I swerved past the Jaguar and smiled against the burning sky brimming with relief that finally my route has finally reached smoothly on its rightful path. I didn't linger long, the battle was an honest fluke. The fact is I won for a day and I wouldn't have it any other way. A luck's sufficient enough to prove my mettle.
It took me quite awhile but I finally reached the destination, garnering enough limits to know that the time it took for me to get there was better than most of the other rides I've ever had. An hour and a half. Not such a bad thing considering the circumstances, and yet it's hard to conclude victory when tails are pulled on your behalf. I pushed the pedals as hard as I could, gaining more speed and, at the same time, risk. Unbeknownst to even myself, there formed a warming smile on my face that only recently reminded me of the same time the rush was conceived. Last days are hard to recollect, if only because there's never an expectation of it…
It only took less than an hour for my bicycle to be stolen outside Westfield near Wood Lane station. Didn't linger much, clearly frustrated, but what can I do?
Luck's a bit down and it's not helping any. Might as well walk into the dark side.
This sudden inclination, this urge, to partake myself into the otherworldly land of Dark Souls has recently been becoming overwhelmingly urgent. I have had my own shares of souls having repeatedly -- not to mention dominatingly -- won over Demon's Souls for over two years now, and also having recently revived that fascination in order to achieve the only frustration I have of the experience, the platinum trophy. This time though the media has worked well its collective magic into marketing this wonderful piece of art -- and I say that confidently without me having to be told of Roger Ebert's scandalous hubbub over an argument whether these types of magical things are even considered art.
To renew this interest, I have to keep pushing forward over and over again until such time that finally I get my hands on that ever-evasive platinum trophy that I have been clamouring for much of my entire playthrough. Best be sure to remind myself though of achieving this right before next w…
Thinking of coffee. Second interview. Underwhelming.
Towel in shoulder prepped for shower. Random thoughts jumble in head like passers-by on a high street.
Biting towel. Two minutes left in the clock. Rubbish. Farts here and there. Feel remorse for the chair.
Fuck me. It's still dark. Should I stay or should I go?
No hope to stay. Towel tastes like...
Mayday, mayday. With lemonade in hand.
Yet purposefully declined, as its wrapped yellow collar of loss and ambiguity beguiles the sensitivities.
Touch, that when it stalled catches my levity unawares driven slowly to desperation and unwilling cooperation.
Adios, patria adorada, polluted na ang karsada
Perla del mar de trapiko, nuestro perdido tambutso
A darte voy a brownout, para ka na ring na-knock out
A fuera mas mainit, taong bayan nagngingitngit
Tambien por ti la diera, para tayong nasa giyera.
En campos de basura, singhutando con delirio
Otros te dan sus microbio, sin duda, con ubo
Emergency power nada importa, Ramos de Venecia o Angara
Napocor o Meralco cerrado, generator o cruel martirio
Lo mismos es so expensive, por la pitaka de Pandoy.
Yo muero cuando veo, patay na raw and kabayo
Y al fin anuncia el dia, matrapik daw sa Buendia
Si grana necesitas, para close down las fabricas
Vierte la sangre mia, kawawa ang maralita
Y dorela un reflejo, de apat na kandila.
Mis suenos cuando apenas, mga trapo nakakabanas
Mis suenos cuando joven, pen pen de sarapen
Fueron el verte un dia, naka=air con ang mga buwaya
Secos los negros ojos, sa epifanio de los Santos
Sin ceno sin arrugas, pulitikong mandurugas.
Ensueno de mi vida, hithit-buga, h…
From there I awoken the blood rushed forth through my nostrils and into my tongue
(Bang! Bang! Bang!)
She was banging on my door, and in my bed I hear her calling my name
Once again bringing me back my consciousness and troubled thoughts
I mutter, I mutter, I mumble to myself, reminding me of the hate of being interrupted in my sleep
I rose to my feet and paid little thought to my unkempt hair, wondering what it was that she woke me up for
(One last Bang!)
