What you want

Upon asking about your personal relations with people, you made mention of how you held people close but never had any best friends. You slept over that night, much like many other nights before. Half-asleep, you pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, "Truth is, you're the closest thing I have to a best friend. I love you to bits and you mean the world to me. You mean everything to me." I lay there still. Since you came along, I slept with the comfort of your touch. To feel you in a little less than a week, a little less than a day, a little less than an hour and upon waking. That means the world to me. With all the faces that flash by me in transit, someone decided to stay. She sees me every week, every other day. She sleeps in my bed, has space in my closet and walks around the house with her own pair of slippers. This person is a part of me. She's a part of me. The fleeting afterthought of a "she" runs a far second to the thought of you, a farther third to the thought of you and I. This is us, not the mere thought but the truth of.

Even so, I find myself at a loss for words with the sound of my name on your lips. How am I supposed to respond? I can't say your name when you're around. The way I feel for you stretches further than a name ever could. My love for you is formless, boundless and as fluid as the twin rivers of sleep and waking. You are everything, all of the time. Call to me, say my name the way you do and no one ever has to speak. You know I'm always with you. Yours. Just yours. You, just you.

Dissonance, everything dissonant, you're that quiet, timeless place I always yearned for. With you, I am at peace.

The year's end calls for a bout of sleep-deprived introspection. This would be the best time if ever to sum things up. This year has been marked by some jagged transitions, moving to the capital, finding work, coming to grips with the demands of age and the constellations of my personal life. It hasn't been the easiest but somehow, I got by. I've seen some personal relationships deteriorate while others convalesce. This is a marked by yearning, inked by change and written by moving forward.

I've decided to resume work on my undergraduate thesis. At the same time, I've decided to pursue my graduate studies this year. Since moving, I've grown closer to my father and by association, his side of the family. For once, it felt like I actually belonged to something. Maybe it's the need to make up for lost time? I can't say. It's strange, but a welcome turn of events. More than most things however, I met someone. I got lucky and fell in love. Everything else remains a hazy afterthought.

Her name is Alva, the strangest luck for this space in time. A life partner, a best friend and the only lover to share this lonesome bed. Yearning for someone who gets it for once, I now have someone to turn to. A passionate lover, host to a brilliant mind, a love to spend a lifetime.

You're one of the strongest people I know and I'm hard-pressed to run out of reasons to admire you. You inspire me, hold me captive. I yearn for you when you're away from me and I adore you when you're close. Each and every inch of you, I do. A thousand times over, a thousand times yes.

...and I quote: "I love you because you get it. I love you because I don't have to explain. I love you because you're easy to love. I love you because a part of me melts whenever I glance at you sleeping. I love you more than anything. I love you."

I love you. As the year closes on us with tired yet hopeful eyes, I look to every tomorrow to see you. We grow a year older with each other, let's start adding years til we grow old together.

We only have the rest of our lives. See you soon.

Kaleidoscope

This week hasn't been too kind. Well, okay, it's been uneventful but I've been really tense. Haven't been uneasy for a while so I guess this would be healthy enough to balance things out.

First off, I feel really bad about the band. I seriously don't think they deserve any of this from me so yeah. I'm sorry guys. It's just me trying to compensate for how insecure I am as a musician. We really need to see each other from time to time, even if it's not band-related. We've been rather distant.

Work's been okay; no backlogs, no nothing. No money either. Well yeah, I do get paid at work but my savings have been shot to shit since I started managing the farm. It's a little sacrifice I have to make to be able to pull my own weight at home and I really hope it gets somewhere. I can't wait for my first harvest. Tending to the farm Saturday morning before the show.

Yeah, things are alright, just not in the highest of spirits. Regardless of how I tend to find myself in this state of mind from time to time, I do still find things to smile about, even with my incredibly flat affect. Today was great though. I have to admit. One of the best mornings I've seen so far.

Woke up at a respectable time and took a cab to work. Yes, it cost me. Yes, I'm broke but whatever. Fuck, I don't feel like panicking over being late another 15 minutes. Upon arrival, one of my officemates set a McDonalds' breakfast meal on my table. "We all had our share, here's yours." We have food in the office all the time so I wasn't too surprised. My boss walked in and said, "lucky guy, that thing's special delivery." I was all, "wait, I thought everyone had one for breakfast?" Apparently no. Just me. Shit, I had no clue.

Okay, it was really suspicious. I was starting to wonder if it had anthrax in it or something or for the most part, who sent it. A couple of officemates suspected some gay dude who keeps on bugging me to add him on Facebook. Dug into the bag and found pancakes, a Sausage pattie, extra butter and hash browns; stuff I particularly liked. Especially with the sausage/hash

browns part.

It was getting creepy. Alva texts and I casually told her we had McDonalds' in the office. "Hey, wanna share?" or something to that effect. Right at that moment, I found a little note under the bag of hash browns.

I died in my seat. My officemates aptly applauded. I was left speechless. Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't literally burst out of my seat. This has never happened before. Turns out she sent me breakfast before she left for work, a wee bit before I got to the office. She knew how I felt about the rest of the week and thought it would make me feel better if I ate something.

Lover knows me well. Stay fat please. You're the sweetest and I don't know what to say. Love you. See you soon. You'll get what's coming to you. Your boy misses you. Badly.

