I've found everything impossible

I can see what's happening,
What?
And they don't have a clue.
Who?
They fall in love, and here's the bottom line-
Our trio's down to two.
Oh.


Timon and Pumbaa hit the mark with incredible accuracy, and the sad thing is that by the time you know what they mean you'd have stopped listening to them.

---

I don't want to look at the list of things I have to do, not only because it is monstrous but because when it was abandoned it may have mutated and the last thing I want to die from is from a truckload of responsibility out for revenge.

---

There's life, and then there's Philippine life.

I agree with whoever it is that referred to Gabriel Garcia Marquez's pet genre as marvelous realism. There's no magic in it, aside from of course whatever magic there is in literature in general. It's a realism that looks more fantastical than even fantasy has the right to be, part because the inexplicable is placed in the company of the mundane, and is even treated as such. No magic. None of that sudden snap-of-a-finger surge from cause to effect, which is what magic is, really. It's marvelous realism, and even though it was an experience and not a story I'm shelving Visita Iglesia under that category.

It's the festival of Lent. Crowds moving from church to stuffed church, all trying to get their tour of seven done before midight without fainting from hunger or losing their wallets, alternately praying and taking pictures, watching both the masked flagellants and the fistfights, abstaining from excesses and yet not hesitating to buy cotton candy and peanuts and steaming cups of corn. The fiesta of Lent, right on Holy Thursday, and why not? Who says your Last Supper can't be your best one?

---

I want to finish my STR story, and the story I was supposed to give as a gift for Valentine's day that would have been given on the Ides of march had it been finished by then. But nothing's working, not even me, and it's almost funny that I find I have less hours in a day during summer.

---


And if he falls in love tonight
It can be assumed
His carefree days with us are history-
In short, our pal is doomed.

I've found everything impossible

I can see what's happening,
What?
And they don't have a clue.
Who?
They fall in love, and here's the bottom line-
Our trio's down to two.
Oh.


Timon and Pumbaa hit the mark with incredible accuracy, and the sad thing is that by the time you know what they mean you'd have stopped listening to them.

---

I don't want to look at the list of things I have to do, not only because it is monstrous but because when it was abandoned it may have mutated and the last thing I want to die from is from a truckload of responsibility out for revenge.

---

There's life, and then there's Philippine life.

I agree with whoever it is that referred to Gabriel Garcia Marquez's pet genre as marvelous realism. There's no magic in it, aside from of course whatever magic there is in literature in general. It's a realism that looks more fantastical than even fantasy has the right to be, part because the inexplicable is placed in the company of the mundane, and is even treated as such. No magic. None of that sudden snap-of-a-finger surge from cause to effect, which is what magic is, really. It's marvelous realism, and even though it was an experience and not a story I'm shelving Visita Iglesia under that category.

It's the festival of Lent. Crowds moving from church to stuffed church, all trying to get their tour of seven done before midight without fainting from hunger or losing their wallets, alternately praying and taking pictures, watching both the masked flagellants and the fistfights, abstaining from excesses and yet not hesitating to buy cotton candy and peanuts and steaming cups of corn. The fiesta of Lent, right on Holy Thursday, and why not? Who says your Last Supper can't be your best one?

---

I want to finish my STR story, and the story I was supposed to give as a gift for Valentine's day that would have been given on the Ides of march had it been finished by then. But nothing's working, not even me, and it's almost funny that I find I have less hours in a day during summer.

---


And if he falls in love tonight
It can be assumed
His carefree days with us are history-
In short, our pal is doomed.