Monday, May 30, 2011

Transcript VI: Corporate Greetings



I love you.


Bliss-borne goosebumps washed over me and ensnared my senses as soon as you finished talking. No other 'hi' could have sound as sweet as that, given that I called to tell you the very same thing. The evening of the 15th of May was made serene. 

Thank you.

Sunday, May 29, 2011


I haven't gone around the blogosphere lately. I do apologize for that. My time and priorities have been mixed up for quite some time now. I do hope to return, and post or comment what semblance of sense that I may.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Hairstory Lesson

I was told by a friend I had gone to a night-out with that I looked schoolboy-straight the night before. I knew that, of course. Simple polos are a safe masquerade I don when I'm not feeling my most attractive mojo. They are a shield and a sanctuary. The old, but rather new-looking, checkered polo from the now absent biological father, was deemed too straight, literally and figuratively. I smiled as I recalled how two years ago, I would've worn something different, one that tangoed upon and within the immediate borders of what is considered straight and gay by the unenlightened and simplistic homophobic society. 
Circa 2009 Schoolboy Princeling

My friend called my hair too schoolboy, and that I should have it cut in a more sophisticated way. I told him it was different when it was shorter and recently shorn. I've learned over the years that my hair always found ways to end up looking a particular way two months after being cut, regardless of how it was cut before. If anything, I'm happy that my hair finds ways to be thick and dark and long, and that it seems quite resolved not to recede, something I'm really, really thankful for. It's also one reason why I'm wary of having it shaved off my head. I was semi-kal back in the years of innocence and yore. I suspect that should I attempt to relive those days at the expense of my locks, my hair, in all its hairy sentience might resent it, but that's mostly my eccentric and over-imaginative paranoia speaking.

At one point they reached past my lower lip. 

From my sophomore year in high school up until a few years back, I was so adamant at growing my hair long. Looking back, I present my then-teacher who was as cool, laid-back, yet terribly smart  as one could possibly get. I wanted to be like him. The hair thing was just icing on the influential cake that he was, though, Physics and Math and Science and even computer games(Ragnarok, Rok On!) became part of my to-ace list, which, for all intents and purposes, I did manage to fulfill. In many ways, he was a role-model, and a goal, something that those around me noticed unconsciously over time. In a few months time, people(students and teachers) would tell me that I looked like him, and often confused us for the one another, especially when viewed from afar, and on rare cases, even those near us got confused. This lasted until my senior year, and even beyond it. Facebook comments meant for the other often found their way into our profiles, which was a funny reason for several profile picture changes, and on the rare times that they don't, note of our similarities would still be aired from time to time.

Sir Spiral?
A few months back, I decided I had too much of the pestering of my damned University's 'Rules and Regulations' to get my hair cut short, since it apparently interferes with effective learning, I decided to cut it short. Man, those priests must've thought long hair is  hindrance to effective and holier-than-thou enlightenment from a greater power that gave them license to be, well, holier than everyone else, but I digress. What's funny is that my teacher decided to sport a shorter do at around the same time, too. The same decision brought out more of our physical differences, too, and thus, people stopped confusing us for each other, but they still commented how we could be the other's dead ringer from the right distance, even with lesser hair.

Now you see it... you don't!

I guess some things never change, just like my eternal feeling of being at the mercy of the barber whenever I have my hair cut. I just hate looking or seeming like an ignoramus, so whenever they ask me how I wanted my hair cut, I just tell them to trim the sides and whatever needs trimming. That could easily be paraphrased into have mercy on me, really, and each and every time I hope my present Sweeney Todd would get the cue. Over the years, my barber experiences and hair troubles and non-troubles taught me a valuable life lesson: live with the cut life makes, things get better over time, like awkward do's eventually becoming something quite good. Besides, maybe schoolboy cuts are for me, I just have to figure out how to work, or someday, I might try something new, and find it just right for me, but I suppose que sera sera works for now.

Sunday, May 22, 2011


I was preparing for last night's night-out with a friend. The impetus of the same rituals was merely the physical memory of my mortal shell. My mind was elsewhere as I was brushing my teeth then. My absent-minded stares wandered around the small dining-kitchen room of my boarding house and soon found its way into the small window at the back of the room.

