Some Stupid Thing I Probably Shouldn't Be Doing But It's Done So What the Hell

04 May 2011

Because I'm so smitten

And I'm done admitting

I'm Writing this song about you

As I sit on the porch

As I've done before

I really have nothing to do

Then I think about you

As I'm known to do

Yeah really this is nothing new

Because I'm so smitten

And I'm done admitting

I'm really so smitten about you

I'm a hopeless romantic

That's sunk like Titanic

Yes I know how stupid that rhyme is

But I'm can't help myself

Maybe no one can help

Maybe you'd like to give it a shot

Because I'm just so smitten

For third time admitting

That I can't help but keep loving you

You've said it I know

I have to let go

To be frank all my friends say it too

I wish I just could

I know that I should

But what can I do it's just true

I'm so goddamn smitten

I do wish I wasn't

Because I know you can't love me too.

Writer's Lurgy

30 January 2011

My name is Ernesto Dakila, I'm a writer. Well, sort of.

It's been a while, these past few weeks have taken a lot from me and I haven't gotten around writing something worth reading for the small population who think time is worth wasting reading whatever I come up with. It feels like I've been drained of things to say. Things have been happening and they've been keeping me busy, you'd think I'd be writing about it first chance I get. I didn't, I've been letting opportunities, ideas, and inspiration slip past me too often. Aside from the occasional want to rant about unrequited love and school and friends I have nothing, I avoid those rants for fear I come off as a fourteen year old emo kid.

Unlike fourteen year-olds though, we adults (legally) have alcohol and cigarettes. With the help of both I have been scribbling some pretty interesting stuff, I hope to share them with you some time. But in the meantime this is what you get, a writer going on and on about not writing enough.

I started writing this entry some time around half past eight, it is now half past midnight, I've been distracted by social networking, e-mails, movies, news, and lots of other things the internet has to offer. I'm not very good at the whole "close yourself from the world and get to writing" thing. Even if I do it long hand, I pause, I look around, I eat, I smoke, I talk to people. then I write again.

I'm a writer in bursts. Which perhaps, isn't helping me become a very good one.

My use of the language isn't elevated, my diction isn't noble, I must learn these things. I have to be better at this. But first, I must write.

(Oh look at how I ended this blog entry, just making a quick escape, not even giving proper support for my end statement, I'm really really tired.)

It's a Blog, What Do You Expect?

07 September 2010

Did you expect perfect use of language? Impeccable grammar? Correct Spelling? Did you expect discussions on the philosophy of language? In-depth analysis of political events? Scientific research papers? It's an effin' blog, you get as good grammar as I can come up with while typing with as little thought processing as possible. The closest thing to philosophical thinking would be bullshit armchair philosophy. The closest thing to in-depth analysis would be biased ranting about hearsay, and I'm not even touching scientific research, never.

This is a blog, and it's about bullshit emotions and stupid slice of life stories written in the crappiest possible.

Having said those stupid excuses, I'm gonna start with the vague allusions and senseless statements again. Not now, but soon.

----

Okay, maybe a little now.

I feel like a dick when I'm with you. I feel like I'm trying to come-off as something impressive and always falling short. I metaphysically slap my forehead every now and then for saying something stupid, or just plain acting like an idiot. There is so much of me that speaks of staying calm, of just being myself, but I end up doing these stupid things anyway. Or at least I think they're stupid, maybe you don't. I don't have enough balls to risk it.

I know it's futile and stupid and I'm not doing myself any favors by obsessing over it, it's just that there's nothing I can do. It's too late, what opportunity I may have had I lost a long time ago. I never recognized it. And even if I did, I wouldn't know what to do with it.

There is very little in this, this, whatever it is that stays and keeps us strangers from each other. Too little for me to try to figure out what it is. Too little, so we stay like this, on opposite sides of I don't know what. You just going on with your life. Me obsessing over this border I cannot cross, the fence I cannot see, the walls I cannot remove.

Dreams of the City

01 June 2010

(I have always believed that when in a writing rut you should just read some stuff and then write poetry, it wouldn't matter if it's any good, just get to writing. Once you have written one the rut will lift. My apologies to Neil Gaiman and the poem inside the story "Goldfish Pool and Other Stories".)

