cradle-bye-baby…

holy crabman… I think i’ve just fallen asleep in my sleep. But I haven’t exactly slept yet…

even crab man is funky…

Product of the boredom from with colleagues:

come on vic.. you know you wanna do this for the hell of it too… hahahaha

I am: wincing at the window

I think: that crab man dude in I AM EARL is one cool motherfu.

I know: i’ve got 3 more hours to kill time in this joint.

I want: to ride waves.

I have: 4 measly sales. how lame.

I wish: i knew how to handle a short board.

I hate: my job.

I miss: aeroplane jelly

I fear: for the indigenous people of….. wherever.

I feel: like getting up and going to Bagasbas.

I hear: my bed calling me.

I smell: the crazy smell of victor’s fingers plunging into foreign, deep, dark places. (ewww dude…)

I crave: for my own EOS 40D canon Digital SLR

I search: for nirvana.

I wonder: if I can discover a scientific breakthrough that will stilt the rest.. hehehe

I pretend: to not know that I smoke.

I regret: taking that drug the clinic gave me. drowsy, drowsy, drowsy…

I love: the smell of the sea.

I long: to be a documentarist for the lonely planet.

I care: because the care bears care.

I always: happen to fumble on words.

I am not: atong… hehehehe

I believe: that new world order in my way would cause another new world order.

I promise: to stop smoking soon.

I dance: when I eat meat pies.

I sing: the dumbest songs.

I cry: while watching Lakbay Lahi… hehehe…

I am not always: the right person to talk to.

I fight: for working 8 straight hours.

I write: the dumbest, imature-est crap.

I try: to think happy thoughts…

I never: let anyone marinade my steak.

I confuse: myself with left and right.

I listen:to Enya on herb.

I can usually be found: in my little cave.

I hide: my stash in the earphone box. enough clues.

I am scared: of small circles

I need: a dose of t-bone

I expect: to lose interest in unconsious conformity to everything.

I should: understand scales better.

I still: want to own a pearl white parker fly…

I already: give up on this crap. hehehehe

maybe

Sleeping, listening to music, staring at the ceiling, brushing through strings… Even clipping fingernails…The simplest things that turn out to be such a luxury…

Maybe when I can’t afford it some day, it’ll be possible that i’d go hungry… 

Oh my God, John Velarde… Congratulations.

red and black antenna waving…

It’s been a while since i’ve had some time to knock some sense in to me and actually have some time to really sit down and think things straight…

Things have been too laxed… Way too laxed.

Yes, a typical routine that I have been doing for the past some-odd year. A clever concoction of calls, fatigue, falling asleep and waking up in the strangest places, ripped off dvd’s, medium-rare steak, cigarettes, and alcohol… Yes, a redundancy of action you would probably witness in my previous posts. Hell, what is new?  Come to think of it, these blog farts are probably just an excuse to exercise and practice my shabby writing… Alot of you already know how dumb my 9 to 5 can make a person.

My rest day bursted the bubble. It kind of scared me. The thought of feeling restless and anxious. The urge to want to work. A tingling sensation inside me that refused my body to relax and enjoy my rest. Is this what we were built for? A mechanism to just be born, educated, live, work, work some more, then finally, retire and die?… A conclusion to our sole purpose in life… This, i wish to dissipate conformity to…

Something i’ve seen too many times.

It’s a pleasuring thought that we could live totally extra-ordinarily… But when will the most of all get up and have the balls to do it?… Not a question for me to answer. I’m not even a fragment there…

But from then on, “winner, winner… Chicken dinner!”

 

feeding fish…

Feeding fish… The ropes to my dearest memories. The little powder blue blotch on my daydream cloud. This was the soul food my grandma used to feed me. It was timeless. Nothing in the world could ever be that blissful.

I would wake up to lola’s gentle nudges, the smell of hot chocolate, freshly-delivered bread, dried fish, bacon, eggs, and the aged wood from the old house she lived in. I would hear the roosters crowing, and the spots of sunlight through the window, juxtaposed on my face. I would excitedly sit up on the bed, and get ready to go outside. We would be the first two to eat breakfast. Just me and her. I would tell her my littleboy stories, while she would smile at me and bless the generations she has created.

