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It's now or neverland
Never too old for immortality.
Current Quest Log 
hour 09. the 12th of September, 2013 - Father, it's been 6 years since my last blog post....
Indeed what a great 6 years it has been. A lot of things have changed, people have come and gone, some singles are now married (like me hoho) and minds have been reformed toward higher things.

But I am still telling stories.

http://manonajourney.com/

hour 22. the 13th of June, 2007 - Reunions

I actually drew this one last December and started writing its story about that time too. But then I trashed the story, rewrote it, and trashed that one again. Then I said, "what the hell, my writing's getting in the way of my drawing." So I post this.

The story is supposed to be about Wikken, Matea, Eliryo and Pelle; the four orphans of Len Garjette, and the story of their reunion after about forty years of not have seen each other. The three of them meet up because Pelle, the girl on the right with blue hair, dies of old age. Everyone else is old as well except for Wikken, who is an elf. Then they just talk. Or something. I'm not sure exactly. I think I'll have to ask one of them what really happened when I see them again. The artwork is supposed to be their version of a photograph, produced through the ingenuity of gnomish technology. haha.

Anyway. So here it is. For some strange reason, of all my artworks, I feel a sense of nostalgia particularly with this one. It's as if I've been there before and everybody is just waiting for me to pack up my bags and leave everything behind.





Reunions
hour 21. the 23rd of March, 2007 - The next best thing to riding a horse

After many months of pondering and research, I finally acquired a steed.


 


The 2006 Kawasaki Wind.

And with all formidable destriers, a name. This one is Fandango.

This mount carries a four- stroke, kick-start, manual transmission, 125cc K- TEC engine. Since it’s a Kawasaki, it’s also fairly easy to find parts around the kingdom. It’s not an overwhelming and mouth- watering 600cc speed bike that can get through the long expressways, but neither is it the common underbone bike we see everyday. Not that I dislike underbones; in fact, according to research, the Honda XRM and the Suzuki Raider are top- class motorcycles with high ratings. But well, I just wanted something bigger. And different. Something that I could call “my bike”. And yeah, something a little bad ass would help. I must admit that although I have never learned how to fly, I’m thinking that riding a motorcycle is the next best thing.

Of course all vehicles have risks. Cars, trucks, airplanes, rocket jetpacks, Plutonian space shuttles, heck even horses. Motorbikes though, only allots a very, very, small margin for error, whatever they may say.

Going on 60 with a sedan and colliding with a pickup, regardless of whose fault it is, generally ends up with you talking with the driver of the pick up.

Going on 60 with a motorbike and colliding with a pickup, regardless of whose fault it is, generally ends up with your family talking with the driver of the pick up.

And you on the way to some other beautiful place with no beer.

This margin can be increased to the rider’s favor through careful driving, proper bike management and some pretty sturdy gear (pretty and sturdy gear I mean). Nonetheless, even if I become the avatar of all safety regulations in all the lands, and even if I wear enchanted full plate armor, there’s nothing I can do if a 16- wheeler truck, which is driven by a blind and drunk 10 year old listening to Megadeth, which also loses its breaks, which is also conveniently fashioned with deadly poison spikes and a blood- covered battering ram, sends me to the land of my forefathers and makes me as extinct as medieval times.

Other than that particular scenario, if something happens and I go do something stupid, say like drinking and driving, texting while driving, racing with other riders, showing off, or trying out stunt man stuff, you’ll probably know why this journal suddenly becomes stagnant.


In a manner of speaking, I’ll be Gone with the Wind.


 

hour 11. the 13th of February, 2007 - 10 (Betrayal).

She waited for him by the side of the lake, dressed in layers of clothing to keep the cold away. When the young man approached, she didn’t even glance at him as she spoke. “Jaime,” her fingers slowly brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, “I was supposed to go… I… I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I love you Elise, and that’s all that matters. Wherever you’re going, take me with you.”

Elise quickly brushed away a tear as it crossed her cheek and walked to him, enveloping herself in his embrace and drowning within his kiss. The silence they shared then spoke of many things to come; of new beginnings, of passions anew, of children to share their joy, and of a love to last a lifetime. “You go on ahead, my love. I’ll follow in a moment.” The young man said. She smiled shyly before walking away to leave him in his thoughts.

