small talk

...after sixteen goddamn days, 98 chapters (minus the acknowledgements, epilogue and the afterthought), new vocabularies and myriad seconds wasted...,


its with great laud to say that i am somehow relieved!   


as stated on my earlier posts, i've bought a book. or at least i thought so. it turns out to be random waffling scribbled on pieces of paper which unorthodoxly binded into a book. and so i bitched about it. great deal. 


and so after endured sixteen days of sheer boredom and uneven brain cells distribution, i am literature-ly challenged. i can't tell the difference between a good book and a piece of shit anymore! jeez. ok maybe not. but right now, all i can tell is that one of them definitely came out through the ass although i'm not sure whether its the former or latter. but heck, a good artwork is all about the magic of captivating viewers, in this case, readers. retrospectically,if it captivates you, then hell yea its good. 


some would argue that a true writer is a writer who writes what readers would want to read and proceeds to show the whole world his/her face. later on, confetti and champagnes are popped and it all rain upon the writer for selling millions of copies planetwide. then, everyone jumps on to the speeding bandwagon and get themselves a copy of that bullshit just because the aforementioned writer is famous and gotten himself/herself a well-paid-ass-kisser publisher. now that would be fucked, wouldn't it?


a true writer, ladies and gentlemen, ...a true artist, a true believer in art in the sense of word is a writer who writes what he/she wants to write. writes what he/she believes in and most important, writes what the heart speaks. what the soul asks for. and what the body can deliver. with no bullshit in between, or much less anywhere near it. 


you see, why would anyone writes something people want to see? what if suddenly we were capitulated with our own demands until we can't give no more? what if we don't know what to want anymore? then what the hell you guys gonna write about then? asking for more, for dummies? i dont think so.


a true writer sparkles. surprises. shines. amazes. and of course, captivates us in a way we never expected, heard of or even dreamed of before. yes without a doubt the rarity is rather extravagant, but it happens. and when it does, we will all be blown away....


...all with the magic of captivating readers.


"your book not captivating you?"
-of course it doesn't! wait till i write one myself. because i write for i to read. not for the world...

Olivo Barbieri's shots

have you ever heard of "tilt-shift photography"?


tilt-shift photography refers to the use of camera movements which involves the use of tilt for selective focus, often creating a miniature scene from an actual landscape. 


Olivo Barbieri, born 1954, is an italian artist and photographer of urban environments specializing in creating aerial shots miniature still photography from actual landscapes by simulating shallow depth of field via the use of tilt-shift lens photography.


the following are some of the wonderful shots taken by Barbieri. despite having the appearance of model-like, or in other words - toy-like miniatures, all of them are real landscapes which some of them with real living human being!


enjoy! 

My New BlackBerry!

after contemplating for some time, i've finally decided to jump onto the bandwagon and gotten myself a blackberry :)

this thing is awesome! nuff said :)

Whoop De Doo!

not some wordy witty lame emotional post about someone's misery this time. that said, its with great gusto to inform you guys that my old blog is up and running, again. this time, it will be adequate of genuine prattles and shits i'd come across from now on and for those of you who had misplaced/forgotten/bitched the link, its here.

holy shit, i've got 45 days left here!


i bought a book last week. so i thought. until i realized its actually wafflings written on papers that was unorthodoxly binded into a book. tweeted all about it - got some replies. 


"your book not captivating you?". 


veritably, i can write better than her - "so why are you still not writing?" at that point, i couldn't think of what to reply. well maybe i should say i couldn't get a good publisher; anyway the point is that i'm done with my initially planned 4-month-reading-scheme ad hoc for my stb law classes. 


speaking of which, i havent pack a thing yet! and the work...geez the work is just chagrin psychobabbleish! i hate doing work. and its not even my own shit! 


anyways, cheerio :)
p/s: wish me all the fucking luck i need!

Why the comments are off

i share a huge fervor for jogging recently. 


it started out a couple of months ago as some kinda first step towards "staying healthy" disposition and it was hardly consistent at all - on and off, but mostly off- ! there were days where i would go "ahhh it's fucking scorching out there! how the hell imma jog?!" , "wait laaa...., now still early" and "zzzz..." back then, i abhorred anything that had something to do with jogging - just the mere sight of my trainers sitting under my bed managed to spawn a long, heavy sigh from me. not to mention the ipod - i deliberately left the battery dead so that i can have an excuse for not jogging. 


nevertheless, i jogged anyhow, reluctantly. at first, a week straight without any day-offs in between. then, it got more intense. as of this moment, i've jogged for more than 5 weeks straight, not a single day off. and damn, i've never felt better! for a moment here, i actually enjoy jogging very much, well at least i thought so..not until i realized that i've fallen in love with jogging, completely!


since the past 4 weeks or so, i dreaded for time for me to go jogging. with a toothpick in my lips and the shuffle's on, i take off every single day just like that. i love the way the air wash my face every time, metaphorically. i love how the dogs would bark every time i jogged by their territories. and how aunties gardening nearby would look up to me and give me approving nods - or whatever the hell they actually meant - and smile at me, where i would perfunctorily smile back. and of course, the cheers, grins and smirks the little kids give me.


