming emptiness to the ground, where you rest. A puddle of water. That’s it! Water! Hope remains within such holy substance. After all, water composites the essence of pure hope. Life around me will begin to restore, just as I will resume sailing life's unexpected journey.
School: A Bush-Like Administration
We, the class of 2008, are the class that gets shafted by the administration. What is this shit? I guess it started when our school decided to add academic patches during the end of my middle school years, whereas the athletic patches came out a long time ago. Therefore, my sleeves look so uneven and may even give the impress that I’m not smart because of such an evident contrast.
As for high school, our annual graduation isn’t even going to take place where it’s traditionally taken place. Their compensation is to "fancy" the school up during our graduation and using their excuse for everything, "we’re making school history." but what about the traditionally values, in which we’ve grown up in such a "home away from home?"
We are also required to take an extremely boring course called ethics, where the underclassmen are now no longer required to take... seriously; everyone falls asleep at least once in this class. Ethics: even teachers host in class sleeping.
Then, there's the construction. Sure, the pool finished early, but the new diving blocks tear up our feet. On top of that, the Wednesday open pool policy has taken an abrupt turn right before AP week. I believe they should keep it open, so the pool serves as a stress reliever. Next, the loud ruckus next to this one building, where construction drilling is heard every day. We are going to school in the midst of a sandstorm. We don't even get the science building till next year, but we would have already graduated!
Senior gift? Our parents’ provide private donations just so the administrators can manipulate our decision to provide something that’s beneficial to the school?
This reminds me. The two lunches. How are we supposed to achieve "class/student body unity" when we're divided because of the school's poor engineering/architectural "developments."
Senior prank? There is essentially none or is considered rather a mere facade for "setting a new trend." I still say we jack all the clocks and Rick Roll’d the school.
Why do next year seniors no longer need to take finals. That’s messed up. They don’t even have first semester finals. This is completely unfair to us.
More to come as the school's one promise to shaft our class is the only proposal that is evidently true and concurred with.
As for high school, our annual graduation isn’t even going to take place where it’s traditionally taken place. Their compensation is to "fancy" the school up during our graduation and using their excuse for everything, "we’re making school history." but what about the traditionally values, in which we’ve grown up in such a "home away from home?"
We are also required to take an extremely boring course called ethics, where the underclassmen are now no longer required to take... seriously; everyone falls asleep at least once in this class. Ethics: even teachers host in class sleeping.
Then, there's the construction. Sure, the pool finished early, but the new diving blocks tear up our feet. On top of that, the Wednesday open pool policy has taken an abrupt turn right before AP week. I believe they should keep it open, so the pool serves as a stress reliever. Next, the loud ruckus next to this one building, where construction drilling is heard every day. We are going to school in the midst of a sandstorm. We don't even get the science building till next year, but we would have already graduated!
Senior gift? Our parents’ provide private donations just so the administrators can manipulate our decision to provide something that’s beneficial to the school?
This reminds me. The two lunches. How are we supposed to achieve "class/student body unity" when we're divided because of the school's poor engineering/architectural "developments."
Senior prank? There is essentially none or is considered rather a mere facade for "setting a new trend." I still say we jack all the clocks and Rick Roll’d the school.
Why do next year seniors no longer need to take finals. That’s messed up. They don’t even have first semester finals. This is completely unfair to us.
More to come as the school's one promise to shaft our class is the only proposal that is evidently true and concurred with.
Monday, April 28, 2008
The Last Speech
Or is it...
It true that our roads end at this point of time during our senior year, but in turn, paves a new road, where our lives begin to branch out. I guess it was motivational to people who haven't yet opened their minds and eyes. But in the end of this part of the journey, I would like to reflect on my high school years. I’m glad that I’ve met her and got to learn about her during these years. She, who has become one of the most important people in my life. All my posts mention no names... but the name is there.
