A short list of plans

Since it's about time I got my head straightened out, let's move on to goal setting. Here's a short list of plans for the near future.

• FINISH REVISIONS, GET A FLAT ONE FOR MY THESIS
• Pass trigonometry
• Graduate (post graduation pictures on most social networking sites)
  
• Book a plane ticket to Manila
• Haul all of my stuff to a small flat along Taft
• Enroll in La Salle for my master's degree
• Caitlyn Bailey summer 2011 tour
• Release a couple of splits and a full-length
• Walk to school from that small flat along Taft
• Get master's degree
• Look for post-graduate courses on cultural studies or political psychology
• Get a PhD
• ???
• PROFIT

Torrents by district

Something new

Yes, that is a DIY YMTWTM! shirt I'm sporting. That however, is besides the point. I had my hair mangled a couple of weeks ago. Growing it out a bit, I decided to give it another go. I really like how this looks on me. Semi-skinhead around the sides and back but I get to keep my bangs.

Person most likely to uncover the meaning of life

You have this phenomenal knack for content analysis and for chrissake, anyone who could derive any degree of epistemological substance from a taong grasa deserves a fucking medal. You come up with the craziest points but somehow they make sense. It's uncanny. We should shoot something together someday. If anyone just so happens to discover the meaning of life by way of 'grasism' (the adoption of the taong grasa lifestyle), we all have this lovely individual to thank. You are a beautiful person and that mind of yours makes me want to ride a giraffe standing on the edge of a disproportionately small earth while grazing on the rings of Saturn with a burrito in my hand.

The indentured slavery of temporal narratives

You, it's always you. I'll see you again someday and by then I might have something good to say. Yeah, you're right, I've been scared all this time. I wish to not let this happen again. I hope seeing you clears that up. How long do I have to wait? I hope it's not that long. I've only been waiting forever. I'll wait until forever. I've gone this far and regardless, I guess there's no other way for me to go.

Do you still think of me? I don't want an answer. I just want you to be with me. At least once, I'd like for you to see me as I am. Not particularly overjoyed by your presence, not in pain over always having to leave. I'd like for you to see the me you never got to see when you were with me.

Give me a night in November to show you.

I used to see you everyday, now I want you to eat a sandwich and come back home

You have no idea. Crossing you everyday on the way in and out of school, seeing the places you go, thinking about how close you were at some point. It's just surreal how we just ended up talking now. Something draws me to you. I just couldn't put my finger on it. I believe we're meant for so much more than this. At least once while I'm here, come back home. I'll make up for all those times I could've just walked up to you.

We can't just be like this forever. Not after knowing you thought of me the same way I did of you. You were so close.

From the ends of convergent trajectories

Before I met my ex, I ran into you on some internet forum. I thought you were rather interesting and it frustrated me to no end, how you were dating someone at the time. Soon enough, we started talking again and I was tied down. Later on, that whole thing subsided and you just so happened to be with someone new. I find the whole play on availability increasingly humorous but at the end of the day, this whole irony would still beg the question, "what if it was you instead of her?"

Perhaps we will never know. As early as that first time you messaged me, up until the first time we met, all through that period of latency we had in between, all I ever wanted to be was to be a part of your life.

I'm now your daughter's godfather and sticking to the belief that real life is stranger than fiction, the absurdity just makes me smile. I guess I'm a part of your life. Just didn't see this coming. I miss you, B.

You, just you.

Friends. I always thought of the two of us as good friends. I don't think that will ever change. We'll always be friends and I'll always love you. Times were different before you came along and whereas I met you by way of life throwing an unassuming curveball my way, you stayed by me. With you, I feel that I'm more than I actually gave myself credit for. I'm a better person than I thought I was and I'd like to thank you for showing me that there's value and worth in the things I say and do. I'd like to thank you for telling me I'm a beautiful person regardless of whether or not I'd say that about myself. Thank you for believing in me. We're good friends and we'll be that way forever.

Thank you for giving me something to believe in. Thank you for being there when I needed you and thank you for being someone who subtly changed my life, whether or not she knew it.

Nadeth, I will always love you. You're a friend I wished I had from the start. I'll see you soon.

This just might be the rest of my life

I'm finally done with this. All of the sorrow from this masturbatory little opus shall now be put to good use. I really hope this does well. I hope this gets good reviews and minimal revisions. I should totally slay the panel for this defense. I hope I know whatever the fuck it is I'm talking about though. It would be a shame since this really took a lot of heart.

I must do this. It's only the rest of my life we're talking about.

Mother was young once

My mom was eighteen years old in this picture. This was taken on a trip my mom and her friends took before my father started courting my mother. The week after this, my dad anonymously sent her flowers and would deny ever sending them. Eventually he did though (sellout!). Mostly for fear of having some other douchebag rest on the laurels of his gesture. The result was a little monstrosity they would oftentimes want to strangle in sheer frustration. Way to go for a teacher/student relationship. Okay, well technically she was my dad's friend's student. Whatever. It's odd just imagining how my parents were kids just like me. That they were people way before I came along.

On a side note, I absolutely adore those seafoam green loafers and those short Adidas shorts. I'd wear the exact same thing. As in THE EXACT SAME THING. Well, maybe not shorts that short but still pretty short nonetheless.

Oh and yeah, does anyone notice how my mom sort of resembles BP somehow? It's probably just me though.

My mother was young once.

Contrasts

I'll try my best to be brief for this entry. The past week has been an exercise in perfect dissonance. For the first time it felt as if the world wasn't falling apart. Rather, this dissonance sought to add a tasteful sense of contrast to the monotony of smooth interpersonal interactions. I spent a week in Manila to see some friends in between long stints of writing for my seemingly endless study on the life stances of music-based subculture. Chances are, you might have noticed a snootier tone with regards to my writing. I'm sorry for this.

