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.)

Listahan

28 December 2010

1.

Lista ng mga bagay na malalamig: bagyo, beer, bentilador, boses ni Armi, bote, bughaw, hangin, kama, kanin, kwarto, pasko, puso, sigarilyo, sorbetes, ulam, ulan, unan.

2.

Nagbabasa ako ng libro mula sa ibabaw ng balikat ng katabi ko sa bus, ang libro ay may kwento tungkol sa pag-ibig. Ako rin.

3.

Sabihin na nating ang mga bote ng beer na gumugulong sa sahig ng kwarto ko ay marka na ako ay mag-aalaga ng pusa sa mga susunod na araw. 

4.

Ang mga isda sa palengke ay laging nasa palengke, ang isda sa dagat ay hindi mas masarap kainin pero may kasamang paghihirap ng paghuli. Ang isda sa palengke na pinalaki pa sa palaisdaan ay nakakatamad na isda.

5.

Mga Kailangan ko na nagsisimula sa Pa-: Palabas, Palaso, Pandesal, Panulat, Papel, Parabula, Parachute

6.

Karatula sa Hong Kong:

"No Smoking I Will Crazy"

7.

Kapag ang buwan ng sintu-sintong pagsasaya ay naging buwan ng pagkahulog ng himpapawid patungo sa akin, magugunaw na ang mundo.

8.

Takot ako sa dilim.

9.

Sa mga pagkakataong hindi ka matulungan ni John Lloyd, o ni John Cusack, o ni John Mayer. Mabuti pang kumunsulta kay Johnny Walker.

10.

Listahan ng laman ng entri na ito: Isang lista ng mga bagay na malalamig, isang inimbentong kwento, isang propesiya, isang isda, isang listahan na may nawawala, isang karatulang hindi sinusunod, isang sintu-sintong propesiya, isang katotohanan, isang payong pang kaibigan, isang listahan ng laman ng entri na ito.

Midnight Drama: Part One of What Could be A Long Series of Drama

31 October 2010

It is 11:59 as I write this, the walls of my room shake as big-ass trucks pass by, dogs seem to be arguing about something, but the wind is quiet, and still I am lulled by the humming of my electric fan. After watching episode after episode of downloaded sitcoms I went down to the kitchen to make myself a pitcher of orange juice and a scooped a small bowl of peanut butter. Now I am sitting on my bed, hunched low, the only light coming from my laptop screen and I thought I should write something about love. So here I am.

There are no experts in love, the scientists can tell you about neural receptors and chemicals being secreted and bolts in your brain, and they can tell you of your beating heart, of your flushing cheeks, of your stutter as you speak, but they cannot tell you of love, not as you want to hear it. Social scientists go forth and observe your behaviors and the patterns and the similarities and differences between societies and cultures of their perception or expression of love, they give a lot of talk, but none of those are what I want to say. Even the poets and their figures of speech are not much different, they’re just fancy words, fancy phrases for something we all know, but can’t say what.

Love, love, love, we know of love, we know what it is, but we don’t have enough data about it to be able to say something about what it is that will be conclusively accepted as true. Except perhaps that it’s  perplexing.

----

I want to see you. I want to hold you.

I have dreams, dreams where I wrap my arms around you and I shield you from the world. In my arms nothing can harm you, in my arms there is no reason to be scared, in my arms there is nothing but my love. I can promise you my heart, I can promise you my life, I can promise forever if only you ask.

Tell me to come to you, tell me to speak, to shout, to proclaim to the world that I love you. Let me say it, let me say what we both know.

----

It is 2:19 AM, 26 hours and 20 minutes after I begun writing this piece and I am still thinking love. I have considered asking somebody more experienced than me in this field and then was where I hit another brick wall. What exactly constitutes the ‘experiencing’ of love? Does it require a mutual acceptance of a relationship before it falls into the category of ‘true’ love? I only bring that up of course because it was the main argument of this girl I knew in high school as to why what I was feeling for her cannot be in anyway ‘love’. Is an individual’s consciousness that a set of emotions and reactions to stimuli fall into a set and culturally accepted pattern constitute as ‘experiencing’ love, hence the phrase ‘falling in love’?

