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.

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.

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.

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.

Torrents by district

Person most likely to uncover the meaning of life

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

The indentured slavery of temporal narratives

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

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

Give me a night in November to show you.

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

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

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

Untitled

Untitled

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

Asleep at a party

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To catch a second and turn it to forever

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

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

Months of the great gloom

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

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

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

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

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

I really don't have much to say

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

Mine are the saddest of sullen eyes

The Saddest of Sullen Eyes
Summer, 2010

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

I only have until the fifteenth of May.

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

I don't see you everyday

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

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

Apartheid

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

Neutral coagulants

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

Rest assured

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

Only in this yearning

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

Houses with secret gardens

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

Wilson

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

The social dances of socialist dancers

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

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

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

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

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

We have yet to end this awkward dance.

Our lady

Every martyred saint is a lover prior to death.

Commodity fetishes

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

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

Autobahns

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

On the verandas of empty houses

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

Sailboats

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

At the end of November

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

Central states and peripheries

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

Mountainside empires

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

False starts

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

...or so we thought

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

Open arms to clearer windows

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

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.

New distances

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

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

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

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



P.S.

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

A Quiet Monologue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Johan Angergard to me

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

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

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

Club 8- I wasn't much of a fight