SALAS
I'm so scared. I don't know if I'm depressed.
It's just so lonely walking alone at 2am, beneath the mocking shadows of these towering gravestones by night, they who serve as temporary, silent tombs by day: these offices, restaurants, shops, restrooms, and waiting sheds. Soulless 4 cornered husks of another man's pain. I find no comfort with friends or strangers, all who are sleeping soundly by the beat of the sandman's drum of dreams and wishes and stories. While I stay here, mulling over by what I could be doing now, rather than actually doing it. Whatever it is I could be or should be doing.
Admitting this fear makes me cringe at my reflection. How pathetic, weak, maladjusted, unfunny, trying hard and uncaring I can be. The lamps light the edges of each block of dead air. I avoid the cracks, yet I hope to fall into them, that I may find my battle, that I may find purpose and direction even if it means being able to climb out of a crack in the dirt on this street in this city in this country in this world in this universe, this time, this life, this slow, uncompromising and inevitable death of me. I cannot stop it. And thought of it cripples me my God. It is so dark and bright in all the wrong places. And I am fucking scared.
Fucking beer, I love it. Yes, I should have taken care of your papers earlier. I should have gone home to you every time I could. I should have saved all money instead of fucking all those whores. I should have given us more time together. I should have prayed more. I should have not tried to control my friends' lives. I should have not use your insecurities to me above you. I should have shut up when I could. I should have not punched you in your sleep. I shouldn't have stayed up late and have you worried. I shouldn't have kicked you because you have been with me through all this time. I should have not flirted with you. And you. And you. I procrastinate my obligations. I use the money I borrowed from you to fuck three-figure whores so I can come on their faces after I ask them about their kids.
I use your insecurities against you. I take your secrets and earn your trust that I may have power over you. I would rather be alone than spend time with you pretending to listen to your day-to-day concerns with your job. I lie to you about everything you believe me to be. I am only friends with you so I won't be alone. I don't care about your jokes, they are not funny. I doubt everything that you say. I don't want to work. I want my ideas to be accepted. I do it for my self. I am selfish and I want it that way. I hate everything that you do, everything that you are. Everything that you stand for is what I hate the most. All my smiles for you are fake. I fear you, so I keep you close. I hate you for everything you've done to my father. I stole your money while you were sleeping. I hate your voice. I hate your songs. I hate your movies. I don't respect you as a teacher. You never taught me anything. I don't need your sympathy. You taught me to hate. You are an immature nerd. I practice laughing at your jokes automatically. Everything is a competition with you, and you are my best friend.
I will drink to my death and die before you so you will see that I am what I am because of you. I don't give a shit about you as long as you lend me money. I only joined this group so that I could see her everyday and if it means pretending to pray I will do it. Fuck your problems with your wife and family I don't give a shit about them.
AAAahhhh. ICE COLD SHIT. Sarap.
I just want to go home. I don't care. Nobody cares. No one fucking cares. I'm there every night waiting, looking at the clock. Waiting for the phone to ring. Watching. Sending you messages and signs that I'm here. That I'll be there when you need me. That I will fight for blood when I have to.That I will die for each and every fucking one of you if I have to and I've done that.
Everyday I make time for waiting. To make sure that I can always find a back door, if I am needed elsewhere. I have clothes ready all the time should I need to fly immediately. I am ready. I am waiting. I've been waiting. Here I am. Waiting. Why isn't anybody calling? Why isn't anybody CALLING? I'll be here. I'll be waiting. I'll still be looking at the clock. All day, all night. I'll still be here. I'll be here I promise. And if you've been trying to find me, I'll be here. I won't leave. I won't move. Not one bit. I'll still be here. As always, still here. Still. Fack. More beer.
Meron Akong Kuwento Para Sa Mga Tulad Mo
1. Sonic Youth - Incinerate
2. Phantom Planet - Somebody's Baby
3. Milagrros Dancehall Collective - What You Want
4. Mayonnaisse - Jopay
5. Eraserheads - Pare Ko
6. South - Paint The Silence
7. Embrace - Ashes
8. Sugarfree - Kung Ayaw Mo Na Sa Akin
9. Joey Pepe Smith - Hi-Tek Babe
10. Oasis - Some Might Say
Ba't Nga Ba?