Unintelligible shapes of the young night toyed with my vision, but I did not heed them. A breeze made its way in, its coolness making me aware of my surroundings. I stopped brushing my teeth for a few seconds to smile and properly appreciate what little view I had of the world outside that quaint house. It was not much, being dominated by our neighbor's roof with a few thin branches of malnourished trees here and there.

Now that I was paying attention, the view became clearer as my eyes were able to properly focus on the object of their gaze. A chill ran through my spine and the familiar tingle of waking goosebumps ensnared my senses as I began to comprehend what was a mere blurry shape just moments earlier.

It was a man. He sat on our neighbor's roof with his back to me. I could tell from the way his head turned slowly here and there that he was observing his surroundings. That was my sense speaking. Instinct told me that he was searching. Primal fear whispered to me that he was a predator. Logic concluded that I was the prey.

My senses went into overdrive and I realized that my mechanical brushing stopped. I deduced that it must have stopped minutes before I learned of it, but that was hardly important. Scenes played themselves in my head, as sinister and as bizarre as my forebodings. Skepticism urged me to take a closer look, which I did.

It was a man, yes. His back, a darker shade of gray against the evening, was turned. His hair, black, was short. He was atop the roof, his hands lightly clutching its edges. I reasoned against occultism that he might be a burglar, occultism pointed out the odd things I glossed over. His hands were too long, and his fingers spindly. He wasn't wearing anything, preternatural shadows maybe, but not clothes. His legs were shadow and vapor, mere outlines in the darkness, nothing more. There were no lights, since no one was ever around in that house during summertime, but I saw him in the darkness.

I had no choice but to concede defeat against the supernatural and turned about to finish my brushing. All that was needed was a quick and thorough brush anyway. As I was gargling, I thought of the man, who still had his back turned while glancing about when I decided to not make anything more of the incident despite my goosebumps, which never went away. I finished, turned off the lights and was about to leave the room when I heard rattling scrapes against the metal screens of the window.

There were no trees whose branches were within reach of our boarding house kitchen. The first thing that came to mind were those long hands and spindly fingers, and what nails they possibly had.

Thursday, May 19, 2011


I meant to tell this to you just a few minutes ago, but, knowing myself, I can only fully express, or feel that I have fully expressed something when I write it down, when I weave words and clauses and sentences and affections together. You know this, and I'd wager my...purity...that had I told you this using the medium that connects us daily, you'd laugh and tease me. A friend once told me that brevity was not my strongest trait. Being myself, I went on to explain, not defended myself, mind you, that it was my own way of ensuring that my true intentions and feelings get communicated effectively. I have had my fair share of trauma from people tinting my words and my ways, twisting them into banes of existence. If I were a cat, I'd have been reincarnated nine times and my lives would not have been enough, given the number of social deaths I've suffered to pass.

I digress.

Thank you for coming into my life and saving me. No, I was not dying. I was on the brink of willfully metamorphosing myself into an adamant being, impervious to any and all feeling. Your arrival into my life was a sudden opening of a window into the dark confines of what was a fast closing abode - my being. You allowed for light to spear through the pitch, making me see in a new light the things that I had been taking for granted. You brought back the awareness I had so treasured from a very young age and held out skeins of my memories before I lost my identity. In many ways, I am naive and idealistic, but I rein these in so as not to go beyond the boundaries of sense and practicality. 

People deemed me a mad believer, a misguided bohemian, and a stray dreamer. Cliche as it may seem, I believe in the power of love. I believe in the freedom of truth. I believe in the potency of goodness. I am a believer, mad perhaps, but only because I have been in the deep pits of despair. I am a mad bohemian, perhaps not in the truest literal sense of the word, but I am one, because I have been chained by the monotonous and patterned cycles that stunt all growth and thus I revel in the explosion of creativity. I am a stray dreamer, deemed lost by those who follow the paved road of alien desires, lost dreams of the bitter passed on to them, because I strayed off the path in search of fulfillment, forging my own paths in the process. I believe in the power of love, because when all is said and done, love alone can empower us to transcend reason and defy common logic. It empowers us not just to bridge chasms, but to fill the yawning emptiness it spans. I believe in the freedom of truth because I have been caught in the traps of lies, those of my own doing, and that of others. I have suffered grievous losses and dark scars are reminders of fell wounds while I was in that gyre. I believe in the potency of goodness, because it empowers us to live better lives. It is platonic love that allows us to live in harmony with others and in the world.

