Leaks...

because in more respect than one, this is somehow how im feeling for the better part of my life.

away from the smiles and belief, there is indeed that shallowness, that doubt, that shame that defines who i am.

and yet, for all of them that are there, i am still here.

this song has been on my player for quite a long time now, and i guess for a very good reason.

"The Gift"

Seether, Karma & Effect

Hold me now I need to feel relief
Like I never wanted anything
I suppose I'll let this go and find a reason I'll hold on to
I'm so ashamed of defeat
And I'm out of reason to believe in me
I'm out of trying to get by

I'm so afraid of the gift you give me
I don't belong here and I'm not well
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living
Right on the wrong side of it all

I can't face myself when I wake up
And look inside a mirror
I'm so ashamed of that thing
I suppose I'll let it go
Untill I have something more to say for me
I'm so afraid of defeat
And I'm out of reason to believe in me
I'm out of trying to defy

I'm so afraid of the gift you give me
I don't belong here and I'm not well
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living
Right on the wrong side of it all

Hold me now I need to feel complete
Like I matter to the one I need

I'm so afraid of the gift you give me
I don't belong here and I'm not well
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living
Right on the wrong side of it all

Now I'm ashamed of this
I am so ashamed of this
Now I'm so ashamed of me
I am so ashamed of me...

My Anime-ted Weekends

I’m approximately 500 km. away from the place I call home. No blood relative in sight. The friends I had here have gone on to distant places, some are busy with school. I live alone. I eat alone. I do the laundry alone. I sleep alone.

So what do I do?

Escape.

First it started with pirating softwares. If all those companies ever got to touch me, I might end up in jail for the rest of my life, if not, then I would be broke (as if my present financial situation is not bad enough.) then it went to music. Then anime episodes just a few days after being released from Japan. And though I have expanded my treasures to scanned comics (finally got my hands on almost all of neil gaiman’s works, and other vertigo titles like preacher, fables, and just finished reading all 70+ issues of LUCIFER), I keep coming back to animes.

ANIME = any animated film made in Japan. I hate western animation, they lack animation and seemed to be stuck in adolescence.

Death Note, D.Grayman, Black Lagoon, Kiba and etc would be keeping me company this weekend.

(I need a break from the Life Project, and I am having a very painful time admitting that poetry seems to be quite elusive these days.)

p.s. drop me a buzz ok?

No Closure

No Closure

As how things go, nobody would make a fuss or pause to think about the implications when things end up happy. I have observed that happiness is in some way like a big wave, it drowns us on the sensation of bliss that it brings. Not that I am a pessimistic person, being happy is a good thing in this world many has labeled crazy. But I have also seen what happiness could do that is something that I do not really approve of. Because we are drowning in the glorious sensation of happiness and joy, we only want for that feeling to continue, to savor the last drop from the glass of water for the thirst on our throat, so to speak. And because happiness is subjective and personal, the world that happiness spins in each of us only lead us to set our glance towards one road, and what a narrow road that is: our own self.

As I have said, not a bad thing, bliss and all, really. But not my cup of coffee, I should say.

As how things go, they also tend to end the other way around, far and opposite from the warm poles of happiness.

Things go on, they say. As the stars, planets and comets orbit, charting their own lives, so the same happens for human beings. Things begin have their end, everybody know this. But an ending is not itself: it also serves as a point for something to begin. Scars come in all flavors, events mark and wound us. Life goes on, things end, and we are never the same because of that.

Pondering on it, it all boils down to memory. The persistence of memory is one of those mysteries in the universe that I would like to unravel. I have been trying to for quite a long time, have experimented on various ways and yet to no avail. I guess that’s why they called it a mystery in the first place, that it is not in finding the answer, but more of like the search for the answer that matters.

Events that change and mark us, especially those we find distasteful, always linger. And yet I must admit that, when asked about how I feel about a certain event in my life, I have replied that I am over it, that I am done with it, that I have found closure. And I am all too sure that I am not alone in this. And yet, speaking for my own self, I have come to realize and accept a fundamental truth about what I have replied whenever asked about how I feel about this certain event and so forth in my life.

Closure is a lie.

I envy those who can say with pure conviction and belief as unshakeable as the existence of God that they have found closure. I envy how they could have closure amidst the persistence of all those memories.

I wonder if closure is like a new shirt that you wear and discard afterwards.

I have heard, and perhaps you did, about the analogy of the stone and the pond. As a stone, or pebble falls to a still pond, it creates a ripple that surges from the center. And in time the ripple would fade, and the pond still again. Someone once said that things are back to how they were, but someone replied that it is not so, for though the pond may be still and silent, the pebble is in the pond.

Ok, I guess that was hazy huh?!

I realize that I have no closure at all. Perhaps I am crazy, that I am damned to be the only person to feel like this. Or perhaps others also feel this way but prefer the comfort of being blind, of being numb, of remembering to forget.

Because as how I see it, there is no way to kill memories, and as long as memories are there, even the thing they call closure exist like a locked box. And locked things can always be opened with the right key, or there are always ways to open something even without a key.

My closures, I must confess to all of you, were lies.

