A brief encounter with a Tumbler resident who fondly describes himself as “a librarian by day a poet by night” precipitated a jumpstart of my writing objectives the past week. Fully inspired, I went over the annals of this blog to polish a few stuff for the end purpose of entry redux. Boy, was it painful reviewing my prior scribblings. Was my writing that harrowing? No kidding, I wrote all that junk?
See, the mediocrity was staggering. There were numerous instances of an oversupply of conjunctions and adverbs, generous display of redundancy and corny perspectives, not to mention the manifestation of a below-average intellect. I wonder how could’ve those owners of avatars within those tiny boxes below permitted themselves to pop up beside the word Like. 🙂
To think I’ve been careful not to lose this site because it serves as key to my essence as a soulful being — housing, to boot, the entirety of my opus. (chuckle chuckle)
Anyway, while trying to get my bearings Mr. Dcootey and I reconciled, too, a few days ago when he reached out unexpectedly — resulting to us getting back in each other’s arms as FB pals. Sort of. I’m a forgiving gal, what can I say.
So I’d been somewhat smitten with the middle-aged poet-cum-librarian. Kind of gotten over it by now — as I’m determined these days to focus on refining my composition skills. Will be spending more time on Tumbler although WordPress remains to be my homeland.
Do wish me gargantuan luck. I need it oh so badly.
In captivating Vienna last December 2017. So so cold though….
but the posts are largely not for public audience. They’re viewed by a select few — mostly by strangers from the west who I could relate to more or less. I mean, aside from them, the bulk of my FB pals are, you know, peeps I have very little in common with. Get what I mean? 🙂
Most Recent FB post:
Far from the real thing, I know. But I’m pathetic . Anything here that smacks of the splendid ambience of Europe fascinates me. And the mall’s stylish floorings and glistening water were delightful. Plus that was indeed the full moon up there. Anyone has probably come to discern the Big U had placed me in the wrong terrain — which (again) renders this type of post unfit for public spectacle. 😎
At the Venice Grand Canal Mall, Taguig, Bonifacio Global City last weekend.
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“Josie’s on a vacation far away…” The opening lyric had captured my whim enough for it to earn a spot on my list of favorite songs.
Watch my finger push a button. Click — oh, you’re there. Another push of the button. Click – hey, you’re gone. Just like magic. Now I see you, now I don’t. See, it’s quite easy.
My posts are rarely about anyone in particular. As I keep repeating, I basically write for myself. I’ve long stopped inviting readers and nobody needs to come here if they sometimes can’t stand the things I talk about.
To bid people online to refrain from dropping by your place is bootless as well. The only solution to that is to go hiding – just like what I do (turn my blog private) whenever I wish to become invisible across any radar.
What’s the big deal anyway if I take a peek at what you have to say? I do it, too, on other blogs. The problem is, they’ve all stopped blogging. And you’re the only one left. So have mercy and don’t shoo me off. 🙂
I also had religiously followed a former computer programmer’s assorted everyday thoughts for two straight years. As in I visited his site and ran through his blog index to reread and review his posts more than twice a day. It all ended when his bitterness and breakdown over Donald Trump’s success became unbearable to witness. But then, he had constantly been reminding his readers how much of an as$h*le he was. I didn’t mind that at the time actually – I simply wanted to digest his smart pieces and credentialed language skills. Same with a previous dear (black) chatmate whose daily hits would reach around 60 – nearly half of which could be attributed to me because I never use wordpress Follow. He said he was grateful. 🙂
That’s the kind of reader I am. I get attached to blogs I’ve come to like. Besides, let’s admit it, we’re always on the lookout for other writers’ style. And I do like learning from the finest ones. Feel happy instead that you’ve been inadvertently mentoring me because I’m one of your, ahem, admirers. If in the future I discover somebody new whose writing flair surpasses yours, hah, you’ll be totally replaced. Kaput. And you’ll probably miss me… 😉
In the meantime, it makes me glad to have you foremost in my heart in this realm in spite of not very pleasant words which had been hurled. I’d still willingly cheerily lovingly hug and squeeze you. Consider it a privilege, honey.
