Wastebasket
Crumpled papers on messy florid sheets
Lie desolately over the thoughts
That had frayed these sallow walls
And the ripples in my bed like the
Waves in a cerulean sea and the Clementine
Of the sun that sweeps the stillness
That refuses to be detached from my
Memory
Crumpled papers on messy sheets
Lie desolately over thoughts
That had filled spaces between the lines
With scribbled words that cannot be
Spoken nor typed nor concluded
For like shards of glass brushed on skin
It stings as if it cannot be detached from
My memory
Like the slim trail of ink
From my pen
In those crumpled papers
Are memories
Etched between the spaces of your brain
That will end up
In that green plastic wastebasket
To be detached from your memory
There’s a new blank empty paper waiting to be
Filled by your thoughts
- - -
this is my first attempt at this style of writing.. hehe so its still a bit awkward. :P
--oOo--
Monday, October 22, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Finalssss woo!
Lovely. Just positively quaint. Tomorrow is the day that’s going to start off the final exams week, and can I just say I am utterly excited about it all. Not about the exams though, but the imminence of the semestral break…
Hmmm…
It’s just terribly boring inside my room, and every time I would want to go and read my books or the notes that I’ve managed to accumulate from my class lectures I always end up just either listening to music, or watching movies… or ruminating about how some day I’d see my nick at a billboard somewhere along some popular avenue telling everybody that I topped the board exams, and how I’d travel to different places around the world with my mom reveling in the results of my achievements… or about how the ice cream on my coke float doesn’t float at all, it does for a short while but then it sinks to the bottom at my displeasure. See how my focus easily tends to stray?
But nevertheless it has to be done.
Study I shall,
I shall Study…
For if not…
I’d have to say
Tahtah
to…
uhm…
*Winter
*Company of my mumma
*Chance at helping sick people
*Rides on airplanes
*My own house with my own swimming pool
*A red sports car or any car of the red hue
*Cereal in the morning
*A dog.
And a lot of other things that I don’t have to mention.
Wakokokokookokooo
--oOo--
Hmmm…
It’s just terribly boring inside my room, and every time I would want to go and read my books or the notes that I’ve managed to accumulate from my class lectures I always end up just either listening to music, or watching movies… or ruminating about how some day I’d see my nick at a billboard somewhere along some popular avenue telling everybody that I topped the board exams, and how I’d travel to different places around the world with my mom reveling in the results of my achievements… or about how the ice cream on my coke float doesn’t float at all, it does for a short while but then it sinks to the bottom at my displeasure. See how my focus easily tends to stray?
But nevertheless it has to be done.
Study I shall,
I shall Study…
For if not…
I’d have to say
Tahtah
to…
uhm…
*Winter
*Company of my mumma
*Chance at helping sick people
*Rides on airplanes
*My own house with my own swimming pool
*A red sports car or any car of the red hue
*Cereal in the morning
*A dog.
And a lot of other things that I don’t have to mention.
Wakokokokookokooo
--oOo--
Sunday, October 14, 2007
MMfff...
She was always a sort of a loner. Her kind didn’t really need the attention people try to provide her with, and/or the parties that they invite her in to be deemed normal or perhaps like the average kid in her school. The thing is, she doesn’t want to be one, and she finds the idea of doing something for the amusement of those around her while she sacrifices her perception of herself positively disgusting. Nobody really understood how someone as vibrant and dynamic as her could enjoy so much the seclusion that she carried around with her most of the time. April was much of an enigma to everybody as she was to herself.
The pen she had been holding for quite some time now hanged miserably just less than an inch from the empty piece of paper on the arm rest of her chair. The seemingly becoming more unintelligible sounds coming from the person who was talking in front of the room was beginning to irritate her nerves. Small beads of water started to form in her forehead and trickle down her eyebrows. She dabbed her right hand on it, the one she was holding the pen with then it resumed its position back to the empty piece of paper just waiting to be filled with words. She could not think of anything to write about, and this surprised her tremendously. On a typical day, she would have already finished with the task but this day the wind blew a different air. The professor continues to babble about how to make a great descriptive essay, and how to let people who read it remember what you wrote. He grounds out that `usually no matter how great the writing is or the story per say, the reader eventually forgets about it”. He revealed that he wanted his students to learn and know how to create prose that would stick to the minds of those who know how to read like sand on a wet surface.