Thank you for coming into my life and making me believe. Thank you for saving the love I had. The same love I made myself promise into channeling into myself alone. The same love that would have been perverted by selfishness and despair and solitude had you not arrived. Thank you for breaking the curse of sleepness nights and empty trysts over alcohol and nicotine before I even placed it upon myself. Thank you for spiriting me away from false promises and meaningless dreams, from the void of fallen stars and the cold emptiness of lost lives. You saved me from becoming a bitter Adonis, god-chiselled fair and beast fell, a goal I had set my mind into becoming as vengeance for all the pains I let myself get lured into.

Thank you.

You saved me from myself by reminding me to be myself.

I love You, too.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Old Forebodings

As I was taking a bath on the eve of March 30, 2010, a thought randomly fell into my head. I ended up thinking of a certain elementary classmate. I thought of how things would have turned out if she went to the same school as us, since she was a good friend back then and her older brother and I are schoolmates. It was weird to think of someone you don't really maintain communication with but as with any other random thought, I cast it aside.

Who would've thought that the next day, I'd meet her at the very busy sea port. To make the long story short, we ended up helping each other get our tickets approved faster than we would've done alone. I just don't know what to make of the strange turn of events: I get a random thought about someone I don't have contact with and end up meeting and cooperating with the person the next day.

I'm not freaked out. I'm just curious as to why these things keep happening to me.

I want to know.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Cottage Goat Blue Mozarella

You once asked me why. My brevity disappeared then. I struggled to put to words, to confine within reason and logic, why. Halfway through my stammers, you laughed at me and told me to stop and relax. 

I smiled. 

That was definitely part of why, but not its entirety. 

In an attempt to redeem myself, I told you to watch 500 Days of Summer, having finished it minutes before you asked. I was quite moved then, like I still am now. I told you to think of me in place of Summer, and as always, you laughed at me. You were always so easy-going. 

Last night I told you how I felt at peace these days. It was a realization that came a few nights ago, but there was something else I didn't tell you. The words weren't quite there yet, but I'd like to think that they're ready now.

You once asked me whyLet me take you back in time as an answer.


Erm, I should tell you, though, that there others
who expressed similar intentions and affections.

Do you want me to step back?
I believe in fairness.
If that's what you want, then I'll understand.

That's a first.

Well? Do you want me to step back?

The answer's obvious.

No. Stay.


Your answer spoke volumes, and that's a 'No' I'll never regret.

Transcript: Two Pigs Jack and Gautama



Do you know Person123456?

Wait. Let me-
Oh my g-


I know Person123456(I found the Stalkbook account).
People fawn over that person, classmates mostly.


Why did you ask?

I saw that person in someone else's shoot pics.

Was that person good?

And yeah, I wouldn't mind shooting that person.
In any way I can, too.

I assume that includes nude shoots, right?

That person's tall.
Dammit, that person has my dream height.

That person has cute friends.
Check this link.

Man. Can you please explain where we were
when God formulated the smexy genes?

I think we were both eating then.
Or I may have been sleeping.


Also, I wouldn't have minded being part of the swim team.
Check this.

Le wistful sigh.

Excuse me while I wipe my chin.

Are you wiping blood, saliva, or a mixture of both?

Just saliva. It takes a wee bit more to draw blood.

I suppose we could rip what little clothing needs ripping off.

But of course!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Transcript VI: Progenitor and Son

You wouldn't open the door for me?


Ma, he's here.


Auntie, he's here in the boarding house.
Mama wouldn't answer the phone.



He's with you?

No. He's outside the front door.

I'm the only one around.

Why is he there?

I don't know.
He just stared at me for over ten seconds, before I closed the door on him.

Does your mother know?

No. She answered neither my calls or texts.
What should I do?

You should talk to him.
Ask him what he wants.
He is your father after all.

No. He stopped being a father three years ago.
The Pauper doth spake truth, doth I not, Prince?

Wait, he just left.


I saw him leave through my blinds.

Ah, well.
Don't let things get to you, alright?

I won't.

Things will fall into place, don't worry.

Things have been falling into place, yeah.

