Weightless Overbearing

Not-Defunct Engine

2011-09-02T19:58:00.000+08:00

The man escapes like a rotten rogue around the high lights of the night sky. The clay is starting to mutate, to control the elevation and movement of the inflatables. The world, in its grave weight, suffocates in helium; the man unknowing.

The man paces to the occupied modernity. He violates the knowledge and pleads for forgiveness for what sin the refused tried to clean. Libra moves. The knowledge is dead. Time altered in persistent form. The clay forms in solidification, reformed in blue heaven. There is a tick tock. Finding the death of waterlessness and not-purpose lying, the clay removes the illumination of the world. The man senses.

The man departs from the brooding ignition of obscurity. He rejects the moon and pleads for forgiveness for what sin the refused tried to clean and stops, unknowing. No heartbeat is heard.

I am man.

I was awakened and found my body healed from injury in an underwater sanatorium. I breathed into the water, feeling the familiar sense of comfort in lost element. I was comfortable to have been placed in a setting. The entirety was made of clay in blue heaven.

As the white door opened, the sanatorium, it seemed, was empty. Outside the chamber where I was from, the ceiling was beyond sight. The windows were unreachable and detached from its purpose, but the light from the exterior provided unnerving light. There was neither internal logic nor coherence. There was no access, only open attachment. When I looked outside, it was advanced in gradual diffusion. The unnatural was there, but non-existent. I was alone.

I ran towards the spiral stairway, ascending. The top was the exit and entrance. There were doors made of different material, appealing in its presence. I remained still in the middle of the corridor. It was dull and cold and I felt alive. I remembered a distant dream. The underwater nil, I breathed air.

Birdcage

2011-01-21T20:16:00.003+08:00

I was in my school uniform, walking through the side street beside the dilapidated form of a garden where flowers were blooming with striking color despite the leaving of afternoon. My backpack was heavy and the black birdcage I was holding was loosely being waved back and forth my blameless hand. The bird in it was struggling and dying.

A moment of delayed realization set my senses that I was grasping a thing with life. Inclined to deduction, the door of the cage tore open upon hitting the cement and unintentionally abused the bird out, lying on its stomach. The degree of gravity remained unresponsive, the way it was supposed to be.

I bent down and gripped it tight, anxiously in thought of preventing it to fly away. Around the bend, it was still then it shook. I held it relentlessly. Its face of sadness prevented my conscious from progressing. There was a constant struggle, but nobody won.

Mudhouse

2011-01-20T19:21:00.004+08:00

"It is not well."

The new born dog named Charlie was having a heart failure. It could barely breathe on my hands. It was fragile and shaking. In a room, the bed was creaking with the movements of panic and agitation to the existing predicament that only has one fix, but cureless. There was only pity.

The three of us decided to call a former veterinarian - the only one we knew. With urgency, we asked for it to be operated. There was a sudden illustration of destination and forced hope. Once an agreement was established, we left it, attempting to forget.

Without the marks of it in our mindfulness as time naturally paced forward, barking was heard from the outside. We opened the door and it was there, waving its tail. It grew up, healthy and stitched, unrecognizable and persevering, unaware of changed assurances and precedence. Then there was a selection.

I woke up beside a cold wall inside a house filled with mud. The house was divided by metal screen - weak, hard, and threatening. There was darkness, but it laid peacefully sleeping on the other side.

I tried breaking the metal screen open with my body and finish the regret inflicted upon my leaving. After several use of force, it woke up gently and did the same thing on its side. It was mimicking my motivation, but not my remorse. There was neither in nor out to this filth. What I didn't notice was a breaking that created a hole on my lower right. Its presence was liberating and unobtainable. The routine was countlessly continued without thought and prejudice.

It was an obligation.

Burnt Skin

2010-10-23T18:05:00.003+08:00

I went to an institution to submit documents. The sun was warm. I saw people loitering around the door where I am exactly directed to, in a perfect line. I knew that I was late... and I forgot my finances.

I went around and saw an old comrade to ask on the whereabouts of this setting. Safe with a green umbrella, he tried animating distances by lapping around the building we were in. I was feeling the radiation and heat from the sun was too much, but I still resorted to being near my comrade as the entirety was foreign to me. Strangers were animating themselves around with the assurance of their own progress. He started to point towards the north where a Buddhist temple resides. Still, I did not get the direction he was motioning so we decided to walk further. Then we saw two of our unlikely comrades coming in from an dark underground staircase and motioned that we needed a ride. I did not get the verbal agreement, but I felt confident. It was uncertain if I made it through the ordeal.

I was home. I felt that the skin on my arms were burning - they were scorched black. Debris of my skin were falling. Thinking of the the pain was unbearable as I was starting to feel it, but the expression benign.

I woke up. I was sleeping on my favorite red sheets and saw on the other side of the window bare the same color, despite a different being settling in there. I woke up, but I can't move. The television was showing animated comics to cover the other vignettes I must not notice. I woke up. I was sleeping on blue sheets. I got a hold of the blue net I was hiding and covered a tunnel developed on the side of the room. I felt fear, but I didn't dare to elaborately sense it. I wished, but I couldn't wake up thrice more. The whiteness of the room was blinding, my eyes were repeatedly retracting my view.

Alarms

2010-09-23T17:45:00.000+08:00

We were homeless.

We tried to stay around the corners of a cemented wretched corridor, away from nature, away from surreality. I settled to stay beside a wooden door with red batteries beside it - as if a warning, as if it was forbidden to explore. I lingered to observe this bizarre existence. Across the door was a shabby home where a huge family resides, but it was the only one closest to nature. Despite its apparent poverty, it was healthy, soiled and it smelt of rain. The earth was stinging and the winds were banging their wooden window. They sat silently and slept freely covered with filthy tattered blankets. I saw their door opened and closed abruptly.

I knew it was a new day.

I stayed on my settling, unpeaceful. The red batteries were lit and I anticipated its explosion. But it didnt; it only made a sound striking as an alarm. I evacuated and went into the left and broader side of the setting with my own family, afraid of witnessing this consequence. This inevitable apprehension.

A cat and a man came in from the catastrophe to start investigating. I felt like a criminal and borrowed my mother's perfume, sprayed it on the entirety of my body so that I wouldn't smell the same. The cat asked each of the evacuees before they left. Then it started running and it captured me, taking me with them.

We ended up inside the door. The soil was stinging in the vacancy - they were keeping what could be left of the natural. I was hanged on the door as they started mentally torturing me. I told the truth, but there was another alarm and they ran. I shook myself off and entered another door inside. I saw whiteness and a machine. Seated beside it was a man, who beamed and smiled, acknowledging the fact that he saved me. A comrade came in from another door I've been and smiled as well. Then there was another door way out to the corridors where two other comrades entered. We decided to ease our hunger.

There was a fancy industry outside. Inside, pink laces and gold were everywhere. I wanted a beautiful cake of cheese and sandwich. I realized my mother was working there and asked me what I wanted. I repeated my preference once more. Then it was taking too long. I had the sudden urge to drift away from sanity. When it came, I devoured everything.

My mother and I went out and saw the death of the outside, of nature, of the sea. Two islands were seen where the only industries remain, heavily protected. We were overpowered.

The Wounds that Heal

2010-06-27T18:59:00.001+08:00

It was the perfect scenery. It was the highest order of the waters; yet it was still and dying. The sunset was cool in all its probable shades and the boats were dancing gently. I witnessed it in pain of constraints, the filth of the room building all over my being. The glasses mistreated my pleasure and I couldn't find my memory. So I cut my hair.

I disengaged myself from this old setting. I swam to the other side of the swamp and saw chickens running away sensing my existence. I did not grew weary and I wandered. It was then that I saw the luscious greens and a tree, stricking with its incompetent heigh and nonetheless powerful presence. I did not dare touch it.

As I walked around the remains, behind all the I have seen was a broken molded wall. I sighted inside a beautiful garden of flowers and it was filled with flying bees above. There was a bridge on the left side of it, grassed and wealthy, as if seducing my will to cross and get inside the old house.

I tried crossing the garden, but the bees attacked me. They did not sting, however, they tried passing through my solid body unsuccessfully. I felt their push on the side that I could not see. It was unfortunate that I did not have the chance to see the old house.

Aratilis

2010-04-23T22:32:00.003+08:00

Naghahanda ang katauhan sa magaganap na paglaya ng hangin ng kabihasnan. Nasira ang katahimikan nang magsimulang tumakbo ang mga bata, naghahanap ng kalayaan, gahaman sa pagiging bata. Malinis ang probinsiya, ngunit nasaksihan ko ang pagkayamot nito sa sariling kalagayan.

Bilang sentro ng lugar, sinipa ng isang bata ang puno ng aratilis, daan upang malaglag ang mga maliliit na pulang prutas nito. Nagtakbuhan silang muli sa iba't ibang direksyon habang nagmamasid ako sa gilid, nauubos ang lakas sa kanilang eksistensiya. Nang mapuno ng gumugulong aratilis ang lupa, naranasan kong magutom at hindi maiwasang mainggit dahil wala akong karapatang sumali.

Pinulot ng mga bata ang ilang aratilis. Walang tigil. Pinagkakain nila ito, kapansin-pansin ang kanilang kaligayahan at kainosentehan, walang kaalaman sa aktuwal na paggawa.

Nawala ang lahat. Hindi ko na maaaring pulutin ang mga nahulog na aratilis kaya't sinipa ko ang puno upang makatikim. Sumakit ang paa ko nag-antay ako ng kaganapan. Nalaglag ang isang malaking aratilis, sobrang laki na hindi ko kayang ubusin. Ni hindi ko man lamang nalasahan ang katamisan. Hindi ako nakakain at sadyang nawala ang kabihasnan.

Decoding Ends

2010-02-19T22:36:00.001+08:00

The aliment was neither ready nor fresh
it was cureless to wait with quasi-aching
disengaging the limit to madness from liberation
however the time was boundless
aligned to the accepting force
where antagonism is not the other side of fairness
there was a toxic malfunction making the grounds weary
of stepping being unbecoming
accompanied by peculiar spirituality
taking response to disconnected discipline
the story was invalid and inevitable
I tried to sit through the ordeal of wanting and needing,
the table projecting the ineptness of its uselessness
but the living remorse was greater than the disposition
then my generation went foul.

Mort

2010-01-27T21:11:00.012+08:00

I sat near the tidiest table, attempting to depart from the ridicule. I was in a market, a filthy variety with stands selling morose food. The setting submitted to its weakening.

The nourishment began when the consideration was elaborated. I ate what was offered in the table.

I was trying to redeem its value, but I was neither less nor more than the exposition.

Red Cabinet

2009-12-20T00:07:00.001+08:00

The room was clear. It expresses the deepness only the oriental possesses. It was almost afternoon before sunset and the entirety was expected to produce movements.

The blank cabinet was about to be painted with red and designed with spring plum tree. I woke up with two beings designated to the task wholeheartedly. The first thing I saw was the transformation for the better and it was extremely beautiful. I felt home as it was bound to be completed.

Away from Heaviness

2009-12-13T19:38:00.001+08:00

I was the only one who survived the first war. I remembered wearing the shabbiest clothing while standing in front of the disaster the conflict had caused. The smog was close, unbearable in its appeal to difuse the graphic gore. It didn't feel like a lost cause, but an extreme helpnessness of solitude overpowered the degree of disposition it expressed.

It was different in the second war.

I wasn't to be defensive, but submissive to the flow of both sides however I am committed to the other. We were hiding behind the curtained glass building on the upper floor, peeking outside through the grounds and the wealthy market on the left. I was lying down on my back, facing away from the directive, as if diseased. The others were observant, eager to defeat the opponent. I was ready to be shot down by the uniformed enemy in aggression. I was ready to die. There was no purpose. The environment wasn't changing.

Suddenly, deviation from the established situation emerged - the mass started to create noise. Holding every bit of power in voices and force, they rallied against the market. The noise was intolerable. I was starting to nauseate. It was a perfect diversion.

I looked at my closest comrades, eyeing every bit of movements. I looked particularly at one of my usual companion and the dog. Beside me, I felt there was a need to bid goodbye. I was not holding any gun.

Holding the triggers attentively, the entirety was ready to fight. One comrade fired the gun. It broke through the curtained glass to the upper floor of the market; it erupted a huge explosion and destroyed almost half of the market's welfare. It did not only let the mass ran and panick away, but it welcomed the guards of the market going out with guns firing right at our direction.

This time, it was decided to fight bare - the curtains were removed; the glasses claimed our transparency. We were cornered on the ground.

I refused to lie still, idle, and borrowed a gun from a comrade, who obliged while thinking how some weapons exist around this setting. I saw two guns over the cartridge on my side as I avoided direct hit. I pulled the trigger of the one with the smaller bullets; it was still extremely big nonetheless. It was too big, I could not fire it.

We were outnumbered. I tried to shoot of what was left of the market as I moved and hid away from the gunshots, I managed to save a black hummingbird. As I fired, it shook the whole foundation of the market, its system dying. But it was too late, a bomb was thrown at us.

A comrade passed it to me, as if giving me the responsibility of its disposal. I did not threw it up. I threw it wearily on my side, letting death in easier.

As it exploded, I could feel my insides breaking, being blown away into pieces. It was blank and instant.

I woke up on my original corner of sleeping, being woken up by the beautiful singing of the black hummingbird that I saved. It was trying to reach me through the screen of the door. It was trying to let me touch itself. I felt peaceful as I shared solace with it. I did not have to protect myself for I have already died.

Only Home

2009-11-30T01:16:00.001+08:00

There were two houses that exist on the dead, dried marshes replacing the accustomed setting of origin. The second was his, forlorn and disconnected from the standard; the first, was from the owner, almost the same with the interior and exterior, only exhibiting the facade of power with right humility. The houses were made from the dark spectrum; old and ragged furniture present the condition. One blatant sameness could be seen inside, in front, behold two bulky upholstery in different faded prints for welcoming appeal. The entirety of the background was supposed for harvest, but the tragedy of its inability to produce growth reflects its decaying occupation.

The plan was to visit and rest in the second house, with him and the owner, along with few certain usual companions. Regarded as a habit, it was a trivial demeanor of entering. The two men were already staying in the second house before our attendance were confirmed, their assumed profession lax in submitting to its function to its actual process, preparing for the tradition. I, along with two usual companions, sat on the couch and revived the peace of mind. The carelessness of it all, disregarding the natural apprehension of upcoming sounds the same time as being absorbed with the faithful discourse erupting amusement and proper seriousness, announced the reality of unwelcomed appearances of those that were not a part of this belongingness.

Four or more had arrived, neither a usual companion nor a common comrade, intruded inside with the manner of releasing the sense of being invited to this act. We had not touched anything aside from receiving each of the others' sensibilities in verbal expression; the strangers went over the table by the door and started to drink and eat, as if commemorating their constituency. It distorted the phenomenon, the misbehavior resulted to the comeuppance of secrecy, disengaging the original format. It was then that I noticed that he returned to the first house.

It was his supposed house, but was just not. I went out, followed the path that connected the two houses, and entered the first house. It felt rather smaller than the other one, but I saw him on the couch, lying and contemplating. It was painful to see the irrelation and irrelevance; I realized we didn't actually had time of our own as it was diversified by this order. I lowered myself and held his hand, put it on my beating heart... to feel home.

"I surmise it is the time to move, you have been preoccupied by yours," he said. Looking at me, it was the first time that this has been represented by this; I have felt love to the entirety, the exposition represented it clearly. I have felt home and thus, I smiled. But it was time to go home, the beginning. This was how progression was realized, I was ready to go back.

Followed by the usual companion outside, I went out as he followed. He smiled as well, as I awkwardly faced this deviating familiarity and bade goodbye. I called him in a peculiar version of his name, with its uniqueness, and ran gracefully through the white mud, through the grasses and to the cemented hindrances. I felt reincarnated and alive.