Sometimes I wonder how I'll be able to survive there on my own. Something tells me I'll be just fine but I'm a bit apprehensive. On one hand, I missed my mother terribly while I was away but then again this is something I'll have to go through sooner or later. With my friends and the rest of my family up in the capital, I think I'm in good hands.

Things don't always go as planned but they could still be good nonetheless. I'm looking forward to the promise of shared experience, everyone. I'll see you all soon.

Momentary departures from life and living

I've always felt a bit off about receiving any form of sincere commendation with regards to my writing. I mean okay, I know I have a fairly adequate command of the English language but writing, regardless if it's for journal entries like this, disjointed "poetry" or the occasional bag of lyrics, was never something I wanted to do; much less something I'd be good at. Rather, I always saw writing as a sublimation of my frustration towards my lack of talent in the visual arts, mediated by the added frustration of my numerous (albeit lackluster) attempts to compensate by means of musical expression. Looking back, since I believed myself to be less of a literary failure than I am in those two other fields, writing was the only recourse I had. At the very least, I should be able to articulate certain aspects of the images I see in my own head.

I don't know if this makes sense but words don't really speak to me. Not nearly as much as actually being there to experience the vividness of the northern lights or the reassuring warmth of a lover's touch in even the coldest of nights. These are things that go beyond my capacity to articulate. These are moments that exist beyond the realm of words. At least it's that way for me. Not that I'm ragging on literature, though. I've always had an intense admiration for those who could weave intricate webs of meaning with the words they piece together. All I mean to say is that my receptivity towards the language of experience, inter-subjectivity and inherent meaning leans toward symbolic interpretations of beingness, stripped of the limits of a social context.

Long story short, my mind caters to the whole spectrum of one's individual perception of the world and its phenomena, broken down into binaries that spell out narratives by means of the presence/absence dichotomy they create. Single images that create entire life stories, the stories of places, of incidental people and of the objects they interact with and/or create for themselves. All without a single word spoken. I look to presence and absence as crucial forces in the formation of meaning.

All of this happens on an individual level and when I'm pulled back into the wax and wane of my own social context, I walk away with a little piece of everyone else's quiet narratives. That said, a number of select individuals have contributed immensely to the development of my perspective on life.

An adequate summary of this phenomenon is seen in the formation of what I refer to in my own taxonomy as Tristecism. The basic premise underlying the Tristecist perception of life and living is that all humans are situated in that same presence-absence dichotomy. All meaning is fundamentally derived from the absence and more so, the loss of certain values. The subsequent compounding of values and/or the lack thereof forms a series of experiential binaries. Each in itself, constituting part of a narrative structure which leaves itself open to reinterpretation and generative projection. The issue of substance has always been subject to the valuation of objects, at least as far as I know. I could be wrong. This perspective however posits that meaning is not to be derived from what an object is or appears to be but rather from the spaces and gaps that allow the object to be defined in reference to a greater context, much in the manner of a sculptor chipping away at a slab of rock to produce identifiable shapes and forms. Consequently, as objects or phenomena are liable to change, the loss of certain attributes would denote a transition in the composition of these experiential binary strings from one configuration to another, thus laying down the groundwork for another set of narratives to be drawn from and drawn into.

Always moving and ever dynamic, the perspective more than matches the valleys and peaks of shared human experience. With the above stated, let's go into how specific examples of the continuum of shared human experience persists to shape my own personhood on both an epistemological and aesthetic level. More on this in a subsequent entry.

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Untitled

"Repeat, repeat, repeating..." Subtle echoes bounce back and fourth across seemingly boundless stretches of floor, wall and ceiling. Glistening across the spectrum of perennial resonant frequencies, these signals just keep on repeating; conductor to audience, audience to ambient noise. Laid to tape and taken straight to bed, the song, she sings for no one. She sleeps with me tonight.

Asleep at a party

Okay, this should be fun. Let's try and derive substance from what may easily be construed as a night of reckless abandon, shall we? Well, it wasn't really a night of reckless abandon but Gimi did have a magnificent wipeout earlier that night and the alcohol did seem to flow on endlessly. Knowing me, this isn't how I usually spend my weekends. Hell, knowing me, I'm not usually one to spend the night at anyone else's house. I'm glad this is how I decided to cap my work week off though.

Since our Theology professor cancelled Friday class, I thought it would be high time for me to sleep in for once. Still reeling from how terrible I felt about Thursday's mess of a seminar-workshop, I really felt the need to do so. Waking up sometime in the afternoon, I felt a lot more relaxed (physically, at least) but just as uneasy about myself as when I went to bed. I really needed to decompress but at the same time, I couldn't spend time with anyone without being much of a drag. Experience would state that I'm a horrible bitch when it comes to transference.

Sad to say, I skipped on lunch with my classmates because of that. Well, okay mostly because my mother asked me to stay home in case she needed to drive out somewhere but that's besides the point. I was invited. Even if I couldn't eat crabs to save my life, I was invited. In retrospect, that's a really shitty way to look at the whole situation because I had an opportunity to take my mind off of things with my friends. Now I feel bad for not taking it for fear of pulling everyone down with my presence.

I guess I really didn't have much of a face to show. Well, either that or I couldn't figure out where my face went, first and foremost.

Later in the afternoon, I took it upon myself to find a more productive diversion. I figured that since a fuckton of my shirts no longer fit on account of my looming gut, I should get a couple of new ones for cheap. I needed to eat anyway, so I left the house around six. When I got to the mall, I didn't see anything that fit particularly well. Really wasn't sure about the sizes and all so I decided to wait on it instead to see if I change my mind the next time I go there. Around that time, Gimi texted me saying something to the effect of "the basic dudes are here, get your ass over here."