Siguro. Dahil masarap magkunwari na ginagamit ang utak. Dahil walang nang panahon para mag-isip. Dahil ito ay hindi mo kailangan. Tulad ng siopao, masarap ang bawal. Dahil wala nang iba pa, at yan na lang ang natira. Dahil pagod na? O minsan wala lang talagang mahanap na sagot. Baka rin kasi minsan di naman kailangan. Dahil pangit tingnan pag bigla akong gumulong sa lupa. Baka dahil hindi ka marunong magtanong. Baka kailangan mo nang kausapin ang dati mong kasama. Kaya lang baka hindi niyo kaya. Siguro dahil wala nang masabi sa isa't isa. Bakit nga ba
October 27, 1142
Dawn
The 9th Day Of Valrallhan-Hallsanic War
On the mid-eastern front along the Thebol beach along the coast of Gaultaz Province, the 567th Hallasan Bronze Bolo Brigade has just landed.
A 20-man kill squad led by the dreaded Captain Khavarkaz "Iron Fist of Lighting" Azzmulah, they have been tasked to obliterate the entire Mid-Eastern defense of Valrallhania: all four hundred thousand of them. For any normal man this is no easy task, but the Bolo Brigada is not a bunch of normal men. They are 21-strong demon-killing, dragon-slaying, castle-burning, town-razing, village-plundering, army-disentegrating slash and burn and hack machine. They are the tallest, strongest, fastest, smartest and largest warriors among their country men.
"Fazzter!" Bellows Muzambiq "Titan Strong" Haroud as he oversees the men unloading their weapons and supplies onto the beach.
Azzmulah, perched ontop a cliff, looks towards the Gaultaz forests. Muzambiq walks towards him and stands by his side.
"I can feel that you have doubts, my friend" says Azzmulah, scanning the horizon.
"Yes captain. There is a burden in my heart. I feel this will be a uniquely difficult task."
The great captain takes a deep breath. "You underestimate the force of the Bolo Brigade. But my friend, tell me what is in your head."
"Captain..."
"Go on Muza."
"I...I forgot to bring the Vangelis Limited Edition CD."
"What?" Boomed the giant captain.
"But i did bring the Safri Duo album! Forgive me cap'n! I am at your mercy!"
The captain raises his scimitar. "You have become crazy!"
"Amallahad Afaraz Allhaman! I have dishonored you!"
A great silence slices through the two warriors. Then...
"Have courage my friend. We will win in the war. I brought my Battle Axe Mix Cd with hits from the wild Swans, Commitments, 311, Rap Asia and the La Carlota Drumbeaters. Here, have some of this precious café Americano with caramel syrup and almond bits."
"Praise Afaraz!"
Here We Go
1.
If her back aches, automatically say na mga magaganda lang ang may scolio. Bad girls like her get laid. Good girls like her sister get pregnant. You may love one, but you'll always want the other. Just like you, everybody in the room wants to do it with the white girl so you better decide: If you can whack off to her, It's lust. If you can't, it's love. Don't make your move during the day: the night levels the playground of desire.
2.
Change, change, change. Chains, chains, chains. For the bitter ones, love is a skeleton waiting to be put in a closet, but you've got to be able to tell yourself, that when it comes to love nothing else matters.
3.
You've got to be able to get up, tie your shoes, walk up to your woman and tell her "This is the part where I play myself and tell you that I love you."
4.
"It was a cold night in September, when the good fire was reduced to ember, little birds they fled after being torn and bled, never looking back, anger unwritten unsaid."
"Little old rat little rat scared of the big black bat turning in his sleep spent on speed a shepherd losing all of his sheep."
"Then she rolls over to look me in the eye. And I love the way the night light highlights her cute button nose by the way. Know what she tells me? She says, "Sa dilim walang kinikilala ang ice-pick."
5.
I'm emptying my bullets on these guys. Fucking free riders. Those people! Those fucking people. Looking down on other people just for the sake of. Complaining but not doing anything to help with the situation. Or the ones who want to be looked up to so they pretend to be smart and believe their own hype. What about the asses who just borrow and borrow money and never pay a cent until they're asked to pay back. Or the butt hole hyenas who thrive on creating rumors and run around with lies. Or the tea-sipping I'm morally uprights who just L-O-V-E to stab whoever is not present in the back. The lazy ones. The losers who tamper their statements of account so that their parents'd give em more money. Liars. Actors. Writers. Thieves. Artists. Doctors. Bankers. Pilots. Chainsaw makers. One legged tailors. Wire-tappers. Pirates. Pirate hunters. Lifers.
Discriminating social asses who are insecure of their chemically enhanced faces.
Braggarts who talk about their money because they didn't need to sweat for it and who are just thrilled to drive the car mommy and daddy lent them for the night. They learned to masturbate before learning how to put their socks the right way.