Riddle

2009-11-28T17:17:00.048+08:00

The omen was clear. The black dog left its defecation from the first step outside to the last gate of the house, but the entirety of the lot had to leave. Walking past the ruffling trees carried away by the wind, the entirety of the being had prepared. The fear was blatant, but movement has to be done. The morning was filled with gloom. The alliance of nature to the deed was negative. Reaching the gate, the filth left by the dog was exposing its purpose. The wholeness went out and followed the directive of the mind.

The first stop was nothing.

The second stop was graphic and promising. By the natural street, behold a stern man. The man was serious. He held his hands together, holding something, on his back. Without any movements and riddles, he told the secret with a warning as to how harm could submit once touched. He let us pass his way.

We did not feel any fatigue. By the bay stood a tent depending on a wall filled with artistic grafitti. As seen, the diary was on top of it. In impulsive transgression, a companion tried to get it, but failed in attempt as the tent was breaking down into parts, further misplacing the disposition. With this, another one jumped, lighter than the other, and was successful. It was then that as it was grasped, the interest disappeared. In the end, it was a facade.

The last was a ball, where wrath was obligated. It was then that an unfamiliar market was reached. Others minding designated functions, breathing and sharing the environment, distorted the mission. Once again, it was on top of the wall, perfectly on top of a slaughterhouse. It was then realized that the only one capable of achieving the object was the unknown idiot.

There were several trials of acquisition and in the end, it was the true riddle. It was still unknown, yet to be known. It was a wasted reprise.

The Defenseless

2009-11-02T21:29:00.001+08:00

This warm afternoon projected the dreadful deed of the notion. Out in the old house of origin where old trees release old greens with the wind, I await for the response of the unexpected undertaking. The four of us were expectant, humane in substance. There was no movement, the eventful existence was unbearably reminiscent. From the idleness, the rooster and its chick appeared, inserting its generation as the opponent. The realization began to develop that it was an easy task; the general idea in exposed judgment. The specificities were unknown, but the mission was to stay alive. The stance was to be ready to fight to survive.

Occupied voluptuously in self-absorption of the acquired current disposition, the rooster and its chick separated and drifted away around the decaying exterior of the house. Graphite, rust and soil remain in union. I started to move to perform the necessity: The weak shall die. Taking the offense was the primal resolution.

Passing through the artificial terrain, I furthered through the dead poultry. I finally saw the rooster steady on the edge, head bowed, as if stoned and concentrated in its stead. As I advanced, what I saw was its remorseful power: It was eating its opponent, one of the supposed comrade. The chicken started devouring the head. The graphic was blatant, the blood was all over of what was left of the body. The beak of the rooster was dripping with blood from its delightful ordeal, as if pleased and cautious of its ritual. It was its form of transgression to the other kind.

I proceeded in my return to where I first stood, where the entirety of the supposed comrades were. I was able to receive the sight of the chick, unknown of its responsibility, wandering over the coconut tree where the beautiful small red herb fruits reside. There were three of us left: I, an old lady by the chico tree, and another woman with a peculiar frequency. They were aware, but blameless.

In front of the entire senses, the chick ran with its resentful stepping to the chico tree and started devouring the old lady. Morose, it slowly complied to its nature. In an entire minute, the blood from the old lady behaved with gore and madness as the two of us were left unscathed, observing the consciousness it enforces delicately to our needing greed. The element was gone, the chick displeased at its gluttony, the rooster ran to where its chick reside and ate its kind.

It was the final act. The rooster began to devour the head of its chick, the body dropping, the blood overpowering in its stagnation. Experiencing the demeanor, the fear was achieved. That was when the last supposed comrade started to speak directly:

"I will lend my hand, you kneel up to the rusting roof and be saved. They could not take flight."

She was smiling while reaching out her left hand. It was a function, a directive. It was her sacrifice, I was with the time to survive. I started to kneel on her hand and went up to the roof, lying on my stomach and looking down as the last supposed comrade rancidly consumed. In delirium, the rooster satisfied itself and preoccupied itself in entering the interior. It was then that I saw a usual companion, trapped in the roofless slaughterhouse beside the dead poultry.

The usual companion, with its bounty started to attack mine as it appeared out of nowhere. This phenomenon, it was against the same kind: The bounty against its own, I against the usual companion. The angry expression was inescapable. From the roof, I began to avoid and jumped through the roofless slaughterhouse to the misplaced mango tree. I was in flight, they entirety was not.

The huge bounties were in dispute. I remain in acknowledgment to where I was artlessly committed. The usual companion started running towards the gate of the exterior to the gardens from where I jumped and started to climb another tree, as if in vision to reach what had to be destroyed. In strategy, I disengaged from flight and pursued towards the roadway away from the house of origin, to lose sight and direction of the usual companion. I ran amok in a weary sunset, unaware of the building weakness among the setting until I lost sight of both the usual companion and its defeated bounty. I decided to go back.

Marching through the interiors as I went up the stairways to the poor man's chamber, I saw of what was left of the chick. It was the beak dripping with blood, hard and burdening. With the destroyed walls, the rooster roused with blood all over its body and ate the beak. Despite knowing the existence I had offered, it progressed without flight. The diadem was reinstituted.

There was a commotion to the strange death of the house below. I caught the weak rooster with a thick cloth in thought of delicacy. I held it firmly and disgusted, I do not want to share with its filth, for it will die to be eaten.

Common Ground

2009-11-01T23:24:00.000+08:00

In a familiar roadway to lucidity, the story started with the mission to visit the dogs from the houses around, to check their substance. The vehicle I was driving with an unknown companion moved gently, feeling the beautiful contact with the street. It was such a dark autumn night, the leafless pine trees with the mountains from afar were occupying the rest of the blue. It was very quiet, even the engine of the vehicle was mortified of its sound-making.

The houses were easy to find. The lights were exposed in a distance before its actual closeness. I halted the engine and went out of the vehicle. Knocking on the door, the environment tensed, expectant of the meeting that was about to take place. A receiver opened the door and there behold two dogs. Both were of different breeding, as the other one was being hugged by the owner. We greeted the dogs with glee. The meeting was well-processed.

The entirety of the journey was almost reiterated. The cases were sensitive in its severity.

In time of sleeping, the devil blues appeared, disintegrating the loyatly sense of what transpired. Without knowing how to play the guitar, the blues it offered made no sense. While testing the terrain through my feet, it was a disappointment.

Running, Attacking, Progressing

2009-11-01T20:19:00.000+08:00

There was a feast to observe. The field was well-soiled. Despite its dryness, it was unbearably wide. The entirety of the conventional was welcomed with the madness of the herd of horses. I was with a lovely woman, the proximity was bearable and sweet, like a natural companion. We were searching for a proper seat on the edges of the field, but realized that expectant groups occupied the property.

Holding her hands, we searched for cheap seats and decided to stay in the middle of the edge. Suddenly, a wild horse came running all over, its direction towards us. We panicked, but we ran in time. The groups started to ran around, following the madness the horse started.

Radioactive

2009-10-27T23:07:00.000+08:00

There was space opera in the underwater. The blackness was fulfilled. The eyes that follow sensed the radioactive matters below. Delicate movements were dancing on the density of the unknown liquid. I was nil, but I thought. The jellyfishes were psychedelic in their formal discipline as I hit and deconstructed their rhythm. I thought of other matters, it reconciled with the act.

Slowly, slowly, the eyes were dissolved by the lunar sun. Aching for awakening.

Skinless

2009-10-12T12:06:00.001+08:00

The beautiful white house established just serenity. It was transparent and pure; unknowing of the dread deconstruction outside, unbothered despite the glasses presenting darkness of reality on the other side. Inside, there was peace and lightness. The spiral staircases were all over sorrounding the entirety of the inside, as if the only necessary structure. There were five dogs, protecting and protected by four humans. I was one of them.

White lights overpowering the night, the first dog started to repose on its side. Bothered by the second that tried to run around in madness, the standard shifted. The third, fourth, and fifth dog started to invade the territory of the first two for entertainment. Being the largest, the fifth dog led the instinct. It started running through the smallest staircase as the rest followed. They started a charade, the fifth dog turning around again and again until the support dwindled in its defeat.

In the end, we were just following their movements.

The General

2009-10-02T22:39:00.003+08:00

The abuse started when the designation was formalized during the morning of the day. The forbidden was touched. It was an improper imposition that ended with a casual wasted reprise. The response, however unbelievable, was expectant and forgetful of the first phase of violation. It was received faithfully.

The routine was to discourse and accomplish, but the famine was overpowering as it reaches the noon. Retired, movement began in walking to fulfill the needs in random destination. Being led to a place unknown, the bushes with red flowers began to wither, as if absorbing the sin.

It was a dangerous setting. Everything was hanging by thin woods and copper. Delayed service was certain. In the end, the position ended with replacement and submission.

Nothing could be seen, it was a skeletal assassination.

Disinfection

2009-10-02T22:36:00.001+08:00

It was my childhood.

We were taken away out of our home.

The dog was the symbol of our only resolution as it died.

We couldn't go back.

We shot our scenes.

Dutiful Afternoon

2009-10-02T22:20:00.003+08:00

The new vehicle became the object of attention. Being driven around the familiar place, it was perceived to be promising by the family. It was then that the lake was seen, serene in its position.

I led the family without a license. On the highway, we stopped for a while near the home for my sister needed to accomplish a certain task she had in her mind. My sister and I went down, leaving father and mother inside the vehicle to guard the interior.

Both of us entered home. She took her time and I grew tired of staring.

When affairs were done, we started walking back. When we crossed the street and were about to come back, the jeepney suddenly riled in advantage before stopping. It hindered our perception that bonds our entirety to the family. It started moving back without looking at the rearview mirror, ready to ram us down. Out of common sense we evaded its slowness, saw our vehicle and went in.

Father grew mad at his fatigue and quit to lead the family after I accompanied my sister going home. Rather forcing a replacement, he continued to drive around until we halted to the lake side for peace of mind. It was high tide. It was a beautiful scenery, the lake was filled with blue. As we stared, a little girl went down to swim, but was bitten by an amphibian. She succumbed to the violation and let her body sink.

The amphibian was a snake. It was still hungry, striking eyes lingering on the family. It jumped right at us as we grew frightened. Suddenly, mother threw her iron and electrified the pencil-thin snake. It died.

The family, in the end, decided to get it for it might be a remedy to those who could possibly kill it with its kind. We were prepared, to avoid death.

The Forceless Will Die

2009-09-20T00:04:00.003+08:00

It was survival of fittest. I was not supposed to be participating and was only tasked to observe, but I was here. There were two houses: one, bound to be the object of the experiment; the other, bound to be the camping site of the crew. The participants were to live in the first house, like that of an old Spanish tarnished entirety. Outside was the wilderness, green and dangerous.

The participants started to struggle in discourse on how to live. They decided to open the main door and fill it with basic wooden chairs. In that way, they saw the light and felt the enviroment before it turns into the night time. Father was outside the camping site, cooking rice by fire, disinterested with the jeopardy the cowardice of the participants were showing.

I was inside the first house and felt that I was locked for the wooden chairs were tangled by the door. I realized there was a back door near to where father was cooking. So I did my task of observing by the window. That was when I saw the tiger. It was growling, mad and running. The participants grew exhausted and frightened despite the boundary the house established. I told them confidently: "The tiger could be your food if you corner it." The tiger continued to growl, healthy in its awareness. I could not comprehend if it was mad or it was just showing its tenacity and elegance, owning the territory we invaded.

I wanted to go out and go to the camping site with father, but I absorbed the fear they developed. I could not go out. The tiger was walking right in front of father, not even bothered by this coexistence. It was a defeat, I still could not go out.

In Weak Foundation

2009-09-19T23:59:00.000+08:00

It was raining hard; it was at war against the grounds. They were having coffee while sitting in the common house. It was the only existing matter that associated all of us. It looked like the resting place of those who repose after a day in a pilgrimage. It was extremely appealing for it was higher among all the unseen houses in the dark.

I covered myself with the heavy old curtain. It had pockets that was filled with two large frames with unseen paintings inside. I walked around and around the vintage house, wandering where to stay, to remain. No one sat on the numerous couches seen in the living room, as they were only concerned in their senseless discourse in the dining room. But it only began to rain hard.

Those who were drinking coffee decided to go to the living room to close the windows as it was already almost raining inside the house. It was fragile, for the windows were only made of sliding metal screens so thin and soft as a chiffon fabric. Somehow, the wind were making the sliding windows move from side to side, violently not helping the rain going inside the house. However useless it may be, the thin windows never broke down.

I just couldn't not care.

Solicitation

2009-09-04T23:10:00.002+08:00

They were in a wide ancient arena. It was the sky of the education. After the discourses to enhance the intellect, the youth sat around the arena, talking joviantly about their own personal issues.

The tallest youth went out and walked deviantly. He went straight to the gentlemen who were presenting their invented machine. He was staring blankly as the inventors continue to smile as they elaborated. The balloons were flying and the tall man could still reach them. It was frightening, his hands were so long it could destroy the whole arena.

She came from an ordinary group of youth. She barely spoke to him, but they had this understanding of their mutual philosophy. Her demeanor was uptight and laidback, his was stern and self-absorbing. Both of them followed the stance of this tallest youth and stared at his hands.

Both of them decided to walk away and resumed in their discourse. Her jacket was so thick, the color of salmon was striking. They were positively progressing until the sun hid and the clouds confessed the rain. He ran to the nearest building and kicked the motorcycle in rage. He could never get wet. She was eyeing his movements questioningly. She realized this and followed him, moving to the other side of the end where he stood. He was sad, walked, and hugged her.

"What's wrong, man?" She said, as she smiled at him for ease. The rain was completely pouring as they wait for it to stop before moving again. She just returned his favor.

Vulgar Restoration

2009-08-23T19:09:00.003+08:00

Three usual companions overpowered the existence of the broken home. The three of them, recurring. This reminded the strength of the past. As always, there was grim in the background, the worn out memory was starting to distort itself from the opened veins.

It started when I saw the self-portrait of the usual companion proven to be entirely different from the personal. It fumigated responses from the judgmental, bothered by its glamorous beauty from the innocence usually projected. However, the judgmental did not know her. She decided to visit home for renewal.

We were seriously talking while walking from the kitchen to the living room. The ceiling was showing its dire request for reconstruction, but the will that controls instills hindrance. The poverty around was abundant and disinterested. It was quite unusual. We parted for her to breathe out the pressure, her paleness was developing further. I walked forward through the stairs and saw the door towards the re-conceptualized room. It was turned and enlarged into a library, the books were unseen. Near the end, I saw another usual companion, her hair unruly. Her face structure deranged, she tried to smile, but it was still awkward. I hugged her for the emphasis of my happiness and decided to return back to the pale usual friend.

As I went back to the living room and sensed her heaviness, the last usual friend passed by. Her hair was unruly as well, her disposition was extremely defensive from her inappropriate appearance. There was no discrimination, but the truth was turned to the standard negativity in perception. With her simplicity, she escorted the pale usual friend to me as we enter the storage room for books and reading.

We searched for the right book while remembering the past life. We were contented, but we could not find the book. The pale and the last usual companion continued to talk, as if indifferent on what we had to find. I proceeded further and walked from shelf to shelf for a better strategy. I started to jump to reach out for the top and slid miserably through the shiny floor. The shelves were covering the other existence. When I reached the other side, I saw the other usual companion, her hair unruly, her shirt same as mine. She shifted seats and was eyeing me and was projecting the feeling of hopefulness that I would go to her. So I did. I hugged her again, but left her soon afterwards for I have to find the book. I failed, but did not grow disappointed.

It started to rain hard. The loud tapping of the rain on the metal roof was building the setting. I left the three of them and started to get out of the main door to the terrace. I was bathing in front of the innermost gate of home, almost inside the terrace before the said door to the living room. I undressed myself and let the furious falling rain from the roof wash me. The flood was starting to devour the soil. I put shampoo to my hair and the water falling from me started to become milky in color. I minded the terrace would be cleansed as well for the shampoo has its cleansing material, but I also developed fear for my father would realize what I did with what the mess I created. I continued to rub my body madly, eager to wash myself. I did not care who had seen, I was earnest to clean.

