Confused-Shoes

Death brings an end to dissapointments and frustrations; but to go one living nurtures these such things we all so dread.

There is of course much pain in being disappointed but there’s also always a little in being satisfied; for we know that there is always an end to disappointment but none to satisfaction. As long as we live we always ask, ‘ when will so be i content?’ When? When?

The greater sense of peace is preserved only by he who strives to preserve it, albeit only mentally. For the mind is the only thing we can control. Consequently, if someone couldnt even manage his own mind, then there can never be peace for him, and when there is not even mental peace, there can only be eternally recurring doom.

Machiavelli said that fortresses should be avoided because they will isolate and trap you. But what is God Himself is your fortress?

A real prostitute always says, ‘let’s keep on going’ when the fake ones have already said, ‘ i no longer can’t’.

She who knows not how to kiss is a bad ice-cream eater.

There is no such thing as the real self apart from the self that we display most of the time. That which we do not display is the part of the self that we are ashamed of and that which we so despise.

      I wrote about you here in my blog.

I wrote about all the nice memories we’ve had. The fun times we enjoyed, the secrets we shared in endless whispers, the sensual caresses, the oblivious smiles we gave each other as the world went on its way. I wrote about our dreams, how we plan to make that one way voyage towards the open sea, and how i’d open a bottle of expensive wine and pour it down on the decks so baptize our lovely ship. I wrote about your dreams of flying towards where no one knows, where perhaps we could meet Peter Pan in mid-air and take us together in Never Never land. And, as you told me, should he refuse to take me along (assuming he falls in love with you, the son of a bitch), you’d let go of his hand and you’d just seek mine. Then we will fall back to earth together, kissing.

I wrote about my dreams of taking a gun in a crowded mall, and i will fire away indiscriminately as you would ransack the jewellery stores and get whatever you can. You did promise that you’d pick up a Breguet for me. Well, when the cops come gratecrashing at our shooting party you would embrace me and not let me die alone.

I wrote about the films we saw and how we squirmed at the cheesy lines, and how we would immediately exchange cheesy lines ourselves. The kisses at the dark spots were obviously included. I wrote about how you threw up the pizza in your stomach when I pinched your nose too hard, and how I peed in my pants because you wont let me leave my seat (and you wouldnt accompany me either).

I wrote about the loveletters I gave you and the post-its you posted in my jeans. How I was walking in school and everyone was staring, even picking up those I love yous that dropped in my wake. I wrote about the day it was raining so hard and you couldnt get wet because you were suffering from flu and how we got wet, anyway. Anyway.

I wrote about the way you drove my car when I was just a three-week old licensed non-professional driver. You had no license of your own, of course. I wrote about the way we ate ice cream. I wrote about the way you refused my kisses because you said your hair smelled like the polluted streets of Katipunan.

I wrote about the deadly falling out of love episode that has changed my life since. You were also aware of that. I wrote about the tedious talks we had over tetra packs of chocolait. i was overwhelmed with your infamous last words. I was obliterated by the suddeness of your reprisal.

But I too, knew how to counterattack, and I have written about it. How I introduced the new ‘love of my fucking life’ to you as you introduced your new ‘he never makes me fucking cry’ to me. That did it. Well, we broke apart.

I wrote about how I looked at the skies and dreamed that my visions of sunsets would forever disappear. I wrote about how the official manifesto of our break-up circulated among the inner circles of our friends. I wrote how you refused to talk about it and how I went into solitary confinement, which was voluntary, and lasted for exactly an hour and a half. You never even looked for me nor did I made any attempt to apologize. We were both wrong.

I wrote about how I miss you and how i was not spared from the agony of having a too imaginative mind. I had nightmares and not even John Coltrane nor Radiohead could fill the time. I dreaded calendars, I hated books. I went as far as punching myself so hard until my lips bled.

I wrote about things that I wouldnt have written about. I wrote about things that I would never have thought could have happened in real life. I wrote about a love affair that I never imagined to possibly have an end.

