update

bloody busy
been so messed up
currently struggling on studies
working as business writer/assistant
wanting so much too hang out with friends
but having so much fun in sch...
i love my buds!!!
peace y'all
sch ends march 18

a worse part of the day

these eyelids moan
as if freshly carved
and the slits are too narrow
to see the sunrise smile

welded onto the bedsheets
futile attempts to pull back
dreams that run like water
loosen up, loosen up

that stinging, acrid taste
the numbness of the room
drowning among pillows
white, irascible pillows

as the bubbles file out the sink
as the fog on the mirror sighs away
as towels and curtains stretch
godspeed, godspeed

do not read this

for the first time since god knows when, i woke up today fresh and happy. this is, you must comprehend, is a moment in a million. for all my teenage life, i've been waking up with a heavy heart, grumpy, tired and still wanting to go back to sleep but unable to. i basically hate waking up. but this morning was magical.

it might be my dream ( i can't really remember. i've had dreams of similar context. like i belonged to some secret society and where up to something fishy), it might be mr magorium's wonderful emporium (i like it so much. made me so happy). it might be because i'm going to buy na my drums. i might be because i just learnt how to solve a rubik's cube. it might be because i learnt new djembe techniques. it might be because i learnt not to follow other's advices and learnt the importance of letting go of yourself and trusting friends (which i haven't tried yet. wait lag kasi).

but for the first time since november 1, i am happy. it's been hell for the past month but right now. i feel so light. enlightenment ang puta. it was the moment i woke up. praning. why cant i be a buddhist. stupid that i dunno why I'm happy. so dumb. i dun really care na that if my source of happiness is chimerical kasi desperado. baliw. i might be going crazy. well i consider myself mad anyways.

THE MAYBE ECLIPSE OF A FRIENDSHIP

a stroll in the darkness
in the tamed darkness
the chill endears like a blanket

voices splatter the void
yet singular as before

in the anticipating darkness
to confidently grope
for nothing

maybe for the feel of a knife
the stab spreads warmth

in the clear darkness
assured with sundry plans
certain with a plethora of strategy

if only initiation was possible
as this eclipse is a blotch of chains

in the effervescing darkness
where strings of misery
translate into fleshy ropes of anguish

with a vacuum of monsters
the insanity expands

in the crammed darkness
nothing presents itself
and she become invisible

or am i the one who really
fails to exist

in the darkness

decayed

i am dead
so fucking dead
no, i wish i am dead
i'm dying to face death
why am i so stupid to be holding on to this fucked up life
why must history repeat itself over and over
this sucks
so much
everyday, for 20 days i've been dying
i have had 20 deaths
no, every heart beat is death
and 20 days seemed like 20 knives and 20 decades
why the fuck am i still breathing?
maybe someday i'll live again without having to die too much
yet it seems so impossible
the future i see is pitch black
who knows what things breed in darkness?
yet in darkness they breed for there is no light
because when there is light, there is shadow
and the shadows always eat them alive
so they stay in darkness
and wait for death
thus in darkness you have friends you could never see
in light you are alone and your carcass exposed
but it is only subjected under you own scrutiny
i wanna die
now
so i don't need to wait in the darkness for death
i want to be eaten alive to end this absurd life one and for all
FUCK!

tejido's exhibit at 1/of gallery, serendra

can't bear with this anymore

you there, inside the ship, can you feel the havoc outside?

(digital image)

not all the time you are present

which is better; to experience a harrowing amount of pain en masse or to be exposed to a comparable degree of torment cumulatively? is it more preferable to be suddenly stabbed with a butcher knife or be pricked with a needle daily (on a singular location)?

when one suffers the impact of disturbing forces collectively, the body also reacts to these forces collectively. these collective reactions occurs concurrently with the intense forces. in these situations, one is hypersensitive to these reactions. to feel the trickle of moist blood as if it is the gush of a roaring waterfall. the throbbing is like a vehement fist pounding on the door. the heartbeats are like successive explosions of bombs. the tears sting the eyes as if attempting to drown it in the ocean bed. the sweat like an awkward blanket of grease. the gasps for air sound like a production of a humongous, malfunctioning machine. the tension of the muscles is like a metal vise clamped on wood. the screams like the sands of the shore, each grain forced down the throat and ears. all these mordantly imply that throughout the pandemonium, we are still alive. all these are simultaneously happening and the victim desires ardently for it to cease. but once it does, the agony is gone as quickly as it came. when the blood clots, the throbbing stops, the heartbeats calm down, the tears dries up, the sweat wiped, the breathing slows down, the tension eases and the screams echoes off, all that is left is mirror of memories. one can see those memories only when one looks at oneself, down at the deepest depths.

