Quintessence

Of swords and shields and the immutable perfection in between.

2009-12-09T01:28:11Z

The sword is unsheathed once more, and the shield is put up again. In the climax of this war waged on an ice floe that never will melt, we stand opposed. Trapped in a detente--or a stalemate--we neither move nor speak. I look at you and wonder: are you a mirage borne of this cold and deathly breeze or are you the sprite that will tear me to pieces for even seeking out your favors?

And the sun sets. Blood trickles down the slopes of the banks. The ice simmers under the warmth of a thousand casualties that never will rise again. You bask in the resulting heat, while I watch you with feigned impunity. I count the moments as they pass, knowing that this is just one long era of silence. And that in this era, the first move is the admission of weakness.

Twilight comes. The stars start to become our audience. All around us are the dead, breathing the air that is never theirs to use anymore. We still haven't moved. We still haven't reached a decision. And we still haven't accepted the reality of this pain we're trying to evade.

But as night beckons and the nocturnal blanket starts to crawl, the heart moves that which the mind cannot. So I let loose the shield. I bring up my sword arm. High, high, high above me, I raise this blade. And in one swift move, I turn it around and stab myself through the chest.

The pain is staggering, but I know that no words will escape me. The blood will be much, but I know that I will never run out of it. Your tears, they will be many, but I know that I've killed you as much as I've killed myself.

And things end. And we remember yet again that we are mortal.

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Eloquence is the sword that maims the fool. Ambiguity is the shield that protects the wise. And so we stand where we fell and learn to take delight in this moment of utter defeat.

Because you go Amazon on chocolate chip cookies...

2009-12-06T15:38:26Z

I will quote your daughter:

MOOOOOOOOM!

The ambiguous nature of things often gives rise to better understanding.

2009-11-23T01:13:38Z

Such a title, I presume, should merit some sort of an explanation. However, I invoke the line, "It is what it is" here. See, really, I can only say so much without divulging more than is necessary. Take note that this is not an attempt at being vague. This is just an objective observation of recent circumstances, sans the facts that makes people all giddy and mushy and go "boo" on you.

I will not embellish this thought-turned-text with any more seemingly misleading statements. I just had to issue the prior "warning" so as to fool myself into believing that I am not happier than I think I am. I think what I really want to say is that...

... these last three days were simply the best weekend of my life so far.

Smile for me, motherfuckers.

The morning light beckons, and all that you love will be taken away.

2009-11-20T14:02:08Z

Of the many things that we do or say for and to those who matter to us, there is one question that festers somewhere within. It is a question we try so hard to evade and yet we try so hard to answer.

How much more are you going to take from every heart you're willing to break?

This should do for now.

2009-11-16T15:34:38Z

The lack of words of late has been disturbing. Thoughts are too volatile at this point to even keep them bottled in. Still, a certain loss is pervading--dominating--me.

Decisions that will cost me a lifetime of choices are already at the wait. All I have to do is to let in the enemies at my gate.

The real scary thing, though, is simply not in the future. It is in the present. The point where the hurtful past meets the unruly future.

And here, where there is a life to live, the hunger never ceases.

And I'm afraid it never will. Or am I, really?

So, you actually want a heartbreaking rejection.

2009-11-06T02:33:45Z

You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

[takes out the ring and throws it on Holly's lap]

Here. I've been carrying this thing around for months. I don't want it anymore.

-- Paul Varjak (George Peppard) to Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn), Breakfast at Tiffany's

Source: IMDB

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Crazy-ass final scene.

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EDIT: Because I just had to.

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EDIT 2: And because it's still not too late to gawk at Halloween costumes...

Surrounded by boring mysteries.

2009-11-05T15:08:54Z

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Heaven curse you, mediocrity. You are one tricky enemy.

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Four bottles of beer, Honey and Clover (5th run), and KFC Twister.

Nothing beats being depressed.

Motherfucking fail. Record fail.

