April 22, 2012
For a long time

For a long time now. For a really really long time now, I haven’t been writing much. Save for a few lines of spoken words.

I always get ideas. But the habit of writing them them down is something I haven’t developed yet. A short fiction. A short novel. A light novel. Not a short story, but a substantial story, that speaks about my fantasies, and my realities. Something that is not forced. Something that naturally flows… Errr, that last one is not it. I just want to be able to test out my ideas, right after I’ve thought of them in passing, and right before I forget them thoughtlessly.

I wonder if I was born with a gift. Or if I do really possess them. I have higher ambitions of creating. Things unimaginable. i want to live after I die. I want to live in a book, and the rest of the world will remember me unknowingly. But such things, such ambitious things do not just happen like that. 

12:47pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5yK6EowW
January 25, 2012
People

I love being with people, but I prefer to be alone. Despite the fact that I love them, my preference is a contradiction.

You see, humans are scary. They vacillate. They change their characters at the split of a second, and at every emotion’s turn, they can destroy and betray you. You never know how many times they talk behind you, nor the number of times they lie at your face.

See, humans are these cruel. They are cunningly courteous, and blatantly rude. Their words would always mean something else. Something hideous, something fatal. You’d only know it when you’re dead ten months after they say trifles to you.

See, I can never, ever, trust humans again. Since then, never again.

2:34pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5yFL-nEf
(Notes: 2)
  
January 25, 2012

Facepalm, Facepalm…

Nah.

OTL. OTL. Is much more like it.

That was fucking foolish.

2:02pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5yFLwmv_
December 16, 2011
Why do I have to feel this.

Why do you have to make me feel so sick of myself when I can be limitless?

10:42pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5yDMfR8W
November 21, 2011
"No matter how hard you writhe and burn your tits,
thou shall never, ever, conform."

— Anonymous

6:13am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5yCDJ6g1
(Notes: 1)
  
July 16, 2011
http://bribery.tumblr.com/post/7687370043

(Source: tush, via thebribery)

4:00pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5y7Aos2c
(Notes: 8,825)
  
April 12, 2011
flavorpill: The stage setting for Andre Chenier (photo via the WSJ) at the Bregenz Festival. Click for more of the world’s most incredible opera stages. 

flavorpill:

The stage setting for Andre Chenier (photo via the WSJ) at the Bregenz Festival. Click for more of the world’s most incredible opera stages. 

10:41pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5y4GQiGj
(Notes: 472)
  
April 5, 2011
Pero sige. Go lang. Go lang. Hay.

8:18am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5y447gna
March 24, 2011
Can this be my future workplace? I’d be more than willing. Or at least give me a client who rallies here. I’ll visit them more regularly. timmiseifert: (via Dezeen » Blog Archive » 56 Leonard Street by Herzog & de Meuron)

Can this be my future workplace? I’d be more than willing. Or at least give me a client who rallies here. I’ll visit them more regularly.

timmiseifert:

(via Dezeen » Blog Archive » 56 Leonard Street by Herzog & de Meuron)

4:00pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5y3oWn80
(Notes: 10,969)
  
March 20, 2011
This blog, anyway, is for the irresponsible things that I would say

For thinking that maybe, humans are just a little bit better than dogs this way: cross breeds and cross breeds of cross breeds produce Tramp dogs, askals. Mixed race and mixed mixed race turn out beautiful by some many fortunate chances. 

Humans are like dogs. They just take, and take, and take. They do not bother to even think about what they do when they take. And they know not when they do it.

I took a lot. And each process is done with a nonchalant behavior of half knowing and knowing and/or not knowing.

I have been taken from for so many times by people who never thought that it was for me, years and years ago. There are no dialectic theories needed to read this. I am living in limbo with no space nor identity to begin with. So I deem it so justified to live for nothing.

I used to not live for nothing. Nobody was born that way. The society we live in only breeds these types of people who live with nothing, and live for nothing. I believe that for a time, I was filled with a euphoria of struggle until one moment I found out that I do not know where I was going. I left the height of that euphoric tenderness to buy some time. Life is long, and you cannot do anything about it.

If I knew the real series, the consequences, I wouldn’t have dived. I would not have fallen in this pit. This pit of burning honor and vanishing dreams. This complete mess where no one would save me and not even the person I trust can ever lift me from here.

The most logical person can always heed to logic, and find more paths to logic, which are not so hard to find. Suppose I am that person, i know of a fallacy that can never be overruled by anything. Supposed I have the power to overrule that fallacy, and that power would entail going deeper into my sorrows that would make it feel such a waste for me to do it all over again. Going deep then back up then deeper and deeper again. 

For being myself, for being me I know I have to leave. For thinking of these things I know the right way to make other people find their own selves is to disappear.

There are ways to get out of it, but most of them would take you straight to the mental hospital instead of dying.

Dying, is a happy thing. Committing suicide will either get people to leave you in peace or crowding over you in condescending ideals of trying to save your life. I never committed suicide. But I have died a lot of times, but not peaceful deaths.

I knew there were times when it felt like I was saved. Long ago, 6 years ago, I thought I was saved. But that new life gave me a new death. And now I am still on that brink.

It’s not my emotions that are getting at me. These are real. Whatever happens to my life every single fucking day — reaching for something that runs, seeing clouds of limbo all around me, without any single attempt from you to save me… 

Call Virginia Woolf. She’s dead, and nobody cares.

I am a body. Material. I cannot disappear without people spending for it, without people experiencing difficulties of seeing and hearing horrible deaths of people around them. I won’t just disappear. I have to be disposed of. I will leave so many marks that I can’t just disappear, I am not one of those short story characters who are obliterated because they are not loved. i either have to be burned or left to decay. Even that power, of simply vanishing and having myself erased from people’s memories, was never allowed for me. 

2:30pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z8Mc5y3jaVnN
(Notes: 1)