tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41324752011-04-21T19:59:00.331-07:00split second eternities<center><img src="http://tn3-1.deviantart.com/fs9/300W/i/2006/025/f/6/Poet__Idle_by_OurLadyofRamen.jpg"></center>Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.comBlogger1291100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-77844944048859154862007-05-25T02:26:00.000-07:002007-05-25T21:40:46.995-07:00Lately, I am being bombarded with all these realizations; revelations that cut through me like hot knife slicing through butter. After all, despite all the stoicism and jadedness you shoved down your throat and mastered as defense mechanisms, your emotions still throb underneath that stubborn surface.I can not love him.I wish I could. But our arrangement dictated otherwise.I hate this.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-15926220161433965332007-05-16T00:41:00.000-07:002007-05-16T00:43:37.808-07:00I chain-smoked the previous evening, legs crossed on a couch heavily patterned with florals of unknown kind. A wallflower, I was. A wallflower, I have always been.The repercussion of feasting on Marlboros: a bruised throat; a metallic-blood after taste. Water never helped. Chewed on ice cubes for two hours: futile.My bottle of Perriere water is the worst little evil in that room. Overpriced Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-24548644365654951552007-02-24T23:55:00.000-08:002007-05-15T10:39:38.927-07:00Do you remember the impertinent email featuring a fetus-munching Oriental oddity which circulated the web community sometime in 2001?I was a terribly neurotic medicated mess the time this godforsaken 'urban legend-posing-as-reality' bull was hot.A college friend forwarded me the dang email one dog day afternoon. I fumed and my spleen shot up my one nostril that I emailed her back a very sarcasticLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-9602841725185801902007-02-22T03:14:00.000-08:002007-02-23T01:43:27.519-08:00Coffee shops in Manila have been turning up like frog stools and spreading throughout the metropolis faster than one can say 'coffee in a copper coffee cup'.In this cause, I asked a friend, "Is there a growing number of intellectuals in the Philippines?". He asked me why and I responded, "Because of the coffee shops that have been popping out everywhere lately."Case in point: In The Block, North Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-67528490837571208892007-02-18T06:41:00.000-08:002007-02-28T09:15:21.271-08:00The Benildean Press Corps (an organization of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde's campus journalists where I work as Editor-in-Chief) launched BLiP (Benildean Lifestyle and People magazine), the corporate issue.I authored BLiP's book review for this year's release: [click on the image to read the review] Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1167579363250937802006-12-31T07:05:00.000-08:002006-12-31T07:36:03.456-08:00There's only an hour left and 2006 is history. So what do I do to celebrate the near-bygone year? I rid my yahoo inbox of spam emails sent by African widows and star-crossed heirs of some Carribean fortune: bloody hogwash.I have been reading up on Sylvia Plath's unabridged journals again to hopefully cure the mounting boredom caused by the two-week remission from college. It is not ironic that Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1167335251471898652006-12-28T11:46:00.000-08:002006-12-28T23:47:48.613-08:00I came across an article, Christmas Day, about the re-appearance of a Nepalese boy believed to be the reincarnation of the Lord Buddha. Ram Bahadur Bomjon, nicknamed Nepal's Buddha Boy, has been seen collapsed in deep meditation, clothed in dirty tricivara (triple robe) under a pipal tree in the middle of a Nepalese forest. He began his meditation May of 2005 with hopes of achieving enlightenmentLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1166816433188725482006-12-22T11:34:00.000-08:002006-12-22T12:17:09.910-08:00Okay, this is supposed to be my personal journal and I am not supposed to post here a piece from my column---which I must say is too political. However, nothing is really going on in my little "shit-for-brains-CSB (College of Saint Benilde) world"--as one person wrote in his hate mail sent to me.I am sort of celebrating the one-year suspension of one devil of a CSB professor so I am posting this Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1165074199705485492006-12-02T07:37:00.000-08:002006-12-02T08:07:16.506-08:00I fell in love with MK12. A one time encounter at the Graphika Manila was enough to get my insides melting out of my derriere.Watch their newest psychedelic-a-cool graphic short film. Click on the poster below:Or better yet, visit MK12! at www.mk12.comLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1163928684068357812006-11-19T01:20:00.000-08:002006-12-15T16:57:42.803-08:00A recent trip to Vigan caused me to fall face first on the jagged surface of reality. With minimal budget I squirelled away for my video production thesis and my overly ambitious film design, I can already smell defeat in the earliest round of my thesis proposal.It is a big possibility that La Santa is nothing but a flight of fancy and I need to be pinched mean.I had a recent discussion on thesisLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1163592873828786242006-11-15T04:10:00.000-08:002006-11-15T04:14:34.300-08:00 My film thesis coming soon.