Tag Archives: life

Parola (Lighthouse)

Ituring ang iyong sariling
Tagahawi ng ulap
Sa kalangitang kulimlim
Kampanang yayanig
Sa bawat nilalang
Magigising ang lupang
Kulang sa dilig…

~*~

Tila yata nabanlian ang mga araw ng walang-hanggan

Yumayanig pa rin sa mga pilat na sugat ng nakaraan

Galit na para bang umaarangkada ng walang humpay

Nilait na alindog, laging sinusubok ang sarling tibay

Ng dumadausdos na bagyo, uubusin pa ng kalangitan

Ang malakas na ulan, ibubuhos ang lahat kahit kulang

Para durugin ang konkreto ng kanilang nakausling mga buto

Ngunit hindi papalagpasin, nakabilanggo sa bawat minutong

Aawatin at aawitin, halina’t pakinggan ang boses na walang aruga

At ano pa kaya ang mga pagkukulang na hindi sinasadya

Ngunit ang maantak na balat kung saan ang kalumbayan nakatampok

Ay umiwas sa huni ng dapithapon, at nagdurusa pa sa munting usok.

It was as if the days were scalded by forevermore

Still trembling from all the scarred wounds of the past

A fury that seems to plummet on without ever ceasing

Vilified captivation, constantly testing one’s strength

By the cascading storm, now emptying the skylines

Of torrential rain, deluging all to give despite the lack

Just to shatter the concrete from their protruding bones

Yet never squandered, and incarcerated by every minute

Restraining and singing, come listen to the voices without sympathy

For what other shortcomings might have been unintentional

Though the tenderest flesh where every sorrow is exposed

Has avoided the humming of twilight, and is tormented by mere smoke.

~*~

Ikaw ang liwanag sa dilim
At sa paghamon mo
Sa agos ng ating kasaysayan
Uukit ka ng bagong daan…

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Filed under Poetry

terraria

autumn leaves

and nothingness

seasonal escapade

ache more for less

.

hills that whisper

junipers without whim

love without living

wounds without skin

.

mental imposter

corrupted serenity

flimsy enclosures

where art humanity

.

mountains that shake

hellebores without bloom

live without loving

oxygen unconsumed.

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RE: anxiety’s a bitch but I don’t want to be whinging too much about it because it could be so much worse off, so here’s a dumb thing I did instead

The current state of the world getting worse and worse with every passing minute + some personal comedowns and lingering paranoid afterthoughts + just the usual unreasonable brain dysfunction fuckery have really got my anxiety spiking up to unbearable extents lately, so here are some random practice gouache animals I painted last night in an attempt to zone out of reality and keep myself distracted for a couple hours.

Well I mean, they’re supposed to be animals but I don’t really know how to properly draw any sort of creature outside of PokĂ©mon species and Animal Crossing villagers, so they’re more really closer to vague, blobby, bastardised approximations of what may or may not be IRL animals or just completely made-up ones at this point, soz who knows. I obviously couldn’t be arsed halfway through making some of these and that’s why they look like they crave the sweetest release of death but oh well :^) 20 internet points if y’all could tell which ones those were (surprise!! t’was actually all of them!! jk but not really). I think the bee looks the best though, I did love making those fuzzy textures and translucent wings and ah heck maybe I just like bees a lot anyhow, bzz bzz. Also, slightly off-topic but my poor sketchbook is falling apart so much that it’s basically only held together by crude bits of washi tape at this point and I only have less than ten pages before I finally fill it all up and wow I reeeeaaally need to purchase a new one at the earliest possible convenience. Hopefully a better quality one that won’t buckle too much if at all under my constant art supply abuse???