I thought it would be apt to make up for the opportunity I missed earlier so I went over to Gimi's. Priscilla was there, so was Dianne, Monica was taking pictures and Kryzl was there as well. We spent a good amount of time talking about random shit. In my case, mostly trying stave off the glooms but I ended up enjoying the night's episode of the Priscilla and Gimi show. I always have fun listening to those two talk about whatever. Maybe it's Gimi's basic-ness or how distinct Priscilla's tone of voice is but I couldn't give a fuck less, those two are always entertaining.

Gimi had a lot of drinks laid out but opted to give me a bottle of scotch which was about a third full at the time. I think I breezed through that third of scotch way faster than I should have. A good few glasses of wine later, we're on to the beer. After fucking around a bit in Gimi's empty pool, I passed out face down on the floor. I managed to get up, though. At least for a bit. At least enough to get me across the house and into Gimi's bathroom. I threw up a bit and passed out on the bathroom floor. Not particularly proud of that but hey, at least I flushed and cleaned the rim with some toilet paper. At the very least, I entertained Dianne at my own expense. ("You made higa sa bathroom floor, that was so cool." to be precise)

I remember going in and out of consciousness for a while. I also remember getting up from the bathroom floor and lying down on the couch in the music room. Didn't notice all the picture taking going on at the time but hey, looks like everyone had fun. Before I knew it, all the lights were off, all my friends had left and I had Swervedriver playing on my cellphone speakers to pass the time.

Woke up and left around 7 in the morning with that whole "WHERE THE FUCK AM I AND WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?" look on my face. I drove through a McDonald's to get some food and by 8:30AM, I was eating breakfast with my mother. I went to bed right after that and woke up sometime around lunch to find some of my friends laughing their asses off of things I said the night before.

Turns out, I had been drunk texting/calling people left and right while I was shitfaced. Highlights include the following:

Me: "Hey, I want you to know that I am never loving again."
Kai: "Oh, really?"
Me: "I don't know, maybe not but I will never love again!"

As if that wasn't bad enough I actually drunk called my own mother and here's what came up:

Me: "Moom!"
Mom: "Oh, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Me: "Moom, where's the doooog?"
Mom: "Nasa kwarto mo, inaantay ka. Pati si Burger, inaantay ka. Antagal mo e."
Me: "TELL THE DOG I SAID HI, OMG OMG OMG."

Yeah, typical drunk story but you guys have no idea how much that night meant to me. I love you, basic people. Thanks for cheering me up. Those pictures are hilarious btw.

To catch a second and turn it to forever

I made this for YMTWTM!. This is part of a series on my unabashed posthumous admiration for Maningning Miclat. I knew nothing of her character, but her writing resonates with me in ways I never thought possible. If anything, at least in my own mind I've come to believe that for once someone spoke in the same vacuum of transience I did.

I wish I knew you in your lifetime because I will love you all throughout mine.

Sometimes, I find the time to smile.

Regardless of how firm I am with my "faith" in tristecism, I sometimes find the time to smile. That whole data collection thing went far better than expected and should my attention span comply, I should be able to finish my thesis in a week. That's if I do a week-long internet purge, however. I'm throwing the idea around in my mind. It just might work. Either that or nothing else other than this journal.

A number of history's greatest works have been done in less time and if I could do this thesis without corrections and without the aid of an adviser, then I suppose I at least come close to meriting a much better outlook on myself and my own capacities.

Sometimes, I'd like to smile again. Let this be to the next time I smile. Viva la tristesse!

Months of the great gloom

It's that time of the year again. These are the months of the great gloom and I am thus humbled. It is with sincere reverence that I give myself September up until February to reflect on the beauty found in the wake of each year's quiet passing. In perfect love and imperfect loving, I give myself back to the arms that held me up when I could no longer stand. To the concrete, I send my love. To the great gloom, I give these fragile hands.

There is no love here. In love, I am forever alone.

No matter how far life may take me, I send my love.

I've always hinted towards the way I take it as a personal betrayal to not write something down here; especially over prolonged stretches of time. It's been nothing less than devastating for the greater part of the two months I spent thinking I could put that guilt to good use. In hopes of providing myself with a means to facilitate generativity in other endeavors, I went on a "writing fast" of sorts. As a result, my presence on IDWTMYA waned. I was wrong about that whole neuroticism and would like to make amends.

Everyone, I'm back on IDWTMYA. I don't ever want to let this go. I'm so sorry.

If one were to suggest optimism, these words would fall short

Three things. Suggest optimism, stay beautiful and keep moving. I haven't gotten to any single one of those yet and it's getting on my nerves for the most part. Things have been feeling off as of late. My previous entries reflect that rather well. The more distant I am from my writing, the more detached I become with my sense of connectedness to the world. I can't risk this. I am way past that threshold and the dissonance is intolerable.

I have to keep on writing. I have to keep myself together, if only to keep this part of my college life intact. I really don't want to lose myself again.

I really don't have much to say

It is because of a non-singular "you" that I will never love again.

I keep living the same day

Groundhog day. It's sort of like that. Couple that with Geoff Rickly's mantra in the United Nations song, "I keep living the same day" and you might be able to come up with a pretty clear picture of what the past few weeks have been for me. I suppose this is playing off just like the aforementioned Bill Murray film, making a royal ass of myself as I wake following 30 minutes of sleep. Over and over again. Time management has always been a long standing issue but I think this would sort of take the cake as to setting a new zenith for non-productivity.

I don't like this. No. I don't like this at all. It's making me feel like crap to be perfectly honest, knowing that the bills aren't getting any cheaper and I'm still not to the point of frantically trying to pull myself across the board for a swift and uneventful graduation. If I'm going to make something of this, I'll have to get to work and I believe the only way I'm getting this into my thick skull is by way of writing.

