Nothing Nil

Notice

2011-07-06T23:50:00.002+08:00

This blog will (temporarily) be continued elsewhere. Thank you for reading...

A Pianist In The Afternoon (Preview)

2011-03-31T20:18:00.016+08:00

She was last seen walking the dark alleyways of Lilith's Bend. Everybody knows how they are not supposed to pass by that area at at least past six or seven in the evening. Not that anyone would care but, who knows what sort of business she might have in that wretched place?

After an hour of wandering inside the damp maze of the Bend, she paused by a defunct vending machine and placed a coin in the slot. The vending machine responded with a thud from the inside, and then its neon lights turned on; now the vending machine was like how it was supposed to be when it was operational.

"I have brought Lady Karma with me." said the girl without expression. Then she stood there waiting for a response from the machine.

..... End of first preview .....

"My dear, would you like to be the suspect or the victim?" asked the man. "Neither, sir." replied Eliza. They then disappeared into the dark fog that's always been looming over the shallow pathways of The Bend.

End of preview. Pheww! Now that, was hard. Alas, I've no words or excuses to make up for taking a very long break from my blog. But thanks for reading. :)

Thoughts In Draft (Part 2)

2010-09-11T16:36:00.002+08:00

Once again, to make more sense
Or to not, or perhaps hide in this rust;
The coming of the rain and the air
Dampened forever in our thoughts.

Once again, to sleep less
Or to wake from this final slumber;
To fall down and crack her skull,
The thoughts now flowing away.

Not again, to forgive
Or not to forget, to fake,
And laugh like real robots;
These memories hidden are relived.

Not again, to catch the scorching wind
And not feel a single thing;
Like a doll, to lie down softly,
And slowly decay in place of a flowerpot.

This was the best that Strange Em could do without her muse...

A Pianist In The Afternoon (VI)

2010-06-28T19:35:00.006+08:00

Morning that day was a little misty and cold. Well, it was much like any other mornings in that city. The painting or sketching man stretched his arms as the rays of the sun peaks through his lonely bedroom. Always, he would walk to his kitchen, sit down at the table, and stare into the air. No breakfast again for today. He sighed in this thoughts. Oh well, time for bathroom. Then he walks into his crampy little bathroom to start his "morning rituals".

His name was Mario. It's not fairly an Italian name, but it will hopefully get him somewhere. Mario lived alone for about four years in The Bend. It's not such a bad place once in a while. Everyday people like Mario walks the street of this part of Milan's wide cities. No one knows for sure where Mario is originally from, it was just known that his father was once a Nazi in Poland, while nothing is said of his mother.

It is around eight in the morning and Mario now strolls down the brick roads of The Bend. Again he passes through the coffee shops and stops at his usual spot. He always carries with him his "artist box"; well, it's mostly a box filled with drafts and sketches and a few artworks that would hopefully sell. As he was trying to find a suitable place for him to sit down and unfold his sketches, he noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. He picked it up and straightened it with his hand. It was the front page of from the daily newspaper. The headline announced of a man who was murdered on the train the night before. It seemed strange that this article would interest Mario, but nevertheless, it slightly intrigued him.

All of a sudden, he remembered a strange afternoon when he was there in that same spot. He was also sketching but he seemed to have been there because he was "taking orders" from someone. The memory suddenly confused him. But how could that be? Maybe I was just dreaming... A nightmare perhaps from all of my days living in The Bend... He tried to comfort himself. I am a painter, a sketcher, and an artist; not a murderer, or a pianist... He thought to himself then he brushed off the confusing memory from his mind; never once wondering why he would think that he was a murderer or a pianist.

Mario sat down by the fountain and began to sketch on his empty canvass. He would be there for the rest of the morning and just a little after three, he hopes. He had several willing customers that day and soon, the sun would be setting. Ah, time to finish and pack up my work. He said to himself as he was putting on his finishing touches to his sketch. It took him about a whole day to finish this piece; like most of the pieces that he draws while he's at the same time selling his finished artworks.

Packed up and starting on the way back to his place, he remembered again the newspaper article on the murdered man. I wonder what happened to him... He pondered. He read again the article in his mind; it told of the death of an ordinary man, strolling and heading for his way home at such an odd hour. The article described it as a "mystery crime" for there was never a clue found on the body on how the man got a wound on his lower stomach. The man had just boarded the last train and sat on a window seat. It was later revealed that the person sitting behind him noticed that he hadn't moved at all after falling asleep; the person sitting beside him bent over to check on the sleeping man. That was when he noticed that his seat was already soaked in blood and that that man was probably asleep for eternity.

Strange how these things would happen in this peaceful part of the city. Mario thought. He was the only one who would think that it was peaceful in The Lilith's Bend. As before mentioned, it was a place that was full of darkness even when it was lighted by lamps.

Finally reaching his apartment, he laid down his "artist box" and took out the piece that he was sketching that day to observe it. It would have been the perfect piece of artwork and he would have hung it up his wall. The problem was that what he drew was something so familiar yet so sickening to him. He hadn't noticed it when he was sketching it, but it had come to a finish when he let his subconscious take over it. He stood there, looking ghastly at the picture before him; a picture that was a sketch of a bloody subway scene in total chaos and found near an exit, is a lone corpse slumped in one of the seats.

Mario couldn't believe what he saw. He couldn't believe what he drew. All thoughts are now swimming in his confused and delicate mind. Suddenly, he was breathing hard. Instinctively, he stepped back and stumbled into the bathroom to grab his medicine from the cabinet. He opened the bottle and took four pills at the same time. Don't panic, don't panic! He calmed himself down and washed his face with the ice cold water from the tap. Wiping his face with his hand then wiping the mirror, he stared into the eyes of the person staring back at his. The person staring back at Mario had a sinister grin and an expression of satisfaction on his face. Something unexplainable has happened. He said.

Part 6 of the Pianist; a long part... I have bright ideas for this one, but it might take a long time again for me to post the next part. :)

Credits:
-Thanks to The Wicked (Glenn) for suggesting that I give Mario a name.

The Jester's Grin

2010-06-24T16:50:00.005+08:00

"It's useless to think." she thought to herself as she was sitting again in her chair. But this time she was facing the window; looking outside. Thoughts are once again flooding in her mind as she observes a lone bird flying across the half-skyline. Following the bird with her eyes as it flies out of her view then behind the building, her vision suddenly shifted to a woman standing on top of the building just across. Huh? What's she doing there? She thought to herself. Who knows? Maybe she's just thinking or dreaming like myself, only she has a strange way of doing it. She replied, to her own thoughts.

Then, as Em was about to look away, the woman, dressed in a seemingly tattered Victorian dress, takes a step further forward, then leaps off the building. For about four or five seconds, Em's mind was racing. What was that? Was what I saw real? Did she just jump from the building? Did I even see a woman standing there a while ago? These were the confused questions that she asked herself.

Then she heard a squishy thud. Obviously, it was the sound of the woman's body as it collided with the pavement below. Suddenly and unexplainably, Em found herself standing beside the deformed body of the woman. The woman, now bloodied and lying there on the pavement with broken bones, looked into Em's eyes with a grin. Em, now more confused, asks the poor woman, "Who are you?" Why did you do this? Why did you let me see you? Why did I want to ask you this? It seemed to Em that there was a certain familiarity with how the woman had looked into her eyes. And that grin; oh, how she hated it and yet she loved it too.

Em bent down to hold the woman in her arms. She does not know why she did this; perhaps it was an instinct or a natural thing to do to a dying person. "Who am I? Who am I you ask?" the woman laughed. Now bleeding even more, the woman tried to reach Em's face with her bloody hand. And as she tried in vain to come closer to Em's ear, she coughed and said, "I am you."

As she was surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, Em looked up and around; desperately trying to ask anyone for help. But she was horrified when she saw the people's faces, they were all the same; seemingly apathetic and empty and with a selfish and sinister grin. How could you all be like this? How could you all not care? She's dying, look! She was screaming to herself in her mind.

You are me? But how can that be? Em turned to ask herself. She is no longer in that wretched place, and she was now alone. But alone she is, with her wretched thoughts. Will there ever be an end to this cycle? Will there ever be a change in Em's mind? As she continues to see it, her mind closes and the scene fades to black.

Above is a scene depicting how Em is trying to kill Evil Em once again. Yes, the cycle goes on.

Credits:
- The woman in tattered Victorian dress is inspired by the woman in Slipknot's music videos Vermillion (Parts 1 & 2)
- The idea of a person jumping from a building to his death is from one of the stories my mom told me

In Her Thoughts: Untitled (II)

2010-06-07T22:09:00.004+08:00

Do you enjoy judging human beings even though you are one of them?

