[Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

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The player scrapbooks forum is literally a place for writers to warm-up, brainstorm, keep little scraps of notes, or just post things to encourage themselves and each other. Each player can feel free to create their own thread - one per account - and use them accordingly.

Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Kamalia Timandre on February 18th, 2010, 9:35 pm

If it would be possible for Kamalia to become a Goddess of Magic, I'd have that. :P Or if Avalis crowns me as the new Goddess of Divination, why not? I am not sure if I want to play a goddess, though.

Or... I can usurp Morwen.
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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on February 21st, 2010, 10:37 am

When melancholy strikes, all you gotta do is whip out a song and listen with your heart.


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I'd like to make myself believe
that planet Earth turns slowly...
It's hard to say I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep,
cause everything is never as it seems
when I fall asleep.


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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on February 21st, 2010, 11:00 am

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Before you say "I can't"...
- make sure you've tried.

Before you let your doubts stop you...
- confront them with facts.

Before fear holds you back...
- charge forth with faith.

Before you believe others are better...
- show them what you've got.

Before you dismiss your dreams...
- fight for them to come true.

Before you deem yourself unworthy...
- listen to what they have to say.

Before you let die the love you possess...
- let her see it live.

Before you go looking for happiness....
- try making your own, wherever you are.


This is the mantra of a real life.
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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Chaelnomyl on February 24th, 2010, 7:14 am

To answer your question about what god Chaelnomyl would be, I'd take over Sylir's mantle (since he's currently dead and the job is open!) and be the goddess of peace and civilization, and then claim the Akvatari as my children in a Myri-like manner. ;)

In the event this position is already taken, Chaelnomyl would be the goddess of emo. Okay okay. Depression. ;p

I felt like letting you know though, I've been pretty down and swamped about school and seeing
"Before you say "I can't"...
- make sure you've tried.

Before you let your doubts stop you...
- confront them with facts.

Before fear holds you back...
- charge forth with faith.

Before you believe others are better...
- show them what you've got.

Before you dismiss your dreams...
- fight for them to come true.

Before you deem yourself unworthy...
- listen to what they have to say."


Really, really gave me the pep talk I needed to hear tonight. ^^;

Thanks. <3
In his winding wail and his deep-heaved sigh, his aching grief found vent...
While the sea looked upon the bending sky and murmured,
"I repent..."
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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on March 6th, 2010, 10:40 am

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I watch you spin around in the highest heels;
You are the best one of the best ones.


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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Hex on March 8th, 2010, 6:00 pm

Before you say "I can't"...
- make sure you've tried.

Before you let your doubts stop you...
- confront them with facts.

Before fear holds you back...
- charge forth with faith.

Before you believe others are better...
- show them what you've got.

Before you dismiss your dreams...
- fight for them to come true.

Before you deem yourself unworthy...
- listen to what they have to say.

Before you let die the love you possess...
- let her see it live.

Before you go looking for happiness....
- try making your own, wherever you are.


This is the mantra of a real life.


--------------------------------------------------

This is so beautiful Sorian thank you for sharing it. Sometimes all that is in our way of achieving our dreams is ourselves and if we can remove the blinding fear we can see our path more clearly. Thank you thank you thank you! I know this will inspire all who read it. It's a reminder that we are all unique individuals with endless capabilities.

Here's one of my favourites:

"We see the world not as it is, but as we are"
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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on March 11th, 2010, 5:45 pm

ImageThe distant throbbing clearly pounding for my head’s demise
is knocking back what sanity has been accumulated
and turning all compromised truths into lies;
So I’ll attempt to jut down what I can instead.
Clearly, I know not what to say.
How to say these I have cast away, so I try again today.


Trying to whiplash these into cohesive lines
must seem like a vain venture, perhaps even foolish.
Within my tired eyes I see and begin to draw the lines
that border between true bliss and real anguish.
With vain words I rise to concede.
I know not what to say, and know not how these I must bleed.


Losing it all, again, that thieving senility of passing couplets
of joy and lack of understanding; a something which
comes across as essential, but in reality is but an outlet
of our latest chapters of escape from an unknown glitch.
Desiring it all but burns with a fat lamp made of lard
the dreams I have formed out of perished rewards.


