Thursday, October 24, 2013

Jeweled Gold

I have been waiting months for my soul to see the light of day once more. It has seen it, and things of the warmest hues of oranges and yellows, some rarer reflections bounce from jeweled gold; my greatest treasures. Words are not enough to articulate the gratitude I have to be given another chance at this.

There are some things that still wound my heart. A few of those things tucked deeply, in the darkest corners that I've not been able to shine light on. It is the human in me. Have we all not been broken, in one way or another? 

And there are some instances where I am still the porcelain doll I once remembered myself to be.  

I am vulnerable in these instances, and in these instances I do not see light. I am drowning in a darker shade of black waiting to devour me, should my will escape me.

And it wants to, but I resist.

When I rise, I am grateful once more. 

My heart holds an ocean of love, Divine truths, and torment. My mind knows better, 

my heart is at mercy. 

A flame to the black oil that sits buried.

May it stay buried forever.


I only wish to see the light of day. And if darkness may engulf me, may it be so in love; the truest form; the unattainable. And if it is unattainable may it make me strive, and grow, and awaken, forevermore. 

Gratitude, strength. The present, my virtue.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

S├ębastien Soldevila and Mimi Bonnavaud for Cirque Phenix

What is evil?

3:11AM

3 hours ago I was thinking how narrow minded the concept of evil is. What is evil isn't wise, or open-minded, or humble, or fair. It feeds it's strength from a false sense of pride. If you talk to evil and you've been surrounded by light, evil doesn't scare you - evil sounds like a brat. A bratty child.

I've tried to avoid the hour for the longest time.

Evil crowns itself King. Nothing is earned, everything is always given - for free.

This is starting to sound Disney. This has no affiliation to religion. Wut

"We are all searching for someone who's demons play well with ours" — who's heard that bull? I did, and totally believed it too, but screw that melodramatic excuse for abusive behaviour. Is a sadist and a masochist the perfect pair? And this is out of the bedroom, okay, folks? Please. The answer is no ffs. Neither should be paired in the first place.

Demons - our personal demons - they're ours, and they're not for someone else to play with ffs. They are our darkness; and I haven't gotten to know a single person without their own darkness. Who the fuck threw 'demons' in the mix? This is the kind of shit that makes the crazy person crazier.

So evil, darkness, wickedness — call it whatever, but it's overrated, okay?

And if you spoke to me before I wouldn't be saying any of this. But evil is vain. Evil is a fucking narcissist. Evil pays attention to itself, and no one else; everything for the benefit of one, vs. the majority. And fuck me for saying this: are we not the same as our neighbour? 

He is only intelligent to himself. He is the vengeful victim of circumstance, the sore loser, the bitter lover, the spoiled brat. Evil is the corruption, the greed, the adults in diapers, the weakest link. 

Evil isn't evil. Evil's a sensationalised, romanticed, waste of space and time.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

After A While — Veronica Shoffstall

After A While 
©1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul.

And you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning,
and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts,
and presents aren't promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman,
not the grief of a child.

And you learn
to build all your roads on today,
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.

After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden,
and decorate your own soul,
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure,
you really are strong,
you really do have worth.
And you learn, and you learn.
with every goodbye, you learn.

Dream Journal Entry #4 - Bye bye, Kirsty

She was a head taller than I, with overly large eyes (to be fair, they were a beautiful shade of ice blue) and a gawky nose that angled out of her head with real purpose, but then kind of curved back in to stabilise. Her lips were thin, and mostly pursed; stiff upper lip would be an understatement. She had dirty blonde hair, parted right in the middle, and a really bad attitude.

"You're so ugly," she said to me. I was definitely used to it; I didn't say anything and just looked at her,  deadpan. She groaned, pissed at my lack of reaction, "that's why you have no friends." She bumped shoulders with me as she passed; the scent of her stale, over used jumper leaving her final hurrah. In my face.

I held my breath for half a minute, trying not to make it obvious, god forbid she sees me do it and she opens her gaping mouth at me again. 

Suddenly, warm, familiar lips kiss my cheek. She's always doing that. "Someone's seen a ghost!" Hannah laughs as she playfully pokes my nose. 

"No, it was just Kirsty," I shrug and smile at her.

"Oh not again," she pulls me in for a warm hug.

