Wednesday, August 31, 2011


The view from my senior classroom.

I can weave tales about sunsets - those I have basked in, and those that are forever lost to me. I can incise an aged oak with the moon and the stars, carve them so deep they would seem to reach out from the heartwood itself. I can stack river stones on top of each other, then leave them in their peace, or perhaps ring callous rocks together in defense of a sapling, and trust them to weather the years. I can isolate shapes from the cloud banks of the wide cerulean sky, and tint them salmon, or line them silver, before leaving.

I can sing the familiar and gentle refrains of serenity, of bliss, but even that has become arduous, mere echoes lost in deep canyons and damp caves. I cannot now sing like I used to. I can only croak throatily and warble hoarsely. My voice has to rest. The time is come for this yew tree to grow - even if it means donning a cloak of darker, rougher bark.

When hymns fail, then it is time to speak. When subtlety is not enough, then bluntness must be learned. When the vantage is tiring, seek greater heights. When you tire of shadowing what will never come your way, stop. Know when Life bids you to change.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Being Veronika


I admit to not having read Coehlo's 'Veroka Decides to Die' in full. What pages I pored over when I snatched the book away from Miss Tactless(a former 'friend' and blockmate) are now lost to me. The title shall forever ensnare me. I wrote last night's post on a whim to allow myself a moment of reality. I can only handle so much. So yes, Spiral Prince decided to die last night, and before I even started rotting, I am now clawing my way up from six feet under.

No plants will save you know.

I will have your brains.

Sunday, August 28, 2011


But pain is brief,
and I bid you: look
at all the fucks I give

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Friday, August 26, 2011


There was a story, but it was lost.

Beyonce - Best Thing I Never Had

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Nice Talking

When you ignore someone, do it with subtlety. 
Otherwise, it's a display of how much of a prick you can be.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Brain Fart XIV

One of the most horrible and funniest things I can possibly say to a foe:

I curse you with childbirth pains each time you defecate!

Of course, I'd have to use my preternatural(and non-existent) cursing prowess, if ever.
Goodness, this is why I am not blessed with supernatural powers.

Oh man, I can't stop giggling.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Friday Cinderella

circa 2010

It's that Friday spell again. 
I should like company.
Perhaps I should drown myself in the happy Mango place.
Or take a dip in brine chlorine.
Or idle under the stars.
No stars shine above this place.
And friends are upon distant shores.
The answer is clear, then.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

This is beautiful. It is also prone to infuriating those with close minds.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Friends and Lovers

Hades and Persephone by the Master Jedi

See, now, there's one thing friendship taught me:

you can't choose who your friends will have relationships with.

As it stands, it is their life and their happiness that matters. If we chose the people they'd end up with, how different would we be from parents who push their children into doing things they don't want and pull them out of the things they do want.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Freedom Baggins

The company of the Master Jedi in the oval of Abellana hours earlier brought an epiphany:

freedom is when you can laugh with abandon.

Here's to hoping someday I can laugh with as much mirth and delight as he can, and perhaps by then, my heart would cease telling me my voice is subdued and my words, tempered, each time I speak.

Sunday, August 14, 2011


Behold my new-found crush: Peter A.

So I finally decided to give in to the temptation of look through Lookbook. I skimmed through the posts by girls and browsed through the posts by boys. I must say there are lot of great people there, however, there were also those that could do better. I refuse to say anything on the matter except the following, which were the words of Mother Tyra herself:

"wear your face, don't let your clothes wear you."

"wear your clothes, don't let your clothes wear you."

Sometimes, people just forget that a branded piece of equipment is enough to make you proficient in a craft. Take those tacky photographs of equally tacky 'modles' with watermarks and labels saying xxx-photography which contribute to the internet data clutter as an example. It irks the inner purist in me. It's really not unlike the local pageants we have in our respective cities and schools where the objective females have faces thick with make-up several shades lighter than the rest of their body, not to mention the fiasco that is the color scheme and the over-all look. 

I'm not saying I can do better than these people. I just wish they'd consider their present level of skill and the appropriateness of their actions before they do what they do. I mean, seriously, you can't really claim you're an avant-garde something or extremely skilled photographer just because you own a Nikon D3X.

What use is the Elder Wand if you're a Muggle?

Saturday, August 13, 2011



Bear with the briefness of this missive. I write to ask a quick question:

Do you think those around me realize that when I ask what to do between two or three things, it really is a plea for company?

Or perhaps it really is just me deep-seated habit of pleasing everyone by doing what they suggest. I really cannot say for certain.


Friday, August 12, 2011

Boys: Interlude

Fun Fact:

I have never dated anyone. Ever.
Unless you count the high school blind dates I got ganged up into doing during Fun Day.
Those were with girls, too.

