Every male in my family dies of either one of these things.
1. The Heart, when it fails/is attacked
2. The Lungs, when it gives up/poisoned
3. The Head, when it explodes/is stroked
4. A bullet entering the body.
Yeah. Someone with Lung Cancer/emphysema having a heart attack as the head is blown apart by a bullet from a gunman.
Yahoo!
‘Isn’t it wonderful to know that somewhere in this infinite universe someone stays awake night after night just thinking entirely of you?’
‘hell, no.’
- overheard; my mind discussing with myself.
But there is no duality, no antithesis. Neither do I wish to intellectualize anything and everything at all. It is just simple. One hot Thursday afternoon I heard my mind talking with myself; something that is I that is in me but is so vividly distinct from the one eavesdropping.
—————could you show me dear/something I’ve not seen/ something infinitely interesting ——————-
I heard myself singing. Singing along to a song neither new nor old but I just recently heard. It was entirely sad. Entirely crazy. I was losing my sense of humor completely. I was becoming an autumn valley.
—————-I got lost in the sounds I hear in my mind all these voices/ I hear in my mind all these words/ I hear in my mind all these music/ and it breaks my heart——————-
I do not want to make mistakes anymore. I want to stop doing stupid things. And I want to stop hearing stupid advice from stupid people. I do not want to suffer anymore. I think I’ve suffered long enough.
I. The theory of eternal damnation.
The end of march; the end of days. The end of an era, but as always, heartbreaking. There is no hope of salvation in the foreseeable future. Everyday there are more and more people getting insane. And their children are growing up insane. We are all slaves of advanced modern day capitalism propelled by the infinite potency of the invisible Sentient.
There are a few remaining non-fanatic teetotalers in this world. People have become obsessed with fantasies. They watch, voices hushed inside movie houses, dragons being slain by young lads clad in ridiculous thousand-dollar getups. All the stupidity. Information flows freely but we are non the wiser.
The tall and the handsome, the beautiful and the sexy. They all get what they want. Nerds like me we perish along with the game-over and mission failed prompts that appear in our PC monitors. Crazy. Money is worshipped more than ever.
It is in this period where my other self was born, and I decided that I shall call him Igor Maximinovich when the sun is up and he shall be known as Sakyamuni when the sun has already set. Igor is my active, despotic, vainglory, fanatic- fundamentalist, hard-headed ambitious cunning Machiavellian self; Sakyamuni is my holy, appreciative, tolerant, self-pitying, scholarly, cigarette-smoking Nietzschean self. Together they comprise the being I know only by the name of Imperial Emperor the Axis Field Marshal THE_MIND incorporated. Crazy.
I want to save the world but I don’t even have enough money in my savings account to buy myself an Omega to be like my idol, James Bond. How could I change the world without the aid of technology? And how can I control technology with a Seiko watch?
I begin my exploits, nevertheless. So I must find a psychic sidekick. I know that my friend whom we shall call His Royal Highness the Imperial Commander of the Order of the Noble Praying Mantis Reinhardt “Shaved Armpits” Lennon-Duncan. I went over to his pad, a modest, one-room affair, with no roofs and no food or any grocery items whatsoever. Seeing him, I knew he is bound by and destined for greatness as my ever-loyal and bravely/stupidly willing accomplice. The moment I looked at him I got my wand out and conjured a “Thou art my servant” spell.
“What are you singing?”
“Rivermaya – A Love to Share (acoustic), my Lord.”
“Very well, then. Come, for today we shall conquer the world.”
He followed me and we walked quite a distance towards the altar that my forefathers have built atop the hill the townspeople knew as Doom Peak. On the way we discussed much Philosophy. He was deeply interested in the complex works of Monica Bellucci and the much-recent Sagana Homes School.
“Why do you follow me, Armpits?” I asked him.
“Because you are the ONE, the one true heir of the glorified god-apparent, Sakyamuni.”
