Never let my guard down.
I thought I was prepared for anything. I guess that's the whole point in this big mess. A single fact that everybody else keep on telling you and that you always overlook. One is never prepared.
I read somewhere before that jealousy - covetousness, if you will - starts young and is deeply rooted in primal emotions. Say a child owns a toy, but neglects it for the other toys around it. Once the ignored toy is taken from him, the child then makes an effort to take it back, despite the fact that it is his least favorite or not the best of the lot. Because one does not know what is taken from him until he realizes what he loses. Or realizes another has taken it from him. Why jealous? Why so jealous; why so Emo on the matter when all should not be?
I couldn't get to fix my life. That is why I created the Mausoleum and the Necropolis. A place where I can question my own sanity in a riotous debate without losing the same sanity that is hanging by a thread. Midlife crisis at such a young age? Or just plain youthful ignorance? I once decided to never believe in fate, or predestination - that I make my own path. And this belief has lead me to construct my own doubts, since the only one to blame is myself; as I just sowed the seeds of my own self-destruction.
Which leads to the only possible and feasible solution: adapt. Keep the damage already done to the minimum levels. Rationalizing without making excuses, understanding the self-made problem without self-pitying, looking for answers to a question so obvious that it just dumbfounds me. I just keep forgetting that I should not blame myself. Once emotions take over, rational thought is thrown straight out the window. Which leads to another age-old question of why? Why should things be complicated, really? Human nature?
Sigmund Freud once said, "Human beings are funny. They long to be with people they love but refuse to admit it openly. Some are afraid to show the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized or worse, returned. But one thing puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be remotely connected with their object of affection even if it slowly kills them from within."
Once again, Doubt. It should be listed as a sin if it reaches this level.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Writer's Block
I have absolutely nothing to type. I just stared at the keyboard for about ten minutes then turned on the telly. Watched the remainder of a crappy movie for about twenty minutes then back to the monitor while the telly buzzed of ads and whatnot...
I just have absolutely nothing to write about. Ironic since I said in a previous post that this blog would serve as a mental exercise. I guess I am out of shape. The day was uneventful, actually, except for random machine-generated text messages I was compelled to forward around. Machine-generated. Heh... Anyways, I was thinking first of typing a few dozen of words about something relevant, started thinking my first sentences, realized that I do not know how to end the whole thing, let alone what goes next.
The creative process starts out big. An idea so profound that a writer cannot wait to get it down on pen and paper... sometimes on toilet paper for lack of material (however, I do make it a habit to carry a pen around, just in case). Then the idea sorts of twists itself into incoherence or something that a writer will eventually realize, "Aw, this is crap." The creative process then starts to dwindle, and saunter ever vaguely downwards. The wasted stage of it is when the writer puts down the pen and does something else. More likely to pull himself away from the crappy work rather than get the ideas together again. And eventually, he gets an idea again - however so rarely.
A lot of writers do not know how or where their story will go next. Will the hero do something really stupid? Will the toaster explode? Will the goldfish turn out to be ancient gods in disguise and finally wreak havoc on an unsuspecting populace? Things like that, really. Then your stuck. Like I am now.
Thirty minutes have passed since the last paragraph, and I just packed my bags. Make that an additional ten minutes since I remembered I forgot to pack some cigarettes since that last bit about the bags. And I am back, munching on some leftover rice cakes and chocolate pudding. Thinking of something to write about gives me the munchies. Right now I'm finishing off the last of leftover pasta I salvaged from the fridge, washing it down with more leftover iced tea from supper earlier this night.
Eversince the necropolis was discovered, I found an interesting storyline. One I thought would rival Tolkien, Gaiman, and even my favorite Dragonlance Books. It is actually silly and even, well, for lack of better words... amateur. But it is MY story! Sadly, I could never get past several pages, and when I get lost, the story re-writes itself and never gets finished. By the way, that last paragraph was thought about after downing a glass of home-brewed tea. I felt the pasta might be hard to digest. So... Mmm... another five or six minutes past since.