For several days now I’ve been immersing myself in different possible sources of information. Among them are love poems (notably, Chingbee Cruz has wonderful love poems, though again I cannot possibly know how the category ‘love poem’ was ever formulated without a clear enough definition of love), Hugh Grant movies, romantic songs (ignoring the fact that I might come off as spambot now, I would like to commend Ang Bandang Shirley for their album ‘Theme songs’), romantic comedy sitcoms, and even the holy books of different religions. Still I’ve got nothing.

----

I watch my cigarette burn. Holding it between two fingers I bring it closer and closer to my face. I see the ember as it consumes another bit of white paper and turns it into gray ash. The orange burns brightly within the black of the burnt tobacco, and right then I wanted to kill the embers on my chest. Burn my skin with this cigarette, right where my heart beats. It shouts, my heart does, it is cold and weak. I shall bring it warmth. I shall bury this cigarette through my flesh and bone to pierce my heart.

Your picture is pinned on a corkboard on my wall. Too small for me to frame it, too valuable for me to keep it in my wallet, too beautiful is the face on it for me to be able to cease thinking of it. I cannot hide it, I cannot throw it away, your smile immortalized in celluloid has been marked into my brain, etched with the embers of a cigarette.

I watch my cigarette until it burns nearer and nearer my skin. I swore to myself never to let it go, no matter the pain of the heat, no matter what stinging burn, I shall hold it until it dies between my fingers. Only then shall I let it go.

----

Jesus Christ, it’s now 3 AM and I’m writing vaguely about unrequited love, how much more pathetic can I be?

FML.

The God Question

30 October 2010

Being raised in the environment I have been, it's hard not to believe in a supreme being that is out there,  a god if you will. But I must say that I cannot believe he actually gives a crap about what we do with our lives.

I can't live my life according to the teachings of some group of elders interpreting some book that was written by people who lived in places and times that are that different to mine. If I'm gonna live a life I must live according to multiple books, all books if possible. Not according to some code of rights and wrong but to the just and fair I learn a long the way.

My life is my bible, the world is my prophet, and I am my own messiah.

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.

Textual Photography

11 August 2010

(Around a month or two ago I was introduced to Michael David Murphy's unphotographable.com and his concept of photography using words. I tried it out on my own, and it's pretty cool and useful as an exercise especially for describing settings in fiction and non-fiction and in detailing panels to an artist in comic book writing, here are some of what I came up with.)

This is a picture I did not take of a girl walking in the middle of the street as a light drizzle falls from the night sky. The curving street was lined and illuminated by deep yellow light from street lamp after street lamp. Her face glows at is passes the each lamp post, her hair sways with the falling leaves, and perhaps in recognition of the humming music of wind and drizzle to the asphalt, she twirls at the balls of her feet.

This is a picture I did not take of a boy checking his cellphone with his back turned to the bulletin board of Palma Hall Lobby at the University of the Philippines. His yellow shirt drooping over his shoulders and his jeans spilling on his white sneakers, his backpack hanging heavily on one shoulder, his glasses reflect the flourescent bulbs of the Palma Hall Lobby, masking his eyes. Behind him is a recruitment poster of some student org, featuring lovers holding hands.

This is a picture I did not take of a cockroach inside my black canvas school bag. Which I found on my yellow notebook as I pulled it out before my Creative Writing class starts. Smaller than the average roach and not the usual brown color, it's abdomen was striped black and white. It's head tilted towards me as I stared back at it, not with disgust, not with surprise, not with fear, but a mutual amazement.

You Were Crying

07 August 2010

I had a dream sometime back, I don't remember much of it now.

Just the bits, Just some pieces.

It was a vacation outing of sorts in a place that looked very much like the one they went to at that teen movie, TRIP, I think it's called. It was the gang, the usual bunch, there we're many of us.

You were crying, sitting in some deck of sorts, with wooden planks for a floor. You were scared, I think, or maybe your mom called and told you bad news, I can't remember.

I promised you I'll be there, I said I always have been, I asked you to let me hold you forever.

You and me became us, we were happy, you smiled at me over your shoulder as you led me to the pier to watch the sunset. I tied balloons to cat tails so you can pop them with your blow gun as the cats chased mechanical rats. I arranged your closet for you, you fixed my apartment door.