Yeah.  Thanks, Auntie.

You're welcome.
Don't forget the verse you learned when you were little.

Bye. Thanks, again.


He's still your father, Spiral.
You should at least talk to him.
Tell him everything you feel.

What for, Ma?

He's still your father.
You can never change that, despite what he did.

Yeah. Like he can't change how he left us to dust and rot.
Where was he over the past few months?
He wasn't there when we had to endure each day.
He didn't help you look for food and living expenses, Ma.
He left us.

I know, but you still have to treat him as a person.

I didn't slam the door on him if that's what you're implying.

Right. Although that would've been vindicating.

That's good, son.
If he returns, give him a good piece of your mind.
That should teach him.

I will, Ma.


Train up a child in a way he should go
 so that when he is old,he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6 

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Brain Fart XIV


Everything happens for a reason, in their own time, and in their own place.


Monday, May 9, 2011

Transcript V: Desiderata

Reading Desiderata calmed me.

Desiderata is love and so are you.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Dream Time

The rain rendered the television mute, or perhaps it deafened me, as all I could see were faces whose laughter and voices were the outpouring of the storm.

I resolved to surpass the unforeseen obstacle, and reached for the remote, but the animated stars in the box flickered before my window to distant dreams and places dissolved to pitch. I stared at the silver screen which now read, " No Signal Detected." I inferred that satellite tv wasn't all the couch potato glitz and glamour that it promised. It was at the mercy of the weather and its channels were few in number. They were so sparse, that I managed to count all of them well over five times. It was not so bad, really, but the pool of 30 choices did pale in comparison to the one at home, whose limit was still a mystery to me since my favorites(all eight of them) were below 52.

The limited selection did teach me a few things: 1.) Osama Bin Laden is dead, 2.) I could stand a news channel for a good five minutes, provided that what they're talking about is interesting, and 3.) being a VJ could be potentially fun, at least joining a  tv search for a new VJ could be. What's funny is the extent with which the tangled weave of dreams, and goals, and time can tangle and warp itself more. I first heard of Osama Bin Laden a decade ago, when both Lady Liberty and Uncle Sam swore to extract justice after the Lady's rape. I haven't watched, or at least paid proper attention, to a news channel for a few years already. I haven't thought of being a VJ before, but a ten-minute exposure to a teaser for a VJ search did its job well. I suppose I shall make it a goal to join a search, or at least daydream about it. It could catapult me into my first(and most likely last) appearance on television in a show from a channel less than half of the populace might actually watch. Still, things could prove to be fun, in reality or in dreams.

Goals are a matter of effort and time, after all.

Transcript IV: Cottage Goat Blue Mozarella

You sound happy. 
Did anything good happen?

You happened to me.


Thursday, May 5, 2011

Three Six Twelve One

You are the moon, silver and radiant,
waxing and waning with the seasons.

You are Sirius, ardent sky-beacon,
fire-glitter within the cosmic dream.

You are the sun: life-warm, gold-bright.
Light-pulse of the waiting world asleep.

You are the night in all its beauty.
You are the day in all its glory.

You are the dusk, with its mauve-allure,
the purple-gray bridge of light and dark.

You are the wind, breeze-soft and gale-strong,
free-wanderer of secret sky-paths.

You are the sentinel tree: robust,
shelter-home and dwelling-shade of fae.

You are the rain I'm merry under,
tracing designs on my face, my lips.

You are the winged pine seed aflutter,
promise bearer of life's miracles.

You are the unseen guide-path, taking me
to secret places in strange spaces.

You are the sea-salt upon my tongue,
teaching tastes I never knew there were.

You are the sweet smile upon our lips,
love's bliss-curves on hope's mortal face-planes.


Smile, the world is beautiful.
Relax, everything will fall in place.

Fans and Idols

I thank the magic bridge between worlds, continents, and time that technology has become.

I ask Vlad to join me in my proclamation of my ANTM geeky-beki-dom. Man, catfights aside, the things we learn from the show on photography and modelling in general are such gems.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011


Dammit, began a worry that ended with I'm starting to feel pushed against the wall. It was then that I realized that I can't keep on being the princeling in distress. 

It was my turn to reassure that things aren't as bad as they seem.

Monday, May 2, 2011


Malaya's free at last.