===

EDIT: Moon River always breaks my heart. Double-edged sword.

Indulgencia Plenaria.

2009-10-31T16:34:11Z

It is, finally, the first of November.

The spin of the hourglass has commenced and it's that season again. In this midway of night and day, prayers will open the gates of the lost, and salvation will be at hand for those in transit and trepidation. As I write this, I am virtually alone in my home, oblivious to any other presence save my own breath. The curtains move as if to mock me--to tell me, that the silence is merely the presence of absence and that there is something so much more to this moment of abandon. I do not know if that is something that should comfort me or not.

Silent. Too silent.

And I look at the bed. I will be alone in my sleep later. Too alone.

And yet, in this moment where death is reminded to all by a request for solemnity, I am haunted--plagued--by a multitude of memories, all and each screaming at me from the scenes of a memory. But I don't flinch. I find that I can't. I push it away, like how the darkness pushes away the lights outside. I shake my head and wring my neck to rid myself of the creeping cold, much like how the silhouettes of trees outside resist the invisible violence of air that blows at them.

The noises, they gravitate to each other. They form a body. They pound on my head, and yet, I find no will in me to move. I succumb to the silence. Eventually, they reach a fever pitch. The scream becomes a wail and I start to close my eyes. My writing slows, my mind becomes numb, and I am trapped again in the road I have forgotten years ago.

And a friend of a friend dies. And the road is more familiar than ever.

Never a tear, save once. And it was for naught but my own.

I rise from where I am seated. I rest my hands from the writing, from this insidious pain of remembering. A wind comes into the room, and the chill lived in me. I froze. Fear creeps in me, yet--again--I don't flinch. I go to where the water was and splashed some on my face. I drowned myself for a moment, with eyes wide open, so that I am not afraid of what I will see in the mirror.

I look. And there was nothing there save for a lonely shadow. I see through his eyes. Devoid of all truth and of all passion. A creature of lies. Of defeat. He reeks of denial and of anger. And yet, in his eyes, there was no guilt.

And the monster looks away. He opens the door to the room again. He steps in. It was still empty. Still empty even if he's there. And just as he closes the door behind him, he feels a pair of eyes watching him. He stops for a moment, tempted to look behind. He was tempted to delve into the past, into what has been and where all seemed to have.

A lullaby starts to play. In the small crack that he left hanging open, the music penetrates. The culmination of all the sounds--the screams and echoes and pleas for life and for murder and for acceptance--all of them become an abomination of a harmony.

I wonder, where was it coming from? Because while I sit here and I look behind me, all I see is a monster resting on a half-closed door, hiding from this kid going up the stairs, climbing in rhythm to the sound that it hears.

And I wonder: why am I humming this fearful tune?

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part ten: The end to all loose ends.

2009-10-25T21:06:45Z

Friends.

And that is all there is.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

And the joke's been played. And this one's on me.

A prayer in this moment between rest and repair.

2009-10-25T13:16:09Z

One of ten, in ten.
And only after then.
One of ten, in nine.
You will have what's mine.
One of ten, in eight.
And so begins our fate.
One of ten, in seven.
There and then, our heaven.
One of ten, in six.
This heart finds what it seeks.
One of ten, in five.
A time to feel alive.
One of ten, in four.
Our sadness, nevermore.
One of ten, in three.
Together, we will be.
One of ten, in two.
All I am, all for you.
One of ten, in one.
Soon, all is said and done.

One of ten, it's now.
It's time to take a vow.
One of ten, today.
'Yes' is all you must say.

One of ten, now lost.
The fire we shared, now, frost.
One of ten, now gone.
What was once, now, is none.

===

To be understood by one less person is a heartbreak I am not willing to take. But if there's more than just my heart at stake, then it's a sacrifice I am ready to make.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part nine: Evading this pain.

2009-10-21T12:36:57Z

You should have seen me...

Waiting for my turn.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

Because pain is only a word and even if the reality is so much worse, we can still find a way. There is always a way.

