09/03/2014

(3:55AM) Night music: sleepmakeswaves – “What We Cannot Speak Of Must Be Passed Over In Silence”

Tonight, I spent time with my friends. It was momentous. As of this typing, we’re here in my room and, well, they’re sleeping.

The people, in question, are my best friend from UST, Dan; and our newfound friend, Samantha, who graduated from, coincidentally, UST, who we both met through an internet forum. Dan and I have been close for 6 years (and counting) but our new friend really wracks my nerves… in a good way. God, I can’t believe I’m trying this approach again after, I suppose, high school. I’m such a fucking hopeless romantic. Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, fuck. I’ve tried to get into her psyche but she keeps on blocking herself from us. I’m pretty sure she’s not putting any walls around her. Because I know how it feels to have walls put on another person. She just wants to block something; to filter things inside her. I guess that’s how her psyche works as of late.

She thinks our, especially my, intention is only a temporary thing. Hah! I beg to disagree. The moment I offered myself to be her friend, I never had any other intention than that. But, I admit, I was offended when she said that. Being highly principled really makes me lose this shit, right? God. I just wish things were a bit more easy for the both of us. Please, please. Open up, will you? I’m not trying to intrude.

Reality check, Anton. Reality check: Everything will not always fall in your favor. Not always. I guess, I’m having a hard time coming to terms with reality. My mentality and my 24-year-old convictions are put to the test with this one. I’ve never met a girl like her. Ever.

Right now, I’m looking at her, she’s sleeping soundly. Well, she’s drunk…

I really don’t know why I’m really smitten at her. Smitten by her so-called “hopelessness.” She keeps on telling me that she’s more hopeless than I am. While I beg to disagree again, I cannot help but be more curious. Everyday is like a puzzle, a labyrinth, to her heart, to her soul. I nearly wanted to say: “Dear, the world is already hopeless as it is. You’re not different from any one, from any thing, despite any circumstances.” I asked her how she’s different from the rest. No definite answer. But, she’s always affirming her “hopelessness.” To which I nearly got ticked-off. Really. My apathy and sympathy didn’t jive. But, I’m not really impatient with this demeanor of hers. Really. The more I’m challenged to feel, and not think, the more I want to be there for her. Ugh. What am I saying? Is this really me?

The question for me now is should I be persistent? I know that if I unveil her, she’ll put majority of her trust in me. I’m all up for that, actually. What the fuck. Ah, again, I’m such a hopeless romantic —one of the things I am hopeless at.

Telling her that she needs to have that one person who will be her becoming. (A guy, perhaps? I really don’t know.) It’s some weird philosophical shit I’ve lived by for the past three or four years. It’s strange now that this philosophy of mine is something I can share to someone who really needs it, in my opinion. Her becoming, if ever, should be as momentous as the first time I saw her in the flesh: That instantaneous moment of being smitten at her.


I’m pretty sure I’m all up for this roller-coaster ride.

Well, I think I need to rest. I promised them I’ll wake them up in… 2 hours. Shit. Ha! Well, I guess I have to do my tried-and-tested high school days sleeping method.

P.S: She’s snoring, I guess. Hahaha. What the hell. Everyone has a flaw, too, right? :)

To Write About You (circa 2010)

To write about you is like romancing a nymph.
To write about you is like shooting a porn flick.
To write about you is like waiting the day to end.
To write about you is like an endless summer.
To write about you is like a lazy afternoon.
To write about you is like Beethoven’s 5th.
To write about you is like wanting a Mellotron
To write about you is like being with you in Paris… or New York.
To write about you is like hearing the sweet melody of the morning.
To write about you is like Art Nouveau.

To write about you is like taking an exam.
To write about you is like interpreting a jEjEmon.
To write about you is like progressive metal.
To write about you is like a 24-hour movie.
To write about you is like a comedy skit.
To write about you is like Dadaism.
To write about you is like the Vietnam War.
To write about you is like a Hollywood scandal.
To write about you is like a decaying cat.
To write about you is like reading Twilight.

So, I will not write about you.

A Reaction to Ono’s “Conversational Piece”

She, wrapped in bondage,

Forever oppressed

While her eyes are affixed to the ground

She refuses to tell her story

 

I unwrap her slowly

Baring her scars

Her skin

Her sins.

 

While she refuses to look up

I look at her lifeless eyes

And I am reminded of

Her endless suffering.