-Ulquiorra (From Bleach manga @ OneManga.com)

Thoughts In Draft

2010-06-01T00:22:00.000+08:00

She hasn't been herself lately. And this she knows. Perhaps it was the product of a many different stories or moments that passed her by. And slowly she realizes, that she's drifting away. Away from the suppressed reality that she hates. No, that's not exactly right; sometimes I like it too.

Her thoughts once again, are interfering with one another. So what else is new? Ah, nothing's new; nothing's changed. Thank God. Thank God? What is she talking about? Did she prefer to drift away from this suppressed reality?

"Tell me, Where are you supposed to go?" said Evil Em, hinting a little grin on her empty face.

"Nowhere. Just here. It's the same place, and I'll be back in the same place, even after a hundred years or so..." replied Strange Em.

"You know that nothing will ever change." said Evil Em confidently.

You know what? For the first time, I agree with you. Nothing will ever change in this suppressed and sickening world. She paused and suddenly she remembered something. Seeds. Ah yes, the seeds are growing. That must've been the reason why.

In conclusion, all of this does make sense... Oh such a pity. A pitiful end indeed.

Found above is the drafted version of one of Em's unorganized thoughts. It makes sense not to make sense. Because it will not make sense unless you'll make some sense out of it.

Hmm... not one of my best explanations, is it...?

A Pianist In The Afternoon (V)

2010-05-11T12:23:00.001+08:00

That last train that night left at an odd hour of eight in the evening (Last trains don't usually leave as early as that, right?). There were a few people left on that train, fairly because it was raining and it was the last train from the dreaded "Lilith's Bend". Oh yes. Like we've mentioned before, that was a place that less people went, or walked on; mostly because it was a street full of darkness; even when it was lighted by lamps.

And on that train was that short blonde man who was just walking down in a hurry from one of the Lilith's alley. Good thing I made it. Phew... the blonde guy thought to himself. He was soaking wet from the sudden rain and from his sweat from hurrying in the darkened alley just a while ago. But he was safe now, and on board the last train that was bound to the more normal parts of the city. He sat quietly on his seat and fell asleep within a few minutes.

Meanwhile, in an abandoned alley, the tall walking man leaned on a broken lamp post and reached into is pocket for his cigarette. He sat on an empty trash bin as he smoked and he puffed once, twice, then paused for a second to admire quiet moon. She was shy and was seemingly hiding behind the rain clouds, but it was a beautiful sight. Ah... I wish I had a cup of Cappuccino... He suddenly thought to himself. A toast to you, My lovely moon.

After a puffing his last puff, the tall man flicked off the cigarette butt and started walking out of the alley. As if searching for something familiar, he let his legs take him to where they would take him in the old city; just like a bird flying with a sense of freedom and constraint in the wide sky.

At long last, the fifth installment for the Pianist! I've been procrastinating lately, my apologies. Strange Em just wouldn't come out...

A Pianist In The Afternoon (IV)

2010-02-15T22:02:00.000+08:00

The night had befallen and faintly but certainly, footsteps can be heard making its way down a darkened alley. The man strolling down the dampen alley, wore dark clothes and had a dark long coat over him and had unruly hair and a slight grin on his face. And he, as he might have always been described, had his cold hands in each of his pockets; one was probably playing with an unlighted cigarette, while the other was perhaps holding a loaded pistol.

And strut and strolled he went, down the moonlit alley and out into a corner of a backstreet. The backstreet was dark and foggy but it was moonlit (and "lamplit"), as has been said, and less people walked on it. Perhaps only the city's brave souls would be wandering off into such backstreets during such cold nights. Faintly, another set of footsteps was heard by the walking man, and it was coming towards him. Right on time. Murmured his thoughts and his grin became subtly sinister.

The other man, the one who was approaching the walking man, was much shorter in height and had blonde hair. He was carrying a briefcase on his right hand and he kept glancing at his watch on his left. It would appear that he was hurrying to catch his last train, and so he walked even faster without even noticing the man approaching him.

They walked past each other in a second and of course, it would seem that nothing had happened. The blonde man continued unto his path, hurrying out of the backstreet. The other man who had a grin on his face, had paused and looked up at the lonely moon. Looks like it's going to rain. And after pondering on some thoughts, he continued to walk down the backstreet, disappearing into the thinning fog.

Thanks to Neil Gaiman, and to Ms. Saddie (for introducing Neil Gaiman to me), for inspiring me to write again.

A Pianist In The Afternoon (III)

2010-02-01T00:37:00.004+08:00

"How much for these paintings?" asked the middle-aged man. "Sketches". murmured the man standing by his artworks. "I'm sorry?" asked the middle-aged man, puzzled. "They're sketches." replied the man. "Oh. Then, how much are your sketches?" "Depends. Prices range from two-hundred to three-hundred dollars." said the man (or perhaps the artist). "That cheap??" exclaimed the middle-aged man, now more puzzled. The artist then took one of his works from his wooden chest. "This here, I think you might like it. It's a hundred and fifty for you." the artist said, shoving the piece to the middle-aged man. The middle-aged man took the sketch piece and observed it. Finally after a few minutes of inspecting it, the middle-aged man decided to buy the sketch piece; he took from his wallet two-hundred dollars and handed it to the artist and walked away. The artist, blank and unemotional, didn't even bother to chase after the middle-aged man for his change.

Well, thanks anyway. The artist said to himself. That middle-aged man had been his only customer for that day. The sun was about to set so the artist started to pack up his sketch things into his wooden chest. And seemingly careless of his own works, he grabbed his overused pencils and dropped it inside the chest without looking. Suddenly, his nose began to bleed. Feeling dizzy, he reached into his pocket for something to wipe his nose on. As he pulled out some used napkin from his pocket, there was more blood. The artist stood there, staring at the blood from his nose (now spread out on the napkin) and, as if just noticing it, he felt a sharp pain on his finger. It was a cut. Huh? Where did I get this? He wondered. More carefully now, he slowly reached into his pocket.

He felt a metal thing inside his pocket and pulled it out. It was a small, sharp knife. The artist stared at it, puzzled and wondering why he had it in his pocket. He then looked at it more closely and noticed that there were still some half dried blood stains on the blade. Paused and thinking for a moment, Some of this is obviously not my blood... he realized. He then dropped the knife and stepped away, while still looking at it.

There was something about the knife, or maybe the blood, or maybe both things that made his heart pound so wildly. He glanced at his watch, and as if suddenly remembering that there was time, he ran off the sidewalk and went straight into an alley. All of a sudden, while shivering beside a dumpster, his mood changed. Or we could say that his mind changed. He stood back up and started to run back to where he came from.

There he was, back to where he was standing with his "sketch pieces" just a few minutes ago. And the bloodied knife just on the floor, with his and a stranger's blood drying on it. Perhaps this scene would be frightening to others, but to the artist, it was suddenly and oddly a pleasurable sight.

A Pianist In The Afternoon (II)

2009-10-16T12:32:00.000+08:00

There he sat by the old fountain just around an old cafe; and from his bag he took out some neatly folded pieces of paper and an overused pencil. And, seemingly waiting for the cold signal wind, he started by scanning the "surface" of the scene. Okay, this is what I have to do, Sketch the scene... Picture it in your mind and simply sketch... He paused as he suddenly remembered something from what he thought. I can't always be remembering things of the past...

As he sank into his own mind, he began to sketch; and sketch he did unstoppingly, as if his brain couldn’t stop calculating the cycle of the things around him. Hurry up! His brain was pushing him. The time of killing is nearing… For tomorrow, when they will sound the signal, it will be time for me to make my move. Suddenly, he was having trouble on what he’d decided. This isn’t a good time to have second thoughts.

They said that he was one of the best in town. Well, at least for the people from the underground world. He couldn’t be one of the best in town if he needed to sketch the scene of the “murder field” every time he’s on a mission. He takes too much time. Time is almost never tolerated in the underground world. But luckily for him, they’d have the patience. It’s because I never missed a mark. He was now trying to find himself in approval. Maybe because he was losing time; Why was it that this scene was so hard to sketch?

Talking to himself as he was nearing the finale of his sketch, he heard suddenly a faint melody just from behind. As he tried to finish what he was doing, he heard again that faint noise. Now it was becoming louder a bit. It was melodies from a piano. Someone’s playing the piano. Now I can’t concentrate and finish this scene. Why does it have to be now? He then turned around to look at the piano player.

He sat there paused, and staring for a while as soon as he saw who was playing the piano. What kind of a joke is this? There was no mistaking it as his memory confirmed that his next mark was the person seated by the piano and playing its keys. This is turning out to be a nightmare.

