Six

I feel insecure, that I can't start to pour out words. What relatively monumental things I must wrote, back then, for my relatively better self to squirm at the thought of continuity! Nevertheless, here goes:

Standing out by the station

Waiting for the clouds to part

It's been a very long time

Do you understand my frustration?

I can see the end in sight

But I can't see anyone I know

Not you, the one that I adore

Not you, my vibration

There are moments when I feel that words are not sufficient to describe the things I feel. Extreme happiness can be bliss, but what is extreme bliss? Extreme sadness can be grief or melancholy, but what are the extremes of both? I can't really blame words, though. Somewhere, I'm sure, the right term exists, and somehow, it does not exist within me. Does the limitation in one's vocabulary also limit the emotions one can feel? Does this same insufficiency in one's collection of words collar one's understanding of the world?

I haven't read much lately. Those I've read, I most likely will not finish doing so for a probably long time. I still hope to do so someday.

--

Cinq--Trois

Biggest joke of my life.

"THIS EMAIL HAS BEEN CURSED ONCE OPENED YOU MUST SEND IT.You are now cursed. You must send this on or you will be killed, tonight at12:00am, by Mickey Mouse. This is no joke. So don't think you can quickly get out of it and delete it now because Mickey Mouse will come to you if you do not send this on. He will slit your throat and your wrists and pull youreyeballs out with a fork. And then hang your dead corpse in your bedroom cupboard or put you under your bed. What's your parents going to do whenthey find you dead? Won't be funny then, will it? Don't think this is a fakeand it's all put on to scare you because your wrong, so very wrong."


-excerpt from an e-mail I received

Although yes, I do not believe in this, I've passed it on.
I don't know why... Fun factor, perhaps?

I received this chain letter three years ago, back when the days that February hold were still cold. Back then, e-mails and instant messages were a hit. My friends and I would wait at home, wearing layers of clothes and drinking hot Milo to fight the cold post-Winter drama. We would just sit in front of our computer, waiting for each other's mails.

I remember, though how faintly my memory had been through the years, this one particular night. Since we kept our old house despite changing address, I decided to stay and spend the night there. My parents went to our new place, and I was left alone (yes, trust can do that); and as soon as they were gone, I phoned my best friend Justine, and asked her if she would be of company. Normally, considering how strict her mother is, she would have said no; and, in a way, I was beforehand convinced that she will say no. I don't know why I bothered asking, but, why not? Chances given, though how slight might it be, she would say yes-- and she did.

10 minutes had passed since the call was dropped when she arrived at my place. She went with her pink sweater, skinny-fitted trouser, Havaianas, and her youngest brother, Jason. The night was subjectively winter-esque. After formal greetings were given, they went inside to warm themselves up. I was left alone outside. During cold days, I usually light a cigarette to counter the freezing wind, and I'm quite well-off with that. I lit up a stick, and as I watch the smoke rise, I saw what I thought could only exist in my dreams.

Serendipity...

Truly, there's beauty in things that could, and probably would kill me.
Shuddering, I invited Justine outside just so we could share the beauty I was indulging myself into. And, thinking that it was such a romantic moment, I held her hand. Heh, the moves. /:)  The rest of the night went by as we pondered upon the past, and wondered about the things to come whilst we journey our thoughts throughout the vast sky.

Quatre

I'm wasting my time.
7 in the morning's just around the corner, and cups of coffee don't work anymore, but still I'm up. And for some reason, I feel like feeding this blog some more of my profound inanities.

Some long, long time ago (actually it's just this last 2 A.M.) I've thought of what's beyond life. By that, I mean 'life' after death. It's hard to imagine that all we'll be seeing is pitch black; not being able to move or "feel" that we're moving, if we're even really moving. It's like we're in a very dark room, immobilised. Alas. That would be one hell of a torture. I mean, being in a dark room for days would make one crazy, how much more for forever? But what if, yeah let's say we're in that ridiculously-dark-room-after-you're-dead state, but we don't really have any memory of what happened to us, as to how we had lead our lives and all... It wouldn't really matter, being in that state, would it?

But that's where this world we live in started, yeah? (That's according to some really interesting fact I read about, that the universe once was just a tiny particle, even smaller than the smallest matter known today, apart that, really) It's said that this tiny particle got (I'm lost for words) and all, that it collapsed all of a sudden. I guess the universe can't take that much pressure as likely as a human does. Heh. And it's also said that outside that 'tiny particle', there was no mass and time and all. I thought, "What shit might exist in such a place?" Then I thought of this God. I mean, it's said that he created all that we see and all... But it's harder to grasp the thought of having this all-so-powerful entity that could create a tiny matter that will eventually self-destruct to create a new life that's apart from its creator--and eventually, again, will 'sink back' to its original state, that tiny mass, taking back all of what we've.

And so another thought popped out of the open: Was there life before us; before this universe? I mean, just like what I typed earlier, this tiny matter collapsed, formed our universe, will shrink sooner or later to that tiny mass that it was. I'm saying that that particular occurrence looks more of a cycle to me. So I thought, was there a 'universe' or whatever-the-previous-campers-called-it that existed before our universe? How did it go, what life does it contain, are its inhabitants as stupid as us? And was there a possibility that everything back then was the same as now? Like there's a certain code that tells what it must be, and how it must go, and when someone, in someway, breaks the code, that's where it'll start breaking down, slowly going back to that tiny mass. There, it will 'hibernate' for some time, then goes "boom" again. See the point? It's like, in some way, a deja vu of some sort. It's like this, and that, and everything are actually programmed to happen. 'Fate', we called it; but that's some serious shit if that's real.

