  I forget what my dreams are in the morning. But I could remember waiting for my phone to ring and the queue that all the feelings that have trapped me in the land of memories and aspirations will wash over me and drain away beneath my feet. I know my limitations all to well and I know how hope can disappoint me when I put any weight in it. But it’s always about living on and finding something that we can cling to like a kite tied down to a little hand to keep it aflight against the winds. I’m listening to Better Than Ezra and Jennifer Paige… Its quite a mix for me… one came around my high school when i only dreamed to die in the state of grace and the other during my early years in college when I was confused. I’ve been poking around friendster again and looking at people and wondering how closed and wounded some are. I can almost sense their open bloodied wounds through the web… by how they look in their pictures, what they think they should say… how much effort they place on parts of their lives and who their friends are. I have to admit Friendster is a huge experiment in who people are and what they are or what they are trying to be. I want to ask who they are but I can see some of them are really happy, some really hurt, some shy away like candles overwhelmed by some darkness that tangle them and hide who they really are. I find myself curious and asking why they are like this. Why is their life like this… why do they say such thing… and how can have so many thorns around them that they are so painful to even touch… what more look at. I look back at my life and know that I am one of those anomalies. Everything around me is alien yet familiar in a part of my mind that does not want to cease to slumber.
I haven’t had a chance to really learn about people until being able to see what people want to project to the outside world. I wonder if I say too little in what I write in my profile… Sometimes I feel my life is fleeting and that I wont live past the years I have already gone through. That one day my spirit would be too tired to even let me wake up… I read someone say she lived life as full as a 40 year old… I felt that in one point of my life… when I was so screwed up… Then sympathy kicks in, I begin to understand something I didn’t expect to learn. I look at my close friends and I can see those lights that burn the brightest and know how inevitable their end is.
Those I hold closest to me are those whose disappearing and … and may not be there as another decade passes. Its all coming down like rain on my face as they touch my eyes and trickle down to my mouth. I can taste the salt that hides what may be the only real feeling I will ever feel in my life. If the world is as screwed up as I am then what are the chances my terrible sadness is my greatest comfort.
I wonder sometimes when I walk alone in places that don’t know me and places that have already passed their judgment on me. So many people have been hurt… reality hurts but we don’t blame circumstance. We take it to our breast, walk away where no one else can see us and then we let it all go. We let go of what wounds our hands, that pierces flesh, and freezes our grip tight. When we let go… the warmth of tears fall to comfort us and the sun will rise for us.
The sun will rise to tell use that we are still alive and that it is here for us. When I’m alone walking through the darkened streets of makati, where light beams from passing cars and smoke and the smell rot find their way to my face to choke me with its putrid grip. I remember the dreams where I run alone, running though empty streets and feel the comfort of isolation and never bothering with all the negative feelings that wrack the back of my mind.
I’m clumsy… when I’m clumsy everything slows down to moments and seconds that my mind records and absorbs the way a parched mouth drinks water. Aching detail and madness from the color and movement. Color so painful I would love to take it and break it on the floor and watch my blood flow down from my thin arms and bony fingers. In my dreams I grit my teeth so hard they crack. Blood is in my mouth, mixing with my spit. The feeling you get when the dentist does something bloody and the pain is numbed. I swallow spit and blood. I exhale this stench and imagine my digestive system cannibalizing my blood for nutrition. I see too many painful faces… it freaks me out and I have to say something. This is reality right?!
The truth is not subjective and when I write this it is proof of the truth I feel. A part of the truth that I see and others sense as well. I wish that when I sleep tonight my dreams take me to somewhere I can be free. In the darkness and in the intense isolation of a world void of any other person… I think I will fare well.
Being an experiment… (JARGON FOLLOWS) I want to be a 300cp character, 500cp even. I want to have time to master my swordsmanship… practice with my brothers the art of war and beat each other with padded sticks lose our temper and go mad with adrenaline. Twin silver blades drawn by one man… balthazar with two longblades etched with silver and a prayer to bathhala that he dies in honor and virtue. Gaspar… with his armor in black steel that reflects how shielded his mind and heart is… is far more armed by his piety and devoted nature… The plates of steel try hide the many scars and pains he bears to no avail when one looks into his dark eyes.
He wields his manobo blade a mix of an axe and a scythe that can impale two men in one blow or slice the heads of a crowd with one broad sweep. Melchior has darkness and his cunning… both fueling his mind, body, and spirit. The shadows are his weapons… his keen mind hone them to blades and the gift of magic make them into physical instruments that pierce and gut those that stand in his way… Even if we die… we die with all the courage and intensity of our passions. Enough immeasurable force and tragedy to echo through eternity the last moments of what glory we once had. … If desires are loud enough then maybe reality can mirror them? Of course everything above is crap cause I have a fever and I’m rambling. 
