Dreamin' by Shihan



I tend to drive myself crazy in her car
with a love that doesn't stop for red lights
And I wonder should we even think about slowing down
and I hope she doesn't get bored of me
I wish I knew everything she kinda wanted to know but didn't want to ask
just so I wouldn't be so scared
See under my breath I've inhaled more I Love You's then she will ever know
But somehow I think she's always known
Leaving my stomach filled with swallowed second guesses and wishful thinking
thought I'd even start to question the reasons for trying to say them at all
and shoot, with all the words I swallowed
it's no wonder I start to choke up everytime I think about them
I wonder if me choking means they'll never make it out
So I damn the dam I built to hold back the words I wish to say
like the night at Denny's when the waitress asked us if we were in love
cause we had this glow around us and I responded 'yeah, but she's in denial.'
'and that glow you talk about isn't even a glow it's actually a force field that keeps us from letting our true feelings out and protects us from ourselves we wish to be vulnerable.'
like what would be so wrong with me stealing your heart if I took you with it and
stole you for a lifetime
and let you play my permanent sunshine cause you're the reason I don't fear blank sheets of paper anymore
My inspiration has me floating my feet don't ever touch the ground
but she is still out of my reach
and it's strange that she could be right there in front of me
making me happy
but the thought of her
being interrupted by another thought of her
only makes me happier
and it's scary
that if God is the author of all I write
then, it would only make sense that I fear words written by the 2 things in life I fear never getting to know

God and Love

and a further fear of you getting added to the list of God and Love
as now the 3 things in life I fear never getting to know...
I was told I died for love in a past life and maybe that's why I'm so scared of it now
and it's scary I woke up at 540 this morning to write this down
but another tear meets my shirt and another weight has been lifted off my chest
and I can go back to sleep...for now...I dream


<3

fuck. i haaaaate how i love like you. damn.
goddamnit. why'd you have to be so perfect? i hate you.
i hate how you look at her. i hate how bitter i am right now.
i hate the fact that i have to see you together.
i hate how im feeling right now. i hate how i miss you.
i hate how my sunshine turned gray today.
i hate how i have to pretend. i hate hate hate you.

but then...
whatever.

parang 1st year lang. weeeeee <3 kaya lang. wala rin e. =|

LABAN! hahaha :))

tao. you're invited to my debut. hahaha. here's the copy of the invitation.


goodluck finding the place :p

Love Like by Shihan

I want a love like me thinking of you thinking of me
thinking of you type love,
or me telling my friends more than I've ever admitted to
myself about how I feel about you type love,
or hating how jealous you are, but loving how much you
want me all to your self type love,
or seeing how your first name just sounds so good next to my last name,
and s**t, I wanted to see how far I could get without
calling you, and I barely made it out of my garage.
See, I want a love that makes me wait until she falls
asleep then wonder if she dreaming about us being in love
type love,
or who loves the other more,
or what she's doing at this exact moment,
or slow dancing in the middle of our apartment to the
music of our hearts, closing my eyes and imagining how a love like this could just hurt so much when she's not there.
S**t, I love not knowing where this love is headed type love.
And check this, I want to place those little post-it notes
all around the house so she never forgets how much I love her type love then not have enough ink in my pen to write
all there is to love about her type love.
Hope that I make her feel as good as she makes me feel,I want her to distract me form whatever I'm doing type love
and I want to deal with my friends making fun of me the
way I made fun of them when they went through the same kind of love type love.
Only difference is this is one of those real love type loves.
and just like in high school, I want to spend hours on the phone with her not saying anything,
then fall asleep then wake up with HER right next to me,
and smell her all up in my covers type love
I want to try to counting the ways I love her, and then
lose count in the middle just so that I have to start all
over again type love
I want to celebrate one of those month anniversaries even
though they ain't really anniversaries, but doin' it just
cause it makes her happy type love.
And I want ot break down the time we spend together into seconds just so it sounds lilke we spend more time together type love
And check this, I want fall in love with the melody the
phone plays when her number is dialed into it type loves
and then talk to her until I lose my breathe, she leaves me breathless, but with the expanding of my lungs I inhale all of her back into me
I want a love that makes me need to change my cell phone calling plan to something that allows me to talk to her longer
because, in all honesty, I want to avoid one of them high cell phone bill type loves.
I want a love that makes me regret how small my hands are
I mean the lines on my palms don't give me enough time to love her as long as I'd like to type loves,
and I want a love that makes me st-st-st-st-stutter just thinking
about how strong this love is type love.
I want a love that makes me want to cut off all my hair
Well, maybe not all of the hair
maybe just cut the split ends and trim my mustache, but
it will still be a symbol of how strong my love is for her.
And check this, I kinda feel comfortable now, so I can tell y'all this I even be fantasizing about walking out on a green light just dying to get hit by a car just so I could lose my memory
get transported to some third world country just to get treated then somehow meet up again with you so that I could fall in love with you in a different language to see if it still feels the same type love.
I want a love that's as unexplainable as she is, but I'm married, so she is going to be the one that I share this love with.