I am thinking of the city at night,

A theatre of no spectacle,

Shoved by the concrete lights

 

Seeing angels fearing flight,

Dreams of me, an imbecile,

I dream of the city tonight.

 

A sphere, an orb, a silver kite

In the hazy eyes of myself

I dream of the city at night.

Indiana Jones and the Room of the PackRat GeekBum!

16 February 2010

Geez, I just realized how much stuff I have lying around. I actually fear snakes might be living under my bed. Boxes upon boxes of books and sheets of paper and old notebooks and documents and photocopied readings and doodles and manuals and magazines and comics and stuff. Not to mention my toys and art tools and CDs and DVDs and dirty cotton buds and bloody laundry. Now there are cables and cords for the scanner, chargers for my handhelds, old game catridges, packs of cards, beer bottles, posters, old bags, a remote controlled car, old lamps, boxes with unknown content, empty cigarette boxes, robot exoskeletons, dead prostitutes, and the Holy Grail.

I do try to get stuff organized. Every time I do, I get sneezing fits and itch all over because I am allergic to dust (considering the amount of dust in my room, I should be dead by now). That is part of the reason that most of the stuff are in boxes and in drawers now (my only cabinet is reserved for clothes and I do not have shelves). I try my best to throw stuff out whenever I clean up, but the problem is the "throw-out" box, always end up being declared "Hey-I-could-use-this-for-some-crafts" box or "this-stuff-will-be-interesting-to-read-one-day" box and the like.

I would like to finish this blog entry and stuff, but I'm kinda in the middle of trying to organize and failing miserably at it, so there you go.

Pathetic Loser Admits Pathetic Loserness

29 December 2009

I admit it, you still make me feel weird.

Don't get me wrong I really really appreciate that your in love and all that. You like this guy, and he's probably a really nice guy, he's real good looking and all that, he's even artistic and all that, we could actually be buddies. But hell, here I am, being miserable for something that is five years old. God, I probably sound so pathetic right now.

I remember Prom night, yes this will so pathetic, when I held you in my arms and we danced some weird dance-like thing. I must've stepped on your foot for at least three times, cut me slack, I was nervous. Do you still remember what I told you? Probably not, fifty other guys were on the line to dance with you. I said, "Pinapangarap ko to ng tatlong taon.", something like that. Pathetic losers like me say stuff like that.

It's very very weird.

You know what I'm doing right now? I'm looking at your facebook photos, and photographs I took way back when. I am looking at them and I feel so pathetic doing it.

No, really, don't mind me. I'm a writer, I write stuff, this is what I do, so don't you go worrying about the stuff I've been saying. Not that you'll be able to read this anyway, never had that much confidence since second year highschool, and that was done in a really cowardly way too, giving you all those pathetic poems I did. Do you still have them? Probably stuffed underneath your pillow or something? Hah, I wish, if you still have it it's probably deep in the pile of stuff all the guys that try to win your heart has given you.

I don't even understand this, It's not like there were no girls after you, I had my fair share, and then some. You we're, like, the girl that never was. That I never went any distance with. Maybe that's it, I placed you on the pedestal, my deity, nobody can take you place inside of me, you'd always be that special creature of the human species that will torment my internal organs forever. And that makes me pathetic.

A friend says, "It's just weird, it's never pathetic." Maybe she's right, liking you is never pathetic, your the first girl I used the word "love" with, that may not be so pathetic. If you we're just another trophy beauty damsel then it would be very pathetic but you're not. You're the female human that stood in a place in my consciousness and never left.

I don't know, maybe I'm just regressing, sorry for wasting you're time. I'm pretty sure he's a great guy and he loves you very much. Click nga kayo 'di ba? Hahaha. yeah I stalk him too so I know he's pretty neat, and I hate that because it doesn't give me a reason to hate the guy. So there, just had to say it, keep in touch.

Sorry for being weird, don't worry, I have no idea what I'm talking about either.