It true that our roads end at this point of time during our senior year, but in turn, paves a new road, where our lives begin to branch out. I guess it was motivational to people who haven't yet opened their minds and eyes. But in the end of this part of the journey, I would like to reflect on my high school years. I’m glad that I’ve met her and got to learn about her during these years. She, who has become one of the most important people in my life. All my posts mention no names... but the name is there.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Scraps of Time
Pictures! Regardless of its quality, don’t delete them please. There are good memories attached; even if it's a blur.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
You have a Friend in Me
The one who stands between her and her complete fault... is me. Grades. Even if we try as hard as we could, we may not always be able to succeed our parent's expectations. Would you rather have your parents employ such derogatory comments such that it puts you on the stand of having to be responsible of everything? Perhaps not. At least you'll always have one person by your side as if it wasn't your fault entirely. At least your parents can conjure up an excuse that it was because of my presence that impeded your ability to getting good grades. At least they won't attack you all out. For those reasons, I’ll be there to share the blame. I’ll be there to lessen the emotional damage. I’ll be there with you, and I stubbornly refuse to leave you. Wherever I might be. Far or near. Always.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
"Believe in Yourself"
The choices you make; they come about from a mixture of emotions and logic.
How many times have your parents told you to trust your own instincts and logic to approach a problem? Yet now, they contradict their own words. But don't we all eventually all do that? This is what we grow up with. I don't blame them. I don't see them at fault. That’s what love does to you. It gets you jumbled in your words, fumbled in your thoughts, tumbled in your heart.
How many times have your parents told you to trust your own instincts and logic to approach a problem? Yet now, they contradict their own words. But don't we all eventually all do that? This is what we grow up with. I don't blame them. I don't see them at fault. That’s what love does to you. It gets you jumbled in your words, fumbled in your thoughts, tumbled in your heart.
The Sixth Sense
It’s not that I can see right through you. My vision stops at that neural synapse, where a surge of neurons rush in utter chaos within your brain's frontal lobe. Disperse into bitter emptiness, and with it, your mind. Where are those hidden fragmented pieces of memories and life? They’re still there. They’re in hiding, kept safe. A fortified cloak, assured to protect from even Nazi Germany. Do not worry. Calm your nerves. You’ll find it slow and steadily. Rushing the searching progress won't help your case. Calm down. You’ll find life soon enough and retrieve those once forgotten memories. Wait through those times of idleness. Afraid if the dogs of havoc are released? My grip will be tighter than ever. Stay strong. We’ll make it through, I’m positive. Together.
After all, how can we pretend something that is real?
After all, how can we pretend something that is real?
Too Young
You’ve heard it. I’ve heard it. I think we've all heard it more than once throughout our lifetime. But when are we never "too young?" those ads for six flags support elderly youth. Even the elderly retains essences of youth. Yes, there's a common correlation between physical youth and mental jubilance and nonchalantness, but don't fall susceptible of such a commonly overseen predicament. Think it through first before openly accepting such an accusation regardless of its accuracy.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Neverending Series of Choices
I’ve made a lot of choices today. I won't regret any. The two main ones I made were... well.
The first is to keep loving her.
The second is disclosed from the public for the time being.
The last choice was to spend the day pensively thinking about life and love, and their relationship with each other. They lie entwined within each and every one of us. Rapid changes when you least expect it. Learn to appreciate each moment as if it may be the last. My mom always told me to find what I’m academically good at. and I think I found it from writing the entry entitled "what love is..." instead of studying triple integrals, quadratic form identifications, and tangential, normal, and binormal vectors (that perhaps serve no meaning in my future), I decided to write about ourselves. Us, in the living flesh. I believe this is time well spent. A moment to reflect and to appreciate is a moment well spent. Writing/typing it is good and all, but thinking is even better.
The first is to keep loving her.
The second is disclosed from the public for the time being.
The last choice was to spend the day pensively thinking about life and love, and their relationship with each other. They lie entwined within each and every one of us. Rapid changes when you least expect it. Learn to appreciate each moment as if it may be the last. My mom always told me to find what I’m academically good at. and I think I found it from writing the entry entitled "what love is..." instead of studying triple integrals, quadratic form identifications, and tangential, normal, and binormal vectors (that perhaps serve no meaning in my future), I decided to write about ourselves. Us, in the living flesh. I believe this is time well spent. A moment to reflect and to appreciate is a moment well spent. Writing/typing it is good and all, but thinking is even better.