A Pianist In The Afternoon

2009-09-16T01:02:00.004+08:00

He walks the streets of Milan; his hands in his pockets while unconciously biting the tip of a lighted cigarette. His nose has already grown accustomed to the smell of it; so much that it almost smells like the aroma of a freshly made ham and bacon sandwich on a breakfast table. Breakfast was no longer an everyday thing for him; it has grown cold in his thoughts. Darn it. That simple thought of it made his stomach growl and his tongue swirl in saliva inside his mouth.

It was already nine minutes past noon that day as he walked by the garden and past the loner's alley. Now walking by the streets where cars are forbidden, he scans the sidewalk cafes with his watery eyes (Watery because he hadn't been able to sleep very well for the past few nights). There they are again... There they were again; the "old people" by the sidewalk cafes; seemingly reading newspapers and chewing on some dry panini. And of course, coffee is a must. Nothing was of interest in these subjects to the walking man. What struck him most maybe was the disinterest in the faces of these "old people". Such hypocrites, he thought. Must they always pretend to be reading these morning papers when all that they can find is the hate of this world?

Just a thought anyway... He thought. Walking further and finding now a suitable place, he started by brushing off some dried leaves, then by sitting down on it after. It was on the marble borders of an old fountain situated just a bit away from one of the street cafes. Ah... this, here again... He said to himself. He was to be there, all, and every afternoon; maybe just thinking, or just watching the sun blink behind the tree leaves as they danced with the wind.

Or I should probably not talk to myself this much. It freaks other people out. Heck, it freaks me out. His boring thoughts again. Thinking of doing something other than staring at the faint sun and talking to his own thoughts, he took some things out from his old rugged sling bag.

Workin' on the next parts... Hope you'll like it, it's something lighter than the usual posts here... Thinkin' of putting some weird twists too... :]

An Almost Self-Destruction

2009-09-12T09:21:00.001+08:00

And she said, "What was there to wait for, or to ponder upon?" And it all didn't seem to make sense. But. It never did. The confusion now that has taken over her conversations, and words; they all seemed to have gotten so cold. And none now, are the memories that were left for her to hold; she must throw these away in order to let these seeds grow.

And like the many sacrifices that hypocritical heroes make, she too, must let these old seeds die in order to let new seeds grow. A choice was made, but neither was it the right one nor the wrong one. And how could the skies tell, or the evening night whisper her stories, in this time of chaos, then wreckage?

And that was why she'd aleady fallen deeper, into that darkened place. It will be after this period, that she will rise above her own thoughts; because they've gotten the best of her. After the sadness and the bitterness, new seeds will grow; as already mentioned.

She will stand there in the bloody rain; to let it wash and nurture these seeds and let them sprout into destructive, vengeful thoughts.

In Her Thoughts: Untitled

2009-08-10T13:17:00.002+08:00

When thoughts are empty, they are filled with dread.

Actually, it's just another way of saying that Em is on hiatus. :D

The Decay Of Something Beautiful

2009-07-20T01:24:00.009+08:00

And there is Em, once again seated in front of the bright screen and staring blankly into it. And she is silently contemplating about death; not of herself, but of something beautiful inside her. And she is peeking once again inside her empty dome; that which was once filled with dust, and/or filthy thoughts. She reaches in to feel if there's anything left from her previous recollections of remorse and hatred.

Ah yes, hatred, you say. Such a beautiful word. Beautiful in essence that it can slowly and discreetly crawl into your mind, then devour your heart. And it's such a perfect scene that's carved into her peaceful memories. And she worked so hard for such a thing, and was left there, waiting, forever in eternal ruins.

How can this happen? She asks, knowing that the only answer/s would be the silence of the wind that never ceases to pass her by. Perhaps tired of being tired, something other than hatred has subtly grown its seeds in the small creases of her soul. And this is to be observed, and thought about.

And this is just the beginning. And these choices that were left for her in the dark; perhaps to make the wrong one or the right one; would only be a matter of time.

Fortunately/Unfortunately for her, Time doesn't exist.

Unanalyzed (Reversed)

2009-06-19T00:58:00.027+08:00

Awakened one morning with these haunting dreams, she found herself wondering in her own thoughts. No longer was the dust scattered in her thinking place; the thoughts have flowed out together with them. Oh the filth that has come and gone. But. What difference did it make?

Why not? It's only a vicious cycle of filthy thoughts coming in and out from filthy sources. What you take in, is also what you will give out; threefold. What a nasty conclusion. But then, maybe he was right. She hated the Dreamer. He always has the reputation of saying the right things at the right time. He also has the reputation of silencing her filthy thoughts. And because of this, he thinks he's won.

You can laugh all you want. But. I can always hate you more. Then, she saw from him a hint of a sarcastic smirk. Oh, Hatred is such a bitter thing. You cannot always let it come to you. Tell me, what can this hatred of yours do?

What indeed? Em thought to herself. Could the Dreamer have finally deciphered her subconscious thoughts? Could he have finally found Em's hiding place inside her own twisted mind?

Such nonsense. The Dreamer could never have deciphered or found the source of her twisted thoughts. He can only do so much as to scratch the surface of her rusted brain and pretend to have spoken to her in her subconscious mind. Indeed he has lost. No, he has probably lost his mind.

Indeed, I have probably lost my mind.

Evil Em has deceived the Dreamer.

Unanalyzed

2009-06-15T23:10:00.009+08:00

Em, was out for a while. Rather, Yes, she knows that it's been a while. Oh the dust that's covered now in her thinking place. And yet why does she intend to open and climb in when she knows that it's empty? What can she find there? Maybe something; or nothing at all. But. What difference would it make?

She talked to the Dreamer. He told her that these empty thoughts are what's swimming in her subconscience. Well, if there's such a thing. But. There's no harm done. No worries. What time would be wasted if she would worry about such trivial matters.

Hatred lingers. She thought. Hatred is such a funny thing. But. If you cling to it too much, it'll cling back; and consume you. He said. Such nonsense. Whoever said that she was clinging to it? She'd just let it linger.

The Dreamer didn't give her good dreams. She dreamt about death, and despair. But. They were not exactly bad dreams either. He was right. You've been thinking too much perhaps.

Yes, you are right. Too much, I've been thinking.

Disorganized thoughts; because of the Dreamer.

In Her Thoughts: Sudden Nostalgia

2009-05-08T01:46:00.010+08:00

She remembered that gloomy day; she was seated on the pebbled staircase, just watching the raindrops exploding on the ground. Such a beautiful sight. Right at the end of the rain, she thought that that day was one of the most beautiful days of her time; all because of the warming sunlight that shone on the green trees and on the plants around her. Added to this moment of nostalgia was the sweet, relaxing scent of the wet soil and pine trees. And the fabulous finale of the soft north wind blowing in her hair.

She missed those days; those days when she was only Em; those days when she was calm and spirited; those days when everything seemed so clear; those days when people greeted people with smiles... then fades...

Part Seven of the In Her Thoughts series.

Placebo

2009-04-23T21:23:00.011+08:00

Sitting again in front of a device called the computer and staring at its bright screen, Em suddenly realized something; she hasn't heard from the nightly "callings" of her friends/voices for a few days now. Could it be that they've finally grown tired of bothering Em that they simply just vanished? This is probably a good sign... It could be...

Em could hear herself telling herself that these "voices" could be gone forever. Hahaha... Funny... It doesn't seem to be funny at all. No, in fact, I don't know what or how I should feel about this... Em is confused; she wonders why she is/isn't happy about what was happening to her. Perhaps she liked it better when she could hear them speaking to her.

Would this be a problem? It probably would be. No, it wouldn't be. It wouldn't be... It wouldn't... As these thoughts are repeated to herself in her mind, Em quickly sinks back to her normal routine of checking of emails, surfing, and staring blankly into the screen.

Just as Em was about to forget about what she had just thought about, a silent creepy voice spoke to her and said, "You were never not normal."

Short Sober Monologue

2009-04-13T23:51:00.005+08:00

Strange Em: Hello there. Long time no talk with you.

Em: Please, don't bother me. I don't need you here.

Strange Em: Sorry, but I can't help it. And as I've told you, this is your fault after all.

Em: ...

Strange Em: Let me tell you something interesting.

Em: What...?

Strange Em: Time does not exist.

Em: And why do you say that?

Strange Em: Simple. Because, I do not exist.

Em: ...

And thus, the conversation ends here. Em is silenced by her own twisted thoughts. Because, it was simply the truth. But then again, she thinks to herself... Does that mean that Evil Em also doesn't exist?

Untitled 3

2009-04-09T20:56:00.006+08:00

We stretched out both of our arms,
Passed through the clouds, straight to the sky;

Even though we touched the Moon and Mars,
We still cannot touch the truth.

Once again, from Bleach manga.