I Remember my Dreams (201st blog entry)

19 November 2009

(yep, you read it right, this is my 201st blog entry, wow, that's like, 200 entries after the first one. Might be, not really sure, I'm pretty lousy at math. Don't bother counting every entry here, some are exclusive to different people, I think I only have three people who can see every entry there is. Instead of doing what I did on the 101st blog entry where I highlight certain really cool entries I had in the past I'd rather talk about something that has bothered me by a bit, something that makes me realize what kind of person I am becoming)

I am young, I know that, I admit, no matter how much I want to grow up really fast I am still young. 20 years of life doesn't really constitute that I have enough experience to be considered old, or at the very least, mature. When I was a younger boy I had dreams, I wanted to be a fireman, an Indian chief, a Soldier, the President. I wanted to be a lot of things, I was younger and much more ignorant than I am now. Gaining more years of life I have dreamed more practical things, to be a journalist, to be a teacher, to be a writer. I actually tried a little for those roads, I have given up sometime between trying and beginning. I was young, I was ignorant, I had no idea what the world was like, I am grateful that I now know what kind of life there is for someone who quits and does not pursue such dreams, I am grateful to lose that ignorance. But I regret losing my dreams.

Imagine this universe, a box of endless possibilities everyday, imagine all of the things I could have done and could have been had I only acted upon these possibilities. But here I am reading web comics and posting replies to social networking sites, downloading games and funny pictures and pornography. Sending out resumes via the internet because the 500 pesos I have won't be enough for me to go to companies myself. I still haven't finished my clearance at the previous company I worked for because of issues that are caused by incompetence and laziness and irresponsibility. Everyday of my life seems like a repetition of yesterday where the only difference is the dates on my calendars and the level of my characters in the video games I play. Where have my dreams gone? What happened to my hopes and goals that have been reduced to getting a job and getting out of the house once in a while. What has become of me?

I know I have my dreams somewhere, I can feel the disappointment at myself for living a life of stagnation and idiocy. I feel the anger at myself for forgetting about what I should be doing to achieve my dreams. I am afraid of the tomorrow whether it would end this monotony for the better or for the worse for I do not know how to live a life other than this sensation of falling. Yes, I am no longer on the edge, I am falling from the cliff I myself jumped from, it is such a lengthy fall that the fear, the sadness, the curiosity and the boredom have been taking turns at me for several repetitions now. I have always thought I was grasping at the straws of security, I haven't realized the straws have ripped off long ago.

I have forgotten, forgive me, whoever may, or whoever would have the urge to, forgive me. I threw myself into the furnace and melted into a molten soul, fitted into a mold. I have become scared of my dreams as well ass used them as an excuse for incompetence and irresponsibility. I now fear judgement for I know it will be just, and I will be punished, if the burden I bear now is not punishment enough for my lies, misdeeds, evil thoughts and incompetence.

As I write this the rain has started to fall, and it reminds me of tears I will not allow myself to shed for myself. I may not be excused from this anguish, I refuse to provide myself relief from the pain. This is my pain and I deserve it, I shall make this the greatest day of my life, the acknowledgement of failure and pain and refusing to give the blame to anyone except myself.

Thank you for sharing this moment with me. My names are Ernest Jean Angeles, estongdakila, Jun Palma, and Cilva. I have spoken these words so you may slap me in the face or throw me a pail of cold water. I remember my dreams now, and I pray you never forget yours. Screw the World and it's walls, I have dreams, I shall live them.

Miss

15 November 2009

I hate being stuck at home. I feel like a bum. I'm not a bum. I'm a freelancer. That's a job.

I miss being at school. Not going to classes, just being at school. Hanging out with my buddies and talking nothingness. I miss Christine. I miss Jammin, I miss Roxanne. I miss everyone.

I miss drinking beer with my buddies. Drinking beer should always be with buddies. I want to treat the guys out for beer. A small group would be better than a big group.

I miss being respected for what I do and what I choose. I guess too many wrong decisions forfeit that right. I hate feeling like a burden.

I hate wanting to die. Wanting to die is as pointless as fearing death.

I miss being able to smoke at the sunken garden. I miss the smell of freshly cut grass. I miss jeepneys.

I miss nights at UP, where everything is beautiful.

I miss falling in love.

I hate having to go back at the office. I hate the way my old boss looks at me like I'm worthless. I hate knowing that she's right.