Together, we would walk out to the garden and watch life. Her scarlet begonias were my personal eye-candy. She always loved plants. You could see the joy she had in seeing the flowers bloom. My favorite part in our little morning ritual was to feed the fish in this little pond near the yard. There were alot of colorful fishes pleased to see us, as if my grandmother was this recognized. She was such a loving person, that even the fish loved her back. That’s how much she embraced life. The leftover bread was pinched into little pieces, then we both threw the small bits of pan de sal into the pond and observed them nibbling and nipping on the crumbs… We would just quietly watch, after… It was an invisible connection that my grandmother and I had. It wasn’t complicated. Nor was it trivial. It was easy as a sunday morning. She knew I loved life. I knew she did too…

When we were done, that was when our day officially started…

I could photographically rememember every detail of these memories. The sweet stench of the morning dew. The tactile joy I had was like a song you learned to love 10 years ago, then the pleasure to listen to it 10 years after. I could still clearly hear the water and the light pitter-patter of my grandmother in her favorite slippers. The crumby bread in my hands. The dusks’ dew on my face. Every one of my five senses could picture each and every gesture made. My grandmother would talk to me about the most beautiful things as if she was introducing the world and my youth to me.

If I could have one last thought before I die, I would ponder on feeding the fishes and linger with the cerebration until my quintissent core would wear off.

yes, mother…

Sitting on my station with nothing to do. I’m a pip and a hop from departing my soul. My voice clinches on anti-gung ho. I flip the bird on the telephone unit. Clueless of what the next hours of my endeavor would bring, I finish an email for my mother to see if I can still taunt her with my convictions that I would no longer follow the steps that I was reared with. Alot to learn, alot learned, alot to unlearn. I read her previous email. There was news of what she labeled as bigamy . I’m happy. She wasn’t. I suppose she was expecting a violent or negative backlash.

 ”With all do respects, mother… I can’t be like you or dad. I choose not to. The even weight of both your pleasant upbringing was highly appreciated by the three of us, but i’ve filtered what I needed, and gracefully left what I didn’t.  I know the both of you only wanted the best for us. But please, that’s old. We’ve all grown out of that. Thanks for the blessings. I’m humbled by being raised in your hands and eyes… I really am.“… 

I’m happy with the state I’m in. Time can be riddling, but i’m enjoying the pace right now. Let’s slow down and catch our breaths a little later.

Suffering? or a better way of life? Or IS suffering THE better way of life?

The Four Noble Truths

1. “the noble truth that is suffering”
2. “the noble truth that is the arising of suffering”
3. “the noble truth that is the end of suffering”
4. “the noble truth that is the way leading to the end of suffering”

The Noble Eightfold Path

Śīla is morality—abstaining from unwholesome deeds of body and speech. Within the division of sila are three parts of the Noble Eightfold Path:

1. Right Speech—One speaks in a non hurtful, not exaggerated, truthful way.
2. Right Actions—Wholesome action, avoiding action that would do harm.
3. Right Livelihood—One’s way of livelihood does not harm in any way oneself or others; directly or indirectly.

Samadhi is developing mastery over one’s own mind. Within this division are another three parts of the Noble Eightfold Path:

1. Right Effort/Exercise—One makes an effort to improve.
2. Right Mindfulness/Awareness—Mental ability to see things for what they are with clear consciousness.
3. Right ConceRntration/Meditation—Being aware of the present reality within oneself, without any craving or aversion.

Prajñā is the wisdom which purifies the mind. Within this division fall two more parts of the Noble Eightfold Path:

1. Right Understanding—Understanding reality as it is, not just as it appears to be.
2. Right Thoughts—Change in the pattern of thinking.

 

The Eight Precepts

1. To refrain from taking life. (non-violence towards sentient life forms)

2. To refrain from taking that which is not given. (not committing theft)

3. To refrain from sensual (sexual) misconduct.

4. To refrain from lying. (speaking truth always)

5. To refrain from intoxicants which lead to loss of mindfulness. (refrain from using drugs or alcohol)

6. To refrain from eating at the wrong time. (only eat from sunrise to noon)

7. To refrain from dancing, using jewelry, going to shows, etc.

8. To refrain from using a high, luxurious bed.

 

——–If I could do all this………….. mannnnn…..

three dots were the answer.

I can’t blame your thumb. Your eyes caught me off-guard when the light was just right.

I’ve never seen anything walk across a room with so much innocence. I took two steps. You took one.

Your presence has become intoxicating.

An exchange of a joke, beer, and cigarettes. Then I was breached.

Though you were the taller side to the tale, you still kept sanity on my feet.

You were the chewiest part of that chocolate bar…

Part-time lovers, part-time friends.

You left my teeth unbrushed, yet you kept the room tainted with our gleaming grins and trinkets of you and me curled up in the sheets.