Anyway, I digress. I’ve also found that listening to instrumental piano music greatly helps to calm me down—as much as I do adore electric guitars beating me up with crunchy distorted djent riffs, extreme nonstop drum snares and blast beats, and spaghetti bass strings tuned lower than hell itself whilst the vocalist with a voice of fifty tortured lovecraftian monsters shrieking in unison beckons me on to get the fuck up and disrespect my surroundings, bless that heavenly beautiful-sounding instrument as well—and I listened to the 0124 album by Hiroko Murakami while making these (along with some soul-cleansing classical pieces by Debussy and Ravel, can’t go wrong with those ofc). And if all else fails, I pretty much just make a nice fresh mug of lemon green tea and nick some biscuits off the grocery bags and then afterwards proceed to curl up and bury my face in my sleeping cat’s soft warm tummy for a couple minutes and quietly yell about uninteresting trivialities until I either start to feel better or simply pass out from severe exhaustion. As a matter of fact, I think that may hit the spot, so ta and goodbye for now :>

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Filed under Prose

caffè e latte

there’s a galaxy

in my coffee

and it’s making it

taste funny

maybe if i stir a

bit and cool it down

then it will taste

more sugary

.

there’s a galaxy

in my coffee

i take mine rather

black, usually

but i might just

go on ahead and

give it a chance to see

if i like it milky.

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Filed under Poetry

Rise and shine, sleepyhead

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Good morning, sunshine.

You are a slow sip of icy coffee on a sweltering summer day, sweet and bitter and decadent and satisfying all at the same time. The yawning sun is barely peeking out of the horizon, still playful and forgiving; bathing you in childish glows and warm reverie. Life is nothing more than a bite of honey-dipped pastry and freshly-made ham and cheese sandwich, a shared table with an aged stranger, a silly dream full of friendship and fast times and flirtation—life is nothing more than fleeting polaroid snapshots of blurry smiles and quiet contemplation. Now melt the ice between your teeth, let the chill run down your lungs, and let the wandering words on your pen speak for themselves.

It is only morning, after all, and the universe is still quite hazy. Breathe it in. Make it last.

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Filed under Prose

Impossible Year: Petrichor

It had been hours since Ryan Ross began staring down the mustard-yellow walls of his living room, and since then he hadn’t stirred from his position but once to take a sip from his mug—only to realise in quiet disdain that his chai tea had already gone cold.

It was drizzling lightly and he was lazily lounging on the couch, wearing an embarrassingly fluffy blue jumper and sweatpants, having a nice warm (well, not so nice and warm now) drink, and hearing nothing but the comforting sounds of rain falling from the gloomy sky and gently kissing the rooftop and windows.

It was the perfect sweater weather, the one Ryan adored and wrote about more than any other season, more than he ever even cared to admit…but now, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t really know why, exactly, but something felt anxiously off somehow.

Just what is it about today?

On most times like these, he would already be full-on dramatic poet mode, with his intent musings flowing past his relaxed mind and onto his chewed-up pen like…filthy drainpipe water flowing onto the open sewers? Seriously, out of all the beautiful ways to have possibly worded it, that’s the best metaphor he could come up with? Disgusting.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair in frustration. The situation was getting more dire by the minute, and nothing else he seemed to try was working.

Mental block is a bitch.

Maybe he was just forcing it too much. Maybe he’d been cooped up inside his suffocating house for too long. Maybe he needed to take a break.

He snorted derisively at the last thought. He definitely needed to take a break.

“George Ryan Ross III, you need to get the hell out of this damning place and pull yourself together!” He proclaimed to himself, his soft voice echoing throughout the empty rooms of his house.

Filled with a new fervour, Ryan resolutely headed to the door, but not before making sure to grab a heavy parka from his closet and a badly-bent umbrella leaning by his shoe rack. As soon as he stepped outside, the scene that greeted Ryan completely took his breath away.

It was a whole lot prettier than he imagined.

Careful not to trample on the newly-blossoming flowers, Ryan giddily spun and traipsed about for a bit before finally standing still in the middle of his front yard. He then breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh scent of lemongrass and rainwater painting the air in that sluggish April afternoon.