Many a time I think I should hasten to deposit my narratives here. A bus might hit me tomorrow I want to make sure at least two-thirds of my life story in cohesion with the contents of my mind has already been unloaded; as proof that someone like me lugging a few bohemian sentiments once walked on this planet.
An arcadian repository of my experiences, perspectives, impressions is everything I intend to leave behind. That’s the reason I’ve put links connecting all my other blogs in case a future reader, if there’ll ever be one, gets wrapped up in my wholeness — my shallowness, silliness, oddity, and tiny misdemeanors. All that radiates out of my pages is all that comprises me. My unholy meditations and dusky history were barely cloaked. My intellect which is nothing to write home about can be easily detected. My looks hardly embodying that of Esmeralda are for everyone to see.
This writer has no delusion to become a total pro or a celebrated one. My imagination admittedly isn’t fecund. Vapors from within that might precipitate creative tales are non-existent. My mediocrity allows me to experiment and blunder repeatedly. Writing rules don’t apply much therefore. My incomprehensions have provided no terms to work against said freedoms.
So I’m wont to share my most favorite writing advice and this one I’ve yet to follow (Pardon me, I don’t know who dispensed it):
The most original modern authors are not so because they advance what is new but simply because they know how to put what they have to say, as if it had never been said before.
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Intermittently I miss some of the bloggers I have loved from way back. But I’m reminded of my discomfort across the connotation most were endowed with the right amount of astuteness to decode my very core.
I squirm not so much for the pitiful endeavour on my part to write poetry (forgive my penchant to be venturesome) as for the fondness I fostered around those ex-Romeos. Nah, no way could I have felt that way toward such a prick. Although the inspiration that had been afforded me was worth it. I guess. Still, the mark of shame has made me want to occasionally sob over my instant noodles at breakfast time.
The politics of “I read you, you read me” repels me. I confess to having developed certain conceptions for blogs that have supposedly amassed scores of viewers. The writings are often generic and those scribblers are typically the ones who click Follow and Like recklessly. That might explain why there hasn’t been a resident in my Reader for ages. Manual encoding of the name is how I drop by a site. And personal blogs touching more on the writer’s chronicles or feelings and beliefs are the stuff which catch my interest.
What’s my point really? Five years on WordPress has demonstrated the truth of my steady appetite for reading and writing. I’m doing this for myself, mainly for myself, and you better believe it. 🙂
The task of carrying a sentence through to completion has been absorbing. Sometimes even more gratifying than the diversion calling for a hot blue-eyed Armie Hammer stand-in and a sturdy bed.
It’s like…where the Hades do you place your senses as you start surrendering soon after a lengthy tongue to tongue wrangle with a persuasive kisser? What woman doesn’t know the sensation.
Ah, it isn’t far from the desire that slowly builds up…leading her to assist him in taking off his shirt so she can thence feel his warm hard chest against hers.
A day for tinted roses, soft words, thoughtful prose, and tender songs. Most of them I still find either lovely or silly cute.
From across a window with glows of tiny moonbeams infusing my home, an air of sweetness has honored one faint white line.
I fancy the language of gentleness within my own heart — that my blog has, in sooth, become a true love of mine.
*
Most Favorite Love Song When I Was A Young Girl
An apathetic fraction of me asserts romance novels and songs like this must be held accountable for womenkind’s desolation from then till now. But it’s Valentine’s day and, as always, this memoir must hold true to my every remembrance.
I recall quite a sunshine across a vibrant sky whenever I hear this song. Oh so so young I was – around eleven years of age – and dreamy… singing while unbelievably convinced by forevers and of undying love. 🙂
– geena, feb2016
a beautiful lake in Jungfrau, Switzerland; photo taken by me in 2014
So the weary traveler, tired of passing through,
Stops to get his bearings, and stays on to wait for you,
I hope for peace with my co-bloggers all the time.
Nevertheless, an “expal” might have gotten pissed off owing to my observation from some recent period of a particular propensity, leading to the blogger hitting back with a snide remark that I must be seeking desperately for love and attention. My only response was “Whoa…” (insert an eye roll to boot).
But then I’ve seen many a female blogger with my status get attacked in the same vein by others who never took the time to know those women through their blog posts.