Anyway, I ended up discussing terms with Skarlet Jazz Kitchen (and Skarlet herself!) regarding the show on Saturday. Hopefully, I survive the weekend. Thank you, Alva. You have no idea.

P.S.

Thank you so much for volunteering for the show. I'm really short-staffed and you're a lifesaver. I owe you. So much.

Separate lives

Sometimes, I forget that regardless of how close you are to the people around you, you're still at the opposite ends of separate lives. I've been feeling a tad distant with regards to my band lately. It's not that I'm not aware that you all have work and other priorities but I'm just scared to spend too much of myself like I did with that band I used to be in. We're great friends but sometimes, I'm not sure if we're working out as a band. We can't even fix a decent schedule for things.

Maybe it's just been a while since we did things together but I just can't help but feel alone in the band without you guys. Is it something I did? Something I might have said? Sorry. I just don't get what's going on. Might just be panicking because the show is drawing closer.

Dear Mount Analogue, I miss us.

Some more recent Mount Analogue lyrics

Memphis and Blake

Hello. Are you going anywhere? Well, the weeks dive into corners and the weight's too much to bear. Maybe it's just that I've been nervous about tonight or maybe I just want you to get back home alright. "Sleep well, sleep forever. Talk to the sheets and wake me up in a week." Well, you're off and I'm still here. Through bus rides and bridges passed, I've fallen for you and I've fallen fast. Maybe it's just the strangest luck for this space in time or maybe I just don't have it in my heart to lie. "Sleep well, sleep forever. Talk to the sheets and wake me up in a week." From this far away, love's an easy word now.

This one's rather obvious. It used to be called "Wetpacks" since it sounded like literal ass (see: Shortbus) when I first started working on it. It grew on me though. Had to change the title since it would end up sounding like a song about getting ass (on second thought...) but yeah, these are the lyrics. It's about that tense span of time before my girlfriend and I made things official. I had just come forward about the way I honestly felt and the whole thing just hit like this unstoppable swirl of emotions. Uneasy for the most part. She went off for vacation and while she was away, she wrote me something and I guess that was it when she got back. Love's an easy word now.

Stargazer Alejandro

"So to speak, we slept in our lovers' waiting arms." When I call through the cold, the signal drifts; we both know. To sleep, to dream, to wake and drift away; buildings topple over, eyes to heavens that never stay. "Goodbye is when I leave for stars you see in your sleep." Decades lift to become dead stars for a midnight sun; the still air rising up as far as she's willing to stop. She bears the weight of kisses meant to leave you at "goodnight." Asleep on concrete floors, you've sunken below her line of sight. Goodbye is when you leave for stars you see in your sleep.

This was written right after that weird double-date thing we went to after Alva met my folks (that one time with my mother and gay uncle doesn't count). We were out with the person who introduced us plus his girlfriend. So yeah. We were drinking on this empty lot in the middle of The Fort and Migi ended up falling asleep sometime after this long conversation about "Tron Towers" and "stargazing." I jokingly said I'd make a song about this and play it live with my eyes toward the ceiling. Thinking about it (and leaving Migi alone in the middle of an empty lot for a couple of minutes while calling the phone his girl left on his face), Alva was leaving for Leyte the next day and the night did turn out rather well. It's worth a song. Totally worth it.

Rebuild, rebuild, rebuild.

I haven't been this tired in a long time. This isn't that same feeling I get when I'm close to giving in but I am by no means enthralled by the whole mess either. Think about it this way; you walk into your room at three or four in the morning and wake up two to three hours later, take a shower and now you're headed straight for the office. Driving. In and out of focus. You're playing another show that night. You forget that playing shows are the reason you're tired. You know no better.

Last week was like that. Mount Analogue and the Strangeness had shows left and right and I had to be at each one. Truth be told, I had already been planning a momentary exit from the whole band thing but before I could get to that, I had to find out how I could possibly survive the week. I wasn't halfway through then and I already felt like sleeping for a thousand years. My eyes were tired, perpetually glazed over and teetering over the edge of their sockets. Writing and playing music always did the trick for me in the past, it was an outlet. Given that the nature of the band I was in considerably differed from that of Mount Analogue, the balance of tension and release made sense. In form, yes. From a heart-level perspective however, I couldn't be more wrong. I don't think I could ever write music without a sense of ever-welling tension coiling in the back of my chest. Regardless of how well I was doing in life, music always tapped into a dark and lonely place for me. Back then, I saw it as a lack of stage presence, being vulnerable and all. I just grew into the idea that I wasn't playing to anyone but myself. Music healed but among other things, it also destroyed. I learned how to make music with the very intention of destroying myself. Now that I play in (what is more or less) an indie pop band, I feel that destructive sense of catharsis stifled. It's been getting in the way of the band's dynamics, the songwriting process, our direction and among other things, it has served as an added burden on my shoulders.

I'm tired of the weight of my own emotions crashing down on me. This only happens when the music plays. Otherwise, I'm fine. I just find it odd how music makes me feel like someone else, only it couldn't be anyone other than myself. Maybe it's with how all music is temporal, I don't know; a place in time that carries itself over in the cadence of each note that follows suit, that sinful dance between capture and release. The weight is unbearable.

In line with getting rest and putting these things into perspective, I'm taking a break from managing the Strangeness and from playing shows with Mount Analogue. In hopes of saving the band, I'm trying to come up with a direction we could all agree on instead of being a figurehead songwriter for the band. I wish everyone could get their Saturdays ironed out. We need to write together as a band for once. I can't keep living in the shadow of my past endeavors. These aren't just my hands, these are ours.