And so another thought came out of nowhere. (Relevant to this, still, though) It's said that 'a dark tunnel we will go, and at the end of the tunnel there's new life.' To add to that, it's often described as 'being reborn', and it's like going through that awful vaginal-roller coaster once more. Flaws... flaws... In the process, it's said, too, that as we pass, we leave our old lives to lead a new one. By that, I guess its main purpose, really, is to cleanse our mind of our previous lives, thus preserving the code, the pattern whatsoever. And so I think it returns back to the 1st mere suggestion that I made--that collapse-and-shrink stuff. It all makes sense to me, in my own way--the old life that's created by the collapse stage of the cycle, dies to undergo cleansing as our universe shrinks back to that tiny matter, and that awful roller coaster to lead us to our new 'universe' as it once more collapses. That's one hell of a crazy cycle that makes sense to me.

I've also read this one article that says that the universe, its physical appearance that is, looks like a brain neuron. So I thought what if we live in a neuron of a 'real' human? Or possibly, this God? Up all the cells in his brain, so complex and all, we're so lucky to be alone, yet so dumb to think we're alone. Or could it be that we, too, are the God of our own universe that's living inside our heads? Heh. I'm guessing a schizoid shares different universes that self-destruct whenever the person switches properties... which would contradict the universe-is-just-a-part-of-our-head suggestion.


Some fancy random stuff:
I love you. :">


So back to the original point of this post. What's beyond death? Peter Pan (He will forever exist in my heart, though that sounded very homosexual and all) once said, 'To die, would be an awfully big adventure', and I think it really is. I've drowned myself with these thoughts of unimaginable adventures that I really want to die and find out. I guess the only way to find out what's beyond life, is to go beyond life--to die. Too bad for me, though, since dead men tell no tales.

To think of it all, what lies beyond is just a mere fact we can never fathom.

To die, would be an awfully big adventure.

Trois

I felt so motivated when I saw that specific picture of a sunset somewhere.

So yeah. Damn, I'm lucky.

I remember a time my frail, virgin mind watched the crimson sunrise. I imagined what it might find. After all, life was filled with wonder. I felt the warm wind blow. I felt that I must explore the boundaries, transcend the depth of winter's snow. Innocence was caressing me. I never felt so young before; there was so much life in me, still I longed to search for more. But those days are gone now. I changed like a leaf on a tree, blown away forever into the cool autumn breeze. The snow has now fallen and my sun's not so bright. I struggle to hold on with the last of my might. In my den of inequity, viciousness and subtlety, I struggle to ease the pain; struggle to find the sane. With ignorance surrounding me, I've never been so filled with fear. All my life's been drained from me, and the end is drawing near...

Deux--deux

I can't really express my ideas in words as well as I do in art, so I might as well save the trouble of thinking fancy things and get my juices flowing.

This shitty aboulia's making it hard to choose I like pie. Especially what to type next.

On my own, here we go.


___


Whale you marry me?
Dolphin-ately!


*laughs* That's so punny.

I don't know why, but that joke kills me every time.

___

Bye. Creative Juice, a.k.a. CJ, is now calling me to do her. *hint hint*

P.S. I might as well post the outcome here if I get too full of myself.

Un

"There's nothing special here... No matter where you look, the world is flat and boring."

As per usual, I got a lot of time to kill, and yet I decide to just wander at the middle of my thoughts.
And so, just now I've decided to waste my remaining days here, typing awful inanity that only I could grasp.

I wonder what it feels to fly...
I mean, just like the birds in the sky and all. You could go here and there with relevant ease. There's no more need for complex machines with technical flaws and all. It could be fun to watch, too, the police up there chasing burglars. Heh, and who knows... I might be out there cheering with the pompoms and all. It kills me every time I think of it, the cheering thing.

I might as well join a cheering squad, since I've always been a bench warmer. You see, back in my high school days, I used to play baseball. I'm not really good at it, you see, but I was in the team--and I've always been the substitute pitcher. Always. It was quite fun, too, since I get to watch the game closer than those really annoying spectators who would shout "Tangina katanga mo mag-pitch, uwi ka na!", or "Shet, takbo! Tangina dalian mong tumakbo!" I mean, t'was really rude to say that and all.

Then there was this really important final game. We were leading the scoring part and all--I'm guessing t'was 5-2--then all of a sudden our pitcher, the one who throws balls(it sounds wrong, and I don't know why I specified that part), got injured. That was when things got really messed up. As I was the substitute pitcher--the only substitute pitcher, that is--I was pretty much required to go out there and throw some ugly rounds. Then there was this really phony guy that I hate so much for being really phony, to add to that he's the phoniest bastard I ever met, that keeps cheering for me with a very phony voice. It got on my nerves and all, so I threw a ball at him. No, it did not hit him. Instead it hit the other team's fanatic. It sparked an uproar, and that's when we forfeited the game. It's my fault, I know, but deep inside, it was really worth it.

Back to the topic, the flying thing and all. I guess it would be much, much harder to pitch in mid-air, wouldn't it? I mean, you'll go round and round and all. To tell you the truth, I'm highly prone to giddiness that a few spins and I'm down head first. Maybe that's why I hated travelling when I was a young lad. Young lad... That killed me. As I was saying, when I was a young lad, I would always throw up during trips and all--and the one to blame was this part of our journey where we had to fight our way through ridiculously large amounts of curved roads. How do I put it? It's much like that of when you're headed to Baguio, but more... burlesque.


That would add up to the convenience of flying, too. No more stupid curved roads; no more late dates, et cetera. She hates latecomers. I hate it when she sulks because I'm late. I hate being late.

I hate it, that I can't fly.