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Wasted Years - Iron Maiden

"So understand
Don’t waste your time always
Searching for those wasted years
Face up... make your stand
And realise you’re living in the golden years"

_

Maiden rocks!!! hehe

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I could rest easy, basking in the knowledge that things, no matter how fucked up or unfair they are at a certain moment, have this peculiar way of falling right into place, when you least expect it…they have this funny way of fitting, like parts of a jigsaw puzzle. We become impatient, but that’s just human nature working for us, I know — I am speaking from experience.

Life has a sick sense of humor. Anyone can agree to that.

_ _ _

It’s not quite the same, coming to you and your warmth has vanished, no vapor trail to linger and remind me of what once was…what things should have been, it’s a shame, it’s no good — it’s not what it used to be. The fire just vanished and with it all the life and the time spent was just a memory, wrapped in a dream caught up in limbo, our time has passed, should we accept that fact or are we to curse and say “Nay!, it has only begun.”, nothing has ended, although things appear to be that way…no one can say it’s still the same old feeling, you of all people can attest to that. We walk past time and images, we see yesterday in those chairs, we feel the air and we hear the laughter in the singing of the leaves, we see the moon and her light reminds us of those times —happier times. If ever things would turn for the better, it will never be the same, things have been said and old wounds never heal, it takes time and time is never on our side.

I mentioned happier times. If you can find it in your heart and consider what we had sacred, if you treasured everything we went through, would you do the same thing you did? I am not questioning your actions, you have your reasons, I have mine, but if you valued everything, would your decisions be the same?

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Heavy Metal rules!!!

> from metal-rules.com

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Funny thing happened a while ago…I don’t know if you could consider it funny, strange maybe, but I don’t think funny would be an apt word. Kim IM’ed me, asked me what I was doing? If I was busy? I said I wasn’t and I told her I was drawing something, she asked what? I told her I am drawing the devil, she then proceeded to admonish me, she even sounded like my mother on one of her lines! Sweet girls — the both of them. I don’t know, I just picked up the graphic pen and started scribbling on the Tablet. I don’t know, it just popped in my head. Maybe I was listening to too much Heavy Metal today…yesterday, the past 3 days…okay, the whole of last week and this one! Give me a fucking break! It’s only music. Now back to the story, I was doodling then it just came out, naturally…it flowed like a mountain stream, I was like a well-oiled machine, every stroke, every shade and line felt natural. I drew and drew, it’s just a drawing , nothing more…I don’t worship Satan or have horns growing out of my head, well last time I checked, there were no unusual bumps on my forehead, but seriously speaking now…classical artists have drawn and great writers have written about the devil for countless generations. Dante (The Inferno), John Milton (Paradise Lost) and a plethora of painters too many and whose names are too hard to spell so I won’t digress for now. It’s well — funny, to me.

Which reminds me of a story; this is based on actual events. Back in high school I was heavily (pardon the pun) into Heavy Metal. Name it I had it all (I am saying ‘had’ because some people don’t have the decency to return borrowed tapes!), Slayer, Megadeath, Pantera, Anthrax, Tiamat, Unleashed, Morbid Angel…death metal, black metal, glam metal, speed metal, thrash metal I could go on forever. Then one day, it was summer vacation, bored and nothing to do I was in my room, blasting some Unleashed (death metal to the uninitiated), my mother was in the living room, yes she’s cool with the idea of her only son listening to “The Devil’s music” because she’s well a cool mother…although she can’t stand the excessive volume, she’s still okay with the whole music thing, don't get me wrong, she's the very religious type...she's just open minded.

Okay, back to the story...I was still bored, I went out of my room and just sat on the couch, my mother told me of an experience she had with one of our neighbors, she told me that a certain neighbor of ours asked if I was a drug user? My mother, puzzled asked why she said those things, and the reply our neighbor gave was that she thinks I am because I listen to “rock” music…and to think, she was and maybe still is, an active member of some religious organization.

Does listening to let’s say rock music qualify me as a drug user? I didn’t think her son was gay when he listened to Color me Badd back then, no sir! My mother just laughed at her ignorance and left it at that. My mother knows everything and she knows, I didn’t and never had used drugs before (sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me), anyway it just goes to show — it doesn’t mean that people who listen to rock are drug abusers or Satanists, and it doesn’t mean that if I draw the devil, I worship him or her or it…whatever. My point is, it’s just music, it’s just art…give us a break!