Hannah is my girlfriend. I was entranced the moment I met her. She has a natural glow about her, tanned, and never wears make-up, deep green eyes, dark blonde, wavy hair - like an ocean girl - and beautifully pouted lips. Her two front teeth are slightly curved in, and she hates it, but I love it. Makes this beautiful bombshell of a girl, really cute too.

She makes her rabbit face at me as she pulls away from the embrace. I laugh, biting her shoulder and slapping her butt. She's good news to me, Hannah is.

So Kirsty comes back, passing between us, knocking both our shoulders.

"OI!" Hannah screams, as her backhand shoots up in the air. "Do you not have anything better to do!? There's seven metres between us and the next wall, dya have to walk through us like that?"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see ya," Kirsty shrugs, grinning like a bitch.

Hannah flares up real quick. It's one of the things I like about her. Not that she angers; but just how passionate she is about certain things. One of them is protecting me.

I quietly mumble in Hannah's ear, gently pushing my nose through her gorgeous hair to her neck, while whispering, "calm, Bunny. She's not worth it."

She tilts her head to the side, and swings her hair round to expose her neck to me. I know her eyes are closed. I plant little kisses to her jaw and back to her shoulder, biting lightly at the flesh of her neck.

Suddenly, the raven caws. And caws and caws. "Get a damn room! Oh it hurts my eyes! Ugly and uglier! Oh I'm going to be sick!" She begins acting out her scene; and for best villain pretends to spew,  the Oscar goes to... 

We walk away. Far away. Hannah and I didn't speak a word the entire way. Kirsty was something we'd been dealing with for a long time, and it gets old and annoying. 

Hannah stops walking, and sits her butt on the pavement. She wraps her arms around one of my legs, playfully groaning, while batting her lashes up at me, "can we kill her?" 

She tugs at my skirt. 

"Please? I'm serious."

I look around, then off into the distance.

"Okay."

---

And then I woke up.

I love this sort of dream because I was playing someone completely opposite to me. Well in some ways, I think I have mellowed out a lot like dream-me, but what was more interesting was the character, Hannah. She's exactly my personality when I am with my closest, minus the OI and the backhand. It was just interesting to see how it feels, from the other side.

Some days I do wish that fire'd come out when I get into some social situations, but it's mostly best to walk away I figure. I dunno.

Poor Kirsty.

---

Edit: 

I should've mentioned too that all that back story in between the dialogue - that's exactly what it felt like in the dream. It's crazy how the most unfamiliar things become familiar in your head.

Friday, October 18, 2013

Fugu

How do they make it so cute!? Great one by Arthur Philippe.


You can't escape your fate, my dear fishy friend.

On wealth and substance

Sitting in bed about ready to conk out. This post has been on my mind the entire day.

Did not attempt to start writing it for fear of underwhelming myself. Motivations today were almost non-existent, save the salad I made for lunch and the walk I had in the evening.

We all have these days, I tell myself.

In any case, I've been thinking a lot about the authentic self. Mostly because I've been in situations recently where the authentic self does not exist. Whatever you think about commercialism and media effects, triple that and add a cherry on top.

Which is something I am completely not used to as I have always aimed to express my truest self. Also more commonly identified as my being impulsive. Which has, I won't lie, gotten me into conflict in my past, but it's also managed to filter out the bullshit. Which I've not-so-conveniently managed to find ways to deal with, no thanks to the past two years of bullshit. Not so impulsive anymore. Still my truest self, minus the damage.

I relapse sometimes.

Anyway.

Situations I get into where it's about being the better man - not the bigger one, as is usually the case - who can afford what, etc. it's even down to who knows the richer, whiter (hi colonization), better looking set of people. Which is generally what I've always noticed about the wealthier people here - they're assholes. And to be completely real here, idgaf about any of it. 

If you rolled up to my place in a black Hummer, I don't care how much I love Hummers and want one for myself, I'm judging you the minute you open your mouth. The coolness of the car solely reflecting on the shit that comes out of there, plus your values, integrity, etc.

Who's heard of that?

Which is a bummer for some cos I figure, if you've been this way your whole life - who else are you other than the one who seeks to impress? Unravelling flesh with no soul; Wealth in money should come paired with wealth in substance, presence of mind, a sense of humanity and humility - or at least one of them, IMO. 

But it obviously doesn't work that way duh.

Apparently the only other country to have their culture so based around the class system is India. Maybe China? Asia-wise, anyway. Then there's the comparison of other countries that have their social systems centred round the catholic religion. Which is true, too, and easy to spot why given the history of the Catholic Church and all that drama.