And I believe that the only closure that I would ever get is when I could no longer remember how they marked and changed me, how they made me happy and mournful, when nothing matters anymore, because I myself do not matter anymore.

when i was gone....

Its not that anybody missed me, but I just came back, because I have been gone for quite a few days.

I mean, what was I supposed to do with a free two-way ride, an a-ok-ed permission to be absent from my boss?

Incidentally, it was also the feast of the city that I love (whether said city loves me or not is a topic for another day). And since most of the people who matter most to me are there, what else was I supposed to do.

Cut the chase, I did the most sensible thing to do. I went home.

And just in time. Nomad-Wanderer-Vagabond that I am (note: that’s from metallica), it seems that there are things that I could not and should not and would not let go off, like a problem that needs to be addressed, me being the “man of the house.”

I got to meet some of my sisters and brothers, but to bad that I missed a lot of them too, and thus I owe them a visit in two months.

Going home is like, as gump said, like a box of chocolates. Indeed. You will never know what you would get. Or what it would taste.

Hmmm…on another side-note, I met one of our clients from the project me and my baby sister is currently in partnership. Admittedly, the said client looks better in person, not that I am saying that my sister’s layout and digital skills are not enough: they are actually, but I was still surprised that the said client looked..hmmm..livelier, vibrant. And when I told my sister that I was waiting for her to do the “by the way…” lines, she informed me that the person was our client. I countered that that was exactly my point, that she was our client, and thus I should have been introduced. To which my sister replied “you have ulterior motives..” awww, that hurts..hhehehehe, but she is my sister, and I can still count the times that I should have listened to her and didn’t, and thus ended up with a whole lot of shitty stuff. Ok ok, I am guilty, case closed.

Birds are still flying over the late afternoon skies of zamboanga. I remember that I wanted to write a story about these birds, for even until this very day I do not know where they remain for the rest of the day. Like that line from an old smashing pumpkins song “we only come out at night….” Seems to be what the birds want to say. Another reason why I remember those birds because I have been victims of their shitbombs, something that they freely share with the people and the road.

Walking around the city, I do not know, but I knew less people, well, I met less people that I knew and knew me and thus I had this feeling that I didn’t belong there. Lots of new and fresh faces. Same old garbage problems. Same old MO-bros being so tough whenever with friends. The same shy smiles from ladies, or the occasional stare. Old buildings made new and new buildings made old. Lots of mister donut outlets. Traffic.

Still, this is home, and I love it. Hmmm, I wonder if it loves me.

Lately, I haven’t had the time, nor the budget, to buy pirated dvds, whether movies or Japanese animation. Well, the anime piracy scene has been sluggish lately, and this has forced me to pirate what I want to watch all by myself. and so, I brought a couple of titles with me at home to watch, and im happy coz I ended up watching it with the family. Lil baby sis ja even asked me to copy the 7 or so remaining episodes of LAST EXILE into the pc. Hmmm..since I am a pirate, I might as well bring the other titles home for the long xmas season.

One of my cousins is getting married soon, and though it came as a surprise that he is marrying earlier than his older brother, people tend to ask me if I have any plans of doing the same. Waaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

My sister has a new 8 mega pixel cam. I am still trying to convince her that her old 5 mega pixel cam is not worth lugging around. I mean, why take pictures in 5 megapixel when you can do it in 8 megapixel! I am still to convince her.

I was not able to meet and talk with one of my sisters, Julie, though I was able to wink at her and she the same when one of my fave couples lae and yep brought me to her workplace. It was a surprise, and it was a good surprise. Sister Julie never looked happier. Of course, she made me promise that when we catch things up, we are gonna drink till we drop. Oh boy, I hope I don’t drop first, I mean, kuyas are supposed to be the last one standing right?

Music brothers junkyard won best bassist, best vocals and best drums (drum rolls please for brother da for making it two in a row). Yehey! Question is, when are we gonna release the album? Paging fellow unholy trinity brothers bon and macky! You have the voice (as proven by winning the best vocals category) but when are you two gonna write songs again?

Speaking about songs, bro yep somehow forgot the chords they made for the lyrics I wrote. Shame shame shame. He says, in defense, that he is sure that macky must have forgotten them too. Shame shame shame. Ok, I have only written one complete song since we last wrote great busted music together. Shame shame shame. Hmmm, that’s very shameful for the three of us, so we have to fix that when we get together ok?

I saw brother hadz, and he is still fine, as always. He still has in his possession the sandman covers collection that I covet. And like my sis, I am still to convince him that the best place for such works of art is with me. Hohummmmmm…..

I heard tisay is gonna be back soon. I will know when she does. Miss you tisa!

I just checked the anime files I missed for the past 5 days I have been gone and they are a lot of them. This only means that next week im gonna be busy at work: busy setting up my download list.

I miss…nahh, forget it.

Whew!

Blue blooded Vagina Warrior + BigWig Theater Blues + Going Solo

Because I am a blue blooded VAGINA Warrior.

And proud of it.

