A six-hour class is a true tragedy. By choice or by consequence, my mind floats. Below is a sample of the things that i doodle /write/muse. Glimpse of coherence, y'all.
I wish I were a real artist, that way, I can get away with unkempt hair and be blithe about recitations. I’m tired of playing this ‘take me seriously’ thing. ‘Never was my style anyway.
I’ll just keep doodling, I’ll appear busy while I do a mental rantfest.
It’s too windy outside. ‘Worried about the car getting hammered by a falling acacia trunk. I feel kinda sorry for all the fallen acacias caused by Pedring. The university oval’s tree-lined look makes UP feel ancient, which is a good thing.
It’s my sister’s birthday today. I miss her a lot.
What the fuck really happened to Louis Althusser? Or Nicos Poulantzas? Or Roland Barthes? Why did they die tragically/fantastically?
Write. Write. Write. Write. That’s the biggest lie ever. I’d rather not write.
I enjoy this class. For some weird reason, law with an international component is much more interesting than local laws. Either I’m a secret euromaniac, or I’m too special to be doing ‘Philippine law.’
If my absolute net worth is 1 million pesos, and I find a Ronald Ventura that sells for 1.2 million, I’d sell myself and my inheritance to buy that piece.
The day you reject objectivity is the day you become free.
“Waves are coming. Paddle hard. Harder!” Someone on the shore is holding her breath. "You can catch it!" I see you bob up and down, where the waves are harmless, pre-break. I’m nearer to the shore, where the chase is real. “Paddle harder!” The break makes an artificial rain from sea foam. The sun hurts, but I’ll paddle harder. (Another burst-fiction)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment