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Pulling together every detail of that significant day

Nothing but unhappiness streamed over my frailty

Departure drew closer as I mumble those three words

I have returned into this shapeless world yet again

With an echo murmuring I told you so

   

 

I wouldn’t want to be here if not for you

In this room where sane is senseless

Where my screams meant nothing but a scream

Where I am nothing but nothing

Merely nothing.

 

As I plead deafeningly for consideration, reassurance and validation,

That I am not going to be locked up permanently

Thoughts of you broke in uninformed like a nocturnal thief

If getting robbed is what it takes to be connected to you once more

I’d cry for endless invasion

 

It deserves a second chance. An option to be consumed

That 30-minute day-pass I turned down a while ago

It ought to be spent with willingness

And so I am. Freely stepping out of this asymmetry

Just so I can feel again how it feels

 

It’s been a long while since my feet touched these grasses

As I walk relentlessly close to your sanctuary

Rain began to pour, and so as the thoughts of you

If getting drenched is what it takes to be with you again

I would cry for eternal storm

 

You will later on forget and recover, you said

But three years was never painless to shake off

With what you’ve left, how can I ever?

With those three unwary words you’ve said

Tell me, Will I ever?

 

My knees quivered as I mumble those three words

For a second I felt like you were behind me, listening

If MISERY IS what it takes for you to FORGIVE me

I’d cry for never-ending distress

I would die just to have you back again.

 

life restored death

Tired of ceaseless repetition, he thought about putting an end to it. But “how” is the question he had to answer, immediately. Any suggestions? A knife could cut his veins open and bleed to death. Hypovolemic shock! Good idea. But that would take long for him to make a quick escape. What about ropes, chains or wires? A bit complicated but cheap. He can hang himself up with it but would leave an ugly mark on his neck or even bulge his eyeballs out.  A silent, bloodless, woundless and decent death, he wishes. Something knife and ropes could never grant.

Comatose overdose, he thought, without the first word. Comatose would mean there’s still hope for him to be brought back to life. Overdose. Certainly. He walked towards the medicine cabinet and searched for the solution he had been dying to get hold of. Benadryl, Aspirin, Coumadin, Erythromycin, Ambroxol. NEGATIVE. Those things wont kill him, exceeding the maximum therapeutic dosage would just cause gastrointestinal upsets, blood dyscrasia, possibly a GI hemorrhage in the future or even coma, but still, that doesn’t add up or even measure up to a drug that can end someone’s life in just a snap. Before everything that he had planned turn into a big letdown, he phoned his former roommate who he expects to be there in a jiffy with the paraphernalia. He bought a bunch to be sure.

Thanks junkie, he owes you his death. He sat on the floor of his pad with legs crossed, tied the tourniquet as tight as possible around his upper right arm and tapped his median cubital vein. Come out come out you precious little shit, he muttered. Then 3 large veins appeared. Cephalic, M.cubital, and Basilic. Bingo. He instantly grabbed the syringe with a large bore needle and injected the dissolved junk on to the site. Aspirate first you moron. And He did. A trace of blood. That’s a good sign. He released the tourniquet, and deposited the solution slowly. Five, four, three, two, one… god it felt great. But OD is what he desires, not the hallucinating effect of the drug. He waited for seconds for it to kick in. Vertigo. Vision blurred. Unsteadiness. Suddenly he fell down. This is what he had been waiting for. In his sight, lights started to flicker, his world began to warp. As he lay perfectly on the floor, enjoying every effect the drug could possibly have and offer, illustrations of him began to interfere; moving and living, like a biography of him made into a low budget movie. Every scene were played in a fast forward manner, but appeared as if in slow motion. TIRING. Everything seemed to be repeating. Morning – bed, shower, coffee, car, road, school. Noon – school, car, road, pad, couch, cigarettes. Night – cigarettes, dinner, cigarettes, book, bed. Repeating in a fast forward manner, muted, with poor lighting effects, bad angles, and low-def resolution. That’s why he did what he just did, so as to escape from monotony, normalcy, and unkindness.

