dalumat

James Blake


Anthony Gonzales (M83)


Tyler the Creator


Bryce Dressner (The National)


Masculados Dos

I got a strange offer last night.

The dude, who was likely smashed, approached me on the street and said he will use his credit card to buy me anything I want in 7-11. It was about midnight. Obviously he didn't have cash. In return, he said, I should get in the tricycle with him, where he will play with my privates on the way to his house. "Gagalawin kita sa tricycle," he said, but he kept saying "kotse" instead of "tricycle", then correcting himself. "Eto deal ko sa'yo," was how he opened his proposition, and he repeated it many times. He said I could buy anything I want. In Seven Eleven. With his credit card. "Alam mo," he looked me up and down. "Okay ang height mo eh." Then down and up. "Okay ang katawan mo." It was dark, guys. To be honest, I hesitated to walk into the convenience store with him with all the bright lights because he might immediately lose interest, haha, and also because I wasn't sure it was a good deal anyway. I was probably humoring him just because I wanted to know if it was for real, haha. "Ano kailangan mo?" He asked, almost bragging. "Kandila," I said. Brown out, guys. "Atsaka maiinom." I was thinking of what else I could buy in 7-11 to make it worthwhile, if ever. But I was pretty sure they didn't have frozen rib-eye steak or anything like that. The yellow glow of Andok's Lechon Manok made me think if maybe that was better, or if they accepted credit cards. I thought of lugging home a bunch of whole chickens. Actually I asked him if he was sure 7-11 accepted credit. I said someone was waiting for me and I had to go, but really I just wanted to go to Starbucks for the free wifi, where they accept credit cards, by the way, and the thought quickly passed my mind. I also quickly thought about how I had just spent the bills in my wallet a few hours earlier after treating a couple of friends to dinner, and how this credit card shopping bonanza could be instant good karma. Oh my god, I just realized, my credit card got rejected in that restaurant, the reason I had to pay cash, so maybe it really was karmic. Haha.

So anyway, the guy wouldn't let me go and it was too much fun anyway. "Cash mo na lang," I said, playing the game. But he seemed to struggle with that. Anything can be bought with credit card, I think he said. He asked me what I needed the cash for, and I said I had a date with my girlfriend this weekend. Oh, he asked me about a girlfriend early on. So he said, "Eto deal ko sa'yo." He would pay for my date, he said. And how? Somehow he was going to be somewhere in the vicinity of our date and my girlfriend wouldn't even have to see who paid for it. Oh my god, the brilliant ideas. So I said, Just buy me shoes. This is a good time to tell you, dear reader, that my shoes are rotting and I have no money. Anyway, he made a bunch of other "deals" before I finally agreed to jump into the tricycle with him, where he could touch, but ONLY touch, and with only the promise -- the promise! -- of him buying me new shoes, sometime in the weekend, with his prize credit card. It's not like I really believed it would happen, nor did I want it to. By the way, he said my dick should be hard before we got in, and it must be hard when he plays with it. So I was rubbing myself through my jeans before we walked over to the tricycle line. While I was doing that, I knew I was the loser in the deal, but it's not like I didn't get molested against my better judgement in the past. Of course, by the time he was fondling and jerking my dick with his smooth fingers in the tricycle, he wanted to suck it too, but of course I didn't let him. He seemed really frusrated and bothered, he was pressing his nose against my shoulders, whispering he wanted me to come inside his mouth, and so forth, and he was really really insisting I come with him inside his house, where the other people would be asleep he said, possibly his parents. He said he'll buy me 2,500 pesos worth of shoe. He must've calculated how much I was worth, because the thought of me picking out basketball shoes must've been scary. I said that's what I needed, but actually I was fantasizing about a pair of handsome Sanuks I saw in the mall which didn't have my size in any branch in the country. So anyway, of course I didn't even alight the tricycle. He paid twenty pesos to the driver, who was cute in fairness, and who probably knew what went on inside his vehicle, and with the twenty pesos the guy already gave me earlier, I left with Kuya Driver going back to the tricycle station, as the drunk guy trudged to his house, which was dark because of the brownout. I promised the guy I would text him, so I did, but he didn't reply. Then I went to Starbucks to internet. And what is the moral of the story? The fuck I know. This weekend, I will not have a date with any girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter, and I will be wearing old shoes, and I probably wouldn't even get blown by a guy I like, but that one is at least workable in the short amount of time.