Overlapse (Continued---Reggie's Version)

2009-03-28T22:45:00.008+08:00

The wild rays of the sun,
In this endless field I run;
Blinded but still I can see,
Somehow all emotions are lost at sea;

Rain pours down heavy,
Standing there not knowing any;
To be lost without a cause,
We try but we dry like moss.

If only I could fly,
Under this cloudless sky;
Seemingly unsure that I might,
Perhaps soar this boundless height;

This step I am determined to make,
Though we give but for other's sake;
Knowing not what it will reveal,
Even I'm at a standstill.

Above is the "continued" version of Overlapse. This version is by Reggie; and since he added two more paragraphs to the original poem without my permission, I've also editted his version without his permission (Quits?). Whatcha think? :P

Untitled 2

2009-03-17T22:19:00.004+08:00

We must never shed tears;
It is the sign of life form's defeat.

And if we give in to our emotions;
Then it only becomes proof of our inability to control it.

Borrowed once again from Bleach manga.

Eliza and the Left Handed Angel: Absolute Meaning

2009-03-13T12:01:00.011+08:00

While they were ascending, Eliza could feel Hadriel’s warmth coming from his golden armor. It relieved her from what she just witnessed and felt in that nightmare of a place. Thank God… What was that place… I never want to go back there... I never want to feel that way again. Now stopping, they found themselves in a garden. Yet again, only Eliza seemed to be surprised and clueless at where they are. But this did not matter, she was now out of that horrifying place. “Here we are. I have brought you back to your earth.”, said Hadriel. Earth, what a relief! I’m back! But… If I’m back, then I’m not dead yet? How come? How can I— Again, before Eliza could finish her thought, suddenly she could feel something coming from her insides to her throat. She then threw up some blood; along with other indistinguishable filth. “Ugh… What is this…?” “That is because you breathed the air from the wretched place. When you are back on earth, they do not like the air here.” replied Hadriel. Well, that was great help. Anywho, I’m thankful that I’m back here…

“Do you understand now? Because you have done such a thing on that night, you were supposed to leave your body and the Fiend was supposed to take your soul into the wretched place.” Eliza was gradually beginning to understand what Hadriel was telling her. She was beginning to regret what she did that night. She shouldn’t have given up that easily. “But then, I heard your prayers…” continued Hadriel, “Hence, I came to your aid. You know that I cannot just leave you there to die. But you must understand that this is a very rare chance...” Upon hearing this, Eliza was feeling a lot guiltier now. Okay, I get it now... “I decided to give you one more chance; since you have been a good child from your birth and did the better things to serve others in your life. I would like you to continue walking on that path of light.” Hadriel told Eliza with a smile.

All of a sudden, Eliza could see Hadriel’s face; much less his smile. It was golden. Eliza looked at him; emotions pouring in her heart. She could not search for the proper words to be grateful to her angel. “…Thank you…so much…” Eliza finally uttered. “There is no need to be thankful to this angel; that is what we are sent for.” Hadriel smiled, then hugged Eliza. “Go, child. And finish your work.”; “I have work to do as well.” with that said, Hadriel slowly walked away from Eliza then disappeared into the trees.

Eliza then felt herself half floating and half walking to a destination. She entered a big building and went up four flights of stairs. Strange… Why is everyone wearing white lab gowns or dresses… Walking/Floating now in a long hallway, she can feel her heart pounding faster and senses of joy suddenly was approaching. She was in front of a door. She found herself to be breathing hard and nervous before the door. She knows what awaits her on the other side of the door. Keep calm…You can do it. It’s time for you to go back. Calming down, she then opened the door. There she was, lying on a hospital bed, with wires connected to her arms. She slowly approached her body and held her own hand. She then felt herself flowing back into her body.

”Eliza? Eliza?” Eliza felt a soft grip on her arm. It was the voice of the nurse who had been taking care of her since her long sleep. “That hurts…” was the first thing that she uttered. The nurse released her grip and said, “Oh sorry! I was so excited! I didn’t see that it was your stitched arm!” “'Stitched arm'; that's kinda scary to hear...", Eliza laughed. “Oh thank God, you’re back! You’ve been out for three weeks!” “Yes, Thank God I’m back…” Eliza then smiled and looked out into the window. I’m back, and I still have a long way to go...

Okay so that was it. Sorry if you got disappointed. :P I just wanted to finish my thought on the story anyways; couldn't just leave it hanging. :P So anyhow, the story was about Eliza, who tried to commit suicide and then "died". But she didn't really die anyway, she just passed out. Because she lost a lot of blood from ripping her arm open (not to mention that she hit her head on the lababo [I suddenly forgot the English for lababo] real hard while passing out), she went into a "mini-coma" :P She was lucky enough to have the chance to see a part of "heaven" as well as a part of "hell". Of course she wanted to choose heaven, but then she must understand that suicide wasn't a bright choice to "end her suffering", so Hadriel didn't let her die so that she would not go to hell and that she would understand "the meaning of life" and that sufferings are part of it. Simple eh? :P First parts of the story are posted in my old blog.

And here we are, more footnotes! Yey! Just some credits: I got the idea of Hell and Heaven from Dante Alighieri's Inferno and Paradiso. The angel Hadriel was a character I borrowed from the PC game Diablo II: Lord of Destruction. The way Eliza cut her arm was inspired by the movie What Dreams May Come; where in Robin Williams' wife cut her arm vertically which resulted in a very nasty-looking opening/wound.

Hmm... what else... I'd hope I didn't forget anything... :P *Keeps thinking*

Untitled

2009-03-06T11:59:00.004+08:00

I've always been afraid...
Always been pretending to follow you closely,
Always been pretending to sharpen my teeth;

When the truth is, I am scared to death
just treading on your shadow.

Quoted from Bleach manga @ OneManga.com.

Eliza and the Left Handed Angel: The Void

2009-02-26T20:49:00.005+08:00

“Where are we now?” asked Eliza as she was walking with Hadriel in that pure white place. Hadriel turned to Eliza and offered his hand. “Come; hold on tightly, as we are about to descend to the abyss.” responded Hadriel. “Uh… Okay.” was Eliza’s only reply. I wonder where is the other choice…Abyss…? Abyss!? Wait a minute, abyss!?? That can’t mean anything good! “Uh, Hadriel, I think—“, before Eliza could finish her sentence, they suddenly descended from the clouds and then fell faster and faster towards the earth. Eliza could hear herself screaming as they were falling down the sky; but Hadriel was as calm as ever. This is NOT fun at all! No fair! How come you’re not even scared and screaming like me!!!

“Where’re we goiiiiiiing??”, screamed Eliza as they came near the ground. Oh my God!!! I’m gonna die again?? That’s…that’s the ground!!! Stop! Ahhh!!! As they were about to hit the ground, Eliza closed her eyes and braced for the impact. However, to her surprise, both of them went past the ground. Huh? Wha? What happened?

Eliza then realized that they’ve already come to a stop. She found herself standing on top of a small windy hill with Hadriel. Suddenly, Eliza could hear her surroundings; it was the distorted noise of numerous people’s voices screaming and shouting in inaudible sentences. The surroundings then slowly became warmer and warmer until the heat became unbearable. From the hill, Eliza could suddenly see all the people’s sufferings in that wretched place; humans with their hands chained while their body’s burning, others screaming in pain with detached limbs, and others being thrown into the River of Flame to perish.

Eliza could not take anymore of the horrible sight. It was as if her soul was drowning in everlasting sorrow and agony; tears fell uncontrollably from her eyes as she started to scream to Hadriel, “Stop! Please take me out of this horrible place! Please!!!” “You see this now, child. And I knew that you would not choose this. I will elucidate further once we are back. For now, we need to leave; we cannot stay here long, lest the Fiery Fiend will come to seek your soul.” With that, Hadriel carried Eliza and spread his wings to fly.

There you go; part seven of the Eliza series. Hmm... My own thoughts? The description of "hell" was maybe a bit too short. But then again, I sort of got crept out while I was imagining what this "hell" would look and feel like. (O.o)

Overlapse

2009-02-24T12:32:00.002+08:00

The wild rays of the sun,
In this endless field I run;
Blinded but still I can see,
Somehow all emotions are lost at sea;

Rain pours down heavy,
Standing there not knowing any;
To be lost without a cause,
We try but we dry like moss.

Just another filler post before I post the next chapter to Eliza's story :P A very short and crudely composed poem; also posted in my old blog.

Ebony

2009-02-17T15:27:00.005+08:00

In the sober eve I see,
Ten thousand spoonfuls of sleepy stars;
Whispering to me their tales of melancholy,
Stories told of many that they washed away the hours;

Tell me, Oh tell me,
These stories that I have so longed to hear;
To let me feel pity or sympathy,
Or to let me offer them faith or hope;

Which ever is too near,
I should then find myself in this decade of insanity.

