i think. therefore, i can't. so the belittled story of my life will soon find its climax. it shall include intentions, in one of the scenes a man will contemplate on the inexistence of something, and eventually that something, we shall see, becomes a someone. the fun will never come, and the predicament well, will still be a predicament.

i can't. therefore, i will. why, of all the consumed human traits, is this person becoming worse than a chauvinist? why, of all the natural tendency, can this person choose the easiest way towards the annoyed self-destruct?

i will. therefore, i suffer. "will" and the past perfect tense - "have suffered." right from the very start, things are not what they seem. the opportunity, which you thought was an opportunity, is in fact a prelude to a failed denouement. the grand celebration will not come in a million years.

i suffer, therefore i reflect. there are a number of ways of becoming a failure.

- the mindless intention of doing something you think is enjoyable; you think that rewards defeat the purpose of intention

- you enjoy what you do, and you don't see any reason why

- you can never learn your lessons from the previous failures

- persistence is the devil inside your mind

- sacrifices are for something, not to be consumed as means for nothing

- that person is not meant for you (why can't you realize that?)

- and lastly, the world that person belongs doesn't deserve someone like you (grow up, dreams aren't part of reality, so please, grow up)


but, like i always say, I KID. i may take it all back. i may.

we don't like giving away, but we crave for giveaways.

i've proven that more often than none. you gotta have your eyes wide open and see how people do packages. the word maybe a bit vague for you, but yes, i made no mistake in using it.

package or packaging is how people relate themselves with other things, other people, and other dimensions of thinking. package is what we show - what the human eye can see and what the intellectual mind can perceive. everything we do is all about giving away packages. the attitude that we use, the kind of person we want other people to see, even the choice of words we take. all of these are parts of a package.

it's like a ribbon tied on your neck, and all the people had to do is to fall in line, glance at it, and try to see if it makes sense getting a feel of that ribbon. THAT's PACKAGING. we're trying to advertise ourselves. we can't live without a package. we are all trying to be one.

like gifts, we live as things under the tree, waiting for a kid to open us up, and to see if he's getting anything on his fancy.

kill the sound. switch off the defeaning silence of the unknown. let me rest in my own disilussionment. for i have seen what might have been, it doesn't look good. so, where to now, my anarchial self? i think, but i can't. i sleep, but it's hopelessness that i see. and soon, such hopelessness turns into desperation - of a kind that makes one put reasoning into oblivion. me a chauvinist as it may seem, i take the liberty of putting my mind where my mouth is.

numbers are vague. they signify value, estimates, figures. but sometimes they mislead to something. something, like, it forces you to believe that we live because of different labels. an imaginary "take this, i'm taking that" written in our forehead. we live by the name. unfortunately, it's not by the principle - the underlying persona of who we really are. we run out of pseudos like pedro, mr. nice guy, the butthole killers, make my day guy, and the all-time fave loser. the irony of it is that none of this has something to do with the real identity. people don't go beyond the surface.

going back to numbers. it's funny because this article has nothing to do with it, other than the fact that i can't help but think in this way. numbers are numbers, and do we really know the context of it all? i guess a better way of saying it is, are making sense? and you find it quite surprising, but you expect the answer to be a NO. coz we're not really making sense. and the world isn't sometimes.

but then again, we take the liberty of being US. i guess that says it all.

imagine you're in a technicolor place, where houses are made of sweets, and cows coated with chocolates. dogs drink from a bucket of java mocha, while cats chase each other for a lick of the "furr-bologna", if you can humor with me for a while.

now try this. imagine you're not imagining.

it's called reality, and it's been out there for quite some time. but who gives a damn. as long as we find gratifications in the almost worn-out subtlety of the moment. who'd be stupid enough to even notice. i would. and as long as my fate jives with my wishes, i would.

things are not what they seem. sometimes, a little risk makes it all worthwhile. subtle perspective number three: done.

it's supposed to be a melodramatic entrance, and yet, you realize, you only deserve a dagger straight to the heart. the dismissal melodramatic storyline, and everything seems fair. try to reason with me: deep shit, melodramatic, me (well, if we pretend i can be part of an analogy, for once, please). what do these things have in common? yes, they all spell the same thing - shit. and keep on repeating that word, coz it's a melody to my ears. the melodious unfortunate tone.

coz then, when this will all settle, i still end up as shit, and people get the last laugh (or so they think).

again, let drabness rule over me, so i can no longer make sense of all things. and let myself fade into the oblivion. or shall we say, unreasoning.

simple yet conflicting. happy yet dramatic. contented, yet empty inside. i think there's no better way of describing it than in that way. the haha smiles are pleasant escapes from the unplesant. and while the world smiles on its own reflection, some live in a life of unknowingness. because the world is, in itself, a conflict and we, people, are but spinning overturns of an enigma.

and every curve of this journey we call fate is a dissilussionment that comes with it. so never take the wrong turn. take it from a person who speaks for his own self.

some things are not meant for someone. and someone is not meant for something. yet, the human mind is itching for the unwanted, while some unfortunate individuals sacrifice a lot of things for total desperation, and ending up losers inside their own battleground. we sweat, we sweat, and we weep. all for the sake of being unreasonable.

although, at one point, the bittersweet symphony isn't bitter, or sweet, at all. but the fact that something's out there makes us feel extra confident to head towards the uncertain. BECAUSE IT IS THERE, and we can't help but go for it. we just can't help it.

Seriously, what is it that people do? Answer this is you can.

Some waste, some spend. Others tend to get things the way they want it, but many fall victim in the hodge podge world. And then you see people trying to be, well, people. Or humans, because it sounds more exclusive. Maybe a fragmented egoistic persona, but it spells the same thing.

Listen, or read - being human isn't being human, if you can get along with the contradiction.