We're not exactly dating. We've seen each other on three occassions, within one month, mainly because of his initiative. He already said he wants me to be his boyfriend. I already said I don't. But that's not the point of this entry.

He's a nice guy. I like him. But he reminds me too much of my ex-boyfriend. They look alike, same body type, same shape of face and so on. Their names sound alike. Like Mark to Mike. Or John to Jon. They're in the same line of work. They grew up in the same city. They have a similar kind of enthusiasm when talking about work. They have the same habit of saying "Ang lakas ng boses mo" when we talk about gay things. Last night, he was wearing a shirt that was the kind my ex used to wear, and he kind of walked and moved in the same way, and I swear, once when he was standing beside me, for a second I thought he was my ex. It's one of several reasons I don't want to go into a relationsip with him. No way am I boyfriending the same guy twice in a row. It's probably an unfair reason for him, but like I said it's not the only reason. But this is still not the point of this entry.

I asked him bluntly, "Ano ba gusto mo saken?" He said, "Hindi ko nga alam eh." Then, "Siguro personality." I noticed he never once mentioned he liked my physical appearance, ever. So I'm thinking it really must be personality. And this is the point of the entry.

For a couple of years and many months now, I've been hung up on my appearance. It's stupid but can I help it? I'm getting old and I've never been a stud to begin with. And there's this invisible pressure to look great all the time. The kids today, man, they look wonderful. Everyday, new celebrities are made and they're always the attractive types. Nobody talks about ugly people anymore, not even in politics. Everyone thinks they can date anyone, even the stars, even, say, Andrew Wolfe for 50 thousand pesos, so why would anyone even take a look at the less gifted? Even Pinoy Big Brother recruits only the comely. It's also probably a gay thing. You've got to admit, image has always been a big part of gayhood. Hence, Madonna. Hence, Vogue. Hence, Paris is Buring. Hence, the butch and the femme. Hence, the gym as church. It's so clear, gay people place great importance on looks. Even the ordinary and ugly people they admire, like say, an ugly construction worker, are admired in huge part because of their image.

So you can't blame me, I think about my image too every now and then, perhaps a lot more times lately than I should allow msyelf. What do I look like to other people exactly? Sure, I can look at the mirror, but that's me looking at me. What do other people see? Am I okay enough? And what's with LJ friends assuming I'm a hottie? They don't know what I look like. Come on, don't pile on the pressure. Will it be my fault if you end up disappointed? And what's with real life friends who laugh at my declaration of lack of self-esteem lately? Really guys, I don't know why it's not easy but it's not.

So maybe I have more personality than looks. And maybe it's not simply a euphemism or an excuse for not having It. Maybe I really do have a killer personality. Maybe when people get interested in me, maybe it's the P. Maybe when strangers stare or when they approach, maybe it's not the looks, maybe there's something I exude that got to them and maybe that's personality. Maybe when I date, if I date, I can win with just personality. Maybe when I find my life partner, he'll stick around because of the personality.

So what's my personality? I don't know. Haha. I should probably make it my next mission to find out, so I can learn how to play it up, control it, and rule the world. Maybe I'll discover I don't have much of a personality afterall, and it's all a lie. In which case I'll have to focus on something else about me that will give me confidence, like say, wealth. Maybe I should make it my mission to get rich.

But first, what the fuck is personality anyway?

I ran into the ex-boyfriend of my friend Kung Fu Guy on the MRT train. They had just broken up. He had broken the heart of my friend. He'd left him.

I was feeling all smug and powerful when I recognized the guy who walked into the sliding doors of the train and stood right in front of me. I was feeling superior because he had some explaining to do. I was feeling like a king or a judge because I could detect his slight nervousness. He probably knew I would be interrogating.

Why did he leave my friend? After four years, why? I knew the official statement. Straight from my friend, straight from their mouths. He left him because he wanted his freedom again. In so many words, that's how I remember it. That somehow the love of my friend cannot match the love of his boyfriend, and the boyfriend must detach himself to find someone new. They called it freedom. But I wasn't satisfied with that answer. After four years, it doesn't seem to be a satisfying answer. I needed a real explanation.