You were the sound leaking the 6 strings…

We were a moment put on hold. A pause not left with uncertainty, but a pause for a better reason for us to smile back at each other.

Defeated by society, we were left in submission. Would’ve been nice if we could linger some more.

I humbly let you fly away, but you will still have the better parts of my interests.

You still hold the brightest shades to my thoughts.

The dice has been rolled, and it landed on nil.

I’d still shake your hands without holding back. I still harbor the thought that those hands fit pretty well in mine for those hours.

You were a beat away from stealing me. Steering clear was the meandered option.

Wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t mine.

We’ve just got to be symmetrical, my friend.

Don’t worry… I wont even flinch…

you…

You’re the sore on the roof of my gums…

It wont heal unless you stop tongueing it…

back to the real world…

‘Twas the may 1st. The long awaited replenishment from the concrete jungle and city of sin. No anomalies, no frustration, no angst… Just the white sand, the calm water, munchies, 2 cases of beer, 2 reams of lung-busters, 13 festive hearts in bloom, and a swiss knife… Everything we need…

1:00pm… We were all exhausted from the last dose of labor we induced… The itinerary was pretty simple – “relax”… A celebration for the promotion of a friend (jeremy tan), and a celebration for the team… We all needed this like bread needed butter… Munting Buhangin, Nasugbu, Batangas was the barrel of bliss…

All armed and anxious to get to our destination, with evident uncertainty whether it would be available or not due to labor day and the flood of people trying to grasp the same situation as we were, we took the road in our hands, and hoped for the resort to be available…

The whole journey to Batangas was becoming quite tedious… the urge to want to hit the sand, and the immobility of sitting in a van for a couple of hours was pretty difficult to ply… I was in the front seat with Jek (colleague) and Dennis (jeremy’s sister’s boyfriend), while the rest were in the back… The road trip was amazing… You would never think that you would miss your country this much… The urban atmosphere had me by the balls, that if you’re fortunate enough to see the vast foliage, the mountains, and smell the fresh air, your mind would blow… blow… blow… blow… blow…

The characters of our little escapade was TL (paulo roco), Jeremy, Fab, Dee, Daisy, Jek, Bernard, Dianne, Ryan, Ed, JJ and me… Each with different critical contributions to the journey… It would be short-changed if even one of us were missing… Jek, Ed, and Jeremy were the comedians (or comediennes, rather), Fab was the chef… TL was the bed crasher… Bernard was the authority…  Dee, and Dianne were the sous chefs… Daisy was the shrink and the soul-searcher…  Dennis was the pilot, the joke-cracker, and the “ihaw-ihaw” dude… Ryan was the camera man… JJ was the neutralizer… I was the observer, errands runner, and the alcoholic… all of us were contributions to the trip and would constitute to the oneness we had for those moments…

We finally arrived at our destination… The ETA was supposedly at 5pm, but we had too much of a blast on the road, that we got there around 7:30, which was not so much of a hassle… Luckily, the universe was conspiring to work on our side, that the resort still had availability for the family room… We unloaded our sacks, slapped on our waterproof wristlets, and got the party started…

A couple of the guys and I, engaged in a purple haze frenzy before eating… alright, that was a little exaggerated… not too much of a frenzy… but we were all still pretty stoked…

About 10-11pm, we commenced the alcohol intoxication! Yeyy! Excited, i was… The moment I was waiting for all night… We started outside the room… Barley and pork was at stake… Our livers weren’t spoiled enough, so we decided to take it to the shore… We drank a harder drink on the sand ’til we all decided to conquer the calm water… I don’t know if I was drunk or stoned, but I was perplexed at a certain amazing sight… Bio-luminescent algae! They were all over the place, that when you move in the water, it agitates them, hence the bright little lights coming out of their arses… Amazing… So while you’re paddling and wading, you see a trail of green lights following your last movements… I thought I was so drunk that I was starting to hallucinate… I enjoyed the beer on the splashing waves…. It seemed a little unorthodox seeing a case of beer half-submerged in the water… It was like a picture-perfect moment in a San Miguel Beer advertisement…

I fell asleep on the beach… I woke up not knowing where the hell I was… But it felt like heaven… The sand was carefully configured to my body…. The cool early morning dew over my skin… The fresh air in the atmosphere… Nothing like it…

The remaining nocturnal eyes that were still awake, decided to wait for the sun to rise… We got a little hungry, so we tripped on the innocent salted duck eggs, tomatoes, and onions… Raped our lungs some more, then looked for a comfortable spot to engage in a decent – or so he said – slumber…

The group swam some more in the morning, had some morning booze, cucumber and mangoes, then chilled ’til check out…

We ate lunch underneath the small domes by the beach, drank, and chilled some more… A better chance to get the team all together… Our siesta was over a million games of “baccarat” and ”in between”, which was traded over TL’s wallet, and Jeremy’s persistent luck… Ed’s wins also blessed us with 2 rounds of Red Horse… We went home with TL Pau, and his profanity…

The show couldn’t end there… We had to do something about Jeremy, and his fat pocket…

ANSWER: Mushroom Burger!!!!!