Heads Up Wishing Well
I believe in wishes.
I wish.
I had no dreams...
Cause wishes don't come from dreams.
[Only nightmares.
At least my nightmares are better off at facing than reality.]
Wishes come from hope.
Find this hope.
Embrace it. Tightly, with all you've got.
Then.
Finally, then.
That hope will one day, in the future, grant your wish.
Cloud
So free...
Soul free...
So lucky.
Hint: Penny. Speech, the last link.
I wish.
I had no dreams...
Cause wishes don't come from dreams.
[Only nightmares.
At least my nightmares are better off at facing than reality.]
Wishes come from hope.
Find this hope.
Embrace it. Tightly, with all you've got.
Then.
Finally, then.
That hope will one day, in the future, grant your wish.
Cloud
So free...
Soul free...
So lucky.
Hint: Penny. Speech, the last link.
Words are a Powerful Tool
http://gizmodo.com/382026/a-cellphones-missing-dot-kills-two-people-puts-three-more-in-jail
http://www.mothersdaycentral.com/mothers-day-fun/mom-myths/
And for comic relief...
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2008/04/senseless-signage-part-10.html
http://www.mothersdaycentral.com/mothers-day-fun/mom-myths/
And for comic relief...
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2008/04/senseless-signage-part-10.html
What is Love?
That is what I know.
I am not correct... but I am not wrong.
Are you taken? Taken... No, I am not.
I’ve been given...
We, the mere humans:
No one on this planet can describe what such or how this concept came to existence. For all we know, we experience it on a daily bases. The little things, to the exaggerated things. Yet what we feel inside is only brushing on the surface of love. Who is it that explains the true rudiments of such a concept? Surely not the humans. Though we are the superior race and "rule the world," such a concept was around before our very existence. Animals felt such a sensation themselves, long before us. Regardless, no one is able to describe what love really is. Sure, they can admit they experienced a form of love. All these plausible definitions of love are valid. In the end, it narrows down to each and every person's opinion of love and their experiences on it. Therefore, on this basis, every definition ever thought of is valid... but there is just no one "correct" definition for it.
Time & history:
for all we know, love's definition may never come to surface even when we're at that final stretch of the mile, nearing those Elysian plains, a paradise where only heroes lie. We are all heroes of our own nature. Our upbringing has shown us this. With each hero comes our unique perspective of interpreting the world. Heroes are also humans. Rules and laws are created by humans. These sets of guidelines pave our lives. What am I getting at here, you may ask? Humans constructed the first civilization, which has brought with it, order. Order has set the matrix of boundaries, confining and blinded our gridded system of behavior. Outcasts have been shunned upon. An elite society has developed over time and its habits have become law. Law has become to standard for we, the soldiers of such a concentration camp that we've put inside ourselves and our future generations. EVEN love, unfortunately, has been vexed into such a morbid law. Restrictions. Oh, my bad. I mean "guidelines." where failure at adhering to such "guidelines" will result in severe consequences by law or condemnation by the majority. Life has no boundaries. We imposed such boundaries on ourselves though. The result? Chaos.
Parents:
We all know they like to question their child the validity of such a question, thinking that such jubilant thoughts arise within our minds. But I disagree with their train of thought. We constantly learn each and every day. Well, what's the difference with your parents? They, too, constantly learn about life and love. Yes. They do have experience. But even with their level of experience, they cannot possibly claim that they themselves understand what true love is. Neither can they derive an explanation, considered "correct," to match that of what love is. Your parents. They’re just the ordinary human being when it comes to breaking things down to their fundamental values. They’re merely another addition to providing one definition in this pool of idealized conceptions over love. Therefore, by this means, parents themselves aren't truly sure what love is. Go ahead and ask them? Sure, they'll sound positive that they know what they take to be "love" but it's not just for them to claim full comprehension. Regardless of this, they warn us to be wary of asserting such a comprehension of what is love. They believe us to be naive and superficial, linked with the excuse that we are "too young" as a reason for behaving so. But everyone matures in a different rate. Let me rephrase that. Each and every one of our traits develops at a different rate. Child geniuses, for example. It would be hard to predict, let alone judge, the rate of how we come towards the misunderstood question of "what is love?"
