where's the man in the moon?
I don't understand why I don't keep a written journal. Since I don't get online all of the time. It would be very useful for me to keep some kind of a notebook wherein I can just write down thoughts as they unfold: the good, the bad and the ugly.
I don't know if I'm just lazy, or too afraid to discover how terrible I really am at this. I think it's a little bit of both. I never really feel that I am able to express myself adequately. Something always gets lost between the process of thinking & feeling, and writing down thoughts on paper.
It's like trying to hold a handful of water in the tightness of your palms. Once it reaches your mouth, whatever wetness that remains is never really enough to quench your thirst. Because so much of that precious liquid has slipped off through the slits of your fingers, simply from the act of your hands trying to arrive towards its destination.
This is as close as I'll ever come to describing what it feels like to constantly lose: words, feelings, thoughts, moments that make up a portion of your being. It's an act of love that never ends up in the possession of the receiver. It is always unclaimed.
I've always felt that I had a refuge in poetry. But lately, I can't make anything happen with words. It's frustrating at the end of the day to have this aching feeling of having missed an opportunity to have taken off, and landed on the moon.
It's just a thought that plagues you, maybe, for half a second. It's that elusive thought that suggests you have the ability to stop time, or maybe slow it down or increase its pace; even for just a millisecond. Nobody will notice. It doesn't matter. It's not a free invite for all. It's just a small window that opens up and takes you to that place where your dreams unfold in secret. Not to be remember when you wake up of course! But for that moment, or two, when you remember that feeling…. it makes you wonder!
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
poem on Nov. 24. 2005
days in between
where you don't know
where to put yourself.
past sleeping
but not yet,
quite awake
we are sifting
through this feeling.
of luck,
changing hands.
The anonymity of touch
through the canals
of the internet.
drowning faces
floating through the river.
The decapitated limbs
that float through your body.
still trying to find a home
despite the lack of rememberance
of ever being,
muscle recall.
we try to hang on to these old faces,
names scrawled on graffiti walls,
sunlight softly hitting the top
of an old building,
as it's about to go down,
later to be commemorated
on a missing persons' list.
phonetic love charged
through your telephone bills,
you try to scratch away,
with your small fingers.
days in between
where you don't know
where to put yourself.
past sleeping
but not yet,
quite awake
we are sifting
through this feeling.
of luck,
changing hands.
The anonymity of touch
through the canals
of the internet.
drowning faces
floating through the river.
The decapitated limbs
that float through your body.
still trying to find a home
despite the lack of rememberance
of ever being,
muscle recall.
we try to hang on to these old faces,
names scrawled on graffiti walls,
sunlight softly hitting the top
of an old building,
as it's about to go down,
later to be commemorated
on a missing persons' list.
phonetic love charged
through your telephone bills,
you try to scratch away,
with your small fingers.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Saturday, November 12, 2005
bamboo
I’m tired but happy. I woke up three hours after I went to bed last night, and spent all morning in bed, half awake but dreaming. Last night’s gig was great. Bamboo was on fire. I couldn’t believe how they kept up the intensity of their music all through out the show. The momentum just kept on building up, until it culminated in the end, when they played Alpha Beta Omega, as an added bonus during the encore. The highlight for me was when they played Hallelujah; that song brought the house down. Everybody had their fist up in the air, and was singing along to the song. It was kinda strange for me, because all the while I had to stay seated, (lol) because it was a cinema gig. We had reserved seats and everyone behaved. The crowd pretty much consisted of casual observers. I was seated in front of the balcony, next to a family which included a mom, a dad and a little boy, who was eating a can of Pringles, and there was a grandmother that was sitting next to me who was so stoked all through out the show. I mean she just went nuts when they played F.U. She kept on pumping her fists up into the air. It was so hilarious! I don’t know if she even knows the intended meaning of that song. It’s so great to see that Bamboo attracts different types of people into their crowd. I mean, that’s what music should be about; it should include everyone. It shouldn’t be like a box that you fill out in a registration form, that break people down into demographics. Anyway that was a blast. I’m feeling kinda sick now. I better lie down, I think I’m coming down with a fever.
I’m tired but happy. I woke up three hours after I went to bed last night, and spent all morning in bed, half awake but dreaming. Last night’s gig was great. Bamboo was on fire. I couldn’t believe how they kept up the intensity of their music all through out the show. The momentum just kept on building up, until it culminated in the end, when they played Alpha Beta Omega, as an added bonus during the encore. The highlight for me was when they played Hallelujah; that song brought the house down. Everybody had their fist up in the air, and was singing along to the song. It was kinda strange for me, because all the while I had to stay seated, (lol) because it was a cinema gig. We had reserved seats and everyone behaved. The crowd pretty much consisted of casual observers. I was seated in front of the balcony, next to a family which included a mom, a dad and a little boy, who was eating a can of Pringles, and there was a grandmother that was sitting next to me who was so stoked all through out the show. I mean she just went nuts when they played F.U. She kept on pumping her fists up into the air. It was so hilarious! I don’t know if she even knows the intended meaning of that song. It’s so great to see that Bamboo attracts different types of people into their crowd. I mean, that’s what music should be about; it should include everyone. It shouldn’t be like a box that you fill out in a registration form, that break people down into demographics. Anyway that was a blast. I’m feeling kinda sick now. I better lie down, I think I’m coming down with a fever.