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Extra, extra: Thanks for the song, guys. But I was always on the other side.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part eight: Trapped in this octavarium.

2009-10-20T13:38:28Z

Wow.

I actually got tired of thinking.

For the first time in a long time.

I actually got tired of contemplating.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

I am, indeed, really fed up.

===

Extra, extra: A little reprieve from this method to madness.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part seven.

2009-10-19T00:28:15Z

Reading, reading. Losing myself in your past.

An incessant repetition of things that have always plagued you. When I told you to write, you never really wrote.

You reflected. And what a reminiscence it was!

Was it such a bad idea, really? Do the same dark thoughts still drain at you? Has the little girl really lost her charm?

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

Don't feign ignorance this time around.

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Extra, extra: I've almost forgotten, and now I'm in your room again.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part six: Of the space we create.

2009-10-17T12:38:52Z

If 'happiness' had a form, what would it be?

It's most probably something like clear glass. One doesn't notice it immediately but it's actually there.

But all you have to do is to change its angle--or the way you look at it--and it will play with the light. Reflecting and refracting, shining and shimmering.

It will state its presence and existence more eloquently than any other thing in this world.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

Because there's always an answer for every single question. And I will strive to bring this moment to light. And like the song that plays in the background: I still believe in ever after with you.

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Extra, extra: Seemingly wonderful distraction from destruction, but my heart is somewhere else.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part five: Another momentary reprieve from madness.

2009-10-16T20:16:42Z

Always tell me what it is about.

Always. I cannot stress it enough.

I might be different. And better. And so much more than just enough. But even I cannot see what will be given what is.

All we need are a few hours. A few messages. A little something in this chaos.

I am learning patience. Eventually, I'll get there. But this, too, shall pass. Have faith in that, dear.

Have faith in me. The words I say are often the actions I never can or will ever do. Even the simplest of all my words are just words that often fail to do anything.

But if you have faith, we will get by. Come on. We're doing great. We are indeed doing great. And no matter your worry or frustration or hesitation, we're still going to do great.

Because it's you. And it's me. And we'll win this war in any way we can.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

Because if only you would speak up and be honest with me, I can always find a way. That was one of my promises, remember?

===

Extra, extra: Shorts on a good friend's head, and all the pornographic glory in between.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part four: a reprieve

2009-10-14T14:26:07Z

Oh, hey, I miss you.

And it's heartbreaking talking about this, really. We've gone quite the distance and yet some things are still bound to happen even if I want otherwise.

But we're doing great. We're actually doing great, aren't we?

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

Because you are loved.

===

Extra, extra: Alone through no fault of my own.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part three.

2009-10-12T18:29:50Z

I told you once before:

Choice demands a compromise.
Compromise demands devotion.
Devotion demands faith.
And faith demands that which you have never even found or accepted about yourself.

What comes before faith, boy? You know the answer. Yet, you prance around it longer than you should have.

Time comes a-passing, little one. The world won't wait for us, you know.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part two.

2009-10-12T07:07:24Z

You're not making yourself understood.

And that's where you're wrong.

At the moment your eloquence fails to sustain the ambiguity, this war you've been waging will be lost.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

===

Extra, extra: Ice.

So, you really want to know what I'm thinking, part one.

2009-10-11T14:50:27Z

Mahal mo lang sila tuwing lasing ka.

Bukas, makalawa, isusuka.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ditch this bullshit.

This moment of respite, the third part.

2009-10-07T21:43:04Z

You know what's harder than 'All I want is you'?

What I want is all of you.

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Fires start from embers. There is no other way.

With your hesitation, there is not a sliver of morning light.

2009-10-03T05:24:18Z

Laptops are not just good enough for writing long posts. Accidental out-of-the-box click plus backspace is such an awful disaster.