“But it is still day, my feeble servant. The mighty sun has not ceased to burn us.”
“In that case, my lord, I follow you regardless of your ambiguous grace.”
“Shall you follow me to the ends of the earth?”
“Only within the limits of the TODA. I have not enough money to reach home, if ever.”
Contented, we walked the path leading to the hill. The water lilies and all other sorts of grasses greeted us as we came. I felt the whole universe looking at me, the heir, and him, my servant. It was still light when we reached the approaches of the alter.
And behold, for there I saw a most intriguing apparition. Tiffany, the oblivious, was lying in the steps, naked to the bone, and with her was a most seductive smile.
“My lord, I welcome you. The Sentient has willed that we meet in this most lovely manner, when you are at the crossroads of your personality-change. May I, your most wretched servant, be of service to you from here to eternity.”
She kissed my feet and poured Virgin Coconut Oil on my whole body. She was formerly an agent of DXN, a most sinister organization that I loathe by the very idea of it. But she was genuinely happy to receive me, and she bowed to my servant Armpits as well.
I smiled and said nothing, feeling extremely accomplished that within the span of an hour and just within the area of the subdivision I have gained tow faithful servants who would follow me to the ends of the earth (provided that Armpits is provided with enough money to pay the fare for his way home). But then I was rather perplexed by this idea, so I asked Armpits.
“Tell me then, Armpits, why do you fear not having enough dough for your tricycle ride home, when there is no more need for you to go and return to your previous, Igor Maximinovich-less existence?”
“My lord, I still have to tend my fields, for I must earn my living, still.”
“ And so I tell unto thee, he who refuses to follow my path unconditionally is in danger of getting the wrath of the one, for he who looks back to his fields and roofless studio-type is but like a rat.”
“You talk of rats, my lord. I have watched The Departed.” Armpits answered.
“Nonsense, my fellow worshipper!” Tiffany castigated Armpits. “ We have no right to question the willing and eternal mission of lord Igor Maximinovich. For it is written, that the first two whom the One shall anoint shall forever be rewarded by a supply of Purefoods Tender Juicy hotdogs in heaven and their families here in earth as well.”
I watched this scene with great curiosity. Then I spoke, as such. “My servants, do you follow me because you love me, or because you fear incurring my anger, or because you are obsessed with my promises of eternal reward?”
They both were suddenly silent. I walked ahead of them, and, with their heads bowed, they followed me (this I knew because albeit I was walking ahead, and my Igor-eyes fixed on the altar and beyond, The Sentient has enabled me to see the whole universe with an all knowing eye which is always awake, for it could never be in the state of being not awake, which is sleep, the reverse of reality. Then a vision, an apparition, appeared in the skies. Factory smoke created the face of my beloved, that most pure and chaste lovely face which is the totality of all the women I have loved in the period of my blessed life known as youth, and behold it was too beautiful and terrible to see, and I was brought down to my knees by this most corrupt feeling we know as regret, and I wept.
I
Today the blood eagle was performed on the royal prisoner
To the hilltop they went. The altar was boring and deathly pale as usual
No friendly birds nest in the trees up there; only ghosts.
Today I am full of spite and anger. I am mad. I am bothered
And I could not tell anyone. I know what they will say
What kind of advice shall they give. What words shall I hear.
This is anger that I could not share. Something I could almost not bear.
But I will take it to the grave. I shall forever be silent.
I shall never dare speak about it.
II
I drove and drove around the campus believing that there is salvation among the roads. An endless sea of pavement where majestic trees stand guard. Loving gargoyles, the rocks. I was calmed by it all.
This is poetry. This is what I call beauty. This is all that there is and same as it ever will be. This is music, this is wisdom. This is the enlightenment of the soul and I am gaining eternal peace. This is love. This is heaven. This is the holy ritual where happiness meets the birth of everything that is holy and good. This is the never ending desire to be free. This is power, uncorrupted. This is the joyful self that is me.