Patronizing church lovers slash traitors. Tricksters. Swindlers. Taking advantage of stupid dumb people. Stupid, dumb people. Polite cold middle class status quo lumps of human flesh with forgottable lives. People who don't listen. Angry has-beens pretending to know it all, unloved by their own fathers. Sympathy whores. Assfaces who don't turn on the silent mode when appropriate. People who don't know how to line up. People who join in the conversation without being asked to. Scared people. Noisy people. Irritating people. Irritated people. Frustrated people. Angry. Mad.
Stupid. Dumb. Losers. Fuckers.
ISTABING WESTWARD
(You Have A Lousy Perspective)
"Dude pare, if you are able to come in her mouf you've already conquered Egypt."
Remember, remember, these reunion hungry days of December that in any cutthroat of paper-filing, pencil-pushing, pussy-looking white collar rats, identify and isolate the scapegoat as fast as you can, especially if it turns out to be you. You can tell your boss that times have changed and proud, sex-deprived choice-sensitive women like you have built in man-balls so you go ahead and tell him. Tell him "Sir, I would like to say that I'm the best team player when I work alone". It's ok to eat dung once in a while though. There's a lot of that stuff floating all over this country. So there's enough for everyone. I don't know much about being smart or intelligent, but I have been told that the guy who thinks he knows it all ends up looking stupid while the one who knows too much ends up dead. I guess that means if you don't look stupid or are not dead, you must be really smart.
There are only two kinds of people that thrive here: those who kiss your ass, and those who'll fuck it. Now, what separates the fuckers from the fucked-ups is how fast or how slow they deal with it. You yourself are a prick. You have the pride of a nation of deaf, stubborn lions. The bigger pride you have, the easier it is to talk about you behind your back. Paranoid? There is no antidote for the disease of thought, so you'll just have to contend with living like a time bomb.
And that's all right! Try letting them into your house, your room, your head, your heart and they will take everything. They do so because it's impossible to be content with anything if you don't know what you want. That's what those long nights alone and empty are for. To figure out what you want so you wouldn't have to bother anyone with your "problems."
Then they're all so intense about telling you what happened in Boracay. Who groped who, who felt up who's skirt, who got smashed in the sand and who got laid the most, just as intense as they felt after seeing The Passion of the Christ two days before they left. And that's great. These are colorful people! City-dwellers with country homes who pay their taxes and pity penny-pickers as they pass them by.
6.
"Hi kami ang (insert name of band claiming that they will never sell out) Kailangan pa bang i-cauterize 'yan?" Vicious I say. Vicious. Consider this: Certain indie credos floating in countless grassroots-level par-tay joints dictate the "We will never sell out" chant. Uttered by most credibility conscious artists right before they cross over the fence, it all boils down to "this is what I do and I want to get paid while doing it".
7.
I wrote a song for a girl once. It was so beautiful I didn't know how to finish it. One day, I told her I loved her. She walked out on me. But what does it all mean. What does all this mean? What does all this mean?
You Might Be Safe, But You'll Never Be Free
Bakit Kasi Di Mo Siya Kinakausap. Alam Mo Namang Ganun Talaga Siya Sa Mga Taong Ka-close Niya. Ewan Ko Sa Iyo. Sinabihan Ka Na Namin Dati Na Wag Ka Nang Makialam. Yan Tuloy, Putang Ina Talaga. Gumugulo Lalo Buhay Niya. Alalahanin Mo Tsong, Digital Ang Karma.
8.
"WHEN I AM WITH YOU I AM HAPPY. BUT WE CANNOT BE TOGETHER." SINABI MO NA SA KANYA YAN? DA-BEST KA TALAGA SA BULLSHITAN. AKALA KO PA NAMAN PUMUNTA TAYO DITO PARA MAAG-ENJOY. MAG-RELAX. GALING PA AKONG SOUTH. MALAYO ANG MAKATI SA AMIN PARE. AT MINSAN KO LANG MAISAWSAW ANG SARILI KO SA MUSICAL RENAISSANCE DITO SA MMMAYNILA. MAMAYA KA NA MANG-GAGO HA.
9.
"Everybody has potential. You just have to know how to use it. If you don't use it, you'll end up just like the millions of spunk on your bed sheet, in condoms, and on her face: They had what it takes, but they dried up and useless now."
10.
"Anything that involves bending over is a private moment."
11.
"Never tell. Never admit. Honesty is copping out. Let your conscience bear the burden of your irresponsible behavior. And hope to God it doesn't come back to haunt you."
12.
