Unveiling....

Against The Dark of Death: Unveiling the Fires of Project Life

About four years ago, I began to taste the price asked of me for the choices that I made in life. There I was, a frail man walking the streets of Zamboanga like any other person, and yet deep inside I was a cauldron of destructive and vengeful urges, of madness swirling all over my head, a despair unlike any I have known before or imagined, my burning hands, once the pride of my existence stretched out, groping out into the emptiness where no one was.

It even came to a point where I loathed the person that I have become that I thought to myself that the best thing I could ever do to stop the hating and the loathing was to rid myself from this world.

And somewhere along these dark and brooding days, Project Life was born.

As known by some friends, Project Life was a double edged sword, at that time. It was my attempt to write down and chronicle the things that I have witnessed and endured in my life as a testament that I did exist, and not only that, that I made a difference, that I was present not only in the world but in other people’s lives as well. Of course, the price for the chronicles of my life was ultimately its inevitable ending. And that was an ending that my friends found distasteful.

My hand was supposed to come from my very own hands.

My life project, thus I call it Project Life, and it is simply the compilation of two books, one that I owe to someone whom I wished that I could have held in my hands, the other one for my own, the compilation of all those papers that I have stained throughout my life as a starving, struggling, striving poet.

Life though, has a few twists and turns left for me. I met new friends, found and lost love, reborn yet with some parts missing, even to the extent that I found myself a resident exile in this city. I am glad I am alive at this time, though four years ago I never thought I would make it this far. Along the way, the life project grew, slowly, but it grew nevertheless. And now, after so much time putting it off, trying to savor and recapture those that I will never again have, the bells have tolled. And I need no reminder that time is walking.

Just in case the writings would be bland, I am going to ask help from a couple of friends to create what I believe would be stunning separator pages for each chapters of the project. JeezusKrieste, Myotosai, LordAshe & DreamFilter, if you guys are reading this, you have a year to make about 3 variants ok? Lazarusmoth, I wonder if you would do the honor of writing an introduction of sorts, the kind that would serve as a mirror to what I would write myself…

[ T H E L I F E P R O J E C T ]

The Making of Bones:

The Life of J.K.R. Kanindot

Mothers – this is in honor and gratitude of my four mothers, and all those mothers who I have met along the way. With this, I somehow wish that I could give you a smile amidst all the tears that I caused you.

The Scent of Sisters – I have been blessed with so many sisters.

The Consistency of Love – Love unmasked and rediscovered.

The Chains of Brotherhood – Amidst all the bottles, the cigarettes and cups of black coffee.

The Sonless Father – this is self-explanatory, I guess.

The Making of Bones – a trip back to where it all began, when it all began, why and how everything began, before the end.

and

I Confess I Have Been Loved :

The Poetry Collection of Damon Steine

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And after all is said and done, I honestly don’t know what is going to happen. But then, there is still time, and with that I might just get lucky.

I sure hope so.