What do I want to happen, exactly? I want to get all of my paperwork done and I want to stop pushing things aside to slack off. I have enough free time anyway, so I don't get why I have to put so much stuff off for later. Besides, if I get that down, I ought to have enough time to sleep as well. Management. Seriously, I need me some of that. First off, I'm switching all of my documents to Donna, the other laptop. Turning it into a dedicated workstation for writing music, recording, live performances and more than anything, a machine for generating papers. It's only one year and whereas I'm still in sort of a slump, I ought to be able to pull it together this week.

The world never stops passing by and for a self-proclaimed transient, I have to be there in its passing. I have to move with it. It's that same dynamism I have to practice if I want to get to where I want to be.

I'm not starting over, I'm moving forward. Wouldn't want to place any more burdens on anyone.

Uneventful

For the most part, the past few days have been rather uneventful. Things have been looking up as far as the gear acquisition department is concerned but for all intents and purposes, the rest of the world seems to lie stagnant in a dry swell. This could just be due to my growing desire to move out of this city but yeah. I think I'll fight this one out as long as I can.

The first semester's shaping up quite well, not to jinx myself or anything but I think I could see this going somewhere. Somewhere good, I hope. My thesis has been coming together well. Ma'am Gail's been supporting me since the inception of this whole endeavor and by Wednesday, I ought to have the paperwork done so I could get cleared for fieldwork. I'm looking forward to data collection and a whole host of other things filed under ulterior motives.

Caitlyn Bailey, on the other hand is slowly working itself back into shape as well after a short hiatus over the summer. We're looking to release a remastered discography of sorts by mid-July. It'll be self-released under the name Anthology. The cover is done, finishing some parts of the layout then I'll start with the packaging as soon as I get a new paper cutter. I intend to make the whole thing a very personal experience from the band to whoever has it in his or her hands.

I guess that's as much as I could pull together for now. I might chime in later to satiate the need to secure a stable train of thought.

I'll be back real soon.

Distant terminals

Distant Terminals

When the sleepless stray far from the bases of their shadows, the morning shall blossom for us. Hanging from the cradles of daylight, we're so quiet and uncertain. "Will I ever see you again?", I asked and "I'll see you soon" was all you said but I never did see you again. In the currency of time and distance, our fragile words never last; in every fleeting instance, we're all too quick to pass. "I never saw you again.", I said. When "I'll see you soon" was all you said, I never did see you again. I never did see you again.

For every bit of permanence, we never lasted long and as our paths converged on open roads, this meeting was one to mean the most. The beautiful never last long, they say.

From here on in, every untransmitted signal has this to say: "We will always float in dead trajectory; to drift in the spaces where our fragile hands once met."

It is because of a non-singular you that I will never love again.

Mine are the saddest of sullen eyes

The Saddest of Sullen Eyes
Summer, 2010

The beautiful never last long. This is the only relevant truth left for us to believe in; at the very least, it’s the only relevant truth I’m left to subscribe to. Transience only takes us as far as the stories we tell and the histories we share. In this, I hope to be a part of you somehow; situated in my quiet passing, open arms and heart laid bare. For the remaining days I have here, may my voice ring anonymously as the trail to love’s fleeting afterthought.

I only have until the fifteenth of May.

I hope you never find this and I hope you never find me. Never say my name, just remember what I had to say. This would be all. Mine are the saddest of sullen eyes.

I don't see you everyday

I chose to be alone for the sole reason of being near you. I never complained about how you were always in love with somebody else, neither did I bother to stake claim over what I felt was then unattainable. I stayed for you and no one else. I stayed close because I knew no better and sat myself closer for the part of you that I always felt would love me back.

Let’s never settle for short stops and near misses, you always knew what you meant to me.

Apartheid

It’s the colors of love that pull us apart; the vested interest keeps us hanging on and we’re best left with restraining orders.

Neutral coagulants

I will love you forever- if only for the sake of art.

Rest assured

It was wrong of me to ever doubt you. In anything and everything, it’ll always be you.

Only in this yearning

I hope you never find what you’re looking for.

Houses with secret gardens

My house’s silent hallways seem so much more peaceful when I’m alone. Every room and corner here breathes with that same serenity; knowing that everything in front of me is mine to spend an eternity with. From the view of my bedroom window, the world has never looked as haunting. You smiled to me and said, “we’re not the only ghosts here.”

Wilson

You have a name. Don’t say you don’t remember.

The social dances of socialist dancers

Your slow, arcing curvature lives on in the poetry of every lingering movement. In every inch of suspended motion, you speak without ever having said.

“Love…” and I quote, “will this be over soon?”

In the calmness of that moment, I stared at you and said: “I never knew limbs could bend that way. I never knew my will could bend like this and never break.”

Without a word, you let go of my trembling hands and continued dancing.

“By the time the sun sets over this amphitheater, we’d still be far from reaching the end. This dance, it never ends. Not for you, not for anyone.”

We have yet to end this awkward dance.

Our lady

Every martyred saint is a lover prior to death.

Commodity fetishes

We’ve made an artform of walking down opposite ends of the same street. The sidewalks here are conveyor belts and we’re the only people who’d prefer to walk backwards. Honestly, I’d like to think we walk backwards in hopes of meeting halfway.

For whatever it’s worth, you’re the best part of this production. I honestly believe you’re the prettiest part of this production line.

Autobahns

When all roads lead to the same place, the drive is always in circles. Close your windows, I know where you live.

On the verandas of empty houses

This place is haunting without you. I’ve been feeling this way since 1994.

Sailboats

Our bridges may burn as bright as the sun but they are sure to end as beautifully as the haziest of Atlantic sunsets.

At the end of November

For the life of me, I couldn’t just let this go.

Central states and peripheries

Have we become mothers to a brood of hungry fascist children? What then has become of our struggle against totality? This all amounts to nothing. If only for this, we all amount to nothing.

Mountainside empires

Ghost towns are peaceful, really. It’s the loneliness of the city that makes ghosts of us all. I can’t stand it. For a city of ghosts, we are by no means peaceful.

