sundays and everything in between
07.12.06 (7:27 am) [edit]you get to wake up. eat breakfast. take a bath. grab a pack of cigarettes and brew coffee.hang out in the garden with a good book. you get to read two chapters, light another stick of cigarette, sip your coffee. read another chapter. scream for more coffee and begin to get bored. so you write. ending up writing a thousand beginnings and really going nowhere. write about emptiness... write about melancholy..write about silence. its so easy to fall when you are alone. easy to say you're life is meaningless because one sunday afternoon you got to do nothing but spend time with yourself. easy because you dont have to wear a mask tattoed on the forehead with blissful mantras of enlightenment and bliss. easy because despite of the clamour for aloneness you really got to need someone somehow... really got to long for something. so you pick up the phone, call someone and hang up midway at the second ring. hmmm... you can call for pizza delivery just to get to talk to someone... call the radio station for a song but that's really a no-no... call the telephone customer service operator and complain about how come you're voice sound so meek on their headsets. you give up and contemplate on going somewhere instead. stuff all of your things(toothbrush, pen and notebook) in the bag. lock the doors. put on the lights then bang your head on the wall because you remember your broke and the freaking machine ate your card yesterday. so you decide not to leave and its not really a decision out of choice. you turn on the t.v. and be happy knowing you got 4 bottles of strong beer in your freezer. be happy knowing the fact that your going away and returning happened in a span of 30 minutes. be happy because its about to rain. be happy because you know you can write a blog and be happy because you dont have to make any sense. sunday. i wish im somewhere. i wish im with someone
post mortem 4
07.07.06 (11:55 pm) [edit]so im back, sitting with all sort of aloneness one would feel having been denied of good sleep . half naked against dishwalla and contemplating not to drink though outside are demons screaming for a shot of delirium. hmm.. where am i? i got to ask that everytime i wake up. always away.. always on somebody elses bed, somebody elses shirt, somebody elses tootbrush, somebody elses wife, somebody elses burial... always not home. away with my unwashead jeans and orange slipper (one lang po talaga kaya walang eesss). away with 2 months worth of neurological debt to elis. away without the prospect of returning. away with my mobile phone tucked on my drawer together with my boxers that i never really get to use and a thousand half-burnt letters proclaiming half-truths about love and suicide attempts. away with pandora's box while angry demigods hurl bolts of insane possibilities at me. like, one; the possibility of being ran over like a cat on the middle of lacson street while going to mcdo; two, the possibility of elis having a nervous breakdown with whatever amnesiac frenzy i am going through now; three, the possibility of drowning in lagoon; four, the possibility of acquiring wisdom while eating tuna sandwich; five, the possibility of finding myself dead for the past four freaking years. Naahhh, i cant finish until the twentieth but i think its really possible i can do the hola while writing a blog. I had air for dinner and it must be affecting whatever brain cells i have left. tantananaaaan!!!! i got to go, its time to watch the North Koreans launch their taepodong-2 missiles at my office in #49 north capitol road.
wednesdays and @^&!& adobe premiere 2.0!!!!!
07.07.06 (11:54 pm) [edit]when your adobe premiere is fucked up and you've got to do the same video twice you get drunk listening to deep forest's nocturne. when you're already rendering and the !@&*#! computer freezes you look for the tallest spot in the building and teach your computer how to fly. i've pushed the reset button twice and everything's fucked up everytime i start the project. yeah, i got to name it NNARMAC and Sagay Mood Video but im freaking pissed because those names are totally dumb and useless! fuck! fuck! fuck! i've go this urge right now to do this video using a typewriter. i've got this urge to screeeeeeaaaaaammmm heeeeell because two hours of work were sucked down into digital oblivion. yeah hello sunshine.
post mortem 3
07.07.06 (11:50 pm) [edit]now you do things you dont usually do on thursdays. you smile. you pat a friend on the back. you forget about smoking. youre kind to your officemates and even kinder to those people under you. you pay extra for the trisikad driver and talk to the old people that usually hang outside offices talking about how come the world did not end yet. you stop thinking about sex. you do things you would not do except when its friday like humming Mary had a Little Lamb during a staff meeting. smell your socks. scan your face in 300dpi resolution. stick your tongue on a webcam. enjoy the traffic and stare at a blank wall thinking about all of those blind people you've met on sidewalks. going away happens on fridays so i have two heavy bags with me now. the other with 10 tons of despair and the other with 10 tons of bliss.
