Thursday, April 28, 2011


Truth or False by *sakimichan on deviantART

Deja vu.

It strikes without warning and it leaves you with a feeling of profound loss and confusion and foreboding.

A severe deja vu attack just shook our cores, Spiral and I. Dreams have visited us, too, Spiral and I, waking slumbering emotions and paradoxes. Old temptations and wishes alike rise, too, their countenances eerie and difficult to decipher.

What's to come worries us both, Spiral and I, and together, we built our stronghold over foundations we deem strongest.

We hope to weather this both, Spiral and I.

The shadow of an alien storm forebodes.

The Eye must keep its peace.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Art Challenge: Bituin

I finished this at 5 am, but the net was crappy so I got to upload it just now. It took me three hours to make this using SAI and a mouse. I drew this from imagination. Please excuse the imperfections. 

Bituing marikit sa gabi ng buhay,
ang bawat kislap mo'y ligaya ang taglay

Saturday, April 23, 2011


The heavy rain had been falling for hours. It started raining the night before and it hasn't stopped since. No one saw the sun that day - it hid behind the clouds. The gray world was suffused with diffused sunlight. It was a cold day, too, and although it was marginally warmer than the colder night before, it was still cold enough for anyone to see their breaths when they exhaled.

The classroom was empty, and so was the school pentagon. The dim hallways, with their high ceilings and explosion of shades of dark grays and stark blacks became as haunting as the rumors and stories that circulated around the school. The wooden classroom doors' creaks were gunshots in the silence. Except for the rain rhythms, everything was eerily quiet, quieter than the mornings when sun shafts speared through all the gaps they can to pool warmth and light on the cool cement floors. During those days, the Brownian dust dance illumined by the sun were sufficient to ensnare attention and the senses. That was enough to while the time away. They were nowhere to be seen then. Only the cobwebs, gray and grayer, presented themselves for company. They were enjoying the idle breeze that occasionally came and caressed them. The cobwebs were too high up to look at for minutes on ends, and too dirty to toy with, and so they were left unsullied, or at least they were allowed to sully themselves more by their own accord in their own time hanging from their own place.

All but one desk were unmoved, not a fan was turned on(it was raining after all), and the blackboard's green was untouched, unspotted, and unstained. If it could, the whole classroom would probably savor the time it had left before the chaos of first grade children could spur its innards into a great disarray. The books on the shelf were left alone this time, they had been read from cover to cover already, and they had nothing more to offer other than echoes of past delights, each repeat diminishing the novelty and joy and surprise it had in store. Familiarity breeds contempt, does it not? The whole scene had become all too familiar to offer anything else beside the threadbare comfort of familiarity itself. It's quite ironic, come to think of it. When there is nothing new to break the monotony, to spur crests higher and carve troughs deeper, then the only choice left is to make do with what highs and lows there are, and look forward to each repeating ascent and live through each repeating descent.

The heavy rain had been falling for hours. The classroom was empty, and so was the school pentagon. All but one desk were untouched, not a fan was turned on(it was raining after all), and the blackboard's green was untouched, unspotted, and unstained. There is nothing new to break the monotonous wait, and so the gaze is directed through the open windows and the hands rest on the cold windowsill in anticipation of the arrival of a familiar face. There is no choice but to wait.

The year was 1998, and on that cold June morning, I first felt profoundly alone in Bohol.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Transcript: Peter Pauper


What are you sorry for?
I was just teasing you!

Yeah, well that's how I've always been.

There you go again.

What do you mean?

You're explaining yourself!

Huh? Is there something wrong with that?
I do that to make sure people don't misunderstand me.
I'd really rather not have them
color what I say with intents that aren't there.

There you go again!


My goodness, Spiral, you're funny.
You don't have to explain yourself to anyone.
You also don't have to be apologetic for everything.

You know what? He's right.


What's up?


You're wrong, Spiral Prince.
Peter Pauper's here.


Happy New Year to you, Claudiopoi!

Monday, April 18, 2011

Eye, Spiral

There was a time when I wrote more frequently, and that time was turbulent. Beyond the confines of the Eye was a world of indifference that stimulated me, and though it was not, by default, good, it certainly contributed towards the incoherence inside me. It was the very same incoherence that so fueled a good number of what written thought is found here. My experiences were hardly new, and they might pale in comparison beside the incarnations others have gone through. I know that much, still, I defend my confusion, my frustration, my bewilderment, my anger, my tears, and my thoughts, each experience is unique after all.

There was a method to my sanity, and insanity, then, and it persists until now: it was to write during the wee hours of the morning: past midnight in the dark before the sun, where the sinking moon and fading stars basked in their own early afterglow, one before the explosion of morning, not unlike peers or strangers or sages or fools winding down after the long night of hypnotic sights and sounds and tastes-oral and nasal-in anticipation of the end of a spell of released inhibitions and willful, and unwillful, intoxication. 

