Too Much Light
I’ve always been fascinated by city lights.
But tonight, they suffocate me. I feel the neon signs closing in on me. Mocking me. The street lamps are glowing. I am not. The building windows are brightly sneering at me. Towering over me.
As I walk away from him, I painfully count every step, silently wishing upon the stars. “Please, don’t let him let me go.”
But there are no stars. You can’t see the stars here in the city. There’s too much light.
Tonight, I despise the city lights. They obscure my view of the sky. They radiate life and energy. Such an appropriate ridicule for what I feel inside.
Dead and empty.
Tonight, I belong to the shadows.
First Conversations :)
You entered a crowded room without knowing a single familiar face. You sat in the corner fo a few minutes hoping someone would approach you and offer you a drink, at least. When no one came, you went to the bar and ordered something, a vodka maybe. Then you looked at your glass as if it was the most interesting thing around.
You were alone. And in a sea of strangers, you wanted to make a connection with someone. But you were afraid to make eye contact because it would lead to small talk. And admit it, first conversations are the hardest.
After an hour of talking to yourself and silently mocking everyone else in that room, someone finally sat on the chair next to yours and ordered the same drink you ordered. You looked at him (yes, he was a guy!) and smiled faintly. He smiled back too. You were dying to ask his name or comment on the music or say anything, in fact, just to talk to him. But he seemed to be looking around the room and waiting for someone, so you just kept your mouth shut, except when you were taking a shot.
Just when you were about to leave, he asked, “So, you were alone too, huh?” You smiled at the thought that he was looking around not to search for his pimp but to see if you were with someone. You went out of the bar with him and drove to a deli. You talked about lots of things, half of which you wouldn’t remember by the morning.
And as soon as you got home, you texted your best friend, “OMG i met this really cute guy and we are so alike!”
That’s how you first meet people. That’s how you make a connection with the world. You search for things you both like or dislike or care nothing about. You look for your shared interests. A common ground. It’s quite necessary that you find out about these things first because during the first conversations, differences seem to be like flaws. Faults. Dead ends.
You asked him once, “So, do you like The Beatles?” He said no. So you just said, “Oh, okay.” End of topic. That was a minus five on the likeness scale over there, honey.
See what I mean? No matter how alike you thought you were, you’re gonna find things that would make you think otherwise. As far as the conversation goes, you’re gonna begin to think that first impressions don’t always last. He hates your favorite ice cream flavor. You don’t like basketball or tennis. And you’d realize, you were just alike in some things. With the rest, you seem to disagree a lot.
Funny when you thought that this would go somewhere because you thought he was your soulmate. Because of what? ‘Cause of the fact that you were both alone in that bar at that night and drinking the same vodka? That had to count for something, right?
Actually, no. Sometimes, coincidences are just that. Coincidences. Funny traps of fate that are given assumptions by people too desperate to give meaning to senseless circumstances. Sometimes, two strangers meet and get to know each other because a certain connection, no matter how thin, is the only thing that could keep them afloat. So they hold on to that connection, destiny they say, because without it, life would be boring. People would be lonely and alone and drinking vodkas on their own for the rest of their lives.
Looking for common interests is a good thing. But finding differences and learning to love each other despite those differences are better. In a room full of unfamiliar faces, it’s just natural to engage in a conversation where you could tell him that you’ve been to the same Paramore concert that he’s been. That you both know the meaning of DOTA, whatever that is. That you both have theories as to how Amelia Earheart died.
But assuming that every conversation would be like this is wrong. Don’t ever think that the more you talk, the more similarities you’re gonna find out. Honestly, first conversations are the most shallow ones. If you stop talking to him after you learned that he doesn’t watch your favorite TV show, then you’re never gonna find out his whole personality. Who he really is.
Think again. In this world, you’re not looking for a copycat of your personality. Conversations are made healthy by debates and disagreements and petty fights. If you’re not up for that, then all you’re gonna have are first talks. No second, no third, no next. If you’re too close-minded about similarities and differences, well, hello reality! All you’re ever gonna find are people as different as you are. If you couldn’t accept that, stop going to a room full of nameless people, shut yourself at your apartment, and be as anonymous as everyone else.
Okay, emo na naman tong post ko.
Yun yung masakit eh. Yung sigurado ka na sa kalalabasan pero uumaasa ka parin na mababago yung mga pangyayari. Humihiling ka parin na magkaroon ng himala. Na sana umayon yung mga bagay-bagay sa yo kahit buong mundo na yung kalaban mo. Yung tipong ikaw nalang yung may malaking katangahan na asahan si batman, si bathala, ang swerte, ang feng shui, at ang kahit anong maliit ang kinalaman sa cause and effect ng buhay.
