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Feeling stoned now.

A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.”

Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured.

A leper in those days is a social outcast, marginalized by society. There is no hope for the person. No future. He would be left for the dead, a walking dead, if not stoned to death first.

Skin would be peeling from the disfigured body. Sores all over. No one would go near the “unclean”, for the fear of infection.. let alone touch him.

But he was touched.. and healed.. and had a new life.

It just the matter of getting on our knees.. right?

I just survived another war of attrition. There is no such thing as a “victory” here. I hate it when it comes to this. It’s about everyone getting what they want, and leaving it to other people to deal with it. I just want what I deserve, most of the time anyway :p


Those were the days. Just remembered all the stupid things everyone did..

Why all my boss say I look unhappy? That could be a good thing…

The Slow Food Movement

The Ark of Taste

Old man’s bottle mishap leads to his death

Still don’t know how we went on that calamitous streak last night. Especially after the bright beginning =.=

At least we got a burger for our troubles! Plus the slow brain movement today.

“Do you ever dream, my friend?” Jarlaxle asked.

“Everyone dreams,” Entreri replied. “Or so I am told. I expect that I do, though I hardly care to remember them.”

“Not night dreams, the drow explained. “Everyone dreams, indeed, at night. Even the elves in our Reverie find dream states and visions. But there are two types of dreamers, my friend, those who dream at night and those we dream in the day.”

He had Entreri’s attention.

“Those night-dreamers,” Jarlaxle went on, “they do not overly concern me because there is nowhere for them to rise. But those who dream by day . . . those, my friend, are the troublesome ones.”

“Could Jarlaxle not consider himself among that lot?”

“Would I hold any credibility at all if I did not admit my troublesome nature?”

“Not with me.”

“There you have it then,” said the drow.

He paused and looked to the west, and Entreri did to, watching the sun slip lower.

“I know another secret about daydreamers,” Jarlaxle said at length.

“Pay tell,” came the assassin’s less-than-enthusiastic reply.

“Daydreamers alone are truly alive,” Jarlaxle explained. He looked back at Entreri, who matched his stare. “For daydreamers alone find perspective in existence and seek ways to rise above the course of simple survival.”

Promise of the Witch King – R. A. Salvatore


Am I plain lazy? Do I have low ambitions? Am I easily contented? Am I guilty of ignorance? Am I drowning in the sea of mediocrity? Am I losing out in the face of rising competition and limited opportunities?

Do I care? Do I have to? Am I tempted by carrots from the people who want my “help”? What are the things I have to give up to get “there”? How much is enough? Is helping them a something constructive afterall? Or is it hindering me from living a “full” life? Do I know what a fulfilling life is?

Have  I have no dream? Do I just need to find some motivation? Would I rather lead, than be led? Is any other inspiration necessary? In the end, what am I driven by?

Am I just plain lazy? -_-

He gained their hard earned respect. Respect fit for only for a deserving few. Those whom they know can stand strong amidst what fells the common man.

But deep down, he knows he is no better than them. How well he weaves his tale. The web of deception few can break free of. Yet they feed on his every word. Like it’s their only taste of salvation.

No, in fact, he is worse than them.

Perhaps they saw through him anyway.

Again I shall find no rest tonight.

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