Must I tear out what is left of my damaged, misshapen,
haphazard, ludicrous, gullible, ridiculous, sentimental
torn, weary, barely sentient, forgotten, forsaken,
vociferous, pragmatic, callous, livid, temperamental
self just to see again how it is to be whole again? Never.
I can live with these, for I no longer know anything better.


What timeless void have I fallen into with such speed?
The shapeless form of the blackness I feel with no resolution
continues to swallow me with precious little heed
to what struggle I put up, and to what little solution
I can come up with; What an ignominous toil.
Its like testing the mettle of the flesh against the eternal soil.


It must be what it seems to be; a bitter charade
put up as another one of those sudden tests for the soul’s
ability to endure the tremors of mortality’s shrill parade.
Maybe it is just one of those misconcieved roles
that we just have to play out with childish frivolity,
that we may achieve, again, what we call maturity.


And just maybe, yet again with so little remaining close
to the ideas of a perceived freedom from the realities of man,
perhaps someone who believes, someone who knows
would be a saintly jure, and take me back where it all began.
But I digress, for dour still remains all I have seen,
all I have loved, all I have ever known, all I have ever been.
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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on March 12th, 2010, 5:47 pm

Oh, I dunno. I was just exploring my old blog for tidbits and reviewing my own style. I was a lot more productive when I was younger I guess (although my rate of posting here in Mizahar is far speedier than my blog rate) since my mind was fresher and more pregnant with ideas.

Kidding aside, I am NOT an old man. But I feel way beyond my years. Experience -and a whole lot of imagination and conditioning, or lack thereof- can do that to somebody. Add to that the burdens of school, and your brain gets fried.

This is a relatively recent piece, ironically, for school, although its for last semester. I thoroughly enjoyed this class, although the work is a bit lackluster due to my lack of motivation. I just kinda threw up flails on this one. But nonetheless, I'd like to share it. Or something.

Now, the background of this is quite simple. As much as I love world history, there is no culture and history more interesting and more important to me than my own. And who doesn't like ghost stories? Centuries worth of tales and legends bind our heritage together, and since I find other sources lacking, I decided to make my own rendition.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eternal Trinket (a short story)

ImageOne night when I was walking along the seashore, I caught sight of the blue full moon that kept itself hidden within the confines of the smoky gray clouds. The sea smelled of the earth’s true essence, and for some reason its back and forth motion washing over my sand-covered feet comforted the nostalgia of sadness I felt as I held that stained parchment in my hand.

It seems so long ago now when I met this angelic beauty while I was out gazing over this very same horizon. She was standing over the edge of the sands, seemingly waiting for something to take her away from there. Her white robes flashed in the sunset rays like the flames of an ethereal element, and the way she clasped her hands together in her long contemplation could have resulted in a pristine masterpiece had any man with an art set and talents to match them come along. The flashes could have come from the heavens, for the moment she opened her eyes to the call of the sunset, I felt that heaven was real for the first time. I did not see her again for a while, until I found myself facing a rather unusual situation.

Everyday that I stayed in that small town in Batangas, I would venture out into the sandy white beaches to gather little seashells as leisure. In a stroke of luck, I was able to pick up something that was quite unusual to find in a sandy beach. My eyes beheld, amongst a myriad of shells a golden locket, rusted and scratched with age. When I tried to pry it open with my bare hands, it remained fasted to its lock, so I resorted to using a hammer to break it open. The lock gave way, and inside I found a beautiful portrait of a familiar face, with a locket round her neck.

The picture could have been taken a hundred years ago, judging from the style and the nature of it. Looking at the portrait, I saw a pair of ebony eyes that seemed to sparkle even as a picture, jet black hair that was braided in a meticulous manner much like those of early Filipinas, and a radiant face reminiscent of a carved angel in a cathedral. ‘It’s her!’ I thought, the fact exploding in my head like a grenade. Perhaps she was looking for this locket, which is why she had stayed on the beach. Though some pieces of the thought did not add up, such as the age of the locket and the amount of time it seems to have been submerged underwater, I paid no heed and went to look for her.

I asked around the nearby barrio for any woman matching the description I kept in my head, only to be met with curious and peculiar looks. Then I was referred to an ancient woman who seemed touched by my inquiries. This woman was the oldest in the barrio, having lived for at least 90 years. Upon showing her the portrait, her eyes widened and her mouth twisted into a hollow gasp, even though she let out no sound. ‘I know her’, she said in a hoarse voice afflicted with age, ‘there is an old house at the edge of the woods beyond the barrio. Look for her there’. When I asked about the name of the lady in the picture, she remained silent, staring into open space, mumbling something incoherently, as if she was scared out of her wits.