Now school-wide politics goes through my head after reading several posts on facebook. Damned social networking sites. They do things to you. Like cast doubts. Bugger. Hmmm... sounds like a good plot turn in my story.
After that last bit, I went over my notes (guess I turned out to be the boyscout they said I was), and placed a reminder where to insert that thing about doubt and among other things, confusion and other matters that just happen to pop up at the wrong time.
SO I guess I had something to write after all. Funny, how this ends relatively well enough that a contented feeling came over me. Or was it the pasta? Now it has been another twenty or so minutes since that last sentence. Juts infer what happened from that short period of time that lapsed. No, your potty-headed minds cannot comprehend it. Something to do with pasta, and the last bit. There... I gave a clue.
Back to the mausoleum it is then. Ciao.
I just have absolutely nothing to write about. Ironic since I said in a previous post that this blog would serve as a mental exercise. I guess I am out of shape. The day was uneventful, actually, except for random machine-generated text messages I was compelled to forward around. Machine-generated. Heh... Anyways, I was thinking first of typing a few dozen of words about something relevant, started thinking my first sentences, realized that I do not know how to end the whole thing, let alone what goes next.
The creative process starts out big. An idea so profound that a writer cannot wait to get it down on pen and paper... sometimes on toilet paper for lack of material (however, I do make it a habit to carry a pen around, just in case). Then the idea sorts of twists itself into incoherence or something that a writer will eventually realize, "Aw, this is crap." The creative process then starts to dwindle, and saunter ever vaguely downwards. The wasted stage of it is when the writer puts down the pen and does something else. More likely to pull himself away from the crappy work rather than get the ideas together again. And eventually, he gets an idea again - however so rarely.
A lot of writers do not know how or where their story will go next. Will the hero do something really stupid? Will the toaster explode? Will the goldfish turn out to be ancient gods in disguise and finally wreak havoc on an unsuspecting populace? Things like that, really. Then your stuck. Like I am now.
Thirty minutes have passed since the last paragraph, and I just packed my bags. Make that an additional ten minutes since I remembered I forgot to pack some cigarettes since that last bit about the bags. And I am back, munching on some leftover rice cakes and chocolate pudding. Thinking of something to write about gives me the munchies. Right now I'm finishing off the last of leftover pasta I salvaged from the fridge, washing it down with more leftover iced tea from supper earlier this night.
Eversince the necropolis was discovered, I found an interesting storyline. One I thought would rival Tolkien, Gaiman, and even my favorite Dragonlance Books. It is actually silly and even, well, for lack of better words... amateur. But it is MY story! Sadly, I could never get past several pages, and when I get lost, the story re-writes itself and never gets finished. By the way, that last paragraph was thought about after downing a glass of home-brewed tea. I felt the pasta might be hard to digest. So... Mmm... another five or six minutes past since.
Now school-wide politics goes through my head after reading several posts on facebook. Damned social networking sites. They do things to you. Like cast doubts. Bugger. Hmmm... sounds like a good plot turn in my story.
After that last bit, I went over my notes (guess I turned out to be the boyscout they said I was), and placed a reminder where to insert that thing about doubt and among other things, confusion and other matters that just happen to pop up at the wrong time.
SO I guess I had something to write after all. Funny, how this ends relatively well enough that a contented feeling came over me. Or was it the pasta? Now it has been another twenty or so minutes since that last sentence. Juts infer what happened from that short period of time that lapsed. No, your potty-headed minds cannot comprehend it. Something to do with pasta, and the last bit. There... I gave a clue.
Back to the mausoleum it is then. Ciao.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
When in doubt...
Doubt.
Damn that word. It gives a fellow a reason not to sleep well, get agitated, anxious, think twice... in short, well... Screwed.
Doubt breeds insecurities, as I recall, and insecurities tend to make one act in all sorts of manners that are far from being smart. You act stupid, and cannot think straight. Unless the doubt is removed.
A college professor once told us in our moral theology class said, "if there's a doubt, remove the doubt." How do you do that? He answered: "Exegesis. Look for the answers. Think."