I remember talking to my friend Kung Fu Guy in the moments just before their official breakup, during the final reeling, when Kung Fu Guy was feeling the cold brush of rejection, of getting no answers and being pushed away and being left to surmise what the hell is going wrong. I remember telling my friend, well, of course there must be a reason, you're entitled to a reason, we need to know, and I remember telling him, fuck, the reason better not be "freedom" because it would make me puke. It's the worst possible answer there could be. To trade four years of a relationship for freedom, that freedom must be totally priceless, golden, a calling that's truly unshakable, AND that relationship must be disposable. I remember telling Kung Fu Guy, I would prefer a reason that somehow involved another guy, a third party. Because that means you're up against someone. It's something I can accept. There will always be others who are better than us. More attractive, more successful, with qualities more suitable to our particular needs. It's something that must be accepted because it will always be true, no matter who no matter what. We run into such better people everyday. Couples run into them everyday. Another guy would mean your boyfriend probably found someone he thinks is better. It should be a difficult decision especially if he loves you. But freedom? What is that? What are you up against with that? Are you up against an idea? An idea that there's someone better out there? You, as a person flesh and blood, must suck, if he trades you in for an idea. After a first date or a second, people are expected to compare you against that idea. Should there be more dates or should I move on and explore others? It's expected with new acquaintances. But can it really happen after four years? Can anybody really leave someone they supposedly love? Is that really possible? To desire that separation, to choose it because it is desired? How weak is that love and how strong is that urge to freedom?

Recently, an LJ friend, I'm not saying who, left her boyfriend to be with a great unrequited love from her younger years. And although she had cried about it already and had since gotten back together with her boyfriend (I think), I completely understand her need to try it with the old unrequited love. That's an old unrequited love, for chrissakes. It's a what-if that can't be ignored. Of course it's a tough decision. But just to hypothesize, if it were a match between her boyfriend whom she loves for many years versus the call of freedom, the possibility of someone better, or even the possibility that someone she just met could be better, I would throw eggs at my computer screen. I would get irritated. I would question her love in the first place. Happily, I don't question her love and I admire her.

In the movie Two for the Road, Audrey Hepburn reaches a point in her life when she must decide between a French man she is currently having an affair with and her husband Albert Finney whom she has had a love-hate relationship through the years. I wonder what really went on in her head when she decided to stay. It's tough to choose between two great guys, definitely. But I'd like to think she also felt a tremendous sense of responsibility. How can she leave the man she's been with for so long? It's not just tenure, is it? It's perhaps also a setting aside of selfish needs because someone's life other than her own will be affected. Sounds like love to me. Call me naive, but it seems like we really prove our love in acts that benefit our partner more than ourself. I wonder what happens when someone leaves a person he's been with after 60 years, at age 80. Can he really do it? Suppose he envisions a better life for himself without his partner, with someone else perhaps, or with "freedom" to be completely by himself again, can he really leave if his partner will suffer alone? I would hate to be in a relationship with someone who will, down the road, choose "freedom" over me. More pressingly, I would hate to be in a relationship with someone who will one day up and leave without checking with my feelings, without working out a solution that would make his inevitable decision easier for me. I think I want someone who's not that selfish. Because there will always be big issues and tests, and anything can happen. And in the event that it does, I would prefer a partner who will care enough to still treat me right. One year, four years, sixty years. Call me naive again, but if someone says he loves me, I would think he's really thinking of me. I mean really. You can't just throw that word around. I would like to think I can be that kind of man. I already know love is not a feeling. I already know feelings change and relationships can get lukewarm and go through rough times. I know this. I also know it will never be an easy thing for me to leave someone I love. Not someone I'm having sex with or someone I'm dating or someone I'm getting to know, but someone I love. Is it still a wonder it's hard for me to find someone to call my partner? I can't just sign a contract then void it. If I say I'll spend my time with someone I love, I most likely will. I can't say for sure. I mean, who really knows? But my gut tells me how I will act down the road. I have a pretty good idea of the extent of my love. Today anyway. In the future, I may realize more things, better things. Maybe there's more to it. Maybe it is okay to leave. I might look back and see how stupid I was today. This love thing, man, there's always something new to discover. With each new thing, I feel like I'm becoming a better person. Isn't that fucking wonderful. Wait. Do I actually feel like I'm becoming a better person? Damn I don't know. I was pretty good to begin with, hah.

