Comments Posted By nom de luc

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The tiny buddha replica she bought at Thailand a couple years ago also went missing along with everyone else’s belongings. Her buddha–which she used as a paperweight–was the 38th thing that was stolen on the series of thefts happening on her workplace. She wasn’t really concerned on her lost buddha but the serial thief lurking around her office.

» Posted By nom de luc On 04.20.2016 @ 7:26 am


He thought he’d impress her by making her a playlist of songs he handpicked himself, sort of like a mixtape, but nobody makes those anymore, and she probably doesn’t even have a cassette player at home either. So he hijacked her ipod that she only uses everytime she goes jogging and put the songs in there instead.

» Posted By nom de luc On 04.19.2016 @ 8:00 am

He thought he’d impress her by making her a playlist of songs he handpicked himself, sort of like a mixtape, but nobody makes those anymore, and she probably doesn’t even have a cassette at home either. So he hijacked her ipod that she only uses everytime she goes jogging and put the songs in there instead.

» Posted By nom de luc On 04.19.2016 @ 7:56 am


I had never seen a face which turned violet that much that it left me in shock and disbelief, someone from the restaurant rushed at the commotion and did a Heimlich maneuver on the poor man.

» Posted By nom de luc On 04.18.2016 @ 8:23 am


It was a loud thud. Even though I was in the other room, the sound of her falling down the stairs sounded like the rumbling of thunder on a stormy day. Everyone rushed to her to see if she was ok, she sat up and responded to their worries with a smile and a deep cut on her forehead.

» Posted By nom de luc On 03.17.2016 @ 10:19 am


She could see what he was trying to do, but she still couldn’t fully grasp the intent behind his actions. You could say that her hunches were still in its peripheral stages.

» Posted By nom de luc On 03.14.2016 @ 11:52 am


Everyday. Every damn day. I had to convince myself over and over and over that I’m cut out for this. That I can be a better version of myself now than I was five minutes ago. Sure, talent takes you far, there’s no questioning that. But I’m a firm believer that hard work takes you somewhere too, albeit rather slowly, but at least somewhere. This is the first and last time that I’ll ambiguously write about my struggles.

» Posted By nom de luc On 03.11.2016 @ 8:47 am


“Not today.”
He then left without asking any further questions although he knew by the scent of his client’s breath and how he looked a bit shaken that he assumed–although he was very sure–that maybe he had drank a bit too much the night before.

» Posted By nom de luc On 03.01.2016 @ 9:57 am


Despite the extra day of the leap year everyone seems to make a big deal of, the atmosphere on the studio also seemed to be on high spirits after finding out that the actor who’ve been they rooting for for almost 25 years already finally won his first Oscar.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.29.2016 @ 8:47 am


“Margin of error?”
“+0.5 to +0.9.”
“Pressure lid status?”
“Pressure stabilized.”
“How many minutes left?”
“T minus 20.”
“Good, turkey’s almost done.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.25.2016 @ 9:54 am


The entire studio was covered in dust, some of the tiles on the floor were either cracked or missing, and the ceiling clearly would leak on rainy days based on the evident water marks and numerous empty pails scattered around the room. The only focal–and selling–point that this studio has to offer is its scenic 270 degree view of the city because of its corner space configuration.
“How much?” She asked the building manager.
“$800 a month, excluding electricity and water.” The manager replied.
“…Well?” The manager said, doing his best to close the deal, and to break the few seconds of silence that enveloped the room.
“I’ll take it.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.24.2016 @ 7:58 am


“Never underestimate quantity, work on the quality later on. If you wanna get known around The Boroughs fast, bomb hard, and I mean no-time-for-rest bombing hard.” Those were Trane’s last words before he got rammed while doing a piece down the subway around 15th. Now I’m here tagging ‘Trane02’ on every corner of this city. Tagging hard, and I mean no-time-for-rest-but-stay-alive tagging hard.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.18.2016 @ 1:42 pm


She knew very well what grinds his gears, and she became really adept on abusing this exploit of hers that she discovered in him. “Such an ungrateful girl.” is all what he can say from all the constant mockery and insults he gets from her on a daily basis. But despite their cat-and-mouse relationship, they knew that they needed each other.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.17.2016 @ 9:18 am


She clearly was very drunk. She swung her handbag recklessly on anyone that daringly tried to calm her down, like how a caveman swings his club in a mad frenzy. This was a side of her I didn’t expect to see sooner.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.15.2016 @ 6:31 am


It’s a given fact that most of her charm emanates from her aureating wit and awkwardness, but she’s such a klutz that if you take your eyes off her for a few seconds, some ludicrous event was bound to happen. One time during one of our trips at the library, she accidentally bumped her toe on one of the large hardwood bookshelves lined at the lobby and she can’t do anything about it but whimper and internalize all that pain she was feeling. It was very funny, but very damn cute at the same time.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.10.2016 @ 9:20 am


Three years ago in architecture school, I recall my professor–who’s a landscape architect–discussing the history of gardening. Apparently, ‘garden’ was derived from the words ‘gan’ and ‘eden’ which in Hebrew translates as; ‘to defend’ and ‘paradise’ respectively. I remember back then while I grudgingly wait for her class to end, I sarcastically thought that if ‘garden’ meant ‘to defend paradise’, then technically, gardeners are the guardians of the yard.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.09.2016 @ 6:34 am


“Why should it start with ‘fateful’, and why does it sell so much?” Uttered the young writer gazing on the blank document right in front of him.