Fuck… they lost my fucking jacket. What the freak! And I'm to blame? The gall!
--oOo--
The pen she had been holding for quite some time now hanged miserably just less than an inch from the empty piece of paper on the arm rest of her chair. The seemingly becoming more unintelligible sounds coming from the person who was talking in front of the room was beginning to irritate her nerves. Small beads of water started to form in her forehead and trickle down her eyebrows. She dabbed her right hand on it, the one she was holding the pen with then it resumed its position back to the empty piece of paper just waiting to be filled with words. She could not think of anything to write about, and this surprised her tremendously. On a typical day, she would have already finished with the task but this day the wind blew a different air. The professor continues to babble about how to make a great descriptive essay, and how to let people who read it remember what you wrote. He grounds out that `usually no matter how great the writing is or the story per say, the reader eventually forgets about it”. He revealed that he wanted his students to learn and know how to create prose that would stick to the minds of those who know how to read like sand on a wet surface.
Fuck… they lost my fucking jacket. What the freak! And I'm to blame? The gall!
--oOo--
Friday, October 12, 2007
People are so cold
So, that is why I reckon...
PAKENSHEYTS! ...
In other words,
Why are you so myopic?
Why can't you see the ills of your ways?
With your dawdriness and ostentatiousness...
And sanctimoniousness.
Trying to vindicate yourself
From the guilt
Thats slowly nibbling at your
Weak brittle bones
And hacking away at your
Sensibility.
Blood...
Thats all you ever use for an excuse.
Blood...
What if I took it away,
And drain myself of it?
--oOo--
PAKENSHEYTS! ...
In other words,
Why are you so myopic?
Why can't you see the ills of your ways?
With your dawdriness and ostentatiousness...
And sanctimoniousness.
Trying to vindicate yourself
From the guilt
Thats slowly nibbling at your
Weak brittle bones
And hacking away at your
Sensibility.
Blood...
Thats all you ever use for an excuse.
Blood...
What if I took it away,
And drain myself of it?
--oOo--
It's not you, it's me.
Yesterday was a beautiful Thursday… but a rather dismal one. It was the mark of the conclusion of the final semester and that parting of ways with my present classmates was dreadfully imminent. Yes, I did… as I usually do, not bother to externalize these rather fuzzy feelings of bleakness; though how compellingly it fought to break out.
What I realized from all of this were;
*Oh… crush, how sad indeed that we might never steal glances at each other ever again. And I certainly cannot stand/sit behind you on lectures just to smell the misty perfume you put on every morning, or even if its just your natural male scent, anymore. I might not be able to walk with you again in school, trail behind you without your knowledge and hide behind thick lush clumps of grass each time you threaten to look back. And you might have forever lost the chance to pay for my lunch at the school’s cafeteria or use a class project as an excuse to my parent or guardian just so you could take me out to a nice romantic dinner. Is it not terrible? The idea of it all! Oh my heart is shattered to tiny broken pieces and only the idea of having you in the same class again could mend it. Why, where then shall I find a reason to detract me from my focus on our professors’ lectures? It is just too much to bear.
*Professors who felt a surge of schadenfreude as their students’ grades hover about just a little above the passing mark. Never would the memories you’ve graciously left me with abscond the recesses of my defective memory, for I shall keep it there like how a child would with her very first scar. Thoughts of my time spent with you shall constantly brush my head as how my comb does. Terribly, I shall miss you… you’re all germs… germs of the revolution of the world for the fruits of education that had passed you shall manage this world some day, and all of the wisdom you’ve imparted would manifest. I won’t forget you.