When she was out of sight, Jaime watched the sun as it dipped itself into the horizon. He then searched his coat pocket and pulled out a gold ring, shiny as the day it was given to him. Light from the setting sun danced on its surface as it rotated slowly on Jaime’s fingers, tracing the perfection of its craftsmanship from the smooth body to the engraved names inside. Nobody needs to know. He then left the ring on the low stone wall and walked away.


version 2.0

hour 12. the 6th of February, 2007 - 09 (the redefinition of "Tincture").

Tincture (noun): An awkward moment of silence which falls in the middle of a conversation; occasionally due to the emergence of an uneasy topic. Though most of the time, it is caused by the bringing up of a certain subject in a conversation, it can also be caused by environmental factors such as a scene in a movie or a song playing in the background.

Their light- hearted coffee conversation fell upon a tincture when Jonathan asked her about her ex- boyfriend.

When the song “Better Days” started to play in the back, they fell into a tincture because they all lost their grandmothers recently.

hour 14. the 3rd of February, 2007 - A glass of rum and a bottle of wishes.

A fortnight ago, I walked in an old tavern for a drink. The wooden boards upon my feet creaked as I shook off the chill from my browning doublet. “A glass of rum please.” I took out a few coins and placed them on the table.

“For the cold?” said the innkeeper; an old, yet muscular, fellow who looked more like a blacksmith than a man serving drinks behind a bar. I nodded and took a gulp from the glass feeling its warmth spread across my body. The innkeeper grinned, his two silver teeth revealed, and spoke in a more serious tone. “Travelers from many lands say that Mother Nature’s heart had turned cold, like a woman scorned. They say it is her disfavor to her children’s constant abuse of her love.” His lips curled and he grunted.

“Hm. My take on it, well…” I looked at him as he rubbed his bearded chin trying to find the right words to say. Sea animals dying on our shores, a constant barrage of tempests, the ozone layer above our planet rapidly thinning, global warming, this sudden change of climate; the doom speakers tell of a time when the end shall come and the signs are all across the events at present. They are brushed aside and no one heeds the words. Words that speak the bitter truth of a doom that is brought about, not by circumstance, but by consequence. Soon kingdoms will start to fight over food, water, territory. And trees will be just as magical and legendary as unicorns and phoenixes; symbols of dreams and hopes found in children’s books and nothing more. Then it will be just as they had shown it on Mad Max, Fist of the Northstar, Fallout; a desert plain, two- headed cows, and a few iron scraps found by those who were unfortunate enough to live through the nuclear winter. "Ah!" The innkeeper clicked his fingers and looked at me with a knowing glare. “The Earth dumped the Moon for the Sun, then she dumped the Sun for the Moon. So that's why she's hot, then she's cold.” He nodded content in the explanation he had presented.

I smiled and sullenly raised the rum in honor of his epiphany. He had biceps for brains; that explained it. Either that or he was a bloody genius. But as I tried to look for answers on the bottom of the third, the fourth, the fifth glass, I found myself wishing he was the latter.

hour 00. the 23rd of January, 2007 - The Little Truck That Could

This story is dedicated to all Creatives out there. I know that, one way or the other, we share a bond through particular hardships and experiences, and that there are just some... issues no one else can understand.

(I ditched the pics that were once here cause I realized that playing with fire might not be very conducive to my health. hehe. And we all know what happened to the people who released the Angelica Panganiban photoshoot photoshop thing. tsk tsk. To those who saw the pics, I drink to you! Masaya na ako na may nakakita ng photoshopped truck ko. ^_^)




The Little Truck That Could


Once upon time
in a place called Katipunan
There was a strapping young indio
who always did the best he can

 One day, a little client came in
and happily said to him
“I want my truck teleported to a land far away,
In a place of wonder and joy
Everyday other than Friday.”

 And the strapping young lad
Who never wanted to be bad
Took the truck to a snowy rock
and said to the client
“Though this weighed a ton,
Check it out, I’m done!”

x

But the client was not certain
Of the origins of that mountain
And said that snow won’t ever be found
On tropical Philippine ground

 That, he totally understood
And threw the truck the farthest he could
To a hot summer plain of yellow soil
Where the oils on your skin
could painfully and seriously boil

x

“The picture looks nice!
But I want it a bit cooler
On the greens and the blues
and the grassy whatever.”