that being said, there were times where mat rempits or better known as thugs-on-wheels would come vrooming by showing off skills they don't have. uttering curses in foreign languages they don't understand where they honestly believed that girls think it is cool - it's not - and shut-the-fuck-up-will-ya? im-listening-to-my-ipod-and-i-can't-hear-ya. you see, everytime i jogged, i sacrificed one of my senses - the most important one actually. cars would honk, bikes would pitss every time i swayed too much into the center of the street. and i simply can't hear a damn thing! the volume's tuned up to high and i honestly can't even listen to my own heartbeat, or my breath, much less a honk! go figure. 


that's why i rely on my sight pretty often - which is rather stupid really; i gotta turn my head around to see if there's a car behind my tail every 10 seconds or so. in a retrospect, a single 30-minute-session would cost me 180 head turns, which is rather amusing really to the dogs, aunties and kids. they might be wondering, "what the hell is wrong with this kid? he's got backaches or his muscles are twitching?"


frankly, ever since i downloaded shitload of owl city's songs, i've been eschewing the shuffle option and instead, entrusting the repeat function instead. the last session, set fire to the third bar by snow patrol was playing. over and over again. so if my mathematical skills are still reliable, i've been listening to this song for over 300 times in the course of 2 days - this song is currently playing as i write this. yes, over and over again -


still, the best part of all this is when i am running the last sector. the sight of the large coconut tree - indicating that the jog of the day is over - pleases me more than anything else ever could. seems so far away, and yet so close. also the first breath i would take after the 30 minutes jog is something i really looking forward to. it's fairly different! and sound of engines running overhead as the motorway is just a stone throw away. carbon monoxide plus fresh coconut-tree-released-oxygen! paradise!

Still, Thinking of Senna...

earfood - set the fire to the third bar, snow patrol.

     
   "I want to live fully, very intensely. I would never want to live partially, suffering from illness or injury. If I ever happen to have an accident that eventually costs my life, I hope it happens in one instant" - Ayrton Senna.

the math is pretty simple - Ayrton Senna did not have to die.


1994. in the town of Imola. on the infamous track Autodromo Enzo e Dino. Tamburello corner. lap 7. Ayrton Senna did not have to die. he could have just walked away.


friday, two days before the race. Senna's friend, fellow countryman and protege Rubens Barrichello was injured when he was launched over a kerb, and into the top of the tyre barrier, flipping the car and knocking him unconscious. the next day, fellow driver Roland Ratzenberger crashed head-on into a wall during qualifying round and was killed instantaneously. 


Senna was very upset about the safety conditions of the track. he spent sunday, the race morning, assembling the other drivers to form a new driver's safety group; in which he was elected as the leader of the group.


word has it that he was so ambivalent about the race that he seriously thought of quitting as a formula one driver on that morning. he even called his girlfriend at interlagos to tell her about his concerns. he almost quit. he almost walked away.


of course, he couldn't. the crowd needed him. they simple do. in an afterthought, the whole world needed him.


and so he raced. a race where he finished no more.


lap 7. sunday morning. san marino GP. Tamburello corner. leading the pack after Micheal Schumacher. his car understeered so much that he crashed to the concrete barrier 135 mph, tearing off the right front wheel which in turn catapulted to his helmet in an instant. the car spun to a halt and he remained motionless while the crowd stood up with such bewilderment.    


he was a hero. he is still a hero. a true champion. he died that day because his body had served its purpose. his soul had done what it came to do, learned what it came to learn and then, was free to leave. Senna never raced for money for after all he was born and raised in a wealthy family. he raced because his heart told him to. 


he was admired, cheered, honored, respected. a great man. a great driver, he was. a great driver, he is. a great driver, he will be...

    "He looked serene. I raised his eyelids and it was clear from his pupils that he had a massive brain injury. We lifted him from the cockpit and laid him on the ground. As we did, he sighed and, although I am totally agnostic, I felt his soul depart at that moment" -Professor Sidney Watkins, head of F1 on-track medical team..

The Similarities of Fighting for Alright and All Rights...

this, our planet is driven by a force. a force so great that for all intents and purposes, vastly reflects the good sides of us all into obliteration, leaving no traces behind. maybe a small portion remains but then again, will be diminutively shown in order for us to keep the 'game face' on, for as long as it takes...
all in the name of fighting for - whatever it is that we're fighting for - 


spare yourself 10 minutes, maybe less and look out the window and tell me is this really what you want?
is this really the job you want to do for the next 20 years?
is he really the one for you?


think for a moment here....
what's another 10 minutes if you can actually deviate for your current situation here and actually work your way to the top, where the air is clearer?


the problem with us all is that we take things for granted invariably. we'd like to think that for everything we do, every decisions we make, someone's watching our back. maybe mom, dad, God who cares? as long as we get what we wants, the ends justify the means.


its preposterous! that's not right at all - to say the least.


its blunt and simple - we get what we worked for, and we work hard for what we want. and why are we so easily contented with everything? why can't we hope for more? wish for more? and work for more?


what's there to fight for when we have it all? at least when we thought we have it all - we don't. not everything we thought we owned is as it seems. sometimes, the very little things we thought we controlled strictly are bound to snap out of it and spit on us right on our faces. hence, we need to be more alert, apprehensive and always plan for a contingency, for a moment, time and resources are luxury commodities we can't afford to have with us.


*in my humble opinion, the only similarity is either one will prevail if we kept dawdling, like what we're doing right now.


for after all, a rose will stab you with it's thorns if you handle it wrongly

Ooo!

*Ohh look! I've got followers! As in blog followers! Nevertheless, they are real followers and I think we should start a cult! We'll name it.... let's not go there shall we?