No One Sings Like You Anymore

"Candles burning... 

like somebody's bestfriend died."

And so it is Christmas....

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store." "Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

Yellow

Lost Angels

I love basketball. There was a time I could play it well enough to compete with my peers. That time is long past. Now, I just watch the real athletes on TV.

Pour Sugar On Me

For summer, aside from Kiddie Crew, Little P. also attended an art workshop. Here are some of her work, a couple of them done at home.

Storm Princess

The Internet is slow, both the connection and the action. New music has filled my days again, Emm's CD came in a couple of days ago. Pure, poetic, hot, hard, stinging, and deeply personal. Edgy. Sharp, razor sharp. It has not left the player since. Canada is lucky, the Philippines could only hope.

Little Popot has been raiding my paper stock. She starts off creating simple works of art. Beautiful, bright, sunny. Fit for walls. She gets bored quickly and turns everything into wild collages, of media and approaches. What comes up are irregularly folded, colored, filled with doodles and random words, almost crumpled pieces. Totally chaotic, almost trashed. Angry? Soon she gets tired of it and moves on. To toys, dolls, anything. Anything to be messed up. It is amazing, and a wonder.