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Pause

This is the night where the ideas in my head begin to brew into mundane thoughts of reality and how complex the “simplicity” of things can really be. It is around this time where the caring side of a person’s soul reflects on what really has happened to him or her for the past years of obedience to the system or to his or her own “personal system”. Has he been truthful to what he is, or has she been keeping track of the steps she needs to take in order to reach her ultimate concern. It is those little pauses in between the busy wake life and the tired and rejuvenating rest time that things become heavy, deep, and pretty much a cloud that seems to be distorting the picture and grandeur of what ever it is one has already painted in his mind. What does is all mean? Where is this young soul really going? How is all of that going to work? So many of these common important questions a person has to encounter, and more or less must find a sensible answer to them in order to continue on with the happenings of his or her “simple” existence. It’s like a nightly itch. When you got some remedy, it goes away for a while - eventually getting numb and careless of why the itch started in the first place. It happens a lot. The next day, you wake up not really concerned by it much. You just want to go through the day with whatever it is you are doing that seemed “meaningful”, “sensible”, or “correct” to the many faces that told you so. 

Till the hour of the night comes by once again.

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The Epic Line of the Night

“Tears stream….down your face and aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh-I”

- Coldplay “Fix You”

Damn, natapos rin ang trabaho…for now :D

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RANTS

Today, I didn’t really get to figure out how I’m gonna make tomorrow a special day. I mean sure there are “special” things about tomorrow, but I don’t know if it’s really something special. I don’t know it’s just me.

PERO T*NG*N* NAMAN GRABE

T*NG*N* LANG

Buti na lang, buti na lang may pupuntahan ako bukas. BUTI NA LANG

kasi

T*NG*N* LANG GRABE

T*NG*N* LANG

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0103

There’s always a fire

There’s always a flood

There’s always a tremour

There’s always a hurricane

That brews from the last minute

Of yesterday

That ends with a flatted fifth

Of a major scale