on a piece of paper

i was scrambling for the deadline and i wish i were three (trinity?) so i can catch up with it. unfortunately, wishes only happen in scenarios where i have a rusty ol' lamp in my hand or when i am trapped in a far away and deserted island in the carribean or when i became a good boy the whole year round (which is not); and so the inevitable occured and i was late for 6 minutes.

although im not efficient, im nontheless, effective. this, according to my boss, is ok for as long as time is not as important as a hundred peso fine for every tiktak late.

laid back and trying to ease out a bit, i find myself in the mood for writing a piece - a song, a love song... it's finished and i will be posting it soon (complete with chords) ... it's the writing of the song i would want to focus with...

"i have with me an old guitar from a colleague who happens to be a close friend of a close friend, a scratch paper to scribble something in and a justice league sign pen to do the scribbling. and as early as my behind has touched the sofa in the lounge where i will be staying, words started pouring in to my head... filling every inch of me with emotions... some jovious, others sad... some are naughty, some are bad... and i can't understand what words will add with what so as to complete a whole thought... my head is circling and i continue to fall within the moment - abused by muses...

"i heard myself sing. the tune of it sounds good - well, not that good, but still good... the words are perfect, the tune is right... i'm loving the very thought this madness procreated... i'm enjoying while i drown into oblivion... and i couldn't care less about the time, and i forgot pain... i didn't remember the fact that i was hurt - during this time.

"it's funny how a simple piece of paper recorded the thousand words i wish to say... and as i murmur into it the lyrics, the tune of my strumming eloped with the words... i made a complete intercourse with music and i continue with overjoy..."


the day is about to die, its half past five... i found myself on the lounge's sofa -- slept-striken... aha! i fell asleep. the lyrics is on paper - above the table in front of the sofa - the guitar beside me. alas! i remembered every pain back again.