The darkness was whole, the humid was untimely. The third hand was sewing on its own; the other two were resting, sleeping in the raw night before I decided to wake up.

Lines Were Undecided

2009-08-23T19:01:00.002+08:00

The story violated the right of the slogan. The hand that feeds rejects its existence.

I was the quarterback in the most inappropriate setting - the theater stage. The spotlight was striking, the audience were dim, distracting my eyes to the absolute direction. I was wearing a pink uniform with an unknown jersery number. I was holding an eraser and was doing the baseball process of throwing a ball. Nobody caught it, they were staring, mindful of the play that was progressing.

As I finally held the football appropriate to what I was wearing, an obese woman from the blurry audience shouted that it would be more suitable for everyone to attend a faithful companion's farewell party. I received the attention and went off stage, ready to go home. I felt that I wasn't really invited, as if the obese woman was only channeling the motion to the unfamiliar audience.

I discovered that my roommates were a moon-faced youth, an ordinary boy, an Indian woman, and an extremely thin youth. We were in the common room of our common home.

The extremely thin youth checked my pack of vitamins and asked about the vitamin E. It turned out she was also having her party somewhere, which she didn't attend. She explained convincingly that the father of her son already went to it before it even started. We felt special that she chose to be with us.

The Indian woman, on the other hand, did not wait for anything to come back to Saudi Arabia due to its constraints. Both the moon-faced youth and the ordinary boy stayed quiet, absorbed by their trait of frightful belongingness.

We went out to the nightlights, drifting away. We disappeared and the lights went out.

Morose Conception

2009-08-22T23:21:00.000+08:00

I was lying on the solid clouds while putting the necessities inside the two envelope. I was supposed to give it to him, the procedure on how to save her.

I sealed then dropped the two white envelopes to the land afterwards. After a weak thought, I decided to follow. The night was young, I was waiting for him to complete the mission. I sat where I landed, the envelopes on my side; no one came to the destined setting.

I finally saw a usual companion, his face showed that what I was supposed to give was too late. The love of his life was gone.

It was not a trivial manner for angels to descend, so I decided to enjoy the land's festivities while being there.

We went home. There was a celebration and everyone was happy.

We sat, forming a circle, in order to reflect on this positive energy. An elder empathizes, but he declared by my usual companion was dreading. While being said, the usual companion was looking straight at me sadly, and I nodded in sympathy. His mole was too big that I forgot about the lost cause of my mission in the land for a while.

Two usual companions sat on either side of me. The other one asked what was the discourse about, his almond eyes were disturbing. I did not answer for I did not want this happiness to end in cynicism: another failed mission on my part.

We were happy.

At the end, we decided to do games. The elder asked for volunteers. Six usual companions and I made three pairs. While waiting for more pairs, we danced happily. The envelopes were forgotten, the usual companion with the huge mole's presence was still there, but his body apparition was nil.

Injured Closure

2009-08-22T23:00:00.000+08:00

It was a thriller. The film was promising fear and body horror. He needed to kill her and her mother in the castle.

Within the syndicate, there was a good and bad. I chose the good.

I went to the rest room to defecate. As I entered, I saw a doll in the dark filthy setting. The room was filled with contrasting colors, the foul was present. I needed to do my deed, but the toilets were strangely begrimed. I went out and walked some more.

As I pass through the castle, submitting to its labyrinth direction, I kept on seeing the runners. They wore sweat shirts and rubber shoes with towels on their shoulder. They were all over, ruining the stillness of the setting.

The point of view transitioned to Reno, a runner, who was motivated to see me after our several encounter. I did not notice him, however. The last time he saw me was when I ascended to the solid staircase to penetrate the brain.

He ran and repeated his routine, going up and down, to the staircase where he last saw me. He was obliged to run in that exact meters and when he was able to complete so, he went pushed the large door to follow me. What he saw was not the brain in the dark greenish-reddish room, but the outside.

The outer part of the castle was filled with bricks, he observed. Asking himself if Kili was alright, he descended to the stairs when someone pulled the trigger. The assassin barely shot Reno. In turn, he killed the man in his own method. He went into the other entrance below and checked its interior. He needed to go inside the brain just as what he knew I did in order to search for Kili. The interior had no other passageway so he went out. Running, he saw another assassin, with his sling on his hand. He wandered why the man was killed as well. The two assassins were dead. He ascended to where he descended before and entered the door, again, where he went out. He saw the greenish-reddish darkness and the brain, pumping like heartbeats.

He disappeared when he reached the brain. I went there, but I saw neither the interior nor the brain.

End on Mend

2009-08-22T22:54:00.000+08:00

The men were so proud of the double-paneled closet that they were able to make. Their egos were increasing, aggression was passing through. It was twice that of an average man in height, mahogany in color. In the end, I took the room where it was situated.

In the unusual house were plenty of rooms that were untouched and unseen. Everything was in total sepia tone reflected from the afternoon lights, there were no artificial lights in the house. I grew weary of waiting for the night. The paranoia of not being able to see in the darkness was frightening so I decided to sleep early. I reposed on the bed beside the unused closet.

I woke up too early and I knew it was 4 o'clock in the morning. Everything was black and I could not see the closet. I stood up, bothered. Then I started hearing noises outside the door, as if people were talking quietly. I stood in front of the door, but did not open it. I was about to do something when an usual companion suddenly entered the room, the afternoon-like lights outside my room attacked with speed and shed little light. He was homosexual, entered and smiled. As if used to my existence, he disconcertingly proceeded straight to a side of the bed and slept.

This was not my territory, so I went home.

From the unknown process, I saw the civilization. I ascended to the building in order to get to my apartment. As I passed through the afternoon-lit corridor, I put the key to where I would reside, entered and closed the door.

My sister was visiting. She was checking everything, the discourse I was having with her was lucid, but the people from the other doors outside were creating unwanted noises reaching the corridor. In the end, we decided to let a few children in and eat. With this, we let the door open.

We ate quietly on the large table. There was a healthy little girl with long curly black hair; she was showing indifference. There was also a pregnant youth, her hair was straight and blond. The conversation was not interesting. After eating, some of the children passed through the door with their fithy dishes and gave it to my mother. She was sitting low, with buckets filled with water, to wash the dishes willingly. It was part of the routine, anyway, so we agreed. By the time a few more children were going out, she was amazed by how many plates and utensils were piling up. She remained submitted to the routine. It irritated me extremely. I decided to resist.

After I was done, I left my finished dish on the table and stood up to block the exit. I told to what was left of the kids that they have their dishes be cleaned on their own. With clarity and staring, they nodded unhesitantly. I sat back to observe the effect of the discipline I established.

Led by the little girl with the curly hair and followed by the pregnant youth, they stood and went out to give their dishes to my mother, who accepted the bullshit willingly.

I grew fatigued and cut the line before they even give their dishes to my mother. The corridor outside the apartment changed into a bricked hallway, like that of an ancient cityhall. I said to stop, but they did not care.

The girl with the curly hair stared at my mother with deep pity, hinge of indifference existing. That was pulled the trigger: I was enraged wholeheartedly. To express my rage, I grabbed her hair and shook it violently. I did not know to who the pregnant youth was worried about. I did not care, I literally wished she would bleed and die.

I declared that it does not mean that way and that she only needed to follow with respect. She was looking at me indifferently the whole time, just like a doll. I forcefully dropped her where she was left lying on the ground, motionless, as if it was finally her time to be executed.

The outside looked like the Renaissance hallway and I went inside.

Mutation

2009-08-14T02:44:00.005+08:00

We were resting. It was like a retreat in the province, only the mission was to celebrate the success that supposed to have went to the right direction. The rooms had no boundaries, but the inconvenience of it was noticed. We were in the lounge, I was sitting by the wall facing the usual companion by the window. Feeling rather excited in our repose, he wanted me to take pictures of him in his position with my camera; so I did. Then he decided to take pictures of me as well and borrowed my camera. That notion was a routine no matter how I change the setting.

An unusual companion entered the room and declared that she needed to defecate to the bathing room, by the side of the door. She hurriedly went in only to be stopped by some usual companions with the reason of bathing being more important than what she was about to do. It was also common sense that there was another rest room where defecating was more accurate. She opened the bathing room door, indifferent, and proceeded to where the smaller rest room was. I had a feeling she was indulged with the inconvenience for the boundaries weren't existing.

The bathing room was large and dull, but it looked expensive and sophisticated. The lights from the candles were shining shyly. There were two bathtubs filled with water. The water was all over the place, but it projects an extremely calm ambiance. There was a fountain and as we stepped in, we stepped on water. It was pure; so we started to undress.

A usual companion placed himself to the bathtub filled with water. Seeing he was entirely huge, some water literally flew out of the tub. The scene was not bizarre. The other one sat on the edge of the other tub, scrubbing her arm. Her lips were so red with lipstick it was unbearable, but I knew she had the potential. I was only standing, observing the phenomenon as I let myself get wet with the clean water all over my entirety.

Suddenly, it was time to go home. Unfinished with our cleansing, we dressed casually and went out. The night was clear and the stars were beautiful. It was a formal habit to eat before we go on the road. We sat on a small terrace, enjoying the luminous night, talking incoherently. I brought my camera; it was hanging on my neck. I did not use it in the moment.

We saw the province boys walking in line, carrying drums in front of them. They were hospitable enough to have this little celebration equivalent to their welcoming. In the right time, they started playing and created sounds. It was the start of the ending of the celebration. I wanted to go back to the room for my bathing was incomplete; I did not want them to sense my filth. I passed through the province boys until the rest of the group started to come out of the room. The professor got mad that we did not follow the protocol of going out all at the same time. We were taken by the flow, the calling of longing and goodbye to the province. I ignored their passing as I had no choice, I just have to go back in.

They retreated to proceed to the destination of the festivity as I and the usual companion who took pictures with me entered the room. The province boys followed them. I could not bath anymore so I just applied cleanser to cover my filth. We passed by the terraces onto the little huts where we were supposed to eat. Instead of seeing everyone, we saw another usual companion lying on the grass by the side of a hut, as if enjoying herself in her thinness. I asked her if she wanted to pose for a picture. She smiled and sat up to pose. I took pictures of her as we drifted away to the moment. Another usual companion went back from the destination to check us out. I remembered her standards were high. We submitted to our current being.

The night went brighter and reversed back into the falling afternoon. The four of us went to sit to where everyone else was and turned our backs on the water. Everyone was facing each other. We were like in a small cemented bridge. A bald middle-aged man sat on the center and started singing into the wild. We sang along, celebrating. I remembered I brought my guitar with me, but it was in the room. A usual companion of mine, who was practicing it the whole time we were in the retreat, happened to brought it along with her as we sang. She said that she had been practicing the tabs for the song we were singing. She learned it over our stay and I had not learned anything. Feeling ridiculous over my predicament, she started to stram, but the bald middle-aged man initiated a new song. This time, we both did not know the tune that goes with it and she stopped holding the guitar. An old man sat beside me, the usual companion who discarded the guitar on my left, and grabbed the guitar. The attention of all went to the famous old man who was proud. He said he was going to show a new technique he developed, playing with the chords. The night was back. Just before he hit another melody, pressing the thickest string too hard, it broke. The guitar was broken and it was ignored. I felt sad.

To kill the remorse, the usual companion decided to share the pictures we took a little earlier during the day. He developed his pictures and showed it to us gaily. It was bizarre though, for the provinces are usually not affected by the intrusiveness of technology. His face on the picture showed the same, but the background exposed the otherwise. In one of his pictures, where he was reclining on his right shoulder while holding a spoon and ice cream on either of his hands, there was a ghost of a girl. The girl seemed to mock what he did. We grew frightened. In another shot with the same position, the ghost of the girl mutated herself. Reclining in the same angle as the usual companion did, the ghost of the girl developed two faces; the other one was connected to her chin, upside down. The frequency of fear increased. The last one showed the ghost of an old middle-aged man's face. It seemed as if the ghost was startled of the flash that the camera did. In transformation, the ghost had two faces; it's as if the face was doing quick nod it produced too many variations. It was like a multiple exposure, despite the digital nature of the camera. I did not want to develop mine.

There to There

2009-08-11T22:25:00.000+08:00

The idea was to drive from New York, New York to Newark, New Jersey. The way was quite practiced and known, but the recluse was beyond repair. The highway wasn't packed, swerving to the turning right was a must to get there. It was a known direction. Moving forward was a fact.

The road was not narrow, beautiful pines on the background were still. The mood was dead and the vehicles passing were undecided. In another turn, the lights of cool noon went grim. Almost like the familiar park beside, the way was straight. There was an end, but no stopping.

The sleep was at home.

Misleading Criminal

2009-08-09T13:10:00.002+08:00

There were two suspects. At home, all were walking back and forth from the door on the other side to the other door of the separated room, forming an arc, as if to further the shame. The setting was untoned, vividly covering the clarity of truth.

There was a thin chicken. It was part of the parade. It was inside a big battered red plastic cage filled with tape to fully cover its appearance. It was making sounds and bumping all over the pavement, not really seeing what's in front. It was a suspect.

There was an unusual companion, the aid of a usual companion. She was wearing a turquoise dress that seemed to bulk everything against her silhouette. I saw a video where she was selling it well in the catwalk, from childhood up to now. She doesn't change. She was a suspect.

I saw my face from my mother's eyes as I face her, sitting on the passenger's seat of the vehicle. I was a singer like the unusual companion. I went some place where my mother did not want me to go.

I did not go far. I went into the kitchen where there were fine drinking and talking. We were listening to the things that made us stop.

Cerno

2009-08-08T05:09:00.009+08:00

The realization overwhelmed the entirety of mind.
The conscious was not aware of the fragmentation.
The attack was severe and was finally calling me:
Happiness does not belong to strain but solitary,
escapism from the given direction.
Love does not concur with my contentment;
I do not love and distorting silence disappears.
The filth I developed could never be shared,
however, I remain to decipher and yield
learning, avoiding total disconnection
for the music to be real along the lines of sting.
Peace is not void, rage is controlled.
Whatever beauty I created could never 'be':
words too long, thought unsaid, portraying failed.
Abstractions magnified in mad disjunction,
dreams valued, substance pierces to order.
There is no lack of expression,
only the attempt fails when misread
so the grace disappears as instrument rusts.
I progress to not let chance swing value away.
The old aging time restates in continuity,
needing to justify the accident pure in act.
Until death materializes its utter existence,
this will grant me worthwhile forever.

To See Sense

2009-08-07T06:00:00.000+08:00

The school was a tourist spot. The nuns from different countries come to see the art. The gore was present and I saw the room of the weeping statures. We entered, it was dark and I was with a unusual companion. There were guides that walk along the tourists to explain the origin and whatever interesting facts are about the art. There was never a mention of the artists. This particular room, I failed to discern this art and wandered around alone.

A nun smiled with endearment to what she had seen as she went out of the dark room. On the left side, I saw three square doors by the wall adjacent to the exit, each larger than its own. I noticed that two larger ones were open, but I could not see the inside so I turned my back to return to my unusual companion with the guide. It was not amusing to observe the art that cannot be discerned. Suddenly the smallest door opened, whispering incoherent words directed to me. I looked back, but ignored it and in the end we proceeded to the a new art.

It was a long narrowed and enclosed cemented one-way. The setting was extremely dry and there were suddenly alot of expectators. We were there to see the winding waves. There was only one door serving as the entrance and way out. No one dared to go to the other end to see whatever is in. The view in front of us was dry, the other side were just cemented walls that got broken due to old age. A being could actually hide there and with its large holes, more than three beings could fit.

I was walking around, moving forward, until I stopped when my senses were getting weak. The farther part of the way was extremely uknowing so I walked back. When I got to the edge near the door of entrance and exit, I saw a beautiful sculpture of waves. We knew it was to support the waves of the actual water and we were getting apprehensive. There was a sound I could not explain. We thought the water would appear, but nothing had changed. Instead a few more beings entered the door and we were frightened.