The initial rush of wind that blew by was rather strong, rustling the tree branches madly and making him lose his umbrella. The latter was sent careening out of his grasp and ended up tumbling away onto the puddle-soaked street, creating an awful screech as it went along, metal scraping against pavement until the abrasive sound slowly faded away into nothing.

But surprisingly, Ryan found that he didn’t mind it at all. The umbrella’s already old and half-broken, anyway. And the weather never gave a damn about me.

Hey, that kind of sounds like a good line…ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a breakthrough! A voice at the back of Ryan’s head announced victoriously. It was such a silly thought…but suddenly, he didn’t feel so exhausted anymore.

And for the very first time that day, Ryan smiled.

Ryan stayed out in the rain for a rather long time, shivering madly and humming melodies to himself until he was numb from the cold and drenched to the bone. He laughed until he cried, he cried until he laughed; until the tears were indistinguishable from the cloudburst, until the childish laughter was intertwined with the sweet reveries of spring.

And there he stayed, until the rainfall finally ceased and the drowsy sun slowly sank under the scarlet horizon; still cheering and singing along to the march of the clouds.

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Filed under Poetry

flourish

there’s no

cruel in sunrise

no judgment

in nature

.

there’s no

pains in starlight

only longing

in rainfall.

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Filed under Poetry

INHERENT

There’s too much congestion and a lack of invention
Material eyes requiring constant attention
It’s the mystery lost in a web, in the well
As the spider awakes and decides what to sell…

~*~

Implicit implications, engraved warnings writ on sewn eyelids

Next to “never forget about them” and “fuck your pleasant tidings”

Hiding every heretic’s anthem, holding the threats above our heads

Elucidate all the progenies, surrender sickness without health

Radical remembrance, wrought past ranks of liberated contrabands

Expect the imminent expiration of another revolutionary dissonance

Neorealism strikes the uncertain death of sensationalistic inhibition

Through temporal hostility, arises the final response of failed anthropocentrism.

~*~

No handle on what comes next
Anti-passion makes an empty old din
Because a fearful eye’s pulling strings for thee
Watch on, round and round and
Round it goes, human nature!

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Filed under Poetry

mementos and keepsakes

pieces of you—

scattered on post-it

notes, and cute stickers,

and bright polaroids

grinning at me every time

i have my head buried

beneath my terse hands,

sitting blankly by the table as my

unsteady life starts giving in

to the inexorable collapse…

.

i think it’s killing my mind

.

but i take these little

pieces of you, and i use it

to fill in the missing patches

within me that’s making

me crash and crumble

until they render me whole;

maybe someday i could

finally return them to you, but

not without pieces of me

still clinging on to it—

.

i hope you won’t mind.

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Filed under Poetry

Peripheral Vision

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What a stubborn thought; to be loved, to be lost, to be loathed.

My initial mistake was to get myself foolishly caught up in the former instance, without carefully considering the ulterior consequences of my despicably reckless actions. I dived headfirst without peering in to see if there was a tangible ocean beneath me, and cried out in regret when my body got viciously torn apart by the jagged rocks awaiting below.

But, what else could I have done? And what else should I have not? I could spend my entire life painstakingly sifting through the showering grains of the hourglass, attempting to find a diamond until time runs out; or I could simply let the sand fall away to its own accord as I willingly hold out my roughened hands below—hurting, helping, hoping. The unfortunate namesake “human” is deeply threaded through my innocent nerves, shutting out the callous pessimism which only seeks to permanently cease my blood circulation; still withering against the gentler stings of anguish.

Though I have slowly faded out most of my past anamnesis, all of their phantasmic chimeras are still somehow luminously vigilant, almost even barbarous in its unremitting pursuit to frivolously preserve my already-squandered youth. Yet I suppose, no matter…no matter. For now, you are the overgrown wildflower field lulling my tired providence to rest, under fluid stars and unplucked scars and quavering sympathy—the only thankless relapse fully able to keep me awake for multiple infinitudes every twilight’s eve.

What a stubborn thought; to be loathed, to be lost, to be loved by you.

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Filed under Prose