Friday Night Lights

Alexander Wang comes out with the varsity blues. I lalalove his new Spring 2010 line, full of denim, khaki and army canvas fabrics. What's easier then stepping out in casual outerwear with a little edge, by bearing your mid-drifts while rocking the red, white and blue pursuit. To top it off, the messy side braid adds that extra ease of it all. This is all i need.

ignorant before the heavens of my life

watching the days burning out like a cigarette

Lets close these eyes of mine and just give into this full fledged.

The smell of sea salt wafting in the warm breeze. The hot sun touching every surface of my skin like tiny needles. The change between light and dark beneath my lids caused by the swaying palm fronds above me like an umbrella. And the combination of the waves crashing the shore and laughter brings gasms to my ears.

"My Paradise." MI PARAISO.

This anxiousness is getting the best of me. I tell myself, that lately days have been passing me by like crazy, but when I count down the days till I'm at Mi Paraiso, the sand in the hour glass seems to have gone too thick. Slipping through in small increments. It'd be a lot easier if I had things to keep me busy, allowing time to whiz on by. Even surprising myself that its just a day away. But, that's just not the case. I sit at home watching the the light shine through my blinds cascade itself on my wall. I watch it creep along my walls, changing from lightness to darkness. Another day crossed off, and a day gained to those white sands. As for now, all i could do is close these eyes of mine and let myself go. Go to that place where breezes are warm with wet whispers from the ocean are cool against my face, and those white sands pass through my hour glass in an everlasting continuum.

The Book of Hours

My life is like a book. Sometimes an open book, left out in the sun, pages wide open with coffee cups stains for all the world to grab a glipse of. Or its a closed one, never experiencing the touch of a hand through its crisp pages. A book has to have a beginning, middle and an end right? As mine seems to be stuck in the middle...the author seeming to be having writers block. It's like, when you skim through a book, you see a whirlwind of small texts flipping before your eyes. Mine, the black and white blur stops in the middle. And your left with white, virgin pages. Not touched, but not forgotten. Just, stuck.
My book is not tattered nor torn. It's not made of old leather with a red silk bookmark to remind you of your place. But instead, its still in rough draft. Scattered on the floor, like when life feels like nothing has to be in this picturesque state and fashion. Everything is more abstract and freehanded, reminding you of spur of the moment actions and feelings that arent controlled, more felt.
Or this rough draft will be neatly thumbtacked on the wall in an orderly fashion. Everything in place, from when you first felt that tinge of attraction to the oppisite sex at the age of 5, or when you finally realised how much the oppisite sex are such jackass's. You notice once again that your whole wall is claustrophobic with pages, yet still its not fully covered. Not yet to its full capacity. You know it can handle more than that. It just takes time, hours, days, months, years...
I guess I am getting ahead of myself. Expecting life to come at me like a wave. But, the tide is low, and the moon is asleep behind the sun.
This writers block will be fixed soon enough, and those pages will be filled, and this book will be published. Will it be edited? No...because life cant be taken back. Whats done is done. It's written in the stars is what they say. Something so out of our reach, we just have to lie back and connect the dots of our constellations.

Once my story has been told, to the point where my pages have been tattered and torn, please dont push it to the very back of your shelf. It wasnt made to collect dust. My life, my book wasnt lived and written to be forgotten. It was made my Him with a sense and a purpose. Everything has a purpose in this road we call life. So I guess I should take this road slow. Pull the windows down and feel the cool breeze whip through my hair. Cruising down with an open mind, heart and soul.

As for now, its not Once upon a time, its not To be continued, its not The End, but just Dot Dot Dot...

lets S*** everywhere

Twilight: New Moon Trailer

You can call me everything and pyscho, but I, with no exaggeration, watched this with hands clasped over my mouth. Preventing windows from shattering, and my sisters eardrums from breaking. I had non-stop jolts of electricity running through my body, alas explaining my jumps of joy rattling the house down. And due to my die hard fanatical histeria, my eyes watered but no tears were shed. All in all, I'm a complete loony.

when you give up your dreams, you die

engulf me in: shoulder bearing shirts, baggy ripped jeans and anything vintage.