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To the one I love. Here I am still guessing what the hell is your mind manifest. And I never tire watching you do almost anything. I will do anything but you will never know. I love you because you remind me of me and many other things that I look for inside me. I am young and foolish still but whatever I can keep I do. But why can't I have you? Happiness is wanting what you never had. It's like us, you and me. I cahse you like the wind. I imagine you calling me, wanting me, needing me.
Flesh for fantasy. People obsessed with lumps of flesh. I am your everyday slut. Feelings of guilt and cheapness. How would I know if I am a pervert? If my idea of an ideal woman is someone who will make a good fuck? Everyday my morality is questioned. It is not a question of faith. It is a matter of where and whom to stick your prick into. I know people who judge women by the size of their tits. Redefining smut. Rape justified. I am obsessed with virgins. Something my ego mentioned about sex. I am what I am.
A way with words. Does it really matter, what I say? Unique, original, imaginative? Impossible. It's sure someone has said that before. So why speak anyway? Why is sense related to the frequency of speech? I am merely repeating what he said. Words empty and useless. But they can work miracles too. I had frequent brushes with plagiarism, and it doesn't take you long and far enough. How would I know then if I'm imitating someone else's work? Shrug it off and deny eveything. I can't. We all want to be little princesses. I don't want to lose that right.
Our classroom. It all boils down to youthful flirting with sense. I do not even know these people. I'm not even sure if I will remember them much later. They just talk! Why should I care? They don't even know how to listen! Self-serving, self-centered, vain children and there are forty-seven of us! Or is it just me? I don't know. I refuse to belong in this class. I'm not eager to make my presence felt. Who are these people? I know people change. Perhaps they will. Or not. I have no idea. Right now, they're all I have.
Lucban. Our house near the cemetery. Crystal-clear water on the sidewalk canals constantly flowing. Green fields laden with countless coconut trees and the mounds of carabao dung everywhere too. Houses covered with the cream of May harvest and colorful, leaf-shaped, rice-sheets baked in some backyard kitchen. Tourists you will never meet again. Endless tricycles. Houses old and new. The ancient soil-black church in the town's heart. Pan-fried noodles oozing with sauce that calms my restless mind for now. Searing summer sun and the bastard rain. The warbling of the bats at dusk. Roads that slope in terrifying angles. Vacation province.
Mad country. Our national hero is a boxer. A history of disowners and disclaimers. Paranoid and hungry. Content in joking about everything. Self-mockery is a past-time. Oppressed and gladly naked. France, factions and Faust. Hypocrisy a form of practice. Religious sub-houses. Paradise for sale. Brain size doesn't matter. Double standards of machismo. Barbers are our best liars. Frenzy over the Big Story. To eat what you can only imagine. Damn beautiful women. Painfully handsome men. Warped time. Money paper tigers. Street stadium. Unsolved crimes of censorship. To hell with original crap. Hospitality or hospitalisation. Pollution sense moral irrelevance. I live.
I have lasses on my mind. Screw crushes! There is Richeliza, whom I'd originally thought of as a flirt. She actually deserved my attention. But clans of the same kilts strut together. With Honneylette, I'm guilty of contempt. And Aprille. I can't love her yet for all that she is, I admit. Marian currently has my respect. Stephanie is someone whom I'd actually marry. I too admit that I loved saying that. Gosh. I have this thing with Marivic's ears and Chrystabel's eyebrows. There is always something that attracts me to a girl. Something I'd like to call my own.
Life under a metal roof is a love-hate relationship. Rain spatters noises. Night cold is comfortable. Microwave in the morning. Stray bullet anxiety on rallies and New year's day. Cat's feet banging the surface. They jump from somewhere twice as tall. Rustlings that remind you of rural folklore. No worries about slabs of concrete if the ground trembles. I just hope that they don't peel away when the next big storm comes. Daytime sun shower cooks me up. The rowdy feline skirmishes rings inside my head. Nice metal roof over my head will be here to stay.
I call her number twenty-two. She was a contestant in this year's Miss Intrams in our school. She belongs the junior's top section. I like her. Calm collected. Long hair. An assasin's physique. Short, cute, petite. She reminds me of Aprille. And she has this mole somewhere in her face. I think she has a boyfriend already. I really don't care. She belongs to nerd class! I love her all the same. Just like the others. Happy wanting nothing from her. Sad. I don't even know her name yet! I never will perhaps. I still don't want to forget.
Collecting hobbies. Feigning shame. Learning things. Listening to the voices inside my head. Daydreaming about crushes. Mocking hypocrisy using the "fight fire with fire" approach. Spending time infront of a computer monitor and wasting good-earned money at the same time. Engaging in conversations with nameless, faceless people. Exploring my anatomy. Writing ego pleasers. Admiring beautiful things by making everything else look ugly. Finding excuses and pretending to be guilty. Practicing my apathy maneouvres. Eating familiar stuff. Writing crap because nostalgia counts. Talking, screaming, sending my friends letters of despair and all things disparaging hoping they will understand. Acquiring popguns. Loving.
