Tag Archives: Prose

Mirage

Alright. Alright.

Let’s keep it simple. Let’s dissolve the convoluted hyperboles with a dose of sedating fentanyl and simply look the problem straight in its eyes.

Blue.

Not just pastel or skylight or marine or brilliant or midnight or cobalt or baby blue, no. But the kind of blue that makes any other shade of blue look lifelessly grey. The kind of blue you left me with watery gazes and sinkholes, when you left your thoughts to fester unstoppably in mine. The very kind of blue I never thought I’d hate to love.

Until now.

Sometimes, it faintly tastes of the tranquil oceanic breeze, and I could rest easy by the lonely bayside as I let my wandering thoughts ponder cautiously. Tiptoes clumsily traipsing against curious hope and lukewarm sand, fallen horizons blushing a pallid sunset orange, caught smiling unaware whenever I chance upon the nuanced way you adored every delicate brushstroke on the canvas I painstakingly laid out for you; an artist cursed to draw the same portrait forever.

Sweet. Bitter. Nothing.

Sometimes, it’s destructive blizzards all at once; mental violence haphazardly spitting ammunition directly into my targeted chest, turning me into a tattered tapestry of miserable fury—barely fit to be called human. My mind wails and shrieks as it rakes its bladed nails down my spine, coming undone at the uncontrollable paranoia that the very same paintings which brought your attention to my existence would now cause you to draw loathing deep into my skin; an artist blessed to despise their own creations forever.

Tantrums. Bloody. Everything.

My convictions are constantly wavering, my tessellated identity shattering into stagnant fractals if I even so much shed a sliver of you off of my armour, and the overgrown thorns that once quietly infected my lungs sting a whole lot worse when I try to pull them out. So I lie between my gritted chemical teeth and pretend it’s for the best, but no amount of feigned reassurance will ever quell the tormented pangs writhing inside of me, wrenching badly-stitched arteries apart again and crushing my fragile bones to silver dust. Irreparable.

Useless. Helpless. Hopeless.

And still, that blue—god, that damned kind of blue—so vividly engraved behind my closed eyelids like a restless epitaph. Keeping me wide awake and screaming silently in the cramped jail cell I call my home as it softly lulls me off into perpetual sleep. Far away from the echoes of the observable universe, and everyone else, and nothing else. Your inimitable shade of blue.

The kind I hate I love.

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Call me an ionian g-clef ’cause yo, I’m in major treble (oh wow sorry i’ll show myself out now)

slightly unrelated, but hey here’s a dumb music band art thing i did a while back—mostly just throwing this in so that this entire cursed post wouldn’t be a total eyesore 👀

Alright, it’s three in the morning and I’m mostly delirious, you all know what that means…it’s time for another stupid rant thing that literally no one cares about!!! I have absolutely no idea as to what demographic this entire post will make sense to, but I have been staring at nothing but notes and more notes and surprise! even more fuckin notes!!! for actual hours now and I just needed a break to set my head back on straight. So here’s a bit of a weird lengthy personal music-related talk about, well, music and all that jazz. No pun intended. For this instance, anyway. Okay, no more bad music puns, I promise.

So far, my current progress has been going immensely slow but okay overall, I suppose. Apart from your usual classic starter pack of making-basic-covers-of-simple-four-chord-songs-from-UG, I’ve also been trying to experiment with creating chord progressions and composing tiny snippets of punk and djent-esque riffs which might sound nice overlayed with some power chords (my scale/mode game isn’t quite sweep-picking dmitry demyanenko-level god-mode yet but I can make do for now) and just a little bit of a filthier guitar tone and a hell-lot of distortion. But yeah, it’s kinda difficult to envision how this shit will actually sound when I’m playing on an acoustic instrument (stg once i get one of those gorgeous seven-string music man monarchy majesty bois and an axe-fx it’s over for all you fuckers jk). Improvising solos are fun as well but I think I’m abusing the dissonance slash bending power just a little bit too much??? Idk it just sounds cool to me. Probably sounds worse live though hahaha jk

On the other hand, I’ve been a bit stuck on studying intervals and tritones for goddamn hours at an end now and it’s so confusing snsjsj it’s highkey driving me insane. Notations and rhythms and metres and key signatures and scales were fun and games and bloody candyland, but god call me Patrick ’cause I am stumped here. There’s just so much to take in, augmented and diminished and perfect and double accidentals and both and none and inversions and everything is just a complete ancient hieroglyphic mess to my eyes right now (and no, not the cool phrygian dominant kind either, if you catch my drift). It’s still a highly mindblowing concept though, and the more I read about it, the easier it gets for me so,, win-win!!! I should also probably do a lot more ear-training and sight-reading because I still can’t identify notes proficiently enough to even save my life. Just trying to distinguish between each major and minor scale alone is making my head hurt so much, I’m probably gonna have severe haunting auditory hallucinations for weeks after this. I’ve honestly never been more jealous towards human beings with perfect pitch as I have this very moment ahahah ;-;