False starts

April and May, I’m always yours. This lifetime is ours to own.

...or so we thought

You weren’t who you said you were. That’s exactly who you are. I don’t know why I like you so much that way.

Open arms to clearer windows

Only when I wake to find you here do I realize that none of this is ever real.

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Untitled

These quiet mountains march in with a thousand peaks but bear no summit. Gazing upon the horizon with starry eyes and bewildered smiles, daylight hangs as a pendulum for us; meridian only to the space between where heaven and the sea meet.

It's sad for me to say I'll never see you again.

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Two asterisks run swiftly across an open field in hopes of finding shelter from the morning shower of our half-formed ampersands. Stumbling as they move along, they help each other up that they may both still carry on.

In a house of hanging mirrors, one says to the other, "Stop, wait, listen to me. We could only go so far." We stop and listen, pausing for a second; "such fragile asterisks we are..."

Our hands are half-formed ampersands.

Literaturegirls

In the search for shared phenomenology, many of my calls have gone unanswered. From the hole I've dug for myself however, my voice might still resonate and find the strength to reach you wherever you may be. Let my lowly voice echo on, let it travel far and wide. It's with these half-formed hopes that my words still seek to glisten in the back of your distant, hazy eyes.

Lost in the language of borrowed time, countless pages are inked with your name as a signature and a long-standing metaphor. I do not know what to say, I do not know what to do. I'd like for things to stay this way but I feel the same way too.

I'd like to think I know where we stand. I just don't know what to say.

Are we still friends? I just hope this doesn't change.

A Nostalgic Fondness

A NOSTALGIC FONDNESS
Ten sweet songs to remind us of better times

Tracklist:

1. Julianna Barwick- Anjos
2. Color of Clouds- Left You
3. Lush- For Love
4. Irene- By Your Side
5. Dylan Mondegreen- Something To Dream On
6. Aberdeen- Sunny in California
7. Club 8- I Wasn't Much Of A Fight
8. Asobi Seksu- Pink Cloud Tracing Paper
9. Sweet Trip- Chocolate Matter
10. Rocketship- Hey Hey Girl

Total length: 35:02
Total size: 47.5mb

DOWNLOAD HERE

New distances

I'd like to think I dress differently now. For all intents and purposes, I'm happier with the way I dress and subsequently, I'm pleased with the way it helped me become happier with myself as a person over the course of the past two years. Considering how anti-fashion and terribly classist I used to be, I think I've gone a long way in my understanding of worn aesthetic and its bearing in reference to one's sense of self. As with all social creatures, humans have the capacity to project themselves by way of a maintained sense of aesthetic.

From an explicit declaration of political leanings to a rather implicit display of preference for a niche group of friends, associates and prospective partners, I believe it's impossible to separate an individual from the commonalities of a preferred context. We derive a unique sense of self via our exercise of reflexivity as we move along a continuum of styles that arise from the culture or set of cultures we're immersed in. It's ironic to say the least, how individuality arises not from a general rejection of external influence as one might commonly assume, but rather from the adoption of a set of relatively exclusive standards that would lump and individual into a narrower social strata which allows for improved mobility in the prevailing power structure. It's not so much about building yourself up from scratch than it is trying to build yourself an environment that allows you to act upon your own potentialities.

I believe myself to be a more respectable person when I dress in a manner I consider respectable. With that inwardly directed sense of self-respect, I in turn feel like more of a capable person; someone capable of acting upon these said potentialities.

I may be well on my way there in terms of getting the approach down but every approach needs some follow-through. I'm not there yet but I intend to get to where I want to be. Ideally, I'll get there while I'm young and well-dressed.



P.S.

Hi, Madel! I am giving you special mention in this entry. I hope you don't mind.

Sometimes, I dream

Sometimes, I dream. From time to time, these dreams don't end well. Sometimes, I don't understand half of what they have to say to me. A lot of times, they only leave me hanging.

Yesterday, I woke up from a rather peculiar dream. It was in an open field with a stage set up for some band I wanted to see but could only vaguely remember. It was on a cloudy afternoon, at a location I couldn't readily describe. I was with friends and had just gotten up out of a tent to find seats close to the stage. I sat down on a chair facing the stage. One moment, I blink and all of the sudden I'm in the same place but I'm facing the other way. I'm staring everyone in the audience right in the face. It takes a while to register but when my eyes start to focus, I see hideous, ghastly faces and I scream as loud as I can.

Everything goes blank.

I wake up in some strange house, with all sorts of odds and ends that wouldn't look out of place in an episode of Tales from the Crypt. It was tense and I felt like something was after me but this was something that never really made itself known to me from within the dream itself.

I'll get back to this later. Sometimes, I dream.

I am seriously not getting any younger

Just so you know, I was young once. I'm not getting any younger. If you've read through my previous entries, you'll know this is something that both fascinates me and greatly scares me. I've always had a penchant for the uncertain and I always welcome change but I guess a part of us will always opt to cling to the safety of a familiar state of life.

This part of my life is coming to a close and I am ready to welcome the person I am to become within the next few years.

"One year until Manila", my mother said a while ago. "Be patient, you'll miss this when it's gone." As ready as I think I am for something new, I guess I'm also taking the time to prepare for the things I'm to miss when I leave this town.

I am seriously not getting any younger.

Next time, pick someone who doesn't care

It has become a point of concern that a certain individual has been posting text and various other content found in IDWTMYA. I am not for copyright or anything, but I do believe that people should at least have the common decency to not bastardize other people's life experiences by presenting them as one's own. It makes me feel insulted to say the least and to a greater degree, I feel sorry for the sad bastard behind these accounts. Well, this is a free plug for his sorry ass. Nice try, sunshine. Now grow a pair and fuck off.