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1162329032767110132006-10-31T13:02:00.000-08:002006-10-31T19:02:49.076-08:00So, I am presenting a video production (a 30 minute guerilla film) as a thesis proposal.However, I don't want to follow the trend of the ever present poverty-themed films and glorify the so-called beauties of impoverished concealed beneath corroded shanties and come up with an abused-orphan-marries-an-oil-magnate script. Lino Brocka had done enough in that area and he's the forsaken son of God Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1157929700959781862006-09-10T16:04:00.000-07:002006-09-26T12:21:29.446-07:00For ORALCOM class (Oral Communications, you perverted dandelionhead), we were asked to prepare our own five-minute demonstration on how to do elementary things like turning toilet paper into an International 806 yacht to something as complex as planning a terroristic offensive using McGyver's orange juice-fuel mix sealed in a condiment bottle.For my how-to demo, I decided on an instructional Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1156500078147756032006-08-25T02:55:00.000-07:002006-09-10T09:54:04.306-07:00Things to do when you are very bored out of your screaming noggin: 1. Finish the meatloaf hors d'oeuvres in a free taste stall of a grocery. After you're done pigging out, tell the sales girl their meatloaf taste like peppered cardboard.2. Visit the U.S. Embassy for a tourist VISA application. Wear a shirt that says: Will intern for Zarqawi for crack.3. Sue Bonnie Tyler for her song Total EclipseLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1155052353364721512006-08-08T08:49:00.000-07:002006-08-23T23:07:20.463-07:00Ignorance is bliss.At four, I thought that the Cheez Whiz fairy really lived beneath the Cheez Whiz bottle label (as suggested in their one TV commercial in the 80s).As a child, I hated the gunky, sodium-laced pseudo cheese shit that is Cheez Whiz. Its plaster of paris consistency used to choke the devil off me in the mornings. Cheez Whiz was my yellow hell in a bottle. It was one of the things, Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1154433738109100392006-08-01T05:01:00.000-07:002006-08-01T05:02:23.906-07:00Nobody said it was easy. But here I am, going through it.Because the only way out is through.The bedclothes I am afraid to wrap myself in, sheet after sheet of memorized prose with my name on it and his name on it and our name on it beneath my four-poster.The tracings of familiar longhand on a paperback’s face, breathing of an existence unfamiliar now.I am loosening the grip.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1153482679359713802006-07-21T03:44:00.000-07:002006-07-28T13:49:53.363-07:00I've been a bad bad girl,I've been careless with a delicate man.And it's a sad, sad world,When a girl can break a boyJust because she can.I can feel the blue funk welling up. I impulsively purchased sixteen fortune cookies to live down the dumps. I clocked in N---'s dormitory for a pain pill. She said, "Fuck him." I wished that helped. Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1152256794736555772006-07-07T00:17:00.000-07:002006-07-07T00:20:03.156-07:00Midterm week sucks monkey balls especially when, while you're in class, you have a crew of creeps from geekland who spout incomprehensible babbles about the cheat exploits of Diablo II:Geek I: I used to do Pindlebot and D2jsp before the 1.11b patch came up...Pare, astig, if you want to bot Andariel. But Warden fucked it all up.Geek II: I'd rather do Mousepad's MH than Easyplay. But, of course, Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1150177609239047372006-06-12T22:42:00.000-07:002006-06-12T22:48:21.103-07:00So much for trying to be the Pete Sampras of Multimedia Arts. So much for the caffeine-induced hours of midnight spent before the blue light of the computer, rattling my brains for some right-brained idea on how to portray a rock, a mound of dirt, a child. So much for being a hack. Today, my fingers crack at the mere feel of a pencil.The Spy vs. Spy shoot yesterday was a drag. We spent five hoursLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1148981372848013102006-05-30T02:18:00.000-07:002006-05-30T02:29:33.196-07:00written for my video production class journal (posted: May 29, 2006 at 12:10 pm) Sunday, Bloody, Sunday People probably wonder how on Mick Jagger's lips do I come up with sicko blog titles. Well, my father is a surgeon. Go figure.I had my first video shoot yesterday, Sunday, in my father's (abandoned) wine bar by the (abandoned) formal dining area. Like what I confessed in my production journal, Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1147411572580773232006-05-11T22:20:00.000-07:002006-05-11T23:29:43.486-07:00clo·sure ('klO-zur) noun: approaching a particular destination; a coming closer; a narrowing of a gap; something settled or resolved; the outcome of decision making; synonyms: end, conclusionThere it goes. Down, down, down.Send the pain below.betterman.pearljamLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1146063564296752892006-04-26T07:46:00.000-07:002006-04-27T07:33:29.826-07:00The foreshadowing: a poetry of leave-taking on the nuptial cards.Overwhelmed, she was. The white trousseau of faux baubles, the rock candy for keeps in her mother's box.She had become too happy with the bridesmaid who smokes; her medication withdrawals made him leave for breakfast coffee somewhere at six.He was a bundle of nerves with his mother fattening him up like a two year old---the mother Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1145173847342491152006-04-16T00:47:00.000-07:002006-04-16T00:50:47.533-07:00Easter at 3 pm: solitary in this lukewarm white house with its rococo fireside chairs coated in dirty-white lace-cloth, the Persian rug mute and beautiful like a woeful king—his celebrity: finished.Hushed walls and the hot draft makes her rounds, sending doors to shift an inch, the loose filth under the bureaus to budge. The maids with heads wrapped in soaked towels laze by the garage tap; a Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1143984322748960892006-04-02T06:20:00.000-07:002006-04-02T06:35:53.790-07:00I have been this ruthless pretender: refusing to spill the milk about my so-called romance with the X—somebody I used to bawl my head off with over untouched pills and conversations on Plath’s unresolved agonies. He used to tell me: work on your spirituality; take therapy sessions, for Christ’s sake. How about the gym? You can come with me