Also originally posted in Em's old blog. This is could either be a prequel or a sequel to another similar poem entitled "An Eve Of Uncertainty" (Also posted in the old blog).

*Original Footnote:
"'Ebony', the title, attributed to the night sky... perhaps empty of stars that would tell these tales..."

Eliza and the Left Handed Angel: Uncertain Choices

2009-02-14T23:15:00.007+08:00

And so as the being appeared before the River of Life, Eliza and all the others there suddenly came to a stop. The being, clothed in pure white, paused for a second from where he was floating; then suddenly released a vast glow of light. The light covered everyone who was standing before him and stretched well beyond the River. It was comforting and it gave a feeling of nimbleness; as though everyone was in the process of a sacred cleansing and removal of the heavy burdens they’ve carried with them.

After a moment of this comforting light, the being ascended into the clouds and soon after, all the others involuntarily followed. Everyone was slowly floating up into the clouds except for two people; Eliza and Hadriel. Hey that’s weird, how come I can’t float up like them? “Hadriel, I think we should be going…” said Eliza. She was suddenly panicking now, she was wondering why they weren’t floating amongst the others, and if they didn’t go soon, they might lose their way. “Hadriel, I can’t float; can you help me here?” Eliza said loudly. She looked at Hadriel, he doesn’t seem to be worried at all; he is or was emotionless from the moment they met on that snowy mountain. Why aren’t you a bit worried? They’re all up there now! Let’s go!

“You cannot go there yet, Eliza.” Hadriel told the anxious Eliza. “Did you forget now that I have told you about making a choice?” Eliza suddenly remembered. Oh crap! I guess I do remember now, he did tell me something about a choice! Sensing that she is in a bit of danger, she’s now aware that she is not on the same ground as all the others there earlier. She now realized that not even Cassandra could’ve helped her; but only she can help herself with this chance that the being has given her. Okay, now I’d have to make that choice! But, something’s missing; what is the choice? Or what are the choices?? “Uh… Yes, I do remember, but I’m confused about which or what are the choices that I need to choose from… Sorry…”, Eliza told Hadriel with a grin. “Then come with me, child; I shall take you to see the other choice.”, echoed Hadriel with his low voice. Oh good, thanks! That was one clue…

Now realizing that this beautiful place was the first choice, Eliza wondered why, that at that moment, she couldn’t choose this choice first. Keeping these questions in her mind, she then followed Hadriel as they walked the clouds by the River of Life.

This is the 6th part of the Eliza series. Parts 1 to 5 of Eliza's story were published or are posted in Em's old blog; dating from December 2005 to May 2006. Endnotes, descriptions, and credits will be out in the last chapter.

Tarnished Nail (Part 2)

2009-02-05T22:31:00.034+08:00

It was a windy day and Em had been walking on a snow laden path on the mountains. She's worried again that she might not find what she's been looking for. And the worst part of it was that she might not even remember what she's been looking for.

Like that time on the forest on that summer day, she'd been walking for at least three or four hours already. Why does it seem like there's no end to this pathway? How much longer do I need to walk? The crows upon a dying tree told her that it was further ahead; so that Em has to keep on walking. Still, walking... When will I ever stop? When will I ever get tired? The truth was that, Em would never get tired. Or that, Em would never be able to stop walking. Because, secretly, she has been deceived. Again.

Now seemingly approaching the end of the pathway, Em suddenly heard a voice. Turn back now. There is nothing good that you will find there... Em wonders if she'd been hallucinating or changing personalities again. But she wasn't. That voice was genuine, and she was somehow convinced to turn back. Okay, I believe you; I will turn back, before it gets too late...

Just then, as Em was about to turn back to where she was walking from, the black figure appeared before her. It's him! I know him! I have to get away, quickly! Her mind was reacting fast enough, but her body was reacting slowly. There's no time to stall! Move! Em prepared to push the black figure hard and then make a run for it. Suddenly, the black figure disappeared before her eyes. And then Em lost her balance; because of the slippery snow, and her excessive efforts of the push that's intended for the black figure. And then she fell to the ground.

Fortunately, there was no dugged hole this time, and she did not have to be stuck in it. Thank God, I'm fine... Em looked around to see if the black figure was anywhere around. Thank God, he's gone... As Em was trying to stand up, she noticed red droplets on the pure white snow. Moving again, suddenly she felt this pain coming from her left hand.

It was her left hand; impaled on a rusty nail. Again, encountering this rusty nail. She knew that somehow, this was going to happen. No time to waste... You need to turn back now, before it really becomes too late. Em numbly and slowly pulled her hand out of the rusty nail. Blood came gushing out of the wound, so she placed a bandage around it to stop the flowing.

I will prepare to walk back now... She had been deceived once again. She had nothing further to say or think, simply because she knows that she was wrong. When will she ever learn this lesson?

Do not worry about learning the lesson... It is always not too late to turn back, as long as your thoughts are pure and convinced about it.

But it is always too late to turn back... Always...

Part 1 of "Tarnished Nail" can be found in Em's old blog; entry dated May 16th, 2006.

Dirty Wings

2009-02-03T22:28:00.009+08:00

"Don't let it consume you." A boy told Em. The boy was talking about Hatred. Now, why did we suddenly talk about hatred? Weren't we just talking about how cool it is or was to have dirty sneakers?

He turned away. Now Em wonders if she had said anything wrong or if she had just heard it wrong. Or worst, if she had been talking to another one of herself again. Perhaps the boy saw through Em's eyes... Perhaps he saw that in reality, Em was a crazy, schizophrenic person who hates everything that's nice and beautiful in this world.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong. Who will know for sure?

I will.

Who, you?

Yes. I will know for sure. I know which is the answer to your rhetorical question.

I do not quite understand...

Did you not see what it did to you?

No, I did not see it clearly...

It broke off your wings...

Sorry for the abrupt ending... :P

Conversations With Fire

2009-01-15T19:01:00.006+08:00

Maybe I was dreaming. I had no clue of anything. I feel cold but I still feel warm. I am numb. In fact, I'm feeling nothing at all. Something's wrong. I think I'm lost; or maybe it's just me.

Where am I? I'm confused but it's alright. I like it here. Could I stay a bit longer please? This place is totally blank; I can't see anything except nothing. It's like an endless space.

I am suddenly running from something. I don't know what it is. I don't even remember why I am running. I just keep running and running. I don't seem to go anywhere. Funny, I don't seem to remember that I was being chased by something. There is no one here at all. Haha! My mind is playing tricks on me.

Hello! I'm glad you found me! I'm lost; can you help me find my way back? This person is weird. He's not answering. Wait a minute, how can I ask this person to help me find my way back when I don't even know how I got here? Ok, so I'm in trouble. I am starting to panic. The person is weird; he's just standing there like a statue. He's not even panicking. So how long have you been lost here? Do you live here? How am I gonna get out? As I expected, he didn't answer me. Stupid questions. Oh well, it's better to have a companion than none.

Where are we going? His hand is as cold as mine. We're both like frozen entities. I have no idea where he's taking me. His grip was like a chain wrapped around my wrist.

I have no time for this! I have to find a way out! Could you let go of my wrist? He then turned to look at me. I froze as soon as I looked at his face. He had no face at all! I was too shocked to scream. The person then pulled my wrist hard and push me towards his path. I stumbled to the floor unto a crawling position. I looked up. Guess what I saw? A freshly carved epitaph. I dared not look at the name.

Two words: Dreams, Confusion, and Death. Oh wait, that's three. Oh well.

Sudden Outpour

2009-01-13T23:15:00.005+08:00

I stood there looking gray;
Deprived of sleep and emotions.
My eyes focused on the gloomy moon;
Her eyes told me of a lonely story.

I lay down on this cold, dampen grass;
Silently wishing that this world would bare
Witness to my agonizing plea.

It was coming to an end
But I was uncertain.

These cold hands of mine,
Finally they've talked.

This is once again another recycled entry from my old blog... I'm currently "busy", so I've dug out this old, short, simple, and weird "poem" for a new post here :P

*Em = lazy ass*

Sober Monologue 2

2009-01-05T20:58:00.011+08:00

Some Certified symptoms of ____________:

- Excessive/Repetitive thinking or organization of thoughts; resulting in thought confusion and inability to think clearly or decide on simple things
Status: Check.

- Impulses to jump in front of a speeding vehicle (e.g. buses, trucks, cars, trains)
Status: Check.

- Impulses to hurt or stab a person while conversing with the person; whether it be the person is close to you or a complete stranger
Status: Check.