Oh well… This is the end of our little fantasy…

As TL Paulo quoted as soon as we stood up, “back to the real world”… It made me ponder for a couple of seconds… He was ominously right… Here we go…

Back to the real world…

The girl with the star…

taken from Louise Meets’ post… http://girldidboy.wordpress.com/

The little firefly writes the sweetest things, in the most cruel ways… hehehe…

 

To The Boy Who Eats Parmesan as Pulutan

May 3, 2008

You have no idea how you’ve saved my sanity over and over. How I grab onto our 1am drinking sessions and half-stoned conversations when I can’t hold onto anything else. You’re my fucked up wonderwall man. My soft place to fall. 

 

Oh I’m not saying this just because the words sound pretty. We both know you don’t need the flattery. These words are meant. They are as tested as the Red Horse bottles we cling to at night. As real as the something-just-died-in-my-mouth taste on my tongue the morning after.

 

I love you man. You and your twisted take on things and how you listen to the best music. Truth is, you inspire me. The way you throw yourself at life as though it were a lion with gaping jaws. And while everyone else is busy running for cover, there you are, frozen in awe by its beauty. Oh you’re not naive about the fact that it might bite your head off any second, but you seem to find it impossible to flea from something so real just for the sake of fear. That is who you are. And that makes me want to be like you sometimes… Only better looking.

 

I guess I’m just trying to thank you. For the fucked up way you comfort me. For the safety I find in your presence. For the weed. The alcohol. Those nights spent on songs and cigarettes.

 

And always know man, wherever you are.. You’re one of the brightest little fireflies in my jar.

3:30 to 12:30

Waking up not knowing where you are.   Cab driver oracle.   Frozen to the bones.   Side A… Side B…   Single-serving friends.   Single-serving meals.   Ants marching.   Killing ants.   Absurd cities.   Con caucasians.   Dreaming aloud.  Fear of desolation.    Fear of the workforce.   Love with the workforce.   Selling like a pimp.   Confusion of dinner from breakfast.   Countless cigarettes.   Coffee-stoned.   Heat.   Nippy.   Opinionated.   Stoned again.   Electrolyte ignition.   Aux 8 clairvoyance.   Computer chair test-dummies.   Whiteboard doodles.   Jjampong noodles.   Pseudo-crushes.   Pseudo-names.   Parkour!   Avaya conquistador adept.   idolizing KRANG.   Drowsy.  Pre-paid reservations. Pre-paid MRT tickets.   Meandering propaganda.    Last meal of the day.   Falling asleep on a movie.   Death comes to me.

John Velarde? or John Velarde?

You can’t help but look up your own name in random search engines…

And what did I find?

Looky looky!!! John Velarde himself…

If you look carefully at the bottom right hand side of the painting, you’ll see the perpetual name yourself…

An artist indeed…

 This masterpiece is entitled, “the thinker, tijuana” in acrylic by John C. Velarde…

A letter more, and that would be me…

What’s in a name? You think you would do justice to the name given to you? Would you make the name worth living?

What if by some eternal destiny, we were given our names for a purpose? Not just named after someone, or something by our parents and family…

He surely made something of himself…

Now it’s my turn…

6 strings…

When I first held you, we were unfamiliar. For you weren’t mine, but I knew from the start that I would always be yours, and you would eventually be mine… It’s a pity I don’t fully understand you. Yet, I feel that I know you from head to toe… Your long strands carefully placed peg, after peg… Your body refined to sing for my hands. Curves fit for my arms to rest… The smoothness of your neck lets me slide with you as me move together in our little encounters…

You whisper for me to come closer to you and hold you like opposite polar magnitudes… I can’t hold back, because I know you want to sing for me. Sing for my soul. Sing for the air. Your voice is twice as beautiful, complimenting the room. Firmly embraced in my arms, you yearn for the tips of my fingers to explore you…

Embedded are the metal sores which are now your provisions to capture all who can hear with their soul… even the happy… even the alone…