We're all different, hey? I just gotta keep my head out of the clouds, and completely root myself in our Mother Earth. But who knows, I might be the fakest bitch you'll ever know in 10 years.

Though I highly doubt that.


Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Spoiler Alert; My little tribute to Captain Phillips


I underestimated Phillips (Hanks) at the start of the film. Captain of a cargo ship, they portrayed him as the average Joe, the family man, who isn't all that charming, charismatic, or witty, and is stuck doing something he isn't particularly fond of. A grizzly, grey man who has gone through enough of the same monotony and has clearly accepted that.

You slowly begin to warm up to his character as he's underestimated by his second in hand and the rest of the crew. Initial concerns rise as he leads his ship through waters highly populated with pirate activities; a warning email sets him off to go through defensive drills.

I was impressed by Hanks' character development; the quick wit and stealthy cleverness that he executes in humble desperation. He definitely does not fit the regular hero mold, but you begin to see that he might just surpass that in his quick decision making and the strength he finds in his weakness, and his kindness.

The pace was perfect; just the right amount of fast and slow. Slower at the details, faster when necessary. As for the acting, I can't even begin to describe how well the cast worked together, and how authentically real, and sensitive they all were towards the tribute. Vulnerable, sublime acting.

A question of power. Four armed men and one unarmed hostage; what defines power? Who was really helpless here? Politically, philosophically, this film deals with so many themes to discuss. I found a brilliant writer at the Film School Rejects website who explains it more eloquently than I ever could: click click

I was traumatized after watching Hanks' trauma at the final scene. If I could stop time and space just to fully immerse myself mind, body and soul in his acting, I would. The tear ducts are at it still just thinking about it.

Stellar acting, brilliant directing and a great story. Definitely one for the watching, and the best movie I've seen all year.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Dream Journal Entry #3 - The Bear

K and I hid in the female bathroom, but that wasn't enough. Douche followed us in. At the sight of that we hurriedly locked ourselves in a cubicle.

"Hey! Open up!" 

We kept quiet and still. Best approach when dealing with a bear, apparently. 

"I'm not joking. Open up!"

Our cubicle door started taking some punches. K was trying his best not to laugh and I had the big eyes on, with a finger across my lips. 

"What the hell are you two doing in there!?"

Our cubicle door could officially pass as a battered wife. K pressed his body against it in hopes it'd stay up. I couldn't stop smiling my face began to ache.

"Leave us alone mate," K demands, rolling his eyes. He made a wide-eyed, pouty gesture with his lips at me. I laughed.

At that, Douche calmed. I grabbed K's hand, gesturing to stay quiet and wait. K saluted. We were standing there in silence with grins on our face, counting tiles on the floor. 

Suddenly, something fell on my head, something heavy; the same kind of feeling you get when a basketball lands on you from a half-court away.

"She's still mine!" Douche exclaimed. The bastard had managed to climb the throne in the cubicle next to ours, and plant a wet one on my head. At that, K grabbed my hand and we bolted out the cubicle, out the bathroom, down the hallway and ran for the car park. 

K's older brother was waiting outside with the car. Slipping in through the windows like we used to, we were off. "Imagine if we..." and at that, our car fell off a cliff edge and landed upside down, half submerged in a lake and half on the rocky shores.

Doesn't pay to be a cynic in your own dream. 

My hands got caught outside the window for some reason and bent all the way forward, pressed against the car and the rocks. Could really feel that. "You're lucky your wrists are so flexible, kiddo." K slipped to the back seat next to me and unbuckled my seatbelt.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Dream Journal Entry #2 - Safest place on Earth

In an A-Grade, tired asylum, the room had walls 3-storeys tall, mostly painted with outlines of sweat, mold, rain and whatever else. There were rough, elevated platforms along the sides of the room, maybe 5 meters high, and in the middle, a rickety wooden stage, maybe 3 meters high. 

I was in the middle being persecuted by the Chinese Mafia. I'm not too sure what I was being persecuted for, but in came my two old pals J and K.

J ran, jumped and did some 360 twist over the stage before grabbing me and putting me on his back. We were out of there in two seconds, and into the next room which had a basketball court, and a whole load of ramps to skate and shoot on.

K comes in, "someone's taken my job!" he teases. I get off J and hop onto Ks back and he takes me for a run. We're going real fast, defying gravity off walls and ceilings. I tell him, "this is the safest place I've ever known." 

True.

