If you fill the spaces--the ones carved out and forgotten--if you try to fill them in, what would you fill them with?

When your body was pierced, then you claimed it wasn't yours, and you denied that you felt your blood gushing from the holes, where was your mind?

Where were you when the pile of shit in your life turned into a mountain? When it turned into a volcano of shit that spewed shit when it was heated enough on the inside?

Where was your heart last night?

Where were you?

Maybe one day I'll travel to nowhere in particular. Maybe I'll just keep driving, or flying, or crossing the seas on a sailboat, to nowhere in particular. Anywhere life takes me, wherever life takes me, that's where I'm supposed to be. It's all destined, isn't it? The twists and the turns of our lives? They're all part of our destinies, all part of the huge and grand plan.

They say when it's written in ink, it's an agreement. A contract, if you will--or a promise. If it's on ink, it's there for as long as the document exists. But if our lives are all planned out, where is the proof? Where is the contract--that something we signed so long ago when we agreed to be born into this world? The moment our bodies stepped into the light, our contracts were stamped, and signed, and sealed. "You agree to live on this place you call earth the way it was and is written on this life contract. Sign here." But where the hell is the proof?

Does that mean we take life into our own hands, shape and mold our futures the way we want them to be? Or does that mean we go with the flow and just live?

I, for one, am not fond of the contracts. There's always a catch. I'll do this for you if you do this for me. Repay me lest you be damned to the licks of the inferno. But I say, pity the schedule and the routine. Pity the ones who never seize the day. Carpe diem, damn it. Carpe diem. For as long as we never lose the self-control.

Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero to the end.

Blah blah blah. :)


You know how we all used to have a "hiding place" when we were young? Or, even now, a little space some place that we run to when all hell breaks loose and everything caves in?

And so the walls of your hiding place crumble after they're struck. The bricks you used to build the walls are nothing but red powder and pebbles at your feet. And you stand in the middle of the mess feeling helpless and close to tears. The effort you put in building the hiding place, the blood, sweat, and tears you shed were all put to waste. The walls you built which you thought were strong enough were not strong enough. Now what do you do?

Build more walls or open yourself up to the world? Forget your hiding place or run off some place somewhere you know won't crumble at even the hardest blow? What do you do?

this is life.

Ganun naman talaga kasi ako diba? Go with the flow? Sige, go with the flow lang, kahit ang gusto ko wala na sa usapan. Ayos lang naman. Minsan lang sana marinig niyo ang gusto ko. Kasi di lang naman kayo ang may karapatang magsabi ng gusto niyo. Tangina.

my blood is fucking boiling right now. what if i beat your fucking windshield with a bat?
if only i was there i would've...

- punched your face
- broken your nose
- kicked your balls
- beat your head against the post
- dragged you across the floor by your hair
- threw you on the floor
- stomped on your head
- beat the fucking shit out of the both of you


but your kid was there with you, and i wasn't. good thing my dad didn't do you in. you wouldn't have lived to see daylight ever again.