Thursday, November 26, 2009

Hmmm mmm. there really is not much to be said.

daybreak is the best time.

best time to blog i mean- when no bull takes place.

its the calm of the daytime, the cold mist, though it doesnt reach this living space where i am in, its comforting. kind of soft. and the chilling effect of the fog reminds me to brew coffee. which i will, in a few moments. not right now.

its a time to think.

thoughts in my head have already been published as status messages on facebook, along my recent achievements in mafia wars, vampire wars, cafe world, fishville, farmville, island paradise, blah blah blah. the kind of frivolous shit we kids nowadays get into, and thus avoid the actual sun, and the actual farm crops, and the waiting of tables in restaurants.

i sometimes wish for ghosts to appear.


there are NO ghosts.
the closest thing ive experienced are clouds of deadly farts and pollution. plus overexposed pictures, which are funny.
so there.

the Ampatuan case really shook. the massacre was abominable. it was an attack to the integrity of the government's assurance of safety. it came as stark, maddening, simple, unhidden, riddled with clues. there could be nothing now that could make the killers pay, as we all know how well crime can be concealed under this government. and only assumptions would try to prove it, and by then everything had been forgotten.

hmm mmm. anyway, i got to get to my study now. cerebral palsy ain't goin' to learn itself by itself.

btw, im selling my extra goniometer for 650php. 15 US Dollars, when converted, costs more.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

RESMETH! in here i publisheth thee.

here's a frustration-driven blog:

i wend to the EBP poster exhibit, made my paper, but did not yet print it, because my printer had ran out of ink [thank you, full-color photos]. then i missed the chance to do so, because it was late, then rejected ultimately.

after the set of criteria i made for a selection among all the papers, which took all day.

but im okay now. no one is to blame, apparently.

should i blame M'Che? i wouldnt dare. seriously, i think it'd be just bad. stark bad.
and i cant blame me any more than how much i am killing myself over it.

so i blame the inkless printer, and the stores that arent 24/7 open, and those that are open 24/7 but dont sell ink cartridges[like 7-11, mini-stop, and McDonald's].

but-of-course, blame me, why dont you, albert?

so here is the paper. its kind of lame, but it's worth points, and it deserves to be published somehow [as in this blog].

because there is nothing more that makes my heart sadder than unpublished, unrealized effort. [more than heartbreaks]

yes. it is kind of weird that the paper is in prose, not enumerated; that it obviously was written with TLC. but it was because i cared for the paper itself. i made time for it.

so there. at least none of the other papers were published on blogs. haha. so in a way, it's a win. well, somehow.

something is bothering me: Sharon cuneta's commercial about those her not finding it easy to use Broth cubes.

here's a point: If you cant successfully 'melt' those broth cubes in hot water, as you're cooking, then you are an idiot. if you need to crush them against the side of the pot with a ladle, you are an idiot.

it's either the water's fault, or it the laws of physics are bent therein that pot of boiling water, not allowing certain particles to accelerate.

i cook, and those things arent hard to deal with. WTH, they'd disintegrate in a pinch!

Thursday, November 19, 2009


so here's what has been up:

new semester, old faces, old[er] college instructors and professors [joking]; people were getting sentimental but the first sem had to be cut short. i came dangling from the cut; i once loosely grasped for stable ground to get here, the second sem, the frontier to the internship.

the frontier to the internship.

so close i could smell it; the scent dancing with the overwhelming extravagance of real-life cases with real, live, breathing, cursing, people waiting to be restored [and become optimally functional, as pedrosa would always say], and possible heavy drama involving some people and myself. maybe ill get a rare case, like someone with progeria, and dwarfism, halitosis, and a mood problem, all at the same time; or piles of boring, everyday cases, like tendinitis-es, a bunch of bell's, or hands to dip into paraffin; but maybe i wouldnt care right now.

i wouldnt get too excited though, because i am, as of now, not entirely confident of my skills as a student. there'd be a load of reviewing and additional research to spark my interest, to make the dull a bit more like scintillating.

rapport enthusiastically built, but brain memory for treatment erased;
precautions taken all into consideration, but body mechanics fail;
machine operation by the book, but patient comfort overlooked;
moralistic judgment could be correct, but ethics poor;
book-smart but not street-smart;
IQ but not EQ;
smiles, but no after care;
treatment okay, but could be better;

and so on and so forth. there are a million, or jontillion[if there is such a quantity], things one could overlook, and im not the only one. many could be sharing my sentiments, and the odds are almost always against us.

so, just go forth.
because, is there any other way but fight?

