Please support my piddling blog

I know I should have good reasons for having been away for a little over a month. I could say I lost my fingers to gangrene having survived a horrible refrigerator-cleaning mishap. Just so I'll look cool, I could say that my absence has been due to a pursuit of Mentat-level knowledge. Or...I could say that my mind has weathered down due to misuse and depression (which wouldn't be a very good reason at all). These reasons won't suffice...because (here, we sense a transformation) they would just be excuses. This won't be long. I prefer it to be painless. These days, I tend to get emotional if too long into something. My constitution has weakened over the past month.

Classes are fine, sure, but I have a nagging suspicion that I'm not actually growing (if I may employ such a physical word). Everyone around me seems to have left me in the dust. I look around and everyone is so purposeful. It's not like I'm not trying to do something useful. But I just can't get myself un-stuck. Call me crazy, but I suspect something magical is at play: I think we have a Procrastinator somewhere in the house.

In Terry Pratchett's Discworld, there is an order called the Monks of History. Basically, they're in the time business. They have a temple at Clay Lane in the city Ankh-Morpork. Inside are huge Procrastinators described by the monk Sweeper as "the ones that look like your granny's mangle." They take back time at the same rate it moves forward. Time, then, (kind of) stops in that general area. There can be no other explanation for my present inert state. I'm not usually this stationary.

Now, since I haven't seen anything around the house resembling anything my granny might use to press-dry her laundry, I conclude that my Procrastinator must be disguised. It could be the old Sony DVD player that won't play anything. Or the working DVD player, for that matter. It whirs too loudly for its own good. Or it could be one of the TVs. They look like they've been around for a while. Or that ancient maroon bean bag we just can't get rid off. On a side note, we think (and hope sincerely we are wrong) that a mouse has managed to infiltrate said bean bag and made it its home. Must find that Procrastinator. The cycle must be broken! O_o

I saw Casino Royale the other night and have developed an insane girl crush on Eva Green. I might say the same for Daniel Craig but I'm not sure where my girly tendencies might take me if I admit to such things. So I'll play it safe and go for Eva Green, and we can all assume I want to be her...and have that cute twitchy thing she does with her mouth when she talks. I wonder if it's because she was working an English accent in the movie. I didn't notice it in the Dreamers. She looked beautiful underwater, her hair swirling about her in a most merperson kind of way. Ethereal, Nicole said. Her appearance in the Golden Compass should be fulfilling. Her hair swirled around her a lot in the trailer too. Yey. I should also mention that we think Vorenus on Rome looks just like Daniel Craig. I think it's the pouty lips. And also, says Nicole, it should be noted that Brutus was M's personal assistant.

I have been so out of the blogging loop that when I clicked on The Philosophical Bastard, I had to register. It was very professional. There were also a lot of feeds about Malu Fernandez. In my best Dean Winchester voice "That Malu chick...whatta bitch!" The thing about communication, is that even when you say you're sorry and resign, things already said or written have already been heard or read. As usual, Poli delivered with his Havaianas-Spartan peys op. Because only Pinoys give birth to real slippers. Haha. It was also interesting to find out that a fat ginger cat moonlights for Fruity. Lei and Maika had better start writing again. I thought we were supposed to conquer the blogosphere?

Poetry, poetry. My words come out in verses and well-timed syllables. Haah. Right. Link love for poets. Check out laizo, casidhe, and frankie on deviantart.

Must go and study now. Be back soon. I hope.

P.S. If you want to see something pretty, go to a National Bookstore, head to the science fiction shelves and survey the complete set of Frank Herbert's Dune. Yeah, I said survey, because that's what I did in my impoverished state. But if you can buy them, what the hell, do it! This restocking is a heartening development. The release of Hunters of Dune has rekindled the passion for the earlier books. Let's all put on a stillsuit and go home to Dune.

The Princess and the Many-Roomed Castle

Author's note: This poem was originally posted on baguio-below.blogdrive.com on June 3, 2005. When I wrote this, my mind's eye was seeing with a clarity I wish I still had now. I hope you guys enjoy this one.

Once upon a time, there was a princess
Who lived in a castle with many rooms.
She wore a swishy periwinkle dress
And a ringlet of flowers round her raven tresses.

She visited all the rooms in the castle
Where she met knights and maidens,
fools and shameless knaves
Who made her giggle in childish delight.

The princess especially liked the rooms
That baffled her,
Her eyes shining in wonderment
At their smokey enchantments and wiles.

On a windy day, the princess found a room
Bathed in the darkish blue of constant night.
There she met a prince--
A dark prince, but a splendid one.

Oh, how he shone.
And oh, how she loved him.
She spent all her days in that room,
Enamored and enraptured
By this well-intentioned wicked prince.

And then her prince had to leave on a quest.
With soft words, he gently pushed her
Out the heavy door
Which was shut hard behind her.

The princess discovered Loneliness,
Who beckoned to her
And bid her bury herself in his cloak.
She did, and she slept.

When she woke, she found
The rooms she used to know
Were now locked to her.
The glass knobs, dusty and cobwebb-y
Would not turn in her small hands.

Then Time passed.
And by then she had found the keys to her rooms.
Dusk did not seem so dark
And Dawn came more swiftly to save her

Long after, her prince returned
And the princess rejoiced.
But now she is careful
To not get mired with this rogue,
This prince whom she adores.

She opens all her doors now
And is revisiting all the old rooms.
She plays with the ladies
And banters with the knights.

The fools once more hear her tinkling laugh,
As she wonders again at things like rain
And remembers to look up.
The princess still visits Loneliness,
But only because he is such an engaging companion.

But her prince remains.
He is ever secretive, and sometimes foreboding.
But it is this darkness that draws her in.
And she will love him
Until even the castle is no more.

A Maze of You

I run along the little lines on your palm
(You always had such big hands)
I stumble on the preserved memory of a callus
(You always had such expressive skin)

On your wrist, I sway
to the bass thrum of your pulse,
an echo
of the hale vibrations
within the chambers of your heart.

I weave through the criss-cross hairs
on your arm,
tracing
the faint outline of your soul.

Time stretches
into the
dark pools of your eyes
So that I find myself lost

Lost
in a maze of you.