[blogging; pure thoughts or blah?]

Someone used to say that a blog is a reflection of the blogger's persona. The purest form of one's thoughts...

How do i... what do they call it? BLOG!? So far i've been doing up different versions of "blogging" or so i think... Let me show you...

(1)confession-type entries, i suck in life and i'm typing all this so that other people can judge me by my entries, or the this is how my life went today, wish you could be here even though you don't know who i am entries...

(2)the rattlings into cyberspace using words only found in the deeper regions of the dictionary...

(3)the rattlings into cyberspace using words NOT found in the dictionary,

(4)the "hey i am who i am therefore i am cause i like watching grass grow and you know that grass is the most fascinating thing on earth and they actually come from earth or did the martians have something to do with it" entry, hmm... what else do i have.. oh yah a classical one where the blogger,

(5)inspired and blogs away about how numbers and his past are elemental inspiration to a taperstry of events that are intertwined in time and space or something, or one of my favourites...

(6)reflections of quirky and witty headlines that will get you to give it a second look, and think used by the media, It's like observing life from a third person point of view you may call it or...

(7)my recent masterpiece, novel-like "random selection of phrases in a cacaphony of emotions of a surreal application..." or wadeva some people may call it...

Whatever it may be... blogging is hard man.. Someone used to say that a blog is a reflection of the blogger's persona. The purest form of one's thoughts, the thing that goes bing bang boom up there, if you catch my drift.(Sad to say that someone is actually me, unless of course that someone said it first before i actually said it...)

Anyhow, I reckon the things that set it(blogs) apart from your own true thoughts in your head, are the insecurities that you, the blogger, may have and all that grey and white matter that you don't give two hoots about, cause it's all in there together with all your other organs neatly packed inside your body, ORGANised and all... blogging; pure thoughts or blah? you decide.

[One:two minutes]

i'm gawking at the naked truth. Which i have yet to uncover. Clad. Layers of deception, half truths of what lies beyond; the otherside.
--Euphemistic innocence, One:two minutes

by virtue, i make no sense... these words, prodigious ideas that move hearts and minds of man... your thoughts will be numbed, senses dumbfounded. I challenge thee, the mortal intellect, to understand me... read... brain damage will ensue...

One:two minutes

Green. I left work at 3:34pm. the asphalt surface met the sunkissed reservoir of green. Not knowing that he was being watched, he made his way to the bakery. Bread please. One loaf not two. With beated breath he pulled out his purse and took out the green thumb. The police has been searching for me. Since last time we met, the cars and the clumsy blue chased me down that alley, beside 4th Avenue. Adjacent to that building the sky scrapers soared, into the pseudo-horizon, if you look it from a dead man's point of view. They almost had me. I could only keep it in my purse, the only thing i got from my girl. He paid in cash, took his bread and left. Not forgetting to tip the waiter at the counter. Scrumptious the food was, but the service needed tweaking, shirts should be pressed.

Thats what my ma always said, the folding of shirts and pants was a duty fit for her three muskerteers.. bob, dil and me... he used to tell us that when the sky turns grrenish pink, life will be ok. As i casted my gaze into the great span called the horizin my mind numbed. The thought of it all will indefinitely ruin my day. Red. Stop. car whizzes pass. Almost ran down by that cement truck. Popstar, big, fat, lazy-boned, punk with frilly hair. Not well to do, trying hard. Respect. The burnette at that corner threw her sight upon me with gay abandon. I think she likes me. He elbowed me. She beckoned. They called. Make your move. Make your move. The lights were buzzing with people as they made their way home. Bread. Tasty fellows, yeasty and smells good. Here's your change mister... two dings and a heartbeat later i was gone. Did i tip that guy? And he left the building. Carrying a polymer purse, thought provoking, heart wrenching action scences filled that box across the room. Whine and dine mister. Whine and dine...

Why are you looking at me... stop making my head hurt, bloody brain my eyes hurt. Are you? Why are you sparstic, my head is hurting. Why is life so unfiar. Biased to the power of three. Not forgetting to ring that bell i held her hands. She tried to hug me. I pushed her away. Come on, people are staring. Why? Ponders into the horizon once again... Took out a ruler. Question. Am i straight? hmm... Maybe my screw is lose. Call the plumber, the garderner said that he'll be here in five. Or was it at five? My clock says it's 3:35pm. Still green. Rotation and translation of human figurines, it's early the sky is still blue... the sun must be behind that sports complex. Bread please, one loaf not two. Blue moon, why the sudden rush? Chaos not pleading the guilt, ouch it hurts. Question. Why must it hurt so much?

I'm gawking at the naked truth. Which i have yet to uncover. Clad. Layers of deception, half truths of what lies beyond; the otherside.Pink skirt... two, three, four, .... twenty, twenty-one, pair of eyes on that pink... only down that block. Must be some skirt i guess. Made in Thailand. Machines, sewing ones, children, below eight coming to five. One, three, twenty seven... pardon me i'm dyselxci. Green fields. RiNnNnNngGgGg... I picked up the phone, no one there, must be that plumber. Peek holes, invented for a reason you know; i told myself, myself looked into the mirror and he saw me. Crazy thing that guy, myself looks like me. Tears, not of sorrow... but because.. because my head hurts again. Beated breath... Why am i shaking? Mummy! Must be nervous, first time on stage. CongratulatioOoOnNnNnsSs... the rest was a blur, i was not. Must be that stupid fly in my soup. Peripheral vision and all, kinda handy.

He answered the door, and the guy in a lab coat stood there. What are you doing man? get down and give me twenty. one, two, four, threty and plank... blur... still green. Red. 3:36pm... guess i have to get some bread. He crossed the road.