Experience:
I put these words in quotes because what is experience after all. There is no one concrete experience that we all share besides birth and death. Isn’t it just chance that one person happen to so have experienced something, and out of genuine congeniality that they share this experience with you. If it were to be a bad experience, then by sharing such information, they hope that you will never make the same mistakes they once faced. Such an act that would, if taken into heart, branch your life's journey. You may never actually encounter such experience unless you haven't been forewarned. There are some common grounds to experience though, but despite this, this would not be the case across every scenario. Take that of parents and high school. Times have changed long since your parents took college. Now, applying to a university has taken a new shift towards a more complicated and more competitive approach. It would be hard to relate the two experiences. Also, parents embrace their authoritative figures by expressing their right to question their children just because they are more "experienced." I do not disagree that they are more "experienced," but their flaw lies within their expression that they have such a right. Of course, we don't question back. This is how we grew up and are accustomed to such hierarchy and fidelity. But understand this. Parents are essentially but a mere reflection of our older high school selves. Think about it. The values and culture we grew up with. When we're high school seniors, we have the feel of having the most experience out of all the underclassmen. We guide them. We bully them. Whatever, yes? But whichever way you decide to influence these freshmen, sophomores, and juniors, is based on yourself and how you lead your life. Sure, they'll go off on their own paths, but they'll forever be affected by your influence. Basically, you lead them into what you, yourself, consider the appropriate path. Therefore, specifically idealized under personal standards. But consider this. There are more than just you as a high school senior. This leads back the framework of the conceptualization of love. Similarly, love has infinite possibilities. However way we are affected to in life, will shape your own unique and individual mind and future. Therefore. Claiming to understand or to describe love is a valid argument. Valid. Not correct. Most definitely not so.
Chance:
This leads us to the final part of my rant, chance. We chance through each and every one of our experiences differently. Entropy. That is how the world works.
So you want my insight on love?
It’s what compelled me to conjecture such an entry, dedicated to my one and only. What's your definition?
I am not correct... but I am not wrong.
Are you taken? Taken... No, I am not.
I’ve been given...
We, the mere humans:
No one on this planet can describe what such or how this concept came to existence. For all we know, we experience it on a daily bases. The little things, to the exaggerated things. Yet what we feel inside is only brushing on the surface of love. Who is it that explains the true rudiments of such a concept? Surely not the humans. Though we are the superior race and "rule the world," such a concept was around before our very existence. Animals felt such a sensation themselves, long before us. Regardless, no one is able to describe what love really is. Sure, they can admit they experienced a form of love. All these plausible definitions of love are valid. In the end, it narrows down to each and every person's opinion of love and their experiences on it. Therefore, on this basis, every definition ever thought of is valid... but there is just no one "correct" definition for it.
Time & history:
for all we know, love's definition may never come to surface even when we're at that final stretch of the mile, nearing those Elysian plains, a paradise where only heroes lie. We are all heroes of our own nature. Our upbringing has shown us this. With each hero comes our unique perspective of interpreting the world. Heroes are also humans. Rules and laws are created by humans. These sets of guidelines pave our lives. What am I getting at here, you may ask? Humans constructed the first civilization, which has brought with it, order. Order has set the matrix of boundaries, confining and blinded our gridded system of behavior. Outcasts have been shunned upon. An elite society has developed over time and its habits have become law. Law has become to standard for we, the soldiers of such a concentration camp that we've put inside ourselves and our future generations. EVEN love, unfortunately, has been vexed into such a morbid law. Restrictions. Oh, my bad. I mean "guidelines." where failure at adhering to such "guidelines" will result in severe consequences by law or condemnation by the majority. Life has no boundaries. We imposed such boundaries on ourselves though. The result? Chaos.