- Preoccupation with "Order of Symmetry" (e.g. the habit of arranging things excessively; "things must be lined up just right")
Status: Check.

- Fear that if something is not done perfectly, there is a corresponding punishment
Status: Check.

- Fear of contamination or that something is contaminated; resulting in excessive hand washing
Status: Check.

- Impulses to shout obscenities in inappropriate situations
Status: Check.

Em checks the list twice, even thrice... Slowly again, the little voice starts to creep up at the back of her mind...

Evil Em: Well, what've we got here? Seems like there are no misses on the symptoms. You are a perfect match!

Em: Yes, unfortunately. But I am unphased. And I do not, and would not believe everything I've read. Besides, this is unofficial information anyway.

Evil Em: Okay if you say so...

Em: Why are you suddenly agreeing with me?

Evil Em: No I'm not, I just don't have anymore comments. But... You still lose.

Em: And why is that?

Evil Em: Who is it that you are currently talking to?

Em: Oh crap.

Evil Em: Yup. That's crap.

Em: I hate you.

Evil Em: Thanks. Again.

Em: ...

Evil Em: Have a pleasant evening. *Evil grin*

Uh... Happy New Year...? :P

Out For The Snow

2008-12-24T03:04:00.002+08:00

Em is/will be Out for the holidays. She will be back again when she's bored.

She leaves you with a short violin piece:

Em will practice with Lucy. She will definitely be able to play this piece.

Evil Em: Yeah right. Probably in the next hundred years or so.

Em: Leave me alone.

Evil Em: Fine. Since it's the holiday season, I'll keep this short. If you will ever get to play that piece, I won't bother you anymore. That's a promise.

Em: It's a deal. *Starts sweating*

Anyway, Em apologizes if the piece is/was boring. But. She wishes you all a Happy Christmas anyhow.

So, there you have it folks... hehe sorry, I couldn't post the Youtube video of *ahem* myself trying to play that piece... Because it's *ahem* exclusive.

(Of course, Em is just imagining that she has already made a Youtube video of herself playing that piece) :P But really, this is one piece that I'd love to play. Gotta practice a lot. An awful lot. (O_O) Lastly, thanks to Ms. Meryl for the idea of posting a song as a Christmas greeting.

Sources/Credits:
Bach: Violin Sonata #1 In G, BWV 1001 - 3. Siciliana - Nathan Milstein

Sober Monologue

2008-12-18T17:11:00.014+08:00

One night, Em was checking out her mail when suddenly, she heard this little voice calling out to her. Not again... She pauses for a second to "entertain" the guest.

Em: What is it this time?

Guest: You still owe me your conversations, you know...

Em: What? C'mon, haven't you had enough?

Guest: Well obviously, no.

Em: Argh. What is it that makes you miserable? Do you always have to do this to me?

Guest: Well, it depends entirely on you... I'm just the one knocking here; you could've chosen not to open the door.

Em: What? Now you blame this on me?

Guest: Well, yeah. It's a door; you could either choose to open it or to not open it. As simple as that. But everytime I knock, you always open it; even though you know that it's me knocking.

Em: Well, I.... it's because.... Argh! You know what? You're right. And I hate you for it. I hate myself for it too.

Guest: Gee, thanks for hating me and yourself. Are we still even?

Em: *Sighs a sigh of resignation* Yes. We are still even. I hate you.

Guest: Thanks.

*End of Conversation with the guest* - Em returns back to being normal and resumes checking her mail; just like any other evening that's passed.

Hehe... Another "conversation" type entry. It would be pretty obvious who the "guest" was. :P

Eliza's Story

2008-12-13T17:50:00.008+08:00

Hello. For the second (or third) time, I'm speaking again as myself; as in not referring to myself in the third person (like "Em", "Strange Em", "Evil Em", "she" or "her") in this post. Anyways, I've been reading past entries in my old blog these past few days, and I came across this story that I'd written a few years back.

The story was about Eliza and her guardian angel Hadriel (Malevolent Mind readers, if there are any, would remember this; the posts are dated from January 2006~May 2006). I found myself re-reading the "chapters" backwards, starting from the lastest to the earliest "chapter"; and I somewhat found this story to be in need of its long awaited continuation. It's just too much of a waste to be left unfinished, that's all. So I've decided to continue writing the next "chapters" to this story.

The idea of the story first came to me when I was reading Dante Alighieri's Paradiso, which is technically known as the last chapter of the Divine Comedy. I started writing Eliza's story while reading the Paradiso and was obviously inspired by it. I have yet to figure out though, how I should end Eliza's story. Let's just hope that I can suddenly have an awesome idea!

This is probably weird, but I haven't even read Purgatorio and/or Inferno yet; I started reading from Paradiso instead. I guess I just have this habit, of reading the chapters backwards. *shrugs*

Zero Wings

2008-12-05T14:36:00.008+08:00

Em is now standing on top of a building. She sees the blue sky and the silver clouds and the wind reminds her of a distant day on a beautiful beach. The distant memories always bring her a bitter/sweet sense of nostalgia or perhaps remorse. But. Em is not bothered by these anymore.

It is now, or never. Em slowly approaches the ledge; it is a bit mossy and slippery. Em takes a look at the street below. Whoa, this is quite high. But. Em is not alarmed. In fact, she does not feel worried or anything at all. She only feels that the time to do this is either now, or in the next hundred years.

And so now, once again not minding the signs or the signals, Em raises her arms and takes a leap forward. It is in the sound & the feeling of the wind passing her by that made her feel a bit anxious. She cannot wait to reach the ground and see what the end result of such an action is.

While it may seem obvious to other people what the end result would be, Em has something else in mind.

Above is Em's "metaphoric" take on leaving her job & setting out to challenge herself with the countless other possibilities that lie ahead; there is no special reason at all as to why Em used a method of suicide to portray this.

Of course, Em believes that she can make it.

"Groupie" Days

2008-11-21T10:32:00.032+08:00

Em is on the floor and the sound keeps getting louder. She gets up; and the people, the crowd is jumping. She inevitably feels the need to do the same. Faster now, the sound has become, and faster the jumps were. Most arms raised, accompanied with the jumping; and in addition to the music, the screaming/cheering must be heard.

There's a riot outside, and inside too, except when it's inside, it might be a moshpit. No, this part Em doesn't join in. She is too skinny & small for it. She moves aside, stands near the band's platform; the sound is incredibly loud here. She feels that rush again, a desparation, a need to break out and scream and possibly go wild. But. She jumps instead, and screams, and sings along.

The band's tracklist is coming to an end now, playing one of their own songs; Together We Struggle... The song is great; powerful, and somewhat a cross between the calming & silence of the soul and the burning &/or rotting of the emotions.

The evening is over; Em takes a cab ride home and silently opens the door & crawls into her room. She looks at the clock, it says 2 AM. That was incredible... I can't wait for the next live... She lies down, with thoughts still swimming in her head, seemingly unable to fall asleep... But. Thanks to the stuff that she downed that night, she discreetly slipped into wonderland within fifteen minutes.

Ah, the good old days, may they come again sometime soon...

I really miss the college days, those were fun! The entry above is of mixed memories of my late night "gimiks" :) The band mentioned is Headset, one of the *ahem ahem* great local bands in Baguio City; and the song Together We Struggle is composed by them. For more information on this *ahem ahem* great band, please visit the links below:

Headset @ Friendster:
http://profiles.friendster.com/14170228

Headset @ Youtube:
http://hk.youtube.com/user/nickyanacky

Invite them up and check them out! They're really good. :)

Some pics of the great band:

Headset fronting for Bamboo

Headset old line up: (Left to Right): Jed (Drums), RJ (Bass), Bryan (Rhythm), Clem (Vocals), & Nikki (Lead)

Ms. Brightside

2008-11-17T23:23:00.006+08:00

It was sixteen minutes past nine that morning and Em was walking by the subway platform, the air carried a distant memory of a woman who had jumped to her death onto the subway tracks as the train was approaching. As according to the news, her boyfriend had just broke up with her that day and she went to a station where in there were no platform glass doors (to protect people from falling unto the tracks) to end it all. What was the sense in killing herself over a guy? But then again, Em has always heard people say that anything's possible for people who are crazy in love (or in obsession, for that matter).

What a waste. And even in such a manner. She could have just chosen a better way to end it. Oh, sorry, curse Em for thinking about it that way. Shame on her. Well, many people also choose this manner of suicide; maybe because it's more...err... stylish? Why am I even thinking about this anyway? She should have chosen a better reason to kill herself ya know? It's Em and her thoughts again; silently creeping up and talking to her; slowly also becoming the evil that is in her.