And sort of digressing here, but tabbing and polyrhythms and fingerpicking and tapping and harmonics, oh my! Gotta learn that stuff as well. Need to make me some of those smooth groovy crunchy funky math rock riffs, my guy. I obviously won’t be pulling off an Ichika Nito or anything even remotely close to that kind of heavenly genius anytime soon but hey, might as well have some fun and run with it. One thing at a time though. I should really set a legitimate practice routine that doesn’t involve 95% of said session with me liberally pouring sugary caffeine down my throat as I idly waste my precious time mucking about online in the dead of the night (but knowing me, i’ll probably just go “fuck it”, as i do, and wing everything to hell until something in my system inevitably breaks). Lastly, I’m trying to find a good song that should be relatively easy enough for me to learn and transcribe by ear, but I’ve been admittedly procrastinating on that task because ngl, it’s pretty intimidating as all fuck. Seriously, I’m virtually having nightmares even just thinking about it. But I know I’m gonna have to face it at some point or another, so might as well be sooner than never. I reckon I’ll just use a song that I won’t mind listening to over and over again and excruciatingly poring over until I start to hate it forever. : /

Anyway. At this point, I’m practically eating hefty mouthfuls of music theory for breakfast lunch dinner and the occasional midnight snack, and yet my mind is sometimes just a bit too thick to fully comprehend these things as quickly as I’m feeding them to it. And this is barely even scratching the surface, I have so much more to uncover and unpack and it’s scary enough to almost make me wanna poke out my eardrums with an ice pick out of sheer despair. But nah, let’s not do that yet, ’cause I might be getting there though. Soon enough, hopefully. At the very end of it, I think it’s just so crazy how much learning these things drastically changes the way I listen to music. It really helps me pay attention with my ears some more and it opens up a whole new avenue, nay, universe of subtler nuances and finer details and technical know-how that I never would’ve noticed in songs otherwise, had I not known all this information beforehand. I mean, some people may see it as overthinking and overanalysing everything which may ruin the whole listening experience for them quite considerably, but personally I don’t mind it. On the contrary, I see it as a fun little brain exercise which could be an essential tool for improvement, and it doesn’t necessarily have to take away the sentimental and emotional value and the overall enjoyment I attach to the music in itself. And of course, I ultimately get to actually create my own music which for me is just???? excitingly insane??!!?!? Like how do I even??!? I’m sorry I’m going off on a tangent here and dorking out too much about music when this is not really the place for it and I should be getting back to the grind, but I’ve just never been more passionate for anything else in my dull existence than this. It’s been tough so far, but I just need to focus a little more. Okay, a lot more. Tbh I spent way too long writing this post when I should’ve been learning about seventh chords and triad inversions, damn it!!

Alright that’s it for now (or y’know, probably ever),, I’ve had too much coffee and I want more and it’s already four and I still gotta spend more hours torturing my brain cells so brb watching more hilarious metal meme videos oops uhhh I mean five-hour online courses on YouTube bye

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An Addict’s Automatic Love Letter

I’m in love with someone who’s hurting me killing me agonisingly slowly turning every word from my mouth into congealed blood and stale chewed gum and I can’t speak or breathe or eat anymore and it’s so heavy everything’s so heavy it’s like my bones are carved out of crude limestone but my brain is built of cheap plastic and it just refuses to work there’s a dogeared faded polaroid picture of you hidden somewhere in that fragile container and save for your radiant smiling face and soft baby blues it’s astonishingly empty no wonder that’s how I feel most days now most days it’s just the taste of your exquisite name lingering on my bruised lips though we never even kissed and some kind of sick distraction that never lasts long enough to send me back into the past to heal my scars if I didn’t run away from you like a complete coward back then would I be bravely holding your hand now? There’s really nothing much to do but sit around and contemplate and silently cope and stare at the bedroom walls bleached with dry rot and knuckle marks and try to ignore the creeping blood drawing underlines all over your wrists it’s about to burst oh god everything’s about to fucking explode into the most beautiful most violent most decadent shade of red———no. The carnage speaks for itself but I never once touched you no I wouldn’t dare taint your artful acrylic heart with my filthy damaged corrupted skin please you’re so perpetually pretty and I’m just the mess you made and you didn’t even know no you’ll never even know I don’t know why that pains me the most when it should be all for the best and you should be happy you deserve that much and more and I love you my darling yes I do you’re worth more than all the black holes and stardust in the universe and I’ll never adore and cherish anyone more than you but it’s sad to say you’ll always be hurting me killing me choking my words from a million miles and oceans away a million times over until drowning becomes just another bad habit and my obsessive lungs are filled with taffy and saltwater and it’s weighing my tongue down I can’t speak anymore though I have too much to say to you but you’ll never hear me out so I guess I should save myself for hell and dream of you just one last time to see if the thrill of the chase lasts longer than the capturing kill (I’m certain it wouldn’t, but the stupid things I would do for you in an arrested heartbeat could stop my twitching pulse) and finally shut up.

