On Memories And Confusion

i couldn't sleep. not now. not when i remembered. oh god, i love A. why did D. have to come up in the conversation? i had forgotten. or at least, i had it stashed away already. archived somewhere in the "Move On Pare" shelf in the library of my mind.

red wine. new year. digicam. morning. blue wave. him. me. him. him. and him again...

no. this should stop. i should stop thinking about things that should have already been closed a long time ago. books that fall from their shelves should just be placed back on the space they left. simple as that. no need to sit on the floor and read everything again. live everything again. feel everything again. it's pointless, as much as it is hurtful.

no. right now i'm feeling the prelude of the onslaught of new love. this is what i should be reading. this is what i should be writing about. this book. right now. A. this book is going to be as beautiful, no, more beautiful than the other books i have written. there will be love. and it shall overcome. there will be death. but not for the good. there will be life.

yes. A. will be a new lease on life, for good or bad.

Thinking Positive

he is a talisman. an amulet i hold on to, however weak its glow, however shallow its promises may seem. i want to believe it will be enough leverage for me to move on and go forward with my life. enough walking in the dreamworld, time to wake up.

it's such a sweet idea tho (if not uber corny): him seeing me as his big brother even though he's two years older than i am. heck, i feel like i'm the all around big brother anyway, what's one more? throw in a few (well, maybe not a few) tints of sexual attraction for good measure, and the chemical reaction is complete.

right now i hope this amulet of mine works out. i try to hold on to anything i can. i'm desperate. i want to wake up. but if it doesn't... well...

i hope it does.

Death By Snakes

i wanted to do something. go somewhere. it was a shout or a murmur, i don't exactly remember. it was something that caught me, hooked my heart. it was like a snake encircling its prey. slowly moving in. constricting. squeezing the body of its victim, me, for all the life it was worth...

i could do nothing but look up to the sky. i didn't realize it was nighttime. i could see stars but it could have been morning. i could have been imagining the stars. it all looked so unreal anyway. i felt like i was exhaling my breath into the stars, giving them life, making them brighter. holding on.

i was aware of the snake. behind me, the rattle, in front of me, the hiss. like the first few bars of a song, the first few steps of a dance. shyly, slowly rising, waiting for the crescendo of notes. taunting. waiting. challenging me to break free from its grasp. i do not look at the snake. i was intent on looking at the stars. i trusted that as long as i can see the stars, i shall remain alive, undaunted by the hisses and rattles and taunts of the snake.

i am aware of my breathing. i am thinking how strong i must be. smiling stupidly to myself. i am still breathing. i am still alive. i am not beaten. telling myself i will win this. hoping against hope that i, the visionary, the artist, the poet, the friend, the son, the lover, will emerge bloodied and scarred but triumphant.

although i know (oh god, i know), i know that there is a persistent voice at the back of my head, at the musty passages of my mind, i know that it whispers again and again that i am only fooling myself. that i am beaten. that i have already lost. like a small flute amidst an orchestra, the voice remains. seemingly insignificant, but actually invaluable. strong. resonant. dissonant.

it tells me the snake was mine after all. i conjured it myself. i gave it life to give me death. i secretly longed for death. and the stars... i yearned to be with them. to gravitate. to burn. to dissipate. to be gone.

secretly, i wanted these things. on the surface, acting all normal and denying them, thinking them unreal, unnatural, wrong. acting as a proper and good little human being. dispensing "i'm ok's" and "i'm fine's," but secretly i wanted it. i longed for it... i still long for it.

oh god, it's a fantasy...

On Chocolates And The Purpose Of My Life

this is what i'm looking at right now. but what i actually wanted to show was the smoke. i thought how easy it would be, being smoke from hot chocolate. rising from something deliciously sensual, and ascending to the air to merge with something... cosmic, and then back again.

life is supposed to be that simple. to begin and end with a swirl of smoke. but i think i'm stuck in the boiling depths of dark chocolate -- beautiful, sweet, dirty, burning liquid chocolate... i live in its danger; i thrive in its lies of comfort; i feed on its maddeningly dark sweetness.

and there's no one else in it but me. where i am my own universe and i am my own god.

