Free Writing

I have been told that the only way to write well is to simply write. Grammar, spelling, punctuation, that all follows after you actually get the word down on paper. Or in many of our cases, on the screen. However, the lack of ideas or subjects is what keeps many people from even trying to write. Henceforth, I shall write free writing entries once a week, starting this week. The actual day of the week will be sporadic, but I will write an entry each week.

Hook or by crook.

It is not to get readers. It is not to become popular. It is to force me to write.

No, I refuse to let it become a chore. It will be the only exercise my muse will ever get, and it will be good for the both of us.

As always, first thing that pops into my head shall be written down. It may end up as a copy-paste of existing lyrics, or gobbledygook. Whatever it is, it will be my free writing entry.

Now stand back, things are going to get nonsensical...

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Watches, time pieces meant to keep order, instil a sense of logic, remind us that we're late and inform us when our time is up. We rush, day in and day out into the busy streets, not realize, not caring that with each passing second, each flitting nanomoment, we are reaching our destiny.

Man was born so that he may die.

We have no other purpose in life. Placing ourselves in perspective to the universe makes us nothing more than dust on the atoms of a dust particle on an atom of yet another atom.

Great, my wonderful train of thought has just been derailed. Back to the drawing board, or the starting line, whichever, whatever.

Map, mapping, mainstream, mainstay. Google. Goggles. Gink. Gimp. Gleam. Glint. Yup. Hunt. Hut. Hup. Yum. Yup. Quack goes the weasel. Under the house and over the grass. Beyond the lotus blossoms and hydrangeas and hydras. Their venomous, acidic, mulberry breath gets underneath our skin and into our clothes.

The vessels of the blood have vassals worth their weight in gold. I can't even find pocket lint. Drown your sorrows. Cluster and unite. The collective is beautiful and the individual is lonely.

Roses are red, and beautiful by itself. The thorns imply their desire for solitude. If a human were to be akin to a rose, one must first shave their thorns so that one can pluck it. Grasp the stem, and crush the twig between your fingers. Feel the sap ooze from the ruptured veins and onto your skin. Listen as the bloom weeps pollen and latch onto your cells to devour your life.

Glittering gumdrops and jelly belly cakes. The ark is ready, sire.

She was beautiful, as beautiful as a rose. But once brought into a room filled with women similar to her qualities, you can no longer distinguish her from the rest. Together they blend into one solid mass of color that requires careful discernment to distinguish what shape or form they make.

I wish to be a whole. A sentient, congruent, inconspicuous, innoxious whole. Anxiety, gangrene, deranged, demented. Foisting off the responsibilities to another person. The lotus is beautiful in its ability to survive in the least pleasant environments.

Dependency

I would like to make one thing clear: This is one of those entries that I'd appreciate people not to make such a big fuss over. It's nothing okay? Don't go feeling bad about what I wrote because that just makes everything worse. Don't go nagging me into "cheering up" and stuff because I'm trying my damn best to do so without the aid of commercial medicine. And most likely, this is all a result of hormones as I'm nearing my period (TMI?).

I realize one thing: My depression is caused by my dependency on other people. Yes, I admit it, I base my happiness on other people. I base it on what they think of me, on how they talk about me when I'm not around, on what impression I'm giving and etc.

There's one person in particular (who shall remain nameless and don't bother asking if it's you because if you do ask, chances are it's not you) whose mere presence can make or break my mood. Now that's a HUGE burden to bear, which is why I don't let this person know because it will put on a strain on our friendship. And that's not something I want to do to this person. I try to make it a point to remind myself that I have no right to think the way I do, that I shouldn't feel entitled to anything. Big words coming from a spoiled emo-brat.

So now my question is: How do I make myself happy without depending on people? Art certainly is out of the question, as is writing as both forms of expression reminds me of the nameless one. Videogames make me happy while I play them, but once I stop, the sadness slowly creeps in.

There are several nights where I end up crying myself to sleep even though I tell myself I shouldn't be crying. That I have no reason, no right to cry and bemoan my situation as I'm living a pretty good life.

I wish I was Jaded instead of Embittered.

Life would be so much easier that way.

Free Writing

As of late I haven't written a damn thing. Not a single scene, not a single sentence, not a single word. Either I have one huge clog in the brain (which with luck could lead to an aneurism) or the idea well has become completely bone dry. Whichever it is, I might as well try to free-write again. The usual disclaimer that whatever I write past the dashes won't necessarily make sense.

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"Oh great, that song's stuck in my head again. Someone get the crowbar and yank it out of me, please."

"Yank what out?"

"My brain, duh! So you can rinse it with disinfectant and hopefully clean out the filth."

"..."

"What?"

"You'd have to have a brain first for me to yank it out. And even if you did, I'd need a microscope and tweezers."


Pathetic. Retarted. Insanely delicious. Was there a point to all this in the first place? Did you really need to gather the sentient swandive to glow and reach for the outer limits of the panoramic abyss? Genius comes but once in a lifetime, how much for your life then? Swung swum, ring rung, monkey see monkey do, dome Domex.