Isa pang masakit? Yung katabi mo lang yung taong mahal mo, pero namimiss mo parin sya. Hindi mo alam kung ano, pero alam mong may kulang. Alam mong may mali. Alam mong sa isang iglap lang, mawawala na sya sa yo. Gusto mo syang layuan para malaman mo kung mahalaga ka talaga para habulin ka nya. Pero alam mo na yung sagot. Na kahit lumayo ka, hindi ka nya pipigilan, hindi ka nya hahanapin, hindi ka nya susundan. Hahayaan ka lang nya. Dahil ikaw lang naman yung mas nagmamahal.
Masakit din ang magbitiw ng desisyon na labag sa kalooban mo. Hindi mo alam kung kakayanin mo pero kailangan mong panghawakan. Masasaktan ka kapag iniwasan mo sya, pero mas masasaktan ka kapag pinagpatuloy mo ang katangahan mong ipagsiksikan yung sarili mo sa kanya. Dahil sa tuwing nakikita mo sya, nakikita mo ring hindi sya lagi sa yo nakatingin. Nasa iba ang atensyon nya. Ang isip nya. Pati ang puso.
Ang hirap magpanggap na okay ka. Yung tipong bago mo harapin yung mga kaibigan mo, pupunta ka muna sa banyo para i-compose yung sarili mo. Para makita mo sa salamin kung papasa na ba yung plastik mong ngiti. Para pigilin yung mga luha na isang puwing lang ay tutulo na nang tuloy-tuloy. Tapos sa gabi, iiyak ka ng bonggang-bongga. At kapag tinanong nila kung anong nangyari sa mata mo, ide-deny mo pa na nagmukmok ka magdamag. Sasabihin mo nalang, nakagat ng ipis yung mata mo. Iiwasan mo yung mga tingin nila para hindi na sila magtanong pa.
Pinipilit mo yung sarili mo sa isang bagay na alam mong pagsisisihan mo. Pero wala kang magagawa dahil hindi ka naman kayang ipaglaban ng taong mahal mo. Hindi ka nya kayang piliin na ikaw lang. Hindi mo sya kayang angkinin. Hindi mo sya maabot kahit ang lapit-lapit lang nya sa yo.
Sabagay, isang araw magigising ka nalang na limot mo na sya. Mapapagod ka rin magmahal. Aapaw rin lahat ng sobra. Pero sa araw na yun, mananatili sa yo ang sangkatutak na katanungan. At panghihinayang.
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Feelings of a First-Timer
The hallway was silent. It was as if I was walking in slow motion, looking warily at every door, straining to hear even the faintest of sounds. I felt like one of lockers would open any minute and it would swallow me alive, into nothingness, into oblivion. I looked at the walls and they gave me goosebumps as if they were breathing. Every corner seemed hiding an invisible creature ready to jump at me when I was not looking. Paranoia devoured me.
I knew I was about to do something terrible. I was afraid to open my locker because I hate its creaking sound and it might be heard by unwanted people. They might notice me. But I had no choice back then. I had to get my things and get out as soon as possible.
I walked slowly towards my locker. As I was about to unlock it, a loud bell rang. I panicked. I looked around and all the doors opened at once, letting wild people out.
Oh well, no need to cut classes. It was dismissal time anyway.
