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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Sans Rival

Seriously, I wonder when Nudge is coming over. I hope this summer would be good. We have lot of catching up to do. Could the Nudge bring everyone else too?

A list of things I miss and/or look forward to

• Learning to navigate new spaces and cityscapes
• Some new musical endeavor, possibly formal training in ANYTHING
• Dancing without being made fun of; learning how to dance maybe?
• Learning how to cook more; starving heart hurts less on a full stomach
• LEARNING MORE ABOUT ACTUAL FASHION and possibly sewing stuff from scratch should time allow; an improvement in fashion sense maybe?
• Getting better at drawing stuff that looks like a five year old did it
• A full head of sex hair
• Summer class
• First semester
• Second semester
• Graduation
• MOVING TO FUCKING MANILA
• Decorating my next house/home/apartment
• GRADUATE SCHOOL. Hopefully La Salle since UP’s a bitch with its requirements for non-UP graduates.
• Spending time with friends again. It’s about time I got back to you guys and actually had some of that authentic non-internet bonding people yammer about all the time
• The rest of my life
• POSSIBLY falling in love
• Yes

With short glances to the side, we blossom in full return

Starting next week, You Mean The World To Me and I Don't Want To Miss You Anymore will return to full form. I might even make a 'zine out of this if I could compile enough material. Caitlyn Bailey will be on a short break for the greater part of the summer and Love in Athens will be writing its first EP. A lot more in store for everyone, let's all blame the summer heat.

I'm still not over you. This journal is back.

Ty moya donetchka

Honestly, Camille. I really wish my kid would end up like you. This picture is the one she was referring to, by the way. Can you feel the gloom?

Camille Marie Nierra January 12 at 1:31am

Hello youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu miss you. You look rather melancholic sa profile pic mo ba. Your eyes are gloomy and you have a fake smile. Still cute nonetheless but still you look sad :| update me??? Any new cuento?

Francis Maria Regalado January 12 at 1:36am

I'm just lonely. Per usual but I dunno, I guess it's the need for companionship. I could do without it, minsan hinahanap ko lang which is terrible and makes me crazy for a while but I could stand longer periods of not caring now. You know me well, anaaak. >:D< The eyes don't lie, do they?

Trees. Branches. Roots.

A few days ago, I attended an informal two-day reunion with my childhood friends and playmates. It's been roughly 11 years since we all spent time together and well, it's something I guess we all missed. Even me. Especially me. Growing up in the same apartment compound, we were pretty tight-knit given that we all belonged to the same general demographic of middle-class tagalog speaking families with kids born in the eighties and raised in the nineties. Over some coffee, a few beers and some Gilbey's Premium Strength we went through the ups and downs of that collective childhood and took in every single second of nostalgia that was to come for those two days. We shared awkward stories, went on about the kid who'd pee in the flowerpots every morning, how Hubert was left behind once and had nowhere else to go only to stay at our unit for the afternoon. Lots of stuff. The "communal baths" behind the inside units, the secrets to opening the gate from the outside and how I was trapped in my house most of the time, kept under lock and key. We vividly remember the games we played, the dumb shit we did and yeah, the Benz and the vintage car too. The fact that I used to run around biting people like a vampire on crystal meth while being chased by our house help was particularly hilarious.

As different as we all are from each other right now apart from how far we are along the courses of our individual lives, we're all still branches from that same Barrio Obrero tree. Wherever we may choose to spread, it's in these common roots that we all started. Distanced as I am, I could still say I was there; that I had a stake in these people's memories. I'm proud to say I was part of something. I'm proud to say I was part of this.

Til next time, kids. You have no idea how this moved me. Thanks, everyone. For being there for that particular part of my life. You're still always there somehow.

On the passing of the grand year

It's been beautiful, sitting on this side of the fence with no shortage of anticipation for the coming and passing of the grand year. As with every year she is to birth us, we tremble at the thought and revel in the excitement of her seemingly infinite possibilities; weightless, timeless and breathless.

This is goodbye, love. Will I ever see you again?

The weekend bipolar

With everyone being in a particularly festive mood, I guess it would be good to cash in with the whole Christmas/year-ender party thing for once. Since this is the last week of school for 2009, everybody's been busy making plans for the weekend. I made plans myself, leaving for Manila on the 20th. This isn't about that, though. If you all remember, my friend Peter sang for a thrashcore band called As A Whole. A few weeks ago, Pio (or was it Von?) asked if I wanted to sing a song or two for AAW's final show. Of course, I accepted since A: Lie No More was my favorite AAW song next to Building Structures (which Sak and Wex of Iron Will sang that night) and B: As A Whole and Peter's efforts were practically my introduction to local punk rock.

Got to Dart Station (yeah, the 'iconic' hardcore punk venue) around 9-ish and I just knew then and there that this wouldn't be one of those shows that would inevitably end up achieving critical mass. It was mostly guys in bands and Pete's friend Bingo from Switzerland was there too. Luis from Swiss d-beat unit, Pack was supposed to go but stuff came up so he had to go home. Bingo did say Luis was coming back this January tho so that should be good. Seeing as how the show took a while to start apart from AAW being the last band on the bill, I decided to crash a nearby party my other non-punk friends were off to.

It's 11pm, give or take a few minutes. I stopped over by Some Place Else looking for Cheene and Dexter, didn't see them there. On my way out, I bumped into one of my classmates. After a short exchange, I find out that the whole Jungle Party thing at Casa de Habana was all Gimi's doing and he asks me to go in for free. So yeah, there was a shitload tons of free booze to go around. Our drummer, Paris just so happened to be there so we made plans of catching As A Whole's set later on in the night. I haven't partied for the longest time so this was actually a surprisingly good turn of events. My classmates were there, my friends from Harley's were there, hell Camille Nierra was there and that made the night absolutely perfect.

Hitting 1am, shit-faced and all; Paris and I stumble over to Pete's tribute show just in time for Lapida's set. We stick around until the end of the show. I sang on AAW's second to the last song, Lie No More. Memorized the lyrics, nearly played through it; towards the end of the song, Astro accidentally kicked the extension cord for the amps clean out of the wall socket. We played the whole song from the top, so yeah technically I sang two songs with As A Whole.

Went back to Casa de Habana with Paris afterwards. We drank some more then I went home after taking Paris to Metro (where everyone else at the party went after). This was around 3am, and I had to be at the airport by 5. At this point, when I got home I had yet to pack so yeah. No sleep, sleep is for the weak. I got to Manila tired as hell and hung over. Had lots of fun over the weekend though.

Hope this isn't the last time.



P.S.

Gimi, thanks for the awesome party. Classmates, we should do this more often. Camille, nothing I just miss you.

P.P.S.

Paris, get working on those songs! WE HAVE TO PRACTICEEEEE!

P.P.P.S.

Peter, rest in peace old buddy. I bet you'd be laughing your ass off with the way things turned out that night. We all miss you somehow.