Take a Drink - Quietdrive

I never want to be part of the herd
I guess I was in case you haven’t heard
Maybe you can tell that I can’t stand
The way I want to be the included
I always want to be a mystery
I always knew that two and two made three
I wish away the time I’m living in
I never wanna see the smile again

It’s not for sure
And I’m feeling
Like it’s not for sure
Come on and take a drink with me
Whoaaa whoaaa
I don’t think you can cope with it
I don’t think you can handle it
Whoaaa whoaaa
Forgive my own forgetfulness
And take a drink with me

I wanted to be two, but more than one
I only thought that I could be so dumb
Crush my heart with your new heels
I’d beg for you, but I don’t kneel
I understand that you were living there
It never bothered me that I don’t care
I wonder if I’ll act on my impulse
I wonder if I’ll leave if you say go

Whoa would you take a drink with me
If it’s all you can take
It’ll be okay
If it’s all I can take
Then just put me away

Whoaaa Whoaaa
I don’t think you can cope with it
So take a drink with me

I never want to be part of the herd
I guess I was in case you haven’t heard
I wanna spend some time to make you see
So why not come and take a drink with me?

There's this Door

I was walking through the dorm's halls one night. Noticed the same things. Looked for the same people in the same rooms. Asked some what was the homework. Asked some for answers to the homework.

Then I came across this door. When you walk the halls of the dorm, the doors to people's rooms are always to your right. But then there's this door. Then again, there are two actually, that if you walk the entire square of the hall, they're to your left. No one notices them. One door has a part of it broken so some of us throw garbage inside it. We know it's empty. But then the other one's always locked. No way to look inside.

Logically, there would be nothing inside. It would be just an empty room with a discarded Voice cracker wrapper as random garbage. It would probably be a dusty room, with some cobwebs on the side. No light bulb inside.

But then again, that would be boring as hell now wouldn't it. After reading a few Sandman comics, I get this imaginative state of mind wherein ideas of the hypothetical suddenly pop out everywhere.

That door should have something to make it more mysterious. Maybe, it really is a dark room, with cobwebs on the side... and a corpse in one dark corner. Or it should have some physically impossible doorway to the SHB. Or maybe it should have a turned off cyborg that if you look a little more closely, you'd find out it was the dorm manager. Gasp. Or maybe everyone goes in that room when I'm not looking and play Poker or something. And I'm the butt end of the joke of the secrecy. Or maybe when everyone's asleep, the place morphs into a medium for everyone's dreams all crumpled into one.

Everyone's always told me that when it comes to describing me. What you see is what you get. You'd get my life story by just looking at me. To a certain degree, it is true. I'm about as deep as a puddle, but then there are a select group people out there who know me just about 20,000 leagues deeper. Who just like that door, have taken the time to take a peek inside. Who've seen me take off the masks when there's no one else looking.

Logically, I'm just a door to an empty room. The most amazing thing about me is my doorknob which you could sell off somewhere for a quick buck. What you see is a door, what you get is a door. But then again, screw logic. I'm not an empty room.

Maybe I'll try to open that door next week. I'll bring a lock pick. Take my time.

I wish I knew how to play the Piano

I was listening to a song a while ago. It was a cool song. Killer guitars, solid bass, catchy drums. But then, there was this really cool part of the song where everything fades behind the lyrics. And then it comes, the gentle keyboards behind the singer's voice. As if to amplify the ambiance of the song. The keyboard goes on for some time. It was so soulful, so smooth, so blah. No words to describe it. Then the entire bravado of the song comes when all the instruments play. Ang astig talaga ng music.

That's when it hit me. I wish I knew how to play the piano. or any instrument for that matter. I wish I could outlet all my emotions into one melody of sorts. Just like these musicians.

There's something about music that makes you just want to grab a guitar and go. Sometimes, when I listen to a song, I can help but tap my fingers to the beat. It's as if I want to be the drummer behind the guitar and the bass rocking along. Sometimes, the song just take me by the ear and I just have to sing along. The melody. The rhythm. The beat. It all comes together to make something that is just too amazing for words at times.

I think God just gave a piece of the puzzle called music. He didn't give me the finger of a guitar god. Nor the perfect ears for beat of a drummer. I didn't even get the aura of the bassist. And sadly, I also didn't get the hardwired tuning of a lead singer. Instead, God gave me the pen and paper. He gave me words to live with. There's something about writing that suddenly makes me click and all of a sudden, the pen, the paper, and the words i write on them suddenly become a mirror to myself. I can suddenly express myself on a black sheet of paper.