Friday, November 11, 2005
i get by with a little help from mah friends
hmmmm...my last entry was written when i had the case of the mean reds...but i feel so much better now. i just got home from a bamboo gig...that was a beautiful experience, those guys are taking their music on another level.... maybe i'll write about it tomorrow. i still feel pretty stoked... and hoarsed from a lot of screaming :)
musing of a vogon who’s not in the holiday spirit
The holidays is just around the corner. I can feel it in the air, the December breeze is beginning to gust through my window. It feels nice, to get a break from the heat and the sun. It doesn’t feel much like the holidays this year, in fact, it hasn’t felt like it for a number of years now. I don’t know if my lack of enthusiasm for anything that contains fun and laughter, is one of the symptoms of growing up, and becoming a full fledge schizoid slash quietly disappearing member of society( couldn’t care less). I find that as I’m getting older that one of the things that start to go for me is my idea of happiness, the kind I felt during childhood. It’s that special tingle inside your stomach that tells you something good is about to happen. This feeling accompanied me mostly in the earlier part of my childhood. Then one day, it just died, it died…and I never felt it again. But back then, I would feel it very strongly, especially during this time of year, when the force was strongly with me, the reason? because I always knew I would get tons, and tons of presents.
Yah, I was happy about receiving presents. This is a highlight of any child’s life: the acquisition of new things that would accompany them during the interesting, sometimes scary, journey of childhood. Don’t we all know people who are old enough to be our parents, but still take their old scraggly, teddy bears to bed? By old, scraggly teddy bears, I do mean old scraggly teddy bears. This is not a euphemism for, a well: an old scraggly teady bear. luff luff.
Plus, the blanket of hope that accompanies the holiday season I used to feel very thickly during this time of year, especially when it's cold outside, and you see a milion twinkling stars dancing outside of your window, but as you get older, that hope turns into disillusionment.
You always hear in the news that the suicide rate during the holidays escalate to beyond norm level. Now, this makes perfect sense to me. The holidays is traditionally the time of year when people’s loneliness and desperation is put under a microscope, and magnified a million times to the tune of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer….As if to mock us, with his very shiny nose.
It is sad but true, but not everyone has got some close people in their lives that they could come home to, or share this special festive time with. Heckadoodle! many, many people, don’t even have a place to call home, especially here in the Philippines, where below poverty line is the standard fashion of living.
For the longest time I’ve been trying to figure out why this old, semi- demolished building that sits just at the corner of my place was taking forever to get renovated. Every time I’d look up, I’d see workers, standing on top of ledges, smoking or just talking. I mean, the front side of the building was completely stripped of walls, you could see everything that was happening inside. It would not be very hard to take a wrong step and fall to your death. I would always imagine that they were on their lunch break, just sitting around, talking about their kids and family. Then it hit me one day, and I realized with a shock, that this building was not getting a facelift. Those workers that I’d see up there were not construction builders doing some scaffolding work. They were in fact inhabitants of this old, abandoned, condemned building.
Derelicts all gathered in one place, seeking shelter. No wonder there was a clothes line attached to one side, filled with multi-colored shirts that flap about when the wind blows: like a bright crooked rainbow, hanging upside down. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but I guess it’s easier to keep your eyes close, than to see the painful truth.
I don’t know. I think most of us get on with our lives because we are on cruise control. Whether you are aware of it or not, is another matter. I know I am. These days I find that it’s easier for me to cope when my days are filled with numerous laborious tasks that will keep me occupied. That is why I haven’t had much time to update my blog. At one hand I’m very grateful for this distraction. There are certain moments when I get the urge to write, but choose not to, because I know that the stuff that would end up on paper would be too painful for me to deal with.
On the other hand, I know that this is such a lost, because I'm losing a lot of writing material, because I'm choosing to shut off, everything that I'm feeling. But I kinda need to do this at this time.
There's this certain sadness that always remain inside, despite your desperate attempts to be happy, or shrug your blues off with a smile, or a round of fake laughter. I can always detect when I’m doing this. It hurts, but I still think it’s funny, because I’m so good at it that I even get compliments for it, from people who know me well.
Sometimes it’s easier to keep things inside, that have it come out in the open, and have to do a head to head battle with your invisible demons. It’s like having to kill a million flies with a single fly squat. not fun at all. impossible. maybe, i don't know, but I'm in a weird mood
Monday, November 07, 2005
BAD DAY
I feel dismayed by the events of the day, I'm depressed. I hate this feeling, like everything is wrong, and will always be wrong forever. I'm gonna read some poetry, that's gonna make me feel better. Times like these, I need a strong dose of Whitman....
It's been ages since I've sent anything out. I feel so out of touch with the literacy scene, because i've been preoccupied with the stuff I've got going in my life, plus I haven't had the urge to write. To put it more clearly, I have writer's block. boo.
