Closure requires conversation. And we are unfortunate to not have that. Because no matter how much I feel ready to start anew and refresh myself from the drudgery of what we had, I can never fully embrace that future unless I properly close the past.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
I've been listening to indie bands and quirky artists the past few months and with the exception of Frank Ocean's Thinkin' 'Bout You*, San Cisco's Awkward* and Lena's Stardust*, this song proves to be the ultimate replay buddy.
I love the hippie and semi-80's vibe of the song and since Carrie Diaries stepped into primetime tivo, retro-esque music has gone all berserk in my playlists. Retro revival seems to be the scene these days and fashion muses like Tevi Gevinson for instance has obviously made the 90's and all things quirky her life maxim.
Don't get me wrong, I mean, Riri is still love and her Stay single is another favorite. It's just that these days, the urge to go un-mainstream and rock denim vests and feathered hair is stronger than the latest pop.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
There was a time when word vomit was a pleasure and literary seizures were simply seizures that tend to sparkle and therapy my thoughts. But unfortunately, the same stories are the same ones that nailed me to where I have been right from the start. This is evidenced by my previous posts where point upon point of points already pointed are once again pointed. And I'm starting to tire of this repetitiveness.
Maybe it is the fear of playing the same songs over and over again. I've once read that there are two kinds of writers: those that tell the story in segmented intervals, and those that tell the story over and over again. It is the thought that maybe I've already exhausted everything that I could write of. I have immortalized him in my musings and maybe I have used him to propel my desire to write.
I abhor writing about him. Yet I'm still writing about him despite the fact that there's really nothing to write about anymore. These carcasses of a time long gone have decomposed and what's left are nothing but tips of icebergs that I'm still melting to secrete words that have done nothing to satiate the hunger for writing.
If only it was easy for me to pluck stories from the meadows. Or release paper planes to oblivion.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Your eyes are the waterfalls,
cascading the contours of your cheeks.
Golden nostalgia blooms into song
and your eyebags tell the story.
Fevers of yearning impregnate your Earth
and your core, ashed by the fire.
Death. Dying. Your heart is weakening.
How many days 'til the spell of longing
breaks, gets broken, long-forgotten?
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Seven months of El Niño can be quite challenging but for us with normally zero lovelife and sexlife stats, seven months is just a week in the usual century interval of sexual encounters. Resorting to manual mode is always the easy option but somehow, the Valentine season pounded the perils of my inter-carnal soberness.
Now I'm not saying that all the other calendar months do not pressure. I mean, the summer months could be an option. May flowers are a romantic way of turning those encounters into something more that just, well, sex. September too. And October and November and December, considering the weather. Or lonely Friday nights when coffee is the only option of orgasm. LOL. I'm just saying that encounters receive a more profound punctuation on February's. For me, at least.
Confusing love with lust, or one over the other? Dunno.
What I do know though is that these two often work hand in hand and Valentine's Day is simply the day that reminds me of how single and parched I am. Bitter? Maybe. And I may need a bit of butter to make this better.
Friday, February 8, 2013
The perennial question of whether I should sleep or not is once again at hand and the minaudieres below my eyes (read: eyebags) have grown significantly darker these past few days. Of course, it is a no-brainer for any student diligent in the arts of studentry to sacrifice this luxury and though self-induced insomnia is destructive to the body, one has and one must in order to satiate the unquenchable academic thirsts.
Feasibility Study is a bitch. Especially when it involves surveys and having to juggle time in between seven other subjects, two teaching gigs and one officer spot in a national student organization. This is not to mention the time spent on eating, social networking, telepathically transporting from hometown to school in lieu of the turtle-speed jeepneys, ogling crush and boyfriend prospects and making my hair look theoretically bed-ish.
Of course, time management is the key to success. And we, who can barely manage it, can only wind and blah-blah about its limits. Cheerio.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
You've missed stroking paper and scribbling valiant verses for in the past few weeks, the only literature you knew was your compulsory Religion subject journal and organization paper works. You've missed complaining of your January sickness spells and of how one whole month could conspire to jeopardize the health that you need most. You've missed babbling of unrequited love and it's many faces (and feces). And most of all, you've missed the endless summer-ish days when work was nonexistent and when the words were easier to vomit, minus the pretensions and pressures and margins and space-counts.
But despite the stress, nausea and zombie-inspired mornings on post-sleepless nights, you've managed to survive-limbs very much intact but sacrificing perfectly perfect 20-20 vision. Now the torture of wearing -25 graded eyeglasses has befallen you; a small feat but nonetheless, a significant life alteration for your previously free nose bridge.