what of those who bear with the daily needle pricks? there are those who are affected with a similar amount of pain but the agony is moderated as it is divided and delivered on a stretched duration. there are three stages one often encounters here. at first, the constantly present disturbing force (which exists throughout the three stages) could be neglected. one can feel the pain but dismisses it because of its paucity. like a speck of dirt on your pants. this might be the shortest stage depending on one's tolerance or rather, insensitivity. secondly, the minute forces are eventually compiled and so the torment is concentrated. it has now become hard to ignore. like an ugly, brown stain on you pants. the spot where one is continuously pricked now becomes irritated. in this stage, the pain reaches its peak. third, there is a possibility of acclimation to the force hereafter, which also results to apathy. one has gotten accustomed to the hurt until one is immune to it. pain is united with the victim. thus, one is indifferent to whether the pain will cease or not because there is a speculation that no alteration will take place. that all will be the same with or without pain. in reality, there is, and one will only know when an actual change is felt. until then, one is numb not only to pain but to other emotions as well because of the severity of the damage done. one will feel nothing. we could say, it is almost as if one is dead.

either way, we could not escape one fact; that there is pain. it is always present, thought not all the time. we must accept that we cannot live life without it, though we could find ways to elude it. However, when you do have to face pain and you have a choice, which would you choose?

won't you comprehend

i was talking to a star earlier

me: i'm sick of it. if i could puke it out i would. too much. too long.

star: what is this subject you speak of?

me: i've been dragging my feet and the metal chains anchored onto it are screeching as it caress the cemented ground. the chains. they cut my ankles. but you know what, this struggle is the only thing i have to boast of, though not a soul knows. oh, i'm sure of the ideas they have. but let them contemplate on uncertainty.

star: would you care to explain that.

me: i have a gem buried deep inside my muddy heart. i alone could see that gem shine. yet sometimes, it's incandescence peeps through loose soil. audience nearby can only guess where are those silky rays coming from.

star: why don't you dig it out?

me: i'm ashamed. ironic that i call it a gem huh?

star: why don't you just throw it then? give it to someone else?

me: are you retarded or what? call yourself a star. of course i have to dig it out first right? like i said, i'm ashamed to do so. plus, without it, i'm rendered inhuman. empty. void, nothing. like a temple without an altar, without columns or poles, my body would crumble.

star: a soul?

me: no, it's not my soul. i think i've lost that. or it's rotting somewhere above those trees.

star: i do not comprehend.

me: how could you? your not human.

star: no, elaborate.

me: you know those bus tickets.

star: you are hard to follow

me: i used to collect them. they're so pretty. something about them that i can't quite put a finger on. but i never really knew how to ride a bus. unaware of where it leads, when it stops. despised its moldy, deteriorated seats, its narrow aisle, its dried smell. i would rather take the train, but if wasn't for those enchanted, retro, cool bus tickets. oh, its nobility, it's refined memories.

star: i have never rode a bus before

me: of course you haven't you dumb fuck. your a bloody star for the love of buddha. your rich, fragile, pristine, you would only dirty your polished shoes and crisp white coat. though there's a possibility that your glory would also incinerate the bus down to cosmic dust.

star: i guess your right

me: god, i wanna die.

star: pardon? have you changed our topic?

me: what topic?

star: are you feeling suicidal?

me: eww. no. i'm not that stupid. you think i'm weak and dimwitted to result to suicide? i treasure life as it is.

star: but you just said you wanted to die.

me: do i have to explain everything? anyways, i take pleasure in explaining myself. i'm a balloon. i have an impulse to soar high. higher. and a child keeps me down. i like children. they're anchors to the ground. like those metal chains. i'm tied to their little hands and bob around. but the thing is. it's sembreak. i'm so fucking bored. and there's no one there. no family. i never had any family. no friends. they are all far off to some land with their own children. and the child is gone. so i'm alone, desperate, and with an impulse to soar high. so i do. i'm light. unstable. i fly away from earth, away from reality. far above the clouds. into space. outer space. where there's no air. no water. no life. only darkness. then light. then darkness. and more darkness.

star: that's why you are here!

me: wow! you clever! duh. i'm on my way higher. maybe, even reach the sun. so that she may incinerate me into cosmic dust. like a bus. do you get it now?

star: get it? no. not quite

me: too bad then. i'll see you when i see you.

it really was a star assholes. it's not a metaphor of some person. no. acting deep is it?. and yes, i am perfectly sane.

ellen and her stripped socks

i took these pics from the tv itself. spur of the moment. see that red ribbon on the top right corner with the 2nd ave logo? on the second picture? it's for breast cancer. October is breast cancer awareness month. so check your breasts. pinch away!

i'm so bloody bored i feel like dying

have you listened to RJ-UR(underground radio) 105.9fm?

god, they play good music there. from classic to modern rock. mostly rock. i've heard bush, ted nugent, led zep, mica, stone temple pilots, and even bjork once. like woah! it's a nice fresh break from the stupid, retarded, commercialized music we have now a days.

they play local rock music too. not bad you know, the local stuff. but i'm not much of a fun though.

