yellowcard - only one

Broken this fragile thing now
And I can’t, I can’t pick up the pieces
And I’ve thrown my words all around
But I can’t, I can’t give you a reason

I feel so broken up (so broken up)
And I give up (I give up)
I just want to tell you so you know

Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you
You are my only one
I let go, there’s just no one that gets me like you do
You are my only, my only one

Made my mistakes, let you down
And I can’t, I can’t hold on for too long
Ran my whole life in the ground
And I can’t, I can’t get up when you’re gone

And something’s breaking up (breaking up)
I feel like giving up (like giving up)
I won’t walk out until you know

Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you
You are my only one
I let go, there’s just no one who gets me like you do
You are my only my only one

Here I go so dishonestly
Leave a note for you my only one
And I know you can see right through me
So let me go and you will find someone

Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you
You are my only one
I let go, there’s just no one, no one like you
You are my only, my only one
My only one
My only one
My only one
You are my only, my only one

the story of the pencil

A boy was watching his grandmother write a letter. At one point, he asked:

“Are you writing a story about what we’ve done? Is it a story about me?”

His grandmother stopped writing her letter and said to her grandson:

“I am writing about you, actually, but more important than the words is the pencil I’m using. I hope you will be like this pencil when you grow up.”

Intrigued, the boy looked at the pencil. It didn’t seem very special.

“But it’s just like any other pencil I’ve ever seen!”

“That depends on how you look at things. It has five qualities which, if you manage to hang on to them, will make you a person who is always at peace with the world.

“First quality: you are capable of great things, but you must never forget that there is a hand guiding your steps. We call that hand God, and He always guides us according to His will.

“Second quality: now and then, I have to stop writing and use a sharpener. that make the pencil suffer a little, but afterwards, he’s much sharper. So you, too, must learn to bear certain pains and sorrows, because they will make you a better person.

“Third quality: the pencil always allows us to use an eraser to rub out any mistakes. This means that correcting something we did is not necessarily a bad thing; it helps to keep us on the road to justice.

“Fouth quality: what really matters in a pencil is not its wooden exterior, but the graphite inside. So always pay attention to what is happening inside you.

“Finally, the pencil’s fifth quality: it always leaves a mark. In just the same way, you should know that every thing you do in life will leave a mark, so try to be conscious of that in your every action.”

Dhammapada (attributed to Buddha)

It would be better if, instead of a thousand words,
There was only one, a word that brought Peace.
It would be better if, instead of a thousand poem,
There was only one, a poem that revealed true Beauty.
It would be better if, instead of a thousand songs,
There was only one, a song that spread Happiness.

politically hilarious

THE MAYOR of a city in a developing country invited the mayor of another municipality over for dinner. The visitor was very impressed with his host’s affluent lifestyle and asked him how he managed to live so well. "See that bridge?", the first mayor said, pointing to a distant structure. "Five percent."

The visiting mayor went home and six months later invited the first mayor over to his new mansion. The first mayor was astounded and asked his friend the secret to his sudden wealth.

"See that bridge?", the second mayor said, gesturing out a nearby window.

"What bridge?", asked the visitor.

"One Hundred percent." - Atul Suraiya (taken from Reader’s Digest

11-04-2008

Things just got way out of hand. And no, not drunk at all…just had a drink the normal rhum as usual…the cheap one. He really did not know, just got out of hand. Then he had to call, the same call over and over and over since August. Long hours past, goodbyes, kisses, and hugs, went flying away like bats on a 3 am flight to Mars. Smoke like he always did…zzz. Woke up. Then it got out of hand. Toxic spreads like disease, and no, he’s not drunk at all…not at all. Something’s not right, then he let it out. puking out to death. puke like he’s pulling his guts out. Still something’s not right. Blood…all over his shirt, coffee spills…and blood as if mixing a cocktail. Sight’s fainting, what’s happening? Something’s not really right, and no he’s not drunk at all. He had to fall…never to wake up, not even coffee can wake him up now. It’s okay, it’s all over now…tears will follow soon. (my eulogy to Rodolfo Lui)

blank

It's all blank...although you really...badly want something out but then you can't. It's all blank. Too many things that I want to do or type or read but just can't happen to let it all out. Maybe I'm not fit for the job...thinking. Then I stop. Can't seem to calm the traffic, you go for a smoke then It's going to be all blank again. From the moment you light the tip of the cigarette taking all your effort to breathe. Delete. No...that's not I'm going to say either. I'm just typing random here, trying to pick up the thoughts, thinking that I might have something useful. Delete. Stop. Read. Review...this thing here is going no where, I could go on typing thinking about something but can't seem to put something that's why it would be called blank...why not random or whatever. It's all blank because the moment you think of something too deeply, you'll have to stop. Because it doesn't have any point of moving on if you're just doing something for the sake of doing something...blank. and boring. Read. Stop. Post.