I guess that's my instrument. They say the pen is mightier than the sword. They didn't say anything about guitars though. So yeah, I'm still wishing I could play an instrument. XD

It's official

It's Sunday again...

Woke up at around 12 today. Still feeling groggy. Played the PSP for the 10th time in 48 hours. It's a good thing I got some homework done today. I even got to do my ComSci blog posts even when my internet's busted. Thank God for Word.
I'm far away from Pisay, here in Valenzuela. Got most of my homework done but then again, there was nothing else to do so yeah. I here my siblings arguing over who gets the last krinkle. it all seems so pointless. Just like the rest of my boring day. My parents are late again, still doing the housework. I'll probably get to the dorm even later... again.

Oh crap, we have mass again. Why do we always go to mass at night. Ba't di nalang kaya pwede sa umaga. Better yet, wag na lang. Bleh ang sabog ng araw ko.

It's official. I hate Sundays at home.

For the Long Absence

As some of you may notice, technically, it's been a while since all my posts. See it's like this. My internet got busted. Turned out, we forgot to pay for it. For the entire month of November, I didn't have internet. To compensate, and to some degree, to also fulfill my Comsci requirements, I made all the preceding blog posts in word with dates stamped on them.

The dates of the next few blog posts will be accurate. That I can assure you.

Why Now?

It's been a while since November 1 and I've only got to go deep in the subject only now.

Through some long random thought process, I got to remember the thoughts I had on that day of cemeteries, candles, prayers, and glowsticks. There was a number of things I noticed during this festivity of the dead.

The prayer were growing more and more quieter. The flower were growing less in size and number. No one seemed to bother anymore about the dead. Frankly, I can't blame them.

The prayers just seemed like a set of repeating patterns of code. Useless, repetitive, meanigless.
The flowers just seemed like an invitation for graverobbers to steal some from your graves. I have some relatives who fixed up some tombstones of some of our dead. It looked great. During the first year. By the next November, it's lighting was pulled out, the chandeliers were stolen, and all the glass was broken. Graverobbing 101. By the next November, the metal was sawed and probably sold to some junkshop, the giant lock we used to keep the place safe was also welded out. You could still see the shard of the welding implement. Now the place has the lowest quality lighting which only turns on during the first week of Novemeber. It's sockets were all pulled out. Technoically, what's to steal if there's nothing there. The metal was allowed to rot. Who would steal rusted iron.

In our efforts to keep our relatives respected, we open ourselves up to theft. To solve the latter, we open ourselves up to the former. It's a cycle of detox just to retox.

If you really want to respect the dead. Give flowers to them on their death bed, when they can still smell the flowers. If you want to pray for them, make it so that they can still hear you. If you want to respect them. Do it while they're still alive. a truckload of tears for the dead is nothing for an ounce of love for the living.

And can someone make sure all the cemeteries are well-protected. The gossips of graverobbers is getting repetitive and boring. Shoot the graverobbers if you will, baka multuhin pa sila kung ipagpatuloy nila un.

Poet Mode... O_O

Impossibleng Maghanda

Ang bawat sulyap, Ang bawat pagkapansin
Ng isang dilag na talo pang prinsesa
Ngiting turing tala sa kagandahan
Mapansin kaya ang bati’t anyaya

Ngunit oras na tumayo siyang paalis
Tumalon ang angking loobing tahimik
Gusto sanang sumigaw at magpapansin
Ngunit ang katawa’y di man lang umimik

Tumayo’t nabigla, harapan ay mutya
Binuksan ang bibig, hinanap salita
Tinandaan ang linyang dati pa alam
Sinarado mata’t, huminga’t humanda

Sana hindi siya mabigla at tumakbo
Mula sa umaasang walang pag-asa
Mula sa mga mumunting wiwikain
Sana’y manatili siya’t makinig muna

Sa ilang daang gustong ipahiwatig
Para sa ilang oras ang hinihiling
Para mawala lang sa segundong ito
Makuha lang ang mga gustong sabihin

Ngunit nabuhol ang mga memoryado
Nasintunado ang mga kanta’t tula
Anlayo nga pala ng iilang metro
Lahat ng paghahanda’y biglang nawala

Iilang salita lamang ang napiga
Mula sa pusong nalaglag nang biglaan
Paalam sa ngayon at habang wala ka
Paano kaya kita malilimutan