The following are some of the said entries. Some may have been overlooked but here is a fairly representative list:

• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/373317235/01-04-10 > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/11/we-will-always-float-in-dead-trajectory.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/373335694/slow-down > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2010/01/slow-down.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/344110170 > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/11/fifteen-more-mornings-on-upper-east.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/328895981 > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/11/pretend-to-be-here.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/316441012/youre-a-dreamer-and-you-lack-focus-youre-just-like
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/313014205/hello > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/12/hello-donna.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/311244285/everyone-should-be-murdered > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/05/on-making-of-les-amants-and-interview.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/306365077/12-29-09 > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/05/phrase-of-month-and-related-statements.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/306362707/12-29-09 > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/11/pretend-to-be-here.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/304569717/12-28-09
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/301492203/two-of-my-moms-closest-friends-my-godparents > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/12/when-you-wake-youre-still-in-dream.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/296904610/i-hope-she-isnt-an-amelia-fletcher-1-im-tired > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-should-stop-wearing-breakup-clothes.html and http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/11/pretend-to-be-here.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/295129042 > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/10/blog-post.html
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/286246101 > The picture with the caption, “Meow!”
• http://ilovelamps.tumblr.com/post/283225466/i-took-that-pic-while-i-was-paying-bills-at-bayad > Lifted from http://idontwanttomissyouanymore.blogspot.com/2009/06/plot-to-blow-up-philippine-long.html

Nigga, please. That shit's whack.

He has done this to my formspring as well. Further plagiarism may be found at his blogspot if anyone bothers to find it.

UPDATE:

Action has been taken and his account has been suspended. Thanks, Marc from Tumblr!

A Quiet Monologue

This was something I made for economics class. It's about the politics of emotional scarcity and the patterns that lie behind a person's projected social interactions. This is a lot of firsts for me. First time I ever did a short in color, first time I ever did something fairly hi-res, first time I ever used a different editing program. So yeah, it could get better still. I enjoyed making this and am looking to make more past the walking around and going home schtick. Since I know what to do in some cases, I should at least try to apply them in different ways.

Our drama, there's not much more. It's coming to an end for sure.

Now is not the best time for a lot of things, especially when those said things get in the way of the last week of summer school. I'll be the first to admit that my performance during this term and the last has been terribly lackluster. I'm not happy with that and I don't think I could stress that enough. I do however have needs that need to be addressed despite the circumstances they might put me in when I get back to the regular rhythm of life.

I guess I have to 'fess up and take accountability for my actions. I'll do what it takes to get by and get things out of the way, so yeah. Here goes.

A while back, I wrote of my unabashed enthusiasm for Club 8's Philippine tour. I reserved tickets, shot a few messages and made a few calls. Soon enough, I was on a plane headed for Manila with a full set of plans for the days I'd end up spending there.

From the airport, I went straight to dad's office. Ate my first meal of the day around 3:30pm while watching Kick Ass (Whose eponymous protagonist reminds me of Polina's Nick Baker, only with The Locust's costumes in his backpack.). Haven't eaten at Mini-Stop in quite a while and I missed it. Apart from that though, I missed the people I used to go to Mini-Stop with, but that's besides the point.

Around 4:30pm, I high-tailed it over to Mall of Asia to meet up with Nudge in National Bookstore. After almost an hour of aimless wandering to Aberdeen's Homesick And Happy To Be Here, I found her looking up some Oscar Wilde books in the Literary Winners' section. Always nice to see a literary winner checking out other literary winners, don't you think? Anyways, she helped me pick out a notebook and after some more aimless wandering we decided to eat at Wham! Burger. Big mistake. The chicken littles were good but the chicken sandwich left a lot to be desired. Didn't finish all of it. It just got a tad gross towards the end.

Soon after, we started looking for the way to SMX Convention Center. Asking for directions didn't help much, so we tried playing a game of "follow that hipster!" wherein the both of us had to find the way to the venue by following well-dressed kids in pointy shoes. Three blocks and a lost hipster later, we got to SMX.

After an hour or so of waiting in line for the venue to open and poking fun at how hardcore punk kids end up watching Club 8, Nudge and I walked in to find merch tables, busy production staff and a sea of eager fans. I bought the Labrador Records press for Club 8's Strangely Beautiful and a t-shirt for The People's Record and sat down a few heads away from the stage.

The show started soon enough with The Gentle Isolation. I haven't heard them prior to this and from their set, I could safely say they're one of those bands that would really make me smile to see again. Your Imaginary Friends came after. Albeit plagued by technical difficulties in the middle of their set, they still put on a good show. Very heartfelt and charming. The Camerawalls followed, bringing an entire stage full of bandurristas on stage with them. That whole spectacle was a sight to see and Clem Castro's stage presence won me over apart from having a very solid repertoire that would've gotten me to listen to them anyway. Kudos to him for pulling all of this together with the Lilystars crew, as well. I could only imagine how crazy things would've been over his end. Solid lineup, very smooth flow in between bands. At least that's how I see it.

A tense air hung over the audience soon after The Camerawalls played. The crew started setting up, bringing instruments back and forth. We all knew it was coming and just when we were all creaming our pants in excitement, there they were. Club 8, in all their Swedish indie glory, standing in front of us; readying themselves for what was to be the highest point of the evening. They didn't say anything, they just got up and burst into Western Hospitality off of their latest opus, The People's Record. The rest, as they say, is history.

This was definitely a huge event by indie standards. Over at this end though, it was nothing short of an oasis in the middle of a far stretching existential drought for me.

As stated in an earlier entry, I would just like to reiterate the following statement:

This is really something I'd like to experience specifically because of what Club 8 means to me. I guess it's because of where I was around the time I really listened to them. In a sense, like I say about My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, Club 8 was there for me when everyone else couldn't be. They brought me through hard times so I suppose it's my way of giving back to them. Paying for the tickets, showing my support, buying their cds and other merch should they have any.

