Pseudocornucopia

You were never born.

pseudocornucopia — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 14:08:18 +0000

Is it wrong to ask for retribution? You work like a madman, hoping that even in the slightest of your trudges you find change in the murky, dirt-covered roads. How then of those that don’t work? Is the balance that far too off of the equilibrium?

Too well. You find them too perfect, too irksome. You wonder how different they were to you. Since you can’t express them in layman’s thinking, you just stood there blunted, hoping that time will just eat itself away.

Too dark, too bleak. Resistance is indeed futile. You that myriad of dried leaves–food for forethought.

Too proper, too disclosed, too superficial. Makes you think, remember. Makes you paranoid, wonder. Makes you wish, stare and loathe that which is intangible. And yet you do nothing.

Will you do something?

Yadda yadda yadda.

pseudocornucopia — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 14:46:11 +0000

Okay, I have been cheating. I told myself that I will write here so that I can save at least my papers (which might be out of hand when things go especially wrong, eg, fire, storm and the blah blah catastrophes). But, there I was, wasting special paper. I think I have a knack for just writing almost anywhere.

Just no vandalisms. That ain’t me.

Well, if there comes a time that I write here again, maybe it will be the hateful stuff. The pen and paper does not stand beside you as a critic; they eat your pocket money, too.

Yadda yadda yadda. Needless to say, I just have to write. But I have ideas in mind. Maybe when I am free I can write them on a piece of paper if not here.

Toodleloo, I still have a sixteen-hour duty tomorrow. It is harrowing but I just have to. I really need it. It is fun, even if it is tiring.

Fishing the clouds into a bucket.

pseudocornucopia — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 22:46:49 +0000

Some people can’t see delight

In the tangled uniformity

The clouds make

As it rains so lightly:

That I can never understand.

Can’t they hear the subtlety the sounds make

As their gaiety grace the roofs?

Can’t they see the innocence

The raindrops paint over anonymous pavements?

Can’t they sense life

As the clouds open a window

Of searing light and enlightening glow

Whispering to the blue sky

That it will come to a halt

And that the happiness I feel

Is as uncommon

As an adolescent storm?

Revving the Reverse.

pseudocornucopia — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 16:04:42 +0000

Well, you are now there. You are on the top of the peak of the mountain you so adore from afar. You thought the trees flourish, the grasses grow tall and the clouds kiss with the earth; the sounds you can imagine felt so good that you became ecstatic. You were in a trance—the harmonious freedom nothing mortal in this world can offer. Rocks of different stances opined, teaching you to see the bigger picture differently; the water gushed below your feet, kissing your skin with cold droplets so minute that it is effortless. You didn’t think; you just stopped walking and looked up. The blue sky welcomed you and hugged you back as you reach up with an insatiable glee filling your adolescent heart. This is the mountain from afar, you thought; this is the warmth, the dream, the hope.

The sun passed in a convoluted line as you trudged along; the stagnant clouds began to crumple and create small creases in the once blue universe. The bodies from afar laid their curtains to rest, blinking continuously with the winds. The sun, which provided you with seemingly everlasting warmth, went back within the depths of its own crevasse, leaving you indefinitely.

The dark crept on, as if aligning with the borders of the trees, the rivers, the rocks; the once careful streams squealed and gushed, drawn by the paranoia drawn by your imagination. The leaves you tenderly adored flew here and there, screeching and gnawing its way through your mind. You grew weary, weak, and feeble—this is the mountain, you thought. Why is it treating you this way?

Misanthropy, fueled by your fears, fed through your innocence. You thought it was all fine and will end after some time, but a question rose up in your mind: what if not? What if the day you so admired will never return again? What if the things you defined as happiness, hope, warmth, and dream will never grow back into their inception?

You grew scared, not by the darkness, but by the fear of impossibility of change.

Change, they say, is always possible. However, what if the case forbids you in believing that whatever that changed for the so-called better, and that you changed for the so-called better but the flow never did?

What if those will never change again? Will you hope again?

Hidy howdy ho (no meanings attached on the last two characters).

pseudocornucopia — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 11:36:14 +0000

It felt like a very, very long time since I wrote here. I had been busy, you see; first, the community duty almost ate all of my thinking time (plus the depression part) and, second, the NCMH swept the good moments. So, the bottom line is I am tired. There, tired, but happy though; I feel nostalgic and complacent at the same time.