Some sort of programming language poetry (circa 2009)

This synchronized switch throws transient class;

abstract catch

finally extends

Byte break

Native for

Instance of

short static void

Try if interface implements

While volatile

return protected float

new public package

super long case

strictfp throw final char

Labyrinth/thoughts in B Minor

“Labyrinth”

Lost in a puzzle of meaning
Where emotions are bottled up
Inside me
Where
I could not breathe a single breath of air

Because I am
Trapped
Inside this labyrinth

Desperately trying to find a way
An exit to this hell-hole
There is no other way to figure out;
A maze that I can never solve

So help me
To find an exit
To find my way in
To your heart.

“Thoughts in B Minor”

Tell me your fears. Tell me your issues. Tell me your problems. Show me your innermost self. I will be here for you.

Old Works (Circa 2006 – 2012)

Here is a collection of old poems/essays I made when I was at my most productive state. Edited for consumption.

“It’s Just A Matter Of Perception, Part 1 – ‘Red'”

Pula.

Tuwing nakikita ka, pula ang nasa isip ko.

Ito ang kulay ng pag-ibig.

Ito ang kulay ng aking nag-iinit na pagnanasa.

Ito ang sumisimbulo sa mga bagay na aking ‘kinagagalit.

Pero, bakit ka nga ba pula?

 

Uunahin ko na sa iyong itsura.

 

Sa iyong mga matang mahinhin, na namumukod-tangi.

Nahuhulog ako tuwing ako’y napapatingin sa iyong mga mata.

O, kung paano ka tumingin sa akin pabalik, kahit minsan lang,

sa isang kisapmata.

Tila parang may tinatago ka,

at gusto mo ako ang makabasa

sa iyong mga mata.

 

Sa iyong malambot na mga labi, na nananabik kahit isang halik,

Na aking minamasdan tuwing ika’y nagsasalita.

Gusto kitang hagkan. Oo, iniisip ko kung gaanong katamis ang iyong mga labi.

Gusto kitang hagkan. Sa iyong mga labing nananabik.

At iyo sanang maramdaman. Ito ang ating pintuan.

Patungo sa ating nilalaman.

 

Sa iyong mahalimuyak na buhok na, kahit ilang beses mo pa ibahin ang itsura,

nagsisilbing tulay sa pagitan nating dalawa.

O kay sarap nito amuyin. Hawakan, haplusin na parang pusa.

Sa bawat hibla ako’y nalululong.

Parang drogang hindi maalis sa sistema.

 

Sa iyong mala-diyosa at maalindog na katawan, na aking pinagmamasdan.

Sa malayo ay parang isa lamang itong ilusyon sa aking utak.

Bigyan mo ako nang katotohanan.

Gusto kitang hawakan.

 

Nababaliw na ako, gusto na kita tikman.

 

Pula.

Kung iisipin mo, ito ang aking pagnanasa.

Ang nakatakip sa likod ng mga tala ng pag-ibig.

Ito ang kulay na aking iniisip,

Tuwing nakikita kita.

“It’s Just A Matter Of Perception, Part 2 – ‘Dimensions'”

 

In this dimension

We are separated by factors

Like time and space.

This complex link we have:

our emotions that, in some mysterious way,

interact with each other.

 

I do believe in chance encounters.

 

Because Destiny seems like a cliché

Implanted in our thoughts.

 

Or maybe a figment of our very own imagination.

 

Because in this dimension

We are separated.

 

So we imagine ourselves to be one.

To be a part of a whole.

 

And I believe that my encounter with you

Seems like the most viable unity I want my whole life.

I imagine my wholeness with you.

 

But, I know you wouldn’t.

 

But, I do know this:

In another dimension,

We are one.

Essay: A Broken Love Letter

Isang pagnanasa. Yun na lang yun. Pagnanasa. Wala nang iba. Hindi ito simpleng “crush” lang, kundi isang paraisong dahan-dahang nagugunaw sa harap ko. Parang papel na pinunit-punit nang isang batang mag-aaral. ‘Wag kalimutang apakan… maliitin ang mga papel. Subukin mong hindi mag-isip, mababaliw ka. Mababaliw ka sa mga emosyong hindi mo mailabas. Ngayon, alam mo na nararamdaman ko?

Baka hindi.

Wala na rin akong dahilan para bigyang halaga ang mga sinasabi ko. Marahil hindi ako ang taong hinahanap ng iyong damdamin, mas malakas pa ang puso niyo kaysa sa utak namin. Pero, yun na lang yun.

I can’t seem to find the right words to express these emotions bottled up inside of me. O baka, naghahanap lang ako ng dahilan. Mga dahilang hindi maisplika ng mga salita kundi mga aksyon. Mga dahilan na hindi ko mismo maintindihan dahil nababaliw na ako.

