Word Vomit, Bird Comet.

Originally written and posted on Facebook  23 November 2014, with subtitle “bad romantic crap with no structure no edit no proper ending and lots of feelins, bcuz i’m a faggit”

Somewhere along the tangent of my lifeline, past the point where I looked at you and you looked at me (a point in time that will never happen again; say “tangent”), I lost my taste for whimsical things. The moon became a flat yellow button on a sparkly cloth of darkness, neither comforting nor enraging. It used to be so full and low, like pregnant fruit, like ripe words whispered into the dark woods where we sat at the outskirts and peered into nothingness while we talked about the future and skirted around the unmentioned “us”. After that point I disavowed the flowers in your hair that only I could see, the halo of the things I saw in you that made me want to grip your hand and fly you to Vega by any means necessary. Stars and clouds and the smell of you floating all around me, the interstellar dust of your thoughts and breaths flooding mysteries into my lungs—all that has been reduced to ordinary, standard-issue city dirt. I refuse to romanticize things that has anything to do with you, now. The point in which our lives touched has long since gone by; I am running in circles around my small world, and you are the freight train of silence travelling in a ramrod-straight line that sped past my face and caressed my cheek so lightly, ever so lightly, and will never do it again. One could argue that as a continually-moving tangent (say, a train) then the line will forever have a point of contact with the circle, for as long as it runs and never ends. But the problem is, you are not endless. You will keep running, and someday, our point of contactthe amount of skin that I can feel, the very presence of youwill run out. That is an immutable truth. So, the moment I abandoned my fervent relationship with moonlight and oceans and stardust and forests, I grew up and braced myself for the day you would leave. I pulled out all my good teeth and replaced them with iron nails, I traded in my spine for a backboard of tin sheeting. I refuse to be moved by you anymore. My world will continue to turn without you and your romance. Whimsy is no longer a thing I need, and is indeed something I could do without, if I want to survive losing you. If I keep turning random flowers into poems then I might turn my wounds into stories, and if I do that I’ll forget that wounds get infected and stories aren’t always read by anyone.

[audio http://k002.kiwi6.com/hotlink/01pg218396/alt-j_-_breezeblocks.mp3]


muscle to muscle and toe to toe
the fear has gripped me but here I go
my heart sinks as I jump up
your hand grips hand as my eyes shut

please break my heart

please don’t go
I’ll eat you whole
I love you so
I love you so, I love you so
—Alt-J, “Breezeblocks”

I Missed This Place.


and now you spend your evenings
searching for another life
— King Krule, “Easy Easy”

Let’s begin with the big rocks.

I now have a full-time job as a call center agent. I flunked out of school, like I feared would finally happen a few months ago. There is now a baby in the house, though it is not mine. There are also other people in the house; the total headcount comes to 13. The house right now is a very crowded place. I am pitching in to buy a new TV that I don’t think we should get, but we will be getting anyway. My sister currently has chicken pox. I am currently sick with a viral infection, and am on a five-day sick leave. I feel like I’ve already forgotten how to do my job. As early as now, actually, I already want out. I have taken up smoking as a daily habit, except on weekdays. I smoke ice menthols. My hair is now back to plain old black. Oh, and I am still a single virgin.

Okay. Now. Pebbles.

I have long nails now. It’s very hard to maintain them. I scrub myself with lemons when I bathe. I tie back what I can of my hair and I pin the rest back with a zoo of hairclips. I own dresses and heels now, and I wear them quite often to work. I have a canister of candies for when I feel like shit, and nowadays I notice my teeth always hurt because I grab a couple of caramels every few minutes (and doesn’t that say a lot about how I feel at any given moment in time). I eat a single chocolate for  breakfast every morning. My officemate picks me up every morning on the way to work. He’s a very nice person. I hang out with exactly two people outside of my work circle. Within my work circle, I hang out with exactly two people as well (not the same people as the ones outside, of course.) I just cleaned my room today. I also wrote a bit.

What my desk looks like after I clean the fuck out of it

What my desk looks like after I clean the fuck out of it

In case you’re wondering what the substance of this post is, I am not going to lie to you: there isn’t any. It’s another one of those life updates I used to be so fond of, back when I had the time to just sit around in my bed and talk about things endlessly to a nonexisting audience. Life updates which are just that: updates on my life, the goings-on, what-have-yous. No deep existential shit whatsoever. Besides, I haven’t been doing much thinking lately, anyway. Currently I have a lot going on in my mind (because of some ill developments in certain situations, and my own sour-graper ego), but hell I am tired of complaining; I wanna shut up about the bitchiness of life for once. I don’t want to be angry about anything right now; I just want to talk, to get shit off of my chest without having to be responsible for consequences talking out loud might have in the real world. So here I am, in my old comfort place. This is how my own room felt like when I came home from Baguio with the knowledge that I wasn’t going back. Smells a bit different, but not much has changed.

I missed this place. I missed it so very, very much.

Oh, and would you look at that. Almost exactly a year since my last post. Happy new year, my dear.

Hello, my universe. It’s good to be back, even for a little while.