At least I don’t go around judging and treating people like shit or something.

_

Maybe I won’t finish this drawing, who knows?





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There are so many things in my mind right now, in the last few days, I have had trouble sleeping, maybe it’s due to the fact that on some nights the air is so humid and thick you could slice it with a butter knife, on some nights my mind just refuses to quit, the body is often tired but my mind is still in overdrive, which is not a bad thing altogether, but there are times when you just need to shut down…shut everything down. I lie down, and as my head touches the pillow, it’s as if I am whisked back, in a loop, sucked in some kind of black hole, I am in another place, in an alternate reality…the cogs commence their grinding and slow trudging into an infinity I am all too familiar, the wheels in my head start spinning, and I have no control, absolutely none. I try and shut things out, close my eyes tight and find every diversion known to man. I count sheep, horses, cows, fish…whales! I lie on my back, my sides but my mind usually gets it’s way…and I am there, lying staring at the ceiling, thinking of things I don’t want to in that time and in that circumstance. I am supposed to be sleeping. I am supposed to be at rest.

_


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I am spent.
I am inanimate,
inadequate...antiquate — equate.
and i ruminate, she speaks eloquently
about her misled and misspent youth,
about her meanderings,
she elaborates, she designates,
the light switch sways...the bulb

flickers.

she used to be a good girl,
that's what she told me, she used to have
a happy childhood, although
she never could, at times she never would
play with the neighborhood kids,
she spent what little time she had,
reading, books that would
take her on journeys, together
with fairies, damsels in distress,
she saw herself as one,

in need of one last caress.

for my dying days, to ponder.
what she wants and why she wanders?
ever so slightly she panders, because
she knows i am weak-kneed, so she
sees a need, to suffocate me with

so much greed.

she lilts, like lillies in a field,
she would sway and she gets her way,
with the boys, and she would wrap them,
like twine, and ribbons around her finger.
yes she would linger,

in the wee hours of a cold august morning,

she stamps her foot, and shake her lamp
free of soot. tender moments do her
harm, inching herself closer, twisting someone
else's arm. she is malevolent, she is crass
and has a penchant for kitsch,

some say she's a goddess, others
say she's a witch.
those who meet her on the street,
mistake her for a whore, but trust me
she's absolutely not a bore.
and she panhandles for sympathy,
in narrow streets and alleyways,

but this she does so poorly, the only thing
she is good at...for what it's worth,
is that she lilts and sways,

and she always get's her way.

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Hatelife was a part of my life then, when it went down I felt lost…I have met and made friends with a few good people there (you can look up their respective blogs in my ‘links’ page under “those kids from hatelife”), it was a big part of my life in a way. At a time when everything seemed to suck, it was an outlet…I missed Hatelife when it went down, but then again…it’s just a blog site.

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Check out these toons.

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> from ultramicroscopic.com

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Some of the internet's more pleasant goodies.

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I have been tweaking my blog’s color and design…and I suck! I can’t do HTML for shit! I can understand some aspects but I can’t do some fancy-shmancy stuff. God I miss Dreamweaver!

Pardon me, I am just a bit agitated at the moment.

_


The past few days have been hectic…the pace has been frantic. Got home from a weekend trip to Kawasan Falls last Monday, we then had to rush and go to the doctor’s office for Kim’s check-up, and wouldn’t you know…the doctor was out and we had an appointment! So we left and grabbed something to eat, and just went around the mall. The day pretty much was a waste, well not all of it though…I was back home and that was the high point of the whole fiasco.

I mentioned Kawasan Falls, we went there for the weekend, it would have been fun if all of us at work went, there were only 5 of us but it didn’t stop us from enjoying the time off from work. The place was worth the 3 hour bus ride and the 15 or so minute hike to the top of the site itself. The place was just, breathtaking. I have never known my eyes were so hungry for a site like that, not until I came to that place. The water soothed every aching muscle and the company I had was exceptional. The night was even better…we talked about everything, I still wonder who started the conversation in English because all the time that we had that riveting discussion, we were speaking in English, speaking in tongues, it was just so funny and so surreal…people must have thought we were mad or something.