I hate the questions they ask me. When are you graduating. When will you be back at school. What are you doing right now. Where do you work. What does that mean. How much do you get for it.

Tell me if I suck. I'd love it. Affirm the belief I've had for years.

I hate this. I miss you.

Bus Rides and Thunderclaps

22 May 2009

Screw Psychology, absence DOES make the heart grow fonder.

I ride buses to and from work and my thoughts have been flying and landing on your trees, on your land, on you, the thought of you.

You have a personality stronger than mine, you are someone I actually want to struggle hard to impress. I don't even know what I can offer you to make you even consider listening to me, I just have myself, my hopelessly romantic heart, my fragmented mind, my unfed soul, my overdramatized life. I can be your stuff toy perhaps, your compliment machine, maybe just someone to talk to, someone to share stuff with, someone you can probably find from someone else. I've got nothing, it's the worst offer in the world.

How many conversations have we had? I mean talking for more than two minutes? I can remember laughing with you during the first time, I remember molding stuff on your rubber eraser the second time, I remember walking with you on a beautiful night (almost as beautiful as you), I writing a million words about something happening to me that I know hasn't happened for a long time. I remember because there is no other option, I cannot forget.

I take the bus home and the sun is already high in the sky, I feel the heat on my skin, the wind blows on my skin and I by its howl I cannot hear a thing but a memory of you, laughing. I ride and I ride alone sitting inside a metal box with strangers, and all I can think of is how much better life could be made if only I had you even for that moment beside me. Even if you say nothing, even if you ignore me, even if you don't even know I'm there, just having you near.

I wish I could see you, have you alone for even just a minute, just enough for me to tell you up front, to tell you myself, because i know you hate it when I say stuff like this where other people can read.

_______________________________________________

 

I want to be a thunderclap, for it comes always after lightning.

Tulong

24 March 2009

Hindi ako mahilig humingi ng tulong, hindi ako marunong humingi ng tulong. Ang alam ko ay kaya kong buhatin ang Balikbayan Box mag-isa, 'di mo ako kailangan tulungan. Kaya kong ikabit ang computer rack mag-isa, 'di mo ko kailangan tulungan, di ko kailangan ng tulong, kailangan ko man ay alalay lang, taga-hawak, taga-pinta, taga-abot ng gamit, ako ang gagawa, ako ang tatapos sa suliranin, ako ang magkakabit ng bumbilya, walang ibang may kaya, ako lang.

Tulong, Tulong, Tulong

Nalaman ko kamakailan kung bakit naimbento ang salitang iyon, hindi ito para isigaw ng naghihingalo, o ibigay ng nagpapakabayani.

Humingi ako ng tulong, pero hindi saklolo, hindi ako nagmakaawa, hindi ako nagmukhang kawawa, hindi nila pinaramdam sa akin na nanghihina ako at binibigyan nila ako ng gamot. Inabot sa akin ang tulong dahil sa wakas nagawa kong aminin sa sarili ko na kailangan ko nito, kahit na iniisip kong wala namang makakapagbigay nito. Sa wakas nasambit ng bibig ko, kahit pabulong lang, isang hiyang-hiyang 'tulong', parang pag-amin ng kahinaan. Pero ang bilis ng pagtulong, ng pagtulong na tinawag pero hindi inasahan, ay nagsabi sa akin na hindi kahinaan ang ginawa ko kundi tatak ng sapat na kagurangan ng isipan para matanggap sa sarili na kailangan na nga. Salamat, salamat sa tulong.

Tulong, Tulong, Tulong

Parang magic, salitang pag sinabi mo ay darating, kung humingi ako ng pagkain duda akong bibigyan ako, pag humiling ako ng pagtatanggol sa tingin ko'y magiging duguan tumpok ng laman na lang ako. Pero ang 'tulong', iba ang pag hingi ng tulong, isang panawagan ng nilalang sa kapwa nilalang na kailangan kong makahanap ng solusyon sa suliraning ito, humihiling akong gawin mo ang nais mo't kaya mo para maiahon ako sa kumunoy na ito, tulong.