Guys, I want this to be us. Not just me. I don't expect you to understand right away but I know you find something in music that moves you the same way this does me.

Saturdays, please?

To live, to move imperfect

I have always dreaded the sound of my own voice. From time to time, I tend to listen to myself when I talk and truth be told, all I hear is static; a familiar noise, a mess of words too close for me to ignore. When I started writing for Mount Analogue, I didn't really give it much thought. Initially, I had written songs with a female singer in mind. Seeing as I couldn't find a suitable frontwoman for the band, I took on the vocal duties myself. It would be hard to picture any other setup considering how protective I am about my lyrics but yeah, I brought myself into the line of fire. Our bass player/second singer's range is a tad higher than what I had in mind for these songs so I didn't think I'd have much of a choice.

We were supposed to have the demo out by today and had I any shred of vocal talent, we would have. Finished all the tracking over the course of the week and when it all came down to the vocals, everything I did was subpar. The whole time we've been practicing and playing shows, I never realized how often I went off or how horrible I was with controlling my trails. It might just be me being self-conscious but I know what it's like when you go to shows. You expect something from certain bands, a certain threshold of quality and so far, what we're doing doesn't come close to what I expect from other bands. Bottom line, I need to step up.

I've been told this was a lack of confidence and I'd wholeheartedly agree. I think I'm past that though and when people are rooting for you, you have to realize that they want you to make something of yourself. They'll help you along the way. As for the band, we're probably just finishing this demo and moving on to new songs. Honestly thinking of scrapping these older, more jangle-pop sounding songs altogether in favor of something denser, more desperate sounding. The indie-pop thing is fun but the more time I spend writing, the more I realize that none of this is particularly stellar. Bottom line, I need to step up.

For everything good that's been happening to me, I feel indebted to the people around me, or at least to myself. No one should ever be left short-changed. My bandmates appear to be okay with the idea of new songs if they work in a full band setting, at least I have that out of the way and my girlfriend's pitching in to help me learn how to sing better. At least I have that covered. Okay, fuck that, at least I have her.

Now, while I'm not singing, I should finish all this work-related garbage I've been working on. I should be getting off of my fat ass. There's that.

P.S. Thank you, Alva. It really means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.

Getting there, people

Will be halfway to 60% through this later. Tracking with Cabal. Will keep posted.

Mount Analogue, more related news

It's about time we got back together. Haven't played or practiced together since that Multo sendoff show at Big Sky Mind. We were rather rusty in the studio but we're slowly getting the hang of things again. With really close friends, you tend to just pick up where you left off only it's more like rehabilitating a reattached limb in this case. Despite a clear lack of practice, we managed to survive that set at Audio Heavy Productions' Hello, Hope benefit show at B-Side last Thursday. Well, save for that one song that descended into free jazz. All in all, with the stuff I've been doing for the Strangeness with booking, passing memos and as of late, mailorder, it's about time I did something with my own band. We might be recording demos fairly soon. By soon, I mean this week. Thinking of a couple of ideas to speed up the writing process, particularly recording placeholders for drums as well. On a related note, we should record that EP full of our earlier songs too so we could move on to new material. I have so many new songs written that stray from the shimmery indie pop I wrote for the band early on. Moodier, more driving stuff. That said, we also need to practice together more often. Fuck, that set at B-Side was atrocious. (Reminder, Erwin HAS to have cymbals) Since Mayee started working at Lomography, our schedules have been just plain fucked. I go to work early and she ends late. I'm really happy for her but it's bad news for the band schedule and it's a real hassle having to go back up north for late night practice when I have work the next day. Hopefully, we could come up with a workaround. We're thinking Friday nights and Saturday afternoons. More on that sometime. Anyway, we're playing a couple of more shows this month. We're doing B-Side again on the 26th with Bee Eyes and our much hairier sister band, the Strangeness. Apart from that, we're also playing Earth Decay Fest in San Pablo, Laguna on the 29th.

Until then, I'd probably want to crawl into a hole until my mind starts working again.

Alva, please come home. Your boy is going crazy over here.

Only because you're a name, a face and a time of day

A week or so ago, a co-worker asked if you were my sister the first time you showed up at my office. I didn't know what to say. Picking up on that particular loss for words, he followed up by saying, "next time, be specific, we don't know what she is to you!" Looking back, I knew exactly what you meant to me but up until that point, it hadn't occurred to me that there were no words to describe the way I felt for you. Whatever it was, I only had myself to offer and I'd only take whatever you chose to give. All I knew was that I loved you and that for once, I'd actually want to fall in. You knew this. To be honest, the hardest part of this whole thing was letting you know in the first place. With that out of the way, I no longer saw the point in being scared. This is definitely something and I won't be ashamed to say it. I'm proud of the way I feel for you. To be shameless and vulnerable, to be proud and unapologetic. I'm that way with you and it all seems to flow so naturally. It's as if you've always been there. Where I'm usually wary of being dragged into other people's lives, I'm at peace with the belief that I wasn't taken here against my will. I wanted to be a part of your life, just as much as you were becoming a part of mine. The people around us will understand in time but in the spaces between your lips and mine, no one else matters. In the vastness of that space, I only have you. From October 10 onwards, we have each other. I love you. For proving me wrong about ever finding someone worthwhile without conditions, I will love you in every lifetime.