I saw people laughing and I laughed too. Why should I not? I decided that an ice-cream, strawberry flavor, may improve my mood. And if it were so then it is good. But if only I could, if only I could. My heart beat faster.
All the spirits and unseen benevolent beings I implore your attention may the powerful healing talent of the supreme flow through the invisible roads that run all over this infinite universe I call the mind which is all that there is and which is all that will ever be. Amen.
I was alone and I was free. Driving still, I looked at the sunlight. It was warm, for summer is warm. There is no room for cold. There is only heat, radiant and vicious. I observed the gardens and ponds and I saw the solitude that penetrates each and every single being. There is solitude all over. I am full of it and I rejoiced.
I’m trying my best to maintain a positive outlook throughout this summer, and naturally I have to be optimistic about this whole scheme. Not that I can finally shake off, once and for all, all the bad vibes and unpleasant situations that may come my way ( and sure they are coming my way). But it is past midnight and at the end of the day (actually, the start of a new day) I still see myself staring at the clear, dark summer sky and sighing ‘oh well’, unable to go to sleep.
Today I woke up early and had a big breakfast and an early cold bath and got dressed and went with my neighborhood friends to the nearby school and its nice court to play some games of basketball. The team I was in won every game we had, and that certain morning freshness and the victorious summer scent that came with the sunrise gave me a good sense of calm and contentment. I went home and made myself a big cup of coffee, then I cleaned my room. A little later as I was taking a rest in the kitchen with a glass of water before me my tummy told me I had to go and have a dump. So sitting on my throne and cigarette in hand I unloaded what I had inside me and I felt good. I saw the sunlight peering through the bathroom window and I was quite delighted by the sight of the puffs of smoke meeting the warm sunlight and I felt calm. Then I realized this was a taste of heaven. Or it must be, for if it were not, then, why did it feel so good? Suddenly I was reminded of the club song Groovejet (If this ain’t love) by DJ Spiller and Sophie Ellis-Bextor, remnants of my former Channel V fixation five years ago.
That afternoon I slept to my heart’s content. I didn’t bother turning the aircon on to help my mother not get a ridiculous electricity bill, so I woke at about 4:30 pm wet with sweat and parched but I didn’t really mind, I was well rested anyway. Surprisingly, the torn muscles and minor bruises I had sustained (or rather, I always sustain) during basketball did not seem to be there at all. I was feeling light and strong, although earlier I had felt a bone or some ligament in my left foot get twisted or something. It had been a very good day until I went downstairs and got my phone.
I was asking my crush to have some snacks near a foodstore near her place but she refused; she told me that she had just come home from UP, since she had to return some books. Oh well, I asked, why didn’t she ask me to go with her but then I realized it must have been a stupid question since if I looked at it objectively then why the hell will she have to go inform me about the whole thing so I decided ok I’m so used to this so I just said I think I’ll just go and write a sad and frustrating novel, bearing Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled in mind. Then my parents got home and for some reason I could not disclose we had a rare argument that could have been nasty (my fault, of course). Feeling the disappointment building up inside me , I got my jeans and a gray shirt and my canvass Chuck Taylors and went outside, clutching a Kerouac book. I scavenged the streets for some friend or cousin that may be strolling around, but I found no one. So I walked some distance up the hilly streets and bought five Marlboro Lights worth ten pesos. Then I backtracked home.
Near my place is the barangay hall; I saw a few neighborhood kids (elder than me) sitting, chatting idly. I decided I might as well join them and I did so, offering my cigarettes. Someone asked for one and we smoked. Then I realized that behind me a new playground was built and the neighborhood autistic kid was in the swings, singing Manny Villar’s campaigh jingle. Then the guy sitting beside me suggested that we go quiz the kid; I asked how and he asked the kid, what is the capital of Argentina and the kid, still in the swing, that big massive kid, drooling, answered, Buenos Aires! Then the guy asked, England? The kid said London. Another guy asked, Hawaii and the kid said Honolulu. The guy beside me said, Tokyo and the kid said Japan and so on. Finally I asked, Cotabato and the kid said Kidapawan and we all laughed heartily, impressed. Then a guy said, Diliman and the kid said Quezon City. We laughed again. Then we asked him Quezon and the kid said Diliman and we retorted, Quezon Province and the kid looked genuinely distressed and so he left the swings and ran away. I said he may be going home to research and we smoked and smoked.