Sundays after breakfast.He was my personal Jesus. He Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1141370725019679352006-03-02T23:18:00.000-08:002006-03-19T09:59:38.726-08:00In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act. (photo by Charles Custodio) Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1140358033677117022006-02-19T06:05:00.000-08:002006-02-19T06:07:13.786-08:00I visited this thrift store selling books. I was alone in that open air utopia for the intelligentsias, rummaging through paperbacks and dog-eared hardbound copies of long-forgotten Mills and Boons and precious Hemingways. I found Olive Ann Burn’s (unfinished) Leaving Cold Sassy: a behindhand birthday gift for my mother.Then the cemetery on a Sunday afternoon. I came to feed the orange and Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1138597867620134732006-01-29T21:10:00.000-08:002006-02-04T18:07:54.276-08:00Lacerations, sanguine and half-gaping like baby-mouth, in forms of crude exes, streaks of maroon: hate.Then the awakening. This untouched air breathing in and out of the lonely holes.My wholeness is whole. A glimmer seeping through the cuts.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1138216497649410852006-01-25T11:14:00.000-08:002006-01-25T11:14:57.736-08:00Roxanne: "Look at the leaves. Perfect Venetian red!"Cyrano: "Yes, they know how to die. A little way from the branch to the earth; a little fear of comingling with the common dust. And yet, they go down gracefully--a fall that seems like flying." --Cyrano de BergeracWhy does it scare one so much? The falling. A body colliding against a body. A pause from respiration then the absence of it. It is Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1137267975494551792006-01-14T11:12:00.000-08:002006-01-14T12:07:57.826-08:00PS7 is a life-saver. Each time I begin seriously considering the "paperbag over the head/one week worth of Z in one sitting" solution to "stop the voices", I hug the comp and do PS7 until dawn. Sweet.Here are the creations I labored over from midnight to three (the lassie on the photograph is Jandi, my friend of five years).: (click on the posters for the full version)Thank you Robbiex for the Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1136261121894010552006-01-02T20:00:00.000-08:002006-01-02T20:05:21.903-08:00'The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans atop the broken universal clock: the hour is crowded in lunatic thirteens.' --Doomsday, PlathFeeding on rotting citrus, conceiving of something madder than some lousy countdown over booze. Perhaps an imagined warfare...Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1133757010386922862005-12-04T20:10:00.000-08:002006-01-13T23:27:16.950-08:00This room: square and cluttered; the ceiling fan with its faux wood blades spinning counter-clockwise, mechanical and precise. My guitar, wrapped up in its synthetic case, mum and triste: waiting, waiting.Three books next to me: Plath's Unabridged Journals (biblish; very black); a book of collected short fictions (Hemingway, Twain, Poe, Tolstoi, Saki...); a discounted Webster thesaurus (Walmart Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1133241413562150772005-11-28T21:10:00.000-08:002005-11-30T21:04:51.133-08:00Watch out for my upcoming column 'A Perfect Day for Bananafish' which will appear on The Benildean, De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde's official student publication.(thanks toAlwin Tanfor my column photo. love it. seriously.)Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1131949857329342112005-11-13T22:18:00.000-08:002005-11-17T22:09:09.836-08:00The melancholia: it was especially cruel and persistent thursday at two. Death's-head at the feast: I break down at the sight of everything. In sackcloth and ashes, I was.I was striking up pure Vedder on my guitar (Cobain's or Amos's, I resolved, would only fatten the choler) clad in my underthings on the rug. The Ds and As of "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter" came humming from my copper threadsLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1130392050807351072005-10-26T22:45:00.000-07:002005-11-10T23:21:07.146-08:00Shades of Gray Split-second Eternities book launch. 10/26/2005.I smell eyeliner.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1127884772592670602005-09-27T22:16:00.000-07:002005-10-05T20:28:08.593-07:00I am here, eating out the melted Berry Sour off my finger, the candy stretching out like wax-like taffy, dripping back on to its fuchsia Candy 4 Cures can (of the Jimmy V Foundation which Dad Ambrose received as a complimentary gift along with innumerable other cans of soursuckers from a Carolina golf tournament. Dave Mira was also a participant who ditched his skateboard temporarily for tee). I Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1127055857304823112005-09-18T07:59:00.000-07:002005-09-18T08:04:17.310-07:00Porch. My moonlight silver Dell.A plate of cold rye and Moutarde de Dijon (French mustard from Cedex).Baygon chalk circles all over the tiled floors. Ants conking out like a perdidor in a blood-stinking boxing ring.Monday class at 9, early morning.Him, him.Him.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1126110253512113652005-09-07T09:16:00.000-07:002006-09-23T11:41:59.286-07:0011:36, night time. There is nothing wrong with me.Of course. Despite of the truth that I sat on a bench on two occassions next to a row of 'interrupteds', chemically altered for the moment, eyes insane while conversating with 'beings' that disappear and reappear from the filthy flower boxes.Of course.*** Daniel Johns day in, day out. Daniel Johns tucking me in in the evenings. Daniel Johns Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1125163381949116372005-08-27T10:14:00.000-07:002005-08-27T10:23:01.953-07:00A poster I designed for Archipoetry 101, a poetry seminar the literary wing is hosting.here kitty...Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1125077215666526642005-08-26T10:26:00.000-07:002005-09-08T08:51:18.876-07:00 i. don't.look.like.her. contrary to what i was told. **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****The first term is over. It was bloody. Six weeks of stumbling to bed at four am. Innumerable days of momentary (or fixed) self-doubt because of 'you were just not good enough' in the opinion of your intellectually flawless professors (which no godforsaken quantum physicist could amount to). Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1124207053912888352005-08-16T08:15:00.000-07:002005-08-26T08:25:07.603-07:00I had a brief conversation with a renowned Filipino fictionist Prof. Jun Cruz Reyes during a literary skills seminar for student writers. He told me, "The most dangerous form of censorship is self-censorship."I still think about it.Yet another piece I wrote for the literary folio.An Ode to NooneLook at this head: a comical-looking sphere of paperbag peel with a doll head’s eerie geniality; Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1123771867710335682005-08-11T07:45:00.000-07:002005-08-26T07:40:19.980-07:00I can't figure out my self lately. Admittedly, I am being a slack-ass by oversleeping which results to missed classes and my deficiency of office hours at the college paper. Of course the know-it-alls would argue that it is, alas, but my depression eating me away like this terrible, black cancer. It is most possibly the inexplicable chemical imbalance in my noggin or my missed 'Z brain vitamin'. Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1123004414896446012005-08-02T07:18:00.000-07:002005-08-02T10:52:25.596-07:00I'm insane. Here I am still up to my toes with Serj Tankian (System of A Down) screeching, "Trust in my self-righteous suicide..." in my laptop speakers. I realized tomorrow is The Day. To be perfectly honest (and blunt), I have not been looking forward to The Day for the past three years now the way I used to when I was in elementary school (with the thought of Mickey Mouse shaped balloons and aLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1121796634760473702005-07-19T11:08:00.000-07:002005-08-02T09:53:28.853-07:00We were propped up on his brown couch, a terra cota bowl of cereal on his lap; the sky beneath the picture window signals a dismal, depression-ridden morning. A guy clad in a yellow, pre-shrunk shirt was on television singing, "To be is all I gotta be...and all that I see...and all that I need this time..." I pulled off a nonchalant demeanor. I can be such a terrific hypocrite.It was pretty Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1120926469423669232005-07-09T08:36:00.000-07:002005-07-19T08:30:38.523-07:00I could never smile. It pains my face. When the situation asks for a smile, I couldn't move the corners of my lips; they feel tight and shivery like a paralytic's. It feels as though I have stitches etched on my cheeks like a knifed vandalism on the sad, calloused skin of a tree. My teeth, they morph into hideous twists of black thorns. Smile is so foreign.Today, the literary section had a Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1118401100083532352005-06-10T03:51:00.000-07:002005-06-25T10:20:34.486-07:00I live in a jungle. Like Sonny Salinger (J.D., the Catcher in the Rye genius) I live a hermit-like existence Saturdays and Tuesdays and afternoons of Mondays; the rest of the week I spend in Manila at the College of Saint Benilde, exhausting my noggins with toxic brainwork.I am a nerd. I am hot.I love it here in this queer mountain city. The thrift clothing warehouses most especially. Sweet Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1117073793440075912005-05-25T18:46:00.000-07:002005-05-28T04:22:46.716-07:00Yesterday, Italianni's for the first time. I heard about Italianni's from R3 back in 99, over scattered, rainbow Copics, sheet after sheet of skin-thin tracing paper, the remaining of its transparent whiteness peeping behind the cruel pencil lines, perfectly horizontal and mechanical. He brought me to Italianni's. Heard of it? Unbelievable pasta. Too expensive though. Over at Robinson's, try it. Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1116591251307497432005-05-20T05:14:00.000-07:002005-05-22T05:07:31.440-07:00To give in to the tiredness....Such monotonous afternoons like this with dull looking trees looming over wet, idle grass make me want to just lounge in the porch and anticipate sleep. These giants, the trees, standing there with their strong limbs stretched out to the heavens, welcoming a cool shower from these fat celestial cottons. The sun's retirement has just began and I am loving it. The Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1115649775910768482005-05-09T07:19:00.000-07:002005-05-22T05:05:31.123-07:00Amidst all the supposed sunniness that is flashing before my head, somewhere in the foggy corner of my noggin, boredom settles down like sugar in a glass of bad, cold milk.Thy boredom come. Thy will be done.So I resorted to searching sources on the net that will provide the recipe to a mean homemade pepper spray.Yes. That is boredom.I resolved to play Henry Krinkle provided my school schedule Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1115235737549842222005-05-04T12:14:00.000-07:002005-05-04T12:42:17.553-07:00Ladies and gentlemen, I just survived E.Coli.I hated the I.V. my mother so casually pushed through my skin. I was dead dehydrated and all I ever munched on for the entire day were my bland cuticles (and I could almost hear The Evil She-Fatso screeching with pretended disgust 200 miles from where my arse is planted...who is The Evil She-Fatso? I will tell but then I may have to kill you.)So to Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1114662671286438872005-04-27T21:28:00.000-07:002005-06-12T03:14:33.830-07:00N--- admitted to smoking weed because it lifts her from the dark ditch of literary disability.I am glad to just be "mentally ill". Nothing beats soberness.