Something about the band I used to play in

3:52 in the morning and I came home to this link to a tumblr post that made mention of my former band. This time, it was from someone who knew Caitlyn Bailey personally. Since it has come to this, the band has since decided to issue a formal statement on the usage of her name. To the person who wrote this post, I seek to clarify certain things with you as I fear my (yes, this was my doing) intentions may have been misconstrued. I ask for your patience and understanding. I respectfully write this as a means of reaching out.

My name is Francis Maria and I sang for that screamo band you mentioned in one of your entries. First off, let me just clarify several points raised in the aforementioned post.

"Somehow, this guy came across her page and read all these letters. He said it really “touched him” so he named his band after her. Apparently they became pretty popular. It just really makes me angry that they took her name without asking or anything."

We aren't as popular as you think we are. I have to say that straight-up. As long as I could remember, we had always welcomed correspondence from anyone who might have known Caitlyn. Several one-off myspace users got in touch with us but (at least from my end) failed to establish any formal communication. We were prompt with our replies. I personally remember trying to sincerely befriend the people who sent messages. Were you one of those people? I'm sorry for leaving you with the wrong impression. This is someone you actually knew and loved, I understand why you would feel strongly about this. Anything I may have mentioned to the effect of being "touched" by this matter is done out of empathy and not that sinking feeling you get from overdone human-interest specials. I started this band with the sincerest of intentions and I mean everything I say on behalf of it. Again, I apologize for anything you may have taken offense to.

"Apparently they wrote a song about her, but I haven’t heard it. It’s heartbreaking that she had to leave us so soon, and I don’t like the fact that they are profiting off her story."

We never finished that song. In fact, the band was never about her story. On that note, there's no way we could've exploited it in any way, shape or form. We never once referenced her in our lyrics. Our content had always been personal takes on the wax and wane of life and living, things taken from our own experiences. We couldn't have done any justice to her as a person since we knew nothing of the person she was, even through her friends and family. It would be an insult for us to do so. I was, as a reader, moved by the sincerity of that myspace page. If we were to do the name right, we would do something just as sincere, at least to us. Something from our truths and our lives. If anything, the decision to use her name stems from the truth of Caitlyn's humanity. The message was powerful. More than that, it was empowering.

She lived among fellow human beings and traces of her continue to resonate in the hearts of those around her. She wasn't a public figure, a celebrity or a pop culture reference. She was a human being. The truest of all conditions. We sought to bring out that same urgency by way of writing the most sincere music we could. This did not appeal to people. I guess people down here didn't get what we were trying to do so a lot of the time, we were brushed aside in our own respective scenes. Truth is, we have never earned a single cent from this endeavor. We lost more money than we could ever recover with this band but we did this for the love of the music and more importantly, what it stood for. We, like all others, only seek to root ourselves in our own humanness. Your friend showed us that. Your friend showed me that.

"What I’ve heard is that their last show was recently? I hope so. I hope their fans know where their name came from. I hope they know all the pain and sorrow we are suffering because of her loss. I hope they realize it isn’t a joke."

We always made it a point to let people know where our name came from. We always made it a point to let people know that it wasn't our name to begin with. If you must know, we are a band of suicide survivors. We are a band that has lost loved ones to suicide. We could not speak from the standpoint of your heartache but we know ours. We know the pain of loss. We know the pain and lasting trauma of pulling the gun on oneself. We know the pain of seeing loved ones leave so soon. Not once have we done anything out of posterity. I can't tell you about your pain. I can't tell anyone about what you've been through. I just know my pain is real, just as real as yours, just as real as anyone else's. None of us are alone in that regard. This is not a joke and none of us are laughing.

Again, I apologize for any offense I may have caused for choosing this name. I hope you understand our side as well.

Morning, miss.

I miss you. Please come home.

The universe is where I'd rather be with you.

Moments last forever when you keep moving from place to place. For the past few months, I've been moving with you. Through windows and glass, through wires and cables, I've never been this sure about the way I felt. I've never been this nervous either but for whatever it's worth, it's only because you're worth it. If it makes me seem desperate to write about this in secret, someday you'll know. That day might be soon. Either way, I'll be nothing but honest. When you read this, I could only ever ask for your understanding. I've spent the last four years of my life in sheer doubt of anyone ever being worthwhile, of anyone ever being close enough to be with, of anyone I could see in terms of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. I see all of these in you. The world stops and I lose myself in the moment. The universe is where I'd rather be with you.

Weeks ago, I wrote you a song. I recorded it in secret and hid it under a protected link. Several friends knew of this song and on the day I played it, all eyes were on you instead of me. There are about thirty plays on that song right now. One of them, you. Twenty-nine of them know I love you. One of them, me.

For all the things I've been scared to admit, they all stop short of that first kiss. Good morning, you. My name is Francis Maria and I love you, miss.

We never get sick, we never die, we never age

My extended writing fast started a week or so before the Psychological Association of the Philippines Junior Affiliates (PAPJA) convention of November, 2010. If only for the spirit of wanting to make amends, I owe myself an explanation as this has pained me since. You know I can't stop writing for the life of me. This hurts. Deeply.