End credits. Darkness. Every bad pixel of that film turned into perfection. Black. Am I dead now? He asked. His head ached like bad case of hemorrhoids. Nauseated, confused, and disoriented, everything went back to normal. His hands, shaking. Shit, I need more, he thought, after realizing that he failed on his very first attempt. On his second try, he injected five shots with fentanyl combined – 3 on left arm and 2 on the other. This time, a different outcome occurred. No Vertigo. No blurring of vision. Neither flashbacks nor hallucinations took place. Everything just started to collapse like a building being demolished, disintegrating second by second, his memory started to deteriorate, hands shaking, and face flushing, tingly, and burning. His chest tightened as if a heavy mass had just been tossed above him. His usual breathing was now labored as if something had just foiled his airway. His eyes, pupils both constricted, displayed such satisfaction regardless of the fact that in just one blink, he’d be dead, gone and soon be forgotten. With a vision that was now dim and mottled, he took one last look around the world that he, from the very beginning, assumed to be imaginary, scripted, and copied – from a terrible novel written by an unknown jaded sadistic friendless pompous control freak heroin addict. Finally, he’s now on the edge of his flight, just waiting for it to take off. If the muscles of his lips hadn’t surrendered, he would have smiled. If his legs hadn’t numbed, he probably would have danced. If his respiratory capacity hadn’t lowered, he would have effortlessly respired for the last time. Because what he did made him proud, happy, and calm for the first time. His body now turned purple, eyes shut dead, unmoving, his breathing stopped. Respiratory arrest. Dead.

After waiting for a total of twenty-some minutes; his ride had finally gone up high. Will it crash down? Nobody knows…

 

okay.

NOW THE MONSTER IS AWAKE.

setlist.

1) Quicksand
2) A Kiss to Send Us Off
3) Nice To Know You
4) Wish You Were Here
5) Anna Molly
6) Vitamin
7) Favorite Things
8) The Warmth
9) Drive
10) Oil and Water
11) Pistola
12) Talk Show on Mute
13) Sick Sad Little World
14) Megalomaniac
– Encore –
15) Stellar
16) Circles
17) Aqueous Transmission

KAPITAL BITIN!

Yoko ng ikwento kung ganong katagal nakong fan or wateber, bsta d ako tumigil ng pag kinig sa music nila. Enap na un. Pinaka latest na peborit ko, paper shoes. At rogues. at oil and water. at pendulous threads. Bsta. Ang labo eh no. eniwey. Nung makalawa lang, eh nabankrap ako. Baket? Itanung mo sa piktchur.

Cimg5747_3  Porporten mga kapatid. Tayms two. Isang bwan ko ng pang recess yan! O wel. Minsan lang naman. Buti at mabait ang mudra ko. Hiniram ko muna ung pambayad ng tuition. Kaso d mo naman maaalis sa mga madyunda ung paniniwalang  “alagad ng mga demonyo yang mga rak rak myusik na yan!” aynako mga gurang nga naman…

Good thing ung concert eh before our finals. Kaya d ako masyadong na istress kakaisip kung anong ipaprioritize ko. YUN ANG AKALA KO. Pero apter the concert, nakalipas na isang linggong, nak ng teteng! May hang ober pa rin. Hanggang ngayon! Good thing ba yon!

Nung araw ng concert, medyo late na kami dumating, 8 ang start, 6 kami nakadating. LATE NA UN PARA SAKIN!! Kasi dati kami ni susi eh 10 am ndun na kami sa ccp e 8:30pm pa ang start. Eniwey, aun.nung udd palang nag ffront act, eh nag cr muna kami, at TADAN! Gerl ako nung gabing un. Tae tlga.  Nung nag start na, grabe. Bakla kung bakla! ang pogi nya pare! Helowww abs! (pik kertesi ng may ari.)

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At biglang………. May narandaman ako.