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Notes For Artorias

Stay strong, love.

You’re worth more than you care to know, though the world’s hellbent on letting you go. Don’t let them steal your present throes, for soon you’ll be the only glow; the firmament it seeks to find what’s on your heart, what’s on your mind. So dare to blunder, dare to dream, wash out the scars upon your skin. Stay strong, love, though you are spent—

Stay strong, love. I know you can.

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miasmatic

i am an insatiable hurricane; quietly violent and reckless to the touch.

i want to throw up every last drop of blood and ink and poison from my shivering body, until the strange hollowness i constantly feel is fully justified. i want to grab at my chest, wrench my ribs gaping open, and carve out my constricting lungs into prettier passageways so that i could finally breathe right again. i want to drill a hole at the back of my broken head and let all the awful thoughts come flooding out, i’ll let it grow into a sizable puddle and use the vile colours to cover up an empty canvas with pretty shades of hysteria. i want to scream, and scream, and SCREAM until someone listens to me, until someone is disturbed enough to care—i just want to know that i’m not invisible. i want to freely love and be loved without the choking fear of losing myself completely, but no one should ever have to suffer that way.

and me. and me. selfish human being, desiring an impossible life. an impossible life of happiness. of normalcy. of simplicity. of even just being fine for longer than a second. i want to find a soft spot beneath the earth and bury myself alive for a few centuries, hiding forgotten and patiently waiting until everyone and everything i used to know has inevitably gone away with the passing of time, and maybe then…maybe then, there would be a chance for me. maybe then, i wouldn’t have to keep desperately wanting anything for once. because then, i’ll only have what i truly need.

is that too much to ask for?

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tasteless skittles

how is your voice so incredibly exquisite?

i wish i could keep it—i wish i could keep it all for myself but i know that’s just a dumb dollar-store daydream now. i swear i’m not senselessly selfish but i couldn’t help all these hysterical feelings, fleeting and fumbled, collapsing and careening, swelling and spilling beyond my exhausted arms but i’m not tired of you yet; though every unsolved puzzle piece i propose to pick out is so pleasantly problematic.

you’re so weird, but i like that.

maybe it’s just blunt deception soon dropping dead to distance. maybe we’re both meant for nothing more than a peck on the cheek and passive-aggressive complacency. maybe i’m the popsicle puddle melting forever in your sweetest summer sadness—but i won’t be watered down. and i won’t hold you back. if you’d just wait a little bit longer, then maybe will turn into…

something else?

and i’ll be the one singing for you, this time. and you could keep it. you could keep it all for yourself. i won’t mind, i promise. it’s always been yours.

because—dearest applebee, you’re just so;

you’re just too incredibly exquisite.

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Dying on the Dashboard

I could only gaze in quiet longing as he crushed the cosmos beneath careful fingers, blushing blossoms reduced to nothing but bleeding pink petals; counting off to another inevitable “loves me not.”

Eyes of dusky skylines. Auburn locks, autumn leaves, idyllic motions. Quivering lips so reddishly fragile, I’m left to wonder if I even dare to bruise them.

I could never hurt you. Would you do the same?

His lithe body gently shifted closer to me, finally closing that small space between us that somehow still felt like millions of miles away to me. Though I am comforted by the steady escaping warmth of our dalliance, the tasteless, tangible absence of his unfazed thoughts left something rather hollow—still left to be selfishly desired.

Tell me, why do you ache?

A pause. An overcast sigh. Wilted cosmos falling from cold palms; bitter, bitter.

“How does someone become a ghost, or a shadow with a smoke ring halo?”

But…I don’t understand. I’m still here, aren’t I?

Aren’t I?

Gold showers of stardust softly rained from above and pirouetted with the tempestuous wind, touching pallid skin, resting on his closed eyelids, and for a moment, he was a perfect constellation—stippled freckles connecting astral whispers connecting interlocked limbs; entangled, unraveled.

“Though I can’t accept the truth, you’re so far away…”

Yet, his lamenting epistle’s final encore—so exquisitely catastrophic—it immediately shattered that ephemeral illusion and left abject phantoms in my nascent chest, constantly haunting me, cruelly suffocating my lungs, callously stealing oxygen and snatching oxytocin; away from me, from you, from us.