Initially, starving myself off from my usual diet of internet usage seemed like a good idea. Being in my final year of college, I had to get my shit together for the sake of an easy and uneventful graduation. Looking back, this ended up becoming horribly counter-intuitive. Without a means to keep myself in check, I ended up losing focus, misconstruing a legitimate outlet as a distraction I could've done without. In a way, I single-handedly derailed my first push towards being a career academic. My thesis was behind schedule to the point of never having reached completion. Luckily however, I still managed to come up with the best paper in my batch. Of course, I'm grateful but my professors knew how deep my discontent ran. To live with that discontent is worse than not graduating, really. For the end of an era, we reached a close penned in hanging notes. In the end, I had nothing tangible to show for my efforts. What's the point of building yourself towards a credential with no concrete output? The academic equivalent of development hell. Okay, maybe not that. Maybe an undergraduate Loveless. I won't dispute the value to be found in the chase but since I am no longer doing this on the basis of academic merit, I only see it as a project to be taken on as a labor of love. Years later, I'd still be grateful for having gone through this. For now, I'll have to bear with the pain of birth; a birth to sleeping cartographers, mapped in time and drawn in situation.

After graduation, I've come to the realization that I haven't learned much. Maybe I am in dire need of space that a family would not allow and an unsustainable lifestyle that my current paycheck could not accommodate. With the months I've spent quiet, I've learned that deprivation does not always lead to peace. Lack begets discontent and sorrow inevitably follows in the wake of loss. New to the idea that serenity need not root itself to flourish, I only had the strength of my quiet heartbeats to keep me going. I lost track of those heartbeats somewhere.

I'm on the way back to finding them. I'll find them in the cacophony, where I least expect. Today, I make amends. Because I know better, I've learned to learn from and let go of my regrets. Let me start over, please. I owe you.

This is a lengthy entry about the things I write about in Mount Analogue

The gesture in itself is unsolicited. In the spirit of looking to the past with a new set of eyes, I think it's worth a shot though. I've always been self-critical to the point of being vain, this is an instance where the line between the two happens to blur. I apologize for how masturbatory this is going to be.

Since I started writing songs for Mount Analogue, I sought to try and distance myself from the overall tone I used in my former projects. Short of disowning my entire back catalog, I wanted to do something different from what I was (relatively) known for. With what I've been through since the past couple of years, I grew into the mindset that equally urgent emotions need not be as abrasive nor abstruse (regardless if the content is personal) to be sincere and personally moving. At least in my mind, I sought a deeper sense of satisfaction that stays after what the song would otherwise dictate musically. Lyrics that stood alone, for lack of better words to say, something with continuity. Within a short span of time, I've written a fair amount of songs for the band. These are just the ones with set lyrics. The others either lack them or their lyrics are incomplete.

College of Fine Arts and Design

“Yes, you just passed me by. (This is every morning, on the way to work.) We were just perfect strangers. Glances to the side, we painted smiles to say goodbye.” If this was to be tomorrow then kindly tell me where I was last night because if now is our every yesterday, I’d stay in these vignettes of your future my whole life.

I had long found my state of socialization rather stale by the middle of 2010. Meeting people outside the regular circle of indie kids, current/ex-punks and internet nerds seemed like the furthest thing from my mind at the time but when a close friend of mine called me over to Manila for her daughter's baptism, turns out the other godparents were rather interesting people. Regardless of whether or not I was ready to have an entirely new set of people in my life, they were there. Some of them, I've opened up to on a more personal level. Once people welcome each other into (or forcibly enter) the other's lives, that whole relationship becomes interminable. This was written from the standpoint of having just "signed up."

Softer Lights

Old wounds open up to the sight of a photograph and I don't know how to mend myself in the end. You always have to find a way to come back here, don't you? It feels familiar but unwelcome; this feeling, this regret. I'll never find a reason as adequate in my mind but we always have to part like this in the end. The truth is, I couldn't bear the sight of you being lovers with my friends. I wouldn't want to wish you ill but this will hurt you again and your wounds open up to the sight of our photographs. You won't know how to mend yourself in the end.

There was a time when mundane things like cigarette smoke or heavy traffic would trigger jolts of physical pain. Eventually, this started extending to certain mannerisms people had or clothes they wore or certain smells or color combinations. Having had a fair amount of complicated friendships in the past, this would happen often (incidents have been few and far between since then). Detached from the situation and context of my interaction with a former partner, I no longer feel this way about having that same person around. Where I finally come to terms with how things are in stasis, the same couldn't be said about the resentment that resonates from the other. This is about how some ends never meet halfway.

Forever Starts Today

I’m homesick, she won’t be home soon. How far could she travel in a day? Lovelorn, she still won’t be here. How long does a lover have to wait? Believe me, if it takes forever then I’ll take forever in a day. No, we’re not getting any younger but I’d still love you the same way. That’s if I remember how it felt, if I could still recall the taste; that second’s glimmer in your eyes, the scent that blossoms in your wake. We don’t tread on holy ground. We don’t belong here.

My friends often rag me for having "unrealistic standards" (the pre-requisite atheism/irreligion is referenced in the end) with regards to prospective partners. The list is long and I'd rather not have it out in public for fear of being pelted with rocks but yeah, I have a literal list. Whenever that card is pulled, I often reiterate the whole notion that there is a sense of satisfaction in being proven wrong about these people not existing. Having moved here (or in the process of moving, when this was written), I was awarded a new lease on life and I wanted to stake my claim the best way I could; in making the most of the wax and wane of life and living. It's been years since I was stable and for the first time since then, I've been inspired to go out and rebuild, to start new ties and return to nurturing old ones. This forward-looking mindset coupled with the inevitable desire for young love is my way of saying I'm back and I only have the rest of my life to live. Run away with me, please.