I was holding you in my arms as we sit at the Sunken Garden in my dreams when I awoke, My laptop left open in front of me.

I had a dream sometime back, and some more before that.

I had a dream some time back, I still do.

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.

Uwian na: Excerpt

25 April 2010

Maagang pinauwi sina Jun mula sa paaralan, tanghali pa lang ay sakay na s’ya ng serbis ng paaralan papunta sa kani-kanilang bahay. Walang takdang-araling binigay ang kanyang mga guro at tulad ng karaniwang bata sa greyd por ay pinaplano na n’ya ang mga paglalarong gagawin n’ya pagkauwi at ang mga palabas sa telebisyon na mapapanood n’ya dahil pinauwi sila ng maaga. Isang bulalakaw kasi ang bumulusok mula sa kalawakan papasok ng bintana ng kanilang silid at pumaslang sa kanilang guro sa Filipino, magiging abala ang mga dyanitor at karpintero ng paaralan sa paglilinis ng nabasag na bintana, pagtatanggal ng mga bakas ng pagkasunog at dugo sa mga ding-ding at kisame at pagpapalit ng salamin ng silid. Magiging abala din ang mga guro sa pagdadala ng katawan ni Gng. Pagtalunan sa morge at pagpapaliwanag sa pamilya nito sa kalunos-lunos na aksidenteng naganap. Kaya’t maaga silang pinauwi.

Binaba siya sa harap ng kanilang bahay ng mabait at palangiting drayber ng serbis ng paaralan, pag-pasok n’ya sa bahay ay inabutan n’yang nakatayo sa kisame ang kanyang ina at abalang binabakyum ang paligid ng bumbilya ng kanilang sala. Hindi agad napansin ng kanyang ina na nasa loob na s’ya ng bahay, marahil dahil sa ingay na nililikha ng bakyum kliner nila. Tumingkayad si Jun para kalabitin ang bumbunan ng ina, na agad namang tumingala.

“Aba, maaga ka yata ngayon.” Sabi ng ina,

“Hindi kita madinig, patayin mo muna ang bakyum, ma.” Sabi ni Jun, nakatingala sila sa isa’t isa

“Ano anak? Hindi kita madinig, papatayin ko muna itong bakyum.” Pinatay ng ina ni Jun ang bakyum cleaner. “Bakit maaga ka pinauwi ngayon?”

“May bulalakaw na pumasok sa bintana at tinamaan si Gng, Pagtalunan, patay na s’ya kaya pinauwi na kami.” Sabi ni Jun.

“Si Gng. Pagtalunan? Mabait na guro iyon, nakakalungkot naman.” Umiiling-iling ang ina ni Jun ng muling buksan ang bakyum at nagpatuloy sa paglilinis.

Tournament of Getting Awa (Google Translate is Coño)

25 March 2010

(May Blog entry ako na "Paligsahan ng Paghingi ng Awa" pinrompt akong i-translate ito mula Filipino sa Ingles. Sinubukan ko lang, komedya ampota :)))

Consecutive announcement of the politician want to be president, interfering little time each day nilalaan to watching TV. Villar to pinagpipilitan our hard lang talaga nung bata pa s'ya s'ya even s'ya private school attended and the three storey house they Tondo. The Noynoy that pinangangalandakan the 'achievements' of the parents while n'ya' di naman n'ya ignores the issue of Hacienda Luisita and Mendiola Massacre. Si Erap to pinangangalandakang denied him the Arroyo administration half term n'ya while Arroyo is also why independent s'ya today. Why do these at the top of the survey e nothing but magpaawa?

You see it was Villar, "I just returned me to being entrepreneurs." Why Manny, leave you? E you are the number one example of the capitalist burukrat. Run the country like a company. Not ordinary kurakot, ikaw yung tipong power not used for pagkamkam wealth but for konting maniobra that makakalamang you. Like that of the C5 road extension, you wander the streets of little benefit for Mr. naman. Villar.

Yun also means your campaigning, you yourself know you damaged sure-win that would have attended kandidaturya nung scene it was Noynoy. So now desperate can spend millions to raise itself in the ratings, to narrate the loss of your money. Ang galing, napakapoetic campaign, full of irony.