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1114220770714487492005-04-22T18:28:00.000-07:002005-10-05T07:24:48.936-07:00I fell asleep once in one of the cubicles of my highschool comfort room. And just when I thought I was an absolute freak for this 'stunt', I experienced enlightenment just three minutes ago.THE VERY TIRED JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN My source for this photo is the blog of a grammatically challenged Japanese male named Masa (www.masamania.com). Here is an excerpt from a thread he wrote explaining the Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1108714081754533242005-02-17T23:48:00.000-08:002005-02-18T00:08:01.763-08:00It's a Friday and contrary to The Cure's classic line, I am not in love. Figuratively, mind you. This day is bloody stupid. I am being a colossal biggety dipshit considering the fact that so far I have three A's under my belt for the half part of the term and I should be rejoicing like some bastard tripping on acid. This morning, I spent innumerable hours at the college paper office just so Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1108093841393777332005-02-10T19:45:00.000-08:002005-02-10T19:50:41.396-08:00Sylvia has been dead for 42 years now. I wonder if she has finally shaken off the blue funk somewhere in another plane of existence. If you ask me, blueness doesn't abandon its victim overnight after a dose of sertraline. As Holden Caulfield puts it, ""If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn't rub out even half the fuck you signs in the world. Its impossible."Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1105862582371803472005-01-15T23:41:00.000-08:002005-01-16T00:21:22.583-08:00Chinese dumpling. Greasy like baby oil fingers. Mastication. Saliva like glucose. Fat melting. Down the drain it goes. The animal glue decides to linger. Choke. Gagging on a Tuesday night. Without warning it sits there. A blob blocking licorice tubes. Not yet, it is too early. Premature, I am only twenty four. Tomorrow they will tip their hats off. I am a genius. But look at me, will you. Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1105612407361264012005-01-13T02:10:00.000-08:002005-01-13T02:38:00.510-08:00I am ill. I can taste rust in my mouth. It is comparable to an old bad blood after you had your molar extracted or after you had been kicked repeatedly in the jaw during shower at bootcamp.
I am annoyed at the moment. I went to this crowded bookstore reeking of this biscuity smell to purchase a scriptwriting manual for Scriptwriting class. Of course, I didn't find it. Of course, I had to search Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1105503078318678872005-01-11T20:01:00.000-08:002005-01-11T20:11:18.320-08:00I welcome 2005 with a plate of eclair. Cheers!
I have a troubled health. It goes on and off like a dysfunctional basement bulb. I binge at every chance I get (Overeating Disorder). I douse my feet with alcohol before bedtime, obsess over the corners of my paperbacks, have to read a line in a book exactly five times to ward off the day's misfortunes and claim to literally smelling fatal microbes Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1103446397757293632004-12-19T00:34:00.000-08:002004-12-19T00:55:24.286-08:00I saw Kidman's new film Birth today. I am not certain if it's my Zoloft withdrawal headaches or the film was just depressing that I left the cinema feeling rather odd. Birth is Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita's masculine version. The only difference was, there was no penile exposure or anything that would create a controversy. There were some sexual implications although very subtle like Kidman and Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1103181458090245552004-12-15T23:09:00.000-08:002004-12-21T04:28:14.140-08:003.25 GPA and I am on the Dean's List.
God has been especially nice to me, His dirty little girl.
Anyhow, I am getting no subsidy for being on the Dean's List. However, I am getting 20% subsidy for writing for the college paper. Happiness. I wish I could reimburse the amount deducted from my tuition fee and acquire a new set of wardrobe.
They did not publish "Reality on the 25th" in the collegeLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1102939850044121832004-12-13T03:59:00.000-08:002004-12-15T23:20:37.010-08:00I am catching my breath. Literally. Whatever happened to the depressive troublemaker part of me and this perfectionist go-getter unleashed and ripped my ugly facade open...revealing new skin, new beginnings. This is the last week for the second trimester. I did relatively good. So far, I have a couple of 4.0s and a 4.5 (although Prof. Aman argued that eventhough this is my final grade, a 4.5 is Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1101616216877208892004-11-27T19:59:00.000-08:002004-12-05T19:12:58.700-08:00Nandito ako sa isang tanggapan kung saan nagpapa-arkila sila ng mga kompyuter para sa Internet at sa pag-sulat ng mga pormal na dokumento. Wala akong magawa o maisip na makabuluhan na gawin kaya nandito ako at nakasubsob sa keyboard. Dapat ay nasa bahay ako ngayon at gumagawa ng mga takdang aralin...nagtambakan ang mga proyekto ko para sa semestreng ito. Pero, katulad ng dati, wala akong gana. Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1101020495526635042004-11-20T22:55:00.000-08:002004-11-24T21:36:08.716-08:00Here is a poetry submission I wrote for the college paper's December issue. It is a very existentialist type of writing. However, I don't hate Christmas. I just don't like all the commercialism and bogusness the superficials attach to it.Reality on the Twenty-FifthTonight, a yuletideI would be contemplating in silenceThe valances of ruby plushAnd strings of cluttered disco bulbsHugging the Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1100653510397266082004-11-16T18:00:00.000-08:002004-11-16T17:05:10.396-08:00"Jesus told me the desserts are coming."
~A Pentecostal church fanatic talking about the much-awaited desserts to her co-fanatics in a party she is hosting.
