Silence and Sanguinary Follies

There are times when words are defeated by categorical force of reality, falling nowhere, overcome by the weight of their emptiness.

Leaving everything behind is not easy. Well, adjusting to any changes in our lives given if we chose it deliberately or not is not easy. Nothing is given as real except our world of desires and passions that we cannot step up or step down to any kind of reality except the reality of our own drives-- for thinking is nothing but the interrelation and interraction of our drives.

I could not turn my eyes from so much efervescence, so much passion and yearnings which well up from the world like sighs. My life has changed 180· turn after my father´s death. I was like a ship sailing in the vastness of an ocean without a compass. I knew from which so much melancholy sprung from those moments of struggle and melancholia. The tension of the soul in misfortune which trains it to strength, it shudders at the sight of great perdition, its inventiveness and courageousness is enduring. Whatever was given to the soul by way of depth, mystery, mask, mastery, guile and greatness, in the end, the individual is the one who has the freewill to decide which road to take, which people to choose, which fate to hold.

Things have no value until we put them there for self-preservation? I don`t know. We create an aim, a meaning for things. We give value and we create. Without it, the nutshell of existence will be hollow. Many things that one person called it good, another called it ridiculous and shameful. Over each person, there hangs a tablet of values of its self-mastery. Whatever comes hard to a person is praiseworthy; whatever irremissible for them is called good; whatever is most difficult and most rare they call it holy; whatever make them trial, rule and shine and make their neighbors envious, they consider it sublime, primal and the test of all things. Burning love and burning anger radiate from the names of all virtues.

There have been a thousand aims up to now, for there are a thousand more yokes over the thousand necks of this beast?

Only one aim is lacking. To make it real. For You. For Me.

Transitory

When you meet someone, you thought destiny made your paths crossed. But what if making your paths crossed was just a part of the game that playful destiny created? Making you realized that the person you thought was destined for you wasn't really meant to stay but only destined to make you feel loved and leave you when you have already fallen?

Love can sometimes be magic but magic is certainly an illusion! There are times when I wish I was limited to certain emotions so that I'll never have to experience pain, never feel betrayed or disappointed and never get my fragile heart broken. But the same thing means that I'll never know how it feels to love and be loved in return-- the thought of its kind scares me that I have a heart that is whole but numb or a heart that is broken but real.

It is hard to claim something that has never been yours or wait for something that is not going to happen although we ALL have the power to make things happen if we REALLY want to, but it is HARDER to stop when you know that it is everything you have needed and wanted.

Learning takes time and another stupidity might get in. Why do I get too sentimental? It is because memories are the only things that don't change. I know no other way but love.

If this is so, I wish I am suffering from amnesia.

Unrecognized

Though we reached a different kind of nirvana

a physical exorcism of what should not be

our shadows are too far

apart

to ever follow

the same path

to ever share

the same space

and to ever share

the same joys and pains

knowing this

You remain to be the reason

for my dementia

Monologue of a Poetic Misfit

You can shed tears that he is gone,

be empty and turn your back.

You can cry and close your mind,

or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

You can remember him only that he is gone,

or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,

or you can be full of the love you've shared.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see him,

or you can open your eyes and see all he's left.

You can close your eyes and pray that he'll come back,

or you can smile because he has lived.And you can do what is essential:

TRUST. BELIEVE.

Dancing in Arbitrariness

The clock seems stuck and this night has been one of the loneliest nights of my life but I guess, one of the most rewarding. The world whirs in anticipation while I quest for answers as to why things are happening now beyond my farthest imagination.

I don't want to hurt anyone, at least not on purpose. I only love because I know no other way. Although the past years for me unfolded like a train at full speed, bouncing off the rails at an increasingly massive hitch-- bridges were burned, relationships damaged, betrayals, promises were broken and a resonating evil wishes whispered in the air. If there is a time of looking back and regretting, it will be now, in between the dying moment and the one yet to be born but I have decided to drown that moment in some brandy clandestinely kept in a small flask in my bag and I am mixing it with my ordered Caramel Macchiato.

Depression begins to settle while I gradually get drunk despite watching South Park saved in my usb in a lame attempt to amuse my self while eating lettuce and carrots. But I didn't want a lettuce for a coffee ( ssshh..with brandy ). I just wanted to chop it up and chop it up and I have this thought about sharp knives. This is inept, evil and irritating so I stopped thinking about it. I know what I want this very moment. I want to crush someone's face with my bare hands and push his head between his legs and kick his ass.

I'm feeling agitated and pour more brandy on my coffee. I stopped South Park and retrieved my files and amorously look at the lovely pictures that once put me in an unknown bliss--the sweet smile, the happiness beyond those smiles, the lovely places we have been, the warmth and passion that I can still recognize thinking of those times. Then my eyes were burning hot and it wants to burst with tears but I have to control it. I'm in Starbucks. People might think I just broke up with my boyfriend or a lover just died. ( Well, he died long time ago and I already cried a dam full of tears).