 

Malamang ay matagal pa bago ako masanay humiling ng tulong at tumanggap na hindi ko kaya gawin lahat ng bagay mag-isa, pero sa ngayon ay sapat na sa akin ang alam ko na meron palang darating, dumating man ang panahong masambit ko, tulong.

 

Keep That Shit Away From Me

08 February 2009

So that's what karma is, shit causes shit causing more shit.

Right now, everything is just so fucked up, nothing is going right and I'm grasping at straws grasping at thinner straws.

I guess there's not much else to write,

Welcome to my Life.

Past Tensed

19 December 2008

Nope, wrong use of words, not in the past tense I'm afraid. It should be in present tense and I wouldn't use too light a noun to pertain to that specific awkwardness you detect from the most obvious of clues. But of course, it's you, not me, so why should I care what words you use.

Disturbingly, you have asked the question at the perfect point of my current state, I am neither too eager nor too bored, neither too scared nor floating in response to the effects of hallucinogenic mushrooms. Unfortunately, the question, though concerning certain characters was not addressed to certain character, though addressed to character who is certain of answer but not in any real position to answer at certain point of time.

There's not much point trying to say too much really, I just want to say, Yes, you are right in your hunch and look a little farther back in the history of my writing and you will prove how correct you are. I am dissappointed that it took you this long, but maybe its better this way. Yes, they were for you, and may they stand and say whatever they were bent on saying in the first place. I already wrote them, I should not bother to say what my past works had to say, so there.

Do please not hate me for this, I feel incredibly foolish just writing in this specific tone, more so writing what I have just written above in this specific manner. May my foolishness be enough to pacify any annoyance you might have for this bit of new information you acquired, I'm a coward, really, this is as brave as I can muster at this moment, perhaps you can give me another moment, lets try my gonads then.

Thank you and good day.

Isa nanamang Liham na Hindi na naman mababasa ng Pinatutunguan

02 December 2008

Ayoko na,

Masyado na akong nabuburyong sa pagbabakasakali na ikaw ay dadaan o sisilip man lang kahit dalawang segundo lang. Ang unang segundo para makapagkunwari akong hindi pa kita napansin nuong papalapit ka pa lang, ang ikalawa para dumikit man lang sa isip ko na ikaw nga ang nadiyan at hindi isang mahabang guni-guni lamang, tulad ng madami kong ibang guni-guni. Ayoko na, ayoko nang hintayin ka pa, hindi na ako mauupo sa parehong pwesto para lang umasa na darating ka. Hindi na rin ako magdadalawang-isip umalis sa kinauupuan ko sa takot na baka sa pag-alis ko'y dumating ka at hindi ko masulit ang ginintuang pagkakataon. Ayoko na, kailangan ko nang umusad, inipit mo ako sa gitna ng gising at panaginip, pero hindi isang gising na panaginip kundi isang tulog na katotohanan.

Ayoko na, ayoko nang nanaginip sa gabi ng mga korning panaginip. Panaginip na nakakainis iwanan para sa tunay na mundo. Ayoko nang nakikita kang nakangiti sa aking tabi, nagkukwento ng masasaya at malulungkot sa ilalim ng itim na kurtinang sinabuyan ng mga mumunting ikaw, aking bituin, para lamang magising at bumungad sa akin ang malungkot na kisame, o tahimik na pader, o matigas na unan.

Gusto ko nang gumawa ng paraan, gawing tunay ang panaginip, o di kaya'y gisingin ang sarili sa katotohanan. O kaya sabay, gisingin ang sarili sa katotohanan na hindi magiging tunay ang panaginip kung manatili akong tulog, o gising pero di kumikilos. Kikilos ako, hindi para sa kung ano mang dahilan kundi para sa iyo, dahil ayokong hindi ako nagiging matapat sa'yo. Napakadungis ko sa mga sikretong tinatato naman sa balat, sikretong bukas para basahin, ayaw ko nang bihisan ang sarili huwag mo lang mabasa, ipababasa ko na, bahala ka na sa lahat ng pagkatapos.

Ayoko na, dahil gusto ko, oo madami akong gusto, pero may mas gusto ako, pinaka gusto kumbaga, at tingin ko, kandidato ka para duon.

