Gelly, will you marry me?

I think that it is just proper to finish this "poetry" thang of mine, since I came to the conclusion that I am the eccentric-est person in the whole universe, but still, I am loved.
Which, by the way, is the most incoherent sentence I've made in the past 24 hours because I have no better excuse for me to be finishing this piece--and I really want to boast out that someone whom I like likes me too.

I also like the taste of broccoli because I believe in peace.
That, my friends, was the second most incoherent line that I've dropped all day.

Creativity is a Gun.

Close your eyes, paint the untold;

Stare at a canvas--watch it unfold.

Grip on its neck and swipe the chords;

Write it all down, strum in accord.

Be in prose or in poetry,

Retell balance and asymmetry;

Stain the minds with your ivory.

Thoughts surpass the horizons--
And have understood the limpity of oblivion.
In art, my brethren, you have pathed* the vagabonds.


Creativity is a gun in which you and I have fallen for,
It is a threat thay you have beseeched to agree and follow--
Or to die without a name, no mark, not at all.


\:D/


*Pathed is not a real word, but I guess that you get what I mean, froiks.

I will be a particle physicist.

I will work for CERN.
I will work at the LHC.
I will work with Brian Cox.
I will meet Stephen Hawking.
I will know the origin of the universe.
I will share the knowledge.
I will win a Noble award.
I will help stop Man-made global warming.
I will see the depths of the universe.

...Now if only I could get my algebra straight. -____-

An Equation.

Excess Energy + Coca-cola + 2 Cups of Coffee + Dysfunctional Body Clock = Insomnia.

Insomnia = 4 Hours of Sleep (or less) + 200 (or more) Pages of a Novel Finished in One Sitting + Internet in the Wee Hours.

200 (or more) Pages of a Novel Finished in One Sitting + Internet in the Wee Hours = Nerdcore.

Nerdcore = Toney.

Toney = Epicness.

Epicness = <3.

<3 = *Person*.

*Person* = Perfect.

Perfect = God.

God = Omnipotent + Forever + Faithfulness.

Omnipotent + Forever + Faithfulness = Imaginary.

Imaginary = My Boyfriend.



Therefore,

Insomnia = Non-existent Boyfriend.



Dear Insomnia,
You suck hard. May you die down soon, betch.

In'ernet boys

In this place called 'the internet', boys are either e-gawds or phailures. You could never be in between--mediocre, in that sense.



First off, phailures are: suicidal geys, soulja boy wannabes, fat pervs, i-TyPe-LyK-Diizzss-On-The-!nTerNet boys, moaning he-bitches, pablo banila =)), ano-asl-mo? death squad members, et cetera.

On the other hand, e-gawds are in the likeness of YouTubers, webcomic-ers, epic bloggers, LOLcats, song-writers, bladabluh.


Now, let me rant about how phailures continue on falling for yers trully.
LEAAAAAAAVE MEEEE ALOOOOOOOOOOONEEEEE (to the tone of that 'leave britney alone' faghead)



I need an e-gawd to have a serious crush on me now, or at least pretend (that was the point of this blog, yeyeyeyeye).

Despuration. >___<


A GAME:
What do you see?
Q<=

The Toney Foundation

Hello, rich socialites! It's almost Christmas, and I bet you're looking for ways to spend your countless bucks! Why don't you all donate to my foundation instead?

My foundation really needs the following things:

1. Death from the Skies by Phil Plait
2. WACOM Graphic Tablet
3. Nikon D80
4. PlayStation Portable (Lite)
5. iPhone or Nokia N96
6. Mac Leopard (Ver. 10.5)
7. Sony Handicam
8. Toyota Prius
9. Lego Batman
10. Pretty Boots
11. Adobe CS4
12. J.E. Sus
13. Lost CDs to magically appear on my hands
14. Orion 16" Telescope
15. A Whole Sack of Coffee Beans
16. World Peace
17. A Parachute
18. White Himalayan Cats ^________^
19. To be allowed to train for parkour
20. Stapler tasers :D
21. Solomon's Key by Dan Brown
    

It's Okay. I'm Fine. You're Fine.