I hated doing the laundry. But I find the washing of my own clothes to be very fulfilling. Maybe because I try to do things myself mostly. I hate doing the dishes! But I feel weird when forced to do it. It's like even my anger is washed down the sink. Water does wonders. Read the papers. What on earth is an amphibious ship? Ships on land. Soon tanks with legs. What do I care anyway! I still have to do the damned laundry! Good exercise indeed. Sunday sucks. Water so slow to fill up. I'm sure not alone!
Mind control tip sheet. Coercive lessons. Manipulations. Knowing everything counts. Sifting through their thoughts. Blind anticipation. What they need to see is what you want them to see. Study mnemonics, neurology and brain harmonics. Make a think tank to see you through. Give them hell, they get confused. Feeds their minds, they become predictable. Use beacons. Avoid stationary positions. Look them in the eye like you're actually staring out their brains. Get an amplifier. Meddle with their motivations. Be persistent. Expect retaliations. Hit the nail in the head. No fancy moves. Keep them hungry. Be everywhere. Never waste working minds.
When I was a kid, I'd wish for the gift of flight, x-ray vision, mind reading, invisibility, green eyes, red eyes. Too many times, I wished I were dead. I wished for many things, new toys, things and lots of money. Wealth and wishful thinking. I even wanted a harem full of girls from each race and nationality. Wished I was psychic, changeling or a being from outerspace. Now i wish people would see me want me need me love me accept me leave me alone and just let me be myself. Wishes have never been so simple.
Lame physics. Black bow on her ponytail. Learning so little. Cold shoulder. Deaf ears. Useless remarks. Weather is moody. The class is moody too. Skip the formalities. Senseless display of emotions. Random spit. My crush moves like a little pre-schooler. One more stare and I will be obsessed. One-way, see-through parallelisms. Somebody stole my English book. I don't trust anyone of my comrades until now. I cannot accept it! I never expected much from them. And yet they never fail to disappoint. The way I feel I can't explain. Missing incompleteness. I'd rather shut up if you ask me. Classmates.
I can almost feel it. How close I came to having her. Efforts don't count. Why bother anyway, if she's going to marry someone else. She's not impressed. Well, she is never impressed you know! I don't think it's crucial, but it would help a lot if she will like me. Reasons deeper still. There is always something to prove. They say losing is good for you. Making the pay-back twice as fun. My terms are simply unacceptable. I can't have honorary girlfriends! Being dumped is a lesson I'll never forget. Dumped? I was renounced! Little exaggerations are so romantic!
Imagine running at break-neck speeds then slamming into a concrete wall. Imagine your body crumpling with the impact. Imagine all weight shifting to your head, you try stand but something just sweeps you off your feet. Imagine a loud ringing, that monotonous drone that doesn't go away no matter what you do. Imagine suspension at the center of a black sphere, dark, cold, silent. Merciless. You can't even hear your own voice. Or simply imagine imploding with your eyes closed. That's how a psychic attack would feel when you're asleep or unconscious. Otherwise, it's known as public humiliation.
I thought I'd love this day. I was wrong (though I'd hate to admit it). This day is just another day, feeling like yesterday. I love her just the same as yesterday. And I never really loved her. A cruel joke I played on myself. Now love tastes like rotten milk. And words like cut-out figures pinned on a clothesline, swaying. I never expected much, so now i have nothing. It sounds like sour-graping, but that's as close as it can get. You see, this day turned out just like another day, bouncing.
Another elf story. They say that if you want to meet an elf, just kick on a tree. And that the srongest fortresses are made of wood, and the wood comes from elven sanctuaries. The elves are a proud, noble race, they won't "sell" their trees. They say that if you want some of their "iron" wood, then make them fight each other. When elves make war, they don't cut each other out, they cut the other guy's tree! Trees are treated like elves. If you see an elf, you probably won't see the difference. Because all elves are green.
She knows I'm watching. And I still have to write my superior a letter. My favorite overlord and the most persuasive control freak. I once called my teacher a control freak. She was my Values education teacher. I always had this conflict with religion. But isn't it just natural, for man not to accept everything being handed down on him. I mean, isn't discrimination the ultimate good? It is quite simple actually, our inclination, if not lust for perfection. It only gets complicated when we try giving everything a meaning. Otherwise, we are just dopes on designer underwear.
I have this tendency love anything first-hand. Then hate everything later. Or vice-versa. Whatever. That's not my story anyway. One time I was inside a cubicle holding my prick when someone tapped my back. I was startled and I almost spilled on myself the contents of my bladder. Damn. Why is everyone trying to be funny and friendly these days. And it's not the first time that it happened. People would occasionally fling doors open behind your back. One time,I even met this girl and said something. She thought I was being cute. I was being sarcastic.