<3<3<3

Dreams, Dreams
Of when we had just started things

*Littlest Things - Lily Allen

Dream
1. A series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep.
2. A daydream; a reverie.
3. A state of abstraction; a trance.
4. A wild fancy or hope.
5. A condition or achievement that is longed for; an aspiration
6. One that is exceptionally gratifying, excellent, or beautiful



am i seriously hoping for things to happen?

What's a meantime girl?

She's the one you call when you're bored because she makes you laugh.

She's the one you talk to when you're feeling down because she's willing to lend an ear and be a friend.

She's the one you spend time with between girlfriends, before you find "The One". You know, the one who you keep around in the meantime.

She's not one of the guys, not a tomboy, but you don't look at her as a "real" woman, either. She's not bitchy enough, moody enough, or sexy enough to be seen in that light.

She's too understanding, too comfortable? she doesn't make you feel nervous or excited the way a "real" woman does.

But she's cool, and nice, and funny, and attractive enough that when you're lonely or horny and need intimate female companionship, she'll do just fine. You don't have to wine and dine her because she knows the real you already, and you don't have any facades to keep up, no pretenses to preserve. You're not trying to get anything of substance out of her.

She's not easy, but you know that she cares about you and is attracted to you, and that she'll give you the intimacy you need. And you know you don't have to explain yourself or the situation, that she'll be able to cope with the fact that this isn't the beginning of a relationship or that there's any possibility that you have any real romantic feelings for her. It won't bother her that you'll get up in the morning, put on your pants,
say goodbye, and go on a date with the woman you've been mooning over for weeks who finally agreed to go out with you.

She'll settle for a goodbye hug and a promise to call her and tell her how the date went. She's just so cool . . . why can't all women be like that?! But deep down, if you really think about it (which you probably don't because to you, the situation between the two of you isn't important enough to merit any real thought), you know that it's really not fair. You know that although she would never say it, it hurts her to know that despite all her good points and all the fun you two have, you don't think she's good enough to spend any real time with. Sure, it's mostly her fault, because she doesn't have to give in to your needs ?

Maybe she's too short, or a little overweight, or has a big birthmark on her forehead, or works at Taco Bell. Whatever the reason, somehow life has given her a lot of really great qualities but has left out the ones that men want (or think they want) in a woman.

So she remains forever the funny friend, the steadfast companion, the secret lover, and you go on searching for your goddess who will somehow be everything you ever wanted in a woman. You'll joke to her that she should be the best man at your wedding, and she'll laugh and make a joke about a smelly rental tux.

She doesn't captivate you with her beauty, or open doors with her smile. Mainly she blends in with the crowd. She's safe.

She doesn't want to be the center of attention and turn the heads of everyone in the room. But she wants to turn someone's head.

She wants to be special to someone, too. We all do.

She has feelings.

She has a heart.

In fact, she probably has a bigger and better heart than any woman you've ever known because she's had a front-row seat to The Mess That Is Your Life, and she likes you anyway.

She obviously sees something worthwhile and
redeeming in you because although you've given her nothing, absolutely no reason to still be around,
she is.