Please Read, Badly Needing Advice: On my Grades, my Life, and Love

31 October 2008

(bear the first two paragraphs, I wrote them when I was still in a terrible mood, if you can't bear them then just skip to the fourth paragraph)

I hate my life, and here I go ranting about what a pathetic life I have and then people would say "No Ernie, you don't have a pathetic life!" or "Look, some lives are worse than yours." I say fuck off, I'm pissed at myself and am very much willing to be pissed at right about anyone else too, so give me a goddamn break. And yeah, I expect people to read this shit and I don't care if I end up insulting them while reading it. Look at this way, people of the blue earth, this damn thing would be a worse insult to myself than it would be to you. No, I won't calm down, and all you voices in my head can shut up too.

I have a pathetic life, I just said that, I know I did, and now I'm gonna start explaining why so that's why I said it again. My grades suck, suck badly, its like I'm not in school, and its true, I go to school barely going to school and I go there just to have fun, and I see it as good thing now because otherwise I'd be out of school a year ago if I didn't have fun at school. I'd be so much a blooming loser now if I'm not going to school, I'd probably be dead now if I wasn't in school, and the thing that rates how good you are at school says I suck at school, I hate grades. I always say I don't care about my grades, well I was lying, I do, I'm just used to not having to worry about them because I get good grades anyway that now I'm pissed of that I can't get grades my way. But I'm in a fucking school, its gotta be their way, fuck that.

If you've haven't noticed I used fuck a couple of times, well I don't fuck-off like this unless I'm really pissed and it aint just pissed-pissed, it's sad-pissed, I hate being sad, it pisses me off. Its just that I can't get a job and I feel so fucking strangled at home. I can't move, I can't do stuff my way, and even if my way doesn't always work I can't work or see myself doing stuff any other way, I like my way, my way is ambitious and cool. I don't want to live a boring life now I feel like I'm not living a life at all if its a boring life.

And there's this love thing, I think I'm fucking in love, and I use 'fucking' as an adjective there. The problem is I don't if its real or I'm just fooling with my own head, maybe all this talk about myself being so fucking pathetic make me feel so desperate that I just search for love everywhere. I hate it, I'm fucking embarassed by it, I like this girl bad, so bad, I don't know what to call it, I hate calling it love, I hate that word. And I like this other girl too and she somebody I've been with a bit longer. And to add to this confusion there's this girl hanging around, and I don't know what she's about, she's been there for a long time but I've been noticing she's been a bit different as if she's trying to say something. I don't know, this stuff is just coming back and it doesn't help that this feels too highschool to me, I'm embarassed blogging all this, really, I am.

I don't know, I'm such a coward, maybe I need counseling. But just the thought of getting counseling is troubling me, I mean, with all the chains I'm in, will I be allowed to? Will they understand? Who will understand? Those who chain me are those who've been with me for a longer time, those who me know since I was a kid, and I'm thinking, what if they're right? What if I am a pathetic guy, what if all that she says when she gives me a sermon are true. I mean, I know some of them are true, but what if I am going nowhere, what if I am a really bad person.

And then there's the Questions I ask to myself, what if I am not fit for school, what if I get kicked-out, what if I'm not a great writer, what if this is as good as I get, what if my friends won't be there forever, what if I disappoint everyone, my mom, my family, my friends, myself, and even my dad's legacy?

What if I don't deserve to be Loved?

Talk to me, give me words, whatever, insult me, provoke me, hate me, help me, just talk to me. Thank you for bearing this with me. AMEN to all who read this all, if there are gods, may they bless your souls.

Para sa Nag-iisa

18 August 2008

Ikaw na nag-iisa, huwag kang tutungo sapagkat nakakahawa ang lungkot mo, hindi ikaw ang may hawak ng lungkot habambuhay, sa lungkot mo'y magmumula ang lungkot ko. Huwag ka nang mag-isa at sumama ka sa akin.

Sinong umiwan sa iyo? Ako ba? Ngunit ngayon lang kita nakita, paano ko iiwan ang hindi ko pa nakakasama? Pero nais ko sanang makasama ka. Kung iniwan man kita bagamat ngayon lang kita nakita, hindi ko na gagawin iyon muli.