The Horror
Sandra never read horror novels, because everything scared her. Or rather, when she was young, just about everything scared her, so she never watched thrillers or slasher movies, much less read anything by King or Straub or Lovecraft. Her imagination was easily ignited, and the line between fiction and reality, for her, was much too malleable. Often, after a vivid dream, it took her days to come to terms with the fact that the dream was indeed a dream, and not something more – an alternate reality, a prophecy, a message from dead persons known or unknown. Nevertheless, when she was thirty years old, she had an idea for a horror novel or movie or perhaps both. The entire thing, she decided, would take place during the day. The only other scary movie she could think of that also took place during daylight hours was Jaws, and that didn’t count, because the world underwater, as we all know, is much like night. Her movie would be light the entire time, and, even better, the night would be the time when everyone – all those oppressed by the terror – would rest. Everyone would get a good night’s sleep each night. Having settled all that, Sandra was very satisfied. As a reward for having such a good brain, she walked to her fridge and made herself a sandwich with two typed of bread, and speared it with a toothpick. All she needed now was to decide what exactly would be scary, and how people would die or be torn apart or maimed. She stood, eating her sandwich, and then had another revelation: What if no one died? Couldn’t that be scary, in its own way? It certainly would be unexpected. Now, she felt, she was onto something. A horror movie that took place during the day and in which no one was killed. But what would it be about? What would happen? The movie, she figured, could feature many surprises – people jumping out from closets and jabbing things quickly. That could be made suspenseful throughout, with the audience not knowing exactly when, for example, the jumping-out and jabbing-at would happen. But then again, wouldn’t it be kind of scary – and better all around – if you (a) didn’t know when or where jumping-out would occur, and also (b) didn’t know whether or not such things would occur at all? Imagine watching the movie, fully expecting that something would happen, only to sit waiting, throughout, thus becoming ever more tense? She had now put down her sandwich, because her head was working too quickly and brilliantly; she dared not distract it with chewing. So an all-daylight horror movie with only the pretense of suspense, only the promise (to be broken) of chases, or danger and violence and untimely death. She would have her characters wander throughout, talking tensely – or laconically! – eyeing each other and every doorway warily. Or perhaps with great nonchalance. What if, she thought, her characters walked calmly through their lives,, without threats, without suspense or shadows, expecting nothing and receiving nothing? Now, she thought, that is horror.
- Dave Eggers
I love it when…
Wonderful Mr. Wrong
Everyone knows him. Maybe you met him at a party, bumped onto him in the mall, or became teammates with him during one of those youth camps. Maybe he’s your next door neighbor. Your high school classmate. Or your best friend.
Mine is the same story as yours. Maybe we got different conflicts to spice up our stories but basically the plot is the same. What’s more is that we all knew it’s gonna end the same way as others, or it should end like that, if it hasn’t ended yet. Bottomline: we know we like Mr. Wrong, love even. But he’s not worth risking Mr. Right out there somewhere.
Of course at first, who knew that he’s the wrong guy? He swept you off your feet. You believed that love is blind even though you had perfect vision before. Some would even say that you two were the most perfect couple they had laid eyes on. You easily believed them, aside from believing in cupids, shooting stars, anniversaries, and the word full of promises: forever. Then you found yourself tangled in the most exciting romance, or so you thought.
Once you had established that he didn’t leave you in the first months of your relationship and that he remained loyal, you began thinking of the big picture. Planning way ahead of time, setting high expectations, and clinging on every bit of himself are only three of the lot of things you used to do. You started wanting to own him. You started to let him own you.
But you had petty fights and big issues along the way. Uh-oh.
At some point, you realized that it’s not going to work. Maybe you didn’t realize at all and it was he who had to end this, whatever ‘this’ is. Usually it’s because of jealousy, third or perhaps a fourth party, not enough time, efforts unappreciated, you being fed up with each other’s baggages, or you just getting tired of being in a relationship. There are lots of reasons, really.
And here it came, the most dreadful word you could think of at that time: break-up. All of those plans and expectations and promises became meaningless. Whoever broke up first didn’t matter. You were hurt, wounded, and torn, whether or not you’re the ‘victim’. You went with those days of mourning as if you were already widowed instead of just unattached. You went on with the grieving period, reminiscing the old days, thinking of what went wrong, telling yourself that it should have been perfect, having regrets, and cursing him, that bastard, for leaving you in that pathetic situation. Letting go was hard, even if you didn’t admit it because you had too much pride in you. Moving on was like a funeral – slow and sad; and it’s as if you were the one to be sent to the grave.
But you survived it.
Now, maybe you were not speaking to him, that wrong guy of your past. Maybe you were treating him as if he didn’t exist, or as if he’s a cockroack or a cactus. Maybe you were friends, and that’s good. But if you now look at him negatively, take a second look. That guy once made you happy. It just didn’t last. You’re being unfair if you tell yourself that he didn’t give you anything but heartaches. You’re lying if you tell that he was a jerk, always was and always will be. You know the truth, he once made a fairy tale come true, and with that you must be thankful. Don’t be so childish and bitter and bitchy about a temporary relationship. Think of the bright side, of all the good things you learned, of all the realizations that dawned on you, and of the chance it gave you to find the right guy.
Now, Mr. Wrong, or simply your ex, would be very much willing to clear everything up, if you didn’t end up in good terms. I know, every breakup is messy and i’d be a fool if i say that you should end every relationship with clear heads. But, there’s always time for closure. Be a good girl and say sorry, at least. If he didn’t accept it or showed that he didn’t care, no harm done. At least you know that you made a move to patch things up.