Tangina red alert! At kada sigaw ko eh parang bglang tumutoooot ung tooooot. Talangkang hinog. Bwiset. Pero kiber! Okay lang. kaming dalawa lang naman nakakaalam. Ayako ngang ma miss ang isang Segundo o minuto para lang mag lagay ng sanwits. Bwahaha. Kadiri no? sowat.

Badtrip lang kasi bitin. At ung mga nasa pinakaunahan na mga konyogerls and boys, ewan, parang d ata nila kilala ung banda. No comment. Yoko mag dyads.

At eto pa, may dala nga ko digicam ngaun, (kasi dati eh kamerapown ang uso at ang dala kong selpon e tartitriten, kamusta naman un.)  oo me dala ako. Ung pang jologs na digicam 3.5mp. kaso. Wala naman akong desenteng piktyur na nakuha. At ang mga bidyo! Walandyo, ap en down ng up en down, tu da lep tuda rayt! Hndi masyadong gumana ang multi-tasking skills ko. Di ko kinayang pagsabayin ang pag kuwa ng magandang shot at pag wawala. Okay lang. d naman ako nagpunta dun para bidyuhan ung buong concert tulad nung iba na naka tutok mga camera simula umpisa hanggang huli. Sa tingin mo enjoy ba ung ganon? OP KORS NAT.

Capture_1

kahit d ko nakuhaan ng matino ung concert gamit ang digcam ko. Ok lang. malupit naman ang potograpik memory ko!

Everything was clearly captured. nakanaman!

sana naman next time na mag concert ulit, wala ng upuan anak ng tokwang malutong naman! please lang.pero inpernes. maganda ang lighting epeks ha!

un lang.

fear.some.less.fool.

Fgdfgdgf   Fear. Phobia. Whatever you want to call it. What are your fears? I don’t know mine yet, or should I say, I’m not really sure. All I know is that I am definitely not afraid of heights. I can go innumerable rounds on a gigantic rollercoaster or dare me to bungee jump, without thinking twice; I’d leap with unrestrained thoughts. Water? I’m not a good swimmer, but I can swim, just like a normal kid who had a “forced swimming lessons”. So I’ve got no problems about sinking into the depths of extremities.  Fire? Show me how to light a cigarette without it then maybe I’ll try to think of myself being a pyrophobic. How about failure? Rejection? Maybe. But you know what, when you get used to such situations involving the things you thought you’re afraid of, fear would automatically be disregarded. How you feel, see, and perceive things will change. You’re not afraid anymore, but tired and somewhat deadened. Right now, I know I am afraid of something. Maybe growing old alone, or death, or ghosts perhaps. Not sure. Yet I am aware that fear is somewhat wandering around my system, trying to make a deal with my senses, while I sit here struggling to heed every warning that could possibly come along. But hey, whatever. I’ll just let the god of fear do his job. Scare me.

you got a knife in your back.

Sometimes, giving up doesn’t always mean you’re a loser or weak or whatever. It’s just that you’re getting tired of playing the same game over and over. Like being laughed at or picked on every single day, like eating greasy French fries five days in a row. Tiring, nauseating, and not to mention, AGGRAVATING. Then you ask yourself, “Why does it always have to be me?” Then you wait for answers, but not a single word comes up.

In case you’re wondering why I’m writing this kind of crap again, it’s easy. What has happened before is happening again, and what has been done before.. Being done again. AGAIN. Oh how I hated that word!

It’s been a year since we moved back here. Seriously, I never missed the place, just the wonderful people I made friends with. And as I expected, a major change happened. Anyway, everyday was like first day of school for me, probably because I’m always on a solo flight. No one ever liked me, that’s a fact. But you know what; say anything you want behind my back, JUST! Make sure were not friends, or I don’t know you. Anyway, I’ve been whining for like ten years now about people like them, so maybe I’ll whine some more.

