So much so little

So much to write about, so little to say

So much has happened, so little has been done

So much to do, so little desire to do it

So much frustration, so little release

So much of you, so little of me.


The first three pertain to school--> Chinese, LS, Math, Filipino Accounting (Hell)I need to get serious. I need to step up. I need to organize.

Speaking of Organize, I need to clean up all my shit. My quarter of the world is a frikkin war zone. Clean clothes that I haven't put away in the closet, piled up on the chair under my laptop bag, its zippered mouth gaping up at the dusty ceiling, the charging cord hanging out like a lolling tongue. Its plug end is jammed in with the rest of the tangled mass of electronic roots soaking up the juice from the wellspring of my extension cord. Chucks out on the floor, under the chair, under my MWF bag, alongside my recently busted sandals lying sad and defeated in the corner. I have oodles of books (some of which I don't even use any more) and papers scattered across the desk in various subject combinations: A Sci10 handout pressed between the pages of a Chinese book, LS notes on a random page from a ratty green Math notebook,The horrors of Filipino and Accounting mixing in one wrinkled mass of paper printed with the essence of evil itself. Crap of all kinds is pouring out from the desk compartment. While papers and CDs and books and knickknacks and an empty barquillos container are scattered in various states of disarray on the different levels of the shelf that was supposed to help me keep tidy.

Ha.
Nice try though.

I will clean it. for the sake of my sanity I will clean up my pigsty. (I can't be a happy piggy otherwise)

The last 2 pertain to my "pisting inahak nganu ganahan ko nimu" crush (as opposed to your regular or happy crush)

To the person in question: GET OUT OF MY HEAD. Its messed up enough without you in it.

-prosepusher-

I'm not crazy. I already took my pills for today.

Killing time

Killing time. I was going to blog about something else but now that I’ve said it wouldn’t it be cool? Killing time.
To hold time by the neck, hanging him over the edge of the tallest building you can find, squeezing and squeezing until you can see the tears in his eyes and that annoying vein that pops out of your forehead. He’ll kick and he’ll wheeze and you’ll laugh. Laugh out loud, because you’re killing time. And as his lifeless fingers drop from their vain clawing at your fingers and wrists, and as his eyes glaze over you will know that it has finally been done. You can get on with all that truly matters in life since you no longer have the option of killing time. You can no longer kill time because time, is dead.
His head lolls back on his now limp neck and you let go. Let him fall. Watch him fall, turning over and over and blurring in and out of focus, convulsing in some strange time warp like blur, in and out of sight until somehow, all the way from the top of that empty shell of a building, you hear him hit the pavement with the ominous tock of a grandfather clock and what remains disintegrates with the rushing sound of sand flowing through an hourglass. And the winds will come and blow time away, the little bits of him flying, carried on the wind swirling in sad beautiful arcs and dips now and then catching the glint of the dying rays of the six o'clock sunset.

Cheers to spontaneous emo vomit.