I didn't know how I was able to read almost 200 pages last night, but I did. I finished Stephen King's "Blaze".

There were certain points in the book wherein I couldn't help but to let a string of tears ooze out of my eyes, and that happens when Blaze kisses Joe. Why? Because Blaze didn't want the money anymore, he wants the kid--and he's inlove with the kid.

The ending wasn't grand or anything; I don't like happy endings, anyway. I think that Joe's reluctance to his real father was Blaze's triumph-- and then I cried again.

Just to let you now, Blaze is a crime story :P. I think that I'm the first person to ever cry on such kind of book. I'm mushy--deal with it.

Saturday Naps

maybe it's my lack of sleep, but i can't say that because i get 8 squared hours of sleep daily on weekdays. or maybe it's an obsession... or maybe --just maybe, my urge to get out of this convoluted world.

i love my saturday naps.

a while ago, i didn't dream. that's okay... but it's better if i did. the risk of not liking the work of your head is what excites me. and here's a puzzling thought: i think dreams are not made by your brain, but of a higher power, God maybe.

the best part about naps? the part of waking up. it feels like --i don't know. it feels good. it is a state where you are stripped out of innocence--the innate intuition of make believe and scarcity of certitude. it feels as if you are back again in that convoluted world that i was talking about.

...

i had the worst nap once. it didn't happen on a saturday. it occured just this thursday right after i went home and changed clothes. i slept all through the whole Trillanes thing --the innocence i was talking about. right after i woke up, i just heard the tv say things about Trillanes' rebellion. i missed the whole thing. darn. the only thing that nap did to me is ask around and not get the full angle of the issue. it sucks.

I Want To Be A Particle Physicist.

...and i bet you're thinking:

a) 'she thinks she's genius but she couldn't get her algebra straight'
b) 'what a lame job she wants'
c) all of the above.

well, that's just only one of the many lame jobs i want. [20 jobs muna kasi they are too plenty. these are only at the top of my head.]

1. a travelogue host
2. a forensic scientist
3. an undrugged rockstar
4. a writer-- namely a poet, a novelist, a songwriter, a children's story author, etc.
   
5. a tattoo artist
6. a vodka taste-tester
7. a topshot editor-in-chief in a topshot magazine
8. an actress [both stage and big screen]
9. a stand-up comedian
10. a professional soccer player
11. an astronaut. LOL. =))
12. a pilot
13. a zoologist
14. a model. [don't judge me.]
15. a reporter
16. a proffesional track-and-field athlete
17. a harpist
18. a full-time social worker
19. a web designer
20. an assasin

my momma and i once talked about who i want to be, and i told her that everytime there's something that the school or whatnot is asking me to write on about the career i want, i write down either/or: i might write a question mark and jot down undecided; or i don't return the paper anymore because if i write down everything i want to be, the space provided won't be enough.

...

i want to be everybody, i want to be everything... that's who i want to be.

i don't want to look up at other people who are/were successful--i want to be the person that will be the reason of people's stiff necks.

...

i don't want these jobs for the money, or the fame, or the free drugs-- i want to do it to becase i want to be remembered after i die, that once there had been a toney who had followed everything she wants.

Boredumb

boredom opens creative oppurtunities.


boredom makes you think.


boredom gives you the chance to imagine.


boredom dares you to think of possibilities.


boredom gives you relief from the stressing world.


and boredom makes you hell stupid.

