a little love poem

Someone who hates scrabble.

Someone who sleeps on her back near an open window in winter, her breath rolling like a river into night.

Someone who wants me to wake her in the morning by reading ee cummings' love poems, giving a small candle-flicker of a smile just before opening her eyes.

Someone who appreciates the architecture of churches, but refuses to step inside.

Someone who has hands fit to hold hurt sparrows and robins.

Someone who threw out an her Alice Cooper records when she found out he loves to golf.

Someone who would swerve a new car into the ditch to avoid a frog crossing the road.

Someone who would tattoo my name on her arm in writing the same colour as her skin, so it would appear slowly from nowhere when she suntanned, people thinking her blood was telling secrets to the world of its own accord.

Someone who learned Spanish to read Marquez, or Lorca, or Neruda.

Someone whose hips whisper their own stories of the serpent and the garden of Eden.

Someone who bites the back of my neck like a leopardess carrying her kitten to safety.

Someone who'll make me wait for her to come out of the shower.

Someone whose smallest movements amaze me: her hair falling over her eyes, the soft swell of her hips when she ties down, a deep sigh when she sleeps.

Someone who maps every ticklish part of my body and then uses her knowledge strictly for evil.

Someone who paints our bodies black and makes love with me under the stars.

Someone who burns through my chest like that first shot of scotch.

Someone whose tongue, if we're kept apart too long, would nervously trace my face into the roof of her mouth.

Someone who practises her signature with her wrong hand, in case of accidents or a sudden arrest.

Someone whose fingrnails smell faintly of her hair.

Someone who reminds me of the soft tickle of fog.

Someone who would rush outside in the middle of the night, setting a spider onto the lawn, never admitting it's because she hates rain.

Someone who understands the unforgivable importance of ravens.

Someone wholl flicker into my lips with the ferocity of a dragonfly.

Someone who will open, thick, pungent and vital, like a Mapplethorpe flower.

Someone who has searched for me like a near-sighted woman groping for her glasses, stubbing her toes and swearing in Yiddish.

Someone who would understand why Steve and Dave and Paul and I sat in a bar staring at the mirror behind us for twenty minutes because somebody had asked what would happen if you looked at yourself in a mirror using a pair of binoculars until we had to admit the question was too big for us, and we turned back to the safe optics of the beer bottle.

Someone who would just happen to cut my wrist shortly after reading Ondaatje's "The Time Around Scars. "

Someone who'll stare softly but straight at me, smiling reassuringly when I tell her how my 73 year old Medieval lit prof looked up from Chaucer, stared blankly over the class's heads and said that even the happiest marriage will end in death.

Someone who understands the efficiency inherent in suicide.

Someone who knows that love can be the thickest slice of hell we’ll ever taste.

Someone who would dance with me by the sides of highways.

~andy weaver

hoping to find love like this soon...

my legend...

if only all people would think like paulo coelho, then this world would be a better place...

"what is a personal calling? it is God's blessing, it is the path that God chose for you here on earth. whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we are following our legend. however, we don't all have the courage to confront our own dream.

"why?

"there are four obstacles. first: we are told from childhood onward that everything we want to do is impossible. we grow up with this idea, and as years accumulate, so too do the layers of prejudice, fear and guilt. there comes a time when our personal calling is so deeply buried in our soul as to be invisible. but it is still there.

"if we have the courage to disinter dream, we are then faced by the second obstacle: love. we know what we want to do, but are afraid of hurting those around us by abandoning everything in order to pursue the dream. we do not realize that love is just a further impetus, not something that will prevent us from going forward. we do not realize that those who genuinely wish us well want us to be happy and are prepared to accompany us on our journey.

"once we have accepted that love is a stimulus, we come up against the third obstacle: fear of the defeats we will meet on the path. we who fight for our dream suffer far more when it doesn't work out, because we cannot fall back on the old excuse" "oh well, i didn't really want it anyway." we do want it and know that we have staked everything on it and that the path of the personal calling is no easier than any other path, except that our whole heart is in their journey. then, we warriors of light must be prepared to have patience in difficult times and to know that the universe in conspiring in our favor, even though we may not understand how.