"How the hell am I supposed to think when I am in a loss?" Now that would seem a funny moment if it weren't so sad. I am at a loss because I have no idea how the hell I am going to get through this year. I am now contemplating the thought of me not doing anything and just let fate decide. Not really choosing heads or tails, but rather flinging the coin and just catching it repeatedly. Until something comes up and points to me, "THERE, DUMBASS!"
But what am I looking for? Of course an answer to the doubt. But then again, what exactly is the answer?
Will I know it when it just pops in front of me? Will it consist in a long, drawn-out affair of contemplation on, say, like the meaning of life or why the toast lands butter-side-down? Or is it just under my nose, and I'm just too dense to notice? Asking for signs would be good, but that type sort of leads one to see what one wants to see, and not what one really needs to see. And that last one just leads to another series of doubts.
Another story is going to unfold in the Necropolis, and I am sure that it will be interesting, and at the same time a sad one. I myself do not know how it will end. Worse thing is, I do not know what will happen next... Individual factions will vie for supremacy, trapping those in between to struggle amidst that very same sea of doubt. About themselves, the side that they chose, or whether the decision they have taken is right. Even deeper there will be internal struggle in one who is caught in his own doubts. Questioning matters of self-identity, integrity, mettle, and heart.
Makes for a good story, if it were not something too close for comfort. Depressingly close, that is.
Doubt.
I hate the word.
Damn that word. It gives a fellow a reason not to sleep well, get agitated, anxious, think twice... in short, well... Screwed.
Doubt breeds insecurities, as I recall, and insecurities tend to make one act in all sorts of manners that are far from being smart. You act stupid, and cannot think straight. Unless the doubt is removed.
A college professor once told us in our moral theology class said, "if there's a doubt, remove the doubt." How do you do that? He answered: "Exegesis. Look for the answers. Think."
"How the hell am I supposed to think when I am in a loss?" Now that would seem a funny moment if it weren't so sad. I am at a loss because I have no idea how the hell I am going to get through this year. I am now contemplating the thought of me not doing anything and just let fate decide. Not really choosing heads or tails, but rather flinging the coin and just catching it repeatedly. Until something comes up and points to me, "THERE, DUMBASS!"
But what am I looking for? Of course an answer to the doubt. But then again, what exactly is the answer?
Will I know it when it just pops in front of me? Will it consist in a long, drawn-out affair of contemplation on, say, like the meaning of life or why the toast lands butter-side-down? Or is it just under my nose, and I'm just too dense to notice? Asking for signs would be good, but that type sort of leads one to see what one wants to see, and not what one really needs to see. And that last one just leads to another series of doubts.
Another story is going to unfold in the Necropolis, and I am sure that it will be interesting, and at the same time a sad one. I myself do not know how it will end. Worse thing is, I do not know what will happen next... Individual factions will vie for supremacy, trapping those in between to struggle amidst that very same sea of doubt. About themselves, the side that they chose, or whether the decision they have taken is right. Even deeper there will be internal struggle in one who is caught in his own doubts. Questioning matters of self-identity, integrity, mettle, and heart.
Makes for a good story, if it were not something too close for comfort. Depressingly close, that is.
Doubt.
I hate the word.
Friday, June 25, 2010
It pays to be mad sometimes.
I don't know how I've managed to open my blog again. Seems like I am so engrossed in surviving law school one day at a time, I forgot how this simple mental exercise will be helpful... in keeping my sanity.
Anyway, the first couple of weeks was uneventful. An assignment here, a grumpy professor there, an even grumpier office staff, and the new policy that just sucked the life out of the whole thing. The sad part is, no matter how long it has been since enrollment day, I haven't gotten over it. It's just pathetic, losing precious and valuable time. As my father said, "Son, you just lost two years of your life."
I can't blame the old man. I can't blame my mother if she rants out all of a sudden after asking me, "How's law school." Everytime I hear that question, I just try to find a way to avoid it. I answer, "Everything's alright." When I really mean is: "It's not fun nor inspiring anymore, my studying is getting me nowhere, I'm having a harder time than the last two years, and above all that, I get depressed when I see my batchmates attend their 4th year classes..." And I might just add: "My choice of profession is senseless."