Gin and beer, I’m never mixing it again…someone sat on a cigarette, I’m not mentioning names again, hehe. Someone talking in his sleep, IN ENGLISH! And I extend my apologies for my snoring…I truly am sorry, ehe he.

Looking back, that weekend was an eye-opener, I know I have much to learn about the other 4 people that were with me on that memorable weekend, but it was enough…to have learned so much and bonded with these amazing people, and I am looking forward to spending some more of these experiences…hopefully with the rest of the group.

Maybe next time…and that my friends, will definitely be another story.

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Operation Ivy...
a monster truck, albeit borrowed is parked on my desk,
Yoda looking for someone to pimp his ride,
my cellphone on sideways,
my 'alternate' wedding ring in front of it...sitting quietly,
Kim's notebook, lying there rather serenely,
in deep contrast to what is currently blasting on my headphones,
Megadeath.
brown envelopes piled in a topsy turvy yet, purposefully
controlled chaos...I'm quite the expert.
OCD...controlling the urge to arrange my winamp player,
I am trying to put it in the precise center of my monitor.
my feet is sweating...I shouldn't have worn slippers to work,
alas...the perplexities of an office with no dress code.
it's better than wearing uniforms though, I have to admit.
I'm looking at antimatt's journal,
the winamp player beckons...have to fight the urge...no!
it's in the center...trust me.
wonder what's for dinner?
wonder what I'll do tonight?
Kim just IM'ed,
wonder what I'll not be doing tonight?
I'm going back and forth from my blog to the MSN window,
thank God for the Alt+Tab command!
I'm too lazy to click with my mouse...sue me!
Kim's making fun of my emoticon...
Sade...yes folks, Sade rocks.
I'm looking at blogs from of people formerly of hatelife,
I noticed some have hatelife's colors...lelias and antimatt's,
come on, admit it...you guys miss hatelife.
Whitesnake!
whatever happened to david Coverdale?
flipping burgers?
5:42 pm
18 minutes left...
wonder what I'll do tonight?
Belle and Sebastian — precious, delicate and lilting.
a reciept, for lunch.
chicken,
Rancid...the band, not the chicken!
Jeres doesn't reply to text messages anymore...
I wonder...how the thesis is going?
it's getting icky...
it's so punk rock!
Mister Superfuck, reads a piece of paper on a dartboard,
I better end this.
It's almost 6.

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This guy is dressed as that chick in Le Tigre who dresses up as a guy. What is he, a punk rock version of God?

And if Kim was a guy, this would be her ensemble on any given day...she loves hot pink and black...heheheee!

> from viceland.com

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Not much doing on a Thursday night at home. I did some laundry…caught Princess Diaries/Diary? On cable, Ann Hathaway can read my diary any day…if you know what I mean? I felt dizzy after laundry duty, maybe it was the detergent or something? Or maybe it was ding it at the back of the house in semi-darkness, or maybe it’s all in my head? Maybe I slurped that oriental soup we had for dinner too fast, depriving my head of precious oxygen, or maybe it’s all the grease from the 4 ngo hiongs I devoured with such impunity one would think I have titanium arteries. Whichever way you look at it, last night felt somewhat out of kilter.

The neighborhood videoke challenge was on, again…last night, challenge you say? More like a painful practice in attrition of the soul. Someone sang Evanescence’s ‘Bring Me To Life”, that could be the whole theme for the evening and her singing, she sang as if she was dead, dead as a doorknob. I’m not one who can carry a tune well…I can’t sing even if my life depended on it, but I know when someone’s singing off key…and besides, she’s ruining the Ann Hathaway experience…did I mention she can read my diary anytime? Heck, she can even make alterations if I misspell words or screw up the grammar! Hehe

Caught the end part of The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, I don’t know who his musical guest was, but he looked and sang/sounded like Jason Mraz. I wanted to stay up until 12 midnight for Conan O’Brien, but I was too sleepy, my eyes felt like they were bricks.

Last night was pretty much that…boring and insipid. I read Cosmopolitan and learned that Kris Aquino had Liposuction and breast enhancement surgery, as if it’s not out in the open; I just had to confirm the facts I guess? Yeah…low point of the night.

