Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Friday, September 28, 2007
BUT FOR A LACK OF IMAGINATION
Creative energy - that bitch of a thing! always running away when you have time on your hands. always surging inside when there's too much to handle. it's cheeky as hell. and almost spiteful.
it's like parkinsons gripping old folks when all they can do left is sit around and reminisce.
it's like an infant who can't remember the most pampered years because the human brain can't retain memories until about three.
how cruel. how ironic. today, i sit here in the office, killing time, whiling away my friday 7.5 just so i can pull the weekend closer. there are a hundred things i could be doing. but i have done nothing. not even but for my confinement to the desk but... but for my absolute lack of imagination. dearlord is there no redemption in sight?
alas. boredom is dystopic. and utterly sad.
Labels: defeat, happenings
3:09 pm ]