Parents:
We all know they like to question their child the validity of such a question, thinking that such jubilant thoughts arise within our minds. But I disagree with their train of thought. We constantly learn each and every day. Well, what's the difference with your parents? They, too, constantly learn about life and love. Yes. They do have experience. But even with their level of experience, they cannot possibly claim that they themselves understand what true love is. Neither can they derive an explanation, considered "correct," to match that of what love is. Your parents. They’re just the ordinary human being when it comes to breaking things down to their fundamental values. They’re merely another addition to providing one definition in this pool of idealized conceptions over love. Therefore, by this means, parents themselves aren't truly sure what love is. Go ahead and ask them? Sure, they'll sound positive that they know what they take to be "love" but it's not just for them to claim full comprehension. Regardless of this, they warn us to be wary of asserting such a comprehension of what is love. They believe us to be naive and superficial, linked with the excuse that we are "too young" as a reason for behaving so. But everyone matures in a different rate. Let me rephrase that. Each and every one of our traits develops at a different rate. Child geniuses, for example. It would be hard to predict, let alone judge, the rate of how we come towards the misunderstood question of "what is love?"
Experience:
I put these words in quotes because what is experience after all. There is no one concrete experience that we all share besides birth and death. Isn’t it just chance that one person happen to so have experienced something, and out of genuine congeniality that they share this experience with you. If it were to be a bad experience, then by sharing such information, they hope that you will never make the same mistakes they once faced. Such an act that would, if taken into heart, branch your life's journey. You may never actually encounter such experience unless you haven't been forewarned. There are some common grounds to experience though, but despite this, this would not be the case across every scenario. Take that of parents and high school. Times have changed long since your parents took college. Now, applying to a university has taken a new shift towards a more complicated and more competitive approach. It would be hard to relate the two experiences. Also, parents embrace their authoritative figures by expressing their right to question their children just because they are more "experienced." I do not disagree that they are more "experienced," but their flaw lies within their expression that they have such a right. Of course, we don't question back. This is how we grew up and are accustomed to such hierarchy and fidelity. But understand this. Parents are essentially but a mere reflection of our older high school selves. Think about it. The values and culture we grew up with. When we're high school seniors, we have the feel of having the most experience out of all the underclassmen. We guide them. We bully them. Whatever, yes? But whichever way you decide to influence these freshmen, sophomores, and juniors, is based on yourself and how you lead your life. Sure, they'll go off on their own paths, but they'll forever be affected by your influence. Basically, you lead them into what you, yourself, consider the appropriate path. Therefore, specifically idealized under personal standards. But consider this. There are more than just you as a high school senior. This leads back the framework of the conceptualization of love. Similarly, love has infinite possibilities. However way we are affected to in life, will shape your own unique and individual mind and future. Therefore. Claiming to understand or to describe love is a valid argument. Valid. Not correct. Most definitely not so.
Chance:
This leads us to the final part of my rant, chance. We chance through each and every one of our experiences differently. Entropy. That is how the world works.
So you want my insight on love?
It’s what compelled me to conjecture such an entry, dedicated to my one and only. What's your definition?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Half Truth, Half Secret
Horrible timing? Or bound to happen? Nevertheless, every developing secret will eventually be unveiled. To repress its freedom is to resist temptation itself. Let it build to watch a greater fall. Work it another way; leak bit by bit...
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Misunderstood Psyche
Haven’t you ever been in a situation where you find yourself constantly rephrasing what you have already said? Surely, my communication skills must be horrendous. But can people try to understand without having to return blank looks or repetitive questioning? Seriously. I’m not saying the majority of humanity is psychologically incompetent. Maybe they don't realize that such a reaction can turn annoying. Perhaps so. Nevertheless, everyone's threshold becomes evident when it reaches a certain level.
Hold On
Wait.
One moment please.
Needle pricked mind.
Please.
One moment.
Do you think you know?
Do you think you can hold on tight?
And don't let go?
...
Mm.
Thanks.
One moment please.
Needle pricked mind.
Please.
One moment.
Do you think you know?
Do you think you can hold on tight?
And don't let go?
...
Mm.
Thanks.
The Unanswered is the Unasked
Do you really know what's going inside my head?
...
No.
...
Can you guess?
...
Yes.
...
Are you right?
...
Partly.
...
So ask?
Despite a strong sense of confidence, it's impossible to ascertain what another person is thinking at that very moment. We assume things on a daily basis. What is the probability that we'll guess correctly over half the time? I believe it is very close to zero. The fall of complete assurance paves the threshold of misunderstanding. Any specific moment can easily be overlooked as its simplistic facade, though not always the case. I am no mind reader. That I must admit.