She knows that she shouldn't talk to the other Ems but she just couldn't help but imagine what that woman would have looked like after she had jumped in front of that speeding train (but the fact was that, the train was slowing down): Her skull broken or even in the "exploded form"; and some (or most) of her brain matter spilled out. And the arms and legs fractured in every part. Oh Stop. Better stop soon or it's going to get worst. The newspaper photos only showed her body covered under paramedic blankets anyway. But there's a bonus for you; there were traces or "scenes" of blood on the tracks.

What's this? A smile? Was that a smile showing that you've changed your mind? Or was it simply a smile showing that you've enjoyed your sickening thoughts?

It's just another day for Em...

A little death makes life more meaningful. It's not your turn yet, Em. There are still plenty of things left to be done.

There're still plenty of sufferings to come...

This is Em reminding Strange & Evil Em to go back to sleep; and to probably never wake up again.

In Her Thoughts: Lucy

2008-10-23T00:30:00.024+08:00

She found herself again; slumped like a voodoo doll upon her bed. With eyes that are staring blankly into the pure and infinite ceiling as the other Em began to speak to her once again. This is why it is dangerous to leave Em alone with her thoughts. There is no telling what she might do next.

But then this time, nothing weird is done. It might be a good sign. It was only that yet again, her thoughts started to creep up into her mind; telling her things that only she would hear and could answer to...

Strange Em: Do you not miss Lucy?

Em: Yes, I do miss her... Need you ask?

Strange Em: Well, it seemed to me that you do not miss her at all. And you do not care for her anymore...

Em: That's not true... I do think about her; I'm just frustrated that I could not have any time for her...

Strange Em: She probably misses you too... That's too bad for her. It would probably be better if you would pass her to someone else who really needs her; and is compassionate about her.

Em: You're probably right... I don't deserve her at all... but I promise to do better; I hope to do better. I really do want to know her well... I loved the melodies and the songs that she played...

Strange Em: Hypocritical words from someone who is so distracted that she does not even have time for reality.

Em: It can't be helped if you think that way... alas, it can't be helped...

Restless and deprived of sleep, she slowly shut her eyes and closed her mind. These overflowing deceitful thoughts, what good can it ever do for her?

Nevertheless, the time of sleep is upon the air. It is time to go.

Strange Em (to Em): Good night... We meet again tomorrow.

This is part 6 of the "In Her Thoughts" series; it's roughly about Lucy, or Lucille, as I call it. For those who know me well, you guys could figure it out. :)

Murder Scene

2008-10-07T14:38:00.019+08:00

The Signals were wrong; that was why one day, Em found herself standing in the middle of an intersection, not knowing which way to head to; Or that sometimes, she found herself standing in front of a railroad crossing, not knowing if she should take a step and cross to the other side.

Suddenly in the passing minute, she found herself moving; or that her legs moved by herself. And not minding the sounding bells or the warning lights, she had found herself crossing the railroad tracks.

Was it that the train was arriving in that split second that she had decided to cross? It was rather ironic, because she had been standing there for hours and hours just contemplating on whether she should cross or not. And just as she had decided to cross, that was also the moment that the train decided to arrive.

It wasn't that she had did that on purpose, but it was because in that single split second moment, the hourglass became empty for Em. The Sands of Time suddenly vanished and did not existed for Em. And the train, just as it had came from nowhere, had disappeared exactly after the impact into nowhere.

And then, a loud thud.

That bloodied and deformed body of Em; what pleasure is derived from seeing herself lying on the cold ground?

Alas, the Signals were wrong. But Em doesn't blame her death on the signals. There's just too many of herself and it wouldn't hurt killing any one of them.

Self Portrait: Evil Em

2008-09-22T00:06:00.023+08:00

Em is not only Strange but is sometimes Evil as well. There are just times when evil thoughts flood her mind & she can't help but let them take over. She knows that this isn't a good sign but she remembers that she had read from somewhere that "without evil, there would also be no goodness". Is this indeed true? Well sure, it does oppose the knowledge that she recently learned about; but sometimes, things just seem to work too slow. Maybe Em is just not patient & strong enough; It can be frustrating, what is the right thing anyway? Now this is a really bad sign. Em's heart is starting to decay; maybe she should pull it out and seal it up somewhere in a bottle.

But it's useless, because it still beats. And if it still beats, the brain still functions. Now Em's brain is crowded with thoughts. Can she tell these voices to stop talking to her now? But then, they are her own voices too; voices that she unconsciously created and she wonders, how many of these Ems have I created?

It's always a battle for Em; whether or not she should do something good when the "good voice" tells her to or something evil when the "evil voices" tell her to. But how can she find balance when she should do only good or do only evil?

Em,
is probably just thinking too much.

A Simple Question

2008-09-18T22:41:00.008+08:00

Were you sad,
because I was leaving?

An Eve Of Uncertainty

2008-09-16T00:21:00.002+08:00

And yet the Angels descended from the heavens,
Singing praises of love and uncertainty;
To humans and their thoughts of everlasting edens,
Unknowingly swindled to the tune of travesty;

In the subtle eve as time passed in silence,
We seek, but in confusion we need not find;
Of harmony unspoken, and heed not violence,
And the ebony sky starless and stained of words unkind;

Along with the last of the glacial rain,
We rest amongst the bewildered;
Catching the unwelcoming droplets, almost feeling insane,
Finding words of beauty, speaking unhindered.

Hands holding firm a thousand broken dreams,
Is it hope that we found or faith that we lost?

An entry that is originally from Em's old blog. No need for the Original footnote because it makes no sense. :P

Honestly, I can't think of any footnote to describe what it's about so I will just quote from the great poet Wislawa Szymborska, "Such certainty is beautiful, But uncertainty is more beautiful still."; from her poem "Love at First Sight".

When I'm Not There

2008-09-11T23:05:00.006+08:00

There's a song, that's runnin' through my head,
And it's occupying a lot of my brain's playlist's playtime;
I just can't seem to push the Stop button on it...

When I say out loud, I wanna get out of this
I wonder, is there anything I'm gonna miss...?

And it's playing, over and over again...

Severed

2008-09-06T01:28:00.005+08:00

He wrote of detached and shredded limbs,
As in arms, legs, toes, or even head;
With fresh blood still gushing out of each hideous abrasion,
Breathing still, his heart was in an uncompromised scorching hell.

And with no bandage offered,
He wrote still, sitting there with an unoccupied look
Similar to a sculpture sitting by an old acacia table,
With its supporting legs almost rotting away;

Like his dried and dying emotions,
Where the termites have drawn most of their powers from;
To slowly let them decay was not the question,
He wrote, in solitude and in endless weeping.

Broken mirror pieces shattered on his bedroom floor,
To ingest ten thousand sleeping pills;
His only food, His only soul drowns in the concoction.
Still, his hands were as swift as ever as he wrote.

To turn paranoid over the passing car engines or footsteps,
He stumbled, with his eyes moving hastily in every direction;
Not understanding what the world meant to him,
He seeks the comfort of eating bloody ice.

Bathing unhurriedly in a tub with Poison Ivy's fumes
Of dark roses and Jack-of-Clubs;
With his delicate throat slit, by his own hands,
Trembling with a bloody pair of scissors;
He saw the Victorian ceiling,
And at that moment he wondered why.

On the arctic floor tiles his note humbly lay,
To tell the world of his lost reasons
Or to simply let him be burned alive;
Let there be a better choice.

This entry was originally posted in Em's old blog.
Original footnote from the old blog:

"I thought of a person who's so torn and distorted in his own thoughts that he ends up in confusion, and his thoughts then slowly become paranoid and demented. Then before he totally goes out of his mind, he manages to write a suicide note." By Em, Dated October 20, 2006

In Her Thoughts (Part 5)

2008-08-28T22:20:00.008+08:00

I wonder...

If I would bleed,
Would the angels bleed too?

Parts 1 to 4 of "In Her Thoughts" can be found in Em's old blog.

Not Your Regular Book Cover

2008-08-22T00:20:00.000+08:00

Bjork. I had a run-in with her on my way to the tram stop. I got stuck in HMV after I saw her album collection. She was telling me to buy her and I was hesitating. It was weird. I reached into my bag and took out my wallet to check if I had cash. By the way, I've noticed this, that people here don't usually check their wallet for money before they buy anything (Ako lang naman..). So anyway, I checked my wallet. I was sure that I did not have anymore cash in there. And, well, there weren't any.

Hurray. Maybe not. The battle was not long. I picked up Medulla. And I have to say, that she looked cunning on the cover. I flipped to see the track list. My eyes caught the words "Who is it". I remembered that I was amazed by the weirdness of the video of this song & the song itself was, captivating. I became real curious of the other tracks; some of which I had heard once or twice a long time ago. I thought also, that this would be a perfect pasalubong for someone who's a real Bjork fanatic.