Wala ka bang malasakit? Intindihin mo ako. Hubo’t-hubad akong nananawagan sa’yo. Pero binabalewala mo lang ako. Sino ba niloloko mo? Tangina naman, o.

Hindi na ako magpapanggap, gusto kita. Pero, hindi na ako aasa. Sabi ko nga sa kaibigan ko, no expectations. Para naman lumigaya kami, ako… ikaw. Hindi nga, hindi kita niloloko. Wala akong intensyong lokohin ka. Gago lang gagawa nun sa’yo. …O sige na nga, gago na ako. Putcha naman.

Siguro pag sinimulan mo na basahin ito at naka-abot ka sa berso na ito, papatayin mo na ang monitor ng kompyuter mo, o iiwan mong nakabukas habang tumatawa ka sa iyong upuan. O baka naka-inom ka, at wala kang kahit isang katas ng brain cell para kausapin ako. Pero, iba nararamdaman mo sa loob, parang hindi ka makuntento… Hindi na ako magugulat. Ganyan na ganyan din nararamdaman ko. Gago ka kasi.

Hindi ko alam kung paano ko tatapusin itong ginawa kong sulat para sa’yo. Ni hindi ko rin alam kung pa’no ko ito sinimulan… kung sa bagay, hindi ko na alam kung nasa’n ang utak ko habang ginagawa ko ito.

Magpakasaya ka sana, kung nasa’n ka man.

During an LRT Ride (Manila, Philippines)

Outside the foggy windows,

Through the looking-glass,

are scenes from a distant memory,

A picturesque landscape of various beings coming to life:

 

Old buildings surround the city.

The streets look a bit narrow, well… they are, in fact.

Look at the calle over there! There’s a calesa!

 

The local Cathedral can be seen inside

the war-torn walls that was once a city.

The plaza and Post Office, symbols of Art Deco architecture, so still yet so lively.

From a distance, I can see another landmark; an old, abandoned Theater, war-torn. Again, of Art Deco architecture.

They say it’s haunted. I say it’s waiting to be summoned.

There’s a City Hall that, from a bird’s-eye perspective, looks like a coffin. During the last World War, it was damaged.

 

There’s another Church over there, of Gothic architecture. The towers reach out to the Heavens, calling for God.

I can see the old Bellas Artes building. It’s a simple house, a mansion in fact.

 

It’s a different view from here.

It feels like I’m in a different time.

 

I can only imagine the beauty that once was.

This is not a love poem. No.

Let me hear the words lingering inside your head.

Let me see the pictures of your memories.

Let me taste the sweat trickling down the pores on your skin.

Let me draw the lines on your palm.

Let me feel the silk on your clothing.

This is your scent in my head.

Bumalik ka sa isipan ko, matapos ang maraming taon.

Ang iyong halimuyak na naaalala ko, parang amoy vanilla.

Sandali, hindi ba ang buhok mo ang amoy vanilla?

Pan’o ko nalaman yun?

 

Marahil na-obsess ako sa’yo. Pero, hindi rin. Wala yun doon.

Ang tawag dun “olfactory association”.

Dahil kulay vanilla ka, ang amoy mo ay vanilla. Ano kaya ang amoy nang langit?

 

Vanilla. Parang kang isang kaha ng “Black Bat Vanilla Mint”.

Ang sarap nun. Pero, di ko pwede ipa-subok sa’yo. Alam kong ayaw mo nang yosi. Lalo na nung sinabi mong tumigil na ako. Mas naaalala ko ang kaha nang yosi na iyon. Yun hinihithit ng kapatid ko tuwing tag-hirap siya.

 

Vanilla. Parang Karo syrup. Nilalagay lang sa pancakes. ‘Wag kalimutan ang mantekilya.

 

Vanilla. Parang ice cream. Natutunaw ka sa isipan ko. Kasama mo ang mga importanteng mga bagay na dapat nang kalimutan.

 

Vanilla. Parang food sweetener na lagi kong ginagamit sa mga pagkain. Kahit sinigang, may vanilla extract. Ang sarap [mo] kasi.

Gusto mo tikman [kita]?

 

Ito ang amoy na naaalala ko tuwing kasama kita. Kahit medyo madalang yun at “hi”-“hello” lang ang transaksyon natin.

Wala na rin akong pakialam dun. Tumatawa nalang ako tuwing naaalala ko yung araw na ‘di mo na ako kinausap.

“I love you”. Ah, the sweetest three-word sentence. A sentence which fills a certain void. A void as empty as the expanse of the Pacific Ocean, probably?

 

On the other side, perhaps, is certainty.

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