Naku po

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***nakalimutan ko nabigay ko pala sa kanya ang blog address wehe baka masira ang diskarte wehe at saka aliw pala tong strike text

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in the meantime ito na lang nasulat ko na siya rin may kasalanan kung bakit may nasulat kornicks tlga amp

Morning & you shit

I'm aware of the fact that when the day would come when i will be left with no choice but to forget all of these poor attempts in trying to imagine your face in my dreams and when I'm awake, and had found them severely lacking of taste to picture only of the curves and colors of your face and the indescribable details, and found it too insufficient that for the last couple of days my mind had been construing desperately, any thing that would most likely suffice and fill the need for me to think of you, or more appropriately, for me to miss you as i always had been since I've known you.

Take for instance, when in bed or in the sofa this morning, when my right hand covered my face and a couple hid my half shut eyes, while on my sides or on my back, as though suggesting that i'm taking a sunday siesta, but the truth of the matter was that for some reasons i'm high circling in some sky, all skies looks the same, while the cool sun rays beating heavily all around wherever I look, and the air perhaps had been too strong it almost made anyone fall to the ground willingly, and the images of wings flapping like soaring eagles coming in from the left and all sides, the sense of too severe freedom that would have been enough to define your face, and consequentially you yourself when i'm with you, but then it did not suffice.

So I turned my body another time and one of my leg now searched for the most comfortable side of the sofa, my fingers still covered my eyes, at times my forehead, still suggesting that I had been taking a quiet nap, when in fact i've just woke up. But the truth of the matter again was that I had been rolling unto the vast green field of absolutely fine bermuda, rolling as far and as relentlessly as one ex-convict would, while the scent of some sumptuous noon meal came rushing from some place, and seemed to be listening to the sounds forks and spoons make everytime mother had been busy, and attuned completely, that at any given time, as long as my favorite music on the radio keeps on rocking, I could go over that some place so long as I've washed my hands, and dig in like there's no tomorrow. And at any rate too, would my retrievers come along as well, but only after we've had enough of rolling around and jumping around and playing around in that vast field of the finest green bermuda while the warmth of the cool sun rays beat all around us and the wind combs through all of us. But still, of course, these too would never suffice.

And so it occured to me much later that i've run out of any more reason to stay down so i had switched my place some place else, some place that didn't matter, only to pursue further what poor attempts i've got left to describe all of these and you of course. But even before i've given up and had contemplated on standing up, it became clear to me that i've been in the most refreshing suite of some sort for too long already, still half way through the cases of beer including the one that i had been grabbing onto, though quite loosely, while in front of a huge plasma tv watching simultanously, all the seasons of all the programs and movies i've learned to follow religiously, while my hands, and so as all of the others who had been with me all along, had been sufficiently sored by the excessive punching and fiddling with the gamesticks and our eyes too had been too sore yet seemd to protrude joyfully and the more, but of course not after we've gone thouroughly with the days game events and had sored our feet and dried our throats from whatever game we have had to engage, and had gone through all of it without a tint of what have we got to do tomorrow nor what tomorrow would have to do with us. And all of these, now it did not come as a surprise, would never suffice.

And so while I am, or we are, immersed in all of these, rolling and the flaps of wings, and getting graciously drunk , it never occured to me that in my dreams this morning, I've already dreamt a million times of such scenes which were, if i'm not mistaken, definitely more convincing than these rolling around the ground and flying and drinking- indeed, for the only problem with those dreams was that they always seem to, and always had been, utterly impenetrable- but not too undetectable during the first few moments after one becomes awake, instead too impenetrable that when the time one had already known fully that he or she is indeed awake, as I this morning, one inevitably would find it not only logical to make oneself believe that it is only normal to wish you were still asleep, but i myself found it perfectly sufficient to resort to imagining your face and from that point onwards, start to think of you, or miss you- but then indeed just try and look at me and tell me how possible that would have been, when here in my sofa now I have been lying down, twisting and turning and twisting, while my hands had become too numb in those petty attempts in trying to keep on playing dead like a dog, that is it even possible that for the sake of simplicity, your face would even be enough for me to imagine you or even think of you sufficiently?