"i ask myself: are defeats necessary?

"well, necessary or not, they happen. when we first begin fighting for our dream, we have no experience and make many mistakes. the secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.

"so, why is it so important to live our personal calling if we are only going to suffer more than other people?

"because, once we have overcome the defeats - and we always do - we are filled by a greater sense of euphoria and confidence. in the silence of our hearts, we know we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. we start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. intense, unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from the bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives.

"having disinterred our dream, having used the power of love to nurture it and spent many years living with the scars, we suddenly notice that what we always wanted is there, waiting for us, perhaps the very next day. then comes the fourth obstacle: the fear of realizing the dream for which we fought all our lives.

"oscar wilde said: "each man kills the thing he loves." and it's true. the mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. we look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. we forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far. i have known people who, when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal - when it was only a step away.

"this is the most dangerous of the obstacles because it has a kind of saintly aura about it: renouncing joy and conquest. but if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the soul of the world, and you understand why you are here."

~paulo coelho
rio de janeiro
nov2002
translated by margaret jull costa
quoted from "the alchemist"

memo to myself

this is my head talking to my heart...

you really have to stop looking. eventually you'll read something that would tear you apart and you won't have anybody to blame but yourself just because you couldn't help it. make it stop.

serves me right for waiting... again

break my heart again for old times sake?




C'mon, c'mon
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
You lay down with angels
To feel yourself again
You've got everything you need
Under your thick skin
I know where you're going
I know where you've been
When it comes to playin' games
You will always win o

[CHORUS:]
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake

You can't see your shadow
Reaching for the sky
Lay your head down on my bed
Please don't ask me why
Why am I leaving
Why don't I know
Something deep inside me
Is forcing me to go
You say you need me
But you can't tell me no
When I ask you to stop me baby
You just let me go

C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake

You took the best of me
And threw it away
Too bad the rest of me
Still wants you to stay
Want you to stay
You say you need me
But you can't tell me no
When I ask you to stop me baby
You just let me go
You just let me go

C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake
C'mon, c'mon c'mon
Break my heart again
For old times sake


***
the agony of waiting is all i have to know you are still here

lutong macau

***i figured i resume my writing to forget everything else. i hope this works***

"with cebu pacific air zero fares, it's time everyone flies"
(again, i should be getting paid for saying that)

05.17.08 all ron wanted was to eat portuguese egg tarts. plus he was in a big fight with raphael so he had to do something distracting. as for me, it was time i see those aadshfahsfd pandas aside from the frustration i felt last 2003 when i went to hong-kong and had to stay inside the house for two months because of that dang crazy chicken disease and SARS. alas! when we checked cebu pacific, zero fares were on and we just had to book a trip. i tagged my sister and her boylet along so it was less cool... but that's a different story... (they were actually cool, i just felt like saying the former, tsk!)

08.17.08 and so we baptized the newly opened ninoy aquino international airport terminal 3. god knows i should have kissed the floors of that bodega. first time to travel abroad out of whim. this should be great...


day 1: arriving at macau at night was a blast. we rounded the casinos, lost my sister and her boylet because apparently their walking fits that of a couple enjoying the cobblestone roads in paris and ron and i are strutting bitches in new york, and finally felt the pang of hunger. we thought we'd enjoy a nice portuguese dinner but everything was closed so we had to settle for junk...



we went back to our temporary abode and decided the day is not yet over at 2am. ron and i had to go out and get ourselves lost.



by 3am, we were so tired but we just had to take a few souvenir snapshots of whatever olympic air we can sniff from macau.



*meme na*

day 2: we woke up early just because we can. i realized the more you sleep while on vacation, the more you waste time (i know, it's common sense *boohoo*) so we headed out to ruínas de são paulo to catch the morning sun.


and ron finally realized his dreams of eating those portuguese egg tarts. i personally found pork buns to be pagkaing tamad. kumbaga, you are so lazy to cook rice so you just buy pan de sal and stuff the dang meat in. all in all, it was a great gastronomic experience.



next stop was shopping at leal de senado...


