I saw a lady from the Environmental Sanitation Center pause, drop her broom and run across the street. I thought she was going to let herself get run over by the FX that drove by. I also walked past her dustpan. It was full of plastic items.

I applaud her for leaving.

* * *

( Free-writing juju )

* * *

Let us now resume watching Malcolm in the Middle for a distraction to this allergic reaction. Goodbye Virginia Woolf/probably-Jeff-Buckley-too weekend.

( Free-writing )

* * *

MSN with Jason who is as normal as I am italicized:

medical procedures are violations of human rights
therefore we have all been violated
oui
let us go rot now
rot!
maybe we can give to the needy
or to the speedy
or to the bleedy
or to the weary
and maybe to the cows
let's give them eyebrows
the eyebrows will help them wag their bells
oh! that would be swell!
but to the farmers it shall be hell
and that we can tell
to the intent seashell
where animals dwell
and where adam and eve fell
now they are forgotten
( that is the way with men )

A spherical old lady sat on me. She was going to "Bu-LA-can." I am headed for self-imposed obscurity resulting in that occurrence. Some girl in a skin-tight, white shirt had five black ballpens of the same type (pretty maids all in a row) in her black bag. Maybe she believes they are weapons too, because they can be. She is monochromatic. The zebra and the panda will be proud. Men are staring at the TV screen, where Marian Rivera and her twirling hips captivate their fantasies. Say "hip-notize." That entertainer's dance moves are enough to merge Oreos with vanilla ice cream. Tada. McFlurry for everyone. A woman who was in a strawberry-colored shirt had strawberry-colored nails and strawberry-colored sandals. I never thought it possible to recreate a pseudo-fruit in so many ways. But another by-product of the un-berry enters the vehicle. This guy wearing a headband smelled of strawberry lip gloss - sweet and sticky but sickening. There's something peculiar about scented lip gloss, as if they've forced nature to donate its odor. Then they add the sparkle. Where does that come from? The devil. Or shredded glass cows.

Ah, and there is that particular detachment through monikers. Before this 6-month paid torment ends, I will probably have developed MPD/DID/DSM. Take your pick, system.

"Hey, I saw a dead banana on the way to work today."
"Did you slip?"
"No."
"Did you step on it?"
"I would have. But I didn't."
"What did you do?"
"I uhh stared at it."
"Oh. So that's how it died."
"Not really. It was already rotting when I found it."
"Then that means you made it worse?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
"Congratulations."
"Right."
"Of course."
"You're not getting me a celebratory fruit basket?"
"There aren't any bananas left."
"I only wanted the basket."

* * *

You see, the masking tape isn't working for the voices' lips. That is, assuming that they have lipsteethmolarsgumsjaws. No one said that's how the third planet began, but now it needs a shave. One voice then posed a question, how will it end how how will it end? It's not time yet, no. When will it be? When when when? When it ceases to surprise her, that is when. She found the dead banana this morning. Who knows what else she'll discover? Oh maybe it's the one-eyed cat or or maybe the one with a tree four five stump for a tail. Why must she marvel at incompleteness, at seemingly unfinished beings? It's the lackabsenceimperfection part by part that drew her in pull they yelled pull! Is she looking to fill in the gaps between teeth? Terminate the space between fingers by making a fist? No no, that's never it. Her eyes are merely bored and her brain is looking for reasons to bear the blame. Will you tell me if she found them? Okay okay.

* * *

P.S. Mabango ang bubbles ng Green Tea handwash. Tapos yung nag-debut nung Sabado mukhang masaya - hindi siya naka-heels tulad namin e, naka-sneakers siya. JaMel = OTP.

Mighty tree of the Yule, how we wish to topple you. Our hands will turn you over and make you stand on your tip: the halo over your angel's skull. Your gold adornments have been replaced with scarlet - the ribbons, the orbs, embellished with iron-rich liquor. Your strings don't strangle you but they lasso and they pull, and the candy-colored lights hit the scars of those celebrating around you. Those afar, they are who you feedclotheshelter. You could nourish us all but you chose them. Now we will shove as hard as we can until you are the symbol of our battle.

* * *

Hm. And Halloween isn't even over yet.

In this past weekend, I found out about four people who died. FOUR DEAD PEOPLE. IN. ONE. WEEKEND. But then again, I don't even know them personally. One is a neighbor, another is my grandmother's sister-in-law's somebody. I suppose I should feel a bit of remorse, but how can I? I don't even have any idea how these people look like. Does that matter? They're all rotting corpses now. :|

Anyway, it was in this vein that I embarked on a Wikipedia spree (yes, yes it may not be reliable but it gets me through the humdrums of the doldrum drama). The small-world phenomenon, the shrinking world, things like that. I stumbled upon the concept of Six Degrees of Separation again, and of course the Bacon Number.

After thinking that a Bacon Number is a digit you use to identify strips of meat, I recalled where I read about it before. On TV.com, where I get information on the actors I'm supposed to write profiles for. Apparently a Bacon Number is assigned to celebrities who've been in films with Kevin Bacon. Hneh. That's it. I was hoping for Dadaist piggies whose identities have been reduced to numerals.