Sure, life is a game, if you quit, you lose, the more you get hooked on playing it, the more likely you are to win right? That’s how it goes for some, but not for me. Seriously, I’m tired of playing games; of getting even with people who’ve wronged me, of retaliating, tired of being tired. I depended too much in bad karma, that I lost control of my self. I acted as if I am karma. Stupid right? I know.

Things happen when we least expect it right? My error was, I expected too much. I expected things would now go “my way”. For I thought it was my turn. But no, it wasn’t. I anticipated, presumed and took everything for granted.  I can’t say I’m miserable now, or more, yet I can’t lie about my never ending pitfalls.

2 days ago, I kind of fell apart. I lost the only armor I carry on every battle. PATIENCE. Was I drunk? Or stoned? NO. I was just so full of it. Like a bobbled soda bursting out of its can, like a broken cartridge caused by too much pressure. The feeling was excruciating but not paralyzing. With too much anger, I felt as if my heart stopped pumping for a while, maybe I kind of jolted for a second then later on, everything started. Exchange of words, door slamming, every thing an angry man could possibly do. I felt awful after that to tell you the truth. Because in that fight, I know we were both losers. With regret, I began to understand why I jolt before fights. That was a caution. A reminder to keep myself calm and composed, that you can’t put a fire down with another explosion. That day I accepted defeat with learned lesson. If a stone has been thrown at you by someone who undeniably dislikes you, catch it, then let go of it. Never ever throw it back. If you do, one blink could entirely ruin you.

Unfortunately, that certain person I had a fight with, did not grasp what I did. And I kind of felt bad because after what happened, none of those exchange of awful words struck her to ponder. Then I came up with a conclusion, that maybe, that’s her way of showing people how good she is when it comes to arguments, that she had never lost a fight over a bugger-looking loser, that she can never ran out of humiliating things to say about her opponent. I admit she is indeed strong. Although the fight didn’t get physical, I can say that one blow would instantly send me off to my funeral.  It was such a letdown for me to know that all she thinks about was winning so she can brag about how great she was the next day. But at the same time, I kind of felt sorry for her too. She must have experienced a lot of criticisms and been picked on too many times, instead of learning from it, she copped out I guess. Now, she’s so strong, no freaking doubt about it. She can pick a fight with anyone she wants. She can blow you off with one foolish remark. Sure, she is strong, but you know what, strength alone isn’t something you should be proud of, for it is noting without wisdom. Something she doesn’t have. The most important weapon, too difficult to obtain, too valuable to sell.

I wrote this not to provoke her or something, I bet she wouldn’t even find out about this, but still I’m hoping, she’d read this, and for once, think.

Cimg3029 I just realized something. Whenever I’m all set, life tend to make me wait. And whenever I’m badly prepared, I end up doing things too quickly just for the sake of getting closer to something indefinite. So no matter how ready or how unprepared I am, the ending would just be as terrible as getting disconnected in a nearly completed downloading process.

yak.

wait for her eyes to open before i close mine.

If beauty never existed, then all would be equal. There would be no comparisons, just fair judgments. If everything was black and white, then there wouldn’t be contrast of colors. Just a slight distinction. If romantic love was just a feeling, nothing to be happy or sad about, just a feeling that makes you do nothing and feel nothing, then there wouldn’t be suicides, psycho stalkers, PDAs, love songs, depressions, break-ups, sex, and the likes. If everything wasn’t all about love, then what would it be about? Who would we be now?

If we could only choose a certain day to spend over and over again- like a lazy Wednesday morning where your mom yells at you and hits you with a pillow for you to get your ass up and do something helpful, like your 13th birthday where you had a nice party at the amusement park and everyone you love was there, like when you went up on stage and got your diploma and your mom was really proud of you, her shirt were all soaked up with tears that you cant forget that precious look on her face- a day that made you really happy, a day wherein every second you’ll never get tired of repeating. If we could only spend that day till eternity, then everything will be just fine, then we wouldn’t be afraid of death, failures, disappointments and all that. Everyday will just be a happy day, no fear of dying, of losing, of loneliness, of failing.