On the bright side, the room smelled like Downey…I had a good night’s sleep. Don’t ask me why the room’s odor was like fresh laundry, it’s a long story.

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This post is an homage, as the title says — to women who rock.

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Read previous post...hehe


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D'arcy - Smashing Pumpkins


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Isobel Campbell - Belle and Sebastian


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Elvira...don't ask!


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Joan Jett


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Lita Ford


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Elizabeth Frasier - Cocteau Twins


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Melissa Auf Der Maur - Hole


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Natalie Merchant - 10,000 Maniacs


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Brody Dalle - The Distillers


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Patricia Velasquez


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Paz Lenchantin - A Perfect Circle/ZWAN


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Sade


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Hope Sandoval - Mazzy Star


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Siouxsie Sioux - Siouxsie and the Banshees


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Stevie Nicks - Fleetwood Mac


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Supergirl


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Kim!

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This is what everyone should do...sit and smile, or more appropriately — have a shit and a smile.

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It’s Saturday…and I’m at the office, and I don’t feel like working. I have stuff to do, it’s sitting on top of my monitor, it’s in a white envelope, with bubble wrap inside. I’m supposed to do some corrections on a certain book, but I just can’t find the urge, I can’t summon the drive to start on it. I know I have to, I just can’t…I want to procrastinate to the fullest today. I jut can’t find the chutzpah to even open Photoshop and edit the pictures…I feel — god help my soul for saying this…lazy, too lazy. Jeres’ aura must have rubbed on me…I must not hang out with him that much, hehe...Jer-Jer, if you read this, it’s all tongue in cheek dude.

I’ve been downloading mp3’s big time. Past downloads include:
Kreator
Kix
Venom
Slaughter
Fleetwood Mac
Jeff Buckley
Green Jelly
Cathedral…and so on and so forth

It’s 10:30 am, an hour and 30 minutes and I’ll be off…I have not accomplished anything today, pertaining to work…I did download a whole album by Kix, ehe he.

I know, it’s not that monumental of an achievement, I am a man of simple means, I am easily pleased, so bear with me. I know come Monday, I’ll be busy…working, doing stuff, I know I won’t even have time to say hello to Kim online or through text messages, I know I won’t be downloading…okey, not downloading ‘that much’, so all I ask is at least give me this day, to slack off.

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I want one!

> from spawn.com

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When I was a kid back in high school, there was this neighbor of ours who was a heavy metal fanatic, a stoner and all-around cool guy, well at least for us...all of the others around the neighborhood thought otherwise...he told us what KISS meant,

Knights
In
Satan's
Service

There were all these other acronyms that I couldn’t remember anymore, there was this one though…AC/DC

Anti
Christ
Demon
Child

How the fuck did he come up with this shit?! Maybe it was too much weed or something? Too bad he went a little loopy after a few years. Too much drugs did it, he was sniffing and snorting anything he can get his hands on, it’s tragic, he showed a lot of promise artistically. There was an abandoned building back in those days near where we lived and the walls were filled with his graffiti, nothing fancy, he would draw with charcoal he would take from his sister’s sari-sari store. He drew on every space he could find in that building, lots of cool stuff. Nowadays, every time I go back home, I see him, he’s sobered up a bit now. It’s a shame.


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i am sore.

More on this when I get the chance.

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"Everybody's Changing"

You say you wander your own land
But when I think about it
I don't see how you can
You're aching, you're breaking
And I can see the pain in your eyes
Says everybody's changing
And I don't know why

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

You're gone from here
And soon you will disappear
Fading into beautiful light
Cause everybody's changing
And I don't feel right

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

So little time
Try to understand that I'm
Trying to make a move just to stay in the game
I try to stay awake and remember my name
But everybody's changing
And I don't feel the same

_

If you read the phrases in bold letters...you would understand what I am talking about, right?

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Lately I have been…emotional, (I seem to forget that there is no home, no concept of a home so to speak anymore, no…there never was, for me any way. I know my wife would beg to differ, but I think it ceased to be one when people picked sides, when people stopped being 'neutral', when greed was the order of the day, and pride was in love's stead.), we left because it died, the place was dying and it wanted to drag us to the grave, and we would not have any of that.

