Thursday, 17 November 2011

Smells Like Dysfunction

'We're in this together now,' she says to me. 'We will make it through somehow.'

I said nothing, remained transfixing my sight on to her, and suppressing an overwhelming wincing sensation inside me. I thought it's either she's delirious or hopelessly clueless. So I decided to wait, harnessed all my opinions, and waiting for the right opportunity to unload it all.

'Well,' her eyebrow rose, mouth open. 'You aren't helping at all with silence.'

What answer does she want?

'I think it's better if you let it be,' I tell her coolly, as if understanding fully the situation.

Her eyebrows immediately drowned and made me feel a bit queasy. 'I don't get it,' she says. 'But I think I understand where you're coming from. You do make a fine point. Let's take that into consideration.'

I certainly didn't get what she meant by that but somehow I felt jubilated.

Now feeling confident, I asked, 'So what do you want me to do about it?'

She looked away and said, 'Nothing. Keep on doing what you think is necessary.'

She's playing mind games with me, that I can easily tell.

'Fine,' I said. 'But if you ever decide otherwise I'll be here.' I told her that only to reassure that I am truly safe from any sort of trouble that may or may not arise in the future.

She left without saying goodbye. I hate that. It never makes any sense unless you're upset, but she never gave me any clue if she was. How could I even tell without a mystical crystal ball?

I went home torturing myself inside the gym, and then promised to let everything go, let it all be.

Days as Pyrrhus

It gets harder and harder to sleep.

Counting the ways in which victory could be attained somewhat already defeats the purpose. If I were to indeed lose (which I already undoubtedly have), then the only direction is forward. Retaliation is not my forte nor do I intend making a habit of. I'd rather have sweet, looming irony overcome this obstacle than anything else, or a dash of twist of fate mayhap, or a bullet in the eye. Figuratively.

I still believe victory, though Pyrrhic, will one day find life on my shoulder, dreading on the days passed by, counting misfortunes and laughing at them all the while. There is only that wishful thinking, more dreadful than dread itself.

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

Curtains, Curtains, I Face Thee

It's beginning to flare up now. I like it, really. All those repressed thoughts slowly and finally bursting forth and manifesting itself. Then I realise I'm on the other end, and also then I begin to take notice of what's in store, the battle that will either torment me for a long, long time, or my own sudden demise coming to a closure.

Each and every step shows a new opening. I have never asserted myself into anything, that is because I no longer feel the need to. All these pent-up rage, whatever you call it, it's basically drifting into the space and becoming one with its end, like a burnt-out candle in an autumn night.

There it stood no longer sensible, and by then my end will be my peace. Or it could be a launching concept of melodrama.

Party My Problems Away

Laughably bad, that was all it was. Laughing stock, and then some. No pity parties for me tonight. Tonight I find peace in whatever way. Tonight everything will turn out fine. I just can't speak for myself for tomorrow.

My chest was stuffed with feathery foam in order to provide a laugh or two for the spectators. I would if I could, not that I couldn't, more like should. The demand to collaborate is high. These are not my tipping points. I work better alone. I work better for better or worse.

As I was halted due to my extreme audacity, I knew nothing good would come soonafter. Hence I became something of a monstrous, cancerous, dangerous presence. Feeling the need to threaten and voided of choice. I look back and all I remember was my laboured, crooked smile directed at the person involved. It is no longer about plans for vindication. I have had a lot of shares of that struggle in this past couple of months which, sadly, amount to nothing. Those pathetic eyes linger and crossed lips whisper as I step forth, prepping for what is obviously an unprepped performance acknowledging my status as a hermit. To them I'm like an animal who gets beat up, kicked for his own shares of sentimental bullshitry, hanged on a synagogue for all to see.

These are no longer plans. Let nature take its course. Let it demand what is rightfully its.

Falling on hard times, I inhaled miniscule breath and exhaled a combustive firestorm. I went on with what I believe is what I know without it being compromised with the false pretence of 'right or wrong,' the 'this and that,' pushing through what is, for them, insolent, but for me freedom to express. I exerted a whole lot of energy out of my voice.

It dawned on me that the nightmare's over, that the entire box is to be shut down for the night.

There I loomed over my weaknesses, an opportunity to think back and point fingers without having to point at myself. After all, why would they try to change me now? There's no sense to it anymore.