The house she described was not merely old; it was so decrepit and run down with vines that I could barely believe that such a woman would live there. It seemed like it was going to crumble into dust the moment anyone touched it. Yet I felt a strange feeling when I did, like something just broke inside my heart. I peered into he broken down door, and lo and behold, it radiated with the light of a tranquil sala with mahogany furniture and varnished floors. A great chandelier hung over the great staircase that fronted it, and the smell of rich oil filled my senses. I rubbed my eyes again to see if I was dreaming, for a chill ran down my spine in the notion that it was too surreal, too contrasting, too unbelievable to comprehend. As I did, the doors creaked open, and the lady appeared, dressed in an outdated but lavish filipinana. She was holding a candle in her hand, an unearthly smile touching her lips. I was both awestruck and terrified, yet her expression was obviously one of surprised pleasure.

She invited me to come in with a graceful wave of her hand, pulling the doors open so that the total magnificence of her abode shone over my disbelieving head. The moment I stepped foot into her polished floors I felt a tremendous feeling of anguish and despair, though I could not explain where it came from. Deciding that it was best not to stay too long, I pressed into my pockets to retrieve the locket.

‘Maam, I think this is your–’ the words refused to come out of my throat, and I gulped them down in shock; the locket, which was so rusted and gnarled with age and affliction, was a flashing gold before my eyes. She approached me and held it gently in her hands, the smile on her face disappearing with the rust. Her gaze was broken however, as she turned to face the portrait of a handsome and powerful looking man hanging over the sala room, his handsome mestizo features illuminated by the invisible fire that was burning inside the building. Her eyes began to streak with tears, ones which seemed to me like blood, which dripped over a letter which she took out from a small ivory casket. She moved towards me, more floating than walking, and held the letter up for me to read. I was too shocked to move, to breathe, or to even blink, yet my hands involuntarily took the paper and skimmed over the words. When I gazed back up to ask her what it was about, she was no longer there. The howl of the wind was all that I heard in response, and the icy cold I felt ran back and forth over my senses. The house was again run down and decrepit, the furniture gone, the darkness seeming to want to devour me. An inexplicable aura of madness rushed over me, and I scampered back home in terror.

It has been many years since that mystic night, yet I kept the letter she had handed to me with a half-baked sense of ownership. I held it up over the waters, the ink barely readable now. The blood was hers, and the letter spoke volumes about their haunted past. According to the old woman, whom I revisited the day after that event, she was the lady’s great nephew, and she had taken her life out of shame and guilt over the powerful looking man’s heartbreak, stemming from her liaison with another man. The words at the end of the letter summed it all up for me; ‘..the next time you fall in love, be careful with your heart, for what your heart beats is mine as well, sweet Margarita’. - Antonio, 1901′


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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on March 18th, 2010, 11:34 am

I don't know how to play music--the tragedy of my life, really.--so I can only content myself with being appreciative of everything that I hear. Due to this, I have become a fan of almost every genre of music. Rock, Pop, H'H, Classical, Jazz, Alternative... You name it. I don't know many songs, but I try to find the meaning of everything that I do know.

OPM (Original Pinoy Music, Pinoy being a byword for Filipino) is somewhat of a passion of mine. I'd have to declare my people as one with music in its soul--aside from being basketball and boxing prodigious (shameless plug), music is another thing we excel at, and I try to patronize my own. Besides, being Filipino means that these songs are tailor-made for me. I'd always be able to relate to the feelings embedded into what I listen to.

It is said that “Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory.” It is a beautiful thing with many hues and colors. It is a constant companion through life and death, through joy and sadness.

This is one of my favorite songs, entitled "Kundiman" (Love Song) by SIlent Sanctuary.

Image


Secret :
Para kang asukal
sintamis mong magmahal.
Para kang pintura,
buhay ko ikaw ang nagpinta.
Para kang unan,
pinapainit mo ang aking tiyan.
Para kang kumot,
na yumayakap sa tuwing ako'y nalulungkot.

Kaya't wag magtataka,
kung bakit ayaw kitang mawala.