God, I am turning Emo!

I know the guys would laugh when I say I have been listening to a lot of Dashboard Confessional lately, The Smiths, Mazzy Star and some Cocteau Twins. They say music is the soundtrack to your life, well consider these days as the break-up scene. The scene wherein someone close to you, left, died, moved to another place or just plainly stopped caring because something sour came down and there’s no amount of civility to mend things, not an ounce of decency, not an iota, a drop of value to those happier days…on some people’s minds, maybe it never even happened for them. These are the scenes where sappy love songs and flashbacks would make the ladies’ eyes well up.

Seriously speaking…I have been, at times close to tears, I have been valiant enough to fight them off, I have fended them as much as I could. To look back and not feel a hint of despair would be too hypocritical of me. I am saddened by the turn of events, I am feeling the loss, the memories are just too vivid to ignore.

I have lost a considerable amount of sleep for the past few days.

The scene keeps playing on and on, like a TV gone haywire in my mind, I can’t escape that fateful night…it was a complete shocker for all of us.

And your knife twitches, burrowing in my back…it cuts deep, breaking bone and sinew, but you will never break my spirit, my fervor still burns and no…I won’t look back, you are a ghost now, an entity devoid of form, function and significance.

To me, you are nothing and no one.

_

It has been very difficult, for all of us…the blow has been harder on the 4, I know it will be a huge task to undertake, rebuilding on the shattered pieces, but remember that you have friends, and you have family…you have all the support you will ever need.

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Blank.

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Current feelings

>i am: badly needing a q-tip
>i want: a q-tip
>i have: a headache
>i wish: i could go back to bed
>i hate: my hair today
>i miss: Kim...already
>i fear: rats...big fat ones
>i hear: some song
>i search: for some tissue
>i wonder: why
>i love: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
>i ache: all over
>i always: blog
>i am not: a good dancer
>i dance: if someone puts a gun to my head
>i sing: when the need arises
>i cry: in silence
>i am not always: a good boy
>i write: when i want to
>i win: sometimes
>i lose: my temper occassionally
>i need: sleep
>i should: go back to work

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Friggin' In The Riggin'
Sex Pistols


It was on the good ship venus
By christ, ya shoulda seen us
The figurehead was a whore in bed
And the mast, a mammoth penis

The captain of this lugger
He was a dirty bugger
He wasn’t fit to shovel shit
From one place to another

Chorus:
Friggin’ in the riggin’
Friggin’ in the riggin’
Friggin’ in the riggin’
There was fuck all else to do

The captains name was morgan
By christ, he was a gorgon
Ten times a day he’d stop and play
With his fuckin’ organ

The first mate’s name was cooper
By christ he was a trooper.
He jerked and jerked until he worked
Himself into a stupor

Chorus

The second mate was andy
By christ, he had a dandy
Till they crushed his cock on a jagged rock
For cumming in the brandy

The cabin boy was flipper
He was a fuckin’ n--ger
He stuffed his ass with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper

The captain’s wife was mabel
To fuck she was not able
So the dirty shits, they nailed her tits
Across the barroom table

The captain had a daughter
Who fell in deep sea water
And by her squeals we knew the eels
Had found ’er sexual quarters

_

hehe

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I have nothing to write
I have nothing to say…about grandmothers, traitors and fair-weather friends,
I have nothing profound to speak, about what just transpired,
I am not in the mood.
I am rolling my eyes,
I am throwing glances at nothing,
I am in a state of lunacy,
I am not to trust any one.
I am doomed to not be open to people,
I am traumatized,
I still have family,
I still have friends,
I still consider some to be true,
I still do.
I will not falter,
I will not break.
I will not have second thoughts,
I will be as ruthless,
I will still be kind,
I will be human in so many ways,
I will not be your stepping stone,
I am not a doormat.
I will defend myself,
I will not initiate contact,
I will keep my mouth shut,
I will be discrete,
I will not say anything,
I will bide my time…
I am patient, horribly patient…
I will watch you squirm,
I will be in the depths of your mind,
I will — that I’ll make sure.
I will be like a haunting memory,
I will wonder and often ask why?
I will ponder at the many reasons, and your possible excuses,
I will not listen, not one bit.
I hold you responsible,
I am not giving you the benefit of the doubt.
I am livid,
I am in shock,
I may forgive,
I sure as hell won’t forget.

