If a philanthropist gives me two options whether to have a ten-thousand peso worth of cinema or book, I would gladly take the latter. Books are one of my “healthy” vices. If only the late Michael Crichton wasn’t a genius writer, I would have dumped Jurassic Park in the trashcan almost eleven years ago. Okay, so I don’t blame those good writers, it’s just me. I wouldn’t stop reading a book unless if I have to drink water, pee, eat or sleep. That’s it. I can survive without internet connection as long as I’m confined in a room filled with good books.
You don’t have to give me cigarettes unless I want to commit suicide. Duh, I’m not that type who easily gets depressed on small things, thank God.
I go for the QUALITY and not for the NAME. Dude, what’s the use if the brand of my shirt’s globally famous, but the quality’s low? Now that’s bullcrap.
I don’t drink for one reason: I hate the lingering taste of beer or wine. I opt to drown myself with coke, root beer and coffee. Now that’s cool.
I can stare in the mirror for three hours. I’m not afraid of Esseker and Bloody Mirror. They should be rather scared to me.
I can survive on listening on just one album in more than three months as my source of music. Take this for example: The Killers’ Hot Fuss. For three months, I always listen this on my player and even in the computer.
I love to write, really, even if I know that I’m just wasting the ink of my ball pen.
My handwriting is inconsistent. My style is dependent to my mood.
So what’s the use of making this entry? True, I love to blog even if I know, from the start that I don’t have a purpose on publishing it in the cyberweb.
What you think? Sometimes, being gobbledygook has a purpose. Even the littlest thing on Earth owns a bucket of Philosophy which led to the main reasons of their subsistence.
Try to appreciate little things my dear. Appreciate those eeky things, like the poor cockroach. If you’re annoyed with your little brother or sister, you can use a dead cockroach to fright them. They’re still useful, in some ways.
Okay, so being a scare tool isn’t great.
Forgive me. This entry’s quite strange.
I love to be strange sometimes.