My eyes were distraught, only them, because I woke up that day only to depress it for very little hours. I went to the toilet, almost felt the urge to throw my stuff to the sink out of whim, only there was someone there in one aisle to immediately find the need to greet me upon entering. And so a little conversation emerged between the two of us.

It was all that I needed to hear. I finally found someone, a doctor in his own merit, Dr. Voice, he calls himself, and a smile dawned upon me once more. Maybe...

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Call to Harms

Parting gifts for friends in farewell
Wish them luck on a wishing well
They swallow everything you feed at them
Including lies in an old fool's requiem

Sons and daughters of an absentee
Faith is all there is to see
A pity fuck for a single dime
The guilt lasts a century's time

Flakes of snow on a summer head
It's always better, yeah, better off dead
Promises of something that truly last
The future is yours except the past

Unity by Solitude

There is nothing left but flakes of sand on my feet. I can hear the whispers of the outside world from this elevated room far above to the sky, all empty yet tangible. Funnily enough I have awakened earlier than usual, a practice I have yet to master, for there is no mastery to master, only repetition, redundancies which are bound to pop out every now and then in search for longing. It is no mere nostalgia, however, as the world rotates in one direction. Nostalgias, as far as I am concerned, rotate counter-clockwise.

There is nothing left in the fingernails but pebbles of dust similar to the sand that bothers my feet. I have never found a reason to cut them, for there is nothing to cut. My teeth does all the talking. And when they alas meet, then all will be for naught.

The sun shines faintly brightly over dawn on the edifice as I notice by the window. How long does the effect last? What happens when the eternal star is no longer eternal? A darkness consuming us for over an entire lifetime. A thought I could not pursue, yet, it reminds me so close to home.

My eyes meet red acrylic on its peripheries. A bottle that reminds me of my artistic endeavours, a failure, a frustration, an incoming-outgoing goal. It speaks not for itself, because others would rather speak for it, a lisper,  with nothing to prove but hypocrisies outside the realm of practicality. It is neither relevant nor necessary, and yet people continue to digress, as I digress, for the sake of argument and the sake of my own sanity -- or insanity, whichever you prefer, whichever you suggest. I am whatever they say I am.

Overlooking the acrylic, a container of tomato sauce, serving little purpose as usual. A condiment for what is the trick of the tongue, analysing and hypnotising the senses into deluding satisfaction and savour. Taste is a myth perpetuated by the mind, similar to the interest of the different kinds of emotions.

Then, the song, dancing in the wind, saying 'dreams won't fade away.' An agonising lie, no doubt. You wake up to reality and it's over. You sign papers, you eat your favourite brand of pasta, speak your favourite Italian word. Can we get so much higher? So high that it no longer matters? I fantasise about this a lot. I find bravery in knowing answers are balls better than questions. Stop the ignorance. 

Speak your senses, not make-believe, lest they be buried in mythologies of your labyrinthine thoughts. Find courage, like me and all the others (no one else), in knowing memories are bound by death and unity by solitude.

Sunday, 13 November 2011

Act Together

Well, I really didn't expect that Pacquiao v Marquez trilogy to end in a bittersweet fashion. Was rooting for my homeboy but the other man brought to him a whoopin' to remember. Never expected Manny to dodge that call on the end, but he did, and I somehow feel for Marquez despite the odds.

And to top it all off, I really, really, really need to polish my turd. Even though it's still only just a piece of shit, getting my act together is mandatory. I'm beginning to lose everything all at once! First the laptop then the telly. It even laid waste on my HDMI cable just now! Drat! I want to stab myself for being such a fucking fuckhead.

Saturday, 12 November 2011

Let's pretend everything is alright

Pacquiao, Marquez later. Cannot wait.

Sausages, oven soon. Cannot wait.

So now there is this question whether or not I am meant to be or not meant to be. Perhaps the latter, I shudder to think, but what options are there else?

Weeks pass, no change. All the love gone bad.

Solilotude. That's the new term.

Yup. Somebody else will notice. Someone ought to. Here's to hoping.

Another hope gone sour.

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Zombie in my lawn

There is a weird, slight pain present in the posterior part of my neck that, I believe, is slowly building up. For whatever reason it purports itself to be doing, the consequences of the events that transpired during devising would not have varied if at all, and more likelier to have jet-fuelled the burning agony further. So basically I am fucked up either way.

Search and destroy