Lucidity not really

Hey. How goes it? Yeah, sorry. It's been a while. It took one helluva weird/bad/sad dream to push me back into my quaint little blog, but hey, this could be good, right?

Anywho, my dreams are usually the most nondescript kind (hence, me not really talking about them), save for that rarely occurring Zombie apocalypse kind where I literally respawn in my bed, only to die numerous times before waking up. Fun.

I never found myself gasping for air, or waking up in a cold sweat. Dreams never really bothered me. They were actually simple enough that I soon forgot 'em on the same day. Not this time, though. Ever wondered what would happen if you took some heavy, family-oriented drama and threw it in a blender with genetic anomalies and unexplained scientific phenomena? Heck, me neither. But I guess this one came close.

I seemingly reverted back to a kiddo, roughly 6 or 7 years old. Most of my surroundings were blurry, but the details of my room were flawless, down to the untidy desk I use on a daily basis. I didn't know if I retained all my memories or if my mind regressed along with my then kiddie-esque body. I was certain about the regression because my clothes were pretty damn huge.

I could remember were parents talking to each other in hushed tones in front of me. Mom was quietly sobbing and Dad was comforting her in his usual tone, assuring that everything will be all right. At this point, I was pretty much clueless until he made his way towards me. He stooped down to where I was seated, looked me in the eyes and put his hand on my head. Quoting in verbatim is, and always will be my bane but I think I got it right this time around.

"Anak, wag kang mag alala. Palalakihin ka uli namin ng mommy mo. Kami na ang bahala.
" Then, he smiled; smiled unlike any other time I saw him smile in my life. It was strange. It was rather nice.

I woke up. Manly tears were flowing. Sorry, pillow.

I'm not quite sure what struck me so much emotionally; the fact that I was a kid and had to relive the horrors of teenhood again (no, I didn't check if my wee wee was cut), the idea of my parents having to laboriously raise me a second time at their ripe, old age, or the loving comfort of knowing that they actually would...given their ripe, old age.

I'll probably find out in the future, but I'll try my best to stop thinking too much about it. Manly tears can only do so much when you're having a busy 8-hour shift.

In any case, thanks for dropping by.

Even mediocrity needs a reopening.

To save you all the agony of reading through mindless rambling and incoherence which actually makes up my normal thought process, I'll just cut to the chase.

I've been meaning to go back to this blog of mine; to sweep away the cobwebs, tidy up a bit, repaint the ceiling, and feed the diabolical demon-squirrels that I keep in the cupboard (nut-munchers). Being tied up by all kinds of responsibilities (excuses), I've found it a tad difficult to even think about logging in and letting the creative juices flow. Yes, what I just typed DID sound a bit inappropriate, but I digress...

Given the fact that my blog typically runs on agony, hatred, and copious amounts of misfortune, it's been rather tough to sit down and write, having been living a rather normal life for the longest time. We can't have it all, I know.

                                                              Carlos: Circa 2008

This could probably be something good, on account of I don't get to read a lot. My brain cells are beaten, burned, and utterly destroyed on a daily basis thanks to my job, and I suppose blogging would be the best way to jump start the old think-tank. It could also help show everyone how mentally damaged yet emotionally stable (LOL) I've become since my teenage years. I'll be needing the sympathy, after all.


Oh, say it isn't so.

So, given the tomfoolery I've been busy with during the holiday, I'd like to share a probable, and hopefully lucrative business prospect I've come up with. I'd call it Tom-Bookery, but that would just be stupid.

Lo, and behold. My possible first, and most likely last bestselling (or not) D.I.Y handbook:

How to waste a perfectly good weekend: and other stuff you shouldn't be doing, you dumb fuck.

Seems a bit long for a title, but the idea's always there. It'll grow on you.

Uhm. Yeah. Hi.

So, here it is. The great resurrection and re-unveiling of my not-so-awesome if not horribly distasteful blog.

Being a year older, supposedly a year wiser, and in theory, a much better writer, please do not look forward to any random acts of awesomeness which might so happen to spring forth from this webpage. Until my mojo charges back to 100%, my entries will have this uncontrollable tendency to suck balls and reek of immature angst.

In any case, I can at least assure a bit more consistency for the meantime. And now, I leave you with Taeyeon from SNSD's reaction when she found out I was bringing my blog back.

I can ASSUME she's happy.

Daddy's home

It's been THAT long ago? Jeez. I think I just lost my mojo.

Since HP6 is all the rage...

As we take a gander at this year's adaptation of the Harry Potter series, we take time to remember those who didn't quite make it to the actual film. To top things off, we have Mr. Avada Kedavra, Tommy Boy, he-who-shall-not-yet-always-does-get-mentioned, the good ole' Lord Voldemort himself. In hindsight, we have the late Cedric Diggory, who by some bizarre, yet totally pro-fangirly twist of fate, re-emerged as the teenybopper sensation, Edward Cullen. So, where the hell are they as HP6 commences?

Oh, there they are.

Never saw THAT coming. So, what's next?

Killing curse? Screw that. Wesley Snipes'll do you in...

Do you in GOOD.


aaaand I forgot that site Bill used to get the Blade pic

If the folks say so, then do so

No, dad indeed.