A Song For Four Octobers

We only lived so far away; the shortest hour and a half by plane. Watching time go by in islands, I wished I was close enough to say "I'll be with you in the morning, I'll be with you in the dark, I'll be with you when you miss me and I'll never be too far. I'll be with you in the sunset, I will follow through the dawn, I won't leave you when you're weary, even if you carry on." We only have the rest of our lives to know.

It's always been a fact of life until fairly recently, I was always attracted to people who lived far away. To be fair, it's not really because I was a fan of the distance but rather, it was more of a culture thing. Despite growing up back in DC, I never outgrew the sense of alienation I had towards other children. My hometown feels like less like home to me than a place I only see every so often. In retrospect, the familiarity of where I lived does make me yearn but being able to see the people you want to see, to be able to say things in private without a cellphone or a computer, I'm justified in saying this is completely worth it. I don't think I did any of my past relationships justice on account of ill-fated geography. This song is about devotion and a return to my own humanness.

Laura, You're Breaking My Heart

Hey Laura, you’re breaking my heart. Laura, you’re breaking my heart again. "I've never been touched and I've never been kissed, no. I've never been loved at all." "With silence you held me in the moments you left and I've never been loved at all." "It pains me to see you and how you smile when you need to, with soaked sheets and welling eyes." "It happens, I know but I'll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow, years ago."

Abuse has always been a matter I took to heart. Having been friends with a considerable number of people who were abused or raped as children, it always bothered me to see how deep the damage went and how long it went without resolve. These things never really go away and with that in mind, neither will my heartache and empathy.

From An Apartment On Vito Cruz

A quiet station’s meeting for months’ worth of parting, I missed the way we used to talk almost every morning. I would've painted the streets a color close to the sky, in the shades of color we spoke, without any reason why. Because the best thing about you was how you were always supposed to leave, as time wore on thin, so did the tangled webs we’d weave. Move slowly when you turn away again.

In 2009, I was recovering from a prolonged episode of major depression that carried itself over from early 2008. At that point, I had just met someone vaguely interesting and soon after, I was introduced to her circle of friends. Over time, I had grown close to three of them. Unprovoked, the said girl decided to block me on messenger and deleted me from all of her accounts following a date with 500 Days of Summer. Later on, I came to terms with the thought that it just wasn't worth it. I eventually lost track of the other two friends. They tend to chime in from time to time but they disappear just as quickly. It was fun when it was something. Now, it just gets dragging since there's nothing to talk about anymore.

Sisterloves

"Dante lies dead beneath these streets, Dante lies dead between you and me." Scribbled on the ceiling are paintings of the floor, fifteen years spent waiting for fifty years or more. I'm dreaming in the classroom, I'm taking in the view, I'll graduate sooner just to spend my nights with you.

A close friend confided in me about her attraction to a professor, having a slight crush on a friend's professor (one of the friends mentioned in Vito Cruz) I could strangely relate. Long story short, this is about how we'd think about setting the two of them up and living vicariously through the other. They're both literature professors, by the way.

Black Umbrellas

Caught in the breeze, I've been shaking; you're still crying on the phone. My will, once bent, is now breaking like the commitments we set in stone. Spend half a year in love with Europe, a noble host to sidewalk steps. Upon return, be kind and remember that a lover's word never forgets at all. Paper kites shot out to the heavens knowing they don't have much time. With their thin skins, their strings and the north winds, they do what they can to stay alive. Picture perfect in view of the daylight, this is all we have for now and all our chances of reconciling are just like that of sky and ground. I'll be happy the next time I see you, at least I'll try to look the part. When no truths appear self-evident, I'll have no choice but to move by heart. With each pulse and beat, I will find you; knowing you have left your mark. In your yearning, please understand that for all my ends, you were the start of it all.

I had different reasons for moving to Manila when I was younger. On account of being young, dumb and full of love, I let my naive side get to me. I set my life goals around eventually moving back here upon graduation. Certain relationships deteriorated and a number of goals have since been altered or completely scrapped since then. I learned to harbor no resentment towards that whole emotional mess and on a whole, I've started seeing this as the best way to motivate myself into doing something positive. Looking forward, this is about how motives change over time and how you still end up where you want to be regardless of how you got to that same conclusion.

Denise Marie Constant

You’re so quick to fall in love and I’m put off by the sight of you. Next time you’re here, don’t call me up because I’ll never feel the same way you do. So this is goodbye. Don’t sleep to dream of me, sleep because you need to sleep. From time to time, I’ll think of you but that’s the most you’ll get from me tonight. Even if it never comes to mind, it’s not that I’ve forgotten you. It’s just not worth all the sleepless nights that my sheets would have gone through without you here. I was so quick to fall in love. Now, I’m put off by the sight of you. Next time you’re here, don’t call me up because I’ll never feel the same way you do. At least not again.

There was this girl in class that I used to like. Reeling from a previous relationship, we started spending more time together. In as much as I would've liked to deny it at the time, I actually liked her. Not wanting to place her in the shadow of my ex, I commuted my conscious (mind you, conscious) motives to those geared towards plain friendship. Our actions spoke otherwise. To gloss things over, I sunk into the mindset of being at the right place at the wrong time. Before long, this whole thing soured and we stopped talking. Fresh into a new relationship, she rekindled ties with me. Eventually, things led back to that same situation only she had a boyfriend and couldn't make her mind up. By then, I knew better.