He turns to me to acknowledge my comment, and smiles.

Alarm, Moo-hyun Jang

Fantastic short animated film about waking up.
I especially relate to the bit at 2:30

 Alarm by Moo-hyun Jang

   

 Executive status. I love it.

Friday, October 11, 2013

On cigarettes, floods, and pretentiousness

Coffee and a cigarette.

And these are Hope cigarettes. A dollar a pack, but so yum, especially if you're doing menthols. Apparently, these are what the carpenters smoke here; and everyone looks at you funny when you swing them out and you don't fit the mould. The grins on the cashier's faces when they double-take on what you just ordered. 

I don't know if I'm taking it too seriously but hello class-system.

Which is also apparent when it starts flooding here and while there are people dying from landslides, the other half of the population is whining about their cancelled plans at the mall or what have you. 

And the trend on the comments floating about speak of resilience and the weatherproof Filipino spirit. Is that really what it is? 

It flooded last night. It wasn't too bad on my street. Waters were about knee-high, and quickly subsided soon after the rain stopped. Everyone was handling it so casually. I stuck my head out the window and could hear people laughing, screaming, like they were at an amusement park.

Yan ang Pinoy. Sa dami ng problema, nakuha mo pang ngumiti - ika nga ni Bamboo!

Point being, I don't know if this is something to brag about. 

The TV was on and deaths were being counted, while I was reading on cancelled weekend plans of the "social elite". I began reflecting on what would be done in other countries I've lived in, because collectively, the thing I have going in my head would be the same for the majority, and things would be addressed. Generally speaking, an unhappy majority should equal change.

We're not talking about a raise, more holidays, or women's liberation here. It's the bloody drainage system. 

I said, "why not the get everyone to drop what they're doing and we each get a bit of the drainage system to work on!" - I thought that was pretty smart.

But apparently they're so used to the flooding here, it's become a part of daily routine. In some places, houses stock giant slabs of hollow concrete to elevate all their kitchen appliances when the waters start to rise. To which you could say, wow that's so clever! but it's unsettling. An issue shouldn't be manageable.  It's like an abusive relationship. We shouldn't be saying, "oh it's okay. We're ready for you! Come stay the night!" instead can somebody please be telling the the whole thing to fuck off!

Maybe they're right. Maybe help isn't just around the corner and if you raise your fist to the system, no one gives a damn. 10 billion pesos being spent on mansions, parties and cars, from the hard earned tax money of those who don't have that kind of money to spend. Seriously? This shouldn't have to go on. I want to vomit.

To the lavish and aspiring lavish I say: 

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines pretentious as:
Having or showing the unpleasant quality of people who want to be regarded as more impressive, successful, or important than they really are. 

Where are all the people with their feet on the ground?

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Matthew Cornwall


Genesis (2009)
oil on wood
28" x 39"


Reverie (2007)
oil on wood
8" x 8"


Nantucket Shore (2013)
oil on wood
8" x 11"

Check out the art of Matthew Cornwall 

Dream Journal Entry #1 - Kneel

It wasn't the usual characters in my dream last night. 

The ex dude made a cameo, but he was loitering in the background with some of his bromances. I on the other hand, was setting up tables with my first crush in grade school. We're close friends in the dream. So in the process of chit chat and table setting, a blonde dude, who I'm pretty sure went by the name of Steven (also went to my grade school) came by and sat on the chair just by me.

He held onto my free hand, rubbing my fingers. Looking up at me, he tugged lightly before softly speaking, "I'm so sorry. Give me another chance. I won't take it for granted."

"I've heard that one before," I shrugged.

"I'm not like the one before. I didn't mean to."

I let go of the fork I was about to set in place and turned all my attention to Steve. I locked eyes with his, slipping between his thighs, kneeling on the floor. He leaned over, pressing his forehead on mine as he ran his fingers through my hair, grabbing a little as he closed his eyes.

I put my hands on his neck to warm him, rubbing slightly just below his ears and whispered, "I'm not falling for this shit again, you understand?"

Steve opened his eyes and smiled slightly before stealing a kiss. I kissed back, then stood up and continued plating.

***
Well, I still don't know what Steve did.

You know the thing about dreams; they say that it's the brain's way of coping with the stresses of the day. Its way of making sense of all the shit that doesn't make any sense. In any case, I'm not even gonna delve into this one. Pretty self explanatory. But I'm pretty happy with my progress - with or without the dramatic romances.