 By this time the lad was dreamy
Because he whacked himself on the head
But just before he says anything un-knightly
Check this out instead…

x

A grassy walk in the park this was not
For the background was a bitch to search
But even so, his efforts are all for naught
Because the client wanted waterfalls
Told a night before the deadline calls

 And before anything else,
Lets make it a point to know
Last minute revisions are his anathema
So tanginangpota.

x

With that the story ends
Upon a waterfall and a lake
Both being fake
Built from the many vacation pics
Of strapping guys and sexy young chicks

 Honestly though, had it gone his way
He would have preferred a different photo
Even with the same backgrounds
but with models from Cosmo, Fhm or Uno

 So ladies and gents, it would be wise to know
That even if the background is phony
It makes clients happy

And it gives me an LJ entry.


 version 2.0

hour 13. the 15th of January, 2007 - The Knight and the Forge




I made a few new icons for this LJ and found this artwork from the cover of Hedge Knight by George R. R. Martin. I think its from the sixth issue. Then I just graded it and edited the shield so it would carry a different sigil.

Forgive me for I am most terribly amused with it. haha.
hour 14. the 12th of January, 2007 - Manonajourney.Livejournal v2
First of all,

Thank you very much Ms. sudyn for the most wonderful thumbs up that you had given me all the way from Germany. You're the best lady! ^_^

After days of css research, color selection and editing of this journal, I have finally been able to return it to its optimal design. My thanks to the late kaliwanagan for the back end assistance.


----



gritterance

"It's true. I am afraid of my enemies. Very afraid in fact. Which is why I like to get rid of all of them."



hour 10. the 9th of January, 2007(no subject)
Just in case someone wanders and stumbles upon this journal, I'd just like to establish that this LJ is currently under construction. Might be that someone would say, "Some peculiar and strange sense of design this man has indeed" which is plainly understandable upon setting eyes on this site's current... disposition.

Please bear with us. Thank you.
hour 04. the 25th of December, 2006 - "Northpole, Northpole!... La kayong barya miss?"



Beep beep beep. "Para ho."


Merry Christmas ladies and gentlemen.
hour 01. the 19th of December, 2006 - 08 (The End).

And so it happened just as it was supposed to; she returning to her castle in that distant shore and he, back to being just another vagabond with a lute playing for taverns and living off song and poem. Hope for the best, expect the worst, and how he hoped it would turn out differently. But unlike the stories of kings and queens and loves that would last forever, this is real life and real life never ends happily ever after.

“Yer up next, Merrick. Get yer ass in here.” The innkeeper was bald, fat and gruff as was every other innkeeper he had met. You wouldn’t be talking to me like that if I were king. As the snow started to fall softly, he remembered the girl with her bright smooth skin, living in her far away castle, wondering if she found her nice little ending in some other person’s arms by a warm fireplace. He picked up his lute and brushed the snow from his vest, comforting himself with the fact that through the pain of remembrance and the throbbing within his chest, at least he had a new story to tell. A tall tale of adventure, dragons, magic spells, evil wizards, and in the end of it all, a broken heart and a song to sing.


version 2.0

hour 14. the 16th of December, 2006 - This can't be right....
Testriffic IQ test



what?!?!?! But.. I wasn't. I swear!
hour 17. the 20th of November, 2006 - I'm a magic man with magic hands.
taken from [info]maharhar



You are The Magician


Skill, wisdom, adaptation. Craft, cunning, depending on dignity.


Eleoquent and charismatic both verbally and in writing,
you are clever, witty, inventive and persuasive.


The Magician is the male power of creation, creation by willpower and desire. In that ancient sense, it is the ability to make things so just by speaking them aloud. Reflecting this is the fact that the Magician is represented by Mercury. He represents the gift of tongues, a smooth talker, a salesman. Also clever with the slight of hand and a medicine man - either a real doctor or someone trying to sell you snake oil.


What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

hour 13. the 17th of November, 2006 - 07 ("I'll show them")... something like that.
Her gun’s cold lips were on the man’s forehead; kissing him long and still as a solemn lover. She had spent over four years of her life looking for him all across Asia, only to find him walking alone and half- drunk in a silent corner street in downtown Beijing; like an anti-climactic end to a movie.

“So what are you waiting for, bitch?” He even had the nerve to smile in his most disadvantageous position.

Four years of searching and a memory was pulling her finger back. Her sister had told her once that if she did find her husband’s killer, it took more than just courage to end a life. “Killing is not just an act; it is a decision to transform.” Now she understood. In the crossroads, she had known exactly what the price to pay was.

“Ever even shot a gun before? Your safety’s still on you fucking piece of...”

Bang.





Bang. Bang. Bang.

She stared at the smoking barrel, hearing only echoes of shots fired. Then she wiped the blood from her right cheek with her thumb and licked it, knowing now for a fact that revenge is, indeed, a dish best served cold.
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