One has to be a bit mad to enter law school. The glitter and glamour of having the title "ATTY." affixed to your name sounds noble - chivalric - even, or romantic as everyone you know whose never set foot or actually seen the pit you sunk yourself in sees you as the intelligent, honorable man that they will look up to when the time they would need the services of a man well-versed in law. Nay, the prospect of being a lawyer is just 'cool'.
Until you get smacked by reality so hard, you'll say to yourself, "What the hell went inside my head? What the hell did I get myself into?" I am not discouraging anyone who dreams of one day becoming a lawyer. I am just telling things as how I see it. In fact, I am encouraging those who really want it so bad to go for it. The other side of the coin goes to those who just happen to pass the thought by, not because they don't want to be lawyers, they are just there because they think it is... well, cool. Never, ever enter law school unless you really want it. Or at least have a certain degree of insanity. One has to me a bit mad in this field of study. As one of Raymond E. Feist's characters said in his Serpentwar Novels, two things will happen to those who've gone mad: either you kill yourself or you get better. I cannot say whether one of these days, I'll jump off the roof of a really tall building or just cross EDSA and pray to God it will not hurt that much and I wouldn't be a mess. But, I do hope I get better.
This is one of the reasons why I started this 'mental exercise': to keep me anchored and not to drift away to real madness along the way of this crazy enough of a ride. Yes, it takes a little insanity for one to decide to take up law. It pays to be mad. Why? I am still in lawschool, despite the obvious that I resent it and think of it as a chore.
Like I said, one has to be crazy, insane... mad.
Anyway, the first couple of weeks was uneventful. An assignment here, a grumpy professor there, an even grumpier office staff, and the new policy that just sucked the life out of the whole thing. The sad part is, no matter how long it has been since enrollment day, I haven't gotten over it. It's just pathetic, losing precious and valuable time. As my father said, "Son, you just lost two years of your life."
I can't blame the old man. I can't blame my mother if she rants out all of a sudden after asking me, "How's law school." Everytime I hear that question, I just try to find a way to avoid it. I answer, "Everything's alright." When I really mean is: "It's not fun nor inspiring anymore, my studying is getting me nowhere, I'm having a harder time than the last two years, and above all that, I get depressed when I see my batchmates attend their 4th year classes..." And I might just add: "My choice of profession is senseless."
One has to be a bit mad to enter law school. The glitter and glamour of having the title "ATTY." affixed to your name sounds noble - chivalric - even, or romantic as everyone you know whose never set foot or actually seen the pit you sunk yourself in sees you as the intelligent, honorable man that they will look up to when the time they would need the services of a man well-versed in law. Nay, the prospect of being a lawyer is just 'cool'.
Until you get smacked by reality so hard, you'll say to yourself, "What the hell went inside my head? What the hell did I get myself into?" I am not discouraging anyone who dreams of one day becoming a lawyer. I am just telling things as how I see it. In fact, I am encouraging those who really want it so bad to go for it. The other side of the coin goes to those who just happen to pass the thought by, not because they don't want to be lawyers, they are just there because they think it is... well, cool. Never, ever enter law school unless you really want it. Or at least have a certain degree of insanity. One has to me a bit mad in this field of study. As one of Raymond E. Feist's characters said in his Serpentwar Novels, two things will happen to those who've gone mad: either you kill yourself or you get better. I cannot say whether one of these days, I'll jump off the roof of a really tall building or just cross EDSA and pray to God it will not hurt that much and I wouldn't be a mess. But, I do hope I get better.
This is one of the reasons why I started this 'mental exercise': to keep me anchored and not to drift away to real madness along the way of this crazy enough of a ride. Yes, it takes a little insanity for one to decide to take up law. It pays to be mad. Why? I am still in lawschool, despite the obvious that I resent it and think of it as a chore.
Like I said, one has to be crazy, insane... mad.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Anxiety
I'll be back for Manila tomorrow. Despite the one-day stay, I cannot help but feel that this is officially the end of Summer Break. Then before I know it, I'm buried neck-deep in tedious academical pursuits. I have to do it, but it does not mean I have to like it.