*Irregularity. Seclusion. My little afternoon expeditions around the campus and the feeling that I own time. Tatah for now.
*New beginning… here I come!
I LIKE YOU BUT I DON’T WANT TO
How tremendously wrong of me to hastily presume that he was mad at me or didn’t wish to speak with me ever again. I suppose he did at first, but decided that it wasn’t a very clever idea and changed his mind. But he did find me monotonous then, and now that we’ve not talked for a short while… about a week to be accurate, he wishes to span the bridges between us anew and refresh our relationship. He might have thought, `She seemed like an interesting girl before… perhaps I might find her as one again.” or “I suppose I had been spending way too much unnecessary time with her that it had all become bland and ordinary…talking to her, like a habit.’
Yes… like a habit, I’ve gotten used to you… and how adroitly you’ve gotten me to be used to you. My mind’s usual program of just thoughts of school, my grades, and art are now meshed up with visions of you and me in some picturesque place enjoying each others’ company. And how sporadically my heart beats as the idea of not saying the right words or pleasing you as we chat whirl precariously above my brain. Suppose this is how one feels when one admires one; when one deeply admires one.
I am terribly sorry though, for letting it all come to this. I am aware that you are utterly dead beat of waiting for a reply from me. And how terribly I want to tell you… what I truly want to say. But those words aren’t a liberty for me right now. It is a complicated situation that we are in.
I do like you.
Very much so.
But I am just afraid…
To fall madly, deeply, and truly in love… (from that song, haha… I am so imitative. )
It’s the scariest of thoughts.
--oOo--
What I realized from all of this were;
*Oh… crush, how sad indeed that we might never steal glances at each other ever again. And I certainly cannot stand/sit behind you on lectures just to smell the misty perfume you put on every morning, or even if its just your natural male scent, anymore. I might not be able to walk with you again in school, trail behind you without your knowledge and hide behind thick lush clumps of grass each time you threaten to look back. And you might have forever lost the chance to pay for my lunch at the school’s cafeteria or use a class project as an excuse to my parent or guardian just so you could take me out to a nice romantic dinner. Is it not terrible? The idea of it all! Oh my heart is shattered to tiny broken pieces and only the idea of having you in the same class again could mend it. Why, where then shall I find a reason to detract me from my focus on our professors’ lectures? It is just too much to bear.
*Professors who felt a surge of schadenfreude as their students’ grades hover about just a little above the passing mark. Never would the memories you’ve graciously left me with abscond the recesses of my defective memory, for I shall keep it there like how a child would with her very first scar. Thoughts of my time spent with you shall constantly brush my head as how my comb does. Terribly, I shall miss you… you’re all germs… germs of the revolution of the world for the fruits of education that had passed you shall manage this world some day, and all of the wisdom you’ve imparted would manifest. I won’t forget you.
*Irregularity. Seclusion. My little afternoon expeditions around the campus and the feeling that I own time. Tatah for now.
*New beginning… here I come!
I LIKE YOU BUT I DON’T WANT TO
How tremendously wrong of me to hastily presume that he was mad at me or didn’t wish to speak with me ever again. I suppose he did at first, but decided that it wasn’t a very clever idea and changed his mind. But he did find me monotonous then, and now that we’ve not talked for a short while… about a week to be accurate, he wishes to span the bridges between us anew and refresh our relationship. He might have thought, `She seemed like an interesting girl before… perhaps I might find her as one again.” or “I suppose I had been spending way too much unnecessary time with her that it had all become bland and ordinary…talking to her, like a habit.’
Yes… like a habit, I’ve gotten used to you… and how adroitly you’ve gotten me to be used to you. My mind’s usual program of just thoughts of school, my grades, and art are now meshed up with visions of you and me in some picturesque place enjoying each others’ company. And how sporadically my heart beats as the idea of not saying the right words or pleasing you as we chat whirl precariously above my brain. Suppose this is how one feels when one admires one; when one deeply admires one.