Before sunset the guys left and there were just two of us in the swings, the guy with me 4 years older and a hundred pounds heavier. We talked a little about the weather and the coming summer break and smoked; I would then be silent for certain stretches reading my Kerouac while he was apparently contemplating the fate of the Havanas he was wearing, worn out and ruddy and all. Then we heard an ambulance siren going off somewhere and we said goodbye, I going home.
I spent the greater part of the evening talking with the younger girls who were all bugging me about my friendster and they told me stories about their own lovelives, asking me for advice and all, and I kept saying things inconsequentially. High school kids who apparently knew more about life and love than me. then I got a little bored with it all and since the street lamps weren’t so bright I couldn’t read my book and the bench we were sitting on was getting a little too uncomfortable I got up and lent the book to a girl and I said I’ll be back. I walked a few steps toward the nearest sari-sari store and bought a Coke and smoked the rest f my cigarettes, talking occasionally with some people I knew who happened to pass me by. Then I realized it was late and I got back to where I left the girls and I found out that they were gone and my book wasn’t there too so I wondered and I just walked back to my house and I saw my Kerouac placed in the hood of my car which was parked right in front the house and I said holy shit lucky my mad and evil black cat didn’t see it and rip it and all. I took it and I stared at the sky. Boy I didn’t know now what to feel and I felt sad and all and I suddenly felt chills down my spine and I was really disturbed by everything and anything and I thought of my crush and I wondered whether she ever thought of me at all because she was always on my mind and it made me so sad. Well I thought, finally, if I weren’t sad then it wouldn’t have been me, baby. So it was just fine and everything seemed ok again and I felt quite well but sad as hell, still.
I saw a tiny-small red ant in the mashed potato i was feasting on, wondering why the microwave wasn’t able to toast it. But then, i realized, maybe it wasn’t feasting, but struggling. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen a fat ant, or any ant fatter than usual. Maybe it was struggling to find an escape route so it could go inform its friends. The colony. Then it dawned on me. It is not in the nature of ants to be selfish, to be self-indulgent. They really are collective creatures, ants. Real communists, hard core. Coz no individual ant gets fat. Blessed be this ant, I said, who, inspite of the sea of tasty mashed potato buttered to perfection with some garlic, it makes no effort to eat all of it, and stay; it chooses instead to struggle with all its remaining strength to get home and tell the other ants about the potato paradise he found, so they could all go there together and feed the colony. Then I put some potato in my mouth and ate the ant who was in that very spoonful.
A day in the life (finally!)
10:40 bestfriend Mae-Ann on the phone. Stories new and old, and, always, a very satisfying conversation.
11:30 pm Ma asks for water, I go get a pitcher.
-Sunday-
1:00 am saying goodnight to friend Janica has never been so (hard) as i kept battling drowziness just to keep myself awake. Apparently she was feeling sleepy too. Goodnyt text message never sent between two parties.
2:45 alarm goes off, head is in a daze. Delighted to see Ma cooking breakfast (hotdogs and eggs) exclusively for me. 
3:30 on the road to Mandaluyong
4:30 am conversation with Atty. Catalino Castillo. “Tito, kinakabahan ako sa interview!” My father’s brother stared at me at the eye and told me: ‘you should be’. Then he laughs.
7:00 asleep on the couch. Saliva drooling.
8:17 Tita feeds me; eggs, hotdogs, coffee and Hershey’s Dark Chocolate
9:05 On the road to Bicutan exit. Heavy traffic in SLEX. Hell. More chocolates shared with Pa. Better Living sighted.