Still, shouldn’t one ponder on the following questions before dispensing judgment to someone like me who has been open about her circumstances and life stories in this ethernet we populate?
Would I go public as to how broken and flawed I am as a human being if my purpose had been to attract the opposite sex?
In spite of my being deemed sweet, can anybody stand up and allege that I have initiated a connection beyond mere blog friendship?
Notwithstanding having received emails from a few amiable readers, did I ever give anyone encouragement to cultivate more than plain camaraderie with me?
Think about it: How can WP citizens imagine of fanciful relationships blossoming when each and every one of us is –now don’t be offended, please– practically disclosing in our respective blogs (oft unawarely) how much of a loser we are?
The blogworld has been my escape from the blistering events that had taken place in my most recent years: It has turned into an alternate world for me. Alright alright, I also admit to not having a life these days. And neither do most of you. 🙂
A month before, I even set up a dummy blog that would have the central purpose of Liking posts and commenting on the newly-found blogs I wish to follow — in as much as I wouldn’t want to unintentionally end up inviting any more new visitors to this site. You can find its avatar on the right side.
No denying I have held dear a few “buddies” — three or four remarkable characters maybe — within my blogging years. Alas, my affection, not to mention my sense of loyalty could be imprisoning — which renders me oblivious of other worthy bloggers. I had gotten attached to some people’s blogs. I had expressed warmth and admiration to a selected few. I won’t deny I had wished I were one of their most esteemed WPress associates, too. That hardly merits a misinterpretation though, does it?
I might have flirted in the past with my first two email buddies. Ok, I can be a flirt and have been so, especially in my younger days: It could have extended over my online persona spontaneously. Such audacity has probably been fueled by the fact I am so far away from all of you. So so far away.
And the flirting has lain dormant for quite some time.
I’ve a need to engage a Muse to be able to write something romantic, true. A few poems had been written with specific bloggers in mind. One of them a highly popular blogger“boy” from the Bronx; Another was the fantastic MrPoppins who happens to be my former black buddy, and who actually feels more like a younger brother to me. Both have long departed from our sphere.
Seeing that the heavens had forgotten to bless me with scholastic smarts, I wish to continue hanging around the cerebral blogs of good writers. I confess to my ongoing quest for bloggers who possess the finest intellect and wisdom to foster my personal growth as a writer.
Having said that, this blog is basically a memoir, not a gazette. If I had the time to work up an educational piece, I’d love to do so. In the meantime, my heart, my soul, and my background tales are this site’s focal essence. Just to be able to write is my preoccupation and foremost goal.
I haven’t yet pasted the chronicles of my romantic history which I have wanted for so long to do across these pages; what with my apprehensions as to being misunderstood in the aftermath — considering my passionate nature has been a consistent player throughout my life.
Let’s be grounded by the reality everything that presents itself here is supposed to stay in this virtual world; In this realm which prevails separately from our physical world.
Capping things off: my Stats has long stopped showing signs of movement. It only means no one reads my blog anymore. I guess the main boon is it’s safe for me now to write about sex.
The song “It’s Impossible” has the lovely original lyrics that tell the sun to leave the sky and ask whether the ocean could keep from rushing to the shore. Its beautiful Spanish version “Somos Novios” below by Andrea Bocelli and Christina Aguilera became my favorite as well.
“And tomorrow… Should you ask me for the world, somehow I’d get it.
I would sell my very soul, and not regret it. For to live without your love, it’s just impossible.”
It’s not easy for me to find blogs that cater to my taste. Only a couple of blogs remain that I confess gladly going to. One of them – the “fun” one — which I hadn’t visited for many weeks unfortunately had closed down which came to my knowledge only last week.
I am not into blogging politics. “You read me, I’ll read you” isn’t my thing, which means I needn’t be poked to go to someone’s blog. Popular blogs, silly, interesting fun ones I can endure yet half-baked responses or replies still make me want to puke. Take note: I’ll remain a reader if I like your blog except if there arise reasons to make me stop dropping by regularly.
Blogging friendship? It’s something I don’t believe in. This is a virtual world. Unless your online pal is a neighbor of yours, none of the camaraderie you establish here is real.