Your maple body explodes as you strike a chord into my twenty-and-some-odd-year heart… It trembles into my body, releasing a sobriety in the empty room…

I take a glimpse of the wall, then look back at you… I shut my eyes for a bit and let my fingers do the speaking…

My mind gets carried with you as we both get lost for these few moments… We lose control… 3 minutes , become an hour… An hour becomes 3… But it makes every second worth being with you… Even if you have been passed around like a whore…

though you are bruised, scarred, and gashed… Nothing can still compare…

I am still unfamiliar… but I know you… 

You are mine…

My apologies for abandoning you… Even when you were the only one… Even if you were the only one…

We will be back to our familiarity again…

Just sit there for me…

I can’t come and play just yet… Not just yet…

 

 

 

 

bland… monotonous… dreary…

wake up.

brush teeth.

take shower.

take calls.

eat.

get drunk.

shit.

piss.

brush teeth.

sleep.

REPEAT.

 

poor pussy…

It was a mild afternoon… well, not too mild for a typical day in our tropical archipelago… April 2008 was in bloom… Summer… The scorching heat would tear your skin… Therefore, any sudden gestures, would send you perspiring like a pig… so here we are at hi-top… My mates victor, jeremy, and ryan (all hungry as hell), deciding what innocent livestock would be chosen as the victims to our gastro-intestinal acids… The lucky winner was the domestic pink boar!… What part? The region where the sun shines the least… “Liempo”, as we all like to call it… How do we ripen it’s current cleaved state? We marinated, and roasted the poor bastard in spices and barbecue sauce, flipped him/her (unsure of its gender) in the oven toaster, and watched it burrrrrn…

Anyway, enough of that hullabaloo… Back to my tale of this unfortunate event…

After the blissful meal of carbohydrates, protein and liquidated barley, we settled for a smoke to add a couple more minutes to our death sentence…

By inquisitive nature, you can’t help but notice these cute little kittens running around the common area… There were about 3 to 4 of them prancing around, playing, and all with determination to learn how to hunt… I noticed a meek individual which was smaller than the rest of the pride… You would presume the kitten was the one lacking a teat when it was feeding time… It was malnourished, and had a smaller frame than the rest of the lactose-loaded siblings… That individual happened to be the favorite of the residents on that flat… It was carefully observed, and grown fond of…

Victor and his flatmate ahmad, started their story of how they brutally obliterated another poor feline which could possibly be their uncle, or parent, for that matter…

I was previously told this tale by victor of how he furiously had a personal grudge with this “kuting”…

It all started one night with his three pieces of chicken… Maticulously marinated, fried and set for his snack the next work shift, he placed the pieces on the counter near the sink where he set it to claim before his journey to the office… Little did he know, there was an espionage team of stealthy cats hidden behind the cracks and crevaces of the kitchen before he placed his meal… After he left, the cats terrorized the chicken pieces and left evidence on the kitchen floor… Witnessed by another of his flatmates, he instantly advised victor of the tragedy…

This is where the feud starts…

A couple of days after that, the poor cat was shot in the hind, paralyzed and left to drag itself on the floor for its remaining hours… Uncontented by their hostility, they noosed the cat by the neck, grabbed a long sharp tool, and stabbed the poor thing in the throat… You could see the cat wincing and struggling to get out of the situation… Still uncontented, they drove the knife through it’s tiny chest, and watched the last few seconds of its 9th life flash before it’s eyes… They had it all documented on video…

Cruel? Ask them…

Doesn’t that lead you to question yourself about cats?

Doesn’t that lead you to question about life?

 In general, why would you take a life of any living thing at all? Who are we to judge? Isn’t the nature of a cat (or any living being, for that matter) to be hungry and forrage for food? Survival. Isn’t that the basic purpose of us all?

Dismissed with their concept of euthanasia, I was left to ponder on life…

Curiosity Killed The Cat…

 

 

upset…

UPSET… a word when pondered, verbalized, and articulated long enough, just long enough, grows stale to your tastebuds… It makes it sound just the same as any other word like say, “water” or “elephant”… Say it long enough, and it sounds like nothing… what leads to this sentiment? why does a person become upset?

Intervention of any conundrum that subconsciously makes you convert your frustrations into four letter words targetting air, or another living, breathing being…

Vexations to all that have souls…

What targets this emotion to my peaceful being?

That, I can’t directly point my finger on… It’s like a needle in a haystack…

I’ve been having sleepless nights that wont justify the exact emotion to my sentiments… Suspicion of being upset was only rationalized upon my 34th night…

I wasn’t unhappy… Im upset…