I am terribly sorry though, for letting it all come to this. I am aware that you are utterly dead beat of waiting for a reply from me. And how terribly I want to tell you… what I truly want to say. But those words aren’t a liberty for me right now. It is a complicated situation that we are in.
I do like you.
Very much so.
But I am just afraid…
To fall madly, deeply, and truly in love… (from that song, haha… I am so imitative. )
It’s the scariest of thoughts.
--oOo--
Sunday, October 7, 2007
I should be
If there is one thing that would definitely rile me up, it’s not telling me you’re going to do something I will certainly find unacceptable. At least have the decency to tip me off first before you pull a stunt. Then it would be much easier for me to leave room for conciliation with the incident. Just notify me first, that is all I ask of you.
Sometimes it could be very taxing being nice and amicable to people. As much exertion of effort you put into it, they still fail to appreciate the good things you did for them which the idea of could wear you down doubly. I mean, it’s the least you could probably do after having the little guy do all the dirty work for you. Just a simple “thanks”, and it would do a world of difference for them because the only reason why they do it in the first place is to be acknowledge, to be appreciated by the people they do these things for, and it would be nice if you could show a little gratitude even just for once. I suppose I should try and be more aggressive, to not let people just boss me around and say yes to everybody. Perhaps I should shed that old behavior and try on a more audacious and bold persona. It would positively be a cool way to beat boredom from life to have people experience a new more brazen you. The only hitch is that I am not exactly that kind of person who likes to have people know what I feel all the time. Even as a little girl, the time when I was supposed to be passionate and so full of emotions; unafraid to let people know how I felt, I had been terribly discreet about it. But what I did with it though was channel it through creative ways. It manifested in the artworks that I made, and through the essays that I wrote but never in reality. Yes, I do cry when hurt… and laugh hysterically when amused but only for a short while. I’ve never learnt to fuss about things that disappointed me too long nor did I swank about my laurels too much, and for some people that might be an advantage. But I’ve never learnt how to actually act on it, to act on my emotions and not analyze the pros and cons of the situation first before I do stuff. Go head first and plunge into unclear situations, yeah… that’d be unlike me. Tell that guy who stole you’re seat while leaving you to stand the rest of the trip on a bus to piss off and die for not being chivalrous, shout at the lady who’s trying to cut in the line to go back at the end of the line and follow the fucking rules, retaliate to the nasty remarks being underhandedly spewed about you by the uncouth meddling women in front of you accusing you of cutting in their line, vociferously ask for your change from the sleazy driver who’d scowl while reluctantly handing it to you, and probably the best that I could do is to stand up to a professor and let him know how freaking boring his lectures are and we don’t learn nothing, and we wont unless he starts behaving like a real teacher not like a blabbering fool in front talking to himself all the time, I mean! Come on! Can’t you at least try and establish a connection with your students? That way they’d at least be interested and want to learn. Good teaching isn’t about how eloquently you speak using complicated analogies and stuff, or how many awards you’ve received in the course of your lifetime but how well your students comprehend the things that you try to teach them. As they would often say, how much you know would manifest in how well you explain things. Well, I could rant like this here, but in real life I’d be darned if I ever did say anything close to this. Perhaps I should… but when I actually get around to wanting to do it, I chicken out. That is what’s wrong with me… I’m a big chicken. Cluck Cluck.
- - -
You glance at her with adoring eyes
Sit next to her to share her loneliness
Proffer a tender hand
That would caress hers
Steadying it from shaking
Soothing the worries
That troubles her
You are gallant in expressing
What you truly feel
Towards her
She stares back at you with
Adoring eyes
I look away,
Cause it starts to sink in
That all you’ll ever have for me
Are fleeting cold looks.