Yesterday, I finally got the slot as organizer for next year’s performance of the Vagina Monologues, which would serve as one of the highlights during the celebration of March as Filipino Women’s Month and March 8 as International Women’s Day. It’s a long way off, I know, and yet I’m busting my head in trying to hold all the ideas that are rushing forth.

this year’s performance was very good, and as how things are, I would like next year’s to be even better and bigger than last year. Question is, am I man enough for the job?

Last night, while I was thinking about it, I was able to laugh on how crazy I must seem to people, or how twisted my mind could be at times. At some point last night, I laughed when I realized that I could say that I am working for Vaginas, which I currently am doing. And I do love it.

Theater stuff like this makes me remember of how it was with dear ole BIGWIG. It was a short run, I have to admit, but if it comes to passion, even the shortest time could burn up so much creative juices and fuel. Bigwig, born from the shared passion of brother lazarusmoth and sister amijan, gave me memorable experiences. Being light and sound director was not bad, considering we were starting from scratch. Whew..i miss those days….

Now here I am, more than two years after the last staging of Sartre’s NO EXIT, 500 kilometers away from home, all alone.

Am I man enough to do it?

Well…

I am a blue blooded Vagina Warrior, and as long as there are Vaginas out there, I am gonna make it work.

p.s. to those who thought that being a Vagina Warrior was being disrespectful, oh dear, poor you.

p.s. # 2. im outta here

Gaps and Pauses + Poetry: before your eyes

I was trying to write a work with an entirely different subject in mind. It had to be something about the foolishness in hoping that things would be as we desire it.

What follows next is supposed to be the first paragraph that would serve as an opener, as the table where one would make a sacrifice, or a slaughter. But then I took a pause after I wrote these lines.

And there lies the rub.

Somehow, that pause made other changes and when I tried to get back and continue the original theme, I just could not find the ability to do so. Of course, its possible that I am not that strong, or I am just suffering from one of the problems that afflict a starving, struggling, striving poet: no its definitely not “writer’s block” (whoever came up with this writer’s block thingy sure is just plain loco in the cabeza) but its simply perhaps that I was just being lazy.

Still, I must admit that though it’s not what I had in mind, its not too shabby. I don’t know if I would do a revision, but for the moment, while I’m pausing my soul amidst all the gaps that the road ahead me is filled with, I am happy with this.

Hope it’s worth reading.

before your eyes

d. steine

before your eyes fell

on me with their smiles, i only

knew of a beast

in the shape of this man,

just like before your lips

and your fingers becoming each other

kissing and touching me, i never

knew that even scars could be

beautiful, their rough and old outlines traced

by your soft and young flesh.

there was only so much empty space

where i knew no one was listening until

you pressed against my voice

your delicate ears, shaped like sea shells.

there was only silence until in your voice

i heard the foam and frothing of far

away love raging in waves

to reach my abandoned shore.

A Certain Kind of Life, After Death

Though I must admit that it brings a certain tinge of pride in myself for those who are in awe of my mediocre works, I wish there was some way that I could show them that the path that I have traveled to where I am now, the experience and the life that I am living in, each of my breaths that always edging closer to its end, I wish I could show them that these things that are essential to me are indeed the dark reflections of those that they hold in awe.

I have always known that it was never going to be easy carrying a passion, especially when doing so would lead one to a life that most would never dare to experience. And yet for some reason, I have chosen to be like this: the stones on my path hurt my feet, the light only reveals shadows and shapes that are the same shadows and shapes that haunt me in the darkness.

Dear friends, I must tell you though you might never understand that what you thought was a gift that I possess is not solely that. I want you to know, and thus I will attempt to explain to you that as much as this is indeed a gift, it has its price.

And throughout the years, it seems to me that the price is a burden that becomes heavier by the moment.

I must tell you, that if my works, mediocre as they are to my own eyes though beautiful to yours, it is only because I, and only, and forever it would always be I who will know the stench, the piles of rotten things, the darkness that had to be there first before the light could ever be born.

Still, I would like you to know how difficult it has been, and perhaps a clearer way of telling you this is not solely through words, but through actions, and fragments of madness and dreams, faint wisps of hope.

There have been many moments when I wished I could be ordinary like most of you are, when I wished that I could be blind, that I could be deaf to these sensations that pull and push and swirl me.

Yes, I do know I could do it. But then, having lived for so long this way, after having paid such high prices would be as if nothing if I just give in to the urge, to the most common instinct of our species, and that is when one is tired, one must lie down and sleep. I could do so, but not yet.

My life project is in full swing, and I realized that at the end of it, I could find a certain kind of peace, a small but certain kind of bliss, a certain kind of life. But only after a certain kind of death.

I would like you to know that though I may not rid my body in this world after the project is done with, I still wish for a certain death.

And that death is that of the life, is that of the soul that made everything about me beautiful, that made everything about me pure.

Perhaps I am just crazy, or just barely enduring the hellfire that burns me from the mere traces and fragments of someone who used to love me.

What I want you to know is this: that after the great life project is done, I wish for the death of the starving, struggling and striving poet whose face and name, and soul you all know as those that belong to me.

Who knows, when the poet in me has finally died, perhaps the man, who always had the heart of a child, could finally be alive.