Before I opened the door, smiled at her precariously, greeted her stare in red underwear
Fortunately for both of us my phallus was calm and sore as the heat of the gloomy afternoon
Blood rushed to my head, felt something amiss between my teeth
Blood literally gushed forth in sputum form and almost choked me with it
The taste I can still feel inside me rushing, a locomotive sensation, unbridled
All the while she was talking and talking and talking to me
All the while I was nodding and nodding and nodding to her
My strength collapsed …
To prepare myself I have to put up a stitch, for nothing in particular, just a swinging mood. Then traverse the gloomy half-past-three London streets. Whether or not this is worth it, in the end nobody gives a shit.
The confession came when opportunity stood idly in front of him earlier that day. This is that confession to a confession. All in all, it went easier than he expected, even though it was as anticlimactic as it comes. Trials stood by waiting as he nods his head in frustration, unwilling to speak on behalf of the pain that struggled to break through him. She listens on, as if she herself can endure more pains that she already possess and now shared to her. The carousel is bittersweet and numbing, to the point where one could honestly say he or she has had enough of it. The hardest part is the surrender because that is never a considerable option.
She left him with a smile and her best regards, and he responded with a half-assed wink absent love. The story for sure will never end there. She disappeared into the thick of fog yet her misty voice lingered on, daunting and severed.
It's smiles like Audrey Hepburn's that we need to duplicate
The guitar man would have loved a cure for his blisters
The moment of Revelations comes a little bit late
Never have one person seen something so pretentious
come out of a single source
The balcony now seems a welcome entrance to an
alternate world of come-and-go's
Something thrown up from the deepest, darkest land
Where symmetry is but a fool's uninhabited calculation
Though does science ever end that theology can not
That girl he was searching for was finally in front of him. It dawned upon him that chance finally got him a welcome opportunity to make something happen out of nothing at all. His lips twist and tie a knot, speechless, as the professor gives each one a tiny moment of introduction. He was at the back, pale, and sitting at a comfortable position away from the many people, beside his newfound companionship, and making slight remarks at others' expense. His opportunity to seize the moment overpowers him, demands things he can scarcely accomplish, only that he thought he couldn't, but in actuality had been doing so every moment or so, involuntarily as it may. His turn to introduce himself presents and he cherishes that moment, with eyes seemingly propelled unto his stage. The limelight was his for that short moment. His wits gathers enough momentum, and for a millisecond conjures up something out of the blurt-out portions of his brain. He sees the woman and he turns his sights aw…
The price of love
Greed and despair;
There was once a man
That no friends care
The price of life
It's always pathetic;
To find the adventure
The price of luxury
Grant the necks with chain;
I will never forget
This life will sustain
The price of lust
When cunts are supply short;
At night we awaken
The price of lordship
It's not a fucking tell;
It's no better than lust
When cocks repel
The beauty of madness
I see it all come to life
Like dust to dust
It blows into one's eyesight
All knowing, cunning
Slumbers in your skin
Until twilight and fall
When the summers are far
The sky affects it
Like the sun affects the sky
The resplendence of freedom of thought
The beauty of madness
The thought that abides leading to salvation
The beauty of madness
The light piercing right through the night
The madness in action
I can almost see…
Exotic sexy fruit
There goes my breakfast out the window
Care to join me in my death row
Some nights are pink
Some days do stink
Whatever floats my father's boat
He only rises when it starts to bloat
Smile for the camera
Sweet child of America
The end is nigh
Please choose how to die
Selfishness is the only one cred
Says the woman with a fountainhead
The twist and turns are of no use now
The youth and I both disavow
Good lord money Jesus
The sorrow you touch is but contagious
It lies deep within the well
It signals the ocean with an iron bell
Spread the lands fall down with fire
Complete in package; lust and desire
Nasty was that one prick
As my cock felt like a ton of brick
Count the blessing
From where I stowed
Your cunt speaks
Like tangerine beaks
Birds of a brood
It's time to intrude
Eyes from the sky look down upon its people
Philip K Dick laughs at the kipple
It's times like these we need to understand
Our lives are …
For every humble beginnings, there's always tragic goodbyes. Yours would be something special, for we have shared many a laughs, many a sighs. Not. But I would be lying if I said I didn't try to resuscitate you by any means possible. The problem lies internally though, and it would sadly be permanent. So to commemorate your bastardly short existence, I offer you a quick trip to heaven by means of defenestration. So fly to heaven if you can. Someday you will pay me the respect I deserve once our paths intertwine together more. For now...
Rest in pieces you motherfucker you!