A lot of the beings ran when they saw the demented beings, wearing rather grotesque clothing and weary faces. They ran-walked as if ready to attack and I hid at one of the holes and saw two beings already hiding in there; I did not care. I was suddenly wearing a dress that looked like that of the demented beings and I felt my whole body being wet, as if the water had attacked us. A demented woman found us and all of us felt fear. Smiling, she moved around as if to show that she owns us now. I walked away to avoid her gaze. Maybe it was part of the entertainment, nonetheless it felt real.

Russian Fish

2009-08-06T05:37:00.000+08:00

When they found me, they tackled me. My usual companions, little as they were deformed, partied with a Russian fish with me. The little ones moved around, but a girl kept on taking pictures with her disposable camera and hid when I saw her. Snap, tackled.

I moved from the garden and went inside the old house. I went by the terrace and saw a fish kid swimming around in a non-existent pond. I received my father's letter and gave it to the little girl, to make her happy.

Time to Escape

2009-08-03T16:46:00.000+08:00

I was rather distressed to be dressed appropriately in a distant place of a province. I booked two passbooks and was left sad.

I entered a church where people were seated sideways from the altar's front. I was expecting my family and they were there. While circumventing the whole church, casually bumping over the seats of the seated people, I told my sister and a usual companion about father. I was saying something I did not know myself.

I sat on the back seat, saddened. I was the only one facing the altar.

The church was high so there were escalators to avoid fatigue. My sister, coming from below went up as I descended, coming from the top. As I went down and reached the bottom, I felt my youth. It was futile that the descending escalator like going down, but I ended up in the same position as where I stood on the church. I looked back and grabbed my pouch from the distorting escalator as we decided to walk home.

Along with another usual companion, I walked once again to the bridge made of bridge. It was like the time of Spanish colonization. The usual companion whom I was walking side by side told me that this would be where they will reside, near this province that I don't know of. As we walked, I noticed there were a lot of spit.

We got home, the home that of which is not from the province, I saw our dog timidly barking inside when the door opened. I did not enter and proceeded into eyeing my left where a variety of plants and trees were abundant and growing. I saw Munich, my beloved cat, but he was not gray anymore - his colored turned into orange. At first, he was aloof, not sure that it was me. But as soon as I reached my hand to reach and scratch him below his head while calling him with my favorite endearment, he ran towards me. I welcomed him with an embrace and felt happy.

Drugs Don't Work

2009-08-03T16:40:00.002+08:00

At the school where I was staying for long nights, the papers were scattered as I gazed down knowingly. I felt vindicated for having this forsaken in long time.

I saw my mother and my father in a distance. I ought not to concern myself into the matter, but the subconscious liquified the burdened indifference. I stopped and played. Then I remembered a poem I wrote and ate with my aunt.

Illegality

2009-08-03T16:25:00.002+08:00

I was lying on my stomach, I felt my soul parting from the body and hovering away, wanting to drift away and wander without the body.

I haven't been home in days. In a fragile bar, I was obliged to go home and so I did. With two of my usual companions we went to a usual place in the city. We sat in front of my small unit. The doors were clear, it was like a store, but the furniture indicates its a home, but then there was no proper entry.

I went in and felt familiarity. The inner door opened and I saw my mother. I asked her to give me fruits, bananas in particular, while I wander around, rediscovering the new vignettes around. She did not call me, but I went and sat in front of her on the table with a whole sculpture of chocolate inside cones. I did not want it, but I took one and ate it. I refused and complained, but I took another one. I asked her to try it.

I went to bed at the outer part of the home, where the clear doors transpire the nightlights of the streets. I remembered school nights and overnights.

Malleability

2009-08-01T15:09:00.002+08:00

I was carrying a bag on my back. My usual companions were also packed. We were heading towards an unknown destination, but we were ready. We were waiting for our train in a lengthy afternoon.

An enormous orange train with a wide uncovered opening expressed its voluntary mission. We started running towards it as it was not stopping, but it was the train that we have to ride. I though I was the last one to have grabbed myself in, but a usual companion of mine failed to have a grab on the bus and bounced out. All of the beings inside didn't care as I look over the window where she was being indifferent of not being able to fulfill her standards.

We all met into a commercial establishment filled with closed and open commercial establishment and reposed to eat on the food court. The side were filled with loading and unloading vehicles. Then we all left and walked towards the province to stop.

We went inside a small restaurant on the second floor with a good ambiance. We were watching the pictures and memories on the frames, they were moving and alive. Some foreigners were eyeing our watching that of which annoyed me. It rained, the night was feeble.

We decided to go out and wait for the bus. Walking, the four of us walked as the rain grew madder. We decided the rain was attacking us and went to the side of a nearby store for cover. No vehicle ever appeared, instead there were a lot of little boys, too dark to even see their visages; they looked like they were shadows. They were running without hesitation.

We shouted to cheer them up. Out of all the four of us, I shouted the loudest. I kept on doing it until the owners of the store went out and looked at us with discomfort. I just looked back.

Unabashed Implication

2009-08-01T15:00:00.001+08:00

They were studying, their black uniforms were present. Her long hair was curving, swaying along the wind. He sat beside her and they began talking. There was complete sameness, the discourse went beautiful and meaningful. There was no one but them. It happened again.

He was conventional about the unconventional that he believes, in difference. She was breathing extreme calmness and deconstructive thinking. They grew attached. She talked to her friend while looking at him as he stood in front of the class brooding and trying to send her a message.

One of them misunderstood the message. It was almost there, but the bridge was cut.

Barefoot Subservience

2009-08-01T14:50:00.002+08:00

I had three laundry machines in front of me. I was at home on the edge of the kitchen where it was dark and brooding. The machines were as small as my body, they were placed on top of the broken fridge. I started putting used clothes along with the right amount of detergent in each of it and only put a plastic test tube container on the third.

I forgot I put the husband and the wife on the second one. They wouldn't even fit. I waited. When I felt that the first one's round is enough I started putting fabric softener without the mission of drying it after. I realized the time of the first one wasn't enough so I quasi-panicked and took the second one for granted. The third one was done without a doubt and I took the plastic test tube container off of it onto the kitchen table and I stopped altogether.

The husband and the wife were walking on the fields outside the house where I disappeared. They wife was pregnant and they were trying to talk to the father of the husband, as if arguing to gain blessings of what they've been trying to pursue. Mr. McFillie was the father, portraying the real Mr. McRoggin in a film. The washed clothes weren't hanged; they were spread on the field. Mr. McFillie, the husband and the wife lay on their sides on the washed blankets. They were talking and Mr. McFillie commanded his son to pick the chocolate on the grass with his tongue... and he did, as if wanting to get that blessing desperately.

The background was done, the shooting was ended.

Undeveloped Frames

2009-08-01T12:00:00.008+08:00

I saw the dinosaurs walking through the plains to the back of the hills. I was an observer. I was entertained, all types of them that I could not name exactly were following each other, walking in the same direction, disappearing as soon as they reached the back of the hill. It was one-dimensional, one-sided. They continued their pilgrimage as I got annoyed that all of them now disappeared from sight, the hill covering their progress, so I controlled it and repeated the seen over and over again until I grew tired and bored; I decided to wake up... and so I did.

I think I was 5 or 8 years old when I dreamt about this. This was the very first dream I remembered.

Rediscovering Home

2009-07-31T00:00:00.000+08:00

There was a lingering connection. I entered my elementary school from the back gate, through the stage to male's restroom to see the old canteen filled with people eating, the manner was cynical. I went on the other way out after buying the memory of buying candy in there, the cheap screen of the corridor showing that in the puny playing field there was an unusual game. I did not see the process. I walked straight to the corridor up the stairs to my room. The rooms were empty. I checked the grade 6 room to find the light from the sun outside shooting its grace. I was not welcome.

I decided to go outside the room to see through the screens the tall dancing bamboos beside the hut below. It was peaceful. I broke the bond and went straight to the grade 3 room. In my mind, it was the grade 5 room. Despite the open doors, the room was extremely dark. It was frightening dark, unrecognizable, unknown if there were beings inside. But I knew it was dirty, the windows edging away the light. I ran outside past the grade 4 to 5 room and stopped at the stairs. There were two directions where you could descend: in my right, I go back to the corridor with the playing field; in my left, I go to the inner part of the school with the kinder to grade 2 classrooms reside and where the front gate beholds. In my front was the filthy river. There were bodies floating through the waves. I felt indifferent and descended on my left.

I was carrying a bag on my back when someone called my name. I looked back, it was an old memory and I moved forward. Passing through the grade 2 to kinder classrooms on my left, lay another restroom. I went inside, the lights were extremely orange. I remember washing my skin while the cockroaches stride everywhere. It was stinking and I went outside facing the kitchen. I advanced to see caged doves on my right; they were stinking. I did not reach the front gate and went back to the stairs to the corridor to the canteen. Before I reached the back gate, lay another restroom. I peeked inside to see a filthier and darker interior. Beside it were used wood, metal and everything grabage. I washed my hands by the faucet beside the disorientation and saw the owner of the canteen. He was eyeing what I was doing. I felt uneasy and phased away through the stage and outside the gates.

It wasn't me, but it was me. A vehicle was waiting for me and I was suddenly with a usual companion. We were wearing heavy jackets, mine a purple one. Inside the vehicle waiting were my mother and my oxyn. He was with a friend oxyn; they were known to be aggressive and filled with passion. He ordered me to get in and I did not want to. I wished to buy porridge and eggs on the food stall first with the ten pesos that I had. He obliged and ushered me in, my usual companion already inside, apprehended my enter.

There was a clear direction to home: on my right was a low descending grass field; on my left was the filthy river. My mother, driving the vehicle, drove backwards and the vehicle fell on the descending grass fields. My usual companion and I, sitting on the back, almost fell on the mud as the door on our part opened. My usual companion dipped her hand on the watery mud and felt disgusted at the coldness of it and decided that we ought to run for the both of us.

My mother the the oxyns agreed to wait for us through the nearer end of the passage of the same direction of different pathways. My usual companion smiled and ran. I followed her with glee. The river was just filthy.

As we ran over the edge, we encountered the setting filled with dried glass and broken alcohol bottles. It was a good thing we were wearing boots and kept on walk-running. As I moved further forward, but still behind my usual companion, the dried grass met the slums. There were a huge amount of cautious Muslims around their houses, doing anything: picking up pieces, washing clothes, walking, eyeing. We were dressed inappropriately as they wear their turbans as signature. A little Indian boy walking past me opposite to my direction smiled and asked if how was I. He was the only meek being in there.

My usual companion was still ahead of me until I reached her hand and moved forward; we were both laughing despite the stern behavior of the setting, enjoying our walk. The slums became more dangerous, the dried grass replaced with filthy cemented flooring. I ascended towards a swaying alley and my usual companion disappeared. A thin boy signaled me to stop. He was so thin his skull was showing. I did not stop and started to walk towards the dusty granite bridge. I could never be followed. I ran.

A little creature who I did not recognize was following me, the thin boy unknowing. the bridge ended as I was now facing a more civilized slum. I was suddenly to meet my father and just walk. I walked through the exhausting labyrinth of this place and met my father near the narrow alley.

Before we reached the narrow alley, there was a small basketball court where there were little humans dancing in sync, the ball lay beside their stance. We entered the narrow alley, darkening. Ahead of my father, he began telling me how he liked his shoes as they get enlarged to my sight. The end was a more civilized slum from the former.

My father stopped to a store and paid a retailer since the little creature would buy some pids. The houses grew so close to each other I couldn't breathe properly. Looking at my back with prudence, we reached a better setting. Normal houses appeared as we walked and walked. The sight of the vehicle did not appear.

Suddenly, on my left appeared a high jungle filled with healthy vines one could go up without breaking them. The houses were afraid of the creatures, cautious all the time. Through another safe narrow road, we faced our left and reached the first gate of our home. My father moved forward to open the second gate and the third gate as I watched. I remembered I used to run on the other side when some creature was following me during the hazy fay and devious night of fireworks and dancing stars.

A monster appeared at the outer side of our first gate from the left, the other side of where we walked. I developed fear, but did not move. I looked at him as he destroyed the gate slowly. I ran as I saw the vehicle before the second gate. I started it without hesitation and drove past and crashed the second and third gate. I stopped in front of our home. It felt as if it was foreign and I was not welcome again. The oxyn were no longer existent. It was a usual day, uncle was visiting. I just knew. The afternoon was aghast.

I got out of the vehicle and hid over the left side before my home where plants and trees of all sorts were abundant. As I peer quietly, I saw another creature. I went to the second floor without actually going through the first floor and went to my sister's room. Its window was facing the vehicle below. By the screen fences lay a cropping field.

It was near night. It was repeating and it was happening the first time, overlapping. I was in fear, no one was after me anymore. I pierced hole through the thin wall below the window. I went through the bizarre roof and fell. The vehicle disappeared where I parked it. As the first gate was destroyed by my crashing, the clear sight of the night frightened me. The moon was so close and the stars were dancing. Another moon was eclipsing. The clouds quasi-covered them. I went out of the dead gate to my left where a narrow detour with luscious maroon plants were settling. I observed the cropping field through the screen fences. The farm was dark; on its right were shabby apartments.

Then I did not mind my existence. It was already morning. I moved to my right near the second gate and saw a dog peeing near the farm. I created a hole and entered. The dog grew enraged. I walked through the shabby apartments cautious enough to stay near beside the bushed with red flowers for covering. The house of the owner of the shabby apartments was expressing its beautiful garden no matter how grim the mid-morning was.

I felt that someone was following me like I used to on the other side. I ran over the main street, beings were cautious with killing intent. I liked it when I reach the old house on the right side, but this time it was distorted and appalling so I went back. Beings on their houses look at me with intentions I don't recognize and I moved back to going further. I ran through the usual zigzag of shabby apartments and went straight through the narrower and shabbier slums of a setting. The dogs were barking.

I observed the houses were dead. I saw a house where clothes were hanging exactly on its door, covering whatever yellow they were about to see. It was disappointing. Progressing, the houses grew bigger, the environment more endearing. I saw our new house with it, new furniture up front. The outer covering was scraped out. I sat through the bulging seating of the new house until I grew tired. Suddenly the place went more beautiful with a nature as the neighborhood along with other beings. I went out to go to a different direction. I saw the outer part of the narrowed streets as the descending road empty. I went down to see another road, vehicles swaying right and left.

I attempted to hitchhike, but decided to just go back as an extremely deadly catastrophe attacked. Waves of water overflowed on the road. I did not see any vehicles anymore and instead they were replaced by enormous logs. The greens suddenly appeared. The beings were riding the logs as they continued on to their usual business. I wanted to ride a log, but realized that I ought to go back to the narrower slums where the houses were dead.

Within the labyrinth, I rode a jeepney towards a parking, ordering me to walk. I managed to find the basketball court where the small men used to play. I entered the narrow alley again and ended up seeing the jungle. I grabbed a vine and went down.

I walked to the left to another narrow alley, faced my left and went home.

I did not repose, but it was morning. I changed my clothes to my highschool uniform. I asked my mother for money and she gave me half of what I wished she would. The gates were fixed and I went out. I was the first person to go out so I was tasked to unlock the gates. I took huge amount of my time. I couldn't put the keys in the lock. After several attempts with anger with me, I managed to unlock the second door, but it started raining.

I walked with youth as I opened my umbrella. The filthy restroom canal of the shabby apartments faces our garden. It was stinking and killing. There was something else, but I could not remember what I induced in my subconscious.

Walking towards the bakery, I saw a frictionless jeepney and went in it. It was already afternoon, but my destination was still my school. It stopped right through an intersection only to let me down. I wanted to hitchhike once again as it reached the night with me expecting some vehicle to let me it. The rain made the streets flood a little and wet. To my left was where the school resides; to my right was an alternative route to my home. I walked right.

As stepped on the wet sidestreet, the vehicle grew slower and slower. The poor streets replaced with greens. I saw the descending road, but right now I was at the bottom. The beings were alive, but were dead. As I reach the top, someone was following me.