It has always been a secret desire for me to lose myself completely, and be aware of it at the same time. I have yet to lose myself-my inhibitions and insecurities, especially-even coitus has not won against these banes of my existence, not yet, I hope. I have had my fair share of conflict with my inner demons, and some battles have been won, and some wars have been victorious, and foes utterly decimated, some fights are not yet over, and some require repeated attempts, but I am still fighting. 

In the same vein, old anxieties are now gone, and their turbulent storms ceased, and for the first time in years, I can stake a claim over a sense of inner-calm, despite what other storms rage on around me. A cup of my sorrows has been vanquished eternally, and what is required of me now is to face the rest that remain. This sense of peace, of light-heartedness, of clarity, has taken time to get used to, but for the most part, I have acquainted myself with it.

One of the few things left to do now is to learn to draw on things other than incoherence and chaos and confusion when I write. After all, my peace deserves to be immortalized in this chronicle just as much as my struggles do. The time is quite fresh for me to start writing of lighter things, after all, the world washed after cataclysmic deluges is quite refreshing and beautiful and full of promise.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Transcript II: Brhianna


Ooh. "I like it, I like it!"

Chains and whips excite moi.

Of course they do.

I can't imagine otherwise. Hahaha.


Brain Fart XIII


Is it proper to say "I have decided that I love you." ?


Curses. This one chameleon of a brain fart requires context, does it not?

Transcript I: Wallflower Resurrection



Someone got resurrected.


What are you doing?


Practicing what?

My resurrection. Easter Sunday's coming closer.
Everything should go without a hitch.

Oh. That suits you quite well.

Are you saying that I look dead and getting resurrected will do me good?

Hahahaha! You're the one who said that!

There goes my attempt at humor.

Who won?

Binibini 26. Supsup.
Yeah.  Sounds like the name of a hobby, doesn't it?

What hobby?
I'm Innocent.

Innocent my fart.

Well, yeah. I'm pure, immaculate, and modest, after all.
I know not of such.

My goodness, are you describing me?
I'm pure, immaculate, and modest.
And diligent. And helpful.
And strong. And beautiful.


So mean.

Me? Mean? Nah. I'm actually pretty nice.

Pft. Hearsays.


Look on the bright side.
If there are rumors about you, that means you're famous.

That's  the last thing I want.
I'd rather remain quiet and unassuming.
A wallflower, so to speak.

Fine. Fine.

Anyway, I'll catch you around. Later!



All in all, this has been one fun night.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Dawn Ramble-slash-Brain Fart XII


I realized one of my greatest dreams is this:

at fifty and beyond, I want to look eighteen, even twenty will do.


Now Commissioning Artists for The Picture of Dorian Gray Spiral Prince.
Where is that rock? I need to curl under it now.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Brain Fart XI


What others call stalking, I call research.


I tend to be good at it. An eye for detail goes a long way.

All good researchers keep their find to themselves.

I am a good researcher.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Art Challenge: Padawan and Master

taken last January 2011

click on the image if you want to see the enlarged version

This is the first time someone ever drew me. I'm quite pleased, happy even. I'll write more of the Master Jedi, who drew this yesterday, in time. I'm quite the happy Padawan right now.


I dunno, I fuss over details too much. I get pressured to come up with something good.

Well, I'll show you how to overcome that obsessive compulsion.


There. That's how you do it.

Wow. That's twisted.

It is, but it's good for you.

Yeah. I can see that.

Good. Don't get too attached to your art. 
As much as you can create, you can also destroy.

Noted. Thanks!


Create and Destroy. The Master Jedi's words echoed in my mind as I pondered on what had just happened. I suppose I needed that strength, too. I want to be strong enough to bin my works and my attempts which deserve to be binned. 


After all, there's more where our works came from.
The Master Jedi said this with a wink and confident smile.
I want to be able to wear one such smile in time.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Brain Fart X

A full stomach is but a temporary cure to emo spells.


I need to stop this habit.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Art Challenge: Week III

                                       Uninspired Noir

Friday, April 1, 2011

Acedia Ira Superbia

I try my best to be a good son, I really do, especially now that we're in a post-upheaval limbo, but sometimes, sometimes I wish I could be more selfish. I try to understand my mother, but sometimes, it's just too much. I have had to stop myself from telling her that I wished to leave the house and live alone over the past few days. It's harsh, I know, but having to bear the brunt of things that border on the unreasonable is a test of one's limits. I'm afraid I'm waltzing towards and past my limit. I hope not.

Sometimes I hope she'd see my efforts, too.

cue: Perfect by Simple Plan