Speechless.

My Brighter Half is here with me... I suppose that makes for a darker shadow. Therefore, more defined.

It is all out. My. I feel like I gutted myself reading my own article! I can't imagine the amount of self-hate I am capable of. And how much I can fail to love my fellow man.

I am facing the toughest career challenge I've ever met. Board meetings, new projects, Christmas arrangements, and all that. Makes me wonder why I'm spending all this time online. Maybe I really am a hedonist. Or escapist. Or a lazy sonovavich. Or maybe I just miss cramming.

In any case, I just hope I squeeze out of all this alive. And maybe with a raise.

*****
There is no sense in letting sleeping dogs lie. They will wake up anyway. And when they do, they will tear your nose off with their canines up your nostrils. And their paws will bear down on your eye sockets, taking you down and obliterating your soft eyes at the same time.

So don't let sleeping dogs lie. If you won't take the opportunity and put as many miles between you and the rabid one, kill it now. Then you can let the dying dog lie.

If I were a work of art, I would be Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. I am extremely popular and widely known. Although unassuming and unpretentious, my enigmatic smile has charmed millions. I am a mystery, able to be appreciated from afar, but ultimately unknowable and thus intriguing. Which work of art would you be? The Art Test

Unfortunately, they are all glad that I stay that way. As if deciphering my codes and glyphs would somehow disturb the comfortable status quo. It probably will.

I received my first "stranger" guest in the cover blog. I mean, not an invited friend (who could have been either truly interested or genuinely polite) or a coerced sibling. It was a true guest! My vanity is getting the better of me, of course. I just wonder if I can keep all this interesting enough.

Interesting too how I could only rave about what was "read" in the annals of the "unread". Fascinating how the mind works within the mores. Of course, I can only blame society to a certain extent.

4:39 PM 12/6/01

This dark journal, is of course, connected to reading entrails. Anything that moves in the light must have its shadow. Yin must have Yang. Heaven, its Earth (else, to what would it be "heaven" to?) Life, its Death. Or else, even Eternal Life would be worthless. Positive, its Negative. Or the Positive won't have power. Not only study in EMF will tell you that!

Well, this is it. The repository of my dark self. and just like in life under our prevalent cultural mores, I can only put the better foot forward. So, this must stay behind. Like a secret that nobody knows about because nobody really cared. In here, I reside. In here, I seethe.

I am 23% EMO.

Anti-Emo Okay... so I'm not emo at all.. I am probably not even goth, because goths are just messed up emo kids... I am probably a metal head... or into boy bands...

I'm no EMO huh? Yeeea-haw!

If I were an Autobot, I'd be:


Prowl? I don't even remember him. He must be THAT geeky huh? Well, that's a comfy thought...

I didn't know it would be this fun posting in something unread. To be fair, nobody reads entrails either (my other blog). But since I told everybody I knew of its existence, I guess I might as well at least believe that people go there.

This shadow is fun. Especially since I don't really lie in the net. That's frustrating, really, because almost everybody else is. Sometimes they even expect you to lie too. It's a culture, I guess.

Here of course, I can lie too.

De-kahong Pag-ahon

Tangan mo, patungo sa ibayong dagat,
adhikang marangal sa iyong balikat.
Sulo ni Prometyus, ikaw na'ng bumuhat,
panahod sa apoy ang butong binanat.

Sapagkat di sapat ang likas na init,
agwat sa asawa ang baong pasakit.
Na'ng asal ni bunso ay wastong maukit,
sa banyagang punyal, ikaw ay kumapit.

Ngunit kadalasan, may sabit ang sugal.
Mailap ang liyab ng gintong pedestal -
piliting kupitin, aabuti'y buntal;
piliting bilihin, pambayad mo'y dangal.

At kapag siningil ay hinto ng pintig,
babalik sa bayan ay kahong malamig.

Enter the shadow world. The compost bin. Those entrails had to go somewhere when I'm done with them. Here I am then. Made manifest as savior and avatar of thoughts and dreams. As we all are, in some measure.

Let us begin this properly. I am speaking to myself. When I say "us," I am involving all my fragmented selves. I will put a link to this page. I don't know why. Maybe for vanity's sake.