It's been a year and a half since my ex and I broke up. I'm not sure if I'm remembering it right anymore, but I think he said back then he wanted his freedom. It seemed like shit reason to me, and it made me feel like shit too. Would it have made more sense, would it have been easier, if he'd instead said he didn't love me afterall? Maybe I wouldn't have had to reconcile the idea of his loving me with the idea of his leaving me, not to mention the idea of his neglect and seeming non-concern. Recently, I'd been getting hints that he may want to hook back up. How the fuck is that possible? I don't know why I should even hate the word freedom. I've always thought it to be a valuable item. I've been single more times than I've been attached. Freedom is a blast. And it's not just about being available to choose from among many men. It's also about nobody telling you want to do. It's really more about acting on personal choice. In which case, love can be its own kind of freedom. And there can be freedom in love too, even in whatever kind of relationship. I don't know why I should hate it. They're both big beautiful things. I will have no one corrupt these words for me.

Check out what people are saying about dalumat's Livejournal!

"it's the most refreshing read i've had in ages..."
carl9331

"everytime I see your user icon, I skip other entries to read it."
shigishigi

"one of the most read lj's i know despite it being friends only..."
cupkeyk

"Sick and funny."
priapus

"great stories... dramatic without going overboard"
domini

"oftentimes, i read an entry from you and i get to think: 'shit, this guy put to words something that's bugging me for sometime, something similar about myself i know but can't quite put to words what. how does [he] do that?'
sextonfurnival

"i SO love how candid you are."
sportscaster

"what a thrill for poor, sheltered ol' me!"
amihan

"horny, eloquent and well versed."
carl9331

"You bubble over and just ooze cool..."
shigishigi

"Dalumat is my LJ idol, noon pa."
paolomanalo

"Your writing is superb."
luciageisha

"Grossly overrated."
dalumat

Of course, they may not be saying these things anymore. Haha.

This shameless self-promotion masquerading as welcome page celebrates the fourth anniversary of my LJ, on May 30, 2006.

Join the bandwagon! Why not post your own glowing praises in the comments page? Hehe. Or be a new friend and introduce yourself.

This journal is friends-only.

Mark Ruffalo as Matt in 13 Going On 30

He looks frazzled, and he acts frazzled, but he's so soulful that soul seems to be pouring out of his pores, especially when he casts that twinkling gaze, a look that seems to be traveling inward as much as it is outward, matched with a boat smile of curious wisdom lips. He makes enough as a photographer just to pay the bills. When glamorous fashion magazine editor Jenna meets him again as an adult, he's at once too cool and too dull to be her match.

At 13, Matt is a fat kid who dances in spasms to "Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads from his own mix tape at Jenna's birthday party. Nobody else could get it. He loses his fats as an adult (not all of it), but he still seems to be the outsider who can dance to shit he likes. At 30, he wears a Talking Heads T-shirt. It's not so much about the Talking Heads as it is what that band represents: intelligence but also primal feeling. If people can't see what a hot guy he is, that's because most people are idiots.

I can't decide if he's the guy I am, the guy I want to be, or the guy I want to be with for the rest of my life. I'm in love with him.

More Mark Ruffalo goodness at Markruffalo.Net, where I stole this pic.

A chunk of their young lives, their nights, was spent in gay chatrooms looking for the next big hook-up. To me, it seems like a way of growing up. They addressed, managed, satisfied their sexuality by joining a community, night after night, meeting people, making friends, finding sex. They got themselves out there. Maybe if they did it at 35, I'd say they were playing the field. But because they did it at 19, give or take a few years, I'd say they were also finding themselves, marking their gayness.

In that horrible movie Intermates, an assortment of gay men found each other in the chatroom for friendship and romance and trips to Puerto Galera. It's a true example, I guess, of how some gay barkadas start out on the internet and become a really solid group.

My ex-boyfriend was a former chatroom junkie. He made countless eyeballs, some sex, and a few friends. Yet he tells me now that it was all a waste of time. His friend, also a former chatroom junkie, says the same thing. I can see part of what they mean because when I spend an entire night on the internet, say, on Livejournal, I feel like I burned too much time for close to nothing. It can be a prison of sorts. Or maybe they're saying this because they've outgrown the chatroom lifestyle. Maybe they've grown up and they don't feel the need for it anymore.

I feel a little left out sometimes. I never had that kind of community growing up. I easily got tired of the chatroom once I'm inside, and I only have my lack of patience to blame, and maybe my unwillingness to open up.

In high school, my ex-boyfriend had a gay barkada. They could be gay around each other, and other boys in school, the straight ones, could treat them as gay, adjust to them, be the straight to their gay. It sounds to me now like a very good thing. I never had a gay barkada in high school. I had straight friends. Presumably.

