Hullo bloggers, just felt like posting a few words since I'm procrastinating at the moment.

For the next two days I have finals (which I'm not as worried as I should be) and then it's the new semester with new semester classes. It's been wonderfully rainy and windy, though I could without the damp shoes :) Oh and next week on January 31 (Sunday) I'll be going to an Anime Convention - which will be pretty sweet as it's my 1st one >.< It's a wonder how positive this post is compared to everything else. >.> Though it could be all these ants biting here and there that might have had something to do with it.

Yes. The house is being overrun by ants anytime a bit of food is left or maybe even a crumb. It isn't even that the house is terribly messy but more like they're living inside/under the house...much like the unlucky people who get stuck with beehives and have to call an exterminator (which I don't think will happen anytime soon for us so we have to deal with it).

... Well...there is a certain person who should be a bit considerate about food. Especially if it involves onions in refrigerators...uncovered or improperly put away. Sure, there isn't a one "right" way to put away onions but they should be sealed in some way that doesn't let the stink out. I've told them once or twice but it isn't enough. On this blog though, I will say it once.

Do NOT leave onions uncovered in the refrigerator. PLEASE. Put it in a baggie w/ a zipper or use a container like tupperware. If the onions just sit there it'll stink to high heaven, affecting any open drinks or soft foods like bread.

I swear to you bloggers that I had a donut in there I was hoping to save for lunchtime. So when I got it, I noticed the onion stink - which wasn't there before so it was put in when somebody cooked that evening. :| And so, I smelled a bit of onion and thought that it should be okay...but when I took a bite... I was wrong. So terribly terribly wrong.

For the sake of donuts everywhere, do not leave onions hanging out in the fridge. Or outside, in case the ants want'em too.

Hey, it isn't like I'm a little on the chubby side but I prefer my donuts onion-stink free. :U

Finals are coming up and I'm a little anxious, to tell you the truth. And, not to mention, I feel like everything is about to change. The whole week is going to be weird, I just know it.

At the moment, I should be working on what I have to get done by the time the semester's over and on studying too, but, I feel like jotting down a few words to loosen the mind. I really don't want to do anything, it's a three day weekend! But, I have to or else ._.

So here's something for/from the pseudo universe of The Wingless.

Word of caution: Some existentialist-type stuff ahead. o_o Or just psycho-stuff idk.


"Do you believe yourself to be real?"

"Do you think for other people?"

"Do you do things for the sake of yourself?"


The questions they asked me were mere buzzes in the back of my head. I haven't been able to hear ever since I woke up. Even that, I'm not sure of. Maybe, I've been awake the whole time but just haven't realized.


"Am I real? Or am I a fake?"

"It's cold. It's thick. I can't move my hands."

"I see red."


Did I do something wrong? Even though... I'm not sure what wrong is. But I know, that on their faces are the faces of anger and dislike. I don't want to look at them. They make me think of bad things. Negative things... Of the times, the time, when I figured out -

That everybody hates me.


"What is worth? What is a name?"

"My name means nothing. But somehow they found me."

"There's a hundred other people with this name."


But within closed eye, I am able to see, my fabrications of their faces, just like I do with everybody else. People, as you know, wear masks. So I see masks, nothing but masks, and they float around like phantoms. The masks frown at my unwillingness to speak.


"Do you remember the feeling? The smell of smoke..."

"The feeling of deciding another's fate..."

"How it slaked your desire to feel important?"


This voice was empowering. It gave me direction.


"But once isn't enough."

"You cannot be satisfied with one."

"You must take another and another, until your hands overflow with the fates of others -"


It gave me confidence, gave me meaning and truth - that's what I told myself - but inside, I knew, that what I was doing was wrong in the society we live in today. Yet, even then, I asked myself, why should I listen? Why should I follow their rules?

I am nervous. My hands are shaking uncontrollably.

"-and till then will you feel better."

I shake my head. I can hear them shout and scream hateful things at me.

"That is... Until you get the feeling again."

I open my eyes. A heavy hand slammed the desk before me. Upon impact, my eyes were drawn to theirs, thick folds accenting the bridge of the nose, narrowing the eyes. They looked upon me with the eyes of judgment.