Anyway, yeah. I'm a Meantime Girl. Been one more times than I care to admit. I don't know the reason, really, and at this point I don't even care. I just want to let every guy know who's ever had the good fortune to have a Meantime Girl that we may be a lot of fun, but we cry, too. A lot. And someday we won't be around.

Fifth Word Email - Tish Benson

Gypsy Girl - Saul Williams

And she doesn't want to press charges, my yellow cousin - ghost of a gypsy. Drunk off the wine of pressed grapes, repressed screams of sun-shriveled raisins and their dreams interrupted by a manhood deferred. Will she ever sober? Or will they keep handing her glasses overflowing with the burden of knowing.

I never knew. Never knew it could harm me, the ghost of a little girl in the desolate mansion of my manhood. I'm a man now. And then.. I remember, that I have been charged one million volts of change.

Will the ghost of that little girl ever meet my little girl? She's one now she must have been three then, maybe four. She's eighteen now, I'm 25 now, I must have been twelve then. My mother said he was in his 30's and she's now pressing charges, although she's been indited, and I can't blame her. I can't calm her, I want to calm her. I want to call him names, but only mine seems to fit.

C'mon let's see if it fits. Two little boys with a magic marker marked her and it won't come out. "They put it in me!" "No he didn't, what are you talking about? It's not permanent. It'll come out when you wash it." Damn maybe it was permanent. I can't forget. And I hope she doesn't remember. Maybe magic marked her.

Lord I hope he don't pull no dead rabbits out of that hat, what you gonna do then? And what was Mary's story? The story of a little girl with a brother and a couch. She's got a brother, a couch, a sister locked in her bedroom, and a mother on vacation. Lord, don't let her fall asleep.

Her brother's got keys to her dreams. He keeps them on a chain that now cuffs his wrists together. Mummy doesn't believe he did it. But he's left footprints on the insides of his sister's eyelids, and they've learned to walk without him and haunt her daily prayers. And if you rub your fingers ever so softly on her inner thigh, she'll stop you. Having branded your fingertips with the footprints of her brother, the disbelief of her mother, and her sister who called her a slut for sleeping.

Lord, I've known sleeping women. Women who've slept for lives at a time, on sunny afternoons, and purple evenings. Women who sleep sound, and live silently. Some dreams never to be heard of again. I've known sleeping women and have learned to tip-toe into their aroma, and caress myself. They've taught myself how to sleep having swallowed the moon. Sleep 'till mid afternoon. And yearn for the silence of night to sleep sound once again.

Painters of the wind, who know to open the windows before closing their eyes. Finding glory in the palette of their dreams. She had no dreams that night. The windows had been closed. The worlds of her subconscious sufficated and bled rivers of unanticipated shivers and sounds that were not sleep. She was sound asleep, and he came silently.

It wasn't the sun in her eyes, nor the noise of children on route to school. She wrote to the rays of an ingrown sun, fungus that stung more than it burned. A saddened school on route to children who dared to sleep on a couch exposed to their schizophrenic brother, only to wake with a new personality. One that doesn't trust as much as it used to. And wears lifejackets into romantic relationships, can't stand the touch of fingertips, damn was that marker permanent? I hope she don't press charges.

I hope they don't press no more grapes into wine because she might get drunk again and fall asleep. Rise and shine my mother used to say, pulling back the clouds of covers that warmed our night. But the fleshy shadows of that moonless night stored the venom in it's fangs to extinguish the sun.

Rise and shine, but how can I when I have crusty cloud configurations pasted to my thighs? And snow covered mountains in my memories. They peek into my daily instruction, my moments. They hide in the corners of my smile, and in the shadows of my laughter. They've stuffed my pillows with overexposed reels of ABC afterschool specials. And the feathers of woodpeckers that bore hollows into the rings of time, that now ring my eyes, and have stumped the withered trunk of who I am.

I must remember, my hands have been tied behind the back of another day. If only I could have them long enough to dig up my feet which have been planted in the soiled seeds of a harvest that only hate could reap.