I ran through the basketball court and the narrow alley. Then I went down to the high jungle. I entered the gate and locked it. The creature appeared once again.

It repeats itself.

Distant Mistrust

2009-07-30T13:05:00.010+08:00

I lived in a house where used clothes were left on a table outside the discriminant terrace on the second floor for a while, where birds eat and defecate on the clothes. When filthy enough, the used clothes get to be thrown in the laundry. There was no sight of first floor, only the view from the terrace higher than the street bore evidence. Also, there was no way out. The vagueness was overpowering, my mind weak.

In the middle of existence, a professor made us do a game and train inside the second floor where I live. You get to be a beater, the barrier, or the bearer. They were getting ready, I planned to be the barrier. I went to my right to the door where the terrace was positioned. I eyed the streets, the plastic windows seem fake. Everything was begrimed; then I saw the clothes laid on the table extremely impure. I picked it one by one, careful not to make my fingers feel the gross, but I embrace it to my arm as I pick them up. They were stale. I saw my red on my black jacket wide spread and that was the last. It was covered by two feces, extremely gross in its sogginess. I did not lay down what I was embracing and just dosed into sleep.

I woke up, entering the house, my clothes new and my body heavy. The room was wasted, there was no furniture; only woods of old age covering the walls and the floor created a compromise. Distant on the sides, chairs were pushed away. Everything was stinking of wood. I saw my professor clapping as the barriers did their footwork. I joined them, but they stopped. I asked if I was doing the right thing, an enormous colleague laughed sweetly. The professor explained the rules of the game again and again; then before everything even commenced, it was game over.

A distant aunt and her husband captured me and an unusual companion. The second floor was not filled with color, terrace nowhere to be seen. The furniture came from innovation, the white walls were complete. They forced us to wear 1600s European clothing, my hair was curled, my make up was frighteningly colorful. They were supposed to be disciplined being too religious, but they were insane.

They threw me out of the door where I saw the terrace did not change. There was still no way out. I was bruised. Her husband, holding a linoleum knife, cut both my little fingers as I cried without tears laying on the floor in despair that I was projecting. He hanged me horizontally to the wall, nailing my limbs and some parts of my body for my angle to remain concrete. He didn't like how my feet were not flat so he cut it. For the first time, I felt something, I felt extreme pain, but I persevered. I certainly did not like what they were doing; I was tormented, but I did not plead for a reprieve or for anything.

He did something to my unusual companion that I did not sense as she ended up laying on the table, unconscious. He was vile. He laughed along with my distant aunt, who was assisting him, as I fell down from hopelessly on the floor. My feet and hands were bleeding and I felt saddened about this defilement. It made me feel like I never wanted to go far away. My mind was undeniably excusing. I developed doubt.

Plague

2009-07-29T14:08:00.005+08:00

We were walking under a bridge made of thin bamboo, patched up in different angles to create the structure. The first man, in healthy build, went inside the patches when he saw an opening, now directly between the patches of bamboo and the bridge. The second man, old as a mentor, followed as he saw his own opening and signaled me to follow. As the third man, I waited for my opening and saw a hole, where some patches were broken. When I did, some filth went with me and I am dirty. I saw the two heads ahead of me. The second man looked back to me and said that I did not wait for a better opening for the opening where I entered was where garbage are being thrown about.

As we reached the end, the commotion was about to start. The bridge disappeared, the place now sheltered. I did not see the first and second man anymore. I was clearly wearing something inappropriate for myself and for the phenomenon, showing my skin. So I covered it with a jacket. The lights went out as I sat on the edge of the right, the performers began to sing; the spotlight beaming at them. I heard no sounds, saw no faces. I began to move around to search for a better seating and sat beside a usual companion on the left back. A little boy with bright grace came to us and asked innocent questions. I could not deal with him; my subconscious started to create a scenery of me thinking and doing what I should in order to appease this conversation with the little boy. My usual companion stood and went forward to seat nearer the performers. The little boy followed him, giggling. When she came back, the boy was no longer in sight.

I decided to go back to where I was originally seated. I saw the old couple who took my former seat disappeared and I began my walking and took off my jacket, showing my skin. I sat on the edge, the man beside me smiled, signaling that he was enjoying the performance that I could not even comprehend. There was a deafening absence of presence. I put my jacket on again and changed setting.

A pilgrimage-house-like was the front of the way out. Like the usual train station, I saw the bamboo structured bridge again, in face of the cottages. I moved forward and saw beings doing their own whereabouts: sitting; talking; resting. Craving for a drink, I went inside the cottage where the food was served. Beings self-served themselves, as I brood myself as to where the milk and chocolate was. They all died of the plague, contaminated by the food touched by someone I did not know. The commotion was wild, panicked.

Tabula rasa.

I saw a woman coughing while talking to her phone. She took a bubblegum from the cottage, her hands waving through the food. She was the criminal of the plague. I went inside the cottage where the food was served. Beings self-served themselves, as I brood myself as to where the milk and chocolate was. An old helper with her horse humor pointed it out. I found their product bizarre, but pursued, not feeling thirsty. I filled my cup with water, mixed milk with chocolate. Nobody died. The commotion was passive, suffering.

Anomaly

2009-07-28T17:09:00.010+08:00

We were in a decent pub where everyone was slightly passive and attentive at the same time, resting after a venture up the mountains. I was seated between two people who were not getting along and who I never really knew, their past I could not even bear to speak about. I loathed their story, but they were there. We started scourging around the hall to get some food. As I sat again, the tense was still there. They did not take the opportunity while beings were moving around to change their positions and I grew tired of the idleness. The table was gone and reappeared, my fixation drowning.

I looked over the window to see a very rich garden-laden street that just hit home. I remember the music that I came to like when I gained consciousness and awareness of what is to be and become. There were fences and wonderful greens around. I decided to have a walk, the outside was rather cold and dull, although I could not feel it one bit, my senses incompetent. I took my camera with me and slid it inside a blue plastic along with other things I have that I did not mind at the moment.

As I went outside onto my left, I no longer saw nature, instead, I saw dead slumps. I was alone again. The street went narrower and I descended to the lower level of the way until I saw a beautiful vulnerability of a concept. I saw a tree struggling from the defying air, shaking madly. A cage was tied onto its bark where there were hanged drying clothes inside. The other end, it was tied onto a shabby house. I did not feel the air. The cool blue changed to sepia tone. I took a picture of it. The temperature suddenly changed from being windy to entirely cloudy-foggy that eliminated myself from my own sight. Blankness overtook my stance, my disconnection pulled down further.

I saw a small stray wanderer of a man carrying his bag on his back, striding ahead of me, walking peacefully as if in stern daydreaming. I was not following him, merely his advances were the same as my way to wherever I'm going. He continued to be ahead of me. I ended up walking on the long winding road. It was like a tunnel, almost like an enclosed Great Wall of China; only then it was made of paper, not of bricks. It was extremely foggy and every step that I make, the paper crushes down, creating a hole below, which was too deep I could not even see the bottom. I do not want to fall. The tunnel was cubic in shape, but circular in its direction. I was frightened of the breaking of the pieces of paper whenever I walk, my fear willing. As if I was heavily burdened and the man walked leaving no trace of damage to the tunnel at all, as if flying; an expert. Something about his grace was endearing. He never looked back.

I found myself relieved to have come back to the pub. I believed it was a very dangerous sting of a walk. As I went inside, few people were in and I saw my usual companions whom I did not see during my first visiting. Two of my usual companions started playing virtual chess that moved swiftly as they were eyed. I talked to one of them and laughed seriously aware and telling of how I used to man to progress and survive. I remained indifferent, my emotions unattached. I was saying something I am not aware of nor did I give consent in my mind. I took both their sides as I continued their halted play of chess. By the column before us, another usual companion also joined the discourse, lost in its amusingly sordid form.

I was behind of my unknowing self.

Defunct Engine

2009-07-26T00:01:00.005+08:00

I was man.

I woke up to find myself healed from injury, the phenomenon occurred beforehand was unknown, in an underwater hospital. I breathed into the water, feeling the familiar sense of comfort in my lost element. I was comfortable to have been placed in a setting. It was clean, the room was just filled with the bed as I sense with indifference. Sitting, I saw an aquarium by the side before me and beside the white door. Two fishes were swimming in it, fishes of orange with long bodies almost like an eel only with dancing white laces around their entirety. At first, they were blameless, until they were suddenly angry. I saw them looking straight at me, swam out of their territory preparing to attack me.

The pain was unbearable. The impact was not extreme; nonetheless, it sickens me. Their long lacy bodies trying to pry on my wound, but I never breathed faster. I unfolded the wide fabric covering my body towards their charge and grabbed a hold of them. They were profusely bending, trying to get out. I left them in their gradual diffusion.

As the white door opened, the hospital, it seemed, was empty. The ceiling was beyond sight, I created no bubbles of air. There was neither internal logic nor coherence. Outside my chamber, it looked like a mega-structured steampunk in clean slate. The eerie was there, but non-existent. I was all alone.

I ran towards the left, ascending to the stairs. It wasn't long, I proceeded faster and faster until I reached the top. It was the exit. Outside, the lights were frightening and the greens were around the background. It was dull and cold. I breathed air, the underwater nil, then I started to pant in my outrageous escape. I saw a woman as she escorted other beings in panic, running like madmen inside the hospital and everywhere. I did not know what happened. I remembered a dream. I asked her permission if I could leave. She looked at me, but did not answer.

Atoning Night

2009-07-24T00:47:00.001+08:00

The night appealed usual. I was walking around the city that seemed to be around Trafalgar Square, unmindful of where I really opted to go.

I met a man on my batch and escorted me near an alleyway where I saw my aide parking a bizarre vehicle. The nightlights were overpowering. The man waved goodbye as I sat on the back of the vehicle, my aide driving and telling me to pump the juncture of the vehicle to make it faster.

As my aide drove, I learned that there were methods on how to pump the juncture in order to get the perfect speed. I could not get the perfect speed though. The highway was nearing, we stopped and let some few more men to get in the open vehicle. I did not see their faces, however. They were vague apparition of the unknowing. I continued to sit and pump. I was getting tired until I saw that we were already beside the towering railways of the train, already in the highways. But I was disappointed when I saw that a part of its cemented fence far below was barred and destroyed. The beings walking on the fence continued to walk, as they reach the disconnection created by the explosion, they fell one by one without reaction.

I kept on pumping the juncture.

Earnest Longing

2009-07-20T01:04:00.002+08:00

I was studying the background. We were in our family's old Spanish-styled house filled with paintings of my old heritage. We were sitting, the time moved back into 1960s.

We were apprehensive... and we won the lottery.

False Speed

2009-07-16T01:24:00.004+08:00

I've always wanted to walk away anywhere away from the sting.
So I have my means, but I deal with the road with destination.
So it seems; what is weak is the rule and the choice is blocked.
Even the word is desecrating the thought, long nights guaranteed.
It's always disconnection that creates a mistake - it is raw.
Share the happiness with nature starting from clean slate, at least, before I die.
All the way to where breath all started, on my own.

Three-Quarters

2009-07-13T22:45:00.002+08:00

I was running with a younger sister, circumventing around our house. Luscious greens around us were overwhelming. The pond lay beside the bushes. We were on our swimsuits, tallying our rounds of juggle in a hot summer of 1930s.

Our relatives watched around the background, laughing in our senseless venture, as they drink some fine wine. We continued to run, stumbled, and proceeded; back to back.

It was hard to move, but we were explicitly wild and laughing, unknowing to the mistakes we were about to make.

Pursuit of Belligerence

2009-07-12T01:22:00.000+08:00

I was tasked to paint the walls around the streets downtown. I was enjoying the ambiance, the afternoon was nearing.

I was painting, people were walking around, crossing the streets and passing by. I was done, sat and rested. I saw all the people that I came to know passing by, as if in trance and routine, not bothered to what I have portrayed.

I threw white paint all over my side wall and started all over again.

Unwanted Packing

2009-07-10T01:15:00.000+08:00

We stayed at his place. My friend was eyeing his creations as they sat on the couch as I stare around. Then we were talking, I was pressuring what I never wanted to apprehend. He started to pack his things, unwillingly smiling. I stared at his creations and gave a closure and a beginning. He went out of the door with his things.

He was in my home, sitting on the broken furniture, willingly smiling. He asked to talk to my parents. He did and was enlightened. I did not hear anything as I stayed beside the beings in discourse. I watched as he went out and cried.

Last Dosage of Life Drowning

2009-07-08T17:45:00.005+08:00

It was a warm day, the beer was still on the table. A normal day that desecrated the union of my soul with my mind. But the doorbell rang and they entered. They went out after the gloomy spotlight inside and went inside again. One changed. They sat on my territory. The secret was revealed. It was extremely uncomfortable and bizarre; the quizzical quality ignited. I was running late, but the unbearable calmness dominated.

Room 313

2009-07-04T14:55:00.003+08:00

The setting was undefined, all were projecting their nothingness. Suddenly, there was a silent alarm. We started running through the spiral corridor going up, finding the right room in search for the tool that is ought to be kept. There was clear earnest. The day was adept, all were searching.

I knew the room, I had the advantage. It was my room. I ran through the door and opened room 313. As I went inside, I noticed the room was the center of it all. The spiral corridors seen, walls of the room were transparent. I could not sense any other doors as the corridor spirals over the room. A usual room in appearance; there was a television, the door, a couch, a bed, books, and the tool that is ought to be kept. I switched the television on, but looking at the tool. Nobody came; there wasn't anyone at all. I heard an unfamiliar sound, I muted the television, expecting. The dog was growling on the other side of the door, striking it with intent. I added locks to the door. The dog threw two books that passed through the door, aiming at me. I sat on the bed with my gun. The dog's rage disappeared and I saw it running through the spiral corridor, going up. It jumped and passed through the non-existent ceiling. It did not bother the tool, it growled, looking with an intent to kill. I shot it. It bit my hand, it bit me. There was blood.

I woke up on the bed, my blood spilling all over the place. I saw law enforcements around, but a bloody general was dead sitting leaning on his gun, above the shot dog. Nearby, there was a lieutenant lady bleeding profusely, blood gushing out of the ear and eyes open; she was moving, but she showed no sign of soul. I did not witness what happened, I blanked. I did not know who did it or if I did it. The door was hanged open.

I didn't bother knowing if what I was protecting was taken away. I just looked around the room and it ended.

Fragments I Ignored

2009-07-03T22:54:00.001+08:00

There was a train, a bird, fireworks, hearts, bubbles, and father. The dress and room was a premonition. The twins sang, the hands and the father motioned. There were beads, chicken, and tragedy ignites. There was a boat, a friend, crudeness, dark comedy, stairs, water, and photography.

Survival

2009-06-29T10:22:00.002+08:00

She was out on a strike, bearing an axe, to kill not only me, but everyone. A day of murder was scheduled without the need of time.

The night was normal, vivid. People weren't running, law enforcers were nonexistent, until she started it, everybody going down. The grin on the face permanently plastered. There was blood and blood. I ran, hoping to get away from the target proximity, but I was axed on the back, but I ran and entered into a building where it stinks of life. I felt my meat disappear.

I stepped into a school's fire exit, a secret passage, to be seen with a few survivors. I was fatally wounded, my veins gushing out my dryness, blood, and thinness; my skeleton was showing. I went in first and decided to go back down to search for her, decided to keep quiet. There was security, face was damped with apathy, and we entered this enormous storage room. I heard noises. There were rooms screened and covered with newspapers. Peeping, I saw people devouring food. They were alive, but sanity was taken away. He smiled and nodded. I did not want to see it. I saw a small man eating something oriental and he insisted an interpretation I did not hear. I left and wandered.

I changed and walked to the morning ahead of what's about to happen. The people remained calm, but crypt was a forming tone. I felt no pain, I was running, waiting for anyone to give me a ride. The jeepney stopped and took me to the passenger's seat. The driver called the police if I could sit beside as there was someone already beside me. I recognized the faces when I turned. It was normal, but the entirety was pensive.