This is a true story. I was there, biting the cuticles off my right hand and holding my cup of four seasons on the other. Afterwards, after the prayers have begun and people started lurking all over the church floor, I sat on my little Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1098064025518432292004-10-17T19:37:00.000-07:002004-11-16T16:54:24.676-08:00The moon's man stands in his shell,
Bent under a bundle
Of sticks. The light falls chalk and cold
Upon our bedspread.
His teeth are chattering among the leprous
Peaks and craters of those extinct volcanoes.
He also against black frost
Would pick sticks, would not rest
Until his own lit room outshone
Sunday's ghost of sun;
Now works his hell of Mondays in the moon's ball,
Fireless, seven chill Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1094203641920785492004-09-03T02:17:00.000-07:002004-09-03T02:27:21.920-07:00All my life I was made to believe I am not capable of doing anything beneficial or constructive for my life. This despite of the nine adolescent years spent with the threat of depression each time and yet with zero consideration for drug or alcohol abuse. I was such a disciplined child to every goddamned breathing thing except to my own parents who set their own blasted ridiculous standards.
I'mLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1092979871143182612004-08-19T22:29:00.000-07:002004-08-19T22:45:36.606-07:00My first encounter with M--- G---- was year 1997. She was seated alone in a Benilde classroom crammed with pseudo-posh, Greenhills crap clad arsemunchers. Gold loop earrings (even before J.Lo started wearing them) with an unpretentious and nonchalant but not apathetic air about her. We would exchange highschool stories in the comfort of the Mutien Marie hall, seated on its marble floors, clad in Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1092636170347552022004-08-15T22:54:00.000-07:002004-08-16T21:25:43.460-07:00One night, she told me, she had dreamt of the terrace of his Seoul apartment---its door shut and distant from where she was standing. Last night she had dreamt of a symbolical infant, a black-skinned child nobody wanted because of its unconventional appearance. She knew this infant could never be hers. Prior to her parting from the dark child, she recalled naming her "Remembrance". Then she Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1092197776686095802004-08-10T21:14:00.000-07:002004-08-12T01:38:41.580-07:00Dear J. D. Salinger, Come again, I can't hear where you are trying to stay at a distance, close to my heart, a voice, ever and more refined away to better understand the path chosen and held in the light that was never your sole intention your word gave life to an otherwise dry and shallow literary pond frozen and sealed by critical masses and to you the world privately owes depth and the magic Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1092025002365155582004-08-08T21:13:00.000-07:002005-07-19T09:21:30.390-07:00I am here in this shithole and I am incredibly sad it actually struck me dumb. I shocked myself with my extreme sluggish manner and although I can manage to smile a little , I couldn't feel it at all...it literally pains my face to do it.I am extremely exhausted--emotionally and mentally."Lightning Crashes" is playing dreamily at the back of my heavy head.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1091075673654025532004-07-28T21:11:00.000-07:002004-07-30T21:51:51.853-07:00This is a caricature of my grade school directress Mother Loreto of the Alcatraz like Dominican Catholic School. When I was seven, I thought nuns were God's interns sent to Earth to spread holy atrocities. I thought they were immortals...angels minus the wings and that funny illuminated ring circling their heads...the type Roby Rosa junkies used to wear in Menudo concerts. One dog day afternoon, Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1088566700258935162004-06-29T20:26:00.000-07:002004-07-16T02:43:56.750-07:00I am the one
who believes in all that you say
I am the one
who never wants to define herself
I am the one
who’s paralell, upfront, behind
I am the one
paddling like crazy through the night
I am the one
who stirs it up everytime
I am the one
who never knows how close she is
I am the one
who’d rather be dead than confess
I am the one
trying to be good, wanting to be bad and so on
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1086856956124650682004-06-10T01:13:00.000-07:002004-07-16T02:46:04.340-07:00I just had a secret conversation with God today at an empty, soft-lighted church. He was somewhere, everywhere. His breath was the soft gust of wind blowing at my face. His touch, the warm feel of the wooden bench against my back. As I turn my way towards the church's towering double door, I felt a sharp chill run through my shoulder blades to the tip of my fingers--a vivid indication that God Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1086149002430339432004-06-01T20:59:00.000-07:002004-07-16T02:47:00.476-07:00P.R.A. sent me a Bens Fold Five song via e-mail. I reckon he associated me with the song. However, I am not a crack junkie so that part is nonsensical. Anyhow, I think it's a brilliant song (is that my ego talking?)
Battle Of Who Could Care Less
Do you not hear me anymore?
I know it's not your thing to care
I know it's cool to be so bored
Sucks me in when you're aloof
It sucks me in, it Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1084594031346260852004-05-14T21:06:00.000-07:002004-07-16T02:47:41.753-07:00B---...godmother of our underground mafia, Operation Bookstore---so far we have scored gazillions of gel pens and cheap Staedler erasers---just for the heck of it. She comes to class in dark sunglasses, with a Defect Marijuana postman bag flung around her body like a limp boa. The girlfriend-for-eternity of Billy Joe "Deck" Crawford. Down to earth. Cracks me up. 1% Low. 99% High.