Stop being such a blithering idiot and HELP ME!


Magparamdam ka naman diyan. Unless you're dead. In which case "DO NOT WANT!"


Oh! Gravity, why can't we seem to keep it together?


I must cease and decist with Love. Hindi ako martyr, TANGA lang ako. Hindi ako bakla, babae akohhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!


Polup, mefenamic acid, ibuprofin, paracetamol biogesic. Anagestic, congestant, bola bola. Haven't we gone through all this before? No, not deja vu, or anything of that sort. Perhaps I'm merely on a continuous loop? Doomed to repeat things over and over, although there's a bug in the system and it makes it so that whatever I spew out is suspiciously different but at the same time the same thing. The rivets int he threshold of the mountain holds the key to the glory of the universe. Spit it out child, we haven't all eon! Algorithms and trigonometry is the poetry of the just sides and just dessert.


Gluten, gratin, grated cheese and custard, picnics and schtrudels and schnizels with noodles. Golden geese wtih slivers and monumental effegies. Britain and broken and bitten by kites, slashed and tattered with not even a fight.


They spoke nary a word as they sat across each other. Twin gems of dark obsidian that shone with a frightening sparkle met two orbs of polished metal that failed to hide the fear lingering in its edges. Magda smiled coyly before she reached out and cut her hand off. The severed limb flew in the air past the other woman, before suddenly twisting in direction. Her fingers stretched out and grabbed a fistful of faded-rust-colored hair and pushed her victim towards her waiting mouth. Her lips closed over objecting cries, silencing the terror and resistance that stubbornly clung to her prey's mind.

Her tongue forced its way past the entrance in search of its counterpart. And once she found it, the other woman ceased struggling.

The victim fell forward, limp as a ragdoll, with only Magda's torso keeping her head from slamming onto the table.

A feral grin, borne from hunger and lust, spread across her lips. Her eyes glittered as they roved appraisingly over her new toy.

"Good girl," Magda crooned, her severed hand snaking down from the woman's hair to the cleft of her breasts. Her ears detected a soft moan, and the apples of her cheeks blossomed red.

Lipstick and Silken Ties

I love to see women in men's clothings, but only if they still look like women. Because if these women ended up looking like men, then it defeats the reason why I like seeing them in the first place. I wonder if it's just me whose first thoughts upon seeing the woman in the Mastercard commercial wearing the suit looks was... well, to quote Paris Hilton (for once) "That's hot."

There's just something about seeing those particular curves contrast with the straight pinstripes that makes me need a fan to cool down.

I always found the notion of women being attracted to women who looked like men as weird. I mean what was the whole point of being attracted to them in the first place? Not condemning it or anything, I'm just more of the idea that the reason why a woman would be attracted to another woman was because... well... she is a woman and looks like a woman. If you were attracted to a woman that looked like a man, why not go for the real thing?

I guess I simply won't understand that. Along with my inability to understand why there are so many yaoi-fangirls. Seriously, why? If you find these lanky, bishie, nancy-bois attractive, and they're from a shounen-ai/yaoi anime/manga what would the point be? You're automatically not a candidate for being paired up with them. I'd understand why fangirls go for bishounen-type guys (though I don't necessarily agree with their tastes) who are hetero since, well, self-insertion is quite rampant in fandoms. But for you to do a self-insertion scenario in yaoi and you're female, you'd just be wasting your time.

Either that or you don't intend to make sense.

Is it the "exclusion" factor that makes yaoi/shounen-ai such a hit? Personally, that's exactly what turns me off. Is it the "forbidden love" between these two men that drives fangirls wild? Maybe, but again, what is their purpose for fangirl-ing?

Is it because "forbidden love" set in a heterosexual situation is so overdone that it's lost whatever edge it had over the other type of love stories? Is the idea of two male bodies grinding against each other in implicit or explicit ways such a turn on for these fangirls? Again, I wouldn't know, I do not fall under that category.

I'm not here to bash or diss yaoi, I'm not here to tell and force fangirls to "change their ways" or any other self-righteous crap like that. If I were, I'd be a hypocrite because I'm a yuri fangirl. I like the sight of two women holding hands, kissing each other, and imagining them doing more intimate stuff.

I am not, however, a fan of the lolita and/or moe style of yuri. For reasons that they either ARE children or are made to RESEMBLE children. Innocence should not be measure by the size of a character's eyes, which is contrary to what the MoE style seems to suggest. The wider the character's eyes the more innocent and more pure they are and vice versa.

Since when did having slender or chinky eyes mean you aren't innocent? Does this mean that Asians of oriental descent aren't innocent? I find that quite offensive >( granted I'm not what you would ever call innocent.

And it seems I've completely gone off-tangent to my original intention for this journal entry. Which is: MY PC IS FINALLY FIXED AND I CAN ONCE AGAIN BE ONLINE AT HOME!