I'll miss home. I'll miss my space near the staircase of my Mausoleum... My books will be replaced by the other type of books that, if likened to food, is stale, dry, yet nutritious to the brain. Compared to the tasty morsels I can cook up in the Necropolis, which provide a different kind of nutrition.
Good luck, then.
I'll miss home. I'll miss my space near the staircase of my Mausoleum... My books will be replaced by the other type of books that, if likened to food, is stale, dry, yet nutritious to the brain. Compared to the tasty morsels I can cook up in the Necropolis, which provide a different kind of nutrition.
Good luck, then.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
More from the elections -or- Mudslingers Galore!
After three days... the smoke hasn't cleared at all. Frankly, I can liken it to the mustard or chlorine gas used for trench warfare of WWI. People from a rather popular social networking site (particularly the webpage/fanpage of my hometown) ar at it -- up to their teeth with mudslinging. The other camp says a lot about the winning guy; from honest congratulations coupled with requests to do the best he can for the town; to honest criticism and witty remarks about the previous term albeit not totally bashing; to really dirty MMORPG-like bashing; to sarcastic congratulatory remarks coupled with criticism and bashing. A salad of stuff that is both amusing and uncomfortable to read. The winning side has its own share of posts, replies, comments, and bashings, namely to wit: sarcastic appeals for unity ending with a remark on how the losing side just accept the fact that THEY won; others remarking that the losing side does nothing but complain and criticize; a relative few that genuinely appeals for unity amidst diversity in beliefs; and my favorite bit - those who border on worshipping the incumbent. Just add photographs allegedly showing forbidden election-related activities, and the comment about the current situation of invading non-indemics' lack of hygiene will just make your day as cheeky as mine.
It is just ridiculous but I must accept the fact that this is really a part of the stages of the whole election period. More likened to dissolution and winding up. I myself am linked by blood (mother's side, actually) to the losing camp, but I just try to take it in. Shit happens, like I wrote on my last post; we deal with it. I do not know how or why I should be affected by the whole thing in the first place, but I am. Reading those posts first seemed like good amusement (since there's nothing good on the telly most of the early mornings I just cannot sleep), but after a while of reading and re-reading them, it is just sad. It's so sad I find it hard not to think of not typing my own observations, two cents worth, and criticisms... don't forget the pet peeves. Both on this Blog AND on the aforementioned webpage-slashie-fanpage. I even found a random citizen and obvious supporter of the winners who happen to wear a particular shirt with a "rubbing-it-in-your-face" print on it annoying.
Of course, by now you'll realize I'm blabbering about. It just so happen that all of us have our limits. Bloodlines and lineages aside, whether it be on the losing or the winning teams, we all must choose a side. I tried my best to remain passive and not to care, but failed in that respect, as I see myself still to be on the losing end, since I am with family, and thus finally taken my side.
We win some and lose some. That's just it.
It is just ridiculous but I must accept the fact that this is really a part of the stages of the whole election period. More likened to dissolution and winding up. I myself am linked by blood (mother's side, actually) to the losing camp, but I just try to take it in. Shit happens, like I wrote on my last post; we deal with it. I do not know how or why I should be affected by the whole thing in the first place, but I am. Reading those posts first seemed like good amusement (since there's nothing good on the telly most of the early mornings I just cannot sleep), but after a while of reading and re-reading them, it is just sad. It's so sad I find it hard not to think of not typing my own observations, two cents worth, and criticisms... don't forget the pet peeves. Both on this Blog AND on the aforementioned webpage-slashie-fanpage. I even found a random citizen and obvious supporter of the winners who happen to wear a particular shirt with a "rubbing-it-in-your-face" print on it annoying.
Of course, by now you'll realize I'm blabbering about. It just so happen that all of us have our limits. Bloodlines and lineages aside, whether it be on the losing or the winning teams, we all must choose a side. I tried my best to remain passive and not to care, but failed in that respect, as I see myself still to be on the losing end, since I am with family, and thus finally taken my side.
We win some and lose some. That's just it.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
2010 may 10 national elections
And so it is done. But then again it is not over until the fat lady sings.