--oOo--
Sometimes it could be very taxing being nice and amicable to people. As much exertion of effort you put into it, they still fail to appreciate the good things you did for them which the idea of could wear you down doubly. I mean, it’s the least you could probably do after having the little guy do all the dirty work for you. Just a simple “thanks”, and it would do a world of difference for them because the only reason why they do it in the first place is to be acknowledge, to be appreciated by the people they do these things for, and it would be nice if you could show a little gratitude even just for once. I suppose I should try and be more aggressive, to not let people just boss me around and say yes to everybody. Perhaps I should shed that old behavior and try on a more audacious and bold persona. It would positively be a cool way to beat boredom from life to have people experience a new more brazen you. The only hitch is that I am not exactly that kind of person who likes to have people know what I feel all the time. Even as a little girl, the time when I was supposed to be passionate and so full of emotions; unafraid to let people know how I felt, I had been terribly discreet about it. But what I did with it though was channel it through creative ways. It manifested in the artworks that I made, and through the essays that I wrote but never in reality. Yes, I do cry when hurt… and laugh hysterically when amused but only for a short while. I’ve never learnt to fuss about things that disappointed me too long nor did I swank about my laurels too much, and for some people that might be an advantage. But I’ve never learnt how to actually act on it, to act on my emotions and not analyze the pros and cons of the situation first before I do stuff. Go head first and plunge into unclear situations, yeah… that’d be unlike me. Tell that guy who stole you’re seat while leaving you to stand the rest of the trip on a bus to piss off and die for not being chivalrous, shout at the lady who’s trying to cut in the line to go back at the end of the line and follow the fucking rules, retaliate to the nasty remarks being underhandedly spewed about you by the uncouth meddling women in front of you accusing you of cutting in their line, vociferously ask for your change from the sleazy driver who’d scowl while reluctantly handing it to you, and probably the best that I could do is to stand up to a professor and let him know how freaking boring his lectures are and we don’t learn nothing, and we wont unless he starts behaving like a real teacher not like a blabbering fool in front talking to himself all the time, I mean! Come on! Can’t you at least try and establish a connection with your students? That way they’d at least be interested and want to learn. Good teaching isn’t about how eloquently you speak using complicated analogies and stuff, or how many awards you’ve received in the course of your lifetime but how well your students comprehend the things that you try to teach them. As they would often say, how much you know would manifest in how well you explain things. Well, I could rant like this here, but in real life I’d be darned if I ever did say anything close to this. Perhaps I should… but when I actually get around to wanting to do it, I chicken out. That is what’s wrong with me… I’m a big chicken. Cluck Cluck.
- - -
You glance at her with adoring eyes
Sit next to her to share her loneliness
Proffer a tender hand
That would caress hers
Steadying it from shaking
Soothing the worries
That troubles her
You are gallant in expressing
What you truly feel
Towards her
She stares back at you with
Adoring eyes
I look away,
Cause it starts to sink in
That all you’ll ever have for me
Are fleeting cold looks.
--oOo--
Friday, October 5, 2007
I dont want to go back
Everything seems to be getting out of hand and is slowly slipping away from my control. The more I try to get a firm grip on things the more they manage to slip away from me. Life has truly become an utterly capricious thing out to pull tricks on me using its clever machinations comprised of fate and droll humor. My going to school here in Manila might be bunged by the adverse turn of events that had come into play the past couple of days. Although my mom tried to keep it from me, I was bound to find out anyways one way or the other. I just got the news from my Tita that my mom plans on sending me back to Tacloban and put me to school there. Though I reckon the place I am presently staying in isn’t what one would call “quaint”, it’s a bit shabby, poorly ventilated, and home to a wide range of amusing characters… rats that enjoy prancing about on the roof at night, cockroaches that has a taste for chocolate, and black ants that appear out of the blue each time I decide to have dinner in my room, I do like staying here. If not only for pecuniary reasons, and the time it takes for me to get to school… I would have loved to carry on hanging about here. I’m halfway to actually finishing this course of study that I’ve opted for, and I wouldn’t want to delay that any further. I’ve already missed a year, and I don’t want my going back and transferring to another school yet again, to add to that. And I like my college now, not many people know me, but those that do don’t actually give a care about me being around, and I like to keep it at that. When I am here, I feel like I could do better, and that I could actually transform myself to be like those kids who make their mom proud and feel that they had done well with the rearing of their children. I know it isn’t a good idea to run away from your past as running away from a mad dog. And even if I tried, I can’t because it’s a part of me and will always stay as that… I am so fatigued. I feel like I’m in a limbo.
