On 1900

"All that city… you just couldn't see an end to it. The end? Please? Can you please just show me where it ends? It was all very final on that gangway. And I was grand too, in my overcoat. I cut quite a figure. And I was getting off. Guaranteed. That wasn't the problem. It wasn't what I saw that stopped me. It was what I didn't see. Can you understand that? What I didn't see. In all that sprawling city, there was everything except an end. There was no end. What I did not see was where the whole thing came to an end. The end of the world. Take a piano, hmmm? The keys begin, the keys end. You know there are eighty-eight of them. Nobody can tell you any different. They are not infinite. You are infinite. And on those keys, the music that you can make is infinite. I like that. That, I can live by. You get me up on that gangway and you roll it out in front of me: a keyboard of millions of keys, millions and billions of keys that never end, and that's the truth, they never end. That keyboard is infinite. And if that keyboard is infinite, then, on that keyboard, there is no music you can play. You're sitting on the wrong bench. That's God's piano. Christ, did you see the streets? Just the streets - there were thousands of them. I mean, how do you do it down there? How do you choose just one? One woman. One house. One piece of land to call your own. One landscape to look at. One way to die. All that world just weighing down on you. You don't even know where it comes to an end. And aren't you ever just scared of breaking apart at the thought of it - the enormity of living it? I was born on this ship. And the world passed me by… but two thousand people at a time. And there were wishes here, but never more than fit between the prow and stern. You played out your happiness but on a piano that was not infinite! I learned to live that way. Land? Land is a ship too big for me. It's a woman too beautiful. It's a voyage too long. A perfume too strong. It's music I don't know how to make. I can never get off this ship. I'm blessed. I can step off my life. After all, I don't exist for anyone. You're the exception. You're the only one who knows I'm here. You're a minority, and you'd better get used to it. Forgive me, my friend… but I'm not getting off."

On Idiots And The Telly

There are days when I wake up seething with anger over something that happened in the not-so-distant past. I have tried to be rather rational about things but I am quite convinced that there ARE people who prefer to stay in a state of idiocy.

The things I should have done make me hope for another confrontation. Another circumstance. Another incident. On which I would act irresponsibly. IRRESPONSIBLY.

The fact that my brother was with me on that night saw to my somewhat civil behavior. But, next time, I will not be as forgiving.

—

It is rather annoying how some people think that the world revolves around them. Stupid, really. FUCKING STUPID.

You fucked-up idiot, we fired your boyfriend because he was fucking lazy and fucking incompetent. The Band and I do not give a flying fuck about your fucking relationship. We do not fucking care about whether you are a fucking tramp or a fucking literati-wannabe.

—

I am not sure whether it was a week ago or two. Anyway, Tomato Maria and I watched Annie Hall on the Lifestyle Network. It was fucking hilarious! Watching Woody Allen was like watching my inner self on the tube.

—

"Filipinos don't throw their garbage away.  They turn them into television shows."

It’s A Grey Day

"Mostly, I remember the last one. The wild finish: A guy standing on a station platform, in the rain, with a comical look on his face because his insides have been kicked out."

And So, Christmas

It will come as a disarray of display lights and stupid reindeer and wishes and gaping socks and scurrying crowds of people with shopping intentions. The buzz will render you oblivious to anything near the significance of whatever it is that is being celebrated.

And this is how Christmas has been for as long as I could perceive. Just a mass of everything and nothing. Just a glob of pigments and glitters and sashes and remembrances. A mess. A total mess. The kind that gets in the way of an otherwise wonderfully unpredictable existence. The kind that I am itching to scratch off the calendar. The kind of holiday that is as unwelcome as it is negligible.

After all, who really thinks that someone was born seventeen days after being conceived? Or that shepherds, tending to their flock, were really out in the desert during winter?

DURING WINTER! IN THE FUCKING DESERT!

Rubbish.

There really is nothing special about Christmas, er, christmas.

Why even bother spelling it with a capital letter, right?

It is nothing but a fucking date made up to make you feel guilty about not having enough to give or not being blissful enough at that particular moment in time when everybody is supposed to be stumbling over each other in the search for the perfect gift, the perfect giveaway. The perfect excuse to fuck up all year and make up for it just before calendars from burn-the-business-place-when-the-profits-go-haywire fucking Chinese merchants are taken off their gun tacker or push pin or masking tape foundations and shoved into the dustbin.

I am seriously contemplating on starting a massacre on the first week of December next year. Or maybe on the eve of the 24^th. Or maybe as soon as the shopping lines and the tollways get clogged. My aim is to discourage people from celebrating christmas.

At all costs.

There Are No Faerie Tales

"Six hundred and forty fish later, the only thing I know is everything you love will die. The first time you meet that someone special, you can count on them one day being dead and in the ground."

- Tender Branson, Survivor

I guess there will never be a future for me because I cannot guarantee it. Not to anyone. Not even to myself. All that I have learned to determine in all the twenty-six years I have wasted away is that all you can count on is the NOW. And even that's pushing your luck way too far.

In this life, there are no happy endings. No tragic ones either because they would define the exact opposite, making it as existent. Or potent. No, there are only endings. Period. And for all we know, every day is an ending. Every minute. Every second. Endings piled up all over other endings, ending things and events and relations. Here and there.

And when you really really think about it, each and every thing, belief, agenda, journey is made substantial by THE END.

Remembering Flavius Vegetius Renatus

"Qui desiderat pacem, bellum praeparat; nemo provocare ne offendere audet quem intelliget superiorem esse pugnaturem".