Happiness TG

We serve the paternal grandmother. My hands got bloodied twice in picking the slightly cooked remains of swine in a deep bucket. Despite the never-ending manual labor, my disposition was light in default. In addition, a murderer helping the paternal grandmother in maintaining order is considered a long time friend. I remembered I had to organize a set of cassette tapes in the living room while the rest of the family members tend to the poultry and fruit-bearing trees outside the house.

We live in one room, and we are obligated to join paternal grandmother's occasional feast. However, we couldn't get maternal grandfather, who was cleaning an unborn child's urn, to join the family table. So we decided to rebel and pursue an outing in an amusement park. Despite this idea, my mother, who was short but beautiful, decided not to join us in our plans. Suddenly, as we determine our plans with finality, the murderer barged inside our room throwing clothes we're supposed to fold and iron. He demanded for paper, scissors and pen. Upon seeing what he wanted, he demanded assistance in keeping up with lottery numbers algorithm. I told him I am unable to understand what he wanted even though I wanted to. He spat in his eyes and spread it in my bloodied hand. Not understanding his intensions, I got sad. When he attempted to clean my hand from the mess that he made, I realized he was attempting to console me. I smiled and invited him to our plans for an outing.

We ran up towards the ticketing outlet, attempting a competition on who wins first. I told him I was jesting, and we burst out laughing since we knew we had all the time in the world. We didn't even realize if we're supposed to buy an amusement park ticket or lottery ticket or both.

G(e)iger

I sleep in the quarters of five that functions as a portal to the safest workaround. The outdoors of old Tallinn is plagued by colossal Freudian monsters. Just as how it is for others, I go out to continue my becoming when I see a sly colossus in the form of a tongue. Nevertheless, at one side of the intersection, Donnabelle/Julie appears and smooth-talks her way out of the tongue, licking her in the process. I use the silhouette she creates as camouflage to turn to the corner where our quarters is situated. As I get inside, I rearrange the beddings and take the spot farthest to the door of ingress and pretend to sleep beside Eunice, who is always sleeping. I cover my head with fleece.

As Julie/Donnabelle enters, the door of ingress remains ajar despite Josephine's attempts to close it. The tongue checks and asks if the occupants that went in are sleeping, as they ought to be. Seeing my seemingly sleeping form, it stops its inquiry and departs.

Later, Lindsey, a non-occupant, knocks and requests that we grant her access to the quarters. In exchange, Josephine requests insider information about a test that we fear, from which Lindsey discloses as short as two pages. She enters and immediately proceeds to open the door of egress, which leads to an inner part of a castle a few feet away from the ground. However, we see and hear her demise as the eyeless monster, coming from the porch, constrict her body to pieces.

The gore causes disorder and the fluid blood monster becomes curious. Suddenly, the door of egress keeps opening, and I instruct Evangeline to keep it locked. The blood monster peeps with piercing stare, and Christina attempts to speak with it in Latin. It partially works, but she gets tired.

I feed the smallest brain inside the quarters with raw diet, but it fails to register the diet as food. As I struggle to support the brain for strategy, it jovially wilts. A blindfolded non-occupant barges inside from the door of ingress, explaining the terrorism transpiring outdoors. Knowing her proper disposition, the non-occupant gets out using the door of egress. But there is no longer a semblance of safety outside.

Mirrorman

"Did he let you do it? Did he let you appeal? Did he? Did he?" The mirrorman was agitated. His reflection was starting to be distorted into a dilapidated mosaic. This was not how it was supposed to be guaranteed. He was getting apprehensive and demanding, but he could never deviate away from the frames of the mirror as he was bound there forever. He fidgeted, knowing he could only see his wholeness on the other side, which the janus-faced being naturally possessed.

"The recoils of the past, it did not move me." The janus-faced being reasoned, standing in front of the mirror where the mirrorman was exposing his reflection. He was steady and weary, but the mirrorman was walking back and forth in between the limit of the frames, unaware of his disconnection to the being. The being was in deep thought and showing indifference to the cynicism the mirrorman was showing. It was not resonating. It was not bouncing back to him, so the mirrorman absorbed it. All of it.

The room was filled with antique furniture and contrasting dullness. It was convenient, an ideal setting. The navy blue cashmere carpet ejects the crimson pint of the walls. The glass chandelier was expressing its darkest lightness. The colorful fishes in the luxurious aquarium were defeating one another, forcefully moving to own the only territory, however loose the atoms in the water may be. Their discourse was at the center of the lesser side. They remained still.

Tonight, there were four patterns.

Ingrata

Today I felt the effects of poverty.

When I was murdering the malnourished poultry, the only ones left for produce, the source of financial capacity, when I thought I had to prevent the little ones from leaving the inside, cracking their skulls with the door as I try to open and close the same with absolute intensity because they could go outside with simple negligence from me, as if I took the responsibility of looking over them when I, myself, was in varying degrees of self-doubt. I had no intentions to respect the dead as I maintain the posture of what redundantly may or may not be what I want or do not want to be. My father's face was all it took to realize that what I did was a mistake because we have nothing, nothing else.

