tUeSdAy 1: iN sePia
what have we here? an emotionally unstable writer. scoff scoff scoff.
people think i want to kill myself. relax, ladies and gentlemen. relax. i was talking about my writing. that was the darkness i meant. my writing. i write dark stuff no matter how fucking bubbly i may seem to be. pwede ba. walang pakielamanan. if i want to write about men with silver hair bound to a boulder with 70,000 chains of a thousand years' journey each, i will. if i decide to write about a being made of seven benevolent souls, whose only purpose in life is to satiate that bound man's sexual desires, then i will. okay?
okay.
goooooooood.
<<-->>
was in mama bear mode nung fil. my cub being my writing. everything was in a red haze. wahoo. ima shoot some people before i graduate. saya.
gaaaawd. when hormones kick in, they sure pack a whallop. teka, anong araw na ba? ah. 24th. oki. kaunti na lang, mangangagat na'ko.
nikay said something about the 3rd year batch of creative writers supposedly "wannabe-artistes." yun bang walang talento. kunyari lang meron...
and so the screams in my head began, all directed at me. one word: “hypocrite!”
what if im one of those wannabes? how can i possibly know if i’ve got talent or not? when it’s too late? after i’ve wasted 4 years of my life, my parent’s money, that freakin’ scholarship? when i can’t even face people because hey, i went to ateneo, got myself fucked up while taking a worthless course she doesn’t even have the talent for. shit. that’s quite a party now, ain’t it?
(mister andersuuuuhn)
i am noble because im impractical. woo-freaking-hoo.
who knows? im pathetic. pathetic, really. the only person who has read my “work” is averyll and frankly, i think he was just too smitten by me to say anything bad. waaah. and then heights comes along. wala. im stronger than i thought i was. pero kahit na. it’s time for the big leagues.
i need to have my “work” bludgeoned to death (pretty much like english and lit class)… workshop daw. sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.
then i’ll go to UP and study French. i can’t stay in ateneo to study management. the people here choke me to death.
i can’t write decent poems. can’t write proper fiction. what. i am sixteen. i am a freshman in the country’s most prestigious school, majoring in the world’s most worthless course.
i hate this.
people think i want to kill myself. relax, ladies and gentlemen. relax. i was talking about my writing. that was the darkness i meant. my writing. i write dark stuff no matter how fucking bubbly i may seem to be. pwede ba. walang pakielamanan. if i want to write about men with silver hair bound to a boulder with 70,000 chains of a thousand years' journey each, i will. if i decide to write about a being made of seven benevolent souls, whose only purpose in life is to satiate that bound man's sexual desires, then i will. okay?
okay.
goooooooood.
<<-->>
was in mama bear mode nung fil. my cub being my writing. everything was in a red haze. wahoo. ima shoot some people before i graduate. saya.
gaaaawd. when hormones kick in, they sure pack a whallop. teka, anong araw na ba? ah. 24th. oki. kaunti na lang, mangangagat na'ko.
nikay said something about the 3rd year batch of creative writers supposedly "wannabe-artistes." yun bang walang talento. kunyari lang meron...
and so the screams in my head began, all directed at me. one word: “hypocrite!”
what if im one of those wannabes? how can i possibly know if i’ve got talent or not? when it’s too late? after i’ve wasted 4 years of my life, my parent’s money, that freakin’ scholarship? when i can’t even face people because hey, i went to ateneo, got myself fucked up while taking a worthless course she doesn’t even have the talent for. shit. that’s quite a party now, ain’t it?
(mister andersuuuuhn)
i am noble because im impractical. woo-freaking-hoo.
who knows? im pathetic. pathetic, really. the only person who has read my “work” is averyll and frankly, i think he was just too smitten by me to say anything bad. waaah. and then heights comes along. wala. im stronger than i thought i was. pero kahit na. it’s time for the big leagues.
i need to have my “work” bludgeoned to death (pretty much like english and lit class)… workshop daw. sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.
then i’ll go to UP and study French. i can’t stay in ateneo to study management. the people here choke me to death.
i can’t write decent poems. can’t write proper fiction. what. i am sixteen. i am a freshman in the country’s most prestigious school, majoring in the world’s most worthless course.
i hate this.
posted by Sasha Martinez at
3:58:00 PM
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