Word Stack or A Pile of Thoughts

These days, I wish it would rain.

Another hot day in Dumaguete, and the boredom is setting in.  It’s as if everything decided to be sticky and sunny and humid, leaving a damp shirt ("jabbar" in the common tongue) and beads of sweat dripping on the computer keyboard.   Even the wind blowing from the electric fan is hot, like someone stuck an oven behind it

What would I NOT give for an overcast sky and grey clouds?  A friend of mine put it quite well, that when the rain falls, the world turns into a haze of colors, the light losing its edge, and everything becoming soft and dreamy.  The air cools, and the sound of spinning electric fans are replaced by the staccatto of rain on the plants and tin roofs. 

Thunder chasing the wind. 

And then it the noise of rain crescendos, pouring, giving, pounding down; a thousand hammers of silvery water.

Then the quiet, the peaceful calm after the storm, the slow drip drip drip from the rooftops onto puddles in the mud. 

But alas, rain is a dream away, and I still have to wake up with the sun biting my tired eyes, my head on a hot pillow and sweaty sheets.

The Six-String Samurai is a movie set in the apocalyptic, post-nuclear future.  Las Vegas is the last city, ruled by The King, Elvis.  When Elvis dies, rockers from across the nation travel to city to lay claim to the throne.  Hounding the steps of every guitar-swinging doo-bag is Death, the master of Heavy Metal.  Except that the Six-String Samurai won’t stand for it, not as long as he has 1956 Hollow-Body. 

"Don’t touch my guitar man," he says quietly, adjusting his Buddy Holly glasses, "Don’t even think about touching my guitar."

He summons the great spinach monster with his rock n’ roll magic, and takes out the Bowler Boys with his japanese ju-jitsu moves.

"YOU’RE IT!!!" They’re the last words of The Kid, before Death sends his arrows to silence the rhythm.

The movie makes about as much sense as this blog.