[ greyweed ] -- and the bored shall inherit the earth...

My first rest day in the production floor is nearly over. And since it's a Friday, most of my friends are probably out partying or in some bar getting too drunk, while I'm at home trying to recuperate from an untterly exhausting week. Frankly, I was beginning to think that the week would never end and I ended up forgetting what day it was. Those were two very unpleasant feelings I did'nt really miss when I resigned from Ambergris. Plus add the bizarrely savage treatment I got from my TM during our talk, and I guess it's safe to say that I WANT OUT!


In a few hours, I will be going to bed and sleep. And I am desperately hoping that when I wake up, I'd find myself still working on the Tanduay Cofeetable Book!


I sorely miss seeing my byline printed in a newly published copy of a magazine. Those were the days when I had fun interacting with people, interviewing sources and finding time to write for other magazines on the side. Those were simple days when my biggest joy would be to get a free CD of a band inside the PR kit for an event I'm covering.



I miss Admit One and, of course, Twisted Halo so much. The crux of the matter is that I miss the entire gig/concert setup of a stage (no matter how small), screeching guitars, pounding skins and the cheering crowds and hearing my own voice go out as I shout my aggressions away. I miss feeling the bass drums and bass guitars vibrating through the floor, the guitar solos and the effects crawling up my skin to the tips of every strand of my hair and the everyone singing in unison.

It's the communion of music. A mosiac of emotions and every sensation trickling from every iota of your being, as you are transported from one facet of your psyche to another tucked in the pocket of your sanity, where everything cascades in the ebb and flow of the rhythm, and all confines of the physical attributes have no recourse than to anwer to the beat.

This is the cabbalistic chant of he soul.