"Ahoy Friend. Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1084437173187980312004-05-13T01:24:00.000-07:002004-06-09T20:30:48.266-07:00I have been diagnosed with Dysthemia by the United States' Department of Homeland Security and they totally based it solely on the 45 minute interview conducted by St.Luke's (so-called) reliable panel psychiatrist. I find this definitely insulting. No one who had a brief conversation with me had any right to doubt my sanity.
NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill) says dysthemia is a Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1083912777886038922004-05-06T23:52:00.000-07:002004-05-06T23:57:17.826-07:00IMPOSSIBLE IS JUST A BIG WORD THROWN AROUND BY SMALL MEN WHO FIND IT EASIER TO LIVE IN THE WORLD THEY'VE BEEN GIVEN THAN TO EXPLORE THE POWER THEY HAVE TO CHANGE IT. IMPOSSIBLE IS NOT A FACT. IT'S AN OPINION. IMPOSSIBLE IS NOT A DECLARATION. IT'S A DARE. IMPOSSIBLE IS POTENTIAL. IMPOSSIBLE IS TEMPORARY. IMPOSSIBLE IS NOTHING...
"You talkin' to me?" ~Travis (Rob De Niro) Taxi DriverLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1079581045564732342004-03-17T19:31:00.000-08:002004-03-17T19:49:15.436-08:00When I write, I delight in referring to myself as the third person. Here's one example, a journal entry written during the dead hour of siesta, in my locked bedroom, after my afternoon shower.
She was bored out of her skull, as usual, for the nth time in 24 years. So in the middle of noon, she decided to drive dull care away. She entertained herself by letting out a screech behind the maid, who Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1079577411960930562004-03-17T18:27:00.000-08:002004-03-17T19:33:37.170-08:00The following, I gathered from my notebook, written sometime last year. I posted this entry upon request of my friend T---.
I befriended an odd girl, T--- from room 314. T--- brings me to complete contemplation sometimes. I wonder if she epitomizes the typical forlorn girl of my childhood novels (which I never finished writing). She had long, unbecoming tresses of a depressed, overworked Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1079411349888963352004-03-15T19:20:00.000-08:002004-04-05T21:46:12.543-07:00The following "notes" were derived from Morissette's late 90's song entitled Unsent. I feel the need to acknowledge her genius because I am not a cold-blooded plagiarist. If she doesn't mind though, I replaced the names of the characters in this song with names of people familiar to me.
dear j---- I liked you too much. I used to be attracted to boys who would lie to me and think solely about Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1079407114669066492004-03-15T18:58:00.000-08:002004-03-15T19:21:46.153-08:00She scratches a letter into a wall made of stone
Maybe someday another child won't feel as alone as she does
It's been two years, and counting, since they put her in this place
She's been diagnosed by some stupid fuck, and mommy agrees,
She seems to be stronger, but what they want her to be is weak
She could play pretend, she could join the game, boy
She could be another clone...
~Why Go?, Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1077251056241919802004-02-19T20:22:00.000-08:002004-02-19T20:27:39.746-08:00
Saint John's Wort. Better than a rope.
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1077250064977455802004-02-19T20:03:00.000-08:002004-02-19T20:17:11.920-08:00My letter to PRA, 20 February 2004:
Dear PRA,
I finally received your Valentine's presents after what seemed like an eternity. I had to drop by the post office and pay the customs P30.00 just so they could prove themselves half-assed dimwits for thinking that the box probably contains a compact atomic bomb or a bag of Cuban weed. But thank you for the presents. It's like my little Sanrio Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1067309193335286072003-10-27T18:25:00.000-08:002005-07-19T09:26:05.846-07:00I encountered an odd looking, grotesque version of Daria Morgendorffer (despite of Daria's incredible distaste in fashion, I still think she's adorable...even just one bit) in the school cafeteria. She introduced herself, proclaimed that she is an anti-social (which made me wonder why she was there, offering me her friendship. I thought maybe because since I have anti-social tendencies myself, Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1066360040020612452003-10-16T20:07:00.000-07:002003-10-16T20:07:20.123-07:00 I don't know anyone who thinks that suicide is a logical solution to ANY problem; and I don't know anyone who thinks that suicide should be encouraged.
I do, however, know of websites where people like this gather. Pro-suicide websites. People go there and give out TIPS on how to effectively commit suicide.
Imagine someone, maybe someone you know; in a very depressed state, for whatever reasonLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1065846611117203052003-10-10T21:30:00.000-07:002003-10-10T21:30:29.963-07:00Meanderings of a Madman upon the Brink of Coffee Cup Truth
There in the space just outside his face convex or concave??....it didnt matter....was some light.....and the world was still real.... as long as he could focus..... whenever he decided it was necessary to prove it was out there......the world, the room, the walls encircled by the feel of his temples.....he could reach out with his hand Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1062135827308316002003-08-28T22:43:00.000-07:002003-09-21T21:11:07.603-07:00I have something similar to "Go Away" posted on my bedroom door (I spend half of the day sitting on my bed, reading J.D. Salinger, Eugenides or Lightman. On better days when I am not "cerebrally impaired", I go to Kierkegaard or Descartes) However, no matter how they try to trick me to get out of my bedroom, my nonchalance is just too intense. They can wail, "Fire" and I'd remain unperturbed...
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1062046381469915402003-08-27T21:53:00.000-07:002003-08-27T21:56:49.330-07:00They all love America. They stuff themselves with Lucky Charms for breakfast, SPAM for lunch, sour apple pie for dessert at dinner.
