rhyme
v e r s u s
reason

Determine your latitude. Then the longtitude. Then smoke.
Thursday. 07.26.01 : 01:15 a.m.

I'm really psyched, if not tired. Done with several writings that I haven't been able to finish in months. They only need to be edited and they're ready to rock. Yeeees. I've lugged them over in a huge bulky folder to be edited. My editor commented that one was quite sacreligious, the other was too yellow (she meant cowardly, I suppose. Or maybe even cow-ish, which I would prefer it to be), the other was too metallic. She waved the "sacreligious" one infront of my face, asking me what I was aiming for when I wrote this.

How would I know what my aim was, and if I achieved it? I just wanted to sound Camus-ish. You know. Short sentences. It wasn't the content, it was the length of sentences I focused on. Take this for example: My wounds. They throb. I reach the orgasm of belief... it is too much, so much that stigmata is reached. I am too full. I am spinning on my cross. If anyone knows my writing and how I write, my sentences are long, rambling, mostly stupid and senseless. Mostly non-thematic.

But hey, I'm extremely proud of this piece no matter what anyone says. It's not autobiographical or Kala-like at all. I feel differently about it. It doenst' even have a title. That's what I like about it. I feel very detached from it. I wrote it like I was hypnotized, I swear it. Strange. I'm not as religious as I would like to be (though I extremely enjoy the poetry and mistakes of different religions other than and especially of my own, respectively), so it can't be sacreligious.

Religion, after all, has always been something personal to me. I think that God, or whatever/whoever/whichever it is that you consider to be God, is something very personal. Like your favorite, most comfortable pair of blue jeans. I also believe that your God adjusts to you, and not the other way around. That you're alike in so many ways. No superiors. Sigh. I have a lot of qualms about this. But basically that's it... religion is personal, not mass-produced/induced. It's just a good metaphor. Sometimes, that's the best thing.

On a lighter note.
On Spongebob Square Pants today:

Squidword to Spongebob: Your prediction for today: deja vu. A weird feeling that something has already happened before. Oh, and another predication for today: deja vu. A weird feeling that something has already happened before...

Before I forget: a site to check out: Bohemian Ink. Really great one. Kala gone. Over and out.

If you want to go crab...
(read it in the paper, tell me what it's all about...)
Tuesday, July 24, 2001 : 04:59 p.m.

If you're feeling crabby today, jeest like me, here's a crab image for you. I specified the word CRAB in big white letters whilst we forget. I love solid colours, these days. I have no time, or patience, for hues and mixing.

Originally I'd written something about giraffes and long necks. But then, I lost everything I wrote. Ever wonder where all the lost mails go? Probably in some little portion in the sky. A lot of undelivered words.

Missing so much it almost hurts. Where are people? I thought of this as I trudged back home yesterday. Here's something, an email I just received, now that I've mentioned the word trudge:

question: You always trudge your feet. Look at your shoes, the soles are worn-out, you just bought them last October. Why can't you lift your feet a good distance from the ground, when you walk?

answer: Blame gravity, not me.

As I said: crabby.

Billy Corgan's words, over and over in my mind. Dead eyes, dead eyes, are you just like me? Are my eyes dead? I may need resuscitation. Faster, before everything melts into oblivion. Good thing my sister's almost a doctor. The only problem is that they call her the "Death Resident". She visited home briefly yesterday, complaining that all the patients that went through her died. "They're all dying anyway, I don't know why I have to be the one on the receiving end." It scares me how casually she speaks of her patients. "Her name is Michelle, she's 19 and has fungus growing in her brain. She's only got a few days more to live. And so young too. Someone pass the ice cream?" I am glum as hell, when she speaks like this. I know that doctors are supposed to have emotional distance from their patients. They need emotional distance. What can I say? The hospital has robbed doctors of verbal feelings. They are good at hiding, now. Med school prepares you for that. It hardens the heart.

One of the reasons why I could never become a doctor. I almost became a biologist, then. Horrible visions.

Dead eyes, dead eyes, are you just like me?

Damn, I've got an exciting Idea which could be a medical breakthrough!!! What if Death were a doctor?

The Madman Controlling the Aircondition
Satuday, July 21, 2001 : 11:12 a.m.


Life is good. Woke up after a long 10-hour sleep (yes, so goooood) to see sun and wind. Nature is cooperative this morning.

A note on my mirror told me that everyone's gone out and won't be coming back till late tonight. Ye-eees, an empty house all to myself. Since then, I've been milking it for all its worth. Stretched my own canvas, did an 18x24 oil, and the perfume of linseed is all over my fingers once again (I can only paint when people aren't around to smell the paint, and I don't have a studio). And I'm listening to Weezer (the first album, it's classic!) as loudly as possible. And later I'll curl up to finish my newly-purchased Pablo Neruda. I've splurged and bought myself seven books at yesterday's booksale. I don't care much. They are of dire importance!

Last night I unwittingly stumbled into a free film showing at the UP Film Center. The movie was La Nuit de Varennes, the arrest of the King and bidding farewell to an era. We would have enjoyed it if not for the madman who set the airconditioning dial to extremely humanly-intolerable high. We almost died of frostbite in the cinema. Funnily enough, the only sentence that stuck to me was "Look inside the box, see distance and perspective before your eyes". A nice sentence. That was at the very start of the movie, before my eyesight failed me because of the cold (it was subtitled, of course).

So I'm off, all is well, be thankful for the sky and the sun and shooting stars and wishes and dreams and empty houses and 10-hours of sleep and thoughts and non-thought, train rides to Paris (have a safe journey, Julien! ;-)), and soon, adventures into the great Unknown. Mani padme hum for now. Padma siddhi om for now. Wow.

Even in this anechoic chamber...
Friday, July 20, 2001 : 03:33 p.m.