post mortem 2
07.07.06 (11:49 pm) [edit]on thursdays the jeepney is either going too fast or going nowhere. you can pay six pesos instead of seven. you've got to smell sulfur, acid and rotten leather. you've got to see men begging on the sidewalk.you've got to hear your neurons popping one by one. stoic, catatonic and mad i submit myself to the slave grind only to shout when there is a need to whisper, only to fall asleep with a primed frag grenade on my weak hands. on thursdays youve got to think about when to stop burning to death. the phone rings and you answer it sober on thursdays but after you put down the phone youre drunk as a cat swimming on linseed oil. on thursdays youre glad your pants dont have stains of red paint. you've got to be glad you dont smell like all of those poisons you took the night before. on thursdays youve really got to think about how to sit properly when drunk. (buzz me if you've found a way to fit the universe in your head. mine's crowded with beer and despair.)
thursay morning. the sky is bleeding. my head is spinning. spinning with the walls and chairs and empty faces. spinning until everything is blurred. its almost like seeing raindrops eat me. beat me. wound me. numb me.
i still have this taste of alcohol in my mouth. went to the office an hour late. my smile is my excuse. why are there so many questions?
cant write well.. post another blog late. i must shake off this sleepiness. reader, who ever you are. thank you.
Beerful of Dreams
02.08.06 (5:36 pm) [edit]
..here's to Kahlil Gibran, Pablo Neruda, Rod MkCuen, Gu Cheng and Bono.
Maybe Love...
02.08.06 (5:22 pm) [edit]where will i go
when there is no more you?
when across the street is an emptiness.
a vacant lot for misery and
an inkblot of suicide letters
where will i paint this despair
i hold with trembling hands?
how will i know
that there is something more beyond you
when i dread the morn
knowing there will only be
void...void
forever beside me...
forever eating me...
forever living in me?
where will i sketch this
dreamless sleep of insomnia
when every microsecond i am
nagged with teardrops
dancing...meandering...digging
on my twilight face?
how can i write
what i have
and what i lost
when all the spaces in my heart
solicits pain in every stroke...
every word... every empty line.
im falling asleep
embracing subzero memories
beside an empty casket
called love.
MY NOTHINGNESS
02.06.06 (5:21 pm) [edit]i am a stranger on
tuesday morning
sketching teardrops
on the pavement
waiting for a bullet
to bite me in the back
with black memories.
i am a stranger standing
on the middle of a road from
nowhere leading nowhere
with my backpack full of sand
and a thousand ton of emptines
painted on my feet like those
dreams you wish you have every
night that becomes
nothing but darkness.
i am a stranger looking
for pieces of mystery...
of why there isnt love without leaving?
sunset on my face
shadow on my back i search
the sky for something to hold on to,
finding strangeness in the arms of
aloneness and abandonement.
i am a stranger wounded by life
waiting for a prayer
and a ride back home.
i am stranger waiting
for a song.
nothing
01.23.06 (7:56 pm) [edit]went somewhere, nowhere going in circles on my island of emptiness. sadness. pain gripping my soul hold me, oh stranger help me find my way
vacation
05.11.05 (4:45 pm) [edit]Wednesday long gone in my mind. stuck on a routine universe i am dying to get out of here. i want to go to apo island or maybe panglao with a notebook and nothing else. its been a long time since i've really written and it feels like im losing a bit of my soul each day. i need a break from this plastic universe.
raindrops and time machine
05.05.05 (12:08 am) [edit]listening to george winston's rain, painting each sylallable of sigh a raindrow across the window. i think im starving. dying on this 8 to 5 malady with no poetry. lust. lust. lust. to escape this gray reality of making love to plastic. im wearing orange, no more black shirt for the week. gotta make sure to make myself drunk tonight. where are we? ohh blog blog blog world of insanity, where are my thoughts taking me? where can i rest?
blake & immortality
03.30.05 (4:51 pm) [edit]a long lenten break. i'd been going some place - islands of isolation and dreamy landscapes.i lost myself somewhere in between words.
tell me? how can we be immortals?
Dying Friday
02.17.05 (4:33 pm) [edit]abyss
thats where i am
with infinite darkness
and nothingness
i become
the dreamless
tragic,
aping life
on a silent movie.
Wishing-well-wishing-death-flashback-shit
02.16.05 (8:15 pm) [edit]id like to go back when i was twenty one
and dying
dying for darkness and blood
wrapped on a vine of poetry
dying in alcoholic dreams
of immortality
guitar at midnight
and poetry readings on crossroads.
all the running the giving the taking
i am dying
for a sliver
of life.
empty rooftops
and yelling at full moons.
sketching nude images
of gods and demons
giving in to silence.
i am dying
for a fragment of myself.
sleeping on sandbeach
moon rises and whiskey
with platonic friends
singing the broken chords
of the night
with broken voices.
i am dying
to be broken.
id like to go back when i was twenty one
and dying
to fly with broken wings
and write names on walls
proclaiming love each saturday
to hangovers
and life.