...and we saw this nice looking alley somewhere there. its too much of an insult to ignore
avenida de almeida ribeiro


meliza and ryan (i just realized i haven't mentioned their names yet, sorry naman) decided to leave for hongkong earlier so ron and i were left out to explore the famous venetian hotel which is reportedly the largest single structure hotel building in asia and the third largest building in the world.

*ripped from this site

it was amusing to see people wasting their money in casinos, but the most fun part was seeing the gondolas. it almost felt like i was in italy.



having exhausted ourselves, we decided to go back to leal de senado and have a decent chinese meal.



ahhh... my heart can't possibly be lost because everywhere i turn, i see the two-tailed siren telling me there's already too much blood in my caffeine circulation. thus we wasted the night over coffee and cigarettes.


after coffee, we roamed the streets to cap our last night in macau.



*meme na uli*

day 3: i'd say macau is a good place if you have money to burn. it's a small place. so small that we saw the guy we were sitting next to on the plane in one of the 711's near the place we stayed. i mean, what are the freaking odds?

now we're off to see the PANDAS!!!
afldkhoadutajgkmgdjadgj;ajg'p;agpafgkmndfkajgpajgpnafdg

an attempt to forget

i hope this keeps me busy in the meantime...


*sheesh*

if you ever wonder what it is i hear at night before i go to sleep...

... or the sound i hear the first thing i open my eyes in the morning...


THE SOUND OF ONE HEART BREAKING
By Karen Kunawicz

What is the sound of one heart breaking? It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night, the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin, it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring, the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat.

It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you, the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye," it's the soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting, plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.

It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors in the world shutting and closing in your face at the same time, of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you, the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love you" burning holes in you, the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.

The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor, the caress of sharpened kitchen knives on skin, the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear. It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there, of winged creatures dying and falling on a city pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.


***
i thought this death will be over quickly. but i am, after all this time, still here... at the end of all things.

if you forget me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.


~pablo neruda

last dance

this is the part when i get to realize that i am alone in facing what lies ahead.
no more shoulder to cry on, no more words of comfort.
i will cry my cries alone, and finally come face to face with my demons.
perhaps only then i can sleep better at night...

Good morning, on July 7

Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

ever thine
ever mine
ever ours

~Ludwig Van Beethoven 1827

your silence, and perhaps mine...

"when you come down, nothing seems worth saying, nothing at all. you find the nothingness wrapping you up, like a sound. non-being. you can't keep it up, of course. the world rushes in soon enough. what shuts you up, i think, the sight you've had of perfection: why speak if you can't manage perfect thoughts, perfect sentences? it feels like a betrayal of what you've been through. but it fades, you accept that certain compromises, closures, are required if you're to continue."

~allie in salman rushdie's "the satanic verses"

sometimes it happens

(sometimes it happens and we can't do anything about it. maybe we can do something but we refuse to act against circumstances. but who are we to judge one's persons decisions? we hurt, and pray that we get to move on soon... but we can never hide a brooding emptiness that sits on our navel, eating us whole. hopeful and faithful to survive death. praying for the serenity to emerge from drowning)


And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.

And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.

And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.

And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.

So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.

-- Brian Patten

comforting sadness

i am a woman
to which i owe that i know
myself more that anyone else

that i can dine with Happiness
and spend afternoons
sipping coffee consumed by
my longing and completeness

and most of all

to comfort Sadness the only way i know how

alone
at last
again

for i will give up everything
just to have your presence replace
my fingers that enter the
folds of my soul

and to drown you when i
spread my limbs to the ends of the
world
as i hang on to your teeth when

you come
when i come
if i come

come as i till the soil of my earth
come as you stroke the branch that
tips
to the
ground

perhaps this is the only way we know
how to make love

no love,
this IS the only way we CAN
make love

curse the distance
curse the cold screen
curse the absence that lingers
in the cables that attempt to
connect us
the empty room that affirms
we are apart

but you come
and i come

and somehow, Sadness has been
comforted today

till tomorrow love,
till tomorrow

it is finished

Consummatum est -- "It is finished."
Now I move on.
~ailil alvarez

so this is how it feels like to lose a long distance relationship...

