Rise Against

Yeah, that title sounds familiar, doesn't it? No? Oh.

It's been more than half a year already. I have crossed another segment, as to what my previous entry exploits, and I think that it's a rather healthy step towards the future. You see, whenever you jump over something, small or big, there's that tiniest bit of your consciousness that instantly makes you a kid again. Like a fleeting thought, the thing you're trying to skip could probably a chasm. Or an abyss. There's that innate fear of stepping into it and falling to god-knows-where.

Then you land at the other side. You balance yourself and regain momentum with a sigh of relief. You automatically look back and see what you just accomplished. Then and there, you keep walking, again.

This is naturally a lame metaphor, and obviously the point of this all is to keep you bored. I win.

In other news, I'd like to start something like "Project 100" - a 100-day period where I'll list down a number of things I'd like to get over with and do them all as soon as possible. I figured the best way to motivating the self is bullshitting yourself. The world works with shit, because if it's shitless, it's not going to work at all. We need more shit. I mean, we should cover the shit with more shit and pile all shit higher and higher to the point that it stinks beyond heaven.

Hi God. I believe that's your shit. I guess your paradise doesn't have drainage systems. Clean your shit, bro.

LOL

Sarcasm.

First, I haven't finished my work yet. Second, I haven't been able to quit smoking. And third, I haven't posted much for the past few months. But then, I was able to have my hair trimmed. I guess promising something to an inanimate being does not make a good motivation for the fulfillment of such.

Every single time I feel frustrated to the point that I need to vent it all out, I automatically go to this blog and post a new entry. It's just that, whenever I do so, I tend to conceal everything - which actually makes talking to a brick wall quite diplomatic. Indeed, writing thoughts purges the mind of its vulnerabilities except perhaps mind debauchery.

Now that I have put myself to a rather tranquil state, I just want to say to this Cheetos-dedicated blogger site that I've reached the end of a segment (because a line, when mathematically defined, is endless) of my existence and that I've done what I could do for a classic human redemption in the context of social relationships, whatever that may mean.

It's not giving up per se. It's simply turning the tides such that the psychological climate of the human complex bursts a "Hihihi brrrr" once in a while.

Beer

I still haven't gotten myself checked up and my hair cut yet. My right wrist was sprained two days ago. I am now completely broke. It's just funny how people talk about their conditions when...

We can all just sit the fuck down and enjoy some beer.

When Death Is Bored

About a week ago, I got into an accident because of a rather stupid jeepney driver. Or maybe, it's more of the failure of communication between the driver and the passenger. Nonetheless, it is the driver's responsibility to keep all his passengers safe. The one who brought me to my destination last Saturday however was an idiot.

Now that I have recovered quite well enough to walk around the house, mom's convincing me to come to the hospital with her. It's what I originally wanted right after the accident. But now that I have gotten back the usefulness of my mortal body, I'd rather leave it to time for my full recovery. I mean, it's actually practical to go with mom. I just have a thing for hospitals. Hospitals don't scare me. I just don't like going to such and have myself checked when I am back to functionality.

Lastly, we have better things to cure. Well, whatever. Maybe I'd be opting to go with mom later basically because I have to accompany her to her check up. Admittedly, my body still hasn't fully recovered anyway, so might as well grab this opportunity. And in addition, she told me she'd pay for my haircut expenses later. Yes I am going to have a haircut.

God didn't want me dead yet. I could be considered lucky. If the circumstances were perfectly all in place, I'd be dead by now. And if I am, I would not be writing this blog post. Well I am writing this now. So to dear Death, I know you don't give a heads up whenever you're coming to pick up people from this earth. But whenever you're going to pick me up in the future, say hi first.

Social Mechanics

The family, as many teachings claim, is the basic unit or building block of society. Without families, a society cannot be. By definition though, a family is a group of people affiliated with each other because of biological, cultural, marital, and many other relationships. A family is the principal institution for socialization and is essentially the "home" of everyone.

We cannot choose our families as a child. When we are born, we aren't given the chance to choose our parents as we all well know basically because they created us. Assuming that a person grows normally in a normal family, in the context of ideals and media, though still subject to most pains in life, the family continues to be quite functional and the person still finds in himself a sense of development by being around these people.

But when a family goes into dysfunctional mode, it hinders the personal growth of all its members. It becomes unstable and it alters the relationships within the family. Probably the worst consequence of this would be the family's division where each member goes to say "to each his own" in the most extreme extent. The social group of a family then turns from emotional institution into psychological prostitution in the most bizarre of ways.

One screw is all it takes for a building block to loosen up. A family's screw up can easily unscrew that foundation it had stood on maybe for years. The same goes for all the other building blocks. Thus, this structure of society itself ain't shit. Society therefore is the people's mere attempt of making modern living "modern" - and by that we say more organized, disciplined and systematic.

The system cannot work optimally if a one fucking piece doesn't fit into the machine. The verdict: we should all fit inside so that the society can be "operative" and "successful." In order to do so however, all the pieces should possess the same quality of defectiveness. We all need to be slobs of concrete and layers of steel to keep the structure. By fulfilling social standards, we deprive ourselves of truth, but then again, it keeps that machine going...

And the identities dead.

Point is, in this machinery of souls, the system easily produces hate. And when hate arises, the goddamn phenomenon of love finds its course and eventually tampers the machine's reality.

It's Raining

Yesterday was like any other summer day. Aside from being freaking hot, the weather seemed to be too much of a troll. It rained for 15 minutes yesterday afternoon. Then, night turned very humid. Traffic was hell's bitch too. It was my first day of school. Uneventful, may I say, but it does not change the fact that days passing by continually remind me of time.

I've accidentally deleted my novel around 3 weeks ago. I have gotten over it, maybe. I am rewriting a new one and hopefully I can finish it by the end of June. It's not that I'm rushing it. It's more of... a challenge. End of June isn't necessarily a deadline. I'd rather call it an optimal time for publishing a piece. Don't ask me why, I don't know either.

Anyway, I'm logging off in 10 minutes. I've got to get to school early today before the rain turns into asshole mode. I'm going to put up more stuff these days.

Answer

I found mine around 12:30 am of May 5, 2011. I have been seeking for it, and there it was. At the end of this road though, I've learned something valuable.

I should get that novel going.