She wrote this in her book Penelopiad. It was so familiarly beautiful, I just had to share it to you guys.
The gods were never averse to making a mess. In fact they enjoyed it. To watch some mortal with his or her eyes frying in their sockets through an overdose of god-sex made them shake with laughter. There was something childish about the gods, in a nasty way. I can say this now because I no longer have a body, I'm beyond that kind of suffering, and the gods aren't listening anyway. As far as I can tell they've gone to sleep. In your world, you don't get visitations from the gods the way people used to unless you're on drugs.
- Penelope (Wife of Odysseus)
What's strangely familiar here is the inner voice. Oh boy, now I seriously love Margaret Atwood. Please do grab a copy of any of her books. She's like a demigod. Sort of. In writing at least.
Hope all of you are spending a good weekend. Mine is currently deafening with rain. One angry rain. Plus my computer had this septic shock yesterday. Good thing is it's revived now and well I was able to restore some things that I missed to back up. Like my bookmarks. I thought I'd lose them forever. So, I'll shut up now. I have a trip to catch. *winks*
Love and peace.
Between you and I.
There are too many words. Exchanged, unsaid. And kept.
Too many feelings unnamed, unknown. And known.
Too many moments. Unnoticed. Enshrined.
And some anticipated with unsung angst.
This may flare in darb colors of shock,
But I love you in the outskirts of a cheerless furrow,
Of skewered stories and every other shaped facets there is.
I love you in a scourging hush
And in a pediment of brazenfaced confessions.
I love you. So much that,
You scare me like a bane of incurables.
Not just there. Not just here. Not just anywhere.
Or by anything. Not just.
But you don't know.
Oh, you haven't a single clue.
That just about kills me,
That you haven't a single clue.
Current State: Faints 
uyab tika neb. sigurado, daghan magselos sa ako.
si haidee. si mao. si justine (?). si jen kaha? ah. dili na si jen. lahi man ang tirada ni jen.
neb. sayang noh?
ikaw akong gitawag nga sayang.
kay kintahay man lang 'ning tanan.
ps. tungod nimo neb, naka bisaya ko ug ahat. (gimingaw ko magbinisaya). pero gusto gihapon taka. tinuod na. dili na kintahay.
luff yous nebbies! Hahahahaha. 
*bows*
Current State: Stuck with Psittacosis 
I witnessed Bohol’s city lights wane into the dark horizon after twinkling goodbye to me. The frothy ripples drawn by the ferryboat we were riding seemed to murmur a song of serene warmth . The ferry seemed just as excited going home as it had been going to Bohol.
A sun-drenched Monday morning welcomed us to Panglao. When I first dipped my toes into the inviting waters of the beach, I figured that if not for the change of environment, things wouldn’t be different from home. Almost everyone from my family was there that it didn’t feel like traveling at all. We brought home with us.
What’s amazing about that reunion was that the only thing I was allowed to do was have as much fun as I could. Those were the ten most memorable days of my childhood when television, computer games, Barbie dolls and Chinese garters had nothing to do with fun. Even though I had the salty wind kissing my sun burnt skin or the constant swoosh of the dancing waves that wouldn’t give us silence, there wasn’t a day I didn’t wear a smile.
At six a.m. my cousins and I would swarm into the blue green waters where we’d spend most of the day. The clan filled the beach with laughter and games like charades and quiz bees about the clan. I never grew tired listening to my family’s jests, political debates and heart-warming rendition of Bisaya songs. The whole reunion was a big party with meals sardined with shrimps and crabs, or roasted pig and chicken, barbecue and grilled pork, juicy melons and sweet-fragrant mangoes. I almost forgot what hunger meant.
It was a magical experience shared by the old, the not so old and the young. There were the leaves of palm trees swaying as if dancing along with the soothing motion of the wind. There was the calm rhythm of the waves as it slapped the seashore. There was the enchanted moment of my grandparents, aunts and uncles, mom and dad dancing barefoot on the milky sands as Frank Sinatra sung along. There was the comfort I felt as my cousins and I slumped into a banig spread on the sand while staring at the diamonds spread across the dark sky. Finally, there was the joy of having experienced paradise with my family.
That night in the ferryboat while I was staring at the horizon saying goodbye to Panglao, I figured that we were going back to reality, descending from paradise. But, the joy I felt didn’t stay in Bohol. It was my family that made paradise a paradise.
Ps. This was summer of fifth grade. I’m 21 now. Quite a long time, which makes this moment nostalgic.
The quixotic storm has started murmuring its delirious litany. Or so she seemed.
You worry me. Inch by lurid inch. Like some batty word might change what we think we share.
Every minim seemed harrowingly vapid these past two decades for me. When you came, with your dauntless guise you lit up my dinky unnoticed with a blinding fire that burned my clueless supine heart to ashes.
Mad. Every single word had to matter. Fidgeting pensively whether to some extent I grew nakedly too gay, too scary. Too freaky. Or just too much. With you.
Perhaps this heart is too eager to faint if I'd scare you away. More honestly, there might be that fear of losing you. Don't ask me why. I can't quite grasp it either. It drives me deadmad every time I try to dig out a reason that I can follow with this ridiculously newfangled paroxysm.
You keep me ending up crippled of sense. Tell me something candid; because this nameless faceless commotion that's squeezing my glitched up heart out is too powerful to be unreal.
Current Mood: Plagued 
Listening to: Fresh Feeling by Eels
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