My ex-boyfriend keeps in touch with most of his childhood gay barkada, while I lost touch with mine. He and his friends share a quality that I can't quite explain. They're very different persons in many ways, but I can sense a similarity in the way they view personal relationships, bonds, because well, it's the thing they have in common. They grew up building the foundation of a friendship together.

My ex-boyfriend has a history of getting tired with his romantic partners. I'm thinking maybe it's a deep-seated trait, that maybe he can afford to leave these new people once they stop being exciting because he can always go back to the comfort of his gay barkada.

I love my gay friends today, deeply, but I can never go back to my adolescence to live a kind of life shared with a number of boys of the same orientation. It's impossible.

I wonder if I ever really grew up gay all by myself. I wonder if perhaps it has borne some deep-seated traits I have in me now. Like, maybe, I don't know, how I seem to always know at the back of my head that when I leave people, or when they leave me, I will always fall back to the comfort, or whatever, of being alone.

Iran executes two gay teenagers.

( ProGay's Tips on Unlawful Arrests on Homosexuals )

Gay guy from work says, "Siguro heartthrob ka."

Nge, I say. Baket?

"Kasi hindi ka pa nai-in love."

Di ba raw ganoon yung mga heartthrob? Marami kasing nagkakagusto sa kanila kaya hindi sila nai-inlove?

I'm not a heartthrob. No, sir. Ang labo naman. (And I guess he was assuming I was straight.)

But I wonder if there's truth to his theory. Do heartthrobs find it hard to fall in love?

It has come to this.

This journal is now friends-only.

To LJ users who wish to read my protected entries, you may make a request to be included in my list, and I just might. I just have to know that I can trust you with my secrets.

If you've already put me in your friends list and I haven't returned the kindness, it's because I've become very wary of who to add. I will need to hear from you that you want in.

To the non-LJ users who have been reading my journal, you may continue to email me. Say the word, and I might send you the protected entries via email.

To the impolite anonymous fucks who fail to realize that their own sorry little lives must be dealt with first before mine, you can just stay away. Bring your shrink-wrapped brains with you.

Alright, let's get the show started.

Welcome to the new Dalumat.

I dreamed I was squeezed against Kristine Hermosa, sitting on a picnic bench, with a view of a quiet U.P. sunken garden and a sky that's alternately blue and magenta. We were whispering silly sweetnesses, giggling, while sharing on a bowl of soup. I began stroking the length of her shampoo-commercial hair when some guy, an asungot, appeared and asked me, Which do you think is more beautiful: her hair or the soup? Kristine looked at me, anticipating a romantic reply. Then I said, the soup. She laughed heartily like a girl in love. I felt I was too, because she was beautiful.

If I could have dreams like this, which is rare but once in a while, then I know that straight guys have gay dreams.

Yes, it makes my blood boil. I don't want this issue to go away quietly.

( Police and Media Raid A Movie House Frequented by Gay Crusiers, Violate Human Rights )

( How You Can Help )</lj-cu

It all started just three hours ago.

When I boarded the passenger FX on the way to Cavite, I noticed he was looking at me in that strange, suspicious, exciting way that belies interest and caution. It led to much silly smiling, me and him, at each other. He tried to touch my knee, I tried to touch his. I liked the way his black T-shirt hugged his chest and arms even if it wasn't one of those shirts that were designed to. But he wasn't a big man; he just had a nice-fitting shirt that matched his nice shape.

I was prepared to hop off the van anywhere this guy was going. At my regular stop, he mouthed we should go down. Turns out he knows my usual stop because he's ridden with me before and he remembers. He said I was with another guy that time, and that must've been Kung Fu Guy.

His name is Vher. Same age as mine. Shorter than me. A bartender in a bar somewhere in Quezon City. He used to be a bartender in a restaurant in Makati. Nice guy all over. We walked and looked for a stop where we could assault each other.

We stopped at a Burger Machine for refreshments. I asked him questions.

Then, under the shadows beside a dirt road, we fooled around. We stopped when a figure from afar began to approach.

That was the moment he decided to take me to his home.

A few kilometers from my house. Deeper into the heart of Cavite. He said he lived with his uncle, but it sounded like a lie.

The streets that led to the house were dark and pestered with roaming, barking dogs. The front of the house looked like a large cage with its top-to-bottom gate and the huge dog that growled from the inside.