“Who am I to ever wake up again, if you’re gone?”

Sunlight falters and fades on the peeling dashboard, scratched with illegible marks and wistfully dressed with our eternal scars. His chagrined eyes—so deeply painted with the darkest shades of midnight—it swallowed up the moon and the stars and the galaxies whole, leaving nothing but lost questions and black holes. My whole world turns into a stunning aurora of roseate silver and palest peach and without meaning to, I accidentally blink.

“I’ll never be the same.”

When I hazily opened my reckless eyes again, he was no longer there.

Were you ever even there?

His lilting dissonant voice still reverberates, through time and space and infinities. But mine forsakes me. Echoes, shadows, sorrows—a scream.

“Let go!”

Now you’re gone…

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innocent

i just want to be innocent again; to have the cracks in my fingernails repaired and the holes in my teeth patched up and my frayed nerves replaced, i want to unlace the dreadful knots in my veins and scare all of the bad thoughts away and find new ways to feel again, ones that do not involve hurt and hate and heartbreak, but instead holds laughter and hope and faithful love—simple words for a simple soul. i just want to be innocent again

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Lights Off

Saturday, 8:41 PM. Earth hour. Los Baños becomes nothing but a phantom silhouette—a haunting afterimage trapped in a glass universe, a distant cosmic echo; reduced to faint outlines fading out into darkness. Humans taper off into pale wandering ghosts.

The stars are in full bloom tonight.

It’s easier to get lost in the incarcerating qualms of one’s infinitesimal existence. Without violent neon glows and blinding horizons to distract from the infinite oceans of nothingness, one is left to float among elusive shadows and falling atmospheres; still quietly wondering.

Surely enough, it’s only an hour of vespertine vigil, barely a notch in time; before the lights flicker back on, and reality takes its steady hold on this hazy daydream once more.

But for now, this pure nothingness—frigid breeze coalescing with transient eventide,

It’s beautiful.

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31 – thirty-one.

so. i somehow made it through january. big surprise.

i’ve never really been one for counting off days, but times like these, i couldn’t help it. after all the bullshit i’ve put my head through, it comes so naturally by now that it’s basically instinctual. and life to me is like a giant neon billboard sign falling straight on my head that proclaims “welcome to adulthood, loser. prepare to die soon and be thankful for it.”

anyway, the weather’s finely cold today. football practice was strangely interesting and motivating, and this one other coach (who wasn’t really my coach but was just there practicing) struck up a conversation with me for some reason. it was mostly him asking me about trivial things before completely launching into a discussion about his 33-year journey into said sport, and the man was so passionate about it, bless his soul. i also found the place to get my science 10 papers (fuckin’ finally) and bought a trench-coloured (*cries in josh dun*) dartboard for some “this-is-gonna-make-my-dorm-room-look-aesthetic-asf” reason. so, this day has been an okay day…i think. i don’t have many of those so fast and often, so it’s quite nice to end the month on this relatively lighter note, at least.

looking back on it, i can barely believe that only the first month has passed so far—a lot has happened since and it already feels like such a long year for me. i honestly don’t even know why i signed up for this, because going through college is basically like trying to wade past thick molasses. it doesn’t make any sense, takes up a hell of a long time, i’m most likely gonna get all messed up, and was it worth the damn trouble in the end? nope. not at all. not even a little.

truth be told, i’m just doing this so that my family could ultimately have a lame degree and a graduation photo to proudly plaster on the wall, which would claim me as not totally a complete waste of money and effort and oxygen. but besides that, i’ve already long accepted my fate of becoming a future college dropout way before i even entered said phase of my life, and so far i’m still waiting out on it, knowing my tendency to fuck things up badly. any second now…

i just also realised that at least 97% of the things i’ve written (well, the ones on this personal daily series that i’m about to burn out on—whatever the hell this is, anyway) and posted are basically just about my sad, moping, miserable existence, which i didn’t even realise but i’m not all too entirely surprised about. i mean, that’s just my usual content anyway. but man, this year is pretty much peak bleakness for me. stick around and tune in next time to see just how worse this sad dumbarse could get before they finally give up, promptly walk out into oncoming traffic, and throw themselves under a giant red bus heading to calamba!!! *joyful game show music plays*

well. here’s to you, january 2019, you problematic old bastard. may i never go through you or ever see you again for as long (or as short?) as i live. it’s also currently 3:02 a.m. as i write this and i have an 8 a.m. class, and several more that takes up literally my entire afternoon, without any pauses or intervals in between. my, my, aren’t i off to a great start.

february, here we go.

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