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.