Though uncomfortable during certain instances to ask, I will try to verbalize such mixes of emotions, originated from misunderstanding, anytime I begin to doubt an assumption that goes against my sense of confidence. Do not let your emotions fall into illusive first impressions is the key to internal strength.
This is my life.
This is my goal.
...
This is also easier said than done.
...
No.
...
Can you guess?
...
Yes.
...
Are you right?
...
Partly.
...
So ask?
Despite a strong sense of confidence, it's impossible to ascertain what another person is thinking at that very moment. We assume things on a daily basis. What is the probability that we'll guess correctly over half the time? I believe it is very close to zero. The fall of complete assurance paves the threshold of misunderstanding. Any specific moment can easily be overlooked as its simplistic facade, though not always the case. I am no mind reader. That I must admit.
Though uncomfortable during certain instances to ask, I will try to verbalize such mixes of emotions, originated from misunderstanding, anytime I begin to doubt an assumption that goes against my sense of confidence. Do not let your emotions fall into illusive first impressions is the key to internal strength.
This is my life.
This is my goal.
...
This is also easier said than done.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Blockles: Rudiments of Life
Of your opponent or of yourself?
As the game progresses after time, the game play speeds up. Your mind races to find a position. Allocating the piece into a mismatched location may jeopardize ten minutes of trying to win. Else, if that is not the objective, the endeavor to obtain another gold medal into your prized collection is. For all you computer-savvy people out there, I find such a recursive loop excessively time consuming. I hope such a method private void addiction (Blockles) crashes into a null pointer exception error upon compiling. For those who didn't understand the previous sentence, the method named addiction takes in the Blockles parameter and returns nothing.
You can think of our lives in terms of Tetris. Our lives appear to start out slowly when we are adolescents. Perhaps inundated with a sense of idleness? As we grow up though, more time is but an implausible dream. Responsibilities start to pile up, and the game of Tetris reaches a seemingly impossible speed to keep up with. What you choose to do before the end is truly up to you. One bad move will abridge time. A series of unfortunate decisions will be severe.
Anyways, it is multiplayer, which attracts hundreds at my school to play together, spending hours and hours on Blockles. How ridiculous. I must admit that I played for 11:03:15; receiving 81 gold, 16 silver, and 10 bronze medals during that time. My friend, on the other hand, played about 24 hours to win around 150 or so gold medals. At first, I considered beating his record. It’s possible. Most definitely not hard. Just requires time. 13 hours to be exact. But on second thought, I put myself in a future perspective and raised various questions undermining the desire to carry through with such a silly goal in mind.
...
What would you achieve?
What is the purpose to wasting countless hours besides achieving occasional ecstasies?
So was it really worth spending [insert hours spent playing] on?
Time is too easily taken for granted. What else could you be doing?
Even though it's fun, is the trade-off worth it?
...
Now that you know the questions, can you find the answer? To conclude, I would like to strongly urge that you consider these questions before falling into temptation. Remember. Your childhood only comes once in your lifetime.
Hint: think first. The answer lies within the questions.
Entry dedicated to a very special person that I dearly care for in my life.
As the game progresses after time, the game play speeds up. Your mind races to find a position. Allocating the piece into a mismatched location may jeopardize ten minutes of trying to win. Else, if that is not the objective, the endeavor to obtain another gold medal into your prized collection is. For all you computer-savvy people out there, I find such a recursive loop excessively time consuming. I hope such a method private void addiction (Blockles) crashes into a null pointer exception error upon compiling. For those who didn't understand the previous sentence, the method named addiction takes in the Blockles parameter and returns nothing.
You can think of our lives in terms of Tetris. Our lives appear to start out slowly when we are adolescents. Perhaps inundated with a sense of idleness? As we grow up though, more time is but an implausible dream. Responsibilities start to pile up, and the game of Tetris reaches a seemingly impossible speed to keep up with. What you choose to do before the end is truly up to you. One bad move will abridge time. A series of unfortunate decisions will be severe.