I didn't have a direction; all I want was to leave and live.

It was the first time fear entered my veins and immediately left like a dying fox; that morning was the very first time I've felt hunger.

Getaway

2009-06-24T13:06:00.002+08:00

There was reality in the surreal.
I woke up and I was half-blind. I sensed the tense outside the room, but I couldn't move. Three minutes passed and I was able to jump out of the bed and saw what was happening. They parted, every single thing is evidently flustered in a quick pace. The format smiled and prepared the baggage for the silent riot. I went to the computer and typed how I could not see anything; that I couldn't see her face and that the keyboards were jumbled in my blindness. My head was heavy. Everything was moving violently aware of the parting.

There was a dream in the dream.
The renaissance presented its green. I saw no back, but the hermit asked who I was most thankful of. I settled, turned my back and went pensive in reverie. I said something I couldn't hear, but the thought says Anna and another one. A girl smiled somewhere faraway, but I knew it. The flowers on the garden of green bloomed in rich luscious colors; some petals were withdrawn from its hold of life. The horse-drawn rig passed slowly. Everything was peaceful, doubtful, and passive.

The message was not sent. The green was gone. We were leaving, we are leaving.

Passing the Line

2009-06-21T01:33:00.004+08:00

The dream decided to paint another color for the fish on the wall downtown. Folks passed by, the laughter went crazier.

Ants Were Biting

2009-06-11T13:49:00.003+08:00

It was a mission to reach the little fire. The ignition didn't aid the healthy light expressed by the noon. There were laughter, the family present. The insects moved in the good old time, sliding through the tunnel into the burrow; the setting in a garden of green and dead leaves. The focus shifted. Running started and I was bit by the ants. All were bitten by the ants. No one reached the end.

Unseen

2009-06-09T01:03:00.003+08:00

The bastard man flees like a rotten rat around the high light of the night sky. The clays are starting to mutate, to emancipate the elevation of the balloons, red and yellow as they are deemed to be seen. The weight of the void suffocates the helium; the bastard man unknowing.

The bastard man lands to the working modernity. He stabs the book and pleads forgiveness for what sin the garbage tried to clean. Libra moves; the book dead. Time shifts in constant form as the clays walk in solidification, reformed in blue heaven. There is a tick tock. Finding the death of wastelessness lying on wet eyes titled ground, the clays remove the illumination of the world. The bastard man senses.

The bastard man departs from the brooding ignition. He stabs the moon and pleads forgiveness for what sin the garbage tried to clean and stops, unknowing. No heartbeat is heard.

Eichmann

2009-04-11T17:49:00.001+08:00

I painted the wall in architect, the dead grew dead.
The pirate distanced from the ship's safety to experimentation.
Smuggling stopped. Catalytic disinfection begins.
I sat on the water. The sinking boat breathes.
The mother model exploded, electrified. Nothing new.
I disappeared. It was the last exit.

Since the Scope Turned Out of Nature

2009-03-21T22:50:00.004+08:00

Can never find any words
Cannot conceive and
let so unafraid of the retirement
with the works traced in disinterest
the blame is incomplete
convinced by the mistaken hold
directed to the disease of war at hand
I strike out leaving the overrated
dosage of the waves without submission
When I think of signifying
I only express unknown
even I felt the stranger
intruding though I never destroy
for this will be the last time
I watch the sound of failing wrong
Can never see
Cannot feel even in surreality

For I Confess the Ocean to Dislocate Vindiction

2009-03-21T22:24:00.002+08:00

On the other side, on the lighter side
You're only blown in a memory
that I will fail to disjoint from the heartless
tortured abdomen of the denied lifeline
I received from the dying sun
the burden remains to rest on me
I fear my mind drown in black blood
the formula does not work that I sense
limit to this winding worth
pensively trying to ridicule loathing
wayward inward dissecting
to the pseudo-skill of shifting.

Complementation

2009-03-19T22:06:00.003+08:00

Stagnation, come

Element of the living aroused by profound continuity
Tree passes the circle of the higher plane
Conception of acceptance, mankind destroyed
Let blood fall from all the dimensions of the body
Whole from the wide grip of the symmetry, cut from extension

Instrumentality, come

No pain has come to the blind decree of the murals
It was a fear no fatality can ever be dead, be alive
Opened the veins with the filthy fences from the skeleton
Statecraft ruins the flight of the system, turns one
Eliminate the inheritance to decompose to step

Rebirth, come

One day, the third impact is now and then overbearing
Stroking the cornea until it bleeds, mind castrated
Suffering unnoticed into the submission of humanity
Value the beginning, dissolved consciouness
Berserk of apocrypha, signify the entity impure

Redefinition, come

Shaping the mankind, begone liberty
Option exhuasted abandonment of blame
Despair and anguish disappear to mind and object
Mercy eliminates the drive, faith irrelevant
The sickness unto death and truth comes, unending

Reabsoption, come

Infinite dissipation, unjoint, unrule
Formless, extirpate the desire to shift
Dissolve, force alone the breathing entirety
For the target of the balance of the reality
Here and there the eternal function relives

Evolution, come

Water, soil, morning, thunder, fish,
poetry, music and dance, songs, rain,
sky, terror, night, haze,
strength, birds, womb, will,
alternative, humanis; nil.

Alive arose with disgust;
unbearable existence, merge.

Empty.

Deep Sleep

2009-02-06T17:47:00.000+08:00

It is the music of quiet
Not a controversy, water flows
Dancing, sole indifferences of dream exist
To mean to be unheeded

I is out of the conscious

Indirect disposition, rebel zeroes
Shifting metaphor shouts; hides
Its enemy traces peace
Waiting, it has to discontinue
To mean to be magnified

Change is out of the way away

Clockwork in between nowhere and goodbye
Time stopping; creep the opening vein
Of eyes long overdue
Vision of darkness, flying awake
To mean to be sympathized

Of the sin, of the liberty.

Breaking House

2009-01-28T18:09:00.000+08:00

Underneath the deteriorating above were tangled burgundy ribbons. The messages from below were throwing the heat. Its war is ended.

A deep resting in the middle, the innovation entertains itself. I was sleeping, wretches innocence on the side, not controlling the changes. I dreamt of waking up, eyes still closed reaching idleness and visioning the setting, seeing an old pair of footing in front. Quasi-awake, I sensed the heaviness of an entirety lifting my physics. I felt I was extremely heavy, not wanting to be elated at the same time as free-flowing. I felt the pain of my solidity as to where I was held. I was seeing without my eyes, outside my core. I disconnected and reconciled. I opened my eyes and saw the footing, shaking.

The house was dying, falling, evaporating. I held on to what seemed to be the adhesion to survival and saw the wretched innocence with red eyes, wide open, looking directly at me and expressing the footing wasn’t of anyone’s possession. I just held on to what I deemed, firmly stitched. I woke up, I was dreaming again.

Unmoving

2008-12-09T18:37:00.001+08:00

I've controlled the heat and the cold
wherever the sign fears the shifting
I've disappeared from the eyes of reflection
the life of the concrete belonging
I've seen the utilization of hammering
waking hours reserved to be undone
I've perfected the riddles for what is such
afar, I shot the unconsciousness
I've pressured the listening echo of subservience
fairness without completely being unstable
I've outplayed the wars of grounds
the dying time has been spent

but now I felt the casualty
and now I kept the minor fault
taken away, stones were thrown inevitably

the swing died from the back trap
the tapping of the leather made its perfect rhythm
the lever changed the file it holds to a disguise

climbing at the steep hill
climbing on the weary decadence
climbing in my breaking veins

a way appeals the bridge dry
ocean lies the making freeze
passing by the killing wave

I haven't seen how many miles away it is as is; not knowing.
Ever, the clockwork declines, changing to nothing at all.

Body Rot

2008-11-01T21:30:00.000+08:00

Palms rise, isolated from the blower;
sitting with the moist
covering the decay
what had been revolving
blocked the mind of health

is still not part of it.

How can I not love such?

La Maladie

2008-10-01T18:35:00.000+08:00

Elle est chercher sa démence.

jamais être cassé.

En ettendant l'exitence et l'extrémité.

Is.

2008-09-21T20:27:00.003+08:00

Shoots out of the field and throws the die.
Wind searing the roughness of invasion.
A witness, redeems the first casualty.
Everything stole the nail, the risk in crime.

Gandhi choked, appalled in pervasion.
The table, agonal.

Fourth Dimension

2008-08-24T22:30:00.001+08:00

Lost in the nothingness of reality
I learned of a phase in my madness
a silent serenity lies on the sea
the core of affection projects life.

An acoustic song of cicadas, the boat awaits
for a lost cause called as the self
lingering, flattering to the serenity
the light of the sunset beams ahead.

Rowing, the pensive leaking of the wood
reaching the center of the blatant balance
where time stops, living lone, fishing
the inner loggia of art conceives breath.

◘◘◘◘◘◘◘◘◘◘

The portrayal of Innisfree is the inner peace of a being in search of simple purity and rest. The peace of what the mind wants is blatantly far from the world too connected to reality, where forces of effect from the surroundings of a standardized contemporary setting submits fragmented supposition to the self. The peace of what the mind wants is aimed to disconnect from contingency, where peace is expressed both in a profound existence and in an air of a leveled phenomenon.

The peace of disconnection will never be far as long as the mind is in control of the consciousness and only literal interpretation and aim will grant difficulty. On a boat in the middle of the sea, where time stops as the sunset performs, profound simplicity offers sleep.

Surreality

2008-08-23T19:00:00.002+08:00

The frame of a non-belief
Overwhelmed the sight of fierce
Vivid projection of nightminds
Illuminates amazing grace.

Opening, the door follows
The overman plays the oracle
The loggia preaches nil
Compels the overbearing absurdity.

Fistful of steel, construction lost
Dread overcomes the sleep
Back to the air of frightful serene
Silence, the last dulcet rigor destroyed.

Surface sinks, merges the lam
Evolution forces consciousness
The corvette, dementia remembers
Madness meets freedom.

Stop, everything profound.

◘◘◘◘◘◘◘◘◘◘

A time for everything protects sanity, deconstruction of the evolution creates, stops time opening the consciousness to the unbearable absurdity of the wideness of the darkness. The time remains, the everything changes. The beauty starts to be seen differently, apathy and empathy amalgamate to the enlightenment of confusion. In simplicity, everything is connected, all in extremity and disconnection, indifference, similarity, and expression. All are balanced in the duration of setting, all are in the existence of the duration of setting, all are in the existence of the occurence of a phenomenon contingent to the being. All have been endured, to be sensed and are felt; ventured in the same throwness, different projection.

Three Pieces

2008-08-03T18:05:00.004+08:00

Waking up, the lights of the new day are projecting its entire spectrum in an orange tint sharing the same spotlight where fire aids the humanity. To the right with another to the center, a dysfunctional ritual is taking place. A man took the left disposition and is angered by the wrong sanity standard of filth. Unknown to the back of everything, a shadow drifts around. Two pieces of meaninglessness left forgotten and veiled underground. Intentions fell to the floor.

There were perfectly circular splodges of blood on the floor, unrecognized and existing as it is to exist. Nothing left to subtract, nothing ever happened; the ritual goes on in an unclear absurdity. There will be blood in the opening eyes in the day of actuality.

Out of Nothing

2008-07-31T22:05:00.000+08:00

Indirect projection and the use of metaphors in the system. Frame out of focus.

I couldn't use my mind.

Nothingman

2008-07-27T21:55:00.000+08:00

She gets wounded and finds solace in a sophisticated setting of an unfinished truth. Dionysus drifts away with wine while scrutinizing the birth of a fruit inside the hostile peace. She goes in a chamber of a being in perfect recognition and she starts a discourse. She moves out, submits to the nil and sees a wonderful tablaeu in abstract upliftment with the entire spectrum of light. A lizard comes out and she runs to follow it in the loggia. She steals and presumes to be someone out of her own property. She gets covered by humanity and goes in a chamber of a grunge and wears everything out and away. She escapes and she has the time, wearing nothing but that little red dress, facing the mirror in an emotionless rigor. All those yesterdays, she forgets.

Breathe the Grime

2008-05-19T19:54:00.004+08:00

I was listening to the sound of a worthy preaching inside a merged past and present evolution. I was absorbing everything in a rigorous manner I always possessed when I was trying to enter a world they protect in reality. I was able to hold a hand that has an odd expression beside two familiar being. I was arguing about a certain privilege that led to an oblivion until I felt a change of setting.

Going down, deep in a hollow of a house that served as the potter of my fragile demeanor, there lived a set of a family, which I am included. The insides turned into a dark shadow-like alley without any reflections of a wide wonder. I saw a province, filled with lush and poor green as I went outside, in an unfortunate city. I was searching for someone, a helper and asked my sister. She didn't know. As I wildly respired, I was exposed to an uttermost frame of relatively and extraordinarily tall bamboo trees. Everything around me are bamboos, no way out. On the fresh ground of soil, the brown was covered with the combination of both dried and green bamboo leaves. I was not able to react, I felt fear and apathy in its same season.

I went inside as I stopped searching for no apparent justification. The house was only me and my sister with its dark shadow-like alley appearance it always had and it always never had. I ran and walked until I saw my sister. I went outside and saw the earth without an inner apparition with its black and brown filth all over me. I saw the streets grew weak as people walk casually and I began to wander with my mind alongside an elevated pavement. I forgot about my family and everything and I shared my sanity with my delirium. In my helter-skelter, I realized. I was too immature for the bleeding sonnet of the world.

A Stranger

2008-02-16T17:20:00.001+08:00

Zoning out, insomnia, disconnection and disruption.

Hearing the ugly sound of the background setting; spiritual connection to the beautiful sublimity. Only one time of discovering on existence, which a riducule of the same period of accountancy remained unsettled and gone, can result to overbearing sequence of appearance no one can control; as if it created a certain connection even breath cannot grasp.

Come clean, something essential and ever will be. I have been indulged into something I haven't really felt before; never run away.

One-Way Labyrinth

2008-02-04T09:45:00.000+08:00

On a very sunny Monday noon, I went out of the house, in its orange-tinted exterior; the painful radiation of the sun kissing my face towards the orange gate. I was holding my necessities in braving the structural phase of my life.

Suddenly, It turned out to be that I didn't go out at all. My house was exposed to be of the same ground, same setting of my school. I went to the supposed-to-be-door-to-my-room on my right transformed to be the school's elevator. I was going to ride minding myself how I hated going up stairs that now it had become a habit, but rather than to be in front of it, I didn't face it. As it opened, instead of going into the usual people jammed inside the only single elevator, before the door closed, I was able to unconsciously slip in a piece of white paper I could not even comprehend if it have something written on it. I was able to see two of my classmates who were supposed to report the same thing that I have to report in another class.

I remembered myself riding a train while having the same kind of temperature. The train was low-leveled. I was looking outside. It was a desert with hills of the same color from the plains. But the sand was not of brown-orange color; it was pure white in all aspect and view. I was not even sure if the plains had craters in them. I stared inside and looked at the people - standing or sitting, they were all wearing white coats despite of the sweaty weather - with their diverse motions, the strike of the light on the train window making my eyes hurt. I suddenly felt a pang of dread wear itself all over me.

I came back to what they call reality. I came out of the door on the left and was supposed to meet up with my friend as I was holding my communication. One blink, he was now walking with me as we furthered outside. Then I saw my friend sitting in the terrace writing something, looking like a professional with a pen on his left ear. I introduced my friend to my friend. Done with the formalities, we left my friend and proceeded at the back of my school in which it looks horribly like my house. My friend and I were to eat dinner in a hot early afternoon. We bumped into one of my acquaintances. Fully introduced to each other, my acquaintance was sort of talking but I was listening to my friend who was not paying attention to what my acquaintance was saying for he seemed not to bother at all and talked to me how he likes the vibes of my friend sitting on the terrace.

We were to go out of the gate for real, from the back to front. Against the face of the gate was the terrace, but my friend who was writing was nowhere to be found in his former place. My intuition told me it was going to happen, but I still felt disappointed. I was to eat dinner with in a very warm summer in late afternoon. I seemed to feel that I was locked up in this setting. My world circles around in nothing to be called serene in its rigorous way.