10:21 Rodrigo Rebullida, the Godfather, greets us at the gates. My mother’s older brother was beaming as I was given a glass of Coke light. Breakfast: luncheon meat, rice, melons and bananas.
10:40 (I watch the Sixers kill the Miami Heat)
11:30 Watching Troy again for the nth time. Oh well. Lunch beckons me on. Fried fish (pompanos that are also founding Florida), beef picadillo, pineapples, and a cigarette stick for me.
01:20 On the road. Terrible heat wave going on EDSA.
2:55 Munching on Bread Pan and C2 as Ma and me watched Richard Gutierrez, Era Madrigal and Katrina Halili on SOP. Shet. Lupin.
3:40 Sleeping. Aircon can’t beat the heat. Hell.
5:13 Coffee, and a quick shower. SM North day. Oh man. Yahoo. Bored.
6:16 Sunset. Still hot. On the road.
7:30 pm The Block should have been filled with ice cubes. Hot still. I go beg my parents for money to buy load. Oh well. A bum, me.
8:00 dinner. Man Hann has never looked this enticing, especially with Yang Chow fried rice, Spicy Spareribs, Seafood Special and Fried Squid. Iced Tea to boot, and always, Coke Light.
8:40 on the road back to Diliman.
9:00 babysitting on my Mama Vicky’s house. I just love playing hide and seek with nieces and cousins. Ate Kle and Colleen and Nicole are such wonderful girls to be with.
9:40 Victor Castillo, banker, lends me his sablay. I thank my cousin. Graduation day, here I come.
10:15 family prayers said and I eat again. C2 and popcorn.
11:22 pm PBB and Starstruck, baby. Friendster.com and NBA.com
11:fortysomething pm: this post posted.
I could not write when I am not sad. I could not write except when misery serves as my inspiration. There is nothing to write about, at least for me, when things are even perhaps slightly going well.
That is why I could not bear drinking when I am lonely. Well, I drink with friends when I am happy. But when I am lonely I sit down and write. When I am happy I greet the world. When I am sad I hear myself talk, and I write it down.
Now it is time to f*ckin sing!
(All is grounded and you should go make a mountain out of it.)
Ah. Ah. Oh yes, go on, now, attaboy.
(Hold me close, never let me go. Hold me close. Melt my heart like April snow.)
if you could read this, then, I’d like to thank you and insult you. Thank you because you pay attention. Insult you for being tasteless. Why bother reading me?
(You know we’ve got to find a way to bring some loving here today…)
Is it really summer? Winds and clouds all over. I am sick. I am singing to silly love songs again.
(And I thought what I felt was simple, I thought that I don’t belong, and now that I am leaving, now I know that I did something wrong)
What? What?
(pasensya na, this is a bad post. I need to run to the nearest tindahan to go buy myself another pack of cigarettes. Or maybe not, cause I only got enough money to buy two sticks and one juicy fruit.)
sorry.
(songs by Jason Mraz, Johnny Mathis, Marvin Gaye and Lisa Loeb)
Dear Nikolai,
Like you, I am an original. A genius. A creator, an innovator. Although I am more a man of words, I do my own computations. I know my work and I strive to be the best.
Like you, I understand the perils of lofty dreams. I am aware of the terrible price of solitude that men such as us should bear. Like you, I am unrecognized, I am deserted, I am mocked at, insulted, jeered at, and laughed at. But I have great dreams. We have great dreams.
I would have wanted to write a Filipino novel where the hero would have a Russian name, something like Vassily Maximinov or Alyosha Kruzetsky. But that would be too ambitious for me, and besides Dostoyevsky, Pushkin, and Tolstoy would rise from their graves. And since a great way to pay tribute to electrifying sports stars is to have their jerseys retired, I would do the same and shall abandon my hopes of being another literary commissar. So instead I would write to you, dear Serb, wherever you are, drunk and lonely, but basking in the glory of electromagnetism and the wonders it has produced for mankind.