Ikaw na nag-iisa, at ako rin na nag-iisa. Tayong dalawang nag-iisa, nag-iisa pa ba? Mag-isa ka man d'yan at mag-isa man ako dito dalawa parin tayong nag-iisa. Magkita nga tayo sa gitna at magkasamang mag-isa, o maging isa, bahala ka.

Do we Have a Problem?

05 August 2008

Why am I writing this here? I'm not even sure if you'll be able to read this, you don't really put up an effort to read my stuff, I never really put up an effort to make you read them. Those times seem so long ago now, well, they are long ago. It just feels like I haven't seen you in a while, well, I really haven't seen you in a while, it is true.

Do we have a problem? I don't even know why I'm using the word 'we' here. But since I'm pertaining to a problem between you and me and it maybe affecting you and-slash-or me and maybe caused by you or me (its probably me, anxiety, anxiety) then its just proper to use the word 'we'. At least I think so.

You haven't really given me time of day. not that you have to, its just that you used to do give me time of day. Maybe I just got used to it, I miss it probably, no, not probably, I do miss it.

Do we have a problem? I probably asked you this question a big enough number of times to be worth comment. Because I can never really tell what the problem is, I just feel that there is a problem, its stressing me, its probably stressing you more. Well, at least enough to make you send that aura of a rift between us even if we're far away. We've had problems before haven't we? And I never did know what it was until you told me, maybe I'm insensitive, but right now I'm blaming it on too much sensitivity, maybe there is no problem, you still smile, but there is something in the words you send to me and the feel of your actions when I am near that make me think there is a problem. Is there?

is there?

is there?

please tell me so.

Crying (part one)

13 July 2008

I guess it should feel weird, after she stormed out I just felt so unclean, so heavy, probably with unseen dirt all over my arms, probably my chest, probably figurative dirt all over my chest too, probably not. But I had to take a shower, get some cold water on my skin, wash it off, wash it off, wash whatever I ever have to off. It feels so relieving when warm water pierce the cold of my face, frozen by the airconditioning and by barely held back tears, I guess they should be called tears now, I am actually crying in the shower.

Pathetic, I know, all my weight on my forehead leaning on the wall, my arms didn't seem to have anything better to do than bang on the tiled wall. It was all I could do to stay standing, to not voice these tears, to remind myself to keep breathing as my lungs didn't seem to see purpose for it anymore. As great streams of water hit and jump off my skin, I let these tears drop with them, maybe as they go down the drain the stupid thing that caused them wil go too.

The water hummed as it left the shower head and drummed on skin and tile, all of this sounded to me like her shouting and rants, I could still hear her in my head.

Kwent-emo: Epekto ng Alkohol (part 1)

01 July 2008

“Anong Problema?” tanong n’ya, masyado yata akong pa obvious. Siguro dahil napansin na n’ya na lima nang santo ang tinutumba ko’t nagbukas pa ako ng pang-anim. Baka naman dahil sa kumpol kumpol na upos ng sigarilyo ko na naitataktak ang sigarilyo ko dahil di na nasisinagan ng bumbilya ang ilalim ng ashtray. Baka dahil sa gitna na nang talasinsingan at hinliliit ko iniipit ang sigarilyong hinihithit ko para matakpan ko ang kalahati ng mukha ko tuwing hihithit ako. Pero malamang dahil hindi ko s’ya kinikibo kanina pa, ngayon lang na hiniga na sa banig sa sala si Chino tsaka lang ako nagsalita. Kung kelan kaming dalawa na lang at si San Miguel ang nagkukwentuhan.

“Wala,” sinong niloko ko? Meron, syempre, hindi ko lang masabi ng diretso dahil kasama s’ya sa kwento, at umaandar nanaman ang karuwagan ko, kung matatawag ngang karuwagan ang sobrang pag-iingat na magsabi ng sinasaloob. Binigyan ko ng huling hithit ang yosi at ‘di na ako nag-abalang i-iwas ang usok sa kanya. Nagulat naman akong hindi ko nakita (kahit sa gilid lang ng mga mata ko, gayong di ko sya tinitignan ng diretso) ang pagkunot ng noo n’ya sa usok, tulad ng dati, patunay lang na seryoso ang pagka-concerned n’ya, epekto na ‘din yata ng alcohol.