Problema mo yan. Umayos ka dahil ikaw ang nagsimula yan. Kaya tapusin mo. Pumili-pili ka tapos ngayon sinabi mong napilitan ka. Pwe. O. Wag ka nang magpaka-depress diyan at nagmumukha kang Harabas. Umorder ka pa ng ox brain, pita bread, at dalawang C2.
Never
"Never apologize for following the rules." You want to write songs? Because I want to write songs. I love writing songs. Music is my life. My father played the piano to save up for his college thesis. Played in jazz and folk houses. Which ones? The ones that burned down during the Hit76 fire. If you want to make music with me, you better be fuckin' serious because I don't want to be in the same ship with a half-hearted sailor, dig? If it's you and me, then it better be all of you at the helm. If you're not sure if you want this, then forget it. Forget it. Go home and fix your door, tie your shoes, whatever floats your boat.
13.
"Sex is the ultimate form of communication. Given that both parties agree to the fucking that's about to happen, it's the only activity where you send a message (I am horny and I want to copulate like rabbit bull) through a medium (fucking) which is then received (phenis into vaghina) by the recipient (duh) who gives feedback immediately (extremely high-pitched moan and scratch marks on your back, prompting you to repeat the process all over again (let's do it like spiders do it)."
14.
"FM STATIONS always get the fax message when your heart is broken, and they will play all the Air Supply, Phil Collins, Micheal Learns To Rock shit 24 hours a day, 7 days a week all just for you."
Burn Her Letters, Pretend She's Not There
She's probably had every Mark, Lou, Robert, Victor, Elai, Tomtom, Junjun and probably half of the non-smoking members of her school's brass band's horn section. Who knows who else she's been with. Copulating with her is like dipping your junk into a Pasay manhole with fur. It is not pretty down there. She's the type who'll just drop you in a snap when she's had enough. I did some background checks on her. Yes, I have free time and Metro Manila is THAT small. She did the same thing to a few guys in the offices she worked in before. Married guys, Singles. If they've got dicks that need attention, she'll give it. But she's nasty, man. That's a radioactive pussycat purring underneath that skirt. Love? Well, a copious amount of lust on your part and major ball-busting monster psycho brain on hers.
Her sweetness is artificial and made of synthetic she-devil cunth juice. I suggest, with all my integrity intact, that you fuck her like crazy monkey and walk away right before she comes. You're not a pretty boy yourself, Mr. Fun, and that's according to you. She's a hot chick who I'm sure doesn't have a problem of getting another man for herself. What did Snoop tell us to do when it's hot? It's burning like a forest fire on your side of the world and you're tied to a tree stump and covered with... fire ants. Walk away while you can, Mr. Fun while your pride meter is still in the green. Kung indi, basi luoy man toto hibi hibi naman liwat.
If You Are Trying To Hide Your Pregnancy Make Sure You Are As Far Away As You Can From A Biology Book With A Bookmark Placed Between The Pages Labeled: Stages Of Childbirth
If You're Bored, It's Your Fault
"Breathe easy." Jay did it. John did it. The Captain did it. So did Vince, Luis, Ponk and Roberto. Just stop before you're 30. Or in my case, 42.
15.
"Wala tayong magagawa diyan. Pussy is her currency."
You Always Had An Answer
We never found an opportunity where you needed advice. Though you dispensed them like free hand-outs, you ought to listen to yourself sometimes. Pain is the last and most persistent of all teachers.
Stick Your Dick In Long Enough And You Just Might Fall In Love With It
(It Has Always Been Your Choice)
16.
"Lady, it takes a man to make you feel like a woman."
VS
"You need to learn to shut the fuck up."
"Ma-oy Bala Part, Lash It All Out. Breath Fire, Puke."
You know, be like a juvenile, insecure, immature pusface. You owe it to yourself, trying to look tough, cool and smooth all the time. Pretending to have everything under control. When you know you don't, di ba? You can fake it all the way to them, but not to yourself.
If I sound like a guidance counselor it's because I've always wanted to be one. So you better listen to me or else I'll be a failure even before I apply for the job.
"Fuck Your Obligations. Her Too"
You're too proud to either tell her you don't want to see her face anymore or admit that you could be falling out of love. Wait they're both the same, and it doesn't matter. Right? That pinching feeling in your heart? Painful? It's called the Truth Tug.
"Stay In The Game"
Goddamn.
That kind of pressure is unnecessary but I'm sure you welcome it with the enthusiasm of a jackhammer. And if you deny your muse, soon it will deny you too. What will become of you when this is all over, assuming you want it to be over soon, but of course you don't: little boys never get tired of playing.
