there is a grief in my sleep
a hush of my pending resolutions
i live because i should
now i want a biting push.
i thank the days that i am able to follow my schedule. that i am able to read what i should be reading. that i call the macintosh users. that i impart something to the applicants. that i am able to take a bath and feel the water linger in my pores.
i cry because i can't thank enough the people who understand. i weep when they show a bit of empathy. i hide when i lose the people i used to have by my side. and i sob alone because it makes me really sad.
it is really sad to be sad and to even realize that you are sad.
the need to feel inhuman and robotic
appeals to a heart clustered by itself
a heart clenched by a pool of no-choice
and individuals who refuse to stretch their feet
even just a foot
(i couldn't blame them)
wanted: a buffer. a conversationalist of the senseless and the senseful. the humanizer if not the grounder. a god needs a mudblood to reach the heights of humanity. or just the state of becoming a human. i miss that. i find it hard to tell my stories to someone who knows me all too well and to someone who knows nothing and most especially to someone who only knows about himself. because ive learned to be a listener. maybe not the perfect one but just someone who could listen a whole lot more than talk about what i am and what i have. maybe what i do and what others do.
if i would be given the chance to hook up the wanted i hope i would be given the chance. because i cry. because i am busy.
"...ooohhhh no baby please don't go. ooohhh no i just want you to stay. you'll take away the biggest part of me."
drifting
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
purple prose
whew!
ive learned about purple prose and it makes me sick. it made me realize how petty i was, am and has become. purple prose is used to describe passages, or sometimes entire literary works, written in prose so overly extravagant, ornate or flowery as to break the flow and draw attention to itself.. that is (what i think) i am doing.
i have also this feeling that many young bloggers (not writers) are unconsciously writing in purple prose because of a certain stage of concealment, exploration and self definition that goes with the idea of writing indirectly bordering to becoming ostentacious. i don't mean that it is that negative, maybe it is, i don't know for sure. It's just that there is a certain whip of pretense that goes with purple prose and that is what makes me sick.
anyway, this purple prose thingy was a thought, actually a speculation of what became a recent addiction. don't you feel the need to act profound, sound profound and write profound because in the life that we live there is such a thing as the "ungraspable" which makes you feel, sound and write in the ungraspable. all im saying is that it is not entirely the young bloggers, (okay) writers fault if she writes in such a way. i believe it's a stage. a stage of asking the essence of everything. i don't know but everyday i don't fail to think about how come we are alive, i am alive for that matter, breathing, loving, sexing whatever. i mean in the end we all die. do you get what i mean. people have tried to define life since time immemorial yet it remains unfathomable. hmmmmm. enough.
this is i think an exact example of a purple prose.
ive learned about purple prose and it makes me sick. it made me realize how petty i was, am and has become. purple prose is used to describe passages, or sometimes entire literary works, written in prose so overly extravagant, ornate or flowery as to break the flow and draw attention to itself.. that is (what i think) i am doing.
i have also this feeling that many young bloggers (not writers) are unconsciously writing in purple prose because of a certain stage of concealment, exploration and self definition that goes with the idea of writing indirectly bordering to becoming ostentacious. i don't mean that it is that negative, maybe it is, i don't know for sure. It's just that there is a certain whip of pretense that goes with purple prose and that is what makes me sick.
anyway, this purple prose thingy was a thought, actually a speculation of what became a recent addiction. don't you feel the need to act profound, sound profound and write profound because in the life that we live there is such a thing as the "ungraspable" which makes you feel, sound and write in the ungraspable. all im saying is that it is not entirely the young bloggers, (okay) writers fault if she writes in such a way. i believe it's a stage. a stage of asking the essence of everything. i don't know but everyday i don't fail to think about how come we are alive, i am alive for that matter, breathing, loving, sexing whatever. i mean in the end we all die. do you get what i mean. people have tried to define life since time immemorial yet it remains unfathomable. hmmmmm. enough.
this is i think an exact example of a purple prose.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
depressives
Larry: She doesn't want to be happy.
Dan: Everybody wants to be happy.
Larry: Depressives don't. They want to be unhappy to confirm they're depressed. If they were happy they couldn't be depressed anymore. They'd have to go out into the world and live. Which can be depressing.
i can only agree so much. the sad thing about depression is that it's addictive. it is a choice that seems to be inevitable. what i mean is that we succumb to lie deep in our sheets (or shits) and protect ourselves from losing its juices and urges to go on living. when you start to realize that you are a depressive, despite the facade of being the funniest person in the crowd, makes you long for melancholy every minute of your life. it's like inflicting pain in the most excruciating parts of oneself. unimaginable.
Dan: Everybody wants to be happy.
Larry: Depressives don't. They want to be unhappy to confirm they're depressed. If they were happy they couldn't be depressed anymore. They'd have to go out into the world and live. Which can be depressing.
i can only agree so much. the sad thing about depression is that it's addictive. it is a choice that seems to be inevitable. what i mean is that we succumb to lie deep in our sheets (or shits) and protect ourselves from losing its juices and urges to go on living. when you start to realize that you are a depressive, despite the facade of being the funniest person in the crowd, makes you long for melancholy every minute of your life. it's like inflicting pain in the most excruciating parts of oneself. unimaginable.
closer
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