Maybe the wrong guys you knew were also thinking about these same things. Maybe they’re also thinking that we are the wonderful Ms. Wrong in their lives. If everybody appreciates her ex-boyfriends the way i do, then this would be a better place. No hard feelings, no bitterness, no trying to avoid someone, no trying to helplessly forget someone, and no saying that her ex is a big fat jerk.
My last ex, for instance, is a wonderful wrong guy, one way or another.
writing prompt #3
first of all, i want to thank god for creating the tree where i came from.
to the tree, i owe you a lot. if not for me, you would not die. you’ve been there for a hundred and twelve years. you survived every storm and earthquake and landslide that passed by. you kept standing tall. throughout the years, whatever season, you’re there. yet if not for me, you would still endure another century. if not because of me, you would still be living.
you were chopped down from where you were peacefully rooted. you were disturbed by those loggers with their noisy chainsaws. you didn’t fight them. you didn’t run. you didn’t even hide. you just stood there and accepted the fate you didn’t deserve. you offered your life for me.
you were not buried. those bastards! they brought you to a big factory, along with your brothers who received the same ugly fate. you were chopped, piece by piece, part by part, vein by vein. you were shredded, cut, and minced. i couldn’t imagine how painful it was. you were tortured. it was like getting killed over and over again.
it was the greatest sacrifice for me.
the factory continued processing you. until i was born in a perfect shape – thin, spotless white, and rectangle. unlike you, who was irregular-shaped and wrinkled because of old age. no, i’m not criticizing you. i’m totally thankful to you, oh tree~
because of you, i was made possible.
for years, i silently waited inside my wrapper. i was thinking, “what purpose shall i serve in this world?” some school could turn me into a certificate of appreciation to some geek, and i will be laminated and preserved forever. i could be a telegram to the Pope. i could be the draft of a bestselling novel. i could be where the speech of the US president could be written.
years of waiting and pondering over my life didn’t prepare me to what would really happen today.
i didn’t do anything wrong. i remained as passive as i could. i sad on my stack peacefully and obediently until that asshole executive grabbed me and fed me to the printer. i was harassed by the laserjet, like my insides were churning, like i was being pressed and tickled at the same time. i wasn’t saying that i didn’t like it, but that’s not the whole point. well, i don’t know the point right now.
i don’t know anything right now.
anyway, i am near the end. i don’t have a choice but to accept it. my life is over. well, it’s not much of a life anyway. life is never fair. you see, you get punished for someone else’s mistake and stupidity. yes i know, i’m just bitter. there’s no justice in this world!
oh god! why did you ever let man invent the shredder? why?
(thoughts of a paper being put into the shredder.)
writing prompt #2
i tried stopping myself. yet, you know i can’t. i’m addicted. i feed on your innocence. i relish your purity. i want to devour you, shred you into pieces, destroy you while i strengthen myself.
you. you are my power.
a lot of times, you tried to block me. you put a shield around you to protect yourself. but you know it couldn’t go on forever. your walls would collapse, too. you would be vulnerable.
and this is the time i’ve been waiting.
now, you’re just a baby. harmless and helpless. i’m not really a pedophile but you captivated me with your charm and importance. a lot of sleepless nights passed by with me thinking what the hell was in you. why do these people cherish you so much? now i know.
let us celebrate your downfall. all those letters will be crushed. those numbers? they will be null. they will all be gone in a snap. and one thing would remain: error.
bye bye darling. in your death, i would live.
(from a point of view of a virus about to attack a document or file)
writing prompt #1
what if the shoes didn’t fit Cinderella? what if the shoes fit one of her evil stepsisters? what if there really is no fairy tale?
so, my story started after the grand ball. yes, cinderella had a magical night which unfortunately ended at midnight. what’s more unfortunate was cinderella didn’t hear the bell tolling because of her newly acquired i-pod that was playing loudly on her ears. poor cinderella. the clock struck twelve and every piece of clothing and accessory was gone, every magic, everything – except her i-pod and the glass shoes – was gone. i dunno how the glass shoes managed to remain, but it did. so you could picture everyone in that castle, dumbstruck with that striking lady at the middle of the dance floor and gawd!, she was nude.
everybody started bumping their way towards cinderella. she managed to clear her mind and ran as fast as she could, but with the glass shoes still on, she just tripped over and made an even bigger embarrassment. cursing loudly, she took off her shoes and threw it as far as she could. the pair of shoes landed at the prince’s head, one broke, the other didn’t.