The inside of the house was cozy. He told me to stay quiet and pointed me to the elongated sofa against the wall. It looked more like a sleeping bench with its comfy cushion and homey throw pillows. I stayed there while he went to the rooms hidden from my view. I heard voices. His "uncle" was awake. I studied the appearance of the dimly lit living room. A Japanese wall ornament. Exotic-looking table pieces. Two fine rugs. Snazzy TV set and players. This certainly wasn't a family house. And I thought I wouldn't be surprised if perhaps under brighter illumination, it could appear to be a gay home.

Vher's careful steps told me I should act like I wasn't there at all. He was doing something inside his room, but I can't tell. Suddenly, the uncle appeared from behind the wall. He was silhoutted against the light from the kitchen, and I knew he could see me well. "Good evening po," I said. But it was actually early morning. He nodded and went back to whence he came.

Vher returned in only his boxer shorts this time. He sat beside me and said, "Alam mo na, no?" I said yes. It's clear. They were lovers. Vher was 24, Floyd was 44. They've lived together for five years. Floyd lived in the house longer.

Vher started to touch me, then pointed to the TV and asked, "Gusto mong manood?" He put in straight porn that looked like something that could be entitled "Indiana Jones and the Lust Crusade." It seemed like high-quality xxx.

Then Vher whispered, "Huwag kang susubo para hindi ma-turn off." He didn't have to tell me twice. Floyd, apparently, likes his boys as straight as possible.

Vher unbuttoned my polo shirt, then my jeans, then started to suck me. Floyd suddenly appeared from behind the wall again and sat on a chair next to the sofa. He watched me as Vher did his thing, and I think Floyd was even touching himself.

Floyd was a reasonably handsome man with eyeglasses, mustache, and balding head. He had also somewhat of a respectable demeanor, even if he was just in boxers and T-shirt.

But I couldn't look at him long, nor could I look at Vher. I kept my eyes on the screen, where two blondes were being fucked on a yacht.

Then the expected happened. Floyd joined in on the action. He and Vher took turns sucking my cock and licking my body all over. At one point I think they were licking my cock at the same time. They did it slowly. They laid me down. I was completely naked except for my open polo shirt. I closed my eyes, I looked at the TV. Floyd kissed me hungrily. His tongue was invading and it was huge, a gigantic lapping life form. I didn't respond. I was so into the act of the straight boy being seduced by the gay couple.

It took long for me to cum. Vher later said it's because people used to being pleasured take longer than newbies. I agree.

When it was over, they asked me to stay the night. Floyd asked questions, and I gave my usual made-up answers. I was looking at Vher to see how he would react to my lies. I kept answering in polite po's and opo's, and Floyd told me to just call him Floyd.

But I said I had to go. Floyd retired to his bed, while Vher and I exchanged numbers in hushed breaths. He walked with me outside. Vher wanted me to stay so that we could have sex, just the two of us, when Floyd leaves in the morning. I said we'll do it some other day. We planned on it. I want to see him again, if only to press him for answers that he was vague about. Like, how did they meet? The guy seems very interesting, and I think he's friend material.

He said they never have sex anymore, only on occassions like tonight when they have somebody over. And even then, I don't think they touch each other. "Ibang level na," he said. "Nag-mature." Vher said it's usually Floyd who brings home the boys.

Question to self: Strange as this experience was, why do I find it so completely unshocking?

Inherited from many people on my friends list.

Instructions: Pick a band and answer only using the band's lyrics.

R.E.M.

01) Are you male or female?
We were little boys.
("Catapult")

02) Describe yourself.
The story is a sad one told many times.
("How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us")

03) How do some people feel about you?
Romantically, you martyred me and missed this story's point.
("Falls To Climb")

04) How do you feel about yourself?
I'm half a world away.
("Half A World Away")

05) Describe your girlfriend/boyfriend/interest.
Three miles of bad road.
("Crush With Eyeliner")

06) Where would you rather be?
Here's a scene, You're in the backseat laying down, the windows wrap around to sound of the travel and the engine. All you hear is time stand still in travel. You feel such peace and absolute.
("You Are the Everything")

07) Describe where you live.
The city on the river is a girl without a dream.
("So. Central Rain")

08) Describe how you live.
So fast, so numb that you can't even feel.
("So Fast, So Numb")

09) Describe how you love.
A simple prop to occupy my time.
("The One I Love")

10) Share a few words of wisdom:
Hey kids, rock and roll. Nobody tells you where to go.
("Drive")

Not everyone can carry the weight of the world.
("Talk About the Passion")