The mere fact I was there to watch and actually meet Karolina Komstedt and Johan Angergard was a huge thing for me as it took Club 8 into the realm of actual shared experience. I felt it in the connection I had with the rest of the crowd, in the time I spent with Nudge and in Johan and Karolina's words and company.

"We're glad to have helped you through these parts of your life. At least through the music, we're there for you in good times and bad."

-Johan Angergard to me

On a whole, the whole Club 8 experience left me with a stronger desire to experience life as it's meant to be experienced in and among people. Looking into it, I realized that brief, if only momentary patches of inter-subjectivity are just as important as the major turning points that arrest us and change the course of our lives as we know it.

I guess I know what I'm looking for now. Ennui pays off because it makes you see the things you take for granted.

"With all this drama, there's something to lose but the ending we don't choose. Our drama, there's not much more. It's coming to an end for sure."

Club 8- I wasn't much of a fight

YMTWTM! still draws things

Full view, maybe? I missed drawing things. Always puts a smile on my face when I do.

Before transience

Before transience, there was music. My mother just gave me her n97 on the grounds of it being more suited to that whole technologically-dependent demographic I've gotten myself into. I named her Pia after the Estonian shoegaze band, Pia Fraus. She has an FM transmitter so that solves the problem I have about my car's cd player.

Going to school should be less taxing now. This does however remind me that I missed my 9:15 class and I might miss the next one if I don't get going.

Read this and I'll pretend to be here.

Come what may

I think it sort of runs as a recurring theme as per the content of my entries, whenever I say something that would hint towards establishing some sense of stability with regards to myself, my relationship with myself and my relationships with other people. I occasionally refer to this as the unending search for permanence. In case you've been following IDWTMYA, you might have seen words or phrases of similar bearing thrown around a lot.

Instead of rambling endlessly about it like I always do, I suppose it would make more sense to sum it up in words that wouldn't be so indulgent as they are a primer towards the rest of the day and if absolutely necessary- the days to come.

The question I pose is this: What need is there for permanence in the life of a self-proclaimed "loveless transient"?

As the seconds roll by, snowballing into hours, days and weeks; may this be my momentary afterthought. I'd like to find out what permanence means to the transient in me and discern if the voice of the other is polarizing enough to assume a mutually exclusive persuasion. If I must be a transient, where am I going and to what end?

Spring came, rain fell

You have no idea how excited I am to see Club 8 live in Manila this May 14. Given that I'm in the middle of nowhere, I haven't had the opportunity to see a lot of the bands I actually listen to whenever they happen to stop by this country. With Manila and Cebu being so far from here, you could see why. Upon hearing news in the rumor mill as to Club 8's Philippine excursion, I jumped at the chance as soon I could when the details started pouring in.

I reserved a ticket for myself. I don't really have plans of asking anyone out so yeah. This is really something I'd like to experience specifically because of what Club 8 means to me. I guess it's because of where I was around the time I really listened to them. In a sense, like I say about My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, Club 8 was there for me when everyone else couldn't be. They brought me through hard times so I suppose it's my way of giving back to them. Paying for the tickets, showing my support, buying their cds and other merch should they have any.

It's the least I can do and well, I'm excited. See you soon, Karolina Komstedt!

To have and to hold

Lived experience and its corresponding memories are in and among that list of seemingly intangible things which only translate into this plane of being by means of arbitrary association. Take for example, the peaks and valleys of human interaction and the intersubjective sense of self it entails. It may take voluminous amounts of text to either affirm or refute a claim as to how "real" or "authentic" a lived experience may be but a point of contention exists between the two with the following proposition: "This is meaningful, neither because of the alleged authenticity of the experience nor its accuracy as an imperfect portrayal. This is meaningful because it is what it means to me."

The question of the reality and validity of experience and memory is in this case rendered irrelevant as existence and memory both take root in the realm of perception and reflexivity. As the symbolic interactionist school of thought would posit, people operate based on the meanings they create for the things people say, the things people do and the things these people leave behind. The artifacts we leave in the wake of our conscious existence are built upon the meanings we draw from the lives we lead. Likewise, the course of the meanings we make for ourselves shape the way we live our lives.

This world we live in is built from the inside out.

With that statement, I would like to affirm my belief in the depth of substance there is to find in the non-human elements of life and the lived experience. Each of the things I touch hold a lifetime's worth of experience for me and whereas this whole paradigm leaves me geared towards the neuroticisms of hoarding, it goes far beyond the level of use-value an individual would typically associate with inanimate objects. At least for a second, I have the universe in my hands; to have and to hold.

Among others, I collect cds, records and people's handwriting. More than that, I collect a lifetime's worth of beautiful memories.

On the appropriation of public space

Elections are on May 10. For the record, this is a sideways rant so there goes your prior notice. I'm unregistered, neither do I express any interest in participating in the voting process. I'd like to believe I have every right to say no and will stand by my decision to do so. First off, I by no means consider myself Filipino by virtue of anything other than ethnicity and regional proximity. My interest in politics is geared towards the progression of society and the improvement of its quality as a whole. While I am young and idealistic, I intend to do what I can to work towards this goal. This is ironic however, considering how avoidant I generally am of people. Well, at the very least I don't place blind faith in the tyranny of a mismanaged representative "democracy". Yes, I am arrogant, young and whatever. Great, just great.

Enough of that, now. Let me cut to the chase. This will not be so much on my political leanings as it'll primarily touch on my issues with a certain practices associated with the elections, particularly my gripes with the crap that has to do with campaign period.