Sitted in a modified strunch; feet crossed under his legs, back slouched, chin resting on his left fist. He holds down the backspace button until there’s nothing left to delete but his dreams of being published.

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.08.2016 @ 9:53 am


She never felt this small, especially now that she got lost somewhere deeper within the foliage of her own emotions. She thought, how can anyone else find her if she cannot even find herself?

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.07.2016 @ 12:25 pm


“How much for this one?”
“That? You can have it.”
“But it’s a signed first edition, you can’t give it away just like that.”
“It’s fine, take it. Besides, you’re the only one who comes here and hoards a shelfful, consider that a bonus.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.04.2016 @ 9:36 pm


“Don’t you go scientifical on me.”
“Scientransient, scientology, you get the point.”
“Just stop.”
“Can’t you speak more than a word or two?”
“Your dress. Colorful.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.02.2016 @ 7:38 am


“Okay, you had the rib-eye; $18.49, a glass of cabernet–”
“Wait, are you splitting the bill?”
“Of course i’m splitting the bill.”
“Oh come on, pick up the check.”
“Why would I pick up the check?”
“You just sold your 3 millionth record, you’re multi-platinum status. Pick up the check.”
“Don’t you look at me that way, not because I have money now doesn’t mean–”
“You know what, here I’ll pay for it.”
“No, we’ll split the bill, 50/50. Here, take my credit car–wait, where’s my wallet?”
“F*ck you, not this again, you clever son of a bitch.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 02.01.2016 @ 7:39 am


She felt the sadness crawling inside her creeping every inch of her limbs until she collapsed knees down on the pavement and gushed out all the emotions she was suppressing all this time. It’s been a year. It’s been a f*cking year. The longest year she had to pretend and convince herself that she’s whole, that her fragmented self somehow would hold itself until time heals all wounds and does its job done, until–in some pipe dream–he returns back from the grave.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.31.2016 @ 8:38 am


“So, will you take the position?”
“I’m not sure I’m the right guy for it.”
“Of course not, none of you guys are. But rules are rules, someone’s gotta fill that empty seat y’know. So I’ll ask you again, will you take the position or not?”
“Gladly, sir.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.29.2016 @ 6:20 am


He confined himself shut inside his room; boarded up the windows, doors, and duct taped every inch of opening that light and air passes through. He’s not really sure what–or whom–he’s afraid of, maybe it’s the drugs kicking in again, or the paranoia kicking itself out of his LSD-fried brain.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.28.2016 @ 6:28 am


She read it right. No matter how many times she squints on the hazy display of her smartphone, the app update stated; “Fixed grammatical errors, fewer typos excepted.”

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.27.2016 @ 6:35 am


“Do you know why we’re called the Crimson Templars, newbie?”

“I’ve heard a few stories at the pub, sir.” The young novice replied to the seasoned general.

“Aside from the red-dyed armour cladded on our bodies, the Templars before us were once bloodthirsty assassins before they became valiant knights.”

“They were swift killers, always on the move. Very efficient.” The general continued on telling the tale to the newbie.

“The red came from all the blood smudged on their clothes from all the targets they’ve assassinated; the redder their cloaks are, the more sly and savage they are.”

“But they’re not typical mercenaries, they can never be hired, and they only kill bad seeds society; murderers, pillagers, molesters, the baddest of the bunch. Once, they killed a spy supposedly sent to kill the King. The kingdom recognized their actions and they were honoured, eventually these assassins became the King’s elite guards.”

“Fascinating tale, sir. Very different from what I’ve been told, but yours makes more sense. Was that from the history books, sir?” The newbie asked his general.

“No, some bloke from the pub told me.” The general replied.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.26.2016 @ 5:33 am


It was either death or death, he just had to choose which one he preferred; death by jumping off the steep cliff behind him, or death by a hundred bullets from the rifles pointed right in front of him.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.24.2016 @ 9:07 am


I don’t understand why he lived on such an apartment that had an odd room configuration, it doesn’t even have a front door. One should go through the maintenance room first and then pass through another room where they keep the brooms and mops before you even reach his unit. It’s like those secret rooms you only see in spy films.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.22.2016 @ 9:37 am


It wasn’t perfect; not bad, but not quite good either. I guess it would fall under between satisfactory and needs-a-little-more-polish for it to be quality work. But she didn’t mind the blemishes, as long as it meant something sentimental, or has some history attached to it, that’s good enough for her to buy such subpar furniture and cramp it in along with her other subpar furniture on his subpar living room of his subpar house.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.21.2016 @ 10:10 am


Little is known about her past since she became the ‘Lady of Letters’; camouflaging her own story through others’ stories, mending her torn self by fixing others’ torn selves. There’s no trade secret–though rival stations are convinced there is–why her segment is the highest rating advice segment on the radio right now. It’s just that she’s as broken and lost and hopeless as her listeners that call to her hotline every night.

» Posted By nom de luc On 01.19.2016 @ 8:37 am

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