There's also the Erdos Number, which I mistakenly read as Eros Number. You can only guess how many ideas occurred to me at the time. :|

* * *


( Free writing or not or bleh )

( Free-writing (because it's probably better to have something something something) )

* * *

Licking a crayon results in a water-resistant tongue.

Yes it is and yes you be.

* * *

( There are 30 minutes left until log-off time and we are scheduled for a short exercise of free-writing. )

^-^

Wubs and metaphysical hugs to Akire, Carlo, Pao, Jill and Ivan.
♥ (asexual yis hahaha)

This entry is sponsored by the Accounting Office, Window Gee.

* * *

LASARET. Guess who got hugged by a priest.

* * *

( (pseudo) Free-writing )

* * *

Despite that,
*glee*

^-^

♥

I took this photo by chance as Mr. Gaiman passed by in front of me after the program. Hee.

Me: MR. GAIMAAAAAN!
My finger: *accidentally pushes the clicky button*
Mr. Gaiman: Hel- *gets blinded by the camera flash interrupted by the camera flash in the middle of saying Hello*
Me: Oops.
Mr. Gaiman: *is ushered away by the horde of Manchurian Army soldiers security guards*

Oh lordy I hope I didn't scare/blind/traumatize him. He looked so tired I wanted to give him a hug. And polvoron. He didn't get his polvoron from me. I wrote him a letter saying I would give him polvoron because Nina gave me her polvoron wrapper. I stuck the polvoron wrapper on the letter and promised Mr. Gaiman I would give him some. I couldn't throw it at him; he might've gotten hurt. He already looked harassed. No polvoron then. Sad.

But happy indeed for the afternoon, breathing the same dust particles as Mr. Gaiman, along with Jill and Carlo. We also saw Maphie, Bong and Kat. People in Fully Booked Serendra were buying Mr. Gaiman's books like it was their Apocalypse Survival Kits. Haha. There were also stacks of signed copies of the Beowulf screenplay (or script?). No wonder Mr. Gaiman looked less like his picture on the back of his books. They're manipulating him and demanding people to pay for his presence! Gaaaah evilllll

I bought Orhan Pamuk's "My Name is Red" to celebrate the day, instead of purchasing "Expeditions," the 1st Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards Anthology. Haha. Guh my savings are diminishing and it's almost Christmas (haha right). Fully Booked Serendra is one place I would like to live in, unless they build a better bookstore. Hooray anyway. Happy indeed.

Oh, and Neia said: "Ate, I like Neil Gailman. I like Neil Gailman's hair; it's kulot."

Yes, Mr. Gaiman gets an extra 'L' in his name from my sister, who ended up eating the polvoron I was to give him. Haha.


* * *

( 'Free'-writing exercise you'll probably see and ponder on. )

( Free writing exercise )

* * *

Sundays are an eyesore gah.

Conversations with my mother:
[My dad was complaining about something and we were hearing it from the other room. He was like that the whole day.]
My mom: *frustrated, I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-him face*
Me: Grah. Ayoko talaga sa lalaki.
My mom: TAMA! Hay nako, anak. WAG NA!
Me: [pause] I love you, mama.

That has got to be yesterday's most peculiarly significant moment. My friends know my mother as someone who wants me to denounce all my asexual principles, and this sudden turnaround is wow. Just WOW. Hahaha. This deserves a happy face: [insert happy face here].


* * *

My parents want to enroll my sister in the KUM('_')N (koo-mon) program. I attended the orientation with my mom yesterday and found out that their mission-vision is World Peace. I would erm bake them cookies if they achieve that. Hnr.

Greetings, fellow Earth-dwellers. You owe me your guts.



Ah well. I needed something different to start this post with, rather than "I'm done with my final exams ZOMG! It's SUMMMERRRRRR!"

Haha. That's so lame.



Hmpf. I'm probably going to take the same exam when I repeat that class next year anyway. I drew so much blanks on that that I could swear I created a three-dimensional answer to the monopolist graph. Foreign exchange, where did you enter the picture?!


Other than that, I gained P150 today because of the class experiments' monetary incentive. Haha. It was from our professor's own pocket too. Woot. What a wonderful-la-dee-da Friday the 13th it is.



There's still my pending revision though. I can't feel summer-y yet (when did that ever happen anyway?), and I don't really want to feel summer-y. Haha. I'm going to bum around again, like a preparation for what I'd probably end up as after graduation. Damn. Such high hopes.

So come Sunday/Deadline, I'd still be burning our electric bill by staying up late trying to fix my story. I don't see much promise in it though, since the scenes I keep thinking about can't seem to tie themselves together. Grar. Let's work that out. Get me some rope and some aspirin.

Advil? Haha. No.
Anvil = way better.



* * *


My brain requires me to squeeze out some remnants of the "selective distribution policy" first. I seem to have lost control of my tools today. I was really headache-y after the exam. Hahaha.

( Dante's Inferno Test and Metasymbology: My Sun Card: The Ace of Spades )


* * *

( Free writing exercise for the cogs and screws in my brain )



Wow. That actually made me feel better. (o_o)

. . .