Cholesterol. Preservatives. Sodium. Fat.
Burger King's greasy onion rings, Wendy's foul chili beans, Friday's overpriced Roy Rogers.
Bleh.
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1061344556241681962003-08-19T18:55:00.000-07:002003-09-21T21:14:01.303-07:00
I love fearlessly and in huge, deep ways. I share my colors. I wait patiently for everything that remains unsolved in my heart. I am in love with deep life questions and I listen to myself deep down. I live it all--the doubt, the desire, the overwhelming ache. I let my mind take me so far away. I welcome wide hugs and the exclamation of delights. I don't hide behind masks and I forgive myself Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1060063835180749552003-08-04T23:10:00.000-07:002003-08-04T23:10:35.180-07:00
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me...
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me...
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1060051371070501402003-08-04T19:42:00.000-07:002003-08-04T23:13:49.333-07:00
Something's gone,
you withdraw
and I'm not strong like before
I was deep inside of you...
I can go nowhere
I burn candles and stare at a ghost
deep inside of you...
And some great need in me
starts to bleed
I've lost myself
there's nothing left,
it's all gone
Deep inside of youLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1059448836319121582003-07-28T20:20:00.000-07:002003-10-13T00:11:43.826-07:00Here is a post I replied to at Bolt.com's boards
HarryPotter1219 16/M/US
Jul 27 2003 1:47AM
bolt sucks becuz they find ppl who have crushes on their best friends way more important than ppl who need advice on how 2 stop some big bad ass insurance company from buyin all our neighborhood's land at a non fair market value. which will mean, all my neighbors and my family will have 2 move, and Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1059447278395346022003-07-28T19:54:00.000-07:002003-08-26T02:49:16.693-07:00The "renegade soldiers" staged a mutiny, Sunday 27 July 2003, in Metro Manila, hoping to overthrow the current administration.
Funny thing is, most of the nation men were nonchalant. In this country, coup d'etat is as common as corruption, calamities, terrorism, street beggars sunbathing by the pavements, deep fried one-day-old chicks being peddled on the street corners, Mexican soap operas...
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1058243293577210122003-07-14T21:28:00.000-07:002003-07-14T21:30:01.693-07:00I want to shave my head, get clad in an orange robe, wear prayer beads around my neck, take early morning walks barefoot, eat nothing but greens and light incense when I am depressed.
Beautiful.
The catholic church is frustrating me.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-1058159865125755392003-07-13T22:17:00.000-07:002003-07-13T22:17:45.070-07:00
My school destiny is...
Rebel
You don't want to be defined by others, which is why you probably like standing out from the crowd and doing your own thing. That's why we can see why you might roll your eyes when the homecoming court gets announced over the PA system, or when the clique of girls in matching outfits and hairstyles bumps into you in the hallway without excusing themselves. But Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-958516092003-06-19T21:36:00.000-07:002003-06-19T21:36:42.533-07:00Science brings truth. It has been said that time, space and distance are non-existent entities and are nothing but false belief. Gradually this theory is being proven unfabled after the discovery of various technology (...internet, telephone...).
When I am bored, I yak.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-958208432003-06-19T01:16:00.000-07:002003-06-19T01:16:38.456-07:00
My horoscope for 19 June 2003"Nelson Mandela once said, "It is not our darkness but our light that frightens us." Don't be scared of your light, Leo. People can read by it."
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-958205932003-06-19T00:59:00.000-07:002003-08-24T21:14:23.766-07:00view my whiteboard...
Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-952224932003-06-02T21:26:00.000-07:002003-06-02T21:35:43.000-07:00
Paulie will be here Thursday morning, June 5th
That is a condom up there, not a ravioli.Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-950224352003-05-28T21:41:00.000-07:002003-05-28T22:35:58.000-07:00Damn it. This woman beside me (I am now sitting before this dumb computer in a cyber cafe) smells like Cheeze Curls. Barf.
Here is a brilliant art drawn by my friend Stace. This is me, as the Elf Queen. Do I look fabolous or what? ~love ya stace~Visit Stacey Bailey's interactive art gallery at
height:#;font-size:#pt;color:COLOR;
filter:wave(add=0,phase=4,freq=5,
strength=2)">STACEY'S FAERY Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-946679262003-05-20T20:57:00.000-07:002003-05-20T20:57:41.696-07:00PUDDLE OF GRACE
Have you seen yourself today?
Could you recognize your face?
Tell me tell me what to say
Mine's lost without a trace
Momma can you help me please?
My hero just stabbed me
With a knife that I did lend
'Oh momma whos my friend
I had almost found my face
I was almost me
But my pride couldn't swallow what it ate
Boy I hope you're happy
Today I found my face
Floating in a puddle ofLouellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4132475.post-945619332003-05-18T20:29:00.000-07:002003-05-18T20:30:58.000-07:00Today, I am officially 719,094,168 seconds old!
Yet another E-Mode personality test
Political World
You like to be involved in things, you don't want to just sit back and watch them happen. Chances are, you're also driven by your ideals and want to really make a difference in the work that you do. But that doesn't mean you're unrealistic. In fact, you, more than some, probably have a really Louellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02157004333296464550noreply@blogger.com0