i dreamt of flying on a sunday morning going into thursday unto eternity and stop at the shadows of my home. with my head bent twenty thousand degrees i swallow the air as i pass by. Swallow the air with its grime and left over acid-rain. Swallow the air with its fear and smog and unholiness. Swallow the radioactive air and prancing like a loose-cannon-geiger-counter while everybody is spread-eagled-plastic-praying.

Alcohol at night makes you vampiric in the morning.

But its ok, where fine, say's Indigo Girls over the radio and i cant see how it is with my head being hammered with "dang! why did i drink last night?!." Yeah, its ok though i am swimming with hangover on an heliocentric lagoon of artificial light. Yeah, its ok to talk to headless corpse with above average IQs. yeah, its okay to take some life out of me with sticks and sticks of cigarettes poked in my eyes, ears and nose.

Im plugged in the internet running on ninety six times slower than DSL. Got to download some love. Got to download some peace. Got to download some understanding. Im falling in love with a P4 machine.

see you later

 

i am a stranger on
tuesday morning
sketching teardrops
on the pavement
waiting for a bullet
to bite me in the back
with black memories.

i am a stranger standing
on the middle of a road from
nowhere leading nowhere
with my backpack full of sand
and a thousand ton of emptines
painted on my feet like those
dreams you wish you have every
night that becomes
nothing but darkness.

i am a stranger looking
for pieces of mystery...
of why there isnt love without leaving?

sunset on my face
shadow on my back i search
the sky for something to hold on to,
finding strangeness in the arms of
aloneness and abandonement.

i am a stranger wounded by life
waiting for a prayer
and a ride back home.

i am stranger waiting
for a song.

 

on thursdays the jeepney is either going too fast or going nowhere. you can pay six pesos instead of seven. you've got to smell sulfur, acid and rotten leather. you've got to see men begging on the sidewalk.you've got to hear your neurons popping one by one. stoic, catatonic and mad i submit myself to the slave grind only to shout when there is a need to whisper, only to fall asleep with a primed frag grenade on my weak hands. on thursdays youve got to think about when to stop burning to death. the phone rings and you answer it sober on thursdays but after you put down the phone youre drunk as a cat swimming on linseed oil. on thursdays youre glad your pants dont have stains of red paint. you've got to be glad you dont smell like all of those poisons you took the night before. on thursdays youve really got to think about how to sit properly when drunk. a thousand thursdays may someday end. until then i will thred this oblivious skies with broken wings and nothingness.

so im back, sitting with all sort of aloneness one would feel having been denied of good sleep . half naked against dishwalla and contemplating not to drink though outside are demons screaming for a shot of delirium. hmm.. where am i? i got to ask that everytime i wake up. always away.. always on somebody elses bed, somebody elses shirt, somebody elses tootbrush, somebody elses wife, somebody elses burial... always not home. away with my unwashead jeans and orange slipper. away with 2 months worth of neurological debt to elis. away without the prospect of returning. away with my mobile phone tucked on my drawer together with my boxers that i never really get to use and a thousand half-burnt letters proclaiming half-truths about love and suicide attempts. away with pandora's box while angry demigods hurl bolts of insane possibilities at me. like, one; the possibility of being ran over like a cat on the middle of lacson street while going to mcdo; two, the possibility of elis having a nervous breakdown with whatever amnesiac frenzy i am going through now; three, the possibility of drowning in lagoon; four, the possibility of acquiring wisdom while eating tuna sandwich; five, the possibility of finding myself dead for the past four freaking years. Naahhh, i cant finish until the twentieth but i think its really possible i can do the hola while writing a blog. I had air for dinner and it must be affecting whatever brain cells i have left. tantananaaaan!!!! i got to go, its time to watch the North Koreans launch their taepodong-2 missiles at my office in #49 north capitol road.

August 14, 2006
dark night of the soul
Tuesday. I am wrestling with my demons. After days and days of being blissfully lost in an illusion I am conferred with dark nights spent restlessly on dreams that are never meant to be dreamt. Sleepless for a thousand years my eyes are buried on mirages, shadows and nothingness and I know I must go away because i cannot breathe on this air. Perhaps coming and going is like sleeping, a necessary thing but a total waste of time. Perhaps all of these flightless dreams would have meaning seen from afar. Perhaps by unleashing myself into oblivion this embrace with nothingness could give me something more other than just air to hold on to. I am choking in twenty thousand tons of uncertainty with only my coffee and cigarettes to affirm my existence. Living is like masturbation. You hold on to something which keeps you alive but then everything ends so empty. An ephemeral pleasure that keeps you hoping and lets you sleep but wakes you up enfolded in a tumultuous fray between what is real and what is going on inside you head.