sickxela

Hope to see same scenery as   here.. From my flickr account.  I manipulated it from the original which i took from Ms. Blandina Kalang-ad of UP Baguio MOuntaineers.

Everybody could grow, much as the beautifully grown wild weed on the field of concrete . Weeds could grow alone, so am I.  As days of my tender years being left from the path Im treading, I surely would say, time wasnt the only thing i killed (what could be the others). Memories, though temporarily attached to my ever-wondering mind, I will do my best for them to stay permanent. They could be hidden from the rest for the meantime, but i would ensure that they would co-exist with the world that is always being peeled. In time, that is not so faraway from now, they will let themselves be seen and felt.  They will abruptly spread and tell the good news.

A heart of an adventurer and a dreamer will not be lost just because his dreams  couldn't be called a fantasy anymore. A heart of a poet is not merely a fist-sized and blood-full room which has finite space. It is the orb that appears every other day, it is the illusion that is so realistic and it is the permancence among the ever-changing me. It is a hollow dark and vacuum that wouldnt be altered by time.  There's no such knowlege and gun shot that could replace the mind of a boy attached to his more realistic fantasy land. Though we gather new revelations, and in turn replaces our ability to believe, a place within those fading lands would still be in there. Those Days could  only be a part of my memory, but it was a crucial thread of the life that clothes me.

that is what we call nonsense writng... i coudn't understant it neither.