Counterpoint to Lennon and McCartney's ...

I'm listening to Jose Mari Chan's "Counterpoint to Lennon and McCartney's ..." when suddenly thought of resurrecting an old (long dead) hobby - blogging. To be honest, I don't know what to write and that's just stupid after setting up my new account. It's a real problem when before an account is created or a pen and paper is taken out, you got a lot of good things in mind to tell. But when you start typing, you don't know which word should come first. And as usual, and everyone usually does - all beginnings suck.

I'm a constant visitor of Fully Booked, a famed bookstore in High Street, not to buy books but to read. I've been reading The Diary of a Whimpy Kid or something like that... it's really funny I thought of how whimpy I am when I was his age. Everything sucks even when you try so hard to escape every awkward situation - free throws during PE, checking of notebooks, receiving test papers in Math. I tapped my other shoulder as if talking to the main character, trying to comfort him on his daily misadventures. You are not alone, but... yes, you're such a whimpy kid and you're rediculously funny.

I saw an old movie, Hot Fuzz (2007), in HBO and it finally became an instant favorite. Best english movie I've enjoyed since The Full Monty in 1997.

And now, how do I end this thing. Maybe I'll just say... Jose Mari Chan's rendition of "Windmills Of Your Mind" is a something that I would like to hear over and over while slowly sipping my coffee and watching waves and footprints... and images, colorful ballons, clocks whose hands are sweeping, running my finger to the embroidery linings of the table cloth, and may be the running children wearing no slippers in ragged clothes and dark faces - will they ever see the light of the morning, or atleast a silver lining and instantly see a glimpse of what educated people call the future. They can smile if they can find their sandals there or fade away to see themselves still lurking in the shadows of the moon. A crystal tear falls from a fern and drops. I'm on the road again, watching buildings and reading ads from billboards along EDSA. Walks home and sleeps with the thought of a cup of black coffee, waiting for my lips, tonight at work, again.