My friend and I progressed with our walking as if each step takes a lifetime to reach. We talked about how I dreamed of myself inside the lounge of the house heading my grandmother's funeral. There were a lot of faceless people who went to visit, hollow - or to say meaningless - humanities. I remembered she was already long gone since last year and I was not crying. I was looking at them up at the stairs without developing any temple of emotions, it's as if I was just plainly watching something. The feel looked eerie and fog was visibly and slowly dancing around the lounge. There was no casket to be seen. I dozed off thinking of connections while expressing the wonders of a subconscious revelation.

I realized my friend and my friend were one, which weirded me out totally like delirious bonkers. I didn't notice the sun went shy, was covered with the clouds and the wind grew very, very strong; as if it went impulsive from an unacceptable overtake of the sun to the phenomenon. Not long, I noticed I was being taken away by the wind; no hurricanes to be seen. I was reaching for my friend's hand, the end. I held on to the woods of the gate. I noticed that my shadow remained idle on where I was standing; it has totally deserted me. I noticed this was another dream. My body and I went upside down while grasping firmly on the woods of the orange gate in perfect setting that makes me depreciate the life I'm into, not wanting to let go because I was in fear; dancing in the wind.

Unspeakable Transition

2008-01-26T20:21:00.000+08:00

She was defiled by herself, shaking
from loseness and boredom to reality
on a dream of souls and nothingness
mounted with a bizarre sublime hysterics disorder
since childhood, until forever
being forcing in and resisting to go out of a sleight of hand
she remained in spirit, learning loving
singing sad and grey, intermediary chains of aching molars
complex introvert, reach her heart in thin air
break the wonderful words of truth with the evanescent
the insomnia made sense from paranoia to pondering
spotlights turned into a connected fantasy
of crying and dying, in deepest ridicule
rearviewmirror of past and endlessness
she saw her reflection, fresh and grotesque
bitter hands and between, her gun.

Drifting Away

2008-01-10T21:02:00.000+08:00

Relay the wonderful message despite the silence.
Confidence.

Against the parlor of appreciated dependence.
Resolve.

Feeling the most essential force in any form.
Reality.

The utmost basis in believing.
Truth.

The essence wherein rejection and acceptance is not the matter.
Belongingness.

The smallest part in good and bad.
Disoriented.

Paranoia

2007-12-26T22:30:00.000+08:00

It was soundless until they appear
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.

Sherry and Gin

2007-12-26T22:26:00.000+08:00

I have been doing, I can say, productive things as of now - to the mind and for and to others in viewing. I've been cleaning due to the stock of messy papers from last term. I've been thinking and doing acrobatics and exercise in cognition. And I've been doing the things again that I've long forgotten due to confusions.

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.

I Get To See

2007-12-20T16:11:00.000+08:00

Assuring, absorbing.
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.

Where It Begins

2007-11-30T17:32:00.000+08:00

I don't want to feel too obliged and prideful of myself yet.
When you get a lot in one time, irritation attacks on what's the better first.
You reflect and don't refract at all in everything that even makes you assume.
I feel both envious and disgusted at innocence.
You can be extremely happy without knowing anything, anyway or so that is it.
It wasn't really unnecessary. I'm just locked in time.
It's funny how distance tend to ruin the solitude itself and bring indifference.
I hear music as it is, coexisting with me and it makes me wait.
The extraordinary tenses life can make is too overwhelming.

Primal Fear

2007-11-28T09:57:00.000+08:00

She was walking on a cowboy-setting street in a sepiatone frame, the left of the new building of white pride of her school. She was in brown and jeans and walking. On a side she saw Miguel talking to Neil along with other folks of same order. The two do not know each other, even this foreboding phenomenon did not befriend her ideals. She went ahead and bumped into Cherry with two known shadows she knows who, but couldn't see in existence, behind in an odd liking. She started talking with her alone. Her mind was still on Miguel, preoccupied in a weird demeanor. She was speaking, but she forgot.

She walked past the diagonal-faced building - her school - and turned on the right of it. The balance changed into a carnage-like tone. The angle revealed a slum, failing the oddly-fashioned sense of existence. The slum could be mistaken of a place a war has left over with fresh eerie afternoon, grotesque and violence. She went ahead, without hesitation and unease, knowing where she would head, but not seeing the actual destination. On the right corner, there was a slaughterhouse; she stopped. The slaughterhouse, bloody and overused that the tiles filled with the stain of blood on the wall are all broken, has rails as a gate and as a sliding door. It shows everything that's inside. It was small and reproachful. She went in and saw a hanger with stealth weapons hanged: long dagger, a grenade, and unknown ones. She saw a fetus-like creature, living, standing and breathing; it/he shows no expression. She grabbed the long dagger from the hanger and they started a vague fight. She stabbed it/him more than once. The fetus-like creature showed grimace and said "I will never die." as the wounds get healed fast, as in regeneration. It/He was laughing. It scared her. It was almost night.

She doesn't want to go back home. She was frightened that she decided to go to her school for no reason. Viewing the front of the diagonal-faced building, everything can be seen - it was made in glasses, the walls and the windows and everything. On either side of the entrance, lies golf-like disciplined grasses, and there were beggars sitting on it. Too many she doesn't know the exact. She suddenly thought of giving and feeding them free noodles and began imagining them eating using chopsticks and putting it with the noodles in their mouths with delight. She went forward, going right. On the right of the school building, bizarre enough, were well-known fast food chains. There was a balcony on the other side, where she was stepping at the now. She saw alot of people inside, students rather, eating and outside, at the balcony, she saw Neil once again, smoking. She stared at him and gave a neutral force just for him to know that she knows him. There was no reason to be there, in between and in the center of the commercial side of the building and the balcony where people are smoking. She went in to get the used containers of the food in a fast food chain without thinking further and went out, saw the smokers at the balcony and threw the used containers in a garbage can in front of the diagonal-faced building and thought of it as an idiotic thing to do.

She went ahead to the slum. She peeped at the slaughterhouse and saw, on the left corner of the little square, a grey and shabby hospital-looking-matresses where the fetus-looking creature was sleeping. She once again grew uneasy. She went inside. Setting changed as she sat on the right corner of the floor, her sister appeared into view and she talked to her without knowing what's the substance of the conversation. She held her communications while checking something in her other innovations. Her sister disappeared in no notion and there, inside the door inside the slaughterhouse a middle-aged woman appeared holding squids. The sleeping form and position were nowhere to be seen and was changed by a table where the middle-aged woman laid what she held and exposed an expression she couldn't figure out. Suddenly she was behind the bars of the slaughterhouse, she was outside on the right corner and was talking to the middle-aged woman while she was still in her position, doing something blurry on her squids. She saw the fetus-looking creature still sleeping, now on the right and in front of her. It/He grew very small. She hesitated, then she held it. It/He opened its/his eyes and gave a tarsier-like serene eyes that shocked her. She felt silent, but she was still stroking the creature's head in a gentle way. It was a calm catastrophe.

It was her fear.

Artist

2007-11-26T11:18:00.000+08:00

I wanted to have the ability to balance what is beyond and what is control. Motivations inserts different formations and considerations I just couldn't hold. Are my hands really small? I couldn't even reach the slightest thing I wanted - and that is to achieve all the thoughts I have forgotten for an unknown and unacceptable reason. I believe I should conquer my preoccupation first before even facing what is not really projected to me that you tend to disrespect the unavoidable art given to you beforehand sometimes wherein the molded calmness would still not suffice.

The long parade of idleness my mind made in such a devious channel granted the time to wain into something leading to differences that broke my passionate alliterations. I was tired.

Strange Condition

2007-11-22T10:05:00.000+08:00

Don't leave out the wonderful words
or morose depressions
or appealing metaphors
tell them all, away from extents
My mind connected a lot
of fictitious happiness
it might not happen
It's tormented and opaque
same tone, but I'm creating weariness
from destination points
I'm in prison for this day
when everything gave a heavy existence
I couldn't bare.

It doesn't sound nice because it doesn't have a tune.
I just want you to know because I want to know.

Mad Fragmentation

2007-11-17T19:03:00.000+08:00

One day there was a fog that I found odd because it was really strange in the place. The thing is I kept on thinking of things that I don't even know if such invests in the shared thought or so if it is even shared. Pathetic in the sweetest way, it is.

I was reading Sartre one day and it made me think more. How can one wake up and still exist seeing people talk about things that disgust me?... the basic and unnecessary words. I gained more confusions. I know it was long that it took me four hours to end it, but I forgot what else were furthered.

I saw this family having a talk while the father is driving. They were weird in a way that I find this as a new matter of existence and in a different sense. They did not disgust me. The father kept on saying "Baba! Baba! Baba!" and the mother who looked like my friend was holding their two children, sleeping, and kept on gesturing and talking to her husband in a very different manner it made me look like a kid looking at a mad woman running backwards. I'm just quite sure I don't want to see that kind again.

I get confused over the rain on how I could walk, my feet almost wet and feeling cold and alone, with having biases knowing how much the same sky loved the rain. I regained my calmness over the rain falling while walking. I still feel something, it never was completely apathetic and I hope everything will get cleared up before we get lost. Just don't let the time to pass keeping up the distraction by avoiding, I'm more than willing to trancend everything because I'm not scared of this that the only threat is the next and trust is the only element that needs to breathe. If I make my past be a vacuum itself because it hurts to feel anything, I'm afraid I have to go to preoccupation again and let go, but I'm quite still sure I don't want to... wherein I'd never leave.

Invasion On Trial

2007-11-10T12:00:00.000+08:00

I get boredom and tiredness alot for quite some time now. The conventional and structural life of a person in school, just that there's something more to be tolarated that can't easily be done. I make ideas on life alot, but when I question why I think about such, I will get dulled, lazy to further the thought and forget about it. It's like being disgusted for no reason while still at the process of looking at it. Then after awhile of being nothing, when trying to see it as somehow substantial, the reflection itself is nowhere to be found in my mind. Hoping that it wouldn't lead to losing, I'm still trying to regain all back the abilities of my mind and take away the laziness and the disappointment it likes to give.

The only cogitation that registered and sunk into my head is the possibility of a new dimension that can be created. Like everyone can really do it, just that you have to represent yourself as yourself although I'm thinking it's very risky because of the motion it requires for creation. Looking at the other way, that would lead to a lonely isolation that no one would like so better go to the jeopardy. I can do say that the formation of a new range of existence feels good. I just don't have to be afraid to give a gift. Well, I'm still preoccupied.

Taking care of the self gives fatigue, but knowing that the then will assure a good outcome, it makes me wonder why present has mistaken itself with the future and past. While tagging yourself with memories, you reside yourself to live with the past and keeping yourself ready for the next, you devote yourself to live within the unknown and might have forgotten how it feels to have something essential at the now. When you start to think of the past, you start at the end making it to have no sense and when you start to think of the future, you start to spare yourself to the nothing and rebel what is in the actuality. Just like the thought of having an adventure that the real thing to be in thought of is there could never be any adventures in life at all. I forget all things that are supposed to be essential for me.

Beneath the Illumination

2007-11-02T12:00:00.000+08:00

The truth in an impulsive happiness...
stopped my idleness, starts
in doubting the self and wishing.
Everything was illuminated.

Steer with life
in the side of knowing
Leave it open and free
I will gain experience
I will gain history

Tearing hope
The faith, weakened
by a doubtful motion
in thought.

Set into one sky
in the side of unknowing
Tour to the heart and soul
Claim the first notion
I want to begin
I want to dream

Dying bliss
The vivid, prevented
by a promising dread
in fantasy.

Start imortally
within the side of being
Guide the breathe to the end
I will learn eternity
I will learn to fly

Hold the soft
solidified opaque
in subservience.

Do not cut the shy
Spineless healing, created
the wanted peace
in an insightful creep.

I want to feel
mystery as home.

The I admits the allegation.

This is a bizarre feeling of something like I'm being saved from the idleness the roaming projects, yet I'm aware it is taking me away from my normal and formal perspective. It is blinding me and creates brightness. I swore I told myself before that I do not need the light walking through the dreadful tunnel; that light would only make me close my eyes and would trigger me to falling and that the darkness creates its own light, better than the given lamp. Hitherto, I do not want it to leave. I want to think this is the miraculous creation of light of the darkness itself. How could it stop me from checking? It is very abstract. It is something that I don't know how to define either.

The Existence of Empathy

2007-11-01T17:59:00.000+08:00

Sanya was trying to make a song inspired with the concept of suffering to wishful, beautiful certainty on a very gloomy, vivid nightly, and humid, more like pestilence-stricken face of the sky. She was in the living room in front of the computer, turning her back on the room and facing the kitchen. She was with her mother, who was going back and forth from her to the kitchen while her father is in the kitchen, cooking. Beside her were two animals, Kevin the dog and Samjoh the cat-dog.

Suddenly, the dark-purple sky with its grungy gray clouds formed a what seemed to be a running enormous rabbit followed by a small rabbit-like layered clouds. The phenomenon made the favored undistinguished brown-black-white dog-cat go out of the wrecked and poorly-constructed door (can never be distinctive as a decent door). It was followed by Kevin the dog, a black and white puny old dog having three black spots, island-like, on his back making a somewhat figure of the Philippines. Kevin the dog chose not to go out, but just to peep at the outside. Samjoh made himself belong to the cats left outside.

Sanya was holding the dog-cat not to run and follow the cloud rabbit figure, until then suddenly she turned to let the dog cat ran instinctively running in circles and quite realizing nothing was there to be followed anymore, as the cloud rabbit figure ran away from the sight. The sky didn't change its color, but the rabbits were nowhere to be found.

They went inside, the cats still staying and staring at nothingness outside. The event went blurred and Sanya continued to create a song. Then her father appeared, n rage. Her father threw away his anger to the animals. The two pets went under Sanya's computer table, where she was attempting to make her song in the living room, facing the kitchen. Her father started pulling a chair, favoring the dog-cat, and put its legs in between Kevin the dog's body. He started scratching it painfully. Sanya told her that not to do it again and again that she lost her voice, leaving a burdened feeling in the throat. Her mother was just staring. Her father stopped when Sanya scratched his back with her pointy nails; for the first time, she had the urge to fight. Doing this in front her, her father went back to the kitchen, throwing some dibs of sufficiency to the dog-cat and leaving Kevin the dog into hoping an answer for his faithfulness. The building generations erupted Kevin the dog to sleep outside the house.

She remembered, far away from the hideous and mysterious subconscious that Kevin the dog was always patient and waiting. Yet because of his instinctive fear and whole-heart kindness, he never blooms out and the others will always be on the approved side. Kevin the dog was abandoned yet he still loved. He loved the wrongly forsaken and now what doubled the sin of his unappreciative companions. Kevin the dog died of aggressive and excessive unfathomable common summer phenomenon, which can be helped and assisted, but chosen not to for human comfort.

Sanya wasn't able to helped, conforming and making a mistake before her gift of empathy. She will never forget how faithful Kevin the dog was and even how the little instinctive being made her remember herself. It was an odd lesson. Kevin the dog became a childish adult to her, wanting heart over the mind. But she forgot about the song that she wrote. It turned out to be a mournful Monday throughout the dawn. It was an opaque view to a disturbed reality.

Implosion and Ugliness

2007-10-21T17:54:00.000+08:00

It was an unfinished settlement. At the peak of its release, the line broke and got carried away by the influence of the I and the you. It was loved, hitherto the motion elevates the blank patronization of the left-right insignificance.

Power invites the meat of the core. Long-time heritage of the binds limits the crime to legal fact in a barricaded system. The he and the she who gained recognition for nothing, but the zip. And the bitterness of the I for not reaching along with the false predictions of aspirations. Dislike to the phenomenon prevailed from the unintelligent experience. Discovery of the first impression, peaking into the eyes of the artist.

It was a grotesque frame of the undying being of artificial nature, where the objectivity is a nightly aid to the big. The world is a vampire.