"How could you deny what you've already testified?" he asked me, impatient, "And what countless witnesses have already said? Just tell us why. Why did you do it?"

I covered my face to hide those eyes. I knew this would happen, that others would look at me like I didn't belong. Like I truly did something wrong when it was just something I wanted to do. What I felt I had to do. My feelings had to be put into place somehow. I just didn't think that it would end up like this.

Earlier... I said that people had masks. I am not an exception. This particular mask moved according to the tone of the voice and what they said. To me, the mask smiled:

"You can't escape it."

"It's a need, your personal drug. And it cannot go unsatisfied."

"You want to kill. You -"


"-must kill. For the sake of myself I must."

The child before me was not in the right state of mind. Their hands shook, their eyes wild and wide... I pitied this child and what they went through to end up in such a state.

"I...wanted to kill...in order...to feel...real."

"I felt real. I want to be real. I want to exist."

"I wanted to do something that mattered."

I looked at my companion and saw my reaction mirrored in their eyes. Shock and awe. I turned back to the child, shivering in their seat. It was all too fluid to be fake, too smooth to be a ruse.

They looked especially troubled.

"I don't want this," they said quietly, "I don't. I don't want to kill...anymore."


...The pseudo-universe, in my eyes, is crazy. A lot of weird things happen, a lot of deaths, a lot of events having to do with morals and etc. etc. And I'll say that they derive from my experiences and my thoughts...and apparently my art too, as it's being affected by this delightfully f-ed up thinking of mine (as somebody commented personally a few days ago). So I'm going along with it, as you could probably tell.

I've also discovered the wonderful world of 1st person, and how easier it flows on the keyboard. it just so happens that when I write in 3rd person, my head hurts after a while because, with the way it is, my mind has been unable to "sit still" as of late (which is troubling). o_o Some last thoughts...

I think writing a happy ending will be the toughest thing I will ever do (it will happen, just expect the world to end by that time). :)

I don't know what I was thinking but I'm sure I was out of my mind.

No I won't be leaving this blog. I've put my time and thoughts into it and I've gone too far to delete it now.

So...hopefully this shall be a better year (even if only a little bit) in life and creative endeavors.

The 5-shot I posted was something based on my thoughts and...guess what? I finished it. If I can finish that then surely I can finish the other projects I've left laying around.

I won't call this a resolution but I will call it as a goal.

For everyone who still checks back and reads this, thank you. I probably don't show it much in my (presently) negative posts but I truly appreciate blogging communities.

Well, that's about it. I'm supposed to have school in...7 or so hours and I'm totally not thinking about it.

It was a box. A box with many locks. And inside were wondrous treasures, sleeping - waiting, for the owner to call upon them.
These treasures change the world, how you perceive it to be, how you react.

These treasures are what make a person...?

Like an onion skin, your reactions have many layers. There are likes and dislikes. Hates and not hates. Reasons for being and reasons for doing. To believe and have faith... To choose the latter, less desirable but independent road...? Either way, as a person, there is something we abide by.

It gives direction and is affected by how others perceive it as such.

To accept these observations as your 'true belief'... Does that make you a victim to society?

We can't really fly. I know. We all know. We 'fly' through airplanes - technology. - but there is no freedom in that hunk of metal. We are fragile creatures and die easily. We can be picked off like flies.

But we very much want to fly.

We're only human. And in order to 'fly' there's a little something we need.

I awake to the sound of water. It drips from the ceiling, flooding the floor that I lay. It had struck me many times round the eyes. I imagine the water to be very cold.

Above me seem to be prisms of glass. Around me are shards of glass, protruding in a jagged-like fashion. Sure to be dangerous if I ever get near them.

My hand unfurls, revealing the key I had - apparently - held onto for dear life. The embossed surface had pressed deep into my skin, leaving a very annoying itchy pain. I scratched, wondering why everything had a slight blue-ish hue. But I, in my monochrome color scheme - as far as I could see - was unaffected by the blue. I'd imagine me similar to a newspaper cutout on a blue piece of construction paper...


 "Who are you?"





I was at the mercy of the mysterious pain in my chest.