Of all the activities I engage in, walking around and just looking at things from afar are on the top of my list. Personally, I'd like to think that we as perceptive social beings draw a distinct sense of character from the streets and buildings we maneuver. We could see that our immediate environment lays down the blueprint for the social interactions we conduct in them on an affective and aesthetic level. I do not like what I see. Whoever wins this sideshow of an election, I just hope he/she/it starts the next term by getting rid of all of the campaign-related garbage our aspiring public servants slap all over the place. To say the least, all of this kitsch is particularly disheartening. It's reflective of just how much crap we take from the prevailing cultural hegemony. The saturation of media in the case of Philippine television for example pummels the individual into a state of uncritical consensus, leaving us with a flock of sheep led to slaughter by the shepherds of totality. Walking down my favorite streets, it isn't too far-fetched to think that on this side of the fence, it appears that the force-feeding of imposed culture on an environmental level exists as a thorn in the side of independent and rational thought.

Next time around, I propose that there be specific zones in the city for campaign propaganda. The noise of campaign jingles blasted from the roofs busted up multicabs drowns out the music of the bustling metropolis. The sound of a thousand distant conversations, of cars passing by and the dissonance of a herd of jaywalking pedestrians; all of this is lost in the transmission of ruling-class ideals. The ordered chaos of the city's natural color and (de)composition lies buried underneath paper and tarpaulin promises, unfamiliar faces to the transient sights our movements call home.

I'd like my public space to be inspiring and sincere. I could do with a lot less of this campaign-related bullshit. There's already enough advertising on the commercial market. We could all do without apotheizing the people who seek to sideways enslave us.

As we walk through these captive streets, we walk towards our freedom. You gave them names, we gave them a soul. Give us back our city streets. Give us back our histories.

Mossuraya

Haven't played shows in a while. Since Paeng is in Laguna for the time being, Paris and I started this little two-piece band to keep us busy named For A Second, Everyone In London Sleeps. We played our first show last night at the DC leg of Mossuraya's SEA tour. Played first since we were the first full band to get there, being only the two of us. Went through the set fast enough. I finally discovered how to get noise out of my new guitar and subsequently ended up grating my wrists over it.

Dha from Manila was there, nice finally meeting her formally after seeing her on our 2008 Manila tour. I wanted to talk to her at the time but I didn't know if that was her for real. Turns out, yeah that was her. A lot of my school friends showed up to support us too. Arisa and Jariya Heitz were there with their friends. The Harley's people were there too. So yeah, the gang's all there. Being a hardcore show, I already knew most of the people and it felt like home for once.

Mossuraya was fucking crazy. Best set I've seen in Davao as of late. I really enjoyed how weird those guys are. I hope to see more bands like this soon. Tights, odd use of instruments, stage antics et al. Hell, Ivan from Roundhead was stripped in the middle of the moshpit. Shit was insane.

Best show I've seen in a while. Looking forward to more shows like this in the near future.

Standing on the edge of summer

Home. This insignificant little speck on the information superhighway will always feel like home to me. It feels exactly like that every time I leave a little something for IDWTMYA in so much as it strikes me the same way whenever I return after days or weeks of travel or general absence. Going back to the same old people, places and things will never cease to leave me with a balanced feeling of fulfillment. To a certain degree, that aspect of my being is mirrored in my relationship with this journal.

Last semester was terrible to say the least and as far as grades go, I do believe I got what I deserved for the effort I put into that whole mess. I'm not happy, but I do believe I brought this upon myself. I didn't fail anything though, so I suppose I shouldn't be that distraught. It's just terrible knowing I could've done better but didn't. Regrets will be regrets, I have to live with them. Best measure? Think prescriptive. Since I've been throwing the term reflexivity around so much, might as well disrupt the status quo of my own conduct.

I've been in college for four years, going on five. Albeit a year later than my actual batchmates, I'm graduating. I have six subjects left before I do so and I guess it's high time I actually gave this school thing some actual thought. Well, thought that finds its way into actual practice hopefully.

I'm taking summer classes now, working on my deficiencies. They won't be there for long. Considering taking up a minor degree in Philosophy. I've always wanted to. Seeing as I have free units for the next semester, this is finally a viable option. Plans for graduate school have changed, however. I'm considering going to La Salle for my masters instead of UP. I'd probably take International Studies but yeah. We'll find out when we get there.

In other news, Caitlyn Bailey is on summer hiatus again as Paeng's up in Laguna doing his thing. In order to keep the momentum up and just to make sure that our drummer stays sharp, I started a new band with Paris just to practice screamo drumming and blast beats. We write pretty fast, old-school screamo. We're playing a show this Friday with Swiss art-punk brigade, Mossuraya and Malaysian grindcore group, Damokis. Our new band's name is For A Second, Everyone In London Sleeps. Shit should be cash. It's Paris on drums and me on guitar and vocals.

Still inching my way out of my second semester haze, things have been picking up as of late. Things are stable, which is a good thing. I sincerely hope I keep the momentum going.

Oh, and before I forget; Bianca is giving birth this May. I'm really looking forward to the baby and seeing B again. Okay, since we brought this up I'm also looking forward to spending actual time with some friends up in Manila while I'm at it. So school, friends, band life, future plans and all; yeah I'm optimistic.

I hope it's not too late to make it up to you.

Serendipity

Well, you don’t always get what you want but that does however leave the grounds open for something that might come as a pleasant surprise. I went to that super secret underground guitar shop to find that the Japanese Jaguar copy I spoke of a while back had been sold. Disappointed, I sideways expected it. I did however come across this gem.

Since I always had a thing for naming inanimate objects, I’d like to introduce Marcella. She appears to be a cross between a Les Paul, an SG and a Telecaster. Tone-wise, she sounds fairly warm on the neck pickup setting and has this jangly old-school guitar pop sound when set to the bridge pickup. The neck feels just right. It’s bolted on. The body is lighter than expected. Overall, I’m still disappointed by my apparent lack of a Jaguar but this is a pleasant surprise. Serendipity. Whatever the hell this guitar is.

A worthy successor to my MIJ Thunder Mustang, Ardennes who in a few weeks time will find herself a new home in the loving hands of my good friend, Francis Cabal.