Anyways, it is multiplayer, which attracts hundreds at my school to play together, spending hours and hours on Blockles. How ridiculous. I must admit that I played for 11:03:15; receiving 81 gold, 16 silver, and 10 bronze medals during that time. My friend, on the other hand, played about 24 hours to win around 150 or so gold medals. At first, I considered beating his record. It’s possible. Most definitely not hard. Just requires time. 13 hours to be exact. But on second thought, I put myself in a future perspective and raised various questions undermining the desire to carry through with such a silly goal in mind.
...
What would you achieve?
What is the purpose to wasting countless hours besides achieving occasional ecstasies?
So was it really worth spending [insert hours spent playing] on?
Time is too easily taken for granted. What else could you be doing?
Even though it's fun, is the trade-off worth it?
...
Now that you know the questions, can you find the answer? To conclude, I would like to strongly urge that you consider these questions before falling into temptation. Remember. Your childhood only comes once in your lifetime.
Hint: think first. The answer lies within the questions.
Entry dedicated to a very special person that I dearly care for in my life.
Grains of Sand
Small things.
Tiny, insignificant matters.
...
A twitch.
A slip.
A glance.
A hand.
An act cut short from success.
...
The offer.
I believe there are two types of writers; those who inform directly and those who seclude everything. I am the latter. Can you ascertain these hidden feelings within such a sandstorm?
Like scattered pieces of glass.
Broken shards. You can still see parts of yourself.
The edge of the shore. retreating tidal waves brushing the sand. An evanescent view of yourself.
You look down at your dying reflection.
Peaceful ripples. Just.
Like scattered pieces of glass.
'Twas not rain that spurred the storm.
'Twas not the storm that reeked such blowing cuts.
Emptiness or darkness?
Tiny, insignificant matters.
...
A twitch.
A slip.
A glance.
A hand.
An act cut short from success.
...
The offer.
I believe there are two types of writers; those who inform directly and those who seclude everything. I am the latter. Can you ascertain these hidden feelings within such a sandstorm?
Like scattered pieces of glass.
Broken shards. You can still see parts of yourself.
The edge of the shore. retreating tidal waves brushing the sand. An evanescent view of yourself.
You look down at your dying reflection.
Peaceful ripples. Just.
Like scattered pieces of glass.
'Twas not rain that spurred the storm.
'Twas not the storm that reeked such blowing cuts.
Emptiness or darkness?
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Half Hidden Starlight (Moonlight Smile)
Never underestimate what a smile can do for someone. People feel down from time to time. Greet them with a smile. Such a gesture gives them hope, motivation to excavate oneself from the bushel of barbed wires ensnaring one's mind. First comes a shinning ray of hope into the depths of their broken down prison-like cells, shooting down from above and into such abyssal darkness.
Frolicking between the line separating salvation and suffocation.
Is there a difference?
Carpe diem.
...
Return protocol to self and resume restricted breathing.
...
Smile for me?
...
Please?
...
Carpe diem.
3.
Look up high.
2.
Close your eyes.
1.
And free your mind.
As if a surge of energy detonates from that shinning ray of hope, a god-sent act sent to cast any trace of sadness and depression, the thorns embedded into my vexed brain, into oblivion. freedom. sanctuary.
The smile.
Your smile.
...
Thank you.
Frolicking between the line separating salvation and suffocation.
Is there a difference?
Carpe diem.
...
Return protocol to self and resume restricted breathing.
...
Smile for me?
...
Please?
...
Carpe diem.
3.
Look up high.
2.
Close your eyes.
1.
And free your mind.
As if a surge of energy detonates from that shinning ray of hope, a god-sent act sent to cast any trace of sadness and depression, the thorns embedded into my vexed brain, into oblivion. freedom. sanctuary.
The smile.
Your smile.
...
Thank you.
The Facade
Two people.
Two minds.
Two trains of thought.
Quite a coincidentally fortunate collision?
Perhaps.
Possibly hinting at life's irony and illusive truth of unsought pain.
Two minds.
Two trains of thought.
Quite a coincidentally fortunate collision?
Perhaps.
Possibly hinting at life's irony and illusive truth of unsought pain.
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