it is as painful as losing that feeling of touch when we never touched at all,
as painful as realizing that promises uttered will never be kept and made and fulfilled and realized, never at all.

inside and out

rediscovered imagini... i just thought i'd share. more of these when i'm finished with the other tests. :D

freefall

i know there's more to this friendship than college and lit crit and white white pad paper and big mac and fake pashmina shawls and poets with psychological issues.

there's just this big thing called "adult life" ahead of us. i'm sure we'll get by.

ljubavi moja

we are, at this moment, living in a dream.

ja sam zaljubljen...

this is what happens when i'm happy in love...

...sappy words...
i like it.
*blushes*



thanks to nicoffeinejunkie for the design and everything

kindred soul

to my best friend of 12 years, cheers to us!

we always dance to the same tunes and sing the same songs. we were never wrong about love after all.

to life, to love, and to tattoos!

the heaviest of burdens

this is the pain of falling apart. we are what we make of ourselves and i am "here" because i was "there" at some point in time. i am stronger and more willing to love.

"the heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground… the heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become." ~the unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera

i would never have known lightness till i learned how to bear the immenseness of your body on mine for every borrowed time, the weight of your stare piercing through me, dismissing my body and acknowledging my soul that is your soul when we finally drown inside a paper cup, the pressure of your hands against my breasts… that feeling of intimacy, my feeling of being owned and subdued and owned, the violence of your thrusts, your way of claiming my piece of earth, the tightness of your grip as we untangle our tangled legs from last night’s caress, the fierceness of words we stabbed on each other’s backs when we drew our last breaths to say the dreadful goodbye, the abruptness of forever when promises are drawn out of our mouths and spit to the ground.

if only we could hold the years and keep it in our pockets, i will never reach in for change.

the weight of the world is so much easier to bear than the lightness of the tangible "us".

somewhere between your smile and your frown

this is the poem i made for anna during our training. miss you much ate...

somewhere between your smile and your frown are the days we may have caused each other pain without even knowing, not noticing the spaces between your fingers and mine are getting wider, crevices moving farther apart, the fissures more pronounced, so well defined. so much so that when sunlight hits our bodies, one can make out your shadow and mine, together, but separated by some sadness inconceivable to the naked eye.

somewhere between my eyelashes and your chest are the tears shed when we can no longer meet halfway in closing circles. i would run around its side and you would always be at the center and we no longer come to the understanding of things.

somewhere between the flicker of lights you come home late, quiet as a whisper, afraid to startle sleep in my eyes. but i know that the closer you lay beside me, the farther you move away from my embrace.

somewhere between our breakfast of coffee and cigarettes is the smoke that clouds our conversations, boiling in heat then later catching fire. and we burn and burn till we turn into embers that turn to ashes. we have burned our love out so that when i look into your face i know… that somewhere between your smile and your frown, we have fallen apart.

~living vicariously, may 22 2006

something for the ex

it's been almost 3 years since the first heartbreak and i just feel like posting this. it may well be one of the few decent "poems" i've written. so sue me...

HE is how i would have love. …quiet,
like his breath brushing my cheeks and
his fingers between my fingers, eyes
closed. …warm, like seeing him sleep
close to my breast, naked and divine,
exquisitely tangled in my
embrace. …blue, constant as the
promise made between the sky and the
sea to kiss at the horizon, our promise
of forever. HE is how i would have
love. my eyes reflected in his, even
when asleep.

we had good times... but i moved on.

revisited

i just thought i'd start off with the books i read, have been reading, and will probably read when i feel indifferent, or cranky at life in general. i always recommend books to my students and i'm glad i'd catch them after a day or two leafing through the books that inspire people and change lives. now, i'm not too big on self-help and do-it-or-fail-in-life texts. i just think that all beings are unique and while a particular outlook may change one's life considerably, it may not work for others. on the other hand, i love novels that inspire. the lessons are subtly imposed. it is by the process of literary exposition that readers learn of the morals these stories want to impart. or maybe i just hate being taught what to do.
i remember receiving a christmas gift from my coordinator from one of the schools i used to work in. it was "the purpose driven life." i was thankful, at the same time offended. i never thought anybody would think that i haven't found my purpose. well, maybe i haven't yet... but i'll get there. and i will get life's lessons through my mistakes and achievements and of course, vicarious experiences.