So pure. So serene. What damage did I cause this man who looks so handsome in white? Who got no intentions but to heal? His eyes traveling to me as I gaze into one of the loveliest pictures I took of him. It stares back with an unsettling intensity like a transcendental meditation and I am yearning to hold hold him in real right this very moment. I want to bury my head on his chest and feel his arms wrap around me, way of saying that everything is going to be fine.

But I just feel so dirty and I feel so mad. Every inch of my aching ego wants to kill. What I couldn't stand was being stuck inside my head. Endless bloody power games, going on and on and on... I felt like the inside of my head were being torn and punched apart and everytime they'd settle, there'd be another punch and another fucked-up argument to fix. Bang.

Right now I'm in an inexorable mess, unprotected from any harm. He can leave anytime and I have nowhere to go. What am I going to say anyway? That I had a few demons and doubts? Like lots. Anything revealing I told him of my self can be taken against me or use it to give himself the power over me. The world is judgmental and because that is the standard. Only the weak are weak and the strong forbear, the strong rule.

But I trust. I trust this man and I am scared. What scared me most is the awful knowing that I couldn't will my self to escape.

My borrowed body vibrates. I look down. My head is getting skittish. I can't decide what side of the road shall I take now-- to let go or to hold on. Im depressed but not desperate. I stick to the verge, looking meek. What remains leave no trace, the untouched silence of space.

Longing

It has been
long and
Bony since
your willing
ways since
those thirstful
days of
summer nights
and Burning Beds

It's been
too many nights
of being with

to now being suddenly
without

MELANCHOLIA

Beyond my bedroom in my parents' house was a windowless inner room good for nothing but a library and it was here where I imagined my kids doing their homework. It is still the same bare room years back and since I moved here again permanently almost two years ago, I want to make this a library. I needed books-- so that I could live their characters' lives, not mine and i needed a room beyond this virginal white bedroom in which I sat spending almost empty nights, seeing a queen size bed sleeping alone. I always ended up sleeping between my twins whenever I am in my parents' house.

I am like staring to a blank white paper waiting for a blot to appear so i would know where to start. Impossible it might be, reality comes on its way. The fantasy production of make believe should be dismissed just like what I see on weddings of happily ever after. It is hard to deal with someone who is not getting along with your same plane of thinking, someone whom you need to explain things endlessly and still cannot get it inasmuch to need a man who could not selflessly love me as I love him. No time for alter egos anymore, I have more shit to deal with. Only time can tell if something will turn out well.

During the long stretch between separation and divorce, I had read a lot. I read about how much better it was for the children if an end was brought to an unhappy marriage. I had read that staying in a relationship for their sake is a crime against nature.

It was then I started to write, I learned it as my way of coping up aside from listening to music. I can turn hate and anger into a more beautiful lyrical prose.

Talking. I was talking all the time because I have to survive and there was no Japanese who would not want to practice his English. And because I have the gift, if it is, of instant intimacy! Add up those moments when you and a stranger connect, I thought to my self and you can turn them into a life of your self.

Ah, this was one of the good times I said silently, this coming together with someone I would never see again and both of us looked toward the sky hunting the Big Bear and the Little Bear. But as we did, I realized that my children having grown up under the sky in which the only star one could rely upon is Venus, and I was sick with longing.

No. this is not a life of chasing stars and the little accumulation of epiphanies, not life for me.

Evenso, there were moments when I realized that my kids are wanting to grow up fast because adulthood meant emancipation. I have cried over R in the past who is now a stranger to me whose once razor edged contempt is now but a rusty blade gone to waste. Disapproval edged my voice when I spoke to him days ago, in a once in a blue moon occasion-- to tell me that the petition to migrate to the US is now on process. That he is going to take the kids along with him permanently. Crazy shit! Power. Money. The tempting opportunity to be in the US. The bugger even had the guts to "invite" me to tag along with our " family". Bullshit. As if he and I aren't under legal battle over the kids and as if I want to live in the US! I once denounced my citizenship just to become a naturalized Filipino and now here he is mocking me even more.

I had never thought about whether R and I could have given the twins a better home. I thought only that I would die without them. Some people said I gave too much of my life to my twins. Parenthood, I realized was a life sentence. My children could run away from me. I could not. My children were free to hate me, I was condemned to love them. The truth is, I would have no life to give anyone were if not for them. Without them, I might have been a flaccid and as shapeless as a jellyfish.

Then I never thought of meeting someone whose glees and blurts were almost the same as mine. Soulmates as I seemingly device the torture, I have seen the passion not the same compared to the way R looked at me on our wedding day. I believed that this someone represents absolution. I should have toppled the edge of this fascination.

I had lived outside the world where animals went into the ark by pairs. It was a world I had lived since I was young and for almost a decade where I was an anomaly. Although I was ambivalent about moving back in turning circumstances into crisis, this might also mean losing my connection to this man who could be a lesser writer but not a lesser lover. I could overlook some imperfections but not a rotten prose style. I should have hold a time to deliberate.

He was more of a man incomparable--more than a myth. But in this moment of stillness, I realized that all journeys, the final one too for all we know are circular. And I have a personal demon to overcome.