“Sabihin mo na.” hindi ko sasabihin, alam n’ya y’on. Sanay na din s’ya sa akin, alam n’ya na hindi ko kaya sabihin, na hindi ko kaya ipaliwanag ang mga sinasabi ko, pinatay ko ang yosi sa maong ko, sa tuhod, umaasang mapapaso ako, hindi naman ako binigo ng yosi ko. Alam na niya ito, kailangan n’ya akong tanungin para malaman ko kung paano ko sasabihin ang nasa loob ko, kung magawa ko mang sabihin. Baka naman tangkain n’ya ang ginagawa n’ya dati, na ibahin na lang ang topic at hingin ang opinion ko sa ibang bagay para sumaya ako. Pero kumuha na din s’ya ng sigarilyo sa kaha ko, inabot ko ang lighter sa kanya, kumuha ng sarili kong yosi, at nagsindi na din pagkasindi n’ya ng sa kanya, pinagsabay namin ang isang mahabang buga.

“Ano ang tingin mo kay Chino?”

Dusk

The blazing sun waves goodbye to me

As the waves engulf its life

And to oblivion this day will be

'Til the present is no more the night.

 

The sea, the foam, and the salty air

All tell me I must not cry

For the day that I tell myself; no more, no more

Should not be the day I die.

 

If the sea could sing the tears I shed

That silence I had at dusk

It would sing; I love you, I love you

And would not cease though it must.

 

You don't have to douse this heart of mine

You can be his, that's fine

I will be the seas' and the seas will mine

I'm really lonely, but I don't mind.

Misery Needs

01 June 2008

I don't know, I feel so pathetic, maybe they're right, perhaps I am too eager. Maybe if I sit it out it'll leave on its own, maybe the eagerness and the longing would wear off. Maybe the envy and bitterness would go too, you never know.

I know one thing, I shouldn't have clicked that link, I knew I'd just feel pathetic, I didn't expect to what though, I just had a premonition of a pathetic feeling not knowing the type of shit that would be causing it. They say misery loves company, maybe its because the absence of company is the cause of misery, I don't know, I even sound pathetic.

[ ha! i love remaining slightly vague, almost obvious when it comes to blogs about this shit. Now, this is what you call selfish writing.]

So its clear to me now that I don't really feel the feeling I thought I felt. I just felt like feeling the feeling I thought I felt. It was stupid I even felt like feeling that feeling I thought I felt, its jsut stupid.

[now i'm freakingly afraid I'm not being vague enough.]

I just realized the stupidity now, even if I was already told that it was stupid. I just realized it now, and it is, stupid that is. I know its only fruit of my eagerness and I proved that when I got fucking bitter that I was so much a fucking miser and other people aren't.

Geez, and a few days ago i thought I was growing up, I'm still acting and talking like a friggin kid. All this wanting and shit makes me feel even more pathetic (realizing that I am pathetic is bad for my health). Why the hell am I so fucking eager? I don't get it! Why am I wanting this kind of shit? I don't need this shit to live (phsiologically anyway). I've lived eighteen years without it and I'm here. Maybe I can get a few years pass the ravine, maybe even get a decent length of life without it, I need to cool it, really.

There are other forms of misericide other than that I'm so eager for, there's the form of misericide I just found out about about a few months before this multiply site was born, there's the misericide I had since birth that I am in need of supplements for, there's the misericide of not using misericide, but I'm not using that, I haven't used misericide for years and look at me, blogging, so pathetic.

[ ah, symbolisms and inventing new words, perfect cure to almost becoming too obvious.]

You know what I really want? For people to actually understand this blog entry. For somebody out there to give me something I'd have some use for. Because even if I did realize that my words do need filters now, i still buy the filters that filter least.

SOMEBODY PLEASE WORKHARD, BREAK MY SHEILD, FIND OUT WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, CATCH ME OFF GUARD, TAKE ME TO THE STREETS, REVEAL ME, NAKES TO THE WORLD, HELP ME, RID ME OFF IT.

Misey loves company.