New School TRAPO be Manny, but still TRAPO the modern style, not too obvious. Pero ganun pa rin, concentrated gloss elegance, concentrated lie, concentrated for itself the doing.

We may forget about kay Erap? Convicted, CONVICTED, the graft & corruption. Stole that, knowing that, that that should makukulong if nerve lang yung judge. Mabubulok nga sana in Tanay in only if granted by Gloria (Morocco rin kasi we can die man President). Eto pa, just to prove that the insult dog called dog-eat-dog politics of the Philippines, RUN UNDER PRESIDENT! Inaway pa yung specific person nagpalaya him "Dog does not bite the hand that feeds it" apparently, some kind of animal it hinayupak to.

Have we forgotten that is why we cast him out of Malacañang this hayup it in the first place? I said when a rumor just to run it si Erap, if allowed s'ya Comelec, not that we really respect our own Constitution.

Ngayon naman, when it won si Erap, we no longer respect the Judicial system we decide him guilty, yet we do not pity our own country, our own family, the dish hinahain our table.

Who most Trapo mangandidato all candidates now? Si Noynoy! Hooray!

Who leads the survey? Si Noynoy! Hooray!

Kelangan that we stopped voting in the Icon. Erap won because the poverty Icon s'ya, Cory won was because s'ya Icon of the deceased was Trapong Ninoy Aquino (who were not be heroes if I just died in, which bwiset Trapo yan), Icon s'ya all the suffering of Martial Law and the Marcos regime. Why was leading Noynoy? S'ya you may experience? Nothing. Have proven that you s'ya? Nothing. S'yang you may do so? Ewan ko, malay natin? Magbabakasakali we nanaman an ICON that so lang naman n'ya run the party for e n'ya mother died and they masosolid n'ya Sympathy Vote (trying to usurp Villar with 'I died utol' line) . PUTANG INA! All that ad is a bald e pinangangalandakan n'ya how well the n'yang parents died and how n'ya want continue the initiated them. While stoned when you s'ya the issue about the administration of the mother n'ya or killed on land they answer e n'ya "Do ye pong toss to Senator Aquino achievements or achievements of n'ya relatives, others po si Senator Aquino, the po s'ya we judge. " Putang mother hypocritical double standard yan. E wala ka ngang maihusga to Noynoy, I s'yang meron naman e! Puro dada just about the stoppage of corruption while kaapu s'ya descendant of a master land pinagkakait to farmers in the land law that na should be them. Corruption? Ayun the corruption, the law does not apply to the Aquino family because they are more powerful.

Yes, I hate to hate to Aquino, for pinuputa n'ya us n'yang the deceased parents as reasons s'ya should vote. Sabagay, wala naman proud s'yang major bills passed as running mate n'ya. S'yang experience without the opponent n'ya. None s'yang anything, the meron lang si Noynoy is n'ya family, the rotten n'yang surname.

Yes that, somewhat irritated that the OA ko kay Noynoy, but for the mercy cheating, not cheating it three voting to ha? Please?

The Continuity of Self-Hate in the War Against the Truth That is Time

08 February 2010

I have prided myself in being above mediocrity, on being more than the average man. I am ashamed to admit that all this time I have been wrong. But I will admit, I have been wrong, I am no more than a man. Whatever the definition of which it entails, that I am, a man and no more.

I would like to believe in a One True Way, a destiny, a predetermined future that speaks of me being born to be more than what I have always been. I would like to believe in fate. I would like to believe that there is something out there in the path time takes to the end of it all that says one day I will be great. But I know there is none, I know now that there is no one true way. That I am a man molded by the choices I make and the events this brings.

For as long as I could remember I have been obsessed with the past and the future. Wishing there was a way I could travel back with the wisdom I have now and change things, make things better than they are. Hoping that eventually something will happen that will lead me to a destiny I have so long wished for me to have.  I am constantly at war with the truth that is time, and that there is nothing I can do about anything in it other than what is in the present.

I have come to understand that my wishing and hoping have all been wrong. Understand, but not accept.