Few minutes later, I was at the counter & bought Medulla without using cash (I'd promised not buy anything that day, oh well). I went home and listened to it right away in my laptop. I found that she was weird afterall, but in a good & pleasing way. I can't explain it well. You'll just have to get it. I ended up listening to the whole album twice & then copying it to my computer (Of course with the permission of this someone). I've come to appreciate it the second time around. When I first heard music from her, it didn't quite have an impact on me. This was all The Wicked's (AKA someone) fault. But thanks to him for re-introducing Bjork's good music to me.

*Extras*

Medulla Front DVD/CD Cover

Inside Sleeve. Contains Lyrics Leaf/Leaves. Tricky, because the font color & the background color are almost of the same shade. Needs some sort of "angling" with the light before you can read the printed words. The tiny white words tells of who performed it & other credits.

"Special" Doubled Sided Disc. That is, one side is for CD, and the other side for DVD. That way, no need for separate disks for DVD & CD files.

Back Cover. Shows the back view of Bjork's headgear/hairstyle.

What-not

2008-08-19T21:08:00.015+08:00

One night just after dinner, I had this crazy thought of mixing bleach into my drink. That day had been tough for me, well, like all days anyway. And tough not because of work, but mostly because of my thoughts (well it kind of includes work anyways). I thought that I was pathetic and stupid for not thinking good enough of a good solution in the past and ended up in my current situation. Well I cannot explain it well here.

Anyway, so I thought of mixing bleach into my drink. Then I thought of how it would taste like & what would happen if I'd drink it. It'd probably burn my stomach. I thought also of drinking cans of beer and taking a walk to nowhere outside the night streets. And carelessly crossing roads to the other side.

I thought also of jumping into the waters at the docks near the area of where I live. But my heart kept pounding at the scene of me falling into the water. It's not exactly Acrophobia, but it's just the fear of falling, not fear of heights. I don't know what it's called. Or are they the same?

And then I thought of jumping from the 17th floor of our building. But that thought quickly escaped my brain as I remembered how I hated the feeling of falling. And I thought I'd look real ugly after the moment of impact.

Well, I did take a walk, down the lovely streets that were all lit up in the dark. Yes, they were lovely all of a sudden. And all these thoughts were tiring me & my brain so I hurried home and when straight to bed. Before I fell asleep, I thought I heard myself murmur, "The bleach was still the best choice...".

The culprit to this entry was none other than Strange Em.

Random

2008-08-14T22:58:00.018+08:00

It's so hot this time of the year and I just can't stand the heat. But, despite my pouring sweat, I'd love taking a walk in the city streets after work. Keeps my mind off bad things... And as usual, I'd have earphones plugged unto my ears and would have loud music played over them. I could go deaf the next few years if I'd continue with that habit. :D Plus, how would I get to know other people if I'll keep doing that, right? I mean, I'm putting on this "don't bother me" look everytime I go out for a walk or go to work, or even when I go to buy lunch... Oh well, I guess that I'm still the Old Me.

But I give kudos to those who still approached me even when I had my earphones on. ;)

Fifteenth Floor; is where I met my first friend in HK. :)

Sometimes, I don't know if I should hate myself for being anti-social or should just leave it that way.

This entry is so very random... :P

Tilt

2008-08-04T03:20:00.000+08:00

Em is in her room now. Just sitting on her chair and staring at the screen. Em is thinking of hateful things now. Em's mind is playing tricks on her, but she doesn't seem to mind. In her mind she searched and found some hateful words from a long time ago. And it goes like this:

Why must she be haunted by these words? She hates. But she doesn't know what she is hating on.

It's 3am and Em is still awake, and not planning to go to sleep. Will this go on?

Just another RANT that I'd like to get off of my chest. Excuse the language. Those are lyrics from Korn's "Thoughtless", copied onto my hateful diary. *Peace out!*

My First Take - A Little Bit Of Em

2008-07-04T01:55:00.003+08:00

Finally, Em got her first digital camera. Of course, she was picture crazy hence she started to take random stupid pictures of whatever she could see or find. Em is very, very amateur in handling cameras, so forgive her if the pictures are a little blurred and out of focus.

Em’s flowery bed. Yes, she knows that the designs on the bedsheet and pillow case are so very very......cool. -_-; But it was provided by her aunt, so she really should not complain.

Em’s Wall Art. Well, if you could call it art. She was just so bored one afternoon and noticed that her room color is also contributing to the regular boringness of the atmosphere, and so she made this “wall art” from magazines and printed pictures.

Em’s Table Art. Again just random arrangement of paper cuttings placed under the glass on the table because the table seemed boring to Em (and yes she is a fan of James Dean :P).

Em’s first bestfriend. The Black Book; as she calls it (and as mentioned before in Malevolent Mind). Where all of Em’s thoughts go to. Em is very vocal when writing in her black book; sometimes there are obscene language involved; especially those entries from the distant, distant past.

Em’s second bestfriend. The MP3 player. Thank God there was this tiny little thing that could sing to her songs every time she goes out alone (which is most of the time :P).

Em’s third bestfriend. The laptop. Thank heavens too, that this gadget came crashing down her lap. Em would go crazy if this thing did not exist.

Em’s Pills. Yes, it is the Matrix pill. She’s not kidding. Four of these every after dinner. Yummy. (Ubos na laman...)

Em’s Chucks. It appears that she is very fond of shoes of this kind/style. She’s been a patron since the highschool days. Her friend Wendell asked why she did not wear a pair of these on her graduation day (yes, pairing it with the dress); well, she wished she would have. That would be cool. And weird. @_@

There you have it. Sorry if Em had nothing much to say; these are just some of Em’s stuffs. More stuffs to come on next entries. Til next time.

An Angel With Two Sharp Horns

2008-06-17T21:27:00.006+08:00

Thanks to Boss Elza for this brilliant description of Em. Indeed, how evil or how un-evil are we? To “measure” this, Em has made a simple list of the things she does or does not do in hell (Em’s other term for the office/workplace/her work):

- Em mostly intentionally sleeps late to get the most out of her time away from hell.
- Em tends to be real slow in preparation during her morning rituals.
- Em sometimes doesn’t want to “sik-sik” in the subway train even though she knows that she is going to be late.
- Em tries really hard to “understand” her boss; who really is one of the best & nicest persons that she has ever met/dealt with.
- Em often daydreams in hell.
- Em often has to fight intense sleepiness during the more boring hours when she is in hell. (*Note, Em says “more boring hours” because the ordinary hours of hell are, well, boring)
- Em says “Morning.” to her boss every morning.
- Em chats with her friends during hell hours.
- Em thinks about what she is going to do after hell while she is on her way to hell.

Well, there. May the audience be the judge.

Self Portrait

2008-06-12T02:58:00.001+08:00

Welcome, this is Nothing Nil; Em’s new “blog”. Em has been braindead recently, due to lost and unknown reasons. Perhaps her brain has been hemorrhaging from the inside and any moment now one of her veins will explode. But. This is just her wishful/dreadful thinking. Sometimes, she fancies about the smell and the taste of blood. Once, she didn’t want to drink anything just because something was bleeding inside her mouth and she wanted to taste the blood. Many people find this weird. She’s puzzled; should they find this weird?

Em sometimes has “short-term amnesia”; this is usually characterized by lost of memory for a certain period of time, or forgetting about certain specific parts of her memories. Most of the time, she forgets what she is about to do or supposed to do, and ends up doing the same thing anyway. Sometimes, she spaces out in the middle of a face to face conversation, and later on, she even forgets that she was speaking with that person. That makes the other person frustrated. But. Em doesn’t notice.

Em seldom looks into the mirror, for fear that she would see her own reflection (makes sense, doesn’t it?). She “hates” smiling; and seldom smiles in pictures. It isn’t natural for her to smile, so when she forces it, it comes out really bad. Why is she telling you this?

Em often talks to her brain; the other Em, “Strange Em”. This is not a good practice. “Psychological Detachment”, I think it's called. From what she’s known, it is when another part of the brain takes over and forms another character/person inside a person. And then the person does an impulsive thing for a short period of time and when after the person turns back to the “original person” (in this case, it’s Em), he has already forgotten about what he did when he was in the form of the other person (in this case, it's “Strange Em”). It is usually scary. (Em doesn’t think so though. Actually she isn’t sure what to think. And no, she did not “Wiki” it; she had just heard of it in a TV series called CSI.)

Em usually has an expressionless face and is usually not expressive about her thoughts. That is why her sister seldom asks her for her opinion on things. She would just say “Oo.” or nod when agreeing. Em usually thinks that she is a boring person. But. What is being boring anyway? And who is Em anyway?