"Who am I? I am you."

In this sleep there was a flower. I saw a blue flower, the rose on the crest. But it wasn't a real flower. No, it was a glass flower.

She said she liked roses.

She said she liked them even with the thorns.

She said it was a beauty that pricked people to teach them that it was only a rose and nothing else. But she cannot help but get caught up in what people defined the rose, the symbol that a rose stood for.

She said too that she liked fairytales.

So she began thinking of her life as a fairytale. And someone, somewhere, will hear this plea and save her from her delusional powerlessness. Yet, she'd refuse the help given even of those whose hearts were captivated by her strange feigned innocence, caused by her ignorant self - the person she thought she wanted to be.

She said that she was insane.

People are driven to tears because of her. They don't know what to think of her, like she doesn't know what to think of herself.

So she stays, cocooned in her shell. A glass flower whose petals shatter so easily, yet grow so fast. Even engulfing the broken pieces, bringing them closer to the sleeping one inside.

She is aware of her present state, yet cannot do anything about it. Her world had gone out of control and she let it. Now it wants to protect her forever, regardless of the outside world and it's whims.


She knows she is weak and wants to be protected.

She knows she can be strong and resilient.

She knows she is cowardly.

She's aware of her delusional self.

She's aware that she rationalizes a lot.


And she just realized that, well, she's made herself incapable of feeling.

It sounds so silly.

She knows that this is only a story.

Don't worry, it is.

A letter came today. It was sealed with a pretty blue wax seal, a rose crest seen only in my own imaginings. I've imagined myself many times receiving a summons of this caliber to some far away town or kingdom and the results were none too desirable. Either I play the role of the Royal Fool or be a debtor for the king. Both ways I am hated and mocked. Both ways I wear some ridiculous humiliating garb that secures my role. There are no gray areas, no wayward paths or holes I can hide. Only, I fulfill the duty set out for me day in and day out.

And I watch myself live out a miserable existence, fantasy world or not. I've seen myself do so many times, thus, making me even more unhappy with my present situation - which can only be described as a blur, a gap in time, my time.

But it arrived so abruptly, this letter, disturbing the bland daily life I live. Monochrome and silent. Mouths move but no words are heard, for everyone has deaf ears. Save me, who sees nothing but this grayness, blandness, and I feel... I feel... Well, I feel absolutely nothing. What I touch, what I see, everything that should have some sensory-related response does not perform as it should.

I can walk on solid ground because I think of solid ground. And everything I 'touch' is like touching air because I thought of touching 'air'. The grayness around me is possible because I've eliminated - repressed - all the drops and bits and splashes of color I thought I didn't want.

But now I want it back.

And I got this letter in return.

The blue rose letter I've seen so often in my dreaming.

The blue rose letter that has so often led me onto the path of a capricious, authority abiding, submissive fool.

Yet it guarantees my salvation.

I've stared long enough at what I held in my hands. I bit my lip, breaking the seal as I lift the flap of the envelope. It suddenly felt heavy.

But first, what happened around me, the monochrome began to blur. The house I crafted from my thoughts slowly disintegrated, like a wisp of smoke. And though the 'solid ground' had disappeared, I had yet to fall into this devastating blackness - the result of repressing the colors I once held dear.

I proceed to remove the item in the envelope. It was an ancient key, designed after the windows in the cathedrals I liked so much, the ones in the pictures of the place in Europe I've always wanted to go to. In other words, an antique.

The envelope disappeared, burst into blue flames right before my eyes as I fell upon the ground clutching my suddenly pounding chest.

Burning, no, agonizing pain - I felt - was pushing against the bones under the skin. Breathing is hard. Seeing is hard. tears were spilling out like raindrops. And the thunder - my voice - echoed loud around me.

I closed my eyes to this pain, this noise, found that it simmered to a low thrumming - similar to a hummingbird beating it's wings until... There was peace.

It was a box. A box with many locks. And inside were wondrous treasures, sleeping - waiting, for the day when light shines upon them once more. These treasures were quite capable of changing the world. Aware of the dangers, the horrors that could be, that might occur, there was no satisfying the curiosity that pricked this tired mind like needles.