--

i have given up on the world. it has nothing for me and i have nothing to give it as well, no matter what anyone would say otherwise. people always assume everyone has a purpose, just because they have found theirs. or they still cling to the hope that they do.

it is untrue that i do not believe in hope. i do as a matter of fact. as well as love. it's just that... it's not for me. i am merely here to see, to observe, and to chronicle its existence. it exists, as do i. and now that i have established that for myself, there is nothing else left for me to do.

--

well bless my tarnished soul. i guess i do have a purpose after all. or rather, did.

This Is Proof

You are Form 1, Goddess: The Creator.

"And The Goddess planted the acorn of life. She cried a single tear and shed a single drop of blood upon the earth where she buried it. From her blood and tear, the acorn grew into the world."

Some examples of the Goddess Form are Gaia (Greek), Jehova (Christian), and Brahma (Indian). The Goddess is associated with the concept of creation, the number 1, and the element of earth. Her sign is the dawn sun.

As a member of Form 1, you are a charismatic individual and people are drawn to you. Although sometimes you may seem emotionally distant, you are deeply in tune with other people's feelings and have tremendous empathy. Sometimes you have a tendency to neglect your own self. Goddesses are the best friends to have because they're always willing to help.


Which Mythological Form Are You?
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Choosing What To Remember

Another one of my third-person entries. Wrote this Saturday night... or more exactly, Sunday morning when I was at Fontana with some friends. Everyone was asleep, drunk, and dreaming. I was the only one awake, and towards the middle of the write-up, another friend woke up. Anyway, I was a bit drunk myself, and I remembered something that happened at the beginning of the year related to me being drunk, so this is partially true. Heh. Anyways...

--

Miguel remembered. He sat up slowly from his bed and brought his left hand up to his tubthumping and hangovered temple. He could hear his breathing, and he wasn’t even sure if the breathing he was hearing was actual or from memory. But he could remember.

He remembered dancing. And he remembered reverberations from a soundless drum. It was almost as if a god was preparing for war. The music wasn’t audible but he remembered it was powered with such force that he couldn’t help moving with it, his sinuous body sensuously writhing like a lone fire in a dark windless night.

He remembered stars. There were unusually millions of them beautifully scattered across the cosmos that night. So many in fact, that some spilled over into the sea, to the beach, to the mirrorball spinning slowly, slowly, hanging by the ceiling in the middle of the dance floor. And he swore… swore by everything good and evil in this life that some even landed on his eyes and tongue, and suddenly the world had this incredible tint and taste of gold and silver like in the dreams of that girl or princess or some such in some fantasy movie he saw some time ago when he was still a kid. And it was fucking beautiful.

He remembered Don. And he was fucking beautiful. Amidst the thick haze of smoke and alcohol, he must have been the only other person who heard the soundless drums – must have been the only other person who had stars in his eyes and tongue. Or at least it seemed to him. Because what else do stars do but pull you to their gravity and mingle with your heat? Miguel remembered feeling just that with Don. Gravity and heat.

And Miguel remembered something else. He remembered how it was like being happy. After forgetting how it was like being happy for a long ass time, he remembered everything. The music, the stars, the eyes, the tongue… all these were keys opening forgotten doors everywhere inside him. He remembered Don unlocking these doors one by one that night after the party. He remembered the doors opening. And he was happy.

He remembered being held all night. And he remembered a lot of other things too… so he’s asking himself right now, left hand still willing the tubthumping in his temple to go away, how come everything is suddenly silent? Where has the music gone? Where did the stars go? And why is everything dressed in drab Sunday afternoon sunlight?

He remembered waking up a few minutes ago, hearing doors closing, and him just sitting in place, frozen, with no will to follow. One last door remained open, and Don was holding the knob, poised to go out, and looking at Miguel. “It’s too late, Miguel…” he mouthed.

He remembered a smile, a last shaft of light, and the sound of the last door closing. Click.

And he remembered being sad.

But most importantly, he remembered Julia will be waiting for him three hours hence at the church door, dressed in the most beautiful and expensive wedding gown, smiling with a face full of anticipation of things she would want to remember. Things she would want to remember with Miguel.

Miguel remembered a promise.