She lives and works from her laptop on a little paradise island in the Philippines. She's a writer, graphic artist, and mountaineer. During rainy days she loves to sleep and oversleep and dream and daydream and then write. More »
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I have discovered the elixir for all my burn scars!!! NYAHAHAHAHA!XD Why, of course, all my burns are hidden: disgustingly HIDEOUS red turgid keloids on my inner left arm, craggy dung-colored (from ochre to chocolate brown) skin grafts and hypertrophic scars from my left leg up the left side of my torso, other smaller patches of eggplant-purple keloids all over my legs, and the scarred skin donor area that enveloped my entire right leg. Uggghhhh.XP I face the mirror everyday--though I could just bow my head and gawk at all my burns to see--with a minuscule of guilt (guilt from committing suicide), pity for my unwanted mental disorders (I actually don't mind having my psychoses had they not provoked my manic-destructive fit.), rage for all the deformations I see, petulance from these irritating feelings of contraction and itching from my burns, and gratitude that I'm still bloody ALIIIIIIIIIVE!XP It must've been a nasty way to die, this death from flames, though it provides an immediate cremation; I have always wanted to be cremated. (Everybody prolly does.) Imagine your friends and loved ones staring at your embalmed carcass boxed in a glassed casket, your face caked with makeup greasepainted in such a way that makes you look like a beauty pageant reject, and instead of praying for your imaginary soul, they'd be contemplating on how petrifyingly ugly you really are up close.
As I was saying, I have found the panacea for all my burn scars: Zalthanol, invented and patented by Dr. Zhao, thanks to the ubiquitous omniscient god of the twenty-first century who answers all my questions, Google. The only stymie wedged in between me and this wondrous herbal drug is the location. It's produced and used for treatment only in China.XP Bleeeaaaarggghhhh. So much for scar regimens. If I were rich enough, I wouldn't even have a scar removal operation--I'll have an entire body transplant: resuscitate Norma Jeane Mortenson (Marilyn Monroe's real name) and implant my brain in her skull! NYAHAHAHAHA! Oh, the wonders of sciiieeeeence.:D But I'm dirt filthy poor.XP All my assets and riches can afford is but a small tin can of the noisome Sebo de Macho. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaad.XP That said, I'm receiving DONATIONS.XP (Namely, an all-expenses paid trip to China, a hotel accommodation for six months, and of course, the weekly session stipend for that Chinese doctor.) I'm kidding, naturally, but in case, say, Bill Gates, ever stumbles on this page, bawls with bucketfuls of tears of sympathy, then he can reach me at my public email: tobeyum@gmail.com.:D (Spammers are welcome. They're obviated by Gmail's anti-spam system and redirected to my real email address besides.:D)
Goddamn itcheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!XX0000 :scratchscratch:
Well yeeeaaaah, it's all in the mind. These feelings of itchiness are but a mental construct generated by the stimulated neurons in the brain. All these feelings of guilt, rage, pity, and petulance are similarly a natural neurological reaction. Consciously divert your thoughts to another topic and the synapses in your brain with rearrange themselves into endorphin inducing states of constructive denial. Think of the book I'm rereading, David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day--I can scratch my burns with it!XP Or my nth breakup with my boyfriend (Shriek! I promised not to mention him ever again!); his trimmed rugged beard would be a fanciful scratcher either.:D Or that candle festooned over that execrable rusty iron candle holder--I can drip melted wax on my burns.XP
I HATE MY FUCKING DUGGAMN BURNS!!! If only they'd just go away. If only I were bereft of all sensations. If only I were stoned. If only I were insensate... or... dead. Eeeeeekkk! Nooooooooo! Burn my scars again?XP They're so itchy I swear I'd scratch them with sandpaper.XP But there's no more hardware store to buy it from at this time of the night. Rub it with the cheese grater, pound it with the black crusted bottom of the frying pan, poke it with the kitchen knife, massage it with sulfuric acid...
WAIT!
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The itch is GONE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.XD
"I love you but I'm not in love with you anymore." Shet! Ang drama ko!XD BAHAHAHAHA.XD (Say, what's the difference? It's either I love him or not.XP) I hear a voice resonating at the back of my head saying, "You think that's funny? You think that's funny??!" Honestly, I'm ambivalent--I don't even know if I did "love" him. (Ugh. I can't believe I'm this emotional.XP I have a heart of dung--sometimes soft, sometimes hard, with varying degrees of colors, smell, and repellant factors. Utterly odious, besides.) Prolly it's just a delusion sitting in my head, another mental construct which I can easily wrack in a blink of an misanthropic enlightenment. I absolutely have no idea why he loves me, I'm not even lovable.
