Ciggy Ciggy!

I know it feels so heavy
And the words are speaking strange
Hearing the voices
Piercing from within

I am reminded of rainy days when you have nothing to do but watch the raindrops dripping from the metal roof and smell wounds of air being torn by sharp droplets of water from heaven’s loving wrath. When you curl up on a soft cushion trying to be sad when there is really no reason to as you wait for a smiling sunlight to breathe life into the hollow that the gray sky scooped inside your heart.

needing a hot gasp of oxygen.

The roads that fold
Are once again laid like carpets
Walking back heel first
To nowhere to the past

and so i find time to redo this blog. since louiebelle suggested that i try wordpress for a clean categorizing of entries and i am making this entry a drawing board for that. this will be my guide to a monkey-eating-internet epdisode. i am now online and surfing for tactics so... let the embarassment begin.

notes

• what in the world is wordpress? or wait, does blogger support wordpress?

• this is pretty emba-harassing. the title really suites a moroon like me. :) *wants to get back in the cave*

• wysiwyg??? is it edible?

• my point here is i only want to categorize my entries!!! God is still better than anyone else, he's just a prayer away but the blogger support group will still filter my email and then i'll wait for a reply?

• i am now in doubt and getting impatient if blogger supports wordpress. i also searched in blogger's wysiwyg editing format about setting up categories but it remains a mystery. *calls robert langdon for codes*

• haha! i see a light at the end of the cave! so first i have to go to my FTP tab because according to wordpress i should have an FTP server.

• now how can i run my own FTP server? this wordpress is complicated. :(

• i am now searching for blogger templates because (full flashback);

i was on my usual mantra last night atop the honden of infinite rage when i asked louiebelle about committing to blogging. she said, "there are a lot more important stuff to do than blogging. though it is important, it's not more important than other important things."

i agree with the redundancy.

blogging is a only an object that we look on to almost everyday. but this mirror is essential coz sometimes what we don't see through the mirrors that people reflect on us, we see them clearly by the scribbles of our making. and so i move to looking for blogger templates with categories than learning wordpress coz i still have more important-important things to do aside from making this blog more simply-sophisticated and blogging to know myself more? what a freak. (which can take a lot of freetime in a lifetime, and basically it sounds so lame, doesnt it? asking yourself again seigfred?)

i am now sending a mysterious IR from my mind to this monitor to call on the blogger community that has had more time doing blogs than me. help. what shal i dooooo mutaaaants?

postnotes:

• wysiwyg - what-you-see-is-what-you-get teehee

• running a server will include cruel html for blogging newbies like me

• happy weekend :)
  

i left that entry down there unedited to remind me of how silly i can become while having a nerve-wracked testosterone, insulin and in a rush. thanks to this blog i realize how thinking too deep and too much makes one's fungal infected head get more lice.

*scratch scratch*

i want to redo this blog. give it a more flashy look, or at least find a non-constipated template, unlike this one, make sections; of rants (what do you call it? sectionize?), work related posts, other blah-blahs and whatnots. plans. plans. plans. and le me slide it down to the thought of "i don't have time for this and that". talking about time management. when you can exactly do anything as long as you have it listed on your daily log of activities. its not about "you dont have time", its about finding ways on how to slip a thin paper on a tight paper stack. a more productive you. being time-resourceful. like for today, here are the remaining must-do's i have in my mental list 1pm onwards:

1. finish doing a sample of radio plugs for a new promo
-mechanics plug
-prizes plug
-teaser plug
-sample of an on-air promo process

i think hmmm i can do this in 2 hours, 30 minutes per plug, hopefully

2. present those plugs to client

and this includes time spent going to their office, presentation time and going whereto after that

expecting a wednesday spar against a cruel makati traffic, an interested client, and being with schlamoo after 3 hours

3. superman

if i can do all that i can relate with superman more. :)

now back to what i was talking about on the first paragraph, i can't deny it i can be nostalgic all the time if i want to, and i am very much emotional. But thank God for his genius i am pragmatic at the same time. hence, i am your emo-sherlock-emo dude. therefore, if nostalgia attacks i think and think about what i feel and it eats a lot of my time. evidence #001 is available down there, the entry before this. isn't investigating emo stuff a gateway to paranoia? nahhh nevermind. i should get back to that time management slash productive thoughts.