It feels good, it feels good to write....here on my blog. A chunk of infinite white space that belongs entirely to me, to be filled with my thoughts, craziness, hidden SOS messages (that i routinely write to myself), and of course my unspoken prayers.
Our words are all riddled with unspoken prayers, how ever random it may seem, sometimes we just say things out of the blue that reveal the true meaning of our hearts, like a letter written in acrostics adressed to God.
Anyway, let us move on. i'm not through ranting. This is another invisible feature of the blog, that I find irresistibly appealing. The ranting feature: just push a button and talk and talk until the cows come home. Nobody complains, nobody gives you those ugly looks that spell: dejavu badtrip...here we go again.
I hate bad days that linger. I pity people like myself who worry about every little thing that they've done wrong. This is why I avoid people sometimes, I'm bothered by the proximity of contact. I try to imagine what it would be like to live in an island all by myself. I don't think I will survive, I'd get too lonely and start befriending the coconuts who have fallen off the coconut trees. Problem is coconuts don't talk back....I"ve never met a single friendly coconut who has communicated with me. Try as I might, to get them to talk, and crack their secret, hidden, coconut language... I've even tried to tingle their shiny, green wooden head. it's no use, I'm alone in my deserted island.
I feel dismayed by the events of the day, I'm depressed. I hate this feeling, like everything is wrong, and will always be wrong forever. I'm gonna read some poetry, that's gonna make me feel better. Times like these, I need a strong dose of Whitman....
It's been ages since I've sent anything out. I feel so out of touch with the literacy scene, because i've been preoccupied with the stuff I've got going in my life, plus I haven't had the urge to write. To put it more clearly, I have writer's block. boo.
It feels good, it feels good to write....here on my blog. A chunk of infinite white space that belongs entirely to me, to be filled with my thoughts, craziness, hidden SOS messages (that i routinely write to myself), and of course my unspoken prayers.
Our words are all riddled with unspoken prayers, how ever random it may seem, sometimes we just say things out of the blue that reveal the true meaning of our hearts, like a letter written in acrostics adressed to God.
Anyway, let us move on. i'm not through ranting. This is another invisible feature of the blog, that I find irresistibly appealing. The ranting feature: just push a button and talk and talk until the cows come home. Nobody complains, nobody gives you those ugly looks that spell: dejavu badtrip...here we go again.
I hate bad days that linger. I pity people like myself who worry about every little thing that they've done wrong. This is why I avoid people sometimes, I'm bothered by the proximity of contact. I try to imagine what it would be like to live in an island all by myself. I don't think I will survive, I'd get too lonely and start befriending the coconuts who have fallen off the coconut trees. Problem is coconuts don't talk back....I"ve never met a single friendly coconut who has communicated with me. Try as I might, to get them to talk, and crack their secret, hidden, coconut language... I've even tried to tingle their shiny, green wooden head. it's no use, I'm alone in my deserted island.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
EMO KID
I’m so tired. It’s so hot here in the Philippines. It’s not fair, we’ve hit the –ber month, the weather should start cooling off by now. I think the heat is causing me to have terrible mood swings. I’ve been so swamped with my other writings that I have not had time to write on my blog. I can’t wait till Friday, when I get to go to bamboo’s cinema gig. I’ve never attended a concert inside a cinema before, that should be cool... I’m excited.
Come to think of it, I’ve been so busy of late that I haven‘t had time to immerse myself into music. Weird that there was a time in my life that I survived by listening to
counting crow’s August & everything After. This is why this album will always be special to me for that reason. Besides, it's a great album. I love Adam Duritz’ poeticism. I think Adam Duritz was one of the people who taught me how to write. Way back in the beginning when I decided I wanted to become a poet. *laugh laugh*
Nobody really decides to become a poet, but there's always a defining moment when it happens. I don't know how to explain this. It happens inside. You claim certain truths, even if no one chooses to believe you, you stand by your word.You bet your blood, you bet your skin and bones, because the soul doesn't lie. The soul dictates your truth.
I’m so tired. It’s so hot here in the Philippines. It’s not fair, we’ve hit the –ber month, the weather should start cooling off by now. I think the heat is causing me to have terrible mood swings. I’ve been so swamped with my other writings that I have not had time to write on my blog. I can’t wait till Friday, when I get to go to bamboo’s cinema gig. I’ve never attended a concert inside a cinema before, that should be cool... I’m excited.
Come to think of it, I’ve been so busy of late that I haven‘t had time to immerse myself into music. Weird that there was a time in my life that I survived by listening to
counting crow’s August & everything After. This is why this album will always be special to me for that reason. Besides, it's a great album. I love Adam Duritz’ poeticism. I think Adam Duritz was one of the people who taught me how to write. Way back in the beginning when I decided I wanted to become a poet. *laugh laugh*
Nobody really decides to become a poet, but there's always a defining moment when it happens. I don't know how to explain this. It happens inside. You claim certain truths, even if no one chooses to believe you, you stand by your word.You bet your blood, you bet your skin and bones, because the soul doesn't lie. The soul dictates your truth.
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