Bourgeois day! Love that word..I'll see to it that i'll be using that word occasionally. Have i ever told that i love words?Luciferous logolepsy in word-nerd jargon. It simply means an illuminating love for words. I really cannot retrace where i got infected with it, but as far as i know, everytime i immerse myself in a wordhunt, i can't seem to control my emotions. I seem to get ecstatic with every new find. Although i cannot remember every word i learn, and most of it just sits in the corner of my unused and forgotten words' bank, i usually feel like a kid in a toy store. By the way, bourgeois means ordinary, commonplace, typical.


Another ennui-filled day. I seem to have them more often now. Is it from the lack of conviction to make each day explode in exuberance? I'm certainly lacking conviction these past few days. No inspiration, no mind-swirving debates, no thought-provoking inquiries. Just plain old times void of thinking. Living in a routine-dictated life has made me mechanical. Every action calculated, every work is planned. When can i ever break this chain of expected actions? It has gotten inside my gut and is inducing vomit. Forgive the macabre language. It is as it is.


These past few days, i noticed myself pulled down in a slump. I have these times every once in a while where inspiration just escapes me. There are also times where everywhere is inspiration for me. I do not know where and how it came to be, but this is one of those times where i am bereft of inspiration. The words just don't seem to be organized, and i don't seem to flow spontaneously when i compose. Writing while thinking just doesn't seem right, and something just feels pretentious when i read them. It doesn't feel genuine, as if it is fabricated for the sole purpose of recognition. I want to write like water flows downhill. Sometimes i am like that, and sometimes, like this time, i need to think deep, take calculated risks, fit in a tailor-fit facade to conceal the absence of imagination in me. My imagination must be exonerated nonetheless, as it has nothing to do with me being in this melancholic situation. If my imagination is like a body of another dimension, as i believe it is, it is perpetually existing, intangible though. Well, if we so believe in an intangible, imperceptible, can never be seen, heard, smelled, or touch god, then what would be if we just believe in another intangible? Imagination is broad, if anything, even god belongs to our imagination; a collective one though, one of which convened by society, coerced in our easily-persuaded minds, and dictated constantly to induce conformity. What is it with me and society? I seem to castigate its salient effects and influence on an individual. Who could blame me? Convention has made man a prisoner in his own world.


Let me end with telling you that i just cannot stop myself from being addicted to mango chips! As long as my memories take me, it has showed me that i loved dried mango, and up til' now, i still do. What is it about them that i do not seem to get full of? Well, we all have something that we are addicted to, it just so happens that i am addicted to dried mangoes. Hurrah for the Philippines for making such a palatable snack. I just hope that i won't diagnose myself upon waking up with a severe sore throat. I hate sore throat. It domino effect's every aspect of my physicality. From my cough to my sinusitis, one ailment leads to another. So let me ask to those who are holy to at least spare me my healthy throat. Pretty please!