if you happen to be reading until here, i ask for thy kindness to leave me tips on how make this blog more interesting. :) just like your blog. and your link too! and if no one's reading this blog, thanks. i'm saved from shame.

yup i am hoping that this will be the last metaphor-loaded entry i will write

for now

after digging in too much and too deep in the murky waters of my mud-filled cerebelum, i banged into this thick metal ball of my old self. yup, i was a big brass ball before. and for some forgotten reason that metal ball had flowers blooming all over its iron-hard shell. as i was asking myself why i couldn't figure out why in the world a posy in technicolor had to grow on me?

the moment you share a part of yourself to someone, that someone becomes a part of you.

you can't just block other people's personality espeially when both of you has found each other in the same plateu or even not. this people eat people world has become so incredibly sociological that getting away from it is losing your humanity and turning the other way around will let you eventually lose the solid, hardcore in and out you and just for a few sunlights, you have a bouquet growing on your outer core. and it is by and through you that its there. and some people would say, it looks good on you though you have thought of it as something not you at all. in this context, i hate flowers. i can also relate flowers to sensitivity but that's another fully connected story that might strain my office time.

as of this period of my existence i am melting the metal ball that is me to lose the whatsoever botany that was attached there. and hereafter i am promising this blog a visitor-friendly, anti-metaphor, goodness! my boss is here.

i'd like to stop until here to avoid a nosegay of sorts and yup, the office's big bear needs a bear hug.

note to self:

as allan qouted in your richard garfield sessions, we are a patriarchal society so... ill give this entry a 10 for gayness. and edit this in your free time.

and so i live again...

what are the basis of living, why do we live, what are the reasons and where are we heading to is the usual question that i ask myself if i've taken too much alcohol, cough syrup, and other amphetamines or i am craving for them. but since the moment i realized how one can get high by being sober i stopped. now i find myself sewing a conversation in my head with such "stereotypes". most of the people i know consider those as trivial. they, including me, wouldnt want to hear it from another table because of the phrase "get a life". borrowing from a famous gas company tagline, and a question raised from a sleepy coffee table:

what drives you?

i'll give that a shot tomorrow.

*wears helmet, shovels and shovels in deep for an excavation of thoughts. metal thoughts.*

a month ago i had this death consciousness,

and yesterday...

the flowers that bloomed during what was once morning celebrations are now thrown 6 feet below the ground bouncing on a portrait of my face in a 12X12 inch frame. my eyes are shut but i can see images of the people that i've walked along before. their eyes, as black as what they are wearing, spilled tears that floated to the heavens. from this blackbox i can hear choked cries, untold stories, exfoliated secrets, and some that i should only hear through a whisper. then as if by an unseen wave of hand, the light folds and darkness scatters...

...i died. the last thing i saw was a single candlelight and a crying orb.

meanwhile, a cry of a newborn is scuttling through the whole of me.

happy birthday to me and oh how frugal this day is. what makes me feel that a birthday is special is, eversince i stopped celebrating it with baloons and cakes i try so hard to just treat it as any other day. so that's a little more than ordinary. just like a sleepy december 24th. i am not making any sense. bear with the birthday boy.

and so i receive this annual award, go up the lectern, bask on the spotlight of this auditorium and say my thank you's.

Thank You God.

that's all. thank you. hmmmm..actually not that short though coz again, as much as i treat this as just an ordinary day, i wouldn't want to be an ungrateful grunt. so God who is in heaven here are the things that i want to thank you and you alone.

MUSIC.
thank you for

Maristela Olmoguez, yes, her name is so ugly. thank you for her it-ness, thank you for making her hide the guitar from my drooling hands then, because of that i became a thief of time, space and strings, curling on a dark storage room strumming the oh so forbidden guitar.

Jesse, the drums sensei. yes sir, 2 quarter notes on the base, followed by snare while doing steady 8th notes on the clapper.

Rolen, your first song really sucks big time that i told myself i can make a song too!

Chop, scales on bass, passion for music like an endless chord progression.

Christine, if we were of the same age and you are not my aunt, i could have married you. ok back to octaves and do re mi. thank God for your busted Casio keyboards. and your husband will always be ogrish to me.