And yet no one seriously remembers you except for your coil and your legendary loneliness.
Perhaps, I, too, shall someday be remembered only for my writings and my legendary loneliness.
Dear Nikolai, do you know how it feels to fall in love? Well, you should. It is crazy. It is wonderful, it is pathetic, it is full of rubbish and ecstasy. Hell, why am I telling you this?
Maybe because patents pending, I am the saddest person in the world.
Like you, I risk myself openly to the ridicule of the many. We are both proud men, blessed creatures aware of the glory that could have been, for us. However, I know that my potentials are useless. I am dead tired.
Why is it that lightning frightens me so much when you have so eagerly delighted at the mere sound of thunder? Why am I foolishly an adherent of all this hopelessness? I am lost, I am lost. Always lost and pretending to know my way. But I am lost.
Let us blast mountains and reduce those who dare oppose us to dust. Where are you in heaven? Beside Zeus, manufacturing his lightning for him with your brand? Have you ever dared cast your mighty fury against your foes?
Where do I go? I want to lock myself up in solitary confinement. I need the feel of being shocked again and again to remind me that I am feeble. I am a bird perched on high tension wires. I am a convicted murderer, the worst of all sinners, about to be burned by this dreadful voltage. I am jolted.
Dear Nikolai, how is it to weep while your rivals claim the Nobel Prize? How is it to know that you are the best in the world and yet not be known? How do you rise up from the stupidity of every blunder, the awkward rise after each fall?
Do I become arrogant and keep my head up while I am in mud? You see, I wonder whether electricity conducts well in pure slime.
Nikolai, send me a vehicle where I can levitate and float high up to heaven. Send me a weapon to burn my detractors. Give me a potion to electrify the hearts of those whom I love. Breathe life into me.
I am not joking, Nikolai. I hope you get to read my letter. If you have, send me a reply. I would treat you to a drink. Let us plan our scheme then to take over the world. I would love to have you as my partner. I would give you the money, the medals, the patents, the popularity. TIME might just make you Man of the Year.
But dear inventor, let me have my peace. Invent love in a new way where I wouldn’t have to weep every time I think about it and not get it at all. Love has ceased to shock me but through you I am full of hope that someday, somehow, it might shock me once again.
The girl knows but she doesn’t understand
That there are many ways on how to arrive
At my simple destination, the place I have in mind
It is far from resembling heaven
But it is heavenly, nevertheless
I have lived my life so unconcerned with looks
But this time I become obsessive-compulsive
I want to make sure than every detail is covered
And nothing, absolutely nothing, is left to chance.
Diliman could be a happy or sad place,
Depending on which binoculars you wear
The cold or the heat, it is all in the mind
And the lights appear sparingly
But darkness dominates the sky
The place where I reside is not the place where I was born
I am a guest, I do not come from these parts
But here is where I have chosen to live
Try to earn a living and I just want to do it simply
I do not want to make a name for myself.
I bring my girls to Diliman for dates
We take drugs and drink brandy and have sex
And when everything is over Marlboro Lights
Serve as our ever-loyal desert
And I know an awful lot of people who do the same
Friends, as I call them, who indiscriminately fire away
At every living creature, ah, absolutely nothing is spared
From the blast of the radios playing Nelly, P. Diddy and BEP
I get confused hearing them but I get used to it
Easily bringing myself to the confusion, no, this could not be it.
The start of something is such a start
It does not necessitate change but there is change, often
I am lost, I am lost, I could not choose whether to go the right
Or to the south, it does not matter, the world is flat
And square; I believe in many deities that populate the trees and rocks
And I falsely adhere to the worship of technology
It is such a technology, oh, what we have these years
And many signs bring tears to my eyes, my tired eyes
Deprived of shades and sleep I close my eyes, I close my eyes.
I see beyond, I cry out loud for redemption, or perhaps,
If anyone could afford, even just a 5-minute break.
