Twilight ravishings and midnight mishaps.

1. It's been a while since I last used that post title. It's too bad that the original post I used it on already went into Information Highway limbo when my first blog, an early adopter account on Free Open Diary, was deleted due to my failure to log in for several months in a row.

I would love to indulge myself in another bout of nostalgia - feh, I feel so old already - but I can't right now. I couldn't. I'm now reverting to my old habit of staying up late until the sun's rays break out of the dark sky, writing furiously until I feel too light-headed. Or cramming, as most other people would say.

It's hard for me to write, really. The few people who know of my writing habits may have noticed that I don't churn out prose as readily as most other people who indulge in writing as a hobby, or as a cathartic outlet (I would have shortened that last phrase by using the word "writers", but I refuse to use that title lightly - I couldn't even consider myself worthy of being called a writer, yet. Journalist, yes; writer, no).

I write when an idea falls on my lap, an idea that I find fascinating enough to explore and even play with. My muse, if even have one, wouldn't settle for anything that is not unusual. If he were a living, breathing person, my muse would be often found in ukay-ukay stalls or in the middle of the Divisoria jungles in pursuit of that one. Idea.

Or just about anything that catches his whim.

The one I'm writing about right now isn't as strange or less commonplace, however.

His dream was simple. His dream was to fuck as many women as he wanted before his penis falls off, and he also wanted to drink booze enough to poison two people, before his liver shrivels up and goes to hell ahead the rest of his body.

After much thought and careful planning, the man known as Mr. Mascot decided that [REDACTED], the leader of the local polygamist sect well known for its 1:100 ratio of men to women and its infamous rapid consumption of alcohol, was the key to make his dream a reality.

Disclaimer: Names currently used are placeholders. I'm not going to even explain the premise of my story - just that I'm not one to write tales that are fabricated purely to deliver a saccharine-sweet ending, or give readers (if my prose even gets read) stories that spew out happy, warm feelings of fullness that tickle their insides and make them full of hope towards humanity and the future.

In other words, I fucking hate Hallmark and Chicken Soup for the Soul-type of anecdotes, as well as the drivel that gets forwarded into office email accounts every day. How trite can you actually go?

That is not to say that I prefer writing cut cut stab stab stories (sing along with me now: WHEN I WAS), death and bleeding hearts and RRRRAAAAAAGE, or about characters who have the penchant of wearing black cowls tattered on the edges...no, not really.

I just want to play out what-if scenarios in my head, and some of them enchant me enough to spend hours after midnight to write, write and write at the cost of missing out on daytime fun because of my noctural writing habits.

...and I forget the point of this particular post. All I wanted to say is that I'm currently cramming several midnights in a row writing this idea in my head. Crap, I got distracted again.

(I can write several pages, thousands or millions of white sheets of paper stacked way up high to the heavens, but I can never call myself a writer. I can enumerate several writers' names, one of them is yours, but none of those names is mine.)

2. Public establishments here in the province have started playing Christmas Jingles ever since September rolled in. It doesn't bother me, and strange as it may be, it never fails to put that familiar fluttery feeling inside me that filled me up every time I anticipated the holidays as a child.

Christmas may be besmirched with capitalism and shades of materialistic greed nowadays, but it will always be that magical time of the year for me. And when I have my own family, I will make sure that my kids will feel the same about the holidays.

Let's not get started about its forgotten religious significance, please.