This will be the last that I will be writing about what happened. I will not take more of my time and energy and waste it on such a sorry situation. I will move on, this is a sort of catharsis, a cleansing…as I post this, I leave it to memory, and shall keep it at that.

A bad memory.

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Binggol has diabetes...
I told him to cut down on sweets but he wouldn't listen.
Exercise? He would not hear of it...poor boy got so big, standing up was becoming too much of a strain for him. He got too overweight for his own good.





I didn't know dogs can get diabetes.

> update: He's not diabetic but dehydrated...my bad. He's doing well after we took him home last night, although he's still weak and he still moans in pain maybe, but he's looking much better when we left.

Get well soon Binggol!

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Not much to write, as of the moment...posting lyrics instead.


"my hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me, so won't you kill me, so i die happy.

my heart is yours, to fill or burst...to break or bury,
or wear as jewelry...which ever you prefer."

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It’s been a while since I have posted in this here blog of mine. Call it a case of mental block, plaijn old laziness, professional duties that need to be taken cared of and other things beyond my control.

The past week has been full of adjustments, it’s chaos in short, spontaneous bursts. It’s a topsy-turvy ride, a haphazard feel in the air is always present. I think I need to go slow.

_

Last Sunday I went to my high school’s grand homecoming.

It sucked.

I was a ghost back in high school…and as I found out, I still am today, well last Sunday to be exact. I was just your ordinary, garden variety high school student. I had close friends, the same as I was…we didn’t belong to the popular crowd, I was no jock, though I played Football, (that’s Soccer to you American-influenced wankers out there!), I didn’t consider myself with that crowd, I was not one of the popular, rich kids, I’m not one of those troublemakers that teachers never forget, and would pray to God not to encounter similar ones again for as long as they live…I was not that bright a student…I barely got out of my senior year Algebra, I still thank Miss Villareal to this day, maybe even the whole graduating class is still singing her praises, the finals she gave was sort of a given, a gift…had she made things difficult, I don’t think all of us would graduate…but enough of that.

Last Sunday, after some text messages and phone calls from high school batch mates, I finally gave in. After a few minutes, I was back…in my old high school. She was a ghost of her former self…more like an apparition really, she had some work done…major work done! She’s having a building constructed for elementary, the canteen looked like one of those concession stands at a classy carnival…all that was missing were mascots.

So Kim and I got there.

I felt weird. It was just awkward and eerie. Sharon Cuneta’s ‘High School’ life kept looping in my head, it was surreal. I saw some teachers, they didn’t even recognize me, must be my goatee or something? (I should have shaved!)…fucking ingrates! Back in the day, you couldn’t keep your grubby paws off of me when you needed something to be drawn, or if any need for ‘artistic input’ crept…anything that has to do with drawing stuff on blackboards, cartolinas, illustration boards, diagrams for reports and experiments, visual aids, backdrops, you name it…I did al of those. So I was kind of expecting some to still recognize me…a few did. I stress the word ‘few’, don’t ask me how many…let’s keep it at a ‘few’…okay, a handful, that’s it.

I saw, some familiar faces.

A lot has changed…and I do mean a lot!

Beer bellies were all a plenty. Some stayed almost the same, give or take a few love handles and some pounds…they managed to stay close to how they looked back in high school. Some already had kids…haplessly chasing them around..

Had a few beers, talked to some of them…had a bit of catching up with some of my closer friends. It was fun actually, in spite of teachers not recognizing me…maybe I’ve changed that much physically? I’m still the same inside though…it’s all good. I am thankful, my friends called me and urged me to come…it was cool, seeing them again. I didn’t have fun in high school, all those who say high school was the best time of their lives, I can’t really relate to that. It had some good moments. Life never really started for me until I went to college.

But I am still glad I went to that homecoming…spending some time with those people, and got to thinking…high school wasn’t all that bad.

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I need to step back.

Cranky…no, I’m not cranky; difficult maybe, but not cranky. Cranky is for old people, old and miserable ones.

I need to breath.

