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 being the last.
There was hardly any parting goodbyes. When I came back they took it away, including the smile on my face. sinking my heart upwards to my throat.
The only biggest thing that bothers me is that it's never going to needful hands. But to dependent noses.
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 week when the successor finally arrives lest I be buried in priorities.
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 away. There was no doubt awkward tension. The pressure manifests itself steadily, but his wits were never compromised. Its vile nature conglobates and forms unified strength, something positive for a change, a chance to make something out of nothing. His effort will not come to waste.
And he speaks. With his nondescript voice he introduces himself and injects humour. He manages to make some giggle, as if he cares. Then for another second turns his sight to the woman that captures his thoughts, as her smile reaches at ears' length. That was all he ever wanted.
The night was young but his sweat and tears imminent from the glow of happiness. It forms a nasty streak of panic. Imagine a sauna suit meant for a summer night's crisp shadows. The friendship was blooming for something special, and he knew he couldn't have done it without taking action.
Six years later and his memories begin to fade. The shadows of that night's shadows were no more than deceptive. His life is no longer his. In fact, it was never his to begin with. The girl now lingers in his thought like a distant movie from an absquatulating grave of memories. She now finds solace in the farthest corners of the smallest continent with a man he barely even knew. Nothing became of that smile of hers, although their friendship were already made concrete in their sentimental hearts. She carves a legacy for herself, goes on as if nothing ever happened, and he is left to wonder whether a chance like his ever come twice. His life is in complete disarray. Her guidance would be tremendously life-changing, if only for news of her where and whatabouts and her joyous hellos.
He recalls of a certain scrapbook that was shown to him by this girl, about a time where he could no longer understand what it is he began to feel, as he was clearly taken aback by the woman's emergent kindness.
Alas, memories are self-delusionary. Her friendship was merely masking her own bipolar self-esteem. His presence made it all the more better. He goes along for the ride, ready and willing to die at her heart's private real estate.
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...
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 desperation and poverty. None of which I chose for myself.
I would not have expected someone like my father to condone of such immorality much to my understanding of his principled nature but I guess life takes its toll when you least expect it, when you're grasping at the edge of a fall trying to save your loved ones in return for your own life. Your identity, your nature, your persona, all negated, banished into obscurity due to desperation, and in that moment you question even your own self, wondering how I could atone for my misgivings. This is one of those sad instances where you partake in fate's perverted twists, as it makes fun of your frailty, stepping at your so-called life, as it squishes it remorselessly with its hard-clenched fists. It is not that I didn't expect this at all, it's just that it's so absurd that it hurts knowing it's really going to happen. Love is not a factor, only 'practicality' is the answer. That is what they all say. That is what I would've said, were I in someone else's shoes talking to myself at this very moment.
I awakened, groggy and hurt, to answer the phone. I've been aware of the calls even in my sleep. I knew it was going to be either from my mother or father, but I did not expect it would be this soon. I checked on it to find three missed calls from my mother. I called back to know -- something important must be at stake, I first thought. Then she answered, slowly lulled me into her voice, as if begging, being nice -- which isn't really her nature, funnily enough. Carefully she explained it to me, how finances have plagued their stay in this country, how she could no longer manage the future, how everything is slowly drifting apart. I listened to her without uttering a single word. It's all pointless if I would, her mind was flailing around, and I wouldn't want to add more to her fragile physiology. They have all convinced themselves of a desperate move, as if to sell me to a trade hoping to give me a better future -- only who can truly tell?
Her demands was that we talk more about it as a group face-to-face, but I hesitated and said probably not soon. Obviously, I was disappointed, but it was the fever talking and I told her about my condition, how something so lame started from a tooth issue. She dropped the phone and I went back to sleep, hoping this time that my condition wouldn't interrupt it. But it did. Not only once, but numerous times. I was in and out of the bathroom trying to alleviate it without knowing what to do. I spat, I gargled, I drank. Went back to rest every opportunity I could, with the book, The Chronicles of Amber, beside me to help me sleep and give me better inputs for an excellent idea. Thankfully it helped managed to give me intermittent sleep, and whenever I would wake up halfway, I'd just continue reading before I pass out once again.
I dreamt of a wedding with the concept of true love. Women I loved from the past strolling in my thoughts, and I was in the middle of it and aware. I did not seem to mind at all knowing fully well it is all just a dream. I wouldn't allow it to carry me away. That would only wake me up with more misery. So I just basked in the happy thought knowing there are no repercussions. It made me calm and without realising it, I slept for an uninterrupted seven hours. I could no longer recall the things in that dream but I knew I dreamt it. The swollen gum in my mouth gladly shrunk, and my fever dissipating along with the awful demand for bed-rolling. The sun was up and shining brightly than I've ever expected for somewhere in London. For something so extravagant, I suddenly knew my answer to that dilemma. It saddens me to think how awfully dramatic I would have been if I stayed longer but somehow I urge myself that this is the right move. I have long lost my religious vows, but personally my views of matrimony remain sacred. I would have to go against everything I know once more in order to prove a point.