Beautiful In French

I once was told that I had the loveliest of eyes that night. The way they glistened then, they were like that all the time. Those nights, those lights; they don’t shine the way they used to. We don’t shine anymore.

This has a lot to do with stars. Prior to my last major breakup, I was particularly lively and I lost that for a while. Ever wondered when I got the glooms tag? When I talk about the glooms, this is when it started, right when that glow started to wane. Remember how stars seem to shine so bright from far away? That's light from millions of light years ago. The stars that shine the brightest, the ones that used to watch over you at night, they're all probably dead by now. This is when you realize that you've become one of those stars.

For A Second, Everyone In Eastwood Sleeps

I wish I knew how to say this, thinly veiled and in common language. Until then, this song will do. If only to tell you how I wish to be with you. The greatest part of the picture is the museum curator and I’m out of place, slowly falling out of favor. This is face value for now but I’ll save you for later. Just don’t hold me at fault for seeing the two of us together. I’ve been dreaming. I’ve just been dreaming.

Picking up on College of Fine Arts and Design, this is about that same situation. A couple of months after meeting them, I randomly ended up hanging out with one of them over the course of an afternoon in Eastwood. She spoke to me about Ceremony being her favorite New Order song and how she listens to Joy Division when she's mad. Thinking about the kinds of people I'd end up meeting now that I'm here, I spaced out and this whole song came to mind. It wrote itself, basically. Probably the least personal of my songs, though.

Ayala Cor. Paseo

With endless sidewalks to a looming office window, we could lose ourselves in traffic and sink with a thousand swirling light streaks. It would seem to make sense of the dense asphalt sea breaking still on each wave for a beach set in concrete. Could I still see you even if the sky blacks out? In parked cars, the haze, the contrails and the sound of you in hours. I'll see you, as far north as it gets in the south; through the wash of the earth, past the dirt and the dismal downpour. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll see you. See you.

I met this girl through a friend and as of late, I've been spending time with her. It's the first time I ever really got to see someone worthwhile on a semi-regular basis. This is all news to me and as time goes by, I find myself wanting to see the person more. It just feels so natural being around her, it's strange to think of a time she wasn't there. Feels like forever, really. I learn a lot from this person and the time is always worth it. I don't mind going home a bit later than usual or going a bit further. This whole thing makes me want to. She makes sense, why wouldn't I?

Sincerely

Sometimes, I wonder if the things we hold in high regard make sense when they're drawn out in a moment of human urgency. Does theory work the same way when it's pulled into the realm of praxis? That's a long, drawn-out discussion right there but it seems to seep into a lot of things. Much as I'd like to brush it off as a masturbatory fit, the feeling is rather urgent (or rather came with the feeling of urgency). When you have two weeks to think things over, that urgency wanes a bit. Is that enough to be able to say that this is something we could view without that particular veil over our heads? It's always a tug of war between experiential perception and that idealized image we form in our heads prior to contact. The uncertainty is killing me. As far as this situation goes, I don't even know which is which yet. Then again, I've never done this before. Why do you make sense to me though? For the life of me, I'm scared to find out... but I want to.

I guess I haven't felt this way in a very long time. I've always been held back by something, be it distance, unrealistic standards or whatnot. That's usually the case. I don't understand why I don't feel this way about you. All I know is, I'll be sincere in telling you that I'm willing to fall right in.

It's too soon to tell you but I want to be a part of your life. I don't just want you to be a part of mine. I'm nervous about seeing you later but you have to know somehow.

I'll see you. I want to keep seeing you. Only because you make sense.

Discontent, flames fanned by dead songs.

Sometimes, it gets to me. I'm no stranger to humor. I do however take account of the underpinnings of certain jokes. They're all half-meant, aren't they? I'm towards that particular persuasion. Friends from back in the day are quick to point out a drastic change in aesthetics and musical preference with regards to the things I've been subscribing to as of late. At times, this becomes implicitly pejorative. This, I would immediately confirm. I do however feel the need (for the sake of my peace of mind) to explain that as with many things in my life, this schism from the greasy hair and anti-fashion environment of my former scene starts with an exercise of my political will. Otherwise, "hipster" is a funny term.

In relatively lengthy article I anonymously penned for a pet project, I expressed my disappointment at what I thought to be a progressive and (dare I say) relevant hardcore/punk scene. Following several altercations with factions of the local music scene, I was left disheartened by what I perceived to be a lack of ethics and political motivation. Discourse was at an all time low and it appears that the idea of being in a secret society of art, ideas and ideals comes a far second to the same sort rat race the scene appeared to shun. It was still a circus of privilege, status and ascendancy. Generative dissent was antiquated in the eyes of the slightly less jaded and explicitly opposed by staunch adherents. Following the death of a friend, I gradually grew a distaste for the way things were run in that scene and (the local DC music scene by extension). As it went hand in hand with my disappointment, the usual fare for this cultural enclave represented things I detested. Regardless if they came from a rather admirable context. I stopped listening to hardcore and punk altogether. I stopped listening to a lot of my old punk records, gave away my hardcore/punk band shirts. For the rest of the scene, I fell under the radar. If it weren't for the fact I played in a hardcore band myself, I would've disappeared altogether.

