Unforgettable

Most times, a slob like me, just heats up this crazy butt's on the chair thinking 'bout nothing about. Killing time, wasting those precious seconds away, knowingly that they weren't going to come back again. Sometimes I pick up a book from my loyal shelf and browse for something to jump start the stubborn head of mine.Or listen to tracks that would re-wake my disinterested self.(Browsing eminem, drake, some rock, a little jazz). Or browse the web for some headturning news(nba.com), crazy tips(lifehacker), or watch some korean shifu(youtube). All this just to go away(mentally and emotionally) from the rut that i'm in. (Ok I may be, overblowing everything.. but you know, living in a D bracket of the society, you get the idea).

What's wrong with me? I may have some of the tools to be potentially successful by economics standard. I spit social skills like they were used tissues, dismiss academics like they were a bunch of bully kids not to be taken seriously, suave like an asian double O seven(now this is really narcissistic), and would run under the radar like a torpedo going for the kill. And that may be the problem, I'm still under the radar.

Look this is not about the fame, the thrill of being known, the free whilly notion of having your name be uttered between gasps, that would be nice. But it's not 'bout that. This is... I get it now, this is about the battle within me. I am waging a war within the walls of my medium frame. A battle that at 26 leaves me vulnerable in other aspects of what I can in life. But I feel, that I am not going to loose this one. How? I just realize, that I'm done with whining, I'm done with having to point my fingers to anybody, I'm done with getting up more emotionally tired in the morning than when I slept the night before, I'm done with soft drinks, cigarettes, girls, anime', kobe bryant. I'm done with all of them. They're no longer part of my main system.

A new program is being installed.

A program that doesn't shun those hunger days, those days of being irresponsible, useless, and downright imbecile. A program that would have me embrace every scar that i have in my body and mind, as if they were badges that would identify me when I finally get swallowed up by me.

Now I see: I wan't to live, and take every good and bad from it. I wan't to bleed life, and alas, what everyone wants to be, unforgettable.

Fab Four in the house

Kurt -- introvertly seated nearest to the door. It might be the economics of having to sprint if ever the 'Kumander' calls. The guy is oozing with the coolness of a chimp chilling in the South Pole while the crazy bunch of penguins look forth in astonishment. Just got back from Nabua, and perpetrated our gathering for today( a sacred thing, in the bottle-necked thing).

Nonong -- Beside the bulking kurt, always wide awake listening (or imagining to the rigntone) of that loyal cellphone of his, for a second, where somebody, from 300km + away, might dropped a few bombes of 'hello' or 'wattup!'. Hell his gonna get his. Really.

Malvin -- Hehe, the glue that keeps the mongering alive. Tell that to his 'esmi' and he might chuckle a couple of super spurts. Eh super spurts? Super spurts. His babbling some notable advice to the guy at his left. Hopefully he never listens. Waddyouknow, we speak in crazy martian langauge.

Yours truly -- eh, not that great, but not that sober. Just the right kind of color to the wheel. Eh. Like eh is the center of the world. Thanks to Matador and Redhorse, the night might as well stay perpetual.

My Much Ado About Nothing

Can somebody explain to me that settling for a bottle(1; uno; isa) of smb light is not really a man's thing. But here I am, my lazy keystrokes, inspired by the singularity of the taste of sparkli-ness of a 5% alcohol/volume of a drink(hardly a drink). But hell, the hard humm of a downloaded Rock Ballads of 2009, playing freakishly good in my speakers. It couldn't get any better than this. Believe me.

A few ticks before, I was asking my self what to do to kill time. Poetry or this blog. I've written poetry before with the disillusionment that Poe's spirit is drunk retiring at the tips of my fingertips. Shame. So I settled with my freestyle mumblings in the blogger, knowing nobody's going to ever lay eyes on this bored pages anyway. But it feels good, really, the smb light bubbling down my throat and a song entitled: "Ready when you are", by a band thousands of miles from where I am. So good I am continuing typing, right? Right.

Before these rock ballads, I was listening to the beat of the artistry of Eminem. Got my head banging with the sound paintings of this now very sober artist. "Love the way you lie" keeps playing in my head minutes after, and Rihanna could not get any louder. I give the album a 9.5 out of 10(the highest so far in my imaginary review chart).

Ah. The bottle's out, and the feeling before fleeted away. Might as well finish this post. Adios.