The answer came to me naturally and I knew what to tell them all when the right moment comes. It's difficult for me to pull a smile due to the swelling but I'm able to manage just that right now.
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 depressing factor he despised. He knows that friends are hard to come by without some form of finance. Bree does almost the same thing, but he's too hyper to worry about others. His attention lies solely to the comeuppance of himself among others. His only worries at that fateful night is to become the best there is at what he plays. His character, an assassin, is not popular amongst the others although he is well-deserved as a supporting role. The main attack group they have is Jules and Jay's barbarians. Rand's necromancer seem to serve as filler for another supporting cast but the sheer annoyance of using his skills are simply cringe-worthy. It just annoyingly fills the entire screen full of uber-weakling army of skeletons that he revived from many corpses loitering around. It didn't work well with Andariel. One wave of her poison cloud skill and every single of them faded from whence it came. That wasn't the last of Rand's tricks, to be honest. He still has his bone spear skill that he infamously used to humiliate Ferdinand's edited character paladin. Everyone loved to mock Rand and his necromancer because of the frailty of his defenses. One melee clash with the barbarians and he'd be done for, laughing and dancing around him and celebrating victory over his fallen ear. He was able to trick Ferdinand's paladin by staying on safe grounds whilst his iron golem did the hilarious antics for him. His bodyguard has a mind of its own, and if he so ever gets out would be futile, but he has nothing to lose for anyway. It was a hacked hero in the first place. Hilarity only ensues if he's able to kill Ferdinand's paladin without bothering to click the mouse. So while Ferdinand and the barbarians guard the outskirts of the camp hoping to lay a hilarious smackdown on Rand's necromancer, the iron golem works out his magic, with its bulky mass and heavy exterior, swiftly glides over to the other side of the screen and safeguards his master from harm, does the dirty work for him, sometimes to no avail. If others are well-aware of his presence, they quickly make do with his act and further embarrasses Rand and his skills. Dexter even joins in on the fun and includes his character in making fun of Rand. The funny thing was when Ferdinand was busy concocting something in his horadric cube, most likely full rejuvenation potions, and without even noticing that his character off-screen is being slowly decimated and flattened to the ground by the golem. The alter-ego, the man behind the character, screams in heavenly anger in his seat to everyone's amazement and to the others' extreme laugh tripping. It was his crowning achievement, his ear, which he kept on his cube for all the days his floppy disk remained living. Before the end of the night, everyone went to the server desktop to transfer savedatas and poke fun at each other more, reinforcing the bonding they shared; Rand still worrying about finances, everyone about to eat at a restaurant, awkwardness ensues, and a whole another story to reminisce that lasted through the ages.
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 a moment she spreads the contagion, airborne and guided by the flower's own mysterious biology. At any point in day that she is able to sell ten of these, ten men will discover for themselves firsthand the anomaly she possesses, leaving not a single trace of evidence afterwards. The disease merely masks the on-going suffering. The chronic suffering itself is persistent. The more we see the numbers of these fauna dwindling down, the more she goes to work her magic. It is then you witness that tragic, broken smile, her lower lip tucked beneath his upper teeth, her brows form a radiant separation, all calm, tender and dream-like in sequences.
The mystery begins to unravel one way or the other, as people grow more anxious and curious, as more news of travesty emerge from the papers. It takes one to step up to change the balance. A man, it just has to be. For a broken smile can only be redeemed by one with the courage and skillset to quell the woman's murderous desire for love.
Clare - I
heard a very wonderful news about you, dear Patrice. Is it true?
Patrice - True
Clare - That
you’re engaged to Miller? Everyone in town is in craze just hearing rumours
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 keep the old self the way it should be, not what it would be. All that
is wishful thinking now.
Clare - Now,
now. Surely you don’t mean those, dear Patrice. Others would kill just to have
a slice of your pie, including me even. But you know how much I love you to
know that seeing you happy is enough to content my envy. I will reach you one
day, too, and together we shall be the most envied women in all of the world.
Patrice - Be
careful what you wish for, Clare, for it is not heaven that you seek. We are no
longer talking about playing and spending an afternoon in the park, lounging
with the boys, eating, flirting, dreaming, kidding, fooling around. It’s hard
when that instance comes to you and that realisation that you’re already
grown-up. I don’t know about you but it hit me unexpectedly like a wall of
bricks falling down on me, and then I had to climb up and stare at the sky all
different. I can clearly tell that at that moment the sky was about to bring
heavy rains, for the clouds were cumulonimbus, and only people with an ounce bit
of wisdom would achieve that instinct, because it is an instinct learned over
the course of life.
Clare - Funny
you say that. I learned about clouds when I was eight.