**btw, i have an extra goniometer. its big and plastic and looks sturdy. it's about 12 inches in length. cost me around 12-13 USD, plus shipping. ask me for the price, if youre interested.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Playlist for my head and ailing, aching [put organ made majorly of cardiac muscle and blood]

The Amy Winehouse playlist i have in my phone, and in my head too, narrates how bad i am feeling, and how sick i am of all those that have come, all these at hand, all of which i could just happily let fall onto the floor and watch them shatter to shards, and all that are coming [son-of-a-bitch, stop nooow!].

now i talk [''write'', albert, you idiot] too much; so here, i have my exceptions; and what i am putting in exception from all above are: academics [never again! though i have some beef with ptsem, not due to the fracas i have put myself in last sem, and that'd be bullshit if i had felt pissed-off; but on account of the course in itself{elaboration later}], myself [seriously, why self-blame in these times?] & and my hard-earned friends [hmm hmmm hmmm].

the Amy Winehouse playlist:
1. Tears Dry On Their Own
2. 'Round Midnight
3. You Sent Me Flying
4. Back To Black

i am happy to state here that amy winehouse hasnt yet influenced me enough to smoke weed, or smoke anything. i drink, and that's sure to take place some time next month [december]. anyway.

ptsem literally, to some great [colossal] extent, kills my creative writing skills. nothing can be as gruesome, and as serious, as austere and appropriate as goal-writing. funny, as if anyone would do otherwise. maybe paris hilton would.

O: VS: BP - kinda normal, RR - totally normal, TEMP - that's hot. but, like, still normal.

OI: wears clothes that are apparently on sale. not hot. not very cute or handsome. wouldnt do him.

STG - 1. To, like, get well soon so he can, like, get out of here.
LTG - 1. Pt should, like, get pec implants and work out so he could be handsome.

**attempt at 'funny'ends here**

so, how else does ptsem aggravate my dying, gutted, 'austere'-ised dream of creative writing? grammar, as i always try to remember, should at all times be correct, or closest to correct. it's a sickness, me and grammar. i know i've done so much wrong with it, and im making amends.

Thursday, November 12, 2009


i am in love, or in lust, with amy.

Amy Winehouse.

no, wait, scrap lust.

the vacation that had just ended permitted me to procure [illegally, im telling you now] two of her albums, both deluxe editions [i told you it was illegal], of her.

she's singing sexy in some tracks, not so in some. 'not so' meant she seemed more pounded than that white powder she sniffs. some tracks she may be only screaming, but i dont mind. she's great.

wonderful, at times almost drunken, melody riding some very crookedly themed songs. interesting, how she puts conviction onto songs written alluding to her cheating, her being cheated, third parties, and stuff. particularly green stuff[maybe weed, but i dont really know] .

crooked melodies over crooked british teeth.
im not profiling.
some asians have bad teeth too.
nonsense. anyway.

but she sings really good. she brings sex to her music, or at least, where it's needed.

about her habits, i'll pass. haha. i cant even stand second-hand smoke.

only the figuratively smoking are attractive.

okay, maybe you're a little turned off, and here's a tip: dont think of her face when you listen to her music. except Monkey Man. and Addicted.

Monday, November 9, 2009

As Quoted

''the stabs i started feeling about an hour ago.

from a sliver of memory of that thing that made it all feel cheesy, soft, and most of all, special, came a sudden gush of tearful sobs that only i heard. i made sure of that, careful to keep myself down and under my hugging pillow. i even considered biting on it, good thing i was lucid enough still to think that i wouldn't be liking the after-effect come next day.

my blankets formed a sea of bundled mess at the foot of the bed. brunnstrom didn't get off the bed, and fell to the floor, luckily. i kept that book inside the fold of one of the blankets, safely tucked at the foot of the bed, fortunate to have dodged the kick-some feet of mine and the aforementioned bundled mess.

it was past 1am, and the ordeal left me thirsty. by then, i mused, everyone has gone to bed. but still i had to go downstairs with a pair of dark shades on, just to be sure that no one would at least suspect that i had been sobbing, and that my caution with it wouldn't be in vain. and the excuse would be,"Ma, it's allergy. i'll get my antihistamines." then i'll say goodnight not once taking off the shades.

allergy and heartbreak oftentimes do manifest similarly: tears, sobbing under the breath, runny nose, and irritability; but with heartbreak, something has broken. and it's nothing a dose of claritin could and would ever be able to alleviate.

but i am trying to take a strong dosage of tea, and maybe i'll fart away my sadness. or maybe just to make myself feel healthier, thus feel better, in that sort of way.

needless to say that i am extremely downtrodden, especially depressed, and sad and alone. i am all these in that i probably wouldn't laugh over a good span of weeks. i could laugh, but it'd be less heartily. and i also could cry, and that's really sad, all the more.

i am now trying to channel my grief with the only way i know how.

my writing has really been annoying me. the way i construct sentences, my choice of words, my attempts to try to add humor [which i hope dont go unnoticed, no matter how cryptic], et cetera, make it all seem cheesy to me, and i cannot tolerate anymore where the deterioration comes to. although it'd be terribly bad if i were to lose my journalistic identity over this little bit of bullshit that i am experiencing. im delusional, and i dont listen too often.

it's one thing to be bad at something, and another to try and be somebody else.

now im just sleepy. but brunnstrom and braddom are waiting behind me, and juno's creeping slowly on the torrent downloader. i've taken my tea, and cookies are to bake for tomorrow. my canvas shoes are waiting to be painted, and seams undone repaired.

maybe i am talking only to my blog, addressing the non-human but interactive internet. as far as i am concerned, i do this only for myself, with no intention of letting my thoughts get drenched into a pool of general knowledge. i may be half-dreaming right now, but my mind is clear enough to say and confirm with my self''