so, that was how the prince got the shoe. he was hypnotized. he was in love. not with cinderella’s grace, charm, and beauty, but with her oh so luscious body. (damn, isn’t that prince a perv?)
so the prince asked his knights to search for the owner of the shoe. he texted his other prince friends to ask for help. he even sent an email to President Obama to ask if he knew who this sexy lady was. Obama replied, “aren’t you just looking for angelina jolie?” Prince Charming said, “No, she has a body that Angelina would envy.”
so the search went on, until they made it to cinderella’s house. her stepsisters tried it on, and ohmigod! Drizella, that skinny bitch, managed to have the shoe fit her. cinderella stared in amazement and disbelief. the perv prince jumped in triumph and hastily went back to the castle with the bitch Drizella. they got engaged, of course. they got married, of course.
on the night of their honeymoon, well, actually no honeymoon happened. uhh, Drizella took off her clothes and wham! the prince fainted. “That body is the most horrible thing i’ve ever seen. I’d rather fuck a pig than sleep with you, you skinny bitch!” Drizella was so torn apart, so humiliated that she jumped out of the tower window and landed on the bushes, dead.
meanwhile, cinderella got so depressed that she didn’t have the chance to try that shoe. she cursed her fairy godmother, who already died then because of heat stroke. she cursed the world, went berserk, lost her mind. poor cinderella.
she even ran naked around town.
the prince coincidentally saw her. saw her body. that oh so luscious body. and followed her. but he was too late. cinderella jumped off a cliff and the sexiest woman in the world died then and there. that remains Angelina Jolie as the sexiest woman alive.
well, as for the prince, he became a drunken bastard. all he could do was think and fantasize about cinderella. and he lived a miserable life ever after.
moral: shoe size is not correlated with sexiness.
creative writing
Tips and tricks for beginners
- Do some short exercises to stretch your writing muscles – if you’re short of ideas, read the Daily Writing Tips article on writing bursts. Many new creative writers find that doing the washing up or weeding the garden suddenly looks appealing, compared to the effort of sitting down and putting words onto the page. Force yourself to get through these early doubts, and it really will get easier. Try to get into the habit of writing every day, even if it’s just for ten minutes.
- If you’re stuck for ideas, carry a notebook everywhere and write down your observations. You’ll get some great lines of dialogue by keeping your ears open on the bus or in cafes, and an unusual phrase may be prompted by something you see or smell.
- Work out the time of day when you’re at your most creative. For many writers, this is first thing in the morning – before all the demands of the day jostle for attention. Others write well late at night, after the rest of the family have gone to bed. Don’t be afraid to experiment!
- Don’t agonize over getting it right. All writers have to revise and edit their work – it’s rare that a story, scene or even a sentence comes out perfectly the first time. Once you’ve completed the initial draft, leave the piece for a few days – then come back to it fresh, with a red pen in hand. If you know there are problems with your story but can’t pinpoint them, ask a fellow writer to read through it and give feedback.
- HAVE FUN! Sometimes, we writers can end up feeling that our writing is a chore, something that “must” be done, or something to procrastinate over for as long as possible. If your plot seems wildly far-fetched, your characters bore you to tears and you’re convinced that a five-year old with a crayon could write better prose … take a break. Start a completely new project, something which is purely for fun. Write a poem or a 60-word “mini saga”. Just completing a small finished piece can help if you’re bogged down in a longer story.
http://www.dailywritingtips.com/
CW10 exercise
Greatest Love of All Variations
I believe the children are our future
Teach them well and let them lead the way
DUMB BLONDE
What? What are you talking about? I have no children!!! So, do you mean, it’s like I have no future??? Huh? That’s purely outrageous! No, that’s unacceptable!!!
THE FAMILY
Dad: I got fired.
Mom: Oh my God! What will our future be?
Son: Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll show you the future.
SPOILED BRAT’S POINT OF VIEW
You know, Mister, we are the future! Yes, and you will be very old by then. Understand that? So, you damn well teach us more worthwhile things than this, dammit!
ONE LINER
The youth is the hope of the motherland.
POLITICAL
I will build more public schools. I will give a raise to the teachers. I will make good leaders out of your children. ‘Cause I believe that the children will take us to liberty! So, vote for me. Shrubs Bush for President! Thank you!
HONEYMOON
“Do you know our future, Hon?”
“Yes. Children.”
SPONSORED BY
Star margarine
Cherifer Syrup for kids
Bonakid
BIBLE EDITION
Let the little children come.