The first automated elections in my country was relatively successful. Relative because it still depends upon how one sees it. A success with the new system is always marred by subtle and obvious flaws. As expected, of course, as it is still a new system. Maybe the next time things will go smoothly.
Woke up around 5am. Took a quick shower, a cup of coffee, toast with hotdogs, and one stick of cigarette. Then I was off to vote with my cousins. It always seems to me that the whole shebang is a duty that we all have to fulfill as if we are spec ops. The house is systematic this morning: scheduled shifts, synchronized cooking, and my favorite - who gets to ride with who to the polling precincts.
The elementary school we were to vote is not too shabby. In fact, it brings a sense of comfort and homely feel to the chore... until we get to the lines. Long lines. Good thing we came early so we finished early. My mom felt like she won an award when the infamous machine ate her ballot and did not spit it back. And the rest of the day was spent speculating, sharing jokes, and mostly staying vigilant. I finished half my pack of smokes when my dad decided to turn on the telly and tuned in to a channel that uses "holograms" to bring us up-to-date, hardcore, no bias, no bullshit coverage. But we soon tuned in to another station that corrected the other station that the technology was not holograms and coined it as... I couldn't put my finger on the term but it was better. I just don't like overly celebritized and hyped news correspondence... what are you at? Ratings? Yeeahhh... right, right.
Waiting for the results was not that much of a suspence story. It just came as a surprise who got ranked highest. Forget the statistics. Familiarity and mental conditioning was the order of the day. A lot have been messaging me and posting on social networking sites about this. But what's done is done. It makes others sick to their stomachs, saying that the level of intelligence just shot into a downward spiral; among other profanity coupled with other such metaphors. But me? It just made me laugh. Not that I don't care, I was just plain amused.
Same thing went on at the locals. We had a relative running for mayor. But hey, shit happens, as one of my fraternity former heads posted. Nevertheless, win or lose, service does not stop there. I can just imagine the crap the other guy will give us. The marketplace will suffer the most. As I see it, in a town like mine, the public market where life revolves in complete ecocentricity, must be given priority. Our town does not need hypermarkets... sure it helps, but the ugly thing just made the present traffic problem a whole new thing to be experienced. Now I'm just bashing...
Now I am here, typing away, passively listening to the telly. I'll stay up late as I can and follow the news like I did last time elections were held. Just half an hour ago a cousin told me that his dad was asking him rather in a mood I can just describe as animosity: "Why did you vote for ---? You should have voted for ---!"
"I'm the one voting, dad. Not you." was his reply. I applauded; I just couldn't resist.
The first automated elections in my country was relatively successful. Relative because it still depends upon how one sees it. A success with the new system is always marred by subtle and obvious flaws. As expected, of course, as it is still a new system. Maybe the next time things will go smoothly.
Woke up around 5am. Took a quick shower, a cup of coffee, toast with hotdogs, and one stick of cigarette. Then I was off to vote with my cousins. It always seems to me that the whole shebang is a duty that we all have to fulfill as if we are spec ops. The house is systematic this morning: scheduled shifts, synchronized cooking, and my favorite - who gets to ride with who to the polling precincts.
The elementary school we were to vote is not too shabby. In fact, it brings a sense of comfort and homely feel to the chore... until we get to the lines. Long lines. Good thing we came early so we finished early. My mom felt like she won an award when the infamous machine ate her ballot and did not spit it back. And the rest of the day was spent speculating, sharing jokes, and mostly staying vigilant. I finished half my pack of smokes when my dad decided to turn on the telly and tuned in to a channel that uses "holograms" to bring us up-to-date, hardcore, no bias, no bullshit coverage. But we soon tuned in to another station that corrected the other station that the technology was not holograms and coined it as... I couldn't put my finger on the term but it was better. I just don't like overly celebritized and hyped news correspondence... what are you at? Ratings? Yeeahhh... right, right.