very very cool music! great for artists, stoners, alcoholics, musicians and music lovers. sometimes the commercials are fun. i would listen to it 24/7 if i can!

but i have a huge problem with the frequency. static all the time. and their DJs SUCK! their cheesy, monotonous and they stutter a lot! like they mispronounce every other word. it's soooo bad. i mean, ok, their diction isn't that bad. but i just want to tear my hair off because it gets frustrating when they keep on stuttering. retarded, tongue-tied baboons.

but anyways, it's cool. try it one time! two time!

love conquers all

i am a ravenous tiger
an unquenchable hunger
masters my wild soul

run away! far away

i am a meek house
my sole purpose in life
is to protect and comfort

come and go as you wish

i am a pail of stagnant water
quivering at the slightest touch
but there's a sea storm

leave me be and it goes stronger

i am a weary bird
quavering wings
barely keep me in air

i need soft, warm branches

i am a big, big tree
take my wood, fruit, sap
take me, take me

i give you my all

i am a human being
with the power to create
and destroy

but love conquers all

having swings

wake me up when september ends

debuts (18th birthdays) this september

breathing for eternity

to see you, even a glimpse, is to witness the lilies bud in spring. your smile is the sparkling of each petal with new life as it welcomes summer. to hear your voice is to listen to the breeze caressing each blade of grass, each blooming rose in a bewitched field. to feel you is feeling each raindrop be relinquished by the raging storm and fall onto the earth as a blessing. your eyes enchant the evening sky. to touch you is to touch the clouds. when your close to me heaven is near. to know you is knowing angels do actually exist. to dream of you is dreaming a fairytale that does not have a happy ending because it never ends. breathing you in is to breathe for eternity. to thinking of you is the only thing i must do everyday so that each day is complete. to remember you is remembering that i am alive and that life is worth living. being with you is searching across and below the expanse of the oceans and realize that home is what i've been looking for.

love. men have disgraced you, tampered with your sovereignty. you're a diamond entombed in mud. occasionally, some will exhume you to your former your luster. but more often than not, they blame you for their failures, their mistakes, the consequences of maltreating your power. they associate their pain with you. how could they? love. you are far from these. these miseries, these complications, these misfortunes are far from you. and they push you away. love. they reject you. they consider you as evil. even men's religions and philosophies condemn you. and they use these to defile your name. it is not you. it is how they practise you. they have made their sins synonymous with you. they mask their trespasses with you. but without you, a dismal world this would become, though it already is. love.

clown by day, inamorato by night

across the tents, day saunters
faceless children struggle
bore through a frosted window

impasto lipstick, trademark smile
shrivelled jester hat
tripping on elongated shoes

as the grey afternoon droops
night's screams flare
reflected by awakened eyes

that scent of sweet strawberries
at times, of exotic coconut
linger, ever so genteel, and inspire

polished songs of rustling leaves
stars painting a luminous genre
divulge tumultuous sentiments

oh the tumult, indeed
brusque, irregular existence
the great tumult, indeed

the spaghetti stains

remember the spaghetti stains
on the clothes
sides of the mouth and cheeks


the gashes on the knees
dirty feet hands
unkempt hair

do you miss them?

the rhymes we sang at school
crooked Es and the awkward Ls
the haphazard but colourful drawings
pure in its spontaniety

and skimming story books
discarding those without pictures
if they do
delved into their straw houses
their vanila castles
ride with winged unicorns
until they were translated to reality

climb trees, pretending to be wendy
or dress up as a princess in gowns

entering houses
itching to look into those cabinets
those ajar doors
their knobs varnished and beguiling
oh the worlds inside them
treasure chests
hidden rooms
antique rocking chairs
fading pictures
tattered books
and what's that thing?

the bed used to be hard to climb onto
the garden used to stretch to eternity

and perhaps most of all

to hold mother's hand again
as when crossing the road
be carried by uncle
face fitting snugly on his shoulders

under dinning tables with sister
counting polished shoes

numb

i think of you. i think about you most of the time. yet, sometimes, i don't. and those "sometimes" are when i am distracted by the intricacies of life. they are those scattered rays of light that elude the cave walls, flowers that color the desert, poems buried in a thick atlas. they are god's gift to me and i am blessed with quietude.

for when i do think of you, a war is waged inside of me. each feelings grapple with another. the wounds are all mine. the blood is all mine. the deaths are all mine. so each time i think of you, i deal with a thousand wounds, a rain of blood and a million deaths. inside me. where no one can see. no one. not even you. and you probably go on enduring your life not knowing that someone is wounded, someone is bleeding, someone is dying because of you.

imagine if i do think of you all the time. well, maybe i did or i've gotten used to it.

homesick

I WANNA GO BACK TO PHILIPPINES!
SOME ONE PLEASE!!!
this is writ ironically

i'm a withering bee
not a flower to be found
the only flower
that waters my soul