I was depressed for yesterweeks. I do not know why. But, whenever I am thinking about anything sad, like somebody I really love dies, it makes me clam up and actually ponder about it. Somehow, along that very line, I got sad, almost teary-eyed one time, and wondered how I’ll work on it like a sane person. It is one of those unexplainable things that happen to me. And I can’t help it.

I don’t really think I am crazy. Because if I am, then suicide ideations are flooding my mind right now. Which is not, simply because I am thinking of the future I might have if I do not kill myself.

And, can you help it if you will become a successful lawyer, doctor and musician in the future? That’s why I don’t kill myself out of desperation or depression.

Check this out. This is from this site. It says that it can determine which famous writer I write like.

I know those websites are just for fun. But hey. King? Joyce? They are really good. I just don’t know about Doctorow but wikipedia says the same too.

Looking at it for the first time.

pseudocornucopia — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 08:46:48 +0000

You almost do not sit in front of the TV just to watch. You go there, sit at the floor, probably doing something more than just watching. You, in front of the computer, is not just typing. You are playing, reading, listening and watching all at the same time. And for what? For the sheer pleasure of enticing the senses.

Why not waste your time for some ludicrous inadequacies, where you can spend it all in trying to fit in?

I am expecting changes. No, I will make these changes. Those things that were thrown, you should have seen them–bloody hell they looked like fiery stones while being thrown towards me. They scalded and scraped my skin with no effort at all. And, adding insult to injury, these stones are thrown by the people who do not own the hands that could never do bad… or so you think. These changes, like any sinkhole, will devour the ground inside out.

Being bad is not bad idea after all, when you think of it. You can always pretend that you are good but when you are bad, you are almost certainly bad. It is not a case of multiple character, it is a case like that of a coin. Flip all you want, just don’t hope it’s always heads.

Catching up, as I have heard, is all about being friendly or good to other people. When you do this, you are trying to connect yourself to their past. You are trying to race back to time and expect that maybe in some parts of that past, your cars bumped and met each other. But, do you know what sucks more than catching up? A free monologue. And all the reply you can make up with that is, “oh,” “ahh” or “oh?” It is a monologue after all, and your comments are just bridges to more memories to share by that huge mouth.

I hate smiling a lot. It tires my face.

People are boring the hell out of me. They do not fight back when you provoke them. They just run away and retreat with their tails down. And they wail like sissy dogs. Irksome indeed. When you thought that you can finally have some fun, they turn around and run in circles.

NCM orals.

pseudocornucopia — Thu, 27 May 2010 08:47:05 +0000

So, it has come. Not really the turning point of the whole course (I still think the Third year Second sem is the true hell) but a great challenge. After this, finalizing the cases, getting and actually finishing surgical cases and the Boards. Clear path, I must say; a challenging race to the finish awaits all of us.

NCM: Oral Revalida

MCN [4]

Abruptio placentae

Erythroblastosis fetalis

Placenta previa

Pregnancy-induced hypertension

Accessory [5]

Acute pancreatitis

Cholecystitis

Choledocholelithiasis

Cholelithiasis

Hepatitis B

Liver cirrhosis

Cardiovascular [12]

Angina pectoris

Dilated cardiomyopathy

Dissecting aortic aneurysm

Hypertension

Infective endocarditis

Kawasaki disease

Myocardial infarction

Raynaud’s disease

Rheumatic heart disease

Tetralogy of Fallot

Thromboangiitis obliterans

Hematology [1]

Acute lymphocytic leukemia

Renal [4]

Acute glomerulonephritis

Acute renal failure

Benign prostatic hyperplasia

Nephrotic syndrome

Endocrine [4]

Cushing’s syndrome

Diabetes mellitus

Hashimoto’s thyroiditis

Hyperthyroidism

Gastrointestinal [4]

Gastritis

Hirschprung’s disease

Intestinal obstruction

Peptic ulcer disease

Respiratory [2]

Pneumonia

Pulmonary tuberculosis

Immunology [8]