Things I'd like to give away. I'm not really generous. Yes, I tend to be partial to those who are partial to my cause. I'd give away my flaws, my imperfections, the secrets of my enemies, little embarassments, my fears, insecurities, debts, mistakes, my spineless friends, bad memory, blemishes, bad memories, my tight-lipped attitude, reclusive aura, patience, my thoughts, my feelings, joys, misery and my collection of virtually useless crap, my ego and tendencies of spilling out. I'd give away all these things and a lot more, but then again what would I be? Selfish or not, I treasure symbols.
I'd like to help out my country a lot but since I'm not yet employed, maybe I can convince you that my homeland is worth a visit. Reasons? I don't know, because I haven't been around anywhere anyway. Except for a chance to hit on "paradise", however you may define that. But I recommend these places: Palawan ( I'd like to go there myself someday), Lucban (Because it's my province) and Manila ( Just the right place to lose anything!). And if in case you do visit, thank you but we'll probably meet somewhere else. I'm a backstreet patriot, rotting in here.
Name-calling is for the inarticulate, but it would be very stupid to oblige people who resort to this method of insult. As for me, I keep things to myself and hope the universe will tune in to my wishes. Our english teacher knows only sour-graping. She's teaching language! Learning to communicate! We understand her as much as she understands herself. Whatever! If you want to teach someone something, show them you can do it all by yourself. Perhaps the others would think that you can do things all together. Reality check for that vainglorious diva of aged paranoia.
"Jester Leeringsole Seashell". Once there was a creature who had the same name as the title of this story. Whatever. He was basically tired of being flung away by the rippling currents. Was a damned whiner too, and saw himself as a very gifted individual. One morning, he woke up, a stinking bivalve no more, but a primadonna! Ok, fine. So he was liberated, after series of self-indoctrination and sessions with a retired prophet. Now, he's no longer greasing the ramps. You might even meet him somehow, adorning the table of some posh hotel south of Manila. Pretty ashtray.
Where are my values, oh. Have you seen them, huh? I'm still looking for them. Angry people do not think. Chances are they won't apologize. I don't know, do you? Only have time to react. I will deny everything later. Did I really say that? Of course, I did not! Because I told you so! What happened to my manners? I try so very hard! Why can't I please you? Is everything just not enough? Sorry, last thing you need. I knew I hurt you. But what can I do? Please give me another chance! I'll promise you something else!
What would Christmas be like this year in Manila? Probably like the last "All Saints Day". Streets would be empty, err, not really, but people would be someplace else, I believe. Yes, the malls! Kids would be trooping everywhere, ransacking their godparents' houses and splurging on everything, since they have all the reasons to spend all the good-earned money kept for the occasion. I can almost smell the half-decomposed fruitcake. This "treat" is being passed on like family heirlooms, and just a few years more and they would be proper museum pieces. Lanterns everywhere. The bitter aftertaste of losing money.
If you are going to do something naughty, assume that you will be caught, since you are going to do it anyway. But don't clip your nails when lying on your back. Plain stupid. One clipping fell on my eye. Ouch. And never tell your enemy a joke unless your intention is to humiliate yourself. You might just get it. But remember, everything said in a nice way will still sound nice. Just keep it to yourself. But why burden yourself? Never ask a fool for advice. You'll waste time trying to figure everything out. Nothing beats getting hit actually.
I like sharing things, and hardly care if anyone gets my point or not. Misery loves company, but failure finds everybody. At least you learn to get up and hit back. Revenge is futile, but irresistible. Temper is useless, unless you are mad. Anyway, I think this fire will burn itself out. Nothing lasts forever, except remorse perhaps. And those memories that just recur when you least need them. But the wise never share their secrets. If they do, they stop being wise and start giving love. The best part is getting the credit for really simple jobs. Amazing!
I'm happy to see the geckos back on the walls of the house. They managed to survive, after all. I remember when I was much younger, me and my playmates would climb up the grotto at the local church and search for gecko eggs. I remember feeling sad whenever I broke one. I even used to keep little geckos on glass jars and make homes for them, but I guess they just belong to the ceilings and the walls. The grotto is nowhere now because they're building a dormitory for girls in its place. But geckos are here to stay.
The past gets too messed, and the future breaks promises. All I have is now. When I die, I'd like to go someplace like Skyshroud, where I'd live with the elves; leaves above me and water beneath my feet. If I could be someone else, I'd be an elf. As some would say, something is always someone else's dream. Now is the time. What better time than now. I can wait. I've been waiting all my life. I could wait a little more. My brothers are waiting for me. Soon, everything else will turn to green. Elves will be elves.
The Tip Jar