Nelson, you are the most agressive band director this earth will have. aggressive on telling me to blow. faggot! *blows and blows trumpet*

Sharon, because of you i loved and could have learned the saxophone if i didn't fall in love with you.

Toby Mac, Kevin Max, Micheal Tait and DCtalk. even though you dont know that i exist i still love you guys. with all my heart, soul and mind. but i dont want to exchange spouses with you. your wives are old. if you go here in the Philippines i'll kidnap you. Filipino = kidnapper. get the idea?

and thank you God for every note that i hear. shall i elaborate? dripping of saliva is on e minor, air out of the nostrils is on G#, ok. il stop.

PEOPLE.
thanks for

Teen Theater Company, Stage One, Little Theater and its Red D. basic acting and curtain pulling at the same time. if i didn't go for that audition 10+ years ago i could've been a basketball player reeking of moolahhhh. yeah thanks for that! now im a hopeless romantic, sentimental harry potter and in radio. boy this life is exciting. and now after this what?

Negros Summer Workshops and Peque Gallaga. theater improvs, being by Eric Morris, Film Production and Lore Reyes, and a swollen bladder. at least i know how to fake a lot. but i am such a good creature to do something like that! on the other hand...hmmmm nevermind. thank you for letting me see stomas on clouds. how did you do that? and how could you do that to me? i just wanted to till land and grow rootcrops! now all i have is this cellphone with a poor camera. thanks for telling me that film is not for poor people like me. Lord, i am reading Purpose Driven Life now.

Palanca and Cirilo Bautista, similemetaphorallusionpersonificationhyperboleandalotofstuffthathaslinebreaks
iamarebelandiwantedtobelikeleiseecummingstoo.
freaks!

Shiloh Christian Fellowship and Pastor Oscar. thank you for making me feel guilty all the time.

West Visayas State University, College of Mass Communication, Diamante con Morga, and nene. thanks for letting me know oh Lord that i can love as much and can drift away from it. i can't write anymore of those memories but, you know where this train of thought will lead me. since i am thanking you dear God and i am confident that you know what is in my heart and what is on the end of my veins. let me not acupuncture them with the grass-fresh smell of wvsu's football field.

Kas-es,francis, stick, and nick and everybody else. thank you for allowing us to have a network of friends because later in life we will invite them to invest their effort, time and money to make us rich. Lord, you know that i don't love money and money alone is not the root of all evil. the LOVE of money is. thank you for letting me read that verse in the bible and let me not be an italian.

RMN and IFM, bruno banana, van o, vince j and fred davis, thanks for them i am earning money and exploited.

Highifber and Luis, thank you for my evolution from a chimp that is in awe of the colors of microsoft word to being a neanderthal on creating http links. and for Lei.

thank you for these people that made a living out of this life. Lord, though this is intrestingly miserable-enjoyable, I want to see how good looking i am when i reach 60. this creation of your artful nature wants to see what Australia looks like. and even if i can't go there let me just smell my wrinkled old skin mixed with the wind of 30 years from now on our window pane in iloilo. Lord, can i not die?

LOVE.
thank you Jesus for

Family. yes we are a wreck. that satan creature is really working his ass out. but he can't destroy what is essential and invisible to the eye i presume? he is so old, can he die instead?

Extended family. thank you for making me a Filipino though i presume again that not all Filipinos are thankful like me. i mean in an extended family you can let nieces of your cousins fetch you water for bath. i am very much grateful i was born before them.

Friends. hmmm God, where are they?

Jessica. though i hate her, thanks for making her beautiful that my high school org didn't even had a clue that she was older than me seven years. thanks for letting me know that age doessnt matter. and for my first very serious heartbreak. thanks for giving her a baby and not making her fat neither taller.

Freya. thanks for giving her a Sudanese boyfriend. she deserves that. if you allow me to go back in time i promise to court her mom instead.

Lord why i am broadcasting names here in the net? do i sound like an ass?

hmmm ok.

LJ. thanks for making her intelligent coz if she isn't, i would still be in college right now. thanks for making me break up with her and letting me experience what it feels to love a lot of women at the same time. now i know that i should stick to one. and tell my father that he should too. it feels way better than getting confused perpetually.