Avian flu

AIDS

Breast cancer

Burns

Leptospirosis

Malaria

Meningococcemia

Rabies

Emergency [2]

Multiple injury

Poisoning (snake bite)

Neuromusculoskeletal [8]

Subarachnoid hemorrhage or CVA

Guillan-Barre syndrome

Multiple sclerosis

Osteoporosis

Gouty arthritis

Herniated nucleus pulposus

Myasthenia gravis

Rheumatic arthritis

Sensory [4]

Cataract

Conjunctivitis

Glaucoma

Retinal detachment

Pscyhiatric [5]

Bipolar disorder

Parkinson’s disease

Post-traumatic stress syndrome

Schizophrenia

Substance abuse

Dingbats, and a lot of them.

pseudocornucopia — Wed, 26 May 2010 13:23:36 +0000

Unknown is an art. Being unknown is a beauty that can be boasted to those who are ignorant, thus, neglected of knowledge. Hiding behind the lines, not being understood, being the focus of nonchalance–that is a prowess one has to handle. Hiding is not an act of fear; it is the field. And with it comes a great quantity of faith for the system.

Wow. I totally forgot that the letters in my keyboard are not aligned. This will be hard to make, an harder to decode.

That has to be a dead giveaway.

START: B-T

END: Onwards, Ever Onwards

BGT BGTYH BGT BGTRTY BGTYJIK< BGTYUJHNM BHYUJMH BGTYJMKI BNMHGYUI BGTRTY BGTHUJM BGTYUJHM BGTYUJMN TGBHNMKI BGT BGTYJMKI BGTYNMJ BGRY BGTYUJMN TGBNMJU BGYJMH TGBNM TGBNM BGTRTY BGTYUJMN BGTRTY BGTYUHJNM BNMJHGTYU BGTNMHJYU BNMJHGTYU BGTYJMH , BGTRTY BGTHMJU BNMJHGTYU BGTYUJMN BGTYUHMN BGTYUHJNM BGT BGTRTY. ü

This is a dead giveaway. And if people decoded this, I will surely die. Let’s leave it at that.

Nonetheless, that was enlightening.

PS: DDS taught this one but Brown gave the idea away.

Irrational, unbridled love.

pseudocornucopia — Sat, 22 May 2010 14:50:49 +0000

They forgot about love. They forgot that they also have others around them. They forgot that they have a hand to hold, a word to say and a heart to share. They forgot that even the slightest hint of care is the only thing a person can ask from somebody close to them. And they forgot it altogether.

It is the problem–prioritization, that is. Sometimes, the things in need of their attention are not the ones to be prioritized. They have to think. They have to think that some have demands that need to be met. Yes, some are arrogant requests, most of them are indulgent, but they are demands, still. Demands that are supposed to be taken care of for good riddance.

They let you off for tonight. And there, below the moonlight, you sat by yourself. You felt the winds embracing your skin; you felt the light rays touch your eyes. But deep inside, from where you were sitting all along, you felt alone.

I don’t like it. It sucks. What ever happened to the plans, they are trashed the very minute it told me that it is gone. It sucks. I don’t want to play anymore. I feel deprived even if it was supposed to be a good thing. This is our share and it was supposed to be good.

Was it for the better? Please don’t make me puke.

My mantra for this zen-like stasis.

pseudocornucopia — Wed, 19 May 2010 09:26:11 +0000

Today I’ll be writing. I won’t be writing because I have something in mind, I will be writing because I want to shut up and rest my mind. I am tired; to cope up with that, I will have to lose steam.

I don’t want to take things for granted. There are some things that you can always regret–an early morning meal, a glass of water, a happy time with friends–but this, no. Things change when they involve a person whose respect and insight you must uphold and fear. That is why it is wrong to forgive people who inculcated an idea that it is “just” that.

A teacher exudes an aura that must neither be forgotten nor thrown away. That is why people must push their limits to greater heights and stop thinking of the word “impossible.” A feeble mind says, things are nothing, and thus must live in the nothing he believes in.

An aspiring mind says, things are everything, and thus must live in the everything he believes in.

Students must never forget to respect and fear the teacher. Aside from the obvious things that the latter can do to the former, that is the teacher–the teacher whose insurmountable mind the former must ponder about. Never ever throw that fact away.