Anyway, it's Friday and I'm idling in an internet cafe. I pine for the company of my friends and for Casa Verde's Death by Chocolate, which Pig Gautama introduced to me months back. 
Maybe I should drag a highschool friend to an impromptu dinner, since she told me she wanted to go out on weekends.

source: *

Now I wonder: how would chocolate taste when paired with Cebu's siomai sa tisa?

source: *

Perhaps I ought to go out.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Boys: Pick-up Lines I

Previously: Clit

A few weeks ago I went to the same club for the third time. It was quite interesting, seeing as I seem to have gotten slightly used to the sights and sounds, and I felt less of an island in a sea of  jovial people. Just two weeks earlier, we partied together with Sieg in the same venue. I recall we met up at three in the morning. I went to the place at around two, one and a half hour later than when I first came there. I was slightly worried about the place emptying out by four in the morning, so I decided to be an early bird, despite the assurance of the Fairy Godmother, whose words proved ultimately proved true.  

This time, I got there earlier than I did during my second visit. The Fairy Godmother, who was with me on my previous visit, jokingly chided me for this. The absence of the Fairy Godmother during my last excursion gave me cause to settle down earlier within the floor, besides, I wanted to be spared from the awkward stares I'd otherwise get if I arrived there alone while the party is on its way to waxing full.

"I'm already here," I told the Fairy Godmother through text.

"Goodness, one a.m.'s still too early, Spiral!"

"Ah, well. You know Cebu, besides, I'd rather get settled in my own spot sooner than later."

"Oh, well. If you insist."

"Don't worry. There are a lot of people here already. The party just started."

"Alright. Enjoy yourself. I'll be heading out with friends later."

"You, too. Dress up and be dashing!"

I was by the bar just as everyone was getting into the mood. It wasn't quite the revelry that it would be hours later, but it was sure to get there. By then, I was absent-mindedly moving my head to the beat of the music and subtly swaying my body while I alternated between looking around and drinking. Without warning, a guy to my left turned to talk to me.

"Hi. May I know the time?"

Tuesday, August 9, 2011



Spiral, dear, when it comes to boys, think of it this way:
You win some now, you win some later.


Lady Gaga - Monster

Monday, August 8, 2011


Ein: Praefatio

You recline, languid, upon your throne, your golden tresses cascading in a waterfall, stray strands rippled by the unseen breeze. Your Seeing eyes glance about with tangible non-chalance and vainglorious disdain. 

So this is how it is.

You hold your hand aloft before you and smile. The indifferent cold of the metal, the mere shell of something more potent, more sinister, feels good upon your silken skin. The One is absolute, and bright Nenya, by its side is muted. You smile and recall your own words to the Halfling.

In the place of a Dark Lord you would have a Queen! Not dark but beautiful and terrible as the Morn! Treacherous as the Seas! Stronger than the foundations of the Earth! All shall love me and despair!

Your smile widens and your Seeing eyes glimmer in the fashion of the One. You have surpassed the test. You will not diminish. You will transcend. Dull Nenya flares a feeble starburst, an attempt to assert its place, which it did - ever beneath the One.

Galadriel no longer.

Zwei: Prologos
The salty air uplifts your being as you inhale it deeply. You will miss the brine, as with everything else: the swirling sky, the ghost gales, the sea. What greets your sweeping gaze is a sight which has come to be familiar enough to be comforting. Such is one lesson of solitude: acceptance.

You embrace the calm you have grown accustomed to - the Eye in the center of the churning storm. You realize now that this peace is transient, if not stolen, and that growth will only come when you seek and become it.

Your last stroll all around awakens slumbering memories and new realizations - your thoughts bring you dread, they bring you hope, they bear tidings of newer things. You bask in the gray twilight, the mauve gloaming, the purple midnight, the blue dawn, the salmon morning, the yellow noon, the orange afternoon, the winter fire, the autumn lull, the s - there are more, and they are recalled fonder in the bliss of memory.

You sit upon your throne once more, that otherwise unadorned slab of polished rock. You inhale deeply with your eyes closed. A smile accompanies the raising of your right arm aloft. You spread your fingers ever so subtly and your surround blurs as your isle rises skyward with all haste.

You look around with a profound sense of peace, taking in the shifting darkness of space, and the subtle brilliance emanating from the many stars. Star, ice, and diamond dust trail behind you, reminding you of the Master Jedi's words.

Artists are comets. They are almost always alone, but they see and create beauty in their solitude. They are almost always alone, but when many of them abound, it is always a wonderful sight.

You shall roam the cosmos at last.