Please listen to me first, and we’ll see what we should do.
- - -
DEBATE
I have this big debate coming up on Monday, and this invitation card that I’d have to design for that particular event. The debate focuses on how Men’s Magazines affect today’s society and my stand on the chosen topic; if I think it immoral or not. You know those magazines like FHM, Cosmopolitan, and whatever magazines that market pictures of half-naked or utterly nude pictures (but without explicit exposure of private parts such as the areola) of women. I proposed that pornography would be a better term for our topic, but they refused. They indicated that the word “PORN” from pornography might alienate the audience because it’s a bit too crude for them. Oh well.
--oOo--
Please listen to me first, and we’ll see what we should do.
- - -
DEBATE
I have this big debate coming up on Monday, and this invitation card that I’d have to design for that particular event. The debate focuses on how Men’s Magazines affect today’s society and my stand on the chosen topic; if I think it immoral or not. You know those magazines like FHM, Cosmopolitan, and whatever magazines that market pictures of half-naked or utterly nude pictures (but without explicit exposure of private parts such as the areola) of women. I proposed that pornography would be a better term for our topic, but they refused. They indicated that the word “PORN” from pornography might alienate the audience because it’s a bit too crude for them. Oh well.
--oOo--
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Crazy cracka
Fuck it, I need to get a new loft. If there is one thing I need more now than anything is to move out of this crappy cockroach-and-mosquito-and-other-unfamiliar-vermin-infested place. Strands of hair has started to fall off of my head because I keep hassling myself over how the fuck I should just stay smug of what I have because even if I did want to do something about it I can’t as a corollary to the restriction of trust endowed upon me by people in authority.
- - -
HOW QUICKLY IT DOES FADE
Everything has become bland. I knew somehow that it was just a matter of time that it would come to this eventually, as all things do. The idealism that we tried to sustain over the course of time has been finally reduced to what it really is without the gilded opinions of an unspoiled and quixotic partiality of misled fools that we have painted it with. It was just the sort of spur of the moment emotion that must have felt so good that we allowed it to drag on believing that it might be true or that we might be able to make it true somehow. The memories that we have made out of the experience was like a plaything that we had been so eager and excited to toy with at the start, then after some time as what usually happens to toys… after being overly used, we’d grow tired of it. And now those once magical things that had happened between us will just be another part of history that would be forgotten in due course. Maybe I'll look back on it, but without remembering how it felt. Maybe some day I might feel the same things again, but with someone new. That's just how it works, and willy-nilly I have to learn to deal with it.
How quickly it does fade.
--oOo--
- - -
HOW QUICKLY IT DOES FADE
Everything has become bland. I knew somehow that it was just a matter of time that it would come to this eventually, as all things do. The idealism that we tried to sustain over the course of time has been finally reduced to what it really is without the gilded opinions of an unspoiled and quixotic partiality of misled fools that we have painted it with. It was just the sort of spur of the moment emotion that must have felt so good that we allowed it to drag on believing that it might be true or that we might be able to make it true somehow. The memories that we have made out of the experience was like a plaything that we had been so eager and excited to toy with at the start, then after some time as what usually happens to toys… after being overly used, we’d grow tired of it. And now those once magical things that had happened between us will just be another part of history that would be forgotten in due course. Maybe I'll look back on it, but without remembering how it felt. Maybe some day I might feel the same things again, but with someone new. That's just how it works, and willy-nilly I have to learn to deal with it.
How quickly it does fade.
--oOo--
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