Bipolar

Battered shoulders. Green wrist. Ten photographs. Irksome throat.

All worth it.

Up dharma Down has never got and will never get trite, even with the signature effects.

Because my companions ditched me, I had gone to the "Bipolar" album launch alone--proof of my undying, ever-enduring love for the band.

Even though I only saw fragments of Armi, Polyap, Los, and Ean at a time, the sounds more than compensated for the lack of vision.

Armi has gotten slimmer and hotter with her hair. If only we reek the same generations, I would've wooed you.

Come signing time, I shoved them their two albums, but was too timid to speak phrases. It somehow was intimidating, like in the presence of idols. Ahhh, if I were to see God face-to-face, I wouldn't be able to breathe.

But tada, nice nice. Polyap, why didn't you sign my CD? You were the only one who signed once on "Bipolar." Good thing the face you drew is awesome!

Up dharma Down, thank you for the music.

Blessed. Clockwork. Delayed breathing. All year round. Taya. Unspoken definites. The cold is warmth. Two. Sana. Return, saturn, return. Every first second. Furnace. Silid. Sugarcoats & heartbeats.

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Yesterday, I bought four books, amounting to grands: The world without us, Possessing genius, The forensic casebook: the science of crime scene investigation, and Runaways Vol. 1.

This sem break, I will be brushing up the shelves and my neurons with the aforementioned books, plus Mark Lynas' Six degrees.

Any form of Chemistry, flee from me. You will not haunt me this sem break. You will not. If you try to phenylpropanalamine me with the generic meds, I will burn you to the very last drop and I swear I will slack off in school.

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If only desperate losers stopped from being so desperate, the world will be a better place to live in.

"Taya" is my favorite track so far.