Too Gauche for Gucci

I remember a fuming thesis adviser storming into his faculty room and successfully popping several arteries and veins from his already nervous-as-hell students. He read, or heard, or watched from somewhere, I couldn't really recall how he got about this message, this was two years ago, but here: Celine Lopez and Tim Yap was declared literary icons because of their much-talked-about, and apparently much-read, columns in the Philippine Star. He said if that was the standard, why do we even bother with literary theories and endless nights of working out plots, character histories, etc etc?
We were certainly too gauche for Gucci and thankfully so. With rumors of ghost writers, cocacabana parties, and unpaid debts, you just can't charge too much to artistic license.

Finding your place in the sun

is not as easy as getting a tan. Did I just say that? Haha. I thought it sounded good. Anyway I just thought of letting my thoughts out of my crowded mind. I think they're bcoming a little bit crowded up there, not very insightful thoughts even, perhaps there were at first but you know the story of rotten tomatoes and perfectly plump and healthy ones stuck in the same basket right? So I'm just gonna write, anything and everything that I can snatch out of my thoughts, no editing, just a long blab. My right shoulder blade hurts like hell. Does hell hurt? Does it inflict pain or does it receive pain?
Well, that wasn't so bad, now I'm reminded of hell closing and again of Lucifer in a beach and his scars running parallel on his back, and him appreciating the sunset.
But my back intrudes on my thoughts again. It hurts! Like hell!

Poseur Extraordinaire Exposed!

The great pretender has run out of smokes and mirrors and has finally been caught in her own commoners skin. A failed expected polymath prodigy. A thousand and one much-a-do out of an empty barrel.
Now she just wants to go home, far back into her mother's belly.
Self-discovery is not recommended for sheep in mink fur.

More than one cause for sniffling

I woke up with teary eyes and watery mucus freely flowing from my nostrils. Possibly from downing too much granma and c2 the night before.
I am ending my day donning a huge dunce cap. I am beginning to question my mortality in the advertising industry. Earlier I found myself browsing through the classifieds again, it felt rather like half-heartedly choosing a building plan for an ark; an anticipation for the worst, for literally the end of days. At least in advertising.
I've swallowed about 50 tablets of 500mg ascorbic acid, in quite reasonable intervals, with hopes of shortening the time of sickness. I can't afford to be absent, seeing that I might need to pay for that stolen iBook, plus the rent and utilities.
I've had a triple dose of ad blogs the whole day, hoping to hone my judgment skills on which ad would win and which ad would be downright humiliating.
All I want to do is go home and have someone take care of me.
Well, I can always get a dog.