The Death of a Thursday Morning
02.16.05 (7:51 pm) [edit]I am gone
distant. running empty handed
into void or oblivion
curving unknown paths
on feminine breasts
asking forgiveness
for venturing too far.
i am gone.
incoherent footsteps latched
on incoherent visions
of death and surrender
i am gone
through maze and maze
of words
woven on trembling hands-
my trembling hands
asking for innocence
to reconsider leaving.
i am gone
with twenty thosand headaches
and cigarette sticks
on my wake
i am gone
looking for love
in unknown depths
and utter madness.
Sutras of Sorrow
01.24.05 (9:37 pm) [edit]with parched lips i uttered your
name. each syllable bouncing
off on darkened walls. turning
into a sigh asking forgiveness.
with a wounded soul
i walked the streets of our pasts
hearing the ghost of our laughter
retracing the cadaver of footsteps
leading to the alcove
where we learned what love is.
i bathed on falling leaves
with a sliver of your face
haunting me in every corner.
i sat on the sidewalk,
my hands embracing each other
knowing without doubt
that all is lost
and only ashes of Us
remain.
confounded with decay
i came there to see something
only to be blinded
by absence, time and regret.
its nothing, i said to myself
its just my time to remember
what once was.
i felt sorrow gripping me.
it was more than just remembrance.
vampiric
01.24.05 (6:19 pm) [edit]I woke, alone and feverish,
on bloodstained sheets
having made love
to an exotic notion
of spending eternity with you.
i woke, alone with a back ache
and an appetite
to remember every moment
of last night. hearing your whispers
all over again. grasping for the
words you left behind.
i woke alone,. trying to shake
this dreadful feeling
that i can only have you
between heartbeats.
can only contain you
in the spaces between my fingertips.
Plastic Bottles of Dreams
01.24.05 (5:31 pm) [edit]Loneliness is something i can have in my heart
something that i claim sleeping within my soul
its like an inkblot on my favorite shirt
or a nagging toothache that wont go away.
its more than just an idea planted on my head
or a platform to dive in a pool of poetry.
my tears are real
crystalline. mute and real.
and i grope each morning for memory
of a thousand years of sadness
sifting through the darkness
for some light. i am twenty
but i feel like id been here all along.
what sort of sky could yield to the beating
of my heart? what sort of consolation will the
rain bring? its tuesday and tuesdays are always
deadly. now i have this bluish fantasy
of sleeping all day.
i love; but in the end there is only me.
Poetry of Sadness
01.23.05 (6:11 pm) [edit]i am lost
on the streets of my childhood waiting for love to come in the august of my mind.
i am lost
in the swirling haze of cigarette smoke. Choking my dreams, turning them into blue illusions of madness
i am lost
in my need to write in the language that only my heart can decipher though noone is out there.
i am lost
and i sketch my sanity on the wall of bathrooms. trying to find a way to go back. trying to mark my passage.
i am lost
for an eternal second in the arms of dakness, groping for whatever comfort it may bring to my cold soul. meandering on the edge. almost losing grip.
i am lost
Synthetic reBirth
01.23.05 (3:57 pm) [edit]i'd been going everywhere. into the abysmal arms of solitude. into the eluding darkness of life. i'd been going everywhere on a monday morning, being led by a generic keyboard into unknown realms on the sidewalks of this city i cursed a thousand times. i'd been going everywhere thats why i have'nt been here for awhile.
Everywhere excludes Here.
I miss you.
Hitch Hiking
01.05.05 (7:56 pm) [edit]One stick of cigarette, an afternoon of puffing smoke dragons with anxiety on its back. Black coffee, dread locks and flat tires. The clock is at two.
There are many faces on the street across the window. Woman insane screaming "fuck me, fuck me!" with a diet of air and teardrops. Everyone is oblivious. I am too.
Someone barefooted walking on asphalt at midafternoon. Its just like walking on barbed wire or some yoga-blah-blah firewalking except that his mind must be off somewhere looking for places to die. Must have hurt like hell.
Tires screeching twice every nanosecond. the smell of unburnt gasoline strong in the air. everything volatile. everything hopeless. 5 pesos jeepney rides going nowhere.
Masks with legs holding hands on pedestrian lanes waiting for the caravan of oil tankers at light-speed to end. The endlessness is obvious but there is nothing much to do but wait.
Waiting for answers. Waiting for something immortal to die.
One stick of cigarette. a flood of thoughts and two pm is gone.