Waiting for the results was not that much of a suspence story. It just came as a surprise who got ranked highest. Forget the statistics. Familiarity and mental conditioning was the order of the day. A lot have been messaging me and posting on social networking sites about this. But what's done is done. It makes others sick to their stomachs, saying that the level of intelligence just shot into a downward spiral; among other profanity coupled with other such metaphors. But me? It just made me laugh. Not that I don't care, I was just plain amused.
Same thing went on at the locals. We had a relative running for mayor. But hey, shit happens, as one of my fraternity former heads posted. Nevertheless, win or lose, service does not stop there. I can just imagine the crap the other guy will give us. The marketplace will suffer the most. As I see it, in a town like mine, the public market where life revolves in complete ecocentricity, must be given priority. Our town does not need hypermarkets... sure it helps, but the ugly thing just made the present traffic problem a whole new thing to be experienced. Now I'm just bashing...
Now I am here, typing away, passively listening to the telly. I'll stay up late as I can and follow the news like I did last time elections were held. Just half an hour ago a cousin told me that his dad was asking him rather in a mood I can just describe as animosity: "Why did you vote for ---? You should have voted for ---!"
"I'm the one voting, dad. Not you." was his reply. I applauded; I just couldn't resist.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Books
I'm obsessive compulsive when it comes to books. Well, at least I think I am.
Everytime I enter a bookstore I must leave the place with at least one book tucked under my arm. Of course I paid for it; I'm no shoplifting klepto. I find it hard to pull away from a title that catches my eye and not think of buying it. I'll spend as much as I can possibly cough out of my wallet, or if I'm with somebody close like a friend or relative, I borrow the money. And if I can't, I feel really bad and it takes a couple of days to get over the feeling. Otherwise, I'll be back in a day or two and finally... I got my book... and then some.
I just love to read. Well, at least leisure reading. Hours of endless enjoyment and pleasure is within my reach with a comfortable chair, a pack of smokes, and a new (or old) book on my lap. When I get tired, I sleep then pick up where I left off upon waking up. A glass of juice or cup of coffee would occassionally add to the ensemble. Add a myriad of characters from different worlds with countles stories to tell and an otherwise dull existence will be more interesting.
I think that is what makes the library in the Mausoleum interesting. As I read page after page the tales become part of the halls. This is where I'm most at home -- inside the Necropolis.
Everytime I enter a bookstore I must leave the place with at least one book tucked under my arm. Of course I paid for it; I'm no shoplifting klepto. I find it hard to pull away from a title that catches my eye and not think of buying it. I'll spend as much as I can possibly cough out of my wallet, or if I'm with somebody close like a friend or relative, I borrow the money. And if I can't, I feel really bad and it takes a couple of days to get over the feeling. Otherwise, I'll be back in a day or two and finally... I got my book... and then some.
I just love to read. Well, at least leisure reading. Hours of endless enjoyment and pleasure is within my reach with a comfortable chair, a pack of smokes, and a new (or old) book on my lap. When I get tired, I sleep then pick up where I left off upon waking up. A glass of juice or cup of coffee would occassionally add to the ensemble. Add a myriad of characters from different worlds with countles stories to tell and an otherwise dull existence will be more interesting.
I think that is what makes the library in the Mausoleum interesting. As I read page after page the tales become part of the halls. This is where I'm most at home -- inside the Necropolis.
Insomniac's Paradise
I just can't sleep. I envy people who close their eyes and they're out like a light and sleep like a log. I may get a couple of hours or minutes of shut eye and then I am awake. It is a luxury that escapes me. My father would insist that I should just go to bed early and close my eyes. Nope. Doesn't work like that for me. All the things they tell me about body clocks and adjusting it is like a monumental task that eludes accomplishment.
I remembered a story my uncle told me. When he attended a doctors' convention a senior surgeon in his 60's invited him to go attend an 'after party' as one may call it, as it was the last day of the convention. My uncle politely turned down the offer, with a flight to catch and all, and he added that he would like to get some sleep before the plane ride going home. The senior laughed and answered, "hey buddy, I'm in my 60's. I've got plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead." My uncle still didn't attend the party, and got his eight hours of shut eye. And when he came home he still took a nap. Up to now he tells me to take a nap or sleep when opportunity to do so comes. "When you get to my age, you'll tell yourself, 'damn, why didn't I sleep as much when I was younger?'" He would always end that sermon of his with that last statement.