Thankfully, at this very moment, I am afebrile and back to my own normal standing, although there still is a slight discomfort in the upper palate along my mandibles most likely due to the swelling. I attempted to rupture it because it was getting on my nerves last night giving me a hard time sleeping but to no avail. I could not pierce the swelling myself. I am that much of a puss, I admit.
Now, on to something important I need to bring up from out of nowhere: Marriage. These past few months I've been with no one but myself except for a few minor exceptions when I had to visit my family in their own home. Yesterday I woke up to the news that I am going to be a married man soon. Surprising? Not really.
This is one of those soap opera moments where it's hard for me to tell reality from fiction. How could a solitary person like me be getting married? My last lay was two years ago even. I've barely even touched a woman since then. Well, it has something to do with desperatio…
In the wake of a toothache, please take away this decay. Pray this day goes away so I can make way for play maybe today, if not tomorrow. My mouth is in sorrow. Feels as if struck with an arrow then pulled into a gutter my eyes begin to flutter around as to mutter the sound of pain fall to the ground. This is insane. Someone end this bane, pull this chain, don't leave in vain, so I can finally train, put myself to the plane of sleep somewhere deep counting sheep without a single weep just because of something that's burrowing into my face. Fuck these awful ways that come without a trace. No more chase because this place is a disgrace. I need my injured tooth to rest in a booth somewhere with no pest. The best way to do test is simply jest lest the rhymes become dimes once these crimes come at the end of times.
Happy are those that are crappy as crows. They gawk, they can't talk. They don't need teeth to walk.
The whole band of clowns were still glued into their individual computers having LAN parties with Diablo II. Cammy walks over to Jules begging him and the others to help him with his final quest. He got disconnected on the very last minute with a very tense battle with Andariel to finish off the first act. He's so disappointed with himself and his computer he looks as if he's about to roll on the floor and sob. No one, as much as they love to piss each other out, would play a prank on him even. He was clearly devastated and would gouge an eyeball out of the next person to even attempt on making fun on his demise. Rand seems content with the flow, stuck with his own business of looting and simply being in the company of his friends, although deep in his heart, and his pockets, he's well-aware that the money he needs to continue raiding and parading with them will have to stop anytime soon if his wallet does not automatically fill itself with moolah. It's the most depre…
It's the smile and it's tragic. It's also deeply captivating and morose. It bends into a coil and slithers down her face and wraps around her ears, suffocating, recuperating.
The fundamental idea of her neverending conquest for her insufferable affection of roses speaks highly of the personality behind the enigma. She was born with thorns in her pockets, a sort of defense mechanism prepared for her by Nature in the will that the world is highly judgmental of other beings' own way of living. She has somehow accumulated enough resources to deny allegations of sorcery, not that it matters to her. In the end, it was all part of a widely-construed, mischievous plan. This plan entails many things that certain matters of taboo dare not explain. It is a self-explanatory accusation of man's infinite ambition for the grandeur obscurely hidden underneath the veil of hypocrisy. The roses she bore serve as powerful tools for her own ends. The moment she manages to sell one is …
Were I to love a woman of the purest form,
Hers would have to be impaled with white gems;
For the highest praise the man can give her is
satisfaction above all else
Including that of her guilty pleasures
That even the man once held highly
in regards for himself
What the storm wrought was nothing short of love
For the men now see life in hindsight
However short it may be to danger
The purpose is for longing and ultimately desire
Such things were never made to last
Clare - I
heard a very wonderful news about you, dear Patrice. Is it true? Patrice - True
what? Clare - That
you’re engaged to Miller? Everyone in town is in craze just hearing rumours
about it. Patrice - Well,
he is quite the town’s darling, is he
not? Sometimes I do not understand truly where my place is. Clare - You
will always have a place in mine. Patrice - Clare,
thank you, but you know better. I can’t do anything nowadays without people,
journalists and the likes, clamouring for it. I’m like a media slut, full
frontal nude for every person to see. My life is a difficult mess, love.
Sometimes, I wish these times would just pass me by and then disappear all of a
sudden. Like a night’s dream. You’re a lucky person, you know that? Having that
luxury of freedom to spend when and wherever you want to. I’m no longer that
kind of person. I’m something different, and it’s painful, because part of me
wants to ke…