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I have been off as of late.

I have been, slipping. I have been somewhat irritable too, lately. My wife said men also experience ‘PMS-like’ irrationality and in some cases…insanity. I don’t know if that’s true or if she’s just messing with my head.

I think I’m just being paranoid. I would like to believe all of us have their off days, when no matter how hard you try, you slip…you mess up…you tend to fuck things up and there’s no way you can explain why or how that happened. Come on, at least some of you felt like this at some point! Can I see some hands? Am I alone in this malaise that has beset upon me in these dark days? Am I cursed to wander this cold and desolate world, branded as someone who loses his edge at some predetermined time of the month?

Mental menstruation?

If ever medical experts name this ‘anomaly’ suffered among men, remember I’m the first who coined the term…mental menstruation.

I hope I am…hehe

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It’s been weeks since we’ve moved.

We’ve been dispersed, not by anyone else’s whims but of our own volition. Some people would disagree, it’s their opinion. They can think of whatever fairy tales they can, it’s not my problem.

Meanwhile, Kim and I moved back to my house, what with her having a baby and all. It’s nice to have someone who can look after her, when the time comes when she’ll have to go on maternity leave and besides, my parents are so excited about having their first grandchild.

The good thing about being back home is I get to eat hot meals, hot, home-cooked meals…on time. Of course I missed my parents; that goes without saying, plus the peace and quiet. The down side with the present scenario is I always arrive at the office a few ticks before 9. Which is okay, but I got used to living near where I work, that I usually arrive a good 30 minutes or so before 9. But it’s a small price to pay for peace and quiet…and most important of all, peace of mind.

Peace.

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On our way back to the office from the clinic...at a busy intersection in one of the main thoroughfares in uptown Cebu, an old lady came up alongside the window of the taxi we were on. She was carrying a plastic cup with the logo from a nearby fast food joint, I can see some loose change inside. She was all wrinkled, grimy and her back, bent from old age, her left arm looked weird, it’s as if the bone is broken, it hung limp and it dangled like a loose tree limb after a typhoon…I wanted to give her some change, but lame as it may sound, I didn’t have any. I can’t give her the 100 peso bill I was holding in my hand for the cab fare, unless I’m prepared to slug it out with the cab driver if he doesn’t get paid.

So I just looked the other way.

Kim looked dejected and let out a sigh, I wondered about her family. Does she have one? So many questions, why, how, who…what, when and where? It’s too complicated, some would say it’s not our problem, but in a way it is….I wanted to do something, but I didn’t — and there’s the problem right there.

Mendicancy is discouraged in Cebu…at least that’s what I know. I’m really not that familiar with the details, but last I heard, you could get fined for giving alms to beggars. I just hope something’s being done.

Right now…I feel guilty.

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The rum tasted funny last night. If you closed your eyes you can hear the giggles, the smell of dogs and their damp fur, cars passing by, and videokes in the background. As I swallowed the heat traversed through my throat like the jeepneys that would ply their routes, drag racers revving up their engines, dogs bark, howl at passing ambulances and dust and grime and engine fumes cover us like the night sky covers everything that you and I are thinking of, the malice being brewed nearby. I swallowed the rum and I didn’t like where it took me back. It’s the nightmare,
all over again.

The night was in a sense…okay. It was just a Thursday. I was tired, my stomach was rumbling and I am just not myself these days. It was nice to see the old gang again, there is nothing I would rather do than spend some time with the circle I have come to know and love. So we drank, we conversed, and I wonder why ‘you’ always creep into the conversation. ‘You’, are always the subject. Are we too sensitive that we can’t relegate you to some small corner of our minds? Are we a bunch of sadomasochists that we recount every excruciating detail of the treachery? Maybe it’s the fact that we were so gullible, that we trusted someone too much…too damn fucking much.

I won’t talk about it anymore.

I promised myself not to.


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Is that poo?!

No, Spiderman's just reviewing crayons...he's bored I guess?

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The weekend breezed through, and then it’s Monday once more. The weekend happened, it came and went…it ended with a whimper, like all things that have gone awry, it was a dud; a firecracker that fizzled and went ‘puft’.