Michael Jackson - Man in the Mirror


I can close my eyes and remember everything there was that fateful night. The light that bathed and swathed me; the dim sounds that unfurled, in a staccato of emotions, to a crescendo that still rings in my ears if I will them so; the words, spoken and unspoken - they are as a gauze of the past that persists to the present, a ghost granted flesh and blood at my behest. I remember the tears, shed and unshed, but I will not speak of them. They were serene, that much I shall say.

We danced, to love and breathed life into a fairy tale. We traced swirls and fair patterns across the floor. We spoke words. We shared things. We shared our souls. Peace was absolute a theme in the dizzying delights that we were, that we were in. Our warped lives are bound by our choices weft, this is how we forge our existence in the Tapestry of being. There are some things we cannot change, some things beyond our wills.

I remember that fateful night, and the others before that, where the ghosts of sloth made manifest as we wove our dance. In a moment, you raised my arms and I made ready to spin, which I did. I stumbled soon after, I almost fell. I looked around and you weren't there. You were at the far bank of the hall, and I understood.What came next was a conversation I shall not tell. It is not the focus of this tale. It was not vile, it was serene - that much can be said.

I danced pirouettes by my lonesome for a time, dizzying myself and enjoying the brief spell. Strangers came, but not wholly, and for a time smiles are exchanged and alien rhythms are in harmony, but what we wove was a farce, a passing whim that easily frayed.

I cannot now say for certain if I am at peace, or if I am happy, or if I yearn for you so, or perhaps a gray amalgam of everything. Now we meet under the same hall upon the same floor and emotions well up from the springs of my heart. You hold my gaze, and I, yours, and I fall all over again.

It's strange, or is it, how your presence can still make my realities reel.

Jon Mclaughlin - So Close

Precognition I

I write of you many times, you wonderful enigma of my existence, and yet, I never have written anything to you. Despite my late realizations, I can never say that you weren't there for me. You were always there, I was just terribly slow in piecing things together.

Thank you, dear friend, Precognition. Do excuse the fact that this post is borne of another late realization, still, the delay is in no way correlated with my gratitude, which is as a bountiful spring from the well of my being. One day, I shall learn how to recognize you, and shall thus be mindful of your signs, and be more adept at deciphering them.

Thank you.

Laura Jansen - Use Somebody

Friday, August 5, 2011

In the Rough


Ah, but even diamonds have to be polished, Spiral.


This is how it works, Pauper Prince:
You either fuck Cebu, or Cebu fucks you.


This is a tribute to the sane friend I talked to a few hours ago.
Yes, your words have been immortalized, dear friend.

Friday Eccenticity I

You sit back-straight, arms folded across your breast, right leg bent in, left leg stretched out. You watch your glass-twin tilt his head to the right as you tilt yours to the left. It's strange, how mirrors both reflect the truth and the reverse, not necessarily the opposite, of the truth. You maintain that posture, lost in your thoughts.

It's strange how the words of a stranger, found unlooked for, can cause you to instrospect.

"Under market. Over deliver."

Brandon Flowers - Magdalena

Thursday, August 4, 2011


Previously: Azimuth

Your body appears in a flash and your soul descends to fill it, causing your previously expressionless face to fill with emotion.

You quickly look around to observe your surroundings.

Before the precipice of defeat.
A boundless chasm yawns before you, its maw darker than the endless expanse of sky above. The emptiness all around is suffocating and absolute, rendering all else moot. As if in defiance of the void, a faint shimmer pulsates bleakly at erratic intervals, not unlike the ghost of dying embers before they burn out.
You see no available exits.

You discern:
You are standing upon the Cliffs of Abeyance.
Your environment conforms to that of a cliff.
You are within the continent of Srotheprich.
You are in the Primal Plane.

A bank of cloudy spreads across the ground beneath you.

The white mist here washes over you in a wave of ghostly tendrils.
Your insomnia has cleared up.

The white mist here washes over you in a wave of ghostly tendrils.
You feel incredibly tired and fall asleep immediately.
You are asleep and can do nothing. You may attempt to wake yourself up.

You being your struggle to escape from the dreamworld.

You continue your struggle to escape from the dreamworld.

You continue your struggle to escape from the dreamworld.

Hazy images and sibilant sounds coalesce all around you, dragging you into a dream...

Brain Fart XIX

I need a Babysitter. 
Someone who'll call me baby and take care of me.
Then again, Babysitters are paid.
Shall I pay for love?

Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Before the precipice of defeat.
A boundless chasm yawns before you, its maw darker than the endless expanse of sky above. The emptiness all around is suffocating and absolute, rendering all else moot. As if in defiance of the void, a faint shimmer pulsates bleakly at erratic intervals, not unlike the ghost of dying embers before they burn out.
You see no available exits.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011