Who am I? What am I?

2007-10-17T23:27:00.000+08:00

Having the mutations and distortion of the life, the path of the enlightened vagabond begins to complicate the edge. The mind and the self continue to complete the wholeness of existence as it struggles to accept the substantial and project to the infinitive interests the living. Every phenomenon is conscious is then experienced and is then a valued significant substance to conceal and begin the maturity of the bare nakedness. The more the nudity is fashioned, the more it is then to be undressed to transcend and activate the reliance to a different substance – the irony.

I dreamed of a darker comedy in an untimely quiet.
Thinking it was a memory of the faithful yesterday,
it was the absolute of the doubtful beauty.

The self-evolution; the awakening of the self to what is there and what is further. She never traded her soul and magic for the sake of the reputation and wins the infidel of the rest. With all the dread, it lived in her entirety as the wisdom. She learned the basic necessities, as walk, read and comprehension, and learned the existence of the subconscious and control. She learned how to hide the literal into mystery in script. She then calls herself with her name by present, of being certain and aware of herself. She molded her personality from her parents and older sister, learning the basics to further the education and by the time she reaches her later years in high school, she recognized the best treasure in the purpose – and that is wisdom. She pondered, at start; she thought she was very naïve. She learned that if she wouldn’t go crazy, she would lose her mind in such sense. She thought she evolved to the other-before-unknown side too fast, but for the very first time, she felt the realness of happiness that pursued her personality guided by her own principles.

The unheeded depression; the mutual action of self-organization, in seeking, to the motion of another substance. She is attached to the ties that go in her blood yet she loathes her binds seeing such as shallow and possessing an indistinguishable core, if ever there is one. She is not the reason of this aftermath and did not like the presence of this reality. She accepts and throws all the negative forces all on one dark way. The indisputable motivation is what she wishes, fearing the outcome of whatever movement all go to one into suffering. The time passed and all died, it went into the destruction of the other and her flight to the unfinished business of the unheeded depression. She had family problems creating detachment and isolation. She accepted it and is still in the process of aiding the lost. She is slow and self-restricted with the fear.

The monster and the viciousness; the element of inter-personal dependence in understanding the other’s characters. She watched how the character transformed from broken to the destruction of hope, positivity and the self. She didn’t help thinking of conforming on her own fears. Up to now, she wishes the gift of openness to end the anguish or so she is just reasoning herself out of her faults. With an expected death, she thought her father had ended his suffering, being the one helping his sick mother – her grandmother. With her father’s shallowness and negativity losing his pride, she is affected and is dying of peace in mind. She resorts to her present of thinking into metacognition and basis.

The story of the idleness that once took consciousness into the unknown. The contemplation and introspection to discover what is beyond. She chose to wait and the force gave her the emptiness. The mechanical part of the dualism of her own predominantly leads her to sloth nearer to becoming apathy. Her learning stopped and procured to the order of the plain and insufficient wisdom to the advanced mind. What happened too fast must not be stopped by a time-consuming occurrence or else idleness would begin. Up to now, her slowness and critical distance renders her the creation of the void to the self. She struggles to uplift the whole thing by activity, but she still hasn’t regained what was hers and with what she felt before when her vigorous days of largely yearning to the infinity. She is still expecting now having the possession of a character and sense of identity unique from the different existence.

The aspiration to the unreasonable possibility; the adjustment of the being to the present and self-interest. The canon of aspiring the unruly thoughts and still pursuing it ruins her and makes the reality be found in the common grime of the negative view. She hated objectivity even though loving Jean-Paul Sartre, bringing the thought of straightness. The works of Milan Kundera, Niccolo Machiavelli, Albert Camus, Paul Riceour and J.D. Salinger enlightened her passions of philosophy writing, literature photography, music, films, books or everything that is art in general. Riceour noted that there is no such thing as objectivity, but it is only a subjectivity having objectivity. She has been restrained from the excruciating ceremony of creation and the next, the end and the obliteration. The extremities of her chosen major, the consular and diplomatic affairs, from the art are in the edge of each end. She loves politics, history, true delegation with international relations and geography among the reserved side. Philosophy is what she loved the most thinking of studying such after the other major. She is still in exploring the closeness of the two extremities and finding the final reside avoiding complications to the mind. She longs for the unreasonable possible; she is learning the poverty of the soul. She discovered the act, abandoned it and maintained what is there to learn and what is to maintain as the substantial element to achieve more of the unsatisfied instinct of the self, which is the infinitive motion.

The grief to the basic height; the thought of the peaceful, darkest and deafening silenced nightmare, which is death. She had never thought of the fear of death, but the thought of being done in the world thinking too much and enlightened with wisdom feeling the kind of a bizarre-stricken carelessness and free with already had the thought of being capable of discovering the next phase of the life, the afterlife. She lives by the moment that a sudden principle has made into view. Disregarding the fact of desiring to stay that good-odd feeling of full of enlightenment, the moment urged an attempt on what has to be done, to be done. Camus noted that there is only one social problem in this world, and that is suicide and in the irony, the great philosopher/existentialist died of a car accident. The grief and fear of the unknown is not in the unquenchable thought of her.

What makes an ‘I am’ is that the connectivity being the essence of life and that the conscious and the unconscious is relative to the natural phenomenon and human personality change to be sentient of the transformation of awareness to the better. The sense and sensibility, she has a core. She is sensitive and understands, views the translucent reason, empathetic and has self-organization. She is a character to the reality and an element of idealism. She is a subject by knowing her own rationality, loving self; social and spiritual, making creativity and raw intellect are of answer to the predicament in character and solid perspective.

I am the constant diversity. I am being-becoming. I live, I have a soul and body, I believe, I think, I sense and experience, I exist; I am. I am the she.

Never Made Much Sense

2007-10-12T21:35:00.000+08:00

Do I get too obliged to do this? Not knowing what you feel, why and to what phenomenon in such life. Not knowing what you say. The feeling of lackness and incomplete nothingness that risks your consciousness when overdue. The notion of mixed exhaustion, apathy and tiredness in between being mechanical and emotional. Nothing is making me feel good, not a call to owe me transfiguration, not even bombing my partial substance.

The naivety is long gone and picking the unlively confrontation with what is for unsure self-interest is the superpower of down and quiet. The thought of detest or disinterest, indifference and impartiality directed to the elaborated template of relations and such perceptions tied to subjectives, which is not original.

Where am I when I was hanged and combat dominion? I want to be a UFO that is about to exist in your being. I don't know who am I that makes me cut off. I think I'm just glad I'm not that unknowable anymore.

It's just clattered, it, that is.

The Carnage with the Radiance

2007-10-08T11:46:00.000+08:00

The wish to learn the life without thinking beyond what is there to comprehend sanctifies the irreversible fortune, the life of curiosity in a frightful sense of knowing what brings the bright and dull. The mystic puny resemblance of a gore, let the curtains fly and disturb.

Preference is the liking of what is the instrumental creativity of the collective fragments and the marvel. Once enlightened to the nakedness, must be persevered. What makes an abstraction, disillusions the reality. The grunge creates an impact. The artificial elevation exposes an aspiration to bitterness of the impossible.

The vengeful, frustrated victim can procure a result to the good. The pathfinder escapes the first journey pretending to be jumping from the basic necessity. The one who captures approaches a new wave to be the prey.

This is philosophy. A murderer is still on the lam.

Soon Regret

2007-09-26T10:51:00.000+08:00

Folk and country shades of music with rust, that's what she insists
She trades her soul with the hope of living away from boredom
with failure, she consoles the frustrated artisan
She was in disgust at first, but turns into proneness
She changes and wants for opportunististic ductility
Boredom results sloth with constant aggression
The sun is goes down, deeper, away from the star
go home or just go slow, it perceives threatening mimes
She's missing, she's lost, she's dead
That's the story, she will soon regret.

A Little More of Forget Me Not

2007-08-15T23:16:00.000+08:00

There was a quiet idleness that made the sides of bounds grunge into freedom and solace. Walking through the dim lit circle of mass interrogation, the soft dancing oddness ruined the peace of suffering. Beats of yellow-lined lane started to run around the unknown pastel-colored mice house.

The feeling of flattery and obstruction, the rhythm changed to the life of a beginner. Learning more and holding more affection from what it seemed to be the darkest ambiguity. The polka runners, they begged for more attention, started to strengthen the gentleness of the morning weep.

By knowing the mantra, the foils of attest and long plush, the study of restlessness and dead-calmness aimed for comfort from another side of the independent setting and phenomenon. Butterflies of unfamiliar meaning reached the sheets of cold merry melancholy. The world started to animate.

Action and appearance initiated change. Elevated expectations starts the deafening paranoia uncovered with pessimism. Fast run-walk like a little-linked list of listening fears updated the progress of essence in one part of the situation.

The elegance of panic moved into mild controversy of the coast. Committed, entrusted the lights of the shadows turning back in front of the shattered melting cans. The wonderful image of the flight of the sweet cocoa and paper flowers began to proliferate. Like mellow pieces sitting on crumpled newspapers, the chorus repeated in a higher attitude it's everlasting desire.

New notes of singing nourishment crossed the leap of faith until the plucking sounds commenced the rearview mirror of wishful thinking.

Hope started to propose. This isn't the story of stop.

If such could see the blinds, no one will get out of here alive. The good violin showed how the story managed to continue to the end of the first wonder.

Berserk Container Dropped the Water

2007-08-12T18:00:00.000+08:00

It was noon-near-afternoon. The cafeteria-like setting was filled with college students, hungry maybe, without any resolute color in existence. Akir and Solarc sat on a table nearest to the outside. Akir is a lady with a long black hair and was wearing a long-sleeved blue denim shirt and black pants. Solarc is a young man with round glasses and was wearing a green shirt and jeans. Solarc sat on Akir's right, making Akir nearest to the way out. They were facing west.

The two sat in silence. There was only one white plastic cup with straw on the black table. Suddenly, both saw a stereotypical lady walking towards the north wearing turquiose dress with red laces. Solarc started to talk and said that the lady was his classmate on his highschool and pointed out on how that girl has the most number of clothes in which she had tried to hand laundry all of it until she lost both of her hands. By the time they saw her at present, she might have grew her hands back.

Akir started to talk to Solarc about something. Solarc nodded and added a short response no one could hear. Unexpectedly, Akir stood and went to her north and went to the washroom. She got in and it has the color of blue all around. She started to fix her wavy hair facing the mirror. She was beside some ladies retouching their make-ups in sort of an oddly desperate way. Then Akir started to see some familiar faces on the mirror while she was arguing with herself whether to make her hairline reside on the middle or on the left side. She decided to put it on her left side and she suddenly saw her friend, Aralnavi, who was a lady with big eyes and whom Solarc don't know about. Akir started to realize she was already taking a lot of time staying inside and remembered Solarc.

Aralnavi started to accompany her on her way out. Akir said she had a companion whom Aralnavi didn't know about also, but said that Aralnavi can come with them. They went out and saw Solarc on her seat with his laptop on and illuminating on his face and glasses on the table while doing an awkward peeping-almost-dancing on either of the laptop's side simultaneously. Akir and Aralnavi started to walk on the table.

A guy sat on Solarc's left side and talked. He had a very long forehead covered by a flowery light-colored cloth almost reaching the ceiling. Akir thought that the guy was familiar. He was Yckor, Solarc's friend who he didn't know she knew about including their history. Yckor started to notice Akir, walking to Solarc's right side, turned his head on Solarc, smiled, and said "yes, indeed." Akir didn’t know that Yckor knew about her too. She thought Solarc was the only one who knew her being in the side of the setting.

Solarc stopped doing the uncomfortable whereabouts and developed a very weird expression one could never define. When Akir reached her seat on the right side of Solarc and laid on it, she was surprised that she didn't notice that the seat all along has some water poured on it. The water made her pants go wet yet she didn’t get pissed. Aralnavi was just strangely staring almost like daydreaming.

Yckor and Solarc decided to go out and said goodbye to Akir and Aralnavi.

Writing This God

2007-08-11T17:34:00.000+08:00

Note that this is my part for the concrete example of Option for the Poor in the Catholic Social Teaching report for my Catholicism in the Modern World class in college. My attempt in writing God even though I'm finding my real idealism backing away from some former practices where I was molded until I grew older and faced the real reality. I felt odd reading this. I couldn't believe I could write something like this.

God's plans for the poor in the Creation is to show the people that we, as a society, charge an option for the poor and realize the importance of life in immaterial and material aspects. Christian beliefs are promoting the abandonment of the generalized spot of the poor to expose the order for equitable distribution of firms. In order to proclaim that our world has achieved proper justice, we are inclined to have a duty to consider the opinions and perception of the poor viewing it as our love to our people, to ourselves and to God Himself.

Relating the preference to the option for the poor to a concrete event in History provided social changes to the society. One event and person would be Mother Teresa and the things the Missionaries for Charity had done led by her.

"All the desolation of the poor, not only their material poverty but their spiritual wounds as well, need to be redeemed. We should share with them because only if we are united with them can we redeem them, bringing God to their lives and they, in turn, to God."

Mother Teresa, lived from 1910 to 1997, marked the hint for the people to be awakened and be unconscious of the things that are not 'substantial' and maintain the long process of having an option for the poor widespread enough for the spiritual leaders of the world followed to send an active spiritual guidance and social teaching. This enlightened us through the way of simplicity, poverty and adherence to the teaching of Christ.

She began serving the poor in 1946 with doing little things anyone can do for a start to a missionary life as one of a zeal with a translucent move forward and a powerful belief of faith in action that adds to the holiness and wholeness of the start of a mission to change the world and have a bigger view and performance in seeking option for the poor.

Like the simple path St. Francis of Assisi took as a life and being the head of the Missionaries of Charity founded in 1950, she voluntarily went to different poor places - such as Calcutta, Ethiopia, Rome and etc. - and hugged their perception and problems as she help them like nothing in general is wrong. She spent hours embracing the sick, the homeless, the disabled and the poor. Our lives were opened to the basic teaching of a spiritual life to be viewed upon the words of Gospel - the Christian way of prayer, love, forgiveness, proper judgment, humility, truth and total surrender to the World - to the poor, and to the people who are bound to be in service for help. Such social teaching was made big with Mother Teresa's everlasting clemency.

Mother Teresa, being one of the most powerful women of the world, was said to be one of the greatest prophets of the option for the poor in the Church and in the world, according to a senior Jesuit from Calcutta. It only means she gives equal attention to every individual she meets definitely calling to achieve nothing to make your life be lessened and incomplete. She created a compassionate legacy to open a second glance in improving the social teaching preferential option for the poor with selflessness, generosity, sensitivity, hope, comfort and peace without stressing change in society, but by doing it in action and showing experience.

Knowing Mother Teresa's name is enough to know what are the concrete events in History that boosted preferential option for the poor teaching. Her simple path of silence to prayer to faith to love to service and to peace made a big impact on the world. She didn't force people to create drastic change; instead, with her powerful human force reflected in God's providence, she was able to open a possibility for the poor to have proper judgment and justice. Mother Teresa was not poor, but she made herself poor by her own option by being a servant of the poor and of God that gives her common power enough to retaliate revolutions for the better. She was able to capture the hearts of many people that made her worthy to be beatified as a Saint six years after her death by just experiencing true freedom. She didn't work to remove poverty; she worked to remove the common bad by just showing compassion as a capital agenda.

"They are the ones who have nothing to prove or to protect - no posing, no posturing before people or before God. When all you've got is what you've got, all that's left is to be yourself and you can only receive. And that, in a sense, is why the poor are blessed, because they know what really matters." According to a volunteer priest who helped Mother Teresa in Calcutta. It only means to serve the poor will allow them to expose what is really essential and what it is really to explore than other material aspects basing it from their non-locality.

It is not to press that God doesn't want others to be happy by making poor people on purpose, but it is to impose and for people to realize on how to improve our judgments without it having corrupt conclusions. God is showing us on how to have an affirmative reaction towards the wrong standard produced by the society and its created values.