I know this, I accept that the fact that I cannot accept that fact is a weakness. I am afraid of the future, and as the mistakes I have made pile up I cannot stop myself from dwelling In the seas my incapability to take charge of my own life has created. I am drowning, and as I consume more and more of these errors I realize all of this is just too much for me, and I will die in my sins to myself and to the world around me. To the people I love, and how I have begun to hate people I love simply for being right about me, for stabbing me with knives and spears in my face. There is simply too much of it for me to start over.

--------

But then, I do not have to start over.

I have taken the step to realize I am drowning, I have awoken to see my world flooded by these blunders of my own making. I have accepted that there is no way for me to parch these waters, and what I have to do is to learn how to swim.

-------

I am humbled by my own words, I recall once saying to a friend; “We can never start over, we can only continue from where we are.” How arrogant of me to have said words I have been blind to follow. Time and time again reminds me of how my past has molded me to be what I am. Weak, irresponsible, arrogant, fool-hardy, timid, indolent, these are adjectives that have chosen me as host. I have lived a life to deserve the flaws of my nature, and not the splendor that I could be.

There, I said it, there is nothing I must be. There is nothing I should be. There is nothing I need to be. There are only the things I can be. Somewhere between my clouded reverie and lurid lucidity I know, There are things to be done, and everything now lies as to if I will.

I can never really know unless I try I guess.

Senses

03 February 2010

I wish we can turn off our senses.

I wish I can choose to not hear, not feel. I wish I could be there but not know it.

I always wish I cannot feel, the world I move around in is a jungle of stimulus that mauls each of my senses like mobs. I am left beaten from the moment I can no longer pretend to be asleep to the instance life grants my wish that I be numbed and fall asleep. The pain I bear is so that I forget to wish for my dreams to not hold the pain in them. If at all, remove all my senses, may no more come to this consciousness of mine, if I shall still live let me then be a shadow awaiting death. If you cannot take from me all that binds me to this reality then by the very least take my hearing. For I can always close my eyes, but my ears are cursed to always hear the words spoken to me by she who means to hurt, amen.

My name is Jun Palma, and I am not alone in the confines of my room. I share the space with fear, hate, anger, sadness. I share my room with the recurring words from a creature known to my soul only as the bringer of pain. I am not alone and I have never felt so weak.

Hate, if I have to left with only one thing, let it be the hate. My Hate.

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.

A conversation (Flash Fiction)

14 December 2009

http://www.plurk.com/p/2z83jx
Isang Mabilis na ginawang fiction, presented sa format ng Plurk.

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.

Nauubos nga Kaya?

11 November 2009

(oo, yan talaga ang title n'yan, hindi yan inagaw sa mga linya sa Katorse kahit na parang magkasing korni)

Paano kaya kung ang pagmamahal e nauubos. Yung tipo bang me stock ng pag-ibig sa puso mo, tapos kapag naubos na e wala na, di mo na kaya magmahal. Kahit anong pilit mo, di na kakagat ulit tulad ng dati.

Naisip ko lang naman kasi hindi ako sanay ng hindi ako inlab, taena komedya. Lagi akong inlab e, kung kanikanino, apaka bilis ko mainlab. May mga resurgence-resurgence pang nalalaman ang puso't damdamin ng bwakanang inang pakshet, tipo bang maiinlab pa ulit sa nainlaban na nya dati kahit hindi na naman sya inlab dun for quite some time. Inisip ko tuloy, sa dami ba ng nainlaban ko (taena, anong salita yan? nainlaban ampotah) e naubos na ba yung stock ko, di na kaya? Napamigay na lahat (kahit di nila lahat alam na nakakatanggap sila), ubos na, sa kabilang bahay na lang kayo mag trick or treat kasi di na kaya mamigay ng kendi ng mokong na to, 1 week old na pandesal na lang ang natitira, bonus na yung palamang ipis.