"the alchemist" by paolo coelho
"when your heart truly desires something, the whole universe conspires to help you achieve that thing, simply because it is a desire that originated from the soul of the world."

"…at that moment, it seemed to him that time stood still and the Soul of the World surged within him. whe he looked into her dark eyes, and saw that her lips were poised between laugh and silence, he learned the most important part of the language that all the world spoke- the language that everyone on earth was capable of understanding in their heart. it was love. something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. something that exerted the same force whenever two eyes met, as had theirs here at the well. she smiled, and that was certainy an omen- the omen he had been waiting, whithout even knowing he was, for all his life. the omen he had sought to find with his sheep and in his books, in the crystals and in the silence of the desert.

"it was the pure Language of the World. it required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. what the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. he was more certain of it than of anything in the world. he had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. but maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. because, when you know that language, it’s easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether its in the middle of the desert or in some great city. and when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. there is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. it is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. without such love, one’s dreams would have no meaning."

"the name of the rose" by umberto eco

"…the truth is that I “saw” the girl, I saw her in the
branches of the bare tree that stirred lightly when a benumbed sparrow flew to
seek refuge there; I saw her in the eyes of the heifers that come out of the
bard, and I heard her in the bleating of the sheep that crossed my erratic
path. It was as if all creation spoke to me of her, and I desired to see her
again, true, but I was also prepared to accept the idea of never seeing her
again, and of never lying again with her, provided that I could savor the joy
that filled me that morning, and have her always near even if she were to be,
and for eternity, distant. It was, now I am trying to understand, as if- just
as the universe is surely like a book written by the finger of God, in which
everything speaks to us of the immense goodness of its Creator, in which every
creature is description and mirror of life and death, in which the humblest
rose becomes a gloss of our terrestrial progress- everything, in other words,
only of the face I had hardly glimpsed in the aromatic shadows of the kitchen.
I dwelled on these fantasies because I said to myself that if the whole world
is destined to speak to me of the power, goodness, and wisdom of the Creator,
and if that morning the whole world spoke to me of the girl, who was
nevertheless a chapter in the great book of creation, a verse of the great
psalm chanted by the cosmos- I said to myself that if this occurred, it could
only be a part of the great theopantic design that sustains the universe,
arranged like a lyre, miracle of consonance and harmony. As if intoxicated, I
then enjoyed her presence in the things I saw, and, desiring her in them, with
the sight of them I was sated.

"And yet I felt a kind of sorrow, because at the same time I
suffered from an absence, though I was happy with the many ghosts of a
presence…

"…now I know that good is cause of love and that which is
good is defined by knowledge, and you can only love what you have learned is
good , whereas I had, indeed, learned that the girl was the good of the
irascible appetite, but the evil of the will. But I was in the grip of so many
and such conflicting emotions, because what I felt was like the holiest love
just as the doctors describe it: it produced in me that ecstasy in which lover
and beloved want the same thing, and for her I felt I felt jealous, but not by
the evil kind, condemned by Paul in I Corinthians, but that which Dionysius
speaks of in the “The Divine Names” whereby God is also called jealous because
of the great love He feels for all creation. I was jealous in the way in which,
for the angelic doctor, jealousy is motus in amatum, the jealousy of
friendship, which inspires us to move against all that harms the beloved."~Adso of Melk

...more when i feel like it...

i've been meaning to do this...

i've been meaning to do this since i learned how to rant but my adhd keeps getting in the way. i've started so many blogs already and i would always leave them when i find other things to keep me busy. but now, im serious. i want this.

so help me God.



i hope this ain't the last post...