17.
You are a consistently inconsistent asshole. God oughtta shake you up mad.
Was she one of your "trust fucks"? Is she as gullible as all the other ones in your pocket? How much does she know about you? If all of them were stuck in a fire, which would be the first one you pull out? Don't give me that innocent look you man-whore you. I know you.
18.
Nine days after the last day of the period is non-fertile. After that ang three days naman ang most fertile. Do not worry. It will be all right. But be ready. Hope for the best and expect the worst. And whenever possible let her breasts take her where her brain has never gone before.
Spank That Monkey And Move On
It'll clear your mind, get you sleepy. Have a beer. Let each beer always be your first. Stay with us till daylight. We are safe in the shadows. The night is our playground. Let our worries run wild across the night sky. Here we are safe. Here, we are kings.
Never Let Go
Good morning ma'm, wait lang po ha. (Of course she's lying. She's a girl. They do that. They got that from these pocketbooks with the big flowing titles inserif fonts and the blood red flowers, written by other gils like them. All that romance bullshit.) Yes, ma'm why don't you take a seat first. (Between the two of you, ikaw ang nagmumukhang tanga pero siya ang kawawa.)
IF AN EARTHQUAKE HAPPENED WHILE I WAS SLEEPING AT MY APARTMENT, THE FIRST THING I WOULD GRAB IS MY UNDERWEAR. THERE ARE OTHER THINGS WORTH WORRYING ABOUT.
Kamusta naman ang gating pag-dedepressed diyan sa opisina hanggang alas tres ng umaga.
Punta tayo sa Baguio! Tagaytay! Kahit diyan lang sa JP Rizal. Sa San Juan, Batangas! Kumain tayo sa Binondo, o dun sa masarap na shawarma sa QC! Mister Kebab ba yun? O Shawarma Snack Center sa Ermita. Mag-ferry papuntang Bataan at Corregidor. Sisig sa Aling Lucing's. Videoke sa Providence. Maki-mosh ng maayos sa Saguijo. Samahan mo ako sa Baul. Mag-cassava cake diyan sa Buddy's. Magpakalasing sa Xaymaca. Sa Popoy's sa Dasma. O diyan lang sa Makaati Republic. Gusto mo sa Mcdo. Jollibee. Chowking. Hungry Hippo. Mini Stop. Select. Gweilos. Makigulo sa Cubao Expo. Kumain ng kumain sa Tokyo Tokyo. Maki-yuppies sa Jill's. Mag DVD shopping sa DV, MCS, Quiapo, Baclaran. Gelato sa Amici. Oil and Vinegar Pasta sa Veneto. Shark's Fin Siomai sa Hem Lin. Kumain ng Milo sa bahay. Sumabay sa location hunt. Mag-tour sa planta Magpahangin sa Post Office.
Love Is A Hassle
Spontaneity? I'll give up spontaneity for stress-free come-through-the-roof sex. Are you one of those who never talked about sex or wear condoms and end up worried sick after the dirty's done? Get off that line, because it all leads to the one place no one wants to be. Look, you might want to wear 2 condoms at the same time. And always check the expiry date, it's printed on the box and the pack. Afterwards, when you're done always check for spills. Best thing to do is peel the rubber off ever so slowly, then pour water into it. If it holds, you're on the safe side, if it doesn't, think about how much you love her, then get back to me.
Tell her you wanted to find love but had to let go. And if he gets stupid tell her "I was trying to punch the air but your boyfriend's face was in the way."
It's Not Too Late
Remember Us. Remember Who Birthed Your Now. You Can Have Your Tongue Dance On Our Heads But We Will Know When Your Mouth Is Talking To The Beat Of The Shit Samba.
No Worries
You Ought To Hakuna Her Matata. That Sort Of Inconsiderate Behavior Is Part And Parcel Of The Obnoxious Mind. You Mights Want To Take It As Your Cue To Learn How To Small Talk Your Way Out Of Small Talk. The Truth Doesn't Matter If It's Already Over.
Stand Up
Don't be the guy who got on the dumb bus and never got off. You can be the crotchless panty revolution. You can be the last bit of strength in Satan's loins. You can be the sceptre of the glass monarch. You can be the crossroad of changes. You can be the color of fear. You can be the marble eye of the night watchman. Just get off the dumb bus.
19.
Shhh... Soon desire will fall into obsession. And one of us will have to die. But tell me, if you had a secret, where would you fuck it?