When I was avoiding an enormous beast with two of its almost normal siblings outside, where the beautiful lime berries grow and where I burn all the things that no longer deserve the merit of existence, as it was common sense to avoid the same as someone who was not an adult, an immature feral object, locking myself inside along with other little ones whom I treat as deserving and not deserving of what may be called protection, letting the adults go to work at the limited outside just as how it was signified to be by custom. I was forlorn and apprehensive that I always open the door that I kill the weaker ones, as if unaware of what I call danger to the blameless and those who do or do not do without discernment. I was so afraid to do the simple task of feeding the biggest threat as I was in between being the weak and the worker, unable to contribute or aid albeit slightly, assuming it was right, that it might wake up, even without signs of animosity, and swallow my surprisingly undeniably protected becoming of nothing, nothing else.

When I was struggling to go back, streets were polluted with shit and the rotten and, as if alive, always wary of impending accident and accepted carelessness, but the buses were so reckless when driven, full and ready to hit and run as I crossed the streets, but I had no money that I had to walk in quite an unreasonable distance to what I unfortunately call home that I dismissed the ordeal as ergonomics and forget that I was doing it as a chore to move without a place to go to and from the beginning. I walked through the fucking dirt and mud of cultured nature while taking the road farther away from everything with my knees and palms just to let it cross my mind that I have nothing, nothing else.

Notional Ekphrasis 2

I never look at people anymore. I lost interest entirely, and I feel that the detachment is clearly becoming a habit. I am skeptical whether to take it as negative or the otherwise because I prefer it at the same time I know I should invest in socializing as it will do wonders when I pursue my career, if ever I am given the chance. Do I do what I don't want to do?

Perhaps there is a way to reconciliation, but it is something that I still have to find out.

Screws Inside

There was an ill taste when the massacre was ordered as the nature of the world. The knife cut the vital organ of the mother, who fell and died immediately thereafter . It served as the sign of the burning; and people evacuated with the savage mammals. When co-existence became unbearable, people in groups of unfamiliar relation reposed in narrow and almost spaceless rooms. The initiation took place. A brother was  lifted by an unknown force, and his neck was cut by gravity. The air was heavy and threatening, as the room continued to bleed with the sister. The father trespassed without malice, and he was possessed by an anger that feared all others. It attacked each entrances, destroying the barricade of privacy. There was change, but the eerie remained. There was always a hunt, and it will not stop until in corrupts the peace of mind.

Notional Ekphrasis 1

I was taught be my mother to be frugal. At the same time, I was taught by father to be lavish and generous. Both not only portray what each literally meant; each resulted with a conditioned discipline. 'Sometimes,' I am attracted and then eventually submit to consumerism - the technical and most accurate term for this scenario that I am about to berate. It feels as if I have to perpetually represent myself based on the standards set by the pursuit of capital. With this, I have to ensure to myself that I should be updated with it, and possess (there seems to be no necessity to own) the same update at the earliest possible time it was made public. And, it's not even the news.

This is where the recession, not in (only) the economy, but in the mind, starts. The concept of favorable recognition no longer resides in an effort to sharpen plain intellect, on developing how we think, respond, signify, and collect our words for proper expression and discourse; it now seeks to feed the empty tunnel of the objectified appearance. Like excessive humor, it relaxes our productivity to its minimum, if not being outright nil. It goes in and out just the way a garbage is disposed. It drills the skull with the brain where there is no longer balance, but just a hollow nothingness without its philosophical connotations.

What's worse, it attracts even those who do not have the capacity to maintain the habit to the point of misuse. It is a formulated distraction that quietly advertises impracticality. I do not say that a momentary escape from the ideal is absolutely undignified, but when it evolves into constancy is where the weariness begins to exist. This is not categorical decency, and should never be.

We take pride that we are no longer primitive, and that is to be glorified indeed, but we forget the basic is what we only need or even just want to survive; that we utilize what we discover not for convenience, but to seek more challenge. It is unending, or ends with a mere thought of 'Oh, I see' whilst harboring the same as a learned practice. If we misplace our sense of what we deserve, we lose the opportunity to experience what should naturally come out as fruitful.

Consistent to this blog, this is raw and unfiltered. I have yet to hasten my ideas about this, among other things. Should I say I probably would not, and no longer persist in proving the point I have just thought about above? I admit I lose them, ideas, to which my subconscious is probably conflicted in either keeping or neglecting the same until I get another or get preoccupied with what I meant with 'sometimes.' I am supposed to study, so this is the end.

Untitled

So what if I kill another?
In the mind, the body, the soul, the gut
After all,
We merely recede, progress, and remain
True to our origins
And, disappear