And then there are stuff the Internet offers and allows its users embarrassingly. Need a single example? Ok. I’ve had second thoughts about saying this. It’s been on my mind for quite a while yet it took me this long to say it as I may hit a nerve and truly anger “one or two pals”: There’s something not right about men reaching senior age who hang around blogs of teenage girls. Kind of eerie. Yet I have seen it happen around – practiced by some male bloggers. Ruminate on this: What would somebody think if I (were, for example, an exemplary woman of decent taste and all) kept on hanging around a teenage guy’s site that hardly offers anything special?
An astute female therapist I once followed told me I have power of observation that is unusual. That I can easily discern what others don’t. Her assessment was unfolded right after the time when she closed down her blog, opened another with everything changed – yet the new blog had been inserted on a “buddy’s” blogroll that when I clicked and started reading it, I knew at once who the owner of the blog was. Her unique writing style didn’t escape me. I proceeded to email her to ask permission if I could follow her.
I may not be always right in my instincts yet in the end, I’ve had more people saying to me “you’re right” than those who don’t.
At my age, I’m entitled to have opinions and wish to express them here. You already get I am not highly intellectual, my academic interests are limited, my scribbling style on the floral side. Plus this is just another diary of a woman approaching her middle age.
Yup, there’s nothing interesting here. Do not waste even a minute of your time on my blog. It would be best to stick with the words you had once released. Farewell. Adios. Goodbye.
It was my son who set up this blog – this blog which would constitute the testaments of my being, both present and bygone. It was my hope my son would read its contents down the road so he’d come to know better the woman who had raised him, warts and all. Now that a fresh horizon has spread wide before him, it seems neither time nor interest on his part is going to allow that to happen. Thus, the stardusts from this side of my heaven are all mine to catch. This blog could only serve me — I might as well run wild and free in it. It’s a never-ending pleasure marshaling my thoughts, my feelings, my history, and seeing them crafted in words thereafter.
*****
I am not your typical blogger. For more than a month late last year, this blog went underground because I kept hopping over to a popular site to comment regularly for fun. Yet I felt uncomfortable for the attention my blog might attract – from just anyone. Yes my favorite bloggers’ stories and perspectives thrill me; belonging to a community, however, is another thing — I came to realize ages ago — as it hinders my aim for freedom of expression here.
What’s the difference between you and me? Chances are, I know you more than you know me. The touchstone for my commentaries I made in your site could be a lot sounder — because I did read the huge mound of stuff you had earlier sent off to the ether.
One or two of my most recent commenters, neither of whom had even bothered to read my pieces, tried to cut me down by shoving me into a category they seem to look down on. There was sudden movement on my Stats (around six hits from probably different viewers) for one day. I will never know what else they could have said against me on their blogs. It’s something I have no plan to dwell on.
I stand by my every conviction — now and forever. I have held out these views even before I had chanced upon any of your blogs. It’s never been about anyone in this blogosphere. It’s no secret and no shame on my part admitting the things I write circle around me.
And neither your raves nor sympathy has ever been obliged. That had been made clear by me repeatedly. In as much as no smokescreen will be necessary — I have long grown tired of the people who can’t accept me for who I am, for what I am.
*****
I am no angel. For all I know, I may still be paying for my sins of yesteryears. Life could, furthermore, be penalizing me for feeling deeply.
I have less and less to lose as time goes by. The two most important people in my life have already slipped away. But I choose to keep staring at my fears and griefs in the eye, sans the succor of precarious diversions or any substance that only offers ephemeral ease. In the same strand I’ve no intention of losing my grip on the remaining good branches left. That’s how I deal with my personal storms. That’s how I value my life and myself.
The zero hour will soon find me and pummel me to the ground. Until then I remain as the kind I’ve always been known for.
I am for aye a fervid fan of Burt Bacharach’s beautiful melodies. One of my favorites, April Fools, makes me muse over my affection for writing and this blog. This blog which I had considered giving up in many a recent time — but that the sentimental fool in me just wouldn’t let go.
It’s a song that begins with the words “In an April dream…
…little did we know, where the road would lead.
Here we are, a million miles away from the past, traveling so fast now…
No need to be afraid. True love has found us now.”