Put Your Head Back On And Your Foot Down
Find me. Accept me. Understand me. Love me. Leave me. Forget me.
nothing else matters
Be Patient
And patience comes to those who wait. And the world waited for a blue- collar hero/songwriter who would tell everyone whatever it doesn't want to hear. Fucking what's going on what's happening to me. Fuck.
I Used To Get Off On Anatomy Ilustrations
Life: Overrated: Complicates. Death On The Other Hand Simplifies. Stop This Shit. Too Much Shit. Halt The Manure. So Much Manure. Ihinto ang Tae. Marami Nang Tae. Tama Na Nga Ipot. Damo Na Ipot.
You Try
You give it all you've got but you still have to do what's right. Even if it takes bleeding your fucking heart out. Losing the one you truly love. Bizarre secret lovers running away from the chains of what's O.K. Everyone likes it when things are O.K. Even when what's true is in our faces, we'll choose what's O.K. How are you doing? I'm OK. I'd rather be OK than face what's real. What's true. What's right is a better choice than what's beating your fucking heart because no one wants to rock the boat. This fucking boat full of trapped, lost, dying O.K. people. I love you I love you. But you have to do what you have to do. The world is solid through and through. But you find a little bit of magic to make it worth the effort.
But you have to do what's right. What's right is what breaks hearts and leaves the night long and empty and cold. We always talk about finding a reason to live. But when we find it, when it's right under our nose, we let it fly by or worse, just push it away: too much to lose, too much at stake.
Of course, ass, it's worth that much. A reason to live weighs exactly the same as one's reason to die. If it cost any less, we'd find it in stores. But we let it slide. Cuz we're O.K. The boat's still floating di ba? Fuck the boat. Get on the rail, jump off and into the ocean and fuck the mermaids, the whales and the sharks. Because at the end of the boat ride is exactly what you want: another boat ride back and forth and back and forth.
And you're going to have to do it yourself. No lights, no fireworks, no letters. Just get up and walk. No applause. No Big words. No philosophies. No inspiration. No Art. No Guides. No Heads of States. This is not a time for heroes. This is not a time for symbols. This is no time for messiahs. 20 fucking centuries and that shit still don't work. Heroes die, and dead people can't do anything but rot. Symbols are put on as pedestal, printed on shirts sold on the street and forgotten after a benefit concert. Messiahs are stoned and crucified.
What we need is a bomb for each and every human in the world to blow up all our faces all at the same time so we can all just sit back, dazed and quiet and just think, what the fuck have we been doing all these years with this so-called intellect we have.
Yot. Diputa. Namit suka.
I don't want any more freedom. I already live in a democratic country. I am free to do what I want. I already am. I just want a way out. Democracy means too many choices and not too many things being done about them. Well some things are being fixed. I mean six million babies aborted every year means the devil is taking steps to solve our hunger problem.
But if you truly want to take things into your own hands, this is how you do it, baby. Ever since I was in grade school I learned that to solve conflict, lessen sorrow, and build friendship from the ashes of war, you only need to learn one thing: all it takes is a nice high five, and then everything's okay. Everything. We are all racists you and me. But all it takes is a big fat high five, maybe a slight handshake for trust and goodwill, and the day is better. Because there is good in the world, assface, but some of us just don't believe in it anymore.
Everyone CAN get along with each other. Ha? Even for just the chorus. Really? But where is the chorus. Where is the fucking chorus. Where is the gratuitous guitar solo. I keep wishing that it builds up to something but it never does: all this living. All this waking up. All this pushing. All this trying. All this running.
Laughing. Crying. Eating. Waiting. Smiling. Holding. Hugging. Fucking. Falling. Dancing. Drinking. Partying.
Screaming. Singing. Talking. Kissing. Writing. Typing. Cooking. Fighting. Listening. Playing. Sailing. Telling.
Wishing. Changing. Living.
It gets too much. Too much that you just give up. Then I forget who I am. I forget why I am this way. I get lost in the race to get somewhere I haven't been and in the process I strip myself of who I am. I lose my head for the glory of the moment. Satisfying urges and wants and desires. Failing. Failing again.
I have to find my way back. So I try to remember. Through the forgotten stories. Through the eyes of the people closest to me. And sometimes, the farthest.
Through the eyes of my friends in theater, I see the wet grass connecting to my face as I fall over backwards in the rain. I see pride, hate, love, and joy through a small kitchen window. I see the beginning of a promise between friends, and the end of a dream between lovers. I see an actor, an actress, a painter, and a builder basking in the dusty glow of a par 64. Their eyes stretching the 15 seconds of applause after a performance. I see hands and steel, sweat and paper, blood and soul, in symphony to realize letters onto a stage. I see sleepless visionaries walking the walk of the faithful, towards an unsure future, living by the moment.