I wrote about you and me and the things we love to do.

I wrote about you and me and the things we did and the things we said that caused our paradigms to break and separate.

I then burned the papers where I had written all these.

This blog post is a far cry from what I have written in paper and ink.

But I forgot to write something, and I am writing it here. So this makes this blog post a little better than what is now of ash.

I shouldnt have left you. I should have done my best to stay.

I didn’t look too well in my graduation picture.

Oh well. What the hell, what does it matter? I know I don’t really look good at all, so this shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. But still , there is that deep desire in me that cries out, ‘i hope i looked better’. But no magicians are photographers, apperently, but not the other way around. Even so.

I have lessened my smoking to the extent that, well, I feel quite strong. Which is good, but not so good since I haven’t stopped smoking at all. Lessened smoke and no smoke are two different things.

I don’t like to write. Graduation jitters. I’m almost 100% done with undergrad life. So that was what they call college life, huh? Fucking hell. It wasn’t torturous at all. So that was UP education. That was CSSP.

I’m a little bit scared.

Case # 1. nakasalubong ko sa AS steps ang isang ex-seatmate na dimasyado maganda pero sa palagay nya maganda sya:

             exsm: Hey jed, nangayayat ka…ang pangit mo na…(siryoso)

             jed:   (ikaw tumaba! tabachoy!) syempre di ko sinabi. nginitian ko na lamang sya dahil ang alam ko nga tumataba ako eh.

Case # 2. parents, sa aking kuwarto isang gabi na medyo naisipan nilang magbasa rin ng mga libro sa aking kwarto.

            jed: Ma, pa, eto na po yung grad pic. I’d have to choose now. Kung ano ang pinakamaganda.

           papa: anak, mukhang di maganda mga kuha mo dito…

           mama: bakit ganito anak…? di ba magaling yung photographer?

          jed: di po, pangit lang po talaga ako, personal o letrato (pero di ko sinabi…baka lalo silang masaktan sa katotohanan) kaya sabi ko: OO NGA PO EH. Pangit.

Case #3. Sa review center, nag volunteer akong gawin sa board ang syllogistic form ng argument na the end of man is perfection, death is an end, therefore death is perfection.

jed: sir, P is Q, R is P, therefore, R is Q by hypothetical syllogism (palakpakan ang mga kaklase ko) valid argumant.

lecturer: hijo, mali ka. Fallacy of linguistic ambiguity. yung end na first term, end as goal, yung end sa third, end as in ending. Common sense naman yan, hijo…which apparently you have not.

jed: (taena, payat na ako, panget na rin, scatterbrained pa)

(bakekong)                     

i so easily fall in love to the tunes of every new new British rock band that comes along; but I like this kind of falling in love - it does not break my heart.

The songs I used to love I am loving still, but the songs I used to hate I hate no more.

There is no end to loving, there is only love-apparent. This we call infatuation.

It is to the credit of Philosophy that Science rules the minds of men. It is not to the credit of Science, however, that those who know neither Science nor Philosophy are stupid.

The religious person who does not know why he is religious is like a whale that insists that it has gills. He stays at the depths when all others have surfaced.

A thoughtful reading of the Bible will only make more atheists than worshippers. A faithful reading of me does the same.

The gimmick of unlimited texting has shattered all the previous notions of sweetness once attached to texting from sunset to dawn; we no longer text because we want to, but because now we have to. We have to or else the fifty bucks go to waste.

blackouts and heartbreaks have something in common: we all await the coming of the repairman to bring electricity back.

The wise man seduces the beautiful woman. The stupid man woos and courts.

The rich - they have money for whatever they want. The poor - they have resentment for everything they can’t have.

Marxists are frustrated capitalists.

Political Science teachers are frustrated lawyers, or worse, those who did not make it to the accursed profession.

Historians are the best carriers of Gossip.

Paris Hilton is perfect for the blind, the deaf and the mute.