(Please note: Nothing here makes an allusion to any of the bloggers I currently follow.)
I am a better reader than writer. Nearly six years on WordPress conferred upon me the fortune of reading the blogs of some of the best writers I’ve ever laid eyes on. Most of them – to my bafflement – have never gotten their imprints on the Freshly Pressed Hall of Fame. Many of them have also stopped blogging completely.
Aiming to gain an eye on what sets them apart from the rest, I checked out the permutation of their words, taking note mostly of their strengths than weaknesses.
I’ll take the case of Blogger “C” who has earned wide readership and accolades for his polished blog posts.
Sophistication and cleverness as among the virtues of this popular blogger no doubt helped him furnish his site with his well-thought-out and well-constructed compositions.
Flawless spelling and punctuation plus precise use of vocabulary have been affixed to his system, too.
But there’s something more.
While most of us merely assemble the words to express our thoughts and send them out as soon as we deem them comprehensible, he wouldn’t think of publishing a post without making sure he’d been watchful of his selection of his most favourite words during the crafting of his sentences. You’d never catch him employing terms he personally holds in distaste.
Let me illustrate (The examples are my own whilst similar to his style):
Rectifying the situation has done the service of solemnizing my pledge.
That certainly sounds more exotic than: Resolving the issue has the favorable result of formalizing my promise.
He also makes ample use of phrasal verbs, being attentive as to their every execution.
My arm shoots out across my son’s chest to ward off a probable injury.
Once again, sounds cooler than: My arm prevented my son’s chest from getting hit by something.
His style has been described as smooth. It’s hard for me to exactly pin down his special technique but I’m sure you discern we’re most probably talking of cohesion here.
His obvious intent isn’t just clarity: Elegance and fluidity are aspired as well.
I am not suggesting Mr. “C” is the epitome of the consummate blog writer. His cogitation could become boring. He lacks bounce in his words. His topics mostly impersonal and the contents of his writings more often bland.
But still, the pains he took in generating all those pages are worth the recognition.
If I may digress, there had been a few bloggers who discouraged me from utilizing the thesaurus when drafting a piece — which is something I don’t understand; something I can’t heed. What purpose does a thesaurus serve then if it can’t spur us writers? Besides, I prefer variety in expression. For a word lover like me, the counsel against its use is like telling me to cease from drinking my favourite blend of milk tea.
Okay, that’s an understatement. I hug my thesaurus as if my globe of words depended on it.
And so I’ve learned one or two from my own observations as to special writing styles of a few inspiring bloggers. I am sharing them with you because I believe in us helping each other out in our goal to become better writers.
Perhaps it’s another idiosyncracy of mine — I don’t like using WordPress Follow button. For the past weeks I’ve cruised around some three or four blogs that are interesting enough to gratify my appetite for blog reading, perusing posts and clicking Like though abstaining from commenting (which might be a better course on my side).
There are certain bloggers who might not seem to be in favor of my No Follow practice, as per my recent awareness. If you read and Like someone’s blog, they expect you to Follow automatically.
I can’t — much as I love your blog.
I want my Reader area to be flat out clean — empty, to be exact. Saving my favorites using Google bookmark, however, I find more convenient. Don’t ask why. That’s just how it is for me.
Imagine, though, what it must do to a favorite blog’s Site Stats each time I check whether there’s a new entry. That’ll count to a number of hits, won’t it? 🙂
I hope my choice of bloggers won’t mind and do bear with me.
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I WOULD WANT TO KNOW YOUR STORY
You are a flaming character. An aware-in-all directions ponderer. Turning wistful every now and then for your past customary struggles; in recollecting certain maidens from your romantic history; when comprehending the charms of your everyday surroundings. Whether intense or mild thoughts, they are being born out of the episodes of your days gone by, the uncertainty of your tomorrow, the crisis of the approaching middle age, and the irresolvable aches of a life that’s been lived long enough to lose some dearest ones.
Reflections uttered by a true artist — finding their way for my appreciation, and into the inroads of my brooding constitution. Such wisdom, mesmerizing stories, and beautiful musings…all pouring out from the heart and mind of this last minute man.
Bohemian Sentiments 