Kung hindi man tayo hanggang dulo
wag mong kalimutan,
nandito lang ako,
laging umaalalay,
di ako lalayo.
Dahil ang tanging panalangin
ko ay ikaw.

Di baleng maghapon umulan,
basta't ikaw ang sasandalan.
Liwanag ng lumulubog na araw
Kay sarap pagmasdan,
lalo na kapag nasisinagan ang iyong mukha.
Ayoko nang magsawa.
Hinding-hindi magsasawa sayo.

Kaya't wag magtataka,
kung bakit ayaw kitang mawala.

Kung hindi man tayo hanggang dulo
wag mong kalimutan,
nandito lang ako,
laging umaalalay,
di ako lalayo.
Dahil ang tanging panalangin ko...

Bahala na.
Ayoko muna magsalita.
Hayaan na muna natin ang daloy ng tadhana.

Kung hindi man tayo hanggang dulo
wag mong kalimutan,
nandito lang ako,
laging umaalalay,
di ako lalayo...

Kung hindi man tayo hanggang dulo
wag mong kalimutan.
Nandito lang ako,
laging umaalalay,
di ako lalayo...

Dahil ang tanging panalangin...ay ikaw.


You're just like sugar;
how you love so sweetly.
You're like a set of colors,
my life was painted by your hand.
You're just like a pillow,
that gives me such warmth inside.
You are the blanket
that embraces me in my loneliness.

So don't even think about
why I wouldn't want you to go away.

Even if we're not meant to be together,
don't ever forget
that I'd still be here,
always supporting you.
I won't ever leave you behind,
for my one and only dream
would be you.

It doesn't matter if it rains all day,
as long as you're the one beside me as I lay.
The light of the dying sunset
is so beautiful to gaze upon,
especially as it shines down on your face.
I don't want to feel tired anymore.
I will never get tired of you.

So don't even think about
why I wouldn't want you to go away.

Even if we're not meant to be together,
don't ever forget
that I'd still be here,
always supporting you
I won't ever leave you behind.
as my one and only dream...

Come what may.
I'd rather not speak of it yet.
For now let us submit ourselves to the will of fate.

Even if we're not meant to be together,
don't ever forget
that I'm always here,
supporting you.
I won't ever leave you behind.

Even if we're not meant to be together,
don't ever forget
that I'd still be here,
always supporting you.
I won't ever leave you behind...

Because the only one I'd ever dream of... is you.

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Sorian
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Re: [Sorian's Scrapbook} Personality: Disorder!

Postby Sorian on March 20th, 2010, 6:52 pm

Long have I held on to this lofty dream
that gave me hope through the darkest days.
How much comfort it gave me to redeem
what nightmares the past so deeply conveys.
I've walked through mountains of eloquent sighs,
and shouldered aching smiles that longed to weep.
I saw such grand things in personal lies
yet woke to life at the end of my sleep.

Now I can see how battered a body
have I turned to, and I fear for my dream's life.
In the vastness of this world I see nobody
that can take it away from a lonely life.
I've tried to climb on, and my strength was great,
but each anvil of rain and stone diminished me.
I now see the outcome of my own fate,
but I fear it none, but for the dream's safety.

To remember and to take what should be,
such tremors I choked on I must concede.
Alas, its deathly hard to smile you see
while inside rages your battle not to bleed.
Happily did I prance about with the crown,
and the scepter I played with gingerly,
till the hulken mass I beheld bent down
the confidence I had so bitterly.

The contradictions overwhelmed me so;
The heart screams loud, the brain responds in kind
Would it not be much simpler to let go,
flee to shadow and leave the dream behind?
Alas the brave one shall often say no,
and still brandish his all without delay;
for fear of pain would be the grandest foe
to a love that seeks no exchange to stay.

I tire, I feel the climb shaking my suit,
the pace tarries, and I can climb no more.
The brink has been passed, here I must take root,
so now to high above I must implore;
The precious dream within that resides,
it cannot stop here, it must never die.
Send me a savior to take my side,
and let my dimming eyes see them fly.

Only the dawn's morn shall close my tale;
twilight shall find me resting above the field.
Godspeed good one, this duty may you not fail
to you, and only you this dream I yield.
Come and take the dream to paradise
before these hands crumble to dust.
Only then shall I smile at my demise
with a prayer of faith and trust.
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