Regular or normal nighttime sleep repairs the body. It is also the time when a certain hormone essential for metabolic processes secreted are maximized and efficiently does what it's meant to do. You dream, remember less than a fourth of your dreams; or not remember any at all. You get nightmares and wake up thankful that it is all a dream. Sleep is a luxury that this present day and age is taking for granted. I should know. Come the start of this academic year I'll be back in that cesspool of a city that doesn't sleep, and it is not even New York.
The next time, I am definitely knocking myself out with a pill.
I remembered a story my uncle told me. When he attended a doctors' convention a senior surgeon in his 60's invited him to go attend an 'after party' as one may call it, as it was the last day of the convention. My uncle politely turned down the offer, with a flight to catch and all, and he added that he would like to get some sleep before the plane ride going home. The senior laughed and answered, "hey buddy, I'm in my 60's. I've got plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead." My uncle still didn't attend the party, and got his eight hours of shut eye. And when he came home he still took a nap. Up to now he tells me to take a nap or sleep when opportunity to do so comes. "When you get to my age, you'll tell yourself, 'damn, why didn't I sleep as much when I was younger?'" He would always end that sermon of his with that last statement.
Regular or normal nighttime sleep repairs the body. It is also the time when a certain hormone essential for metabolic processes secreted are maximized and efficiently does what it's meant to do. You dream, remember less than a fourth of your dreams; or not remember any at all. You get nightmares and wake up thankful that it is all a dream. Sleep is a luxury that this present day and age is taking for granted. I should know. Come the start of this academic year I'll be back in that cesspool of a city that doesn't sleep, and it is not even New York.
The next time, I am definitely knocking myself out with a pill.
Welcome to the Necropolis
The City of the Dead.
Never knew why or how I came to choose a title like this. Maybe it came from the back of my mind. A natural fear of dying, perhaps? I myself can never tell. I've always considered myself as a writer, only a frustrated one. I never finished a book, or published anything except in my High School paper. And that was more than seven years ago.
So that is why I am starting this Blog. It is mundane and stereotypical, but I needed to "scratch the itch". I need to keep my mind working especially on idle days like these. Mental exercise.
I'm a big fan of fantasy and science fiction -- Neil Gaiman, Frank Miller, Anne Rice, Star Wars, Dragonlance books, Tolkien, and the works of Raymond Feist have been my favorites.
Maybe that is why I have trouble writing or finishing anything. Too much clutter in my head. As the ancient Martial Arts addage goes: "empty your cup, it is so full you cannot fill it with anything".
Time to clean up the shelves in the library of this mausoleum. The dust and cobwebs in this dark, gloomy hall will be disturbed by the lone reader. Come to the Necropolis, my friend. Look for the Mausoleum. Under the staircase take a quick right and you'll see me... sitting on a dusty chair beside a dying flame of candlelight.
Never knew why or how I came to choose a title like this. Maybe it came from the back of my mind. A natural fear of dying, perhaps? I myself can never tell. I've always considered myself as a writer, only a frustrated one. I never finished a book, or published anything except in my High School paper. And that was more than seven years ago.
So that is why I am starting this Blog. It is mundane and stereotypical, but I needed to "scratch the itch". I need to keep my mind working especially on idle days like these. Mental exercise.
I'm a big fan of fantasy and science fiction -- Neil Gaiman, Frank Miller, Anne Rice, Star Wars, Dragonlance books, Tolkien, and the works of Raymond Feist have been my favorites.
Maybe that is why I have trouble writing or finishing anything. Too much clutter in my head. As the ancient Martial Arts addage goes: "empty your cup, it is so full you cannot fill it with anything".
Time to clean up the shelves in the library of this mausoleum. The dust and cobwebs in this dark, gloomy hall will be disturbed by the lone reader. Come to the Necropolis, my friend. Look for the Mausoleum. Under the staircase take a quick right and you'll see me... sitting on a dusty chair beside a dying flame of candlelight.
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