I keep trying to forget, but I must remember. And gather the scattered continents of a self, once whole. Before they plant flags and boundary my destiny. Push down the watered mountains that blemish this soiled soul before the valleys of my conscience get the best of me. I'll need a passport just to simply reach the rest of me. A vaccination for a lesser god's bleak history.

Source: http://www.lyricsdepot.com/saul-williams/gypsy-girl.html

There once lived a great lord who was blessed with the birth of a beautiful infant daughter, whom he named Talia. The lord sent for wise men and astrologers to foretell what fate had in store for his daughter, and after they had consulted together and cast her horoscope, they told the lord that Talia would be put in great danger by a splinter of flax. The lord then decreed that no flax or hemp, or anything of the kind, should be brought into the house; he thought that by doing so he could protect his daughter from her fate.

One day, after Talia had grown up into a beautiful young girl, she was looking out the window when she saw an old woman pass by, spinning on a spindle. Talia was so curious about the implement, having never seen one, that she called out to the old woman to stop and let her see it. Talia begged to be allowed to stretch the flax, but as soon as she did so, a splinter of flax went under her nail, and she dropped down dead. When the frightened old woman saw what had happened, she ran quickly out of the house.

When the unhappy father heard about this disastrous turn of events, he was devastated. He had Talia's body laid out in her most beautiful clothes, and placed upon a brocade-covered dais. Unable to bear the thought of committing her body to the ground, he had the throne placed in a palatial room in one of his country estates, and then abandoned the estate forever.

After some time had passed, a king was one day hunting in the forest near the estate, and his falcon escaped from him and flew in the window of the palace. It would not return when he called for it, so the king sent a servant to knock at the palace door, intending to ask for the bird's return. There was no answer at the door, and the house was locked fast, so the young king at last told his servants he himself would scale the wall and climb in at the window in order to retrieve the bird. So he climbed in and wandered the palace from room to room, but he found nothing and no one. At last he came to a large, beautiful drawing room, where he found an enchanting girl who seemed to be sleeping. He called to her, but she would not wake. As he looked at her, and tried to wake her, she seemed so incredibly lovely to him that he could not help desiring her, and he began to grow hot with lust. He gathered her in his arms and carried her to a bed, where he made love to her. Leaving her on the bed, he left the palace and returned to his own city, where pressing business for a long time made him think no more about the incident.

But Talia, who was not dead, but merely unconscious, had become pregnant, and after nine months she gave birth to twins, as beautiful a boy and girl as ever were born. Kindly fairies attended the birth, and put the babies to suck at their mother's breast. One day, one of the infants, not being able to find the nipple, began to suck at his mother's finger. He sucked with such force that he drew out the splinter of flax, and Talia awoke, just as if from a long sleep. When she saw the babies, she did not know what had happened or how they had come to her, but she embraced them with love, and nursed them until they were satisfied. She named the infants Sun and Moon. The kindly fairies continued to attend her, providing her with food and drink, which appeared as if delivered by unseen servants.

The king at last remembered Talia, and thought to himself that he would go again to the palace in the wood, to see if the lovely lady was still sleeping there. Saying he was going hunting, he journeyed to the place, and was overjoyed to find her awake, and with two charming little toddlers. He told Talia who he was, and what had happened, and how she had come to be a mother all unknowing. As they conversed, they both realized they were forming a stronger bond of friendship and love, and after a few days, when it came time for the young king to leave, he promised to return for her soon, and bring her to his kingdom. As he journeyed back, he found he was indeed desperately in love with Talia and his two children, and he could hardly sleep for thinking of them, and when he did sleep he called out their names in his dreams.

Now the young king already had a wife, who had become suspicious when he did not return for several days from the hunt, and hearing him call strange names in his sleep, she was overcome with anger and jealousy. She called the king's secretary to her, and said, "You are between a rock and a hard place, young man. If you will betray your king, and tell me who his lover is, I will give you riches beyond your wildest dreams. But if you do not tell me, your life will be worth nothing, for I will have you killed." The secretary was filled with fear, but in the end he valued his own life above honor, and he told her what the king had told him in confidence. The queen, once she had heard it, sent the secretary to Talia, with a supposed message from the king, saying, "Send the children to me now, for I miss them and want to see them." Talia, overjoyed that her lover loved his children so much, obeyed the summons, and sent the little ones back with the young man.