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However far you've come, why is it that you never learn? Still a kid, still a kid. Still inebriated in all the youthfulness that you so lovingly cling unto, not realizing time is against everything that it might hold. No, no dreaming. There are no arguments to this one, no refutations possible. The moment you let go of the things that wanted to matter, that's the moment you let go of the best of everything in you.

And now you wonder. Hiking to a bygone time where only mountains of regret run rampant, you fail to realize this titanic and impenetrable wall that you established some time ago. Always running, always founding. Now, the walls are closing in on you. Do you see that sliver of morning light?

I bask in this warm embrace. I bathe in the realization of what things--what dreams--may come. And I see a time when there will be no more questions. I see a moment where there will be no more wanting and needing and running and staying.

Often, I just look past you while still remembering you and I see that the wall I've built when you went away has been reduced into this mirror. A Cassandra for my Odysseus. Your words, they taunt me. My journey, it hurts you.

Please. Stop feeling that the world owes you something when it does not. Stop enslaving the universe: a part cannot subdue a whole. But then, you were always headstrong, and you never needed nor wanted any other word than your own.

===

A chaotic multitude of thoughts, changed overnight by a single mistake. And yet the anger has passed, and all of you are just part again of this vague recollection of what is and what was.

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I am still that door, you fool. I am still the only way that you will be able to move forward. In due time, we will cross paths again. And I tell you. I have come far enough to tell you where you went wrong.

Back to question number one.

2009-09-28T05:14:04Z

***While cleaning the house***

Jome: Ang love parang electric fan...
Jimah: Yun 'yon!

O, ha! Sobrang cheesy, pwedeng mousetrap!

A Tribute To My Friends, A Salute to Love - This Side of the World

2009-09-24T20:55:13Z

A writing in honor of an exalted echelon of people and now we profess love to this time of our lives. Moments spent in absolute abandon and worrisome happiness, trustful in the endurance of our choices and in the abundance of the perfect chance.

One less question. One less drama. And one more love to have.

So, I am more than just happy now. In the light of this betrayal of what I thought I would always be, reality becomes better than a dream. The waking moment becomes more desirable than the slumber that used to protect me. Here where I used to tread by my lonesome, a multitude stands. And the garden blooms and I am not alone.

In your arms, I am not alone. In the arms that hold this small side of the world together, I am not alone anymore.

And to quote the song that plays in the background: I can't wait to do this all over again.

I want to hear you beat.

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My heart on your chest and my hand in yours. This is a moment of rapture I never would have wanted any other way and in any other time.

Running away is simply waiting in one spot but never being there.

2009-09-21T11:26:12Z

We forget what we want to remember and we remember what we want to forget.
-- The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

Are the beautiful things in my life worth forgetting then? Is pain all that is left cherishing?
-- J., 0815h, 092109

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Quoted that line more times than I would care to remember. Now I have the other side of the question. Ha! You got owned, quotable quote!

Speaking of that quote, the movie adaptation of The Road has trailers now. Woohoo, Mortensen and Theron for the motherfucking win!

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Love is a lot like electric fans.

Guess why! Free lunch on Wednesday for anyone who can give the answer (or the best one!).

And, please, no emo jackassness.

Beer and cigarettes are my Sunday friends.

2009-09-20T11:12:37Z

Too scared because it's too soon. Everything seems too soon. But then too guilty when it's too late. And everything always seems to happen too late.

A mind as fickle as the froth of this beer I hold in my hand. A heart so fragile like the smoke rings that escape my lungs. Words that hold no ground like the lamp that sways above me. Questions that pierce like this silence that hurts my ears.

It never gets any easier, does it? No matter how many times, no matter how long, no matter how much. It just doesn't.

And, often, wishful thinking at four in the morning of what we could have done to do something that we both are afraid of is the only thing left to both of us. But it's just that. Wishful thinking.

And wishful thinking is often because of the fear of the unknown. Of what could have been. Or what would be.

What an unforeseeable crisis. But, hey, we're doing great. We actually are doing great.

And I raise my bottle to that. Alone.