EGA. Lord, thanks for EGA. She was one hell of a ride. my life wouldn't be a life without letting me experience her life. though we are in different roads now i hope she won't fold coz she told me she was with you now. i am eager to talk to her again for like 10 years from now. thanks for her. she is one of the most wonderful things that happened to me.

Louie. now if you happen to survive this insanity and you are reading until now, this sacred part of this conversation with God is between me and him. excuse me please. *prays* :)

thank you God for yet another year. Amen.

enough of the metaphors. this time i will be more conversational. let me reverberate the words that formed a drum of ancient earwax in my clean-free ear for the past 20 plus years of my life.

20 years ago...

"read! read! read!"
"sing for us! sing for us!"
"wake up. i left 20 pesos on your bedside table and drink your milk, don't go to the beach. bye."
"why do you always want to sleep in your mamang's house?"
"do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do. next octave."
"you know what to do after dinner right? wash the di-shes"
"why do you always debate your religion teacher?"
"enough of the guitar! eat!"
"why is it that when you kiss your sunday school teacher you always have that naughty smirk on your face?"
"wake up! wake up! wake up! remember each rose needs a pailful of water for bigger flowers to bloom."
"stay.this is only for old people."
"i can't believe that your pops has yet another woman."
"come here. *hugs and kisses*"

10 years ago...

"^&%#$ *^$@# @! *&$"
"why are you always late?"
"study earnestly, so you can buy yourself whatever you want"
"you were the last one on the drums, where is the drumstick?"
"tension and release"
"its ROTC always, Respect, Openess, Trust and Care"
"you better stop on that theater org. you always come home late"
"hello? prayer chain this friday? see you there."
"is it just coincidence again? why is it that whenever you have a problem you eat a lot."
"let them be if it makes them happy"
"i hope your pops is not a hopeless case"
"come here *avoid and cover punches and kicks*"

5 years ago...

"more beer?"
"what if we see a dufflebag full of money?"
"go home."
"you've changed a lot."
"this guy is crazy!"
"what do you think?"
"why are we born poor?"
"not everyone thinks like you"
"i love you."
"last stick."
"Always pray for your pops."

now...







i have yet to gather more as i draw the line next week. until now, that's as far as i can hear the voices in my head. i remember a theater exercise called memory recall, and i tell you it's not that easy hearing voices on the ears of your head. i'll stop now before i stealth this infliction with metaphors.

i die numerous times everyday:
exhaling my soul to a dancing of a gray lifeless smoke. rendering my brain to a halt as i look to the void of the corporate window. opening my eyes to a green brick road that starts and circles back to where it came from, under my bed.

forced agreements on papaer torn. homemade swords. blood on dead leaves. cries reaching to the careless moon. a century ago slaughter of starved hope and skin-wrapped bones.

it could be like that four years ago if i have looked at it as a revolution. but i was static like a rock, thrown in a pond. under the water i was sedimented by unseen currents. until a lily laid a seed that gracefully fought the currents and embraced my solid surface. its little fingers found its way to my core and nested roots that broke my hard pieces until i beacame a member of its veins. we stemmed to the surface. we dictated the flow of the current. we painted leaves on the hollow of air. we bloomed a scent that melted the clouds.

now i see the light of the sun again.

i should live to die some other deaths. i should wage revolutions that is like 100 years ago from yesterday. this year's independence day had a face that wanted to look like today. i am free.

It’s not all about me.

Much of what we do point to ourselves. Though the people that shared their lives with us, made us. We forget those that reared our thoughts and tendencies, those who were ahead that stepped back to lead us closely, and those that denied their way to follow us, even then, we still live on the axis that we made their world revolve.

For we are all are like thin strands of a well-knitted garb. Those who don’t conform to the strong bind usually snaps and ruins the beauty of the garment-of-a-world in which we are closely weaved. As invisible as the soul, the thread that pulls us together can’t get loose even if we lose contact by will or otherwise.

It’s time for me to lose myself.

Let me dive on the waves of eyes that I meet in a crowd. Let me be blown by the breathing of those who also wait of what this life will bring. Let me be a servant to the kindness of those who also offer their tribute to the Giver of all.

I am giving myself to the batch of this generation. Let my will die and create this life with others. This life is not all about me.