Wednesday, December 26, 2007
the I was there, in perfect consciousness
the other existence represents her beliefs
in a familiar shallowness of green void
they made music, with guitar, with thoughts
they made substance with the art-imagination
in foreboding delight, not in chained destiny, but in time
The setting of closeness claims distinctness
balanced aesthetics desired to illuminate the absurd
done, blur to nothingness, it rendered hopelessness
there was nothing good in the demented story
the I with the essences parted ways in despair without knowing
with sole independence and humble rebel from the I
The countless beliefs, stagnated in seven endless disorientation
the first ventured in the black and white dancing curves
spreading the labeled color in blankness
the second sailed in the striking of living branches of sunset
scheming in the eerie of enthusiasm and phantasms
the third flowed in the dull pastel of rolling, edgy hysteria
coming to the power volume of the anticipated obnoxious melody in bare beauty
the fourth flighting in the sream of a frightful violence
advancing in the massacre of wasting immeasurable insignificance
the fifth lushed in the conventional carnage of filthy paradise
progressing the diagonal traces of offensive primeval to the brittle
the sixth climbed in the senseless order of the weak culture suicide
yielding the ludicrious cementation of the molded to the self
with the gaunt reality of the beholder, the beliefs on hand
changed faces to the creation of dread to apathy witnessed by the I
circumnavigating in random optimism, throwness and submission
the totality eaten by countless, incoherent madness of the mind
The I remained stable playing with the harmony
the last belief, in its lower form, opened the shame
stood by the side, being denuded by nature, and disappeared
the I went to nothingness in its most familiar scenery
saw the last belief biting the wage of eternal sunshine
the I is in delirium
the last belief ran with the black finger-fitting maroon lid
embraced by the dream of lightest green fantasy over the melting
of black and white, dying stiff tree-like apparition
where emotions prevent the leaves of sublimity to breathe
and was eaten by nothingness with its haunting while fearing,
the first instinct in its deceitful entirety and transcendence
Innocence stood in different manifestations
little, fragile blameless solidified childhood and unknown
portraying magic, humor, illogical, and horror
dreaming and eating the I in perserverance.
The I, with human sufferings with unorganized deliberation
tangled in hallucination outside destruction after right.
Labels: The Self to the Art
Erika Ruiz
My affection to some objects that I tend to abandon before due to clattered thinking in such aspects is coming back.After taking a break due to my fatigue on watching Bleach anime, I've been watching anime again to say that my liking is coming back. I've been watching Case Closed alot lately, but considering on surfing more of the anime is not really in the priority yet. I also paint and this is what's keeping me busy over the holidays that already passed. I focus on the interpretation of the dreams that I remember in painting and I'm actually posting them here with further interpretations in the form of writing. Also, my friend who's a photographer, promised to help me. She'll introduce me to the photography professors of our school and is persuading me to buy a DSLR for she said she thinks my amateur captures are good.
I am organizing my blogger as I feel it is already beginning to be really messy. I viewed my 2005 past entries. My writing before was based more on how I feel whole-heartedly without having a knack on the side of the mind and is actually basic. The time when I was actually trying to find my style and form, in terms of life and writing up to the enlightenment of having the best way starts with the self. There are, indeed, a lot of everyday blabs to think that I've been wanting to make this a fruitful blog. Plus, writing an everyday blab makes me feel I've not been doing this in a long time. Well, it could be thought of that little thought, obviously pertaining to everyday blabs, is of importance to the infinitive motion of man.
Truth's the only key so they can tell me I was wrong all along even if I am not lying.
Labels: Everyday Blabs
Erika Ruiz
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Limit on the other side
Weak and powerless channels
the future's waiting
Edge is dreaming
I get to see how everything's been blinded.
A feeling of there will be a new way soon
My eyes are burning, drifting away.
Labels: The Self to the Art
Erika Ruiz
