Love affair,
Intense, insanely passionate
Strips you of being
Robs you of personality
Because they say, in love
two become one.
The weak shall be subdued
The strong shall reign.
Slave to defeat,
masochist that I am.
Whipped repeatedly.

My blood is replaced by tears
The redder they become.
And cry I will
In solitary.

========

You are all weaved from the same material
Fashioned by one grand loom
The hands that create
Have only one goal
To eliminate the woman
Mask her pain with words
And to remind
That it's a man's world

====

Tea scalds my tongue, but,
I don't feel a thing.
Only the burning of my heart.

(I wonder if there is, indeed, any truth to the "old cow, new cow" theory. I seem to be living it right now)

*I hope to see sunrise before I die....

how can you cope not knowing where you are, or where to begin? the enigma that is your return continues to play with my thoughts. i try to search for a silver lining in my dark nimbus cloud, but all I see is more darkness. I need answers, but the only thing you give me are more vague replies. "I will be here for a while." What does it mean? Am I to wait until Fate gives me the real interpretation of your words? How can I manage to live? How will I stand up and tell everyone I'll be all right? You were my happiness personified, but now you are one big question on my being.

Who are you? are you the person I learned to love?

You reek of lies
I cannot take in your stench
You and your sweet tongue
I wish I could slash
Yes, die
I order you to crumble
Burn at my feet
So I can stomp on your ashes
And spit.

He went online and never even bothered to talk to me. I don't want to feed my imagination of any hurtful scenarios but I cannot help it if they come surging toward me. He probably has chosen to take a path apart from mine. He has gone on to what he probably thinks are better things, greener pastures, more peaceful ways of life. Because life with me is chaos. Life with me is a big mental and emotional torture. I am hurt, but I will let him be. I pray for his happiness and peace of mind. I will try to go on with my own without a drop of tear from my eyes. I am used to this. So my theory is a fact now. Falling in love is, indeed, a sign of weakness. I have allowed myself to be vulnerable. This is the price I have to pay.

My favorite site (for the moment): www.m-w.com

Word for the day:
henotheism • \HEH-nuh-thee-ih-zum ("th" as in "think")\ • noun
: the worship of one god without denying the existence of other gods

Example sentence:
During certain periods of Egyptian history, the pharaohs and their subjects practiced henotheism.

Did you know?
"Henotheism" comes to us from the German word "Henotheismus," which in turn is derived from the Greek "hen-" ("one") plus "theos" ("god"). Someone who engages in henotheism worships one god as supreme over all others. Max Müller, a respected 19th-century scholar, is credited with promoting the word "henotheism" as a counterpart to "polytheism" ("belief in or worship of more than one god") and "monotheism" ("the doctrine or belief that there is but one God"). Müller also offered the related word "kathenotheism" for the worship of several gods successively.

============

Am I a henotheist or a kathenotheist? I do believe in a god, but I don't really attempt to identify who he/she is. My god is sometimes in me. Sometimes, he's not. Why, I don't even go to church.

I just discovered something about me and my writing habits.

I CANNOT WRITE WITHOUT THE COMPANY OF PEOPLE. I CANNOT WRITE IN TOTAL SILENCE.

This I discovered when I trapped myself in solitary confinement last night, in an attempt to meet all my writing deadlines. I had all my materials arranged within my reach. Nestled on the sofa bed, pen in hand, lighting in perfect angle, airconditioning in full swing, I posed to write. BUT I COULD NOT. The silence was deafening. It felt too empty. My mind felt like a vacuum, as well. All the creativity in me were locked away in some unknown place. I struggle to find where I could dig inspiration, but I could not. The only thing silence gave me was a feeling of emptiness. It reminded me more of how lonely I was. It danced around me and hummed annoyingly, mocking me. "I am here, yet you could never hold me. Try gripping and I will only slip through your hands." My muse has rebelled against me.

Perhaps a walkman will be answer to my dilemma. Perhaps it will reverberate louder than the voices in my head telling me I am too uninspired to write. 5 countries to write about. 5 pages each. An article for indiefilipino (one I kept putting off for another day, for which my editor already confronted me and gave me a sort-of ultimatum). All due on Saturday.

Today is Thursday. I anticipate going home to a quiet house. I do not own a walkman.

I am to fight my demons again tonight.

Damn these monthlies
Damn the heat
Today, I bleed myself dry.
Bleed till I could no longer
So,
When you return
I can walk up to you and say,
Dinner is ready.

Love in the time of the camera was not as good as I thought. In fact, it's a pretty boring read. But C's 100 Wild, Weird Tales is really good. I plan to read everything in it.

Today, I seek inspiration. I do not find it anywhere. Not inside my head. Not inside my heart. And the only person who I thought believed in my writing has suddenly disappeared while I was talking and never left word where he went. The only consolation I get from the dreary day is that I finally had the courage to tell my parents about my status. They took it without thrashing. It makes me more guilty because they still love me despite the person I became. I cannot wait to go home.