Inisip ko din, sakali ngang nauubos yung stock ng pag-ibig, parepareho kaya tayo ng dami ng pag-ibig? Baka merong mga sumisirit na sa puso nila yung pag-ibig, dyuskopoandame, tapos meron ding yung perslab nya na kaklasmeyt nyang tinuruan sya magtali ng sintas nung greyd tu lang ang kaya nyang maalayan ng pag-ibig, pagkatapos nun serial killer na s'ya. Halata naman kasing iba-iba tayo ng paraan ng paglustay sa pag-ibig na meron tayong naka stock, haypotetikali. Halimbawa nga ako, para akong bagitong bumberong perstaym humawak ng hose na sobrang lakas ng bugso ng tubig, edi kung sino-sino na nababasa, alang direksyon ampotah. Meron namang parang Kongresman, karamihan ng pork barrel e sa kanya lang. Papatayo lang s'ya isang put brids.

Tsaka, paano kay kinokompyut yun? Ibig ko sabihin, yung mga paraan ng pagpapakita ng pag-ibig may corresponding value ayon sa kung gaano kadaming pag-ibig ang kelangan i-alay. Siguro magastos yung magsimula ng bagong lab, kaya siguro ubos kaagad yung sa akin, bigay lang ako ng bigay e, walang maintenance.

Pero baka naman narereplenish, pede mag reload. Halimbawa nood ka ng mga pelikula ni John Lloyd e me sapat na bala ka na para mainlab ulit. O kaya may pace din ng pagreplenish, tapos depende ulit sa tao, ang jologs pero ang astig atdaseymtaym! Kelangan ko talaga malaman kung paano na rereplenish kung sakasakali, kasi kanina pinipilit kong mainlab ulit ayaw talaga, parang alam kong dapat naiinlab na ako, pero di sumusunod ang puso sa dinidikta ng isipan. Wala na daw kayang ibigay e, yata, di ko pa naman talaga nadidinig magsalita ang puso ko, bingi ako sa mga hiling ng damdamin, nakanatutsa, nakakadiring linya!

Pero syempre, haypotetikal lang nga, malay mo eklat ko lang to tapos di naman pala totoo, wala lang. Mali yung hula ko, tapos maya-maya naiinlab na ulit ako. Baka napapagod lang ang puso pero di nauubusan, naks, kanina pa ako bumabanat ng korning linya, ang korni-korni ko na, Walang wenta pa tong entry na to, halo-halong kagaguhan, kakornihan, kadramahan, malalim na linya, makekesong eklavu, nakakabanas na banat at jumbo blender na writing style pa ang gamit. Korni-korni ko talaga, ang wirdo lang kasi kapag hindi ka inlab.

Notepad Drama: Entry Number 3

02 November 2009

(Introduction to notepad Drama, aNG MgA eNTRy Dito Ay Mga ISinulaT ko NoOng NagTatRaBAho PA akO sA KolSeNtER sa LiBIs, NakAsAvE Ang Mga ITO sa aKing NotePad nOOn At Manu-Mano koNG KInopYA nunG NagReSayN Ako.)

Sa Paggapang ng mga ulap,

Sa Pag-iingat ng kulog na hindi magising ang kaluluwa sa purgatoryo ng pag-iisa

Sa Pagbabagong anyo ng apoy bilang kidlat.

Ako ay isang palakang naiwan sa latian.

Nagsasaya sa pawis ng langit,

Naghihintay ng kamatayang dala ng apoy na nagpapanggap na liwanag at susunog sa bawat patak ng dugo at laway sa aking katawan.

How It's done

29 August 2009

I wake up.

I turn in bed, trying not to crush the cigarettes I always leave under my pillow, I check the time from my phone, I grab my wallet from inside my pillow. My towel, my dipper with all my toiletries, my blue slippers, all in that order, I go to the bathroom and bathe.

I am dressed.

I walk out to buy the usual, spanish bread, RC cola, smoke some left over cigarettes from yesterday, time to go.

I wait.

I wait until it is two hours before work before going to work, I wait and smoke and internet and walk around Quezon city. Quezon city is not flinching, Quezon city is fighting my mood with its life, its mechanical life, Quezon city cannot win with its MRTs and Buses and Jeeps and Malls and Buildings and Life.

I go to work,

All drained, all tired, all set up for a miserable day, expecting misery and stress and annoyance, I love hating this job, it drains me but reminds me of life, of my life, of a life for me.

I sleep,

I dream of how much I hate routine. And what a beautiful dream it is.