What if our lives were taped and we have the choice to erase the parts we hated, or to repeat a particular scene we loved, wouldn’t that be great? Truth is, we make our own choices, but we only have limited options. It’s either this or that, but you can’t want both.

Sometimes I wonder, if I die, will I ever get to see my mother again? Or will I ever get to watch from above who’s weeping for me or who’s not? Will I ever meet God or Satan? Or will I just linger around sad places where people can’t see or feel me? Fact is, I’m not really afraid of death, whether it’ll be brutal or boring. I’m just afraid of life after it, because I’m not sure if there is. And I’m more afraid of the fact that eventually, the only person I love so much will die, because for me, the scary part about it is being “really” alone, losing the only thing I live for, not knowing what to do without her, not knowing if I can still go on, and I’m afraid that I can never move on if that happens. I will never be ready for that, not 20 or 30 or 80 years from now. And I just hate the fact that I’m thinking about it because I shouldn’t be. Coz it wouldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen. I won’t let it.

I’m 20 but I still sleep on my mother’s bed. Everynight I lay on her chest and listen to her heartbeat. Her annoying snore is like a dose of a sleeping pill, that everytime I hear, means I’m going to have a wonderful sleep.

I know, cheesy entry, but true. Happy birthday!

shake you.

Brandon B. is right. High school never ends. Up until now, I’m dealing with bunch of freaking pre-schoolers. Gossips, siraan, plastikan, pasikatan, pagalingan and all that. Maybe some people are really afraid to grow up. Maybe that’s how they find their reassurance. Maybe that’s how they conceal their flaws. By making other people feel bad about themselves, by assuming that they’re better than anyone else. They just can’t accept the fact that there’s always someone better than them, that’s why they instantly step on to someone they think will outshine more before others find out how stupid, weak, insecure, and rotten they are.

Been there. Done that. End of story.

just a part of it.

“Being with you is like struggling to create a line out of a perfect circle. Unbending a curve to make it even, trying to cut a portion to break the union of the unknown. “

Nobody’s perfect, I know, but I can’t always stick to that perspective for me to accept unbearable issues and just forgive and forget. It’s been a month or two since I ditched someone important to me, hoping that she’d change or be smart and sensitive enough to figure out why I did what I did.

I weep for you, breathe for you, and think for you, because I felt like I have to. Like there’s no other choice but for me to do things for you, not because I want to do it for you. For so long I’ve been trapped in your misery. Every time you feel small, I feel obliged to feel the same way. Every time you hurt, I feel I should too, because I thought not being so, means I’m a terrible friend. I felt so many things I wish I didn’t. I felt small, weak, helpless, deprived, pushed, manipulated, used and abused. I felt everything that suddenly I can’t feel anything anymore. Not even regret.

Call me weak but I’m tired and I have to go back to where I used to be, to who I used to be. I don’t want to be your shock absorber anymore. I don’t want to hurt for you or cry for you or think for you. Not anymore. I’ve waited long enough for you to change and fix me. I give up. Waiting for you is like waiting for a bus at the train station, absurd and impossible. So here I am now, watching the torn pieces of my bus ticket I bought two years ago, fly..up..and away.

Encircling and throughout.

“Have you ever felt like your heart isn’t beating anymore? “

In this existential despair I stand alone, staring blankly into my own cold threat, “if you do, you’ll regret.” My alter-ego mumbled. But I dared and took a dangerous leap, not considering the price I’ll pay if I fall short. Surprisingly, I landed flawlessly at this pink adorable room painted with unfamiliar but sweet-looking flowers in luminous colors. I lay there naively for a long time not knowing there’s no guarantee that I can stay there forever. That was the first and last time I felt so happy and significant.

I took a lot of leaps after that, or should I say risks? However, different from the first one. I had three shaky landings, crashed a lot of times, countless of bruises, and one hope-explosion. Will I go for another one? I think so but not this time. I’m still recovering from a soul-crash and somewhat fixing myself. And when I’m all geared up and certain, I want to crash into someone for good.