Through my office colleagues I see troubled spirits aching to be free from responsibility, yet yearning for control. I see faces covered in fear, anxiety, fries and beer. I see restlessness in wary, bitter eyes floating through the room pulling chaos together, ultimately to sell toothpaste, ice cream or a donut. I see a dark brown sofa, witness to the storms that thunder across the halls day by day. I see smiles, not so many, but well-deserved and welcomed. I see hand-held beer bottles clanging, late night walks and talks, and phone calls, and sour moods. I see love. In a mutated form, trapped in a state of fear. Fear of tomorrow.
Through my high school friends I see 20 years of bright green blood mixed with rusty water. I see a scared little dreamer who grew up with a dirty mouth who had the best friends and the most colorful enemies. I see the builders of the future pissing in their pants, shitting on their desks, and writing essays with big words phantasmagorical or penultimate. I see an old swing changing by the year from yellow, to green to blue. I see marbles beside the gutter. I see khaki shorts behind the restroom.
Through the ones I promised to love and who have loved me back I see a blind idealistic fool mutating into a jaded mechanical villain of a gorilla. I see wisdom after a broken promise. I see hope in the midst of a crisis. I see conflicts between honesty and righteousness in being a man and learning to be one. I see my right hand clasped firmly with a girl's left hand. And tomorrow doesn't matter.
Through the eyes of the four dragons I see the vast black horizon as we stand on the sea wall casting red horse bottle into the shore. I see tears held back as hurl our frustration across reclaimed lands.
There are five of us tonight, standing on top of this kilometer-long wall of concrete. Lined up execution style, we looked towards the darkness of the western horizon. Grime gathers on our faces, as we stand strong against the winds blowing from the sea.
Tall grass and coconut trees line the highway from north to south behind us. There isn't anything else that breathes and talks within sight. A few stray dogs, cockroaches and rats scamper beneath us once in awhile, disappearing into the shadows and then appearing again.
Our shadows are cast tall upon the shore by the street lamp post behind us. Side by side we drink from our beers, snack on chips and nuts and listen to the car radio playing Guns N' Roses, Oasis, 311, and Massive Attack. Or Reo Speedwagon. Apart from the music and the sound of nearby ocean liners making hteir way through the water, the night is solemn and quiet.
"FUCK you and your boyfriend, he has a small dick and can't play the guitar. Fuck HIM. I love YOU. Fuuuuck!"
We called ourselves dragons.
To my left are The Last Virgin and The Angry Catholic. The L.V. is a frustrated prog-rock guitarist and has only had 2 blowjobs in his life, the first being the kind a woman bent down gives and the second the kind you can buy illegally at any bar on a Saturday night. He is my wing man. The A.C. is an undergraduate architect who rents Japanese porn and smokes weed on exam night and has a scar on his face, which he got from fighting a midget inside a barrel.
"I'm a son of a bitch, come back to me, come back to, me I'm a son of a bitch. I'll never have you pregnant before marrying you! Not like ... not like him!"
To my right are The Nomad Romantic and the Rebel Son. The nomad is an immigrant who sweats profusely in the presence of prostitutes. He wants to be a doctor someday and if that doesn't happen he can always take the next logical step, which is to be a ninja. The Rebel Son loves kids and kids love him. He also smokes and doesn't pay for sex.
"I will wait! I will wait till you die, and I will still want you back and I will kill your husband!"
Every night we would go this place, this seawall as everybody would call it and have this crazy-ass, juvenile beer ritual:
Step 1. Face ocean; drink beer until it runs out. Step 2. Make a wish.
"I wish he'd hurt you so much like you hurt me then you'd come back to me then I'll kill him!"
Step 3. Throw empty bottle towards the sea. If bottle breaks, wish would be granted. If bottle doesn't break repeat steps one through three until beer runs out, or the drinker is incapacitated.
"BITCH! I want you back! Bitch, I want you back! Please come back. Fuck you. Fuck this, please come back."
Of course the bottles wouldn't break even though the water level wasn't so deep where our bottles would land. So each night here on this stone wall by the sea you have 5 college boys screaming wildly into the night, drunk and falling over the road performing a private juvenile primal scream therapy fueled by ice-cold Red Horse Beer.