In this span of time, I found myself in a vacuum. Without that environment to nurture my leanings, how do I express myself without subscribing to the same normative practices? I guess I could thank the diversity of my musical taste. Well, that and some incomprehensibly good timing. The Field Mice on repeat for lack of things to listen to, I went into the context Sarah Records worked in. Zine culture, a label started with politically geared aesthetics, a community that appeared like a secret society of art and ideals (for their time and place), I didn't see much of a difference with the punk scene. It had so much in common with punk and hardcore but seemed to live a world away. The things traditional hardcore machismo frowned upon were suddenly emancipatory and empowering. Sensitivity, an openness to human emotionality, a celebration of the queer, effeminate and the asexual. Post-hardcore and screamo being equally big influences on my character, this was something that sat well with my sensibilities. It was liberating to be vulnerable. The politics were practiced rather than preached and scenes were built on friendship instead of some apotheized ideal of a greater scene.

Like a friend said, "personal is political." I just find it odd that my politics only started shining through after I left that part of my life behind. Music will stay music and memories will stay the way they were when they happened. However, if the goal of a scene is collective or personal progress, I guess it would be right for me to leave given that it is no longer conducive to my growth as an individual. I haven't outgrown punk music, neither the form nor the substance. In fact, a lot of the things I apply in my daily life are things I've learned in punk songs. I still carry my ethics with me and take them to heart. What I've learned to let go of was the idea of subscribing to an oppressive iconoclasm. I've learned to play with the hand I've been given as a person. I've come to accept that privilege exists in every context. I have no regrets as to the way I've come to learn these things.

I won't shoot myself down to build others up. People are supposed to empower the disenfranchised. I can't do that without having something to show for it.

Sometimes you only know how much you've grown if you muster the strength to leave home. I'm not nearly as aimless as I thought I was.

P.S.

Last time I checked, hipsters were more about irony than they were about informed cynicism.

Last call

I'm not the same person I was when I started this journal. Regardless if I'm more than just a bit embarrassed with what I've written during my peak with IDWTMYA, I find it necessary to forgive myself for having done things I shouldn't have. Having said things I didn't mean and being insincere at some point (to others and to myself for the most part), it all piles up and the expression "having a lump in your throat" doesn't do it justice. I lock up and hyperventilate when these things come to mind. Time, in whole or in part, translates to physical pain. I don't think I have to deal with that anymore. The welcome has long been worn. It's time to go home.

I'm writing this to let you know that I'm letting you go. Not a person, not a situation, nothing direct. In as much as people with clinical depression feel compelled to ruminate, I have to trim away at the fat to keep my heart going. Well, that and my terrible puns but I digress.

This is to forgive but never forget, to set aside but never neglect, to love and never regret.

P.S.

Fuck, I haven't written anything since 2010? Okay, this is out of line. I need to keep myself in check. First step? GET A DECENT INTERNET CONNECTION, YOU FUCKWIT.

You are interminable

With the time I've spent in stasis, I half-hopingly wished that the relevance of this journal would wane over the course of the past few months. Since my last entry, my persona has been no less fragmented. One truth I could step up to however is the belief that these fragments set themselves into a state of constant motion that lies both foreign and familiar to my long-jarred senses. I'm comfortable for once. I am at ease. That feeling when you peak at orgasm? It's like that, just a bit more existential and a little less (just a tad less) carnal. It's been that way since I got here. The alienation, once implied runs explicit. The feeling I used to only get from certain songs or memories has become so dense, it's palpable. The pulse and beat of temporal situation is almost tangible, really. Something I can embrace and walk hand-in-hand with.

How long have I hinted towards that emancipatory tension? Weeks? Months? Years? Far too long. Like a bootlegged M. Night Shyamalan flick, I'm nowhere near where I started. Likewise, I am nowhere near where I should be going. I'm somewhere else, somewhere "safe" and somewhere far. As with all starts, a less-than-noble birth has its pains. I still bear the heartache of leaving that cold, pink room to the care (more like reckless abandon) of my loving dog. A house with a basement and subdivisions lined with abandoned sister houses, all of that feels like a lifetime away. Time, all the time in the world to linger in a city's wake. I miss that. Badly. It's the anguish that comes with every long-term separation. I know it well. I do however believe that something good comes following bursts of emotional trauma.

If anything, the tension only leads me to believe that I've been just where I needed to be until today. Against my better logic, it does feel like I'm exactly where I want to be. Manila is the familiar face of a foreign flag, host to the rise and fall of empires and the sordid love nest of urban decay. Rotting from the inside out, I've come to call this home. I've always wanted to call you home. I've found a home in you. It's only been years since I've last been in bed with you.

Brought to life in softer lights

I'm still a transient. This time however, my words cease to ebb in retrospect. Perspective aside, history becomes an undertone, a hue in the palette of shared contexts. Today, I write to paint the future in words I could say I believe in. My heart has grown to a massive swell and love, as always, spills over in torrents. From this heart, I spill over; ghostlike and impermanent. What once was shall be again, formless and unending. Today, I love again.

Light spreads a certain way in this office. Present but never intrusive, I've been spending my days under the blanket of softer lights. I'm new here, new to the thought but old in practice. So much has gone by in ways better meant if not, never said. I won't try to compensate. I've been lying to myself about my relationship with this journal and this is a matter that needs to be addressed.

Good evening, everyone. My name is Francis Maria and I don't want to miss you anymore.