10 000 PAPER CRANES

i would fold ten thousand paper cranes for you,
and if it wasn't enough, i'd double it up

but love, can't you see... maybe i would even choke up on the sun, and spit out all it's light.
yes--all for you.

and if you're stuck on a river: a hundred-feet deep, i'd sip all water away--
just so you could get out

if you're cold i'd give you all i'm wearing--it's okay.
because all i need is your stare that's hot.

maybe if we were ninety and you still want to be breathing,
i'd give you an elixir that'll end my life.
because i would, like how the moon doesn't turn it's back on us.

maybe tomorrow you'll be on a car crash, and you'll forget my name;
i don't really care because all i need is relief.
i might even probably turn back the time and take you out of the car,
and be face-to-face with danger.

but if one day, i'd say what i feel;
you may say 'no' if you please.
maybe i'd just tear it out, or probably jump a cliff--
i don't care. just as long i know you're smilling.

Milk Pool.

it was a sunny afternoon at the house of the dimaano's. ate riezl said, "pupunta ako sa japan, may kukunin ako"... then i said, "ha? 'di ba mahal ang ticket?" "hinde, naka bili na kami ng helicopter kahapon."---she arrogantly retorted. "OY SAMA AKO!!!"--i said.

then i went inside their house. i saw tijuala inside an inflatable pool filled with milk. he was happily playing ball inside with amir and when they felt thirsty, they'd just let the milk flow in their mouths and their problems are solved. then mira came out of her room, and i asked, "pwedeng maki-inom?". then mira said, "sure! ako nga rin eh gusto ko!". then we stood at the rim of the pool and drank milk in chorus. it tasted like nestle' fresh milk--it was ecstacy solidified.

later on, i went out. i saw the helicopter. kuya evang's the pilot. then ate riezl welcomed me in. then we flew to japan.

two seconds later, we arrived and landed on a suburban plain. i hopped out of the chopper and took a picture of myself. then came some other japanese teenagers and said that they'd like to get their picture taken with me.

a second later, i found myself in some sort of a resort. i was mysteriously wearing my bathing suit. i went into the pool and saw yamada and jimmy kudo waving at me. and later on i saw my cousin beside me and we swam.



then i woke up.

Physics and Emo Tendencies

My heart fell onto the floor,
The way you displaced yourself—away, away from me,
Does this follow Newtonian laws with respect?

Pushed my arm against yours,
No aura, no source; no energy flown
Can’t Joules be here to serve you power?

Slaves had banged and beg for their master’s freedom,
Then they were left with cloths around their hips,
At random, I ask;
Didn’t Isaac say that for every action, there is it’s equal reward?

Words lie and are dying,
They distance you away from the ones you hold dear; the ones who spoke not of the truth—
When we hear the false, this is when we fly,
Didn’t those scientist protest about gravity?

These thoughts are abstract and uncanny,
Although these things does really occur,
It lingers everyday in life, day-by-day;
Didn’t those pioneers think about these when they presented these break throughs
—That the soul reverses all: theories and more?

Aunt Flo

Today she wore her favorite color with pride.
She was in a haste.
She's too fast that her foot prints were left everywhere;
Too fast that she left me aching.
She caught me off guard, and she escapes...
Still I caught her on the ground chortling at me,
I took out my pistol, and I watched her fade away--away into oblivion.
"Rest in fcking peace!", and she was dead.
I stood up, and there she was again;
Laughing, mocking, cold-hearted.











(a poem abt monthly periods)

Norah Jones

Dear, thanks for soothing my ears not like that Colbie Caillat shit.

[sarcasm]
BTW, Isn't it amazing that Colbie "Eff My Vocabulary" Caillat could say realize 10,000 times in a song? And isn't it astonishing that her whole album sounds the same? AND ISN'T IT VERY PLEASING THAT SHE'S SLOWLY DESTROYING THE GENRE WHERE JACK JOHNSON IS FILED IN?
[/sarcasm]

Oh yeah, your forehead and your chin looks like an airport runway.

Blogogenesis.

First blog: YEY! --or not?

I'm kind of religous on posting blogs on my multiply account, so I think you could see some new posts here almost everyday too.

See you around.
Toney.