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Our room has the measles, and the house is in disarray, but that will only be temporary. We have been roughing it for the past week, sleeping on the floor, the 2 of us sleeping in a single bed, sleeping with one eye open, sleeping…not sleeping, cat naps…food trips, bingeing on anything we could get our hands on. I feel like an animal being fattened for the slaughter. Maybe my mother is making up for lost time? Why not lock me up in the kitchen and save yourself all the trouble?

I’m just kidding.

The house is all messed up as of the moment. Boxes everywhere, that’s what you get with emergency room makeovers. The dust, cement and sand, the smell of paint (although I love the smell of paint), everything is just a shit load of boxes, plastic bags, paper bags, shoes, stuff strewn like landmines you have to watch where you step. It’s a jungle, my pants are in a box, bags inside bigger bags, my CD’s are in my backpack, pillows on the couch (maybe we should tell people they’re throw pillows?), shoe boxes in the kitchen, more bags, clothes for laundry everywhere, toiletries sharing space with the PC monitor, Kim’s make up kit on top of a plastic food keeper, “here, have some crackers while you’re putting some eye shadow!”…it’s insane!

Such is the pitfalls of house renovations.

After all of this, you’d think it’ll all be over…you are mistaken. Then comes the sordid task of segregating what can still be used and what needs to be thrown, sorting stuff and most difficult of all, convincing my mother that this is trash and this is just plain shit. I think all mothers have this tendency to save things such as empty ice cream containers, plastic bags, shoe boxes, old t-shirts, bottles, etc...you get the picture.

Meanwhile, I have a room waiting for a paint job…

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knee-deep in shit.

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An old high school friend came by the house last night. What was to be an evening of applying wood putty to our bedroom walls for repainting was instead spent on an impromptu drinking session. We downed 3 Red Horse Grandes. That is a lot considering there were only 2 of us.

He said he just wanted to talk. So we did, about everything…life, family, work…he said he was distraught the whole day, he was desperate, paranoid and was on his way down to depression. It seemed that he was about to have a nervous breakdown, I can understand, 29 and still jobless…squandered much of his earnings after a botched attempt at some business manufacturing sandals. Living life on the fast lane, spending cash like it grew on trees…he told his story with a quavering voice, lamenting at those wasted time, opportunities and money he now so desperately needs…it’s sad, he spoke as if it happened just weeks ago, the memory still fresh, it still stings I guess?

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I have been packing lunch for 3 days now since I went back home.

My mother stuffs the plastic lunch box with so much food. The rice is so packed, the spoon bends if you try scooping it. I think she doesn’t want me to come back for weeks. It’s so stuffed I had trouble finishing it yesterday, that theory about fattening me up to make for lost time is really becoming much more real, I can’t say no…that’s my mother and her cooking…you can’t say no to that.

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Are you bored out of your wits?

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It has started to rain just as I find a lull; the book churning can be back breaking work, I hunch in front of the PC and I am kissing, nearly kissing the monitor, rapt in my work. And as I click and drag, copy and paste this to that, transfer things here and there, my mind is racing, I am elsewhere.

The rain has started.

I am distracted.

I hear the drops in my head, like music. They loop, in my head I am lost in my mind I wander in spaces and empty crevices, I am lost. I am some picture in a milk carton somewhere in a parallel universe, I am missing. I am a flyer tacked to some post.

Tonight might well be another one of those, never mind — I hope not. Thunder just struck and I know somewhere, someone is shaking in his or her boots, covering their ears. It’s cold, my hairs are standing on end and I drift, as I pound the keys I am swept away, to home and to places I long for, to somewhere I know, to places that mean something to me and I am in waves, zigzagging, swerving in mid-air, in streams and I feel the sand between my toes, I can smell the grass, and feel the fresh and cool dew on my skin.

I space out.

I have to stop now…I’m not making sense.


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I have yet to start painting the room. I am too tired when I get home and I’d rather spend time, relaxing and maybe have a conversation or two with Kim and my parents. They seem to be more jovial these days, I know my father is more animated nowadays and he’s joking and laughing a lot now, he’s back to his old self I guess. It’s good to see the two of them in high spirits. There’s excitement and optimism in the household.

It seems that everything is in place.

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William Blake's "The Ancient Of Days"
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> from artchive.com

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