Herald The End Of The World

i think it was the aftermath of a calamity. the place was grey and it had the feel of a refuge or a bomb shelter. there were kids running around, old people were seated on corners, wrapped in dark blue blankets looking very gloomy.

i could recognize some of them as i walked around. sometimes i would nod at them, sometimes i would ask how they were doing, and sometimes i would sit beside them and talk about things.

i was in the middle of talking with a girl my age when someone called me from the other room. it was a big room, and i had no idea how i heard the call, but i knew i had to get to the other room fast. so i stood up, excused myself from the girl, and rushed to the room.

when i got to the room, i saw an altar sort of chapel sort of place. i think there was a large statue of shiva in the middle of the back wall, but it had its back towards the room. there was a... man i think, and he motioned for me to come closer, so i did.

he looked at me and extended his hand. i reached to shake it but as my hand drew near, a whip appeared on his hand. i stopped and looked at it, and then looked at the man again, questioningly. he whispered, "take it."

and it seemed like there was no other way the universe would have it but for me to take the whip. so i did. i held it up to the light, and uncoiled it. it glowed a sort of black-purple glow and it felt like it was taking something from me, as well as giving me something else in return. i used it once to the right, then the second time to the left, then i made it crack the third time to the middle. i coiled it again and looked at the man, but he was already a statue.

there was an understanding in my mind that the only thing i have to do was to walk silently out of the room and return to the refuge. and the moment i got there, people were looking up to me. it was then i noticed i wasn't walking anymore, but floating a few feet above the ground.

the whip did a strange thing after a few moments. or maybe it was my hand. but nevertheless, the whip uncoiled from my hand, the room grew dazzlingly, paralyzingly bright...

and then i woke up.

Prelude To Super Villains

It almost feels like a sharp murder weapon held against my face, Doubt. It felt cold against my skin, glinting silver steel in the moonlight. The murderer, Fear, had me paralyzed. Holding me in such close quarters, I could see the permanent evil sneer on Fear’s face, distorting what was in his mad mind into tangible realness. Fear was breathing down my neck. “Go ahead,” he said mockingly. “Love,” as if it were a curse. “I dare you.”

Oh, and I wanted to spite him. I wanted to grab his wrist without him knowing it and hurt him real bad, like what those secret agents in those movies do when they were in a situation like this. I wanted to jab my elbow into his wrist, grab his knife, grab Doubt with my trembling hands and drive it to his neck. I wanted to stab him again and again, hear his screams and wallow in the spray of his warm blood to my face, to my arms, and to my neck if it’s the only thing that will make me sure he will never haunt me again. Oh God, if this is how it feels to Love, then I want to Love. I want to Love so bad.

But my mind is too slow; my heart, too weak. All I could do was pile up my anger into mountains, hoping it’s going to lead to something really helpful. I was hoping I could build up enough destructive anger to blind me and make me do what I normally won’t be able to do.

Hah. I don’t even know what it is. Maybe this is how super villains are made. Maybe they’re afraid, and the only thing their mind allows them to work on is their anger. They generate enough anger to work on like clay, and mold it as they go along, randomly and with no thought to whom they take out their anger to.

But still in the root of it all, there’s Fear. Fear’s blood working its way through the pores of their skin. Fear, laughing, jeering, saying he won after all. Fear, their first victim. With it, Compassion. Conscience. And they realize Love has become Anger. And Anger has fed through Doubt. Anger has become their murder weapon -- no longer the cold steel, but pulsing and red hot with the blood of its victims. They have become Fear, the murderer. Ultimately, they don’t know what to believe in anymore. Nothing is left to be done but be Angry until someone more powerful destroys them. Or they destroy themselves.

Panlalambing

gustong-gusto kong naririning
tuwing sinasabi mong,
"naiinis ako sa'yo."
sabay pagkunot ng ulo mo,
at pag-iling na para bang
may lamok na lilipad-lipad
at di mawari kung dadapo ba sa ilong
o noo o tainga.

gusto kong nababasa ang mukha mo
sa miminsang pagkakataong
naiinis ka sa akin,
na hindi ko naman malaman ang dahilan,
ngunit gustong-gusto ko pa rin.

marahil ay masyado lang akong makwento.
marahil ay masyado akong tahimik.
o di kaya'y pag tinititigan kita
gustong-gusto kong nababasa
ang pananalita ng iyong mga mata
kahit inis man lang ang namumutawi
mula sa kanila.

kung sabihin ko kayang mahal kita,
maiinis ka kaya?
wag mong masamain sana,
hindi sa ginagago kita.
ngunit gustong-gusto ko lang
tuwing sinasabi mong naiinis ka.


-- para kay A.

Confessions Of An Escape Artist

When did the running all begin? I can’t tell anymore. I’ve been running and running for such a long time, making all sorts of turns and jumps and dodges, slipping through cracks and going around bodies of water… it’s now impossible to see where it all started.

It’s a bit funny thinking about it now. Racking my brains, I have no reason to run away from. There’s no monster chasing me, as far as I can tell. I basically lived a good life. Love was abundant and it was almost always everywhere. I simply can’t understand why one morning I just woke up and decided to run. Back then it seemed like the only thing I had to do. To wake up and run.

Wake up. It’s ironic saying it. A friend of mine said I’ve been living in a dream. But I have never felt more awake my whole life. I’m feeling everything all at once. I’m everywhere, hearing everything, seeing every molecule swimming in the cosmos. I feel like I’m God.

And in a way, maybe God feels like He’s me as well. Too tired to care. Too spent on Love. Maybe that’s why most people don’t believe in God these days. God ran away. He doesn’t want to take responsibility anymore. He has retreated to a very remote area in the forests of Northern Europe just to unwind and fade until everyone will stop believing in Him at last.

And maybe that’s also why I’m having a hard time letting go of this world. Because people still won’t let go of me. People still believe in me. People still love me. And I don’t know if it’s doing me more harm than good. I can’t understand myself anymore.

So I run, hoping against hope a cliff would open up before me and I could jump, let myself fall off from the world. Or let the world fall off from under me. I’m not running away from something now. I’m running towards my salvation.

And I run.

Sometimes You Just Know It

i know because i saw you
run down the weathered
slope of the wet
hill like topsoil
washed away, gone.

i know you're gone.
you left like the heat
leaves my house, slipping
out and under the cracks in my door.
an exhaled breath, gone.

do you know
that i am standing
here like a school building
on sunday
(the cleaning lady banging
her bucket, then gone).


-- i know
jorge ignacio cortiñas

Forgive Me For Asking But...

WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME???!!!

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.