We did it to combat the void. A void created by pain. It was this pain that brought us together in the first place. Pain brought about by The Weakness. Aliens from Venus. Amazons.
Women.
One of our greatest treasured experiences together was when we rented 3 porno videos and played them altogether at the same time on 3 PC's in an internet shop. It was late in the night and all of the customers went home. There were about 6 - 8 of us standing across the computers. One monitor showed 40ish pro Japanese pornographik king in his shmex dojo executing a Helicopter Position on a hapless schoolgirl. The PC in the middle ran the amateur show, 2 blacks with donggo's the size of bats explaining themselves to the orifices of a blonde secretary.
The last computer was showing my favorite: young bum laying down the law of the love muscle on his neighbor's wife. The whole event was a grade school boy's wet dream come true. And none of us were even drunk. We were like Colombian drug lords tasting ze merrrrchandise. With the assumption that the shop was soundproof we played the videos at a considerable volume. The place sounded like A United Nations Adult Fiesta Slumber Party.
"Ukurakai hataka ne? Ne?"
"Ohh Ohhh...Akinakaw ne? Ne?
"Aw. Bitch. Yah like that, bitch. Yeah, yeah?
"Shadup, bitch. Suck on this."
"What time will Mr. Jones come back?
"Tanaka onotame ne?
"Please be gentle on me!"
"Say my name, ho!"
"Bukkake ono me!
No one held or shook hands that night.
"Come back to me!!!! WOOOOOOO!!! I love you! Fuck you!"
"I hate your face, I want to kiss you, fuck you, come back!"
We crack jokes, nuts, tell stories and speak of the lies we told to strangers during the day. But it is nighttime and there are no stangers in sight. The night gives us promise. We bathe in the hopelessness that there will be no light strong enough to burn the darkness that we sometimes fear, because we don't understand it. But we are thankful that the night is here. We didn't need to wear shades or look away when people talk to us or walk fast to avoid uncomfortable sileneces or put on a cheesy look or smile: things we might do during the day, when reality breathes heavily down our throats. The cold beer in our hands makes reality easier to swallow, we think.
3AM. I see my hand floating in the wind as I ride shotgun, screaming profanities at the night, as we fly 2 feet off the ground on Lacson from south to north and back. I see our empty beers jangling beside the sisig plate of the monobloc table as we watch the first of the many churchgoers arrive.
Through the ones I loved but who never loved me back I see... laughter, pain, uric acid, and gout. I see choices, fear, uneasiness, and child-like joy. I see lubricants, gifts, and a lot of flirting.
Through my best friends I see comfort in silence: strength in the union of the miserable and the power of a pinkie, free porn, or a bottle of rum.
Through my parents I see pain and anger and love. And understanding. I see a brother losing his baby sister in a crowd, and finding her again 10 years later only to leave her for another island. I see a home torn apart by responsibility only to be rebuilt again through a dream. I see a father, a mother and a sister waiting for a son in a table of four. I see smoke in the bathroom. I see a mother's steadfast and faithful heart, a father's formidable shoulder and a sister's courageous and longing eyes.
"Come home, manong. We miss you na."
Then I remember. Not a lot. But for the moment it is enough. Because I'm still here, bitch. I'm still alive, asshole. I am not backing down.
Not today. Not while I still have my head. My heart. My hands. I have all of the rings and the one ring to bind them all. I have a golden eye. I have the adarna. I have the sword that will give me sight beyond sight. I have the last energon cube. I have the magic dust of the master story teller.
Neither burning out nor fading away, just a train that won't stop.
I just... I just got to. I just got to keep waking up.
Keep pushing. Keep trying. Keep fishing. Keep running.
Laughing. Crying. Eating. Waiting. Smiling. Holding. Hugging. Fucking. Falling. Dancing. Drinking. Partying.
Screaming. Singing. Talking. Kissing. Wrting. Typing. Kissing. Writing. Typing. Cooking. Fighting. Listening. Playing. Sailing. Telling.
Wishing. Changing. Living.
While hoping that destiny be my friend and destiny too.
Knowing that I was born to fly without wings towards and through the sun and across the universe.
I am the sun, I am the air. I am the son, I am the heir. Black night takes white lamb. Blood of the few who dared, spilled and fed and the land.
DJ: Yeys, that was The Lamentations Of The Bull King by the Grayson Kids brought to you by Savannah Mobile. Lamentations is this week's number 1 song on the Pop Tart Top Chart every 6PM Wednesdays and Fridays here on PT Radio. This is Radio Raheem and I'll be back after these messages with a new track from The Reckless: Hate and the Razorblade.
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