The queen, hating the children even more when she saw how beautiful they were, took them to the kitchen and told the cook to kill them, and to prepare them as tasty dishes for the king's supper. The cook was horrified at the suggestion, and though he agreed to it, he secretly took the children to his wife, and told her to hide them. Then he killed two newborn lambs and cooked them in a number of delicious ways. When the king came to the dinner table, the queen with great pleasure asked that the dishes be served to her husband, and when he ate with evident relish, her joy knew no bounds, and she kept pressing him to eat more, saying, "You are eating what is your own." After she had said this several times, the king began to get annoyed with her, not knowing her insinuation, and he finally said angrily, "I know very well I am eating what is my own, because you brought nothing with you into this house!" And he got up and stormed out, staying for several days in a nearby villa to get over his anger.

The queen meanwhile dispatched the secretary to fetch Talia herself, sending along a false message from the king that he longed for her and could no longer bear to be parted from her. Talia obeyed with pleasure, and she herself felt a great longing to be with her lord, who was so loving and kind to her, but imagine her horror when she was brought to the queen, whose very face was burning with passionate hatred. The queen said to her, "Are you the whore who has been enjoying my husband? Get ready to be welcomed in hell, because you will soon be going there." Talia tried to reason with her, telling her how it had come to pass that she had become the king's lover, while she was asleep, but the queen merely laughed in desbelief, and commanded that a huge fire be lit in the palace courtyard, and that Talia be cast into it.

Talia, stalling for time, knelt before the queen, and asked as a last request that she be allowed to take off her rich garments before she was cast into the fire. The queen felt no pity for poor Talia, but she had noticed that Talia's dress was very beautiful, and encrusted with jewels, so she agreed that Talia should be allowed to disrobe, thinking that she would keep the garments for herself afterward. Talia began very slowly to take off her clothes. As she removed each garment, she screamed, and tears rolled down her cheeks, thinking of the horrors she was about to endure, and with each garment, her screams grew louder and more heartrending. The king was just returning to the palace after his absence, and he heard the screaming. Following the sound, he came upon the queen and the weeping Talia, who had now removed all but her shift. He demanded an explanation, whereupon the queen reported that he had unknowingly eaten his own children, and that his mistress was about to be burned for a whore.

When the wretched king heard what had transpired, he was beside himself with grief, crying, "How could I have eaten my own sweet babes? Why didn't my very veins cry out in recognition? You venomous, evil woman! How could you have done such a dreadful thing?" Saying this, he commanded that the queen herself should be cast into the fire that she had prepared for the innocent Talia, and his secretary with her, for his part in the wicked plot. The last to be burned was to be the cook, whom the king believed had willingly slaughtered his children, but when the cook was dragged forth, he protested, crying out, "Do not reward my faithfulness with this horrible punishment, Sire. I saved your children. They are not dead, for I hid them with my wife." The joyful king replied, "If what you say is true, you will be rewarded as no man has ever been rewarded before." The cook then called his wife to bring Sun and Moon to the king, who covered them with kisses and caresses; in fact, he could not get enough of kissing and embracing both the children and their mother, as he gathered them all into his arms. He gave the cook a rich reward, and made him a gentlemen. And of course he married Talia, who lived a long and happy life with her husband and children, always knowing full well that "The person who is favored by fortune has good luck even while sleeping."

Source: http://www.public.iastate.edu/~lhagge/sun,moon.htm

i am going to stop writing crappy oh-my-god-i-saw-my-crush today entries. people are just not interested in those things.. for one, they dont even know that person. and its just a waste of time. so there. haha.

UPDATES!
last wednesday, we opened our photo exhibit at the Ishmael Bernal Gallery in UPDil. so much fun. here's the pub mat for the event..

and some pics too! :)

class pic



woo. my photos.


Ms. Astrud Q. Malvar

oh yes. hello sembreak.
i still feel stressed. i have to finish my papers. and the crappy shifting out process is still on. saaad. :((