THE BABYSITTER
If this child would be our future, oh, what a pity!
FREDDIE AGUILAR’S
Nagdaan pa ang mga araw
at ang landas mo’y naligaw
Ikaw ay nalulong sa masamang bisyo
HOROSCOPE
Aries: You’ll get lucky in the future if you have sex today and get pregnant tomorrow.
Taurus: Be a teacher and your life will be better.
Gemini: Why follow when you can take the lead?
PROPHECY
Ten years from now, the little ones of today shall parade the streets and fill the roads with bright illuminating lights from deep within their little torches. But, before this happens, great minds must strive hard to instill in the little ones the value of walking on their own.
Patak
P
a
tak.
Tak. tak.
Isang patak
ng ulan na nag
mula sa madilim
na langit. Isang patak
ng luha na galing sa mata
ng amang malupit. Isang pa
tak ng tubig na bumubukal sa
tahimik na batis. Isang patak ng
dugo na nahaluan ng pawis. Isang
patak ng pag-ibig na pinapayabong ng
pangarap. Isang patak ng patawad para
sa taong nagungusap. Isang patak ng pag
kalinga ng isang ina. Isang patak ng halik
ng kasama. Isang patak na haharap sa anu
mang problema. Isang patak na papawi sa
takot at pangamba. Isang patak na yaya
kap sa katawang nanginginig. Isang pa
tak na yayapos sa mga pusong umii
big. Isang patak ng pagbabago.
Isang patak ng pagsasalo.
Isang patak ng kapaya
paan para sa buong
mundo.
desolation
..an old woman sitting on her rocking chair looking blankly outside.
..a face with bloodshot eyes under the blackest of veils.
..a star seeing its fellows but never getting close to them.
..the sound of rain hitting the pavement.
..an old bony dog with his chains clattering as he walks.
..remnants of a once-beautiful and now-abandoned house.
..silence and darkness.
..a wrecked car.
..a man calling his family overseas.
..a woman in her thirties telling her mother, “can’t you remember who i am?” her mother peacefully sat on the rocking chair, still looking blankly outside. when she looked at her child, she said, “sorry, who are you again?”
wordplay :)
..uhh, i may be looking hysterical when i say this..
..but hey!!! i want a laptop!!! (with lots of exclamation points)
..whatever. i just badly want one.
..maybe it’s part envy and part desperation. do i have to exaggerate on this? you basically know what i mean. well, i just want something to talk about. and laptop is the first thing that came in my badly-maintained mind.
..again, i want a laptop. or maybe a laugh top. something that makes me tumble over because of laughter. because now, all i know is i have a laugh tough. i can’t laugh. no no no. i’m worrying about my acads. oh, do i make myself grade-conscious? are all grade-conscious people having a laugh tough? well, i want to make myself clear. i’m not grade-conscious. i’m just having a laugh tough because of tough nap. you know, when i worry about my acads, i can hardly sleep. and then, OH! a tough nap would eventually turn to a laugh cough. maybe it’s because of the bad weather. it’s not just a bad weather, really, but a crazy weather. it keeps changing and changing! imagine myself worrying about about my grades, (how am i gonna get a grade higher than 3 in Math 17?), and having a tough nap that results to a laugh cough. i’m pathetic. maybe i’m better if i can half laugh. or much better if i can laugh pop. if you guys don’t know, laugh pop is something you do when you pop (or fart) of too much laughing. yeah, maybe a laugh fart! or whatever!
..maybe i want a laptop because i want a potpal (which i got when i flipped laptop). now, what the hell is a potpal? perhaps, and it’s a great hypothesis, a potpal is someone i can befreind if i’m fond of pots. well, i won’t find any potpal whether there’s a laptop or not. it’s hard to find a potpal, you know. maybe, a petpal will do. or a penpal (but that’s too out-of-date!). same with phone pal. maybe it’s best if i could find a laptop pal.
..all i want is a laptop. i want to have a laugh talk, too. or a lollipop. or something like a lamb chop, or simply a flat top (the chocolate). i dunno. now i know, i want so many things… (sighs!)
..maybe a laptop can bring me a laugh pop. or a laugh fart. maybe a laptop can ease my laugh tough. maybe…
..but now, i’m having all these. is it because i don’t have a laptop to laugh at? or am i just being a big top laugh? (like the clowns and other fools). or maybe i’m cracking my head. i’m having a laptop crap. a laklak (that’s when you drink beer in Filipino). a crack top.
insanity.
..
