a record of thoughts

Tomorrow I’m supposed to join the whole family to go out of town. The destination is New Jersey and the first stop is Six Flags. I haven’t been in the said theme park. This weekend is supposed to be my first time. We will be at the Hurricane Harbor because of it being summer and all. I’ll try to ride everything, but I’m guessing I won’t be able to handle it. I have a serious fear of height and most of the time not because I’m afraid of falling and dying, but it’s the fear that I might jump. I’ve always been curious of how free fall feels like. I should go sky diving, right?

Going away also means I’m going to miss the greatest performance night of Pinoy Idol. I’m really excited to see the performance because I saw Ram’s rehearsal and it’s amazing. I hope the weather won’t act during my absence so that the DVR behaves properly and I can watch the recorded show when I come back.

Today, I saw someone riding my Ducati bike. I really need to get my driver’s license before the summer ends. I’ll start reviewing so that next Friday I can take the exam for a permit. Then schedule a lesson at the end of August.

My silence starts here and I will end it with a recap of my weekend getaway.

The day is beautiful; it’ll be warmer today. The sky is clear, so wireless signal should be excellent. I guess it’s one of those days. A man took my usual seat before I arrived at the cafe, so I had to take another location. Too bad, the signal in this location is faint. I won’t bitch about my hardware because I was connected, but got disconnected when I lost the signal. I’m writing this in my offline server so I’ll be publishing it online later.

I’ll leave you with one thought:

I can feel a pleasure, that’s the pain.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

-W. H. Auden