Monday, February 28, 2011

Music

I'm afraid my strength was partly feigned, for the sake of my family. Now that I am alone here on what was once an alien soil, and without an audience, the masquerade will have to end. Still, one must not wholly forsake prudence. Air can be released from the bloated balloon without the need for an explosive spectacle. Music helps untangle the incoherence within. It perceives themes where I see none, and helps the trickling chaos progress into oblivion.

This spell of melancholy is tiresome. It will have to end. I must choose to be happy. I will find ways to be happy.

End

Time flies by, without me heeding the ebb and flow. I age another day. Another million cells die, and inevitably get replaced: today, another horde of erythrocytes disintigrate under the deluge of bile, and the many that lay in wait are now called to action. Today is the last day of February, I would not have noticed if someone didn't mention it. I am still at home, and a few knots still cry out at  me. They beg to be untangled. I fear I am unable to do so, and so look on at them, and will them to see through me and witness my ineptness.

I am not unfeeling, I feel, and yet I still stand. Detachment has prevented me from breaking down. I am reminded of surgeons who slice through flesh with a steady hand and eye - they do not wince. Words cannot assuage the grief behind the tears that flow in the dead of the night. They are not mine, still, as with any great emotion, it is best to let it loose until that which fuels it is milked dry, and so I endure. The thought of my departure later makes me worry. Two younger and purer hearts are here, too. I do not wish to mar them, and so I hope, against all hope, that whatever strength and confidence I showed them over the years has been imbibed into their being. 

Things are still to come, all in tune to the great symphony of time, and I wish that by then, it wouldn't be to late.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Brain Fart V

We all go looking for our destined loves, and oft we end up bitter with failure. 
It seems we've all forgotten about winning someone's heart.

---
I'm terribly sorry if I haven't responded to your words of comfort recently. 
I seem unable to comment on my posts.
Rest assured your words did not fall to deaf ears. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. They mean a lot.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Dawn Ramble IX: Waiting

MORNING:

Papa: I'm gonna go to the shop to check up on their progress with the painting of the car.

Family sans the sleeping Spiral Prince: Okay, Pa. Be sure to get back in time for lunch.

Papa: I will be.

NOONTIME:

The family eats lunch sans Papa who did not come home and the prince who was still fast asleep.

EARLY AFTERNOON:

The spiral prince wakes up to learn that Mama decided to go to the shop herself to check up on Papa, who did not have his lunch yet.

LATE AFTERNOON:

The youngest sibling went bursting into the spiral prince's room, thus interrupting the prince's Kyle XY marathon, to inform him that "mama and papa just had a fight" and that "both of them headed out separately immediately afterwards." The prince's utter indignation disappeared in a flash. The prince asked the sibling what details he knew before sending him off. After the sibling left, the prince brooded, and prepared himself for what he believed was to come. The prince decided against calling either parent, to give them space. Besides, papa rarely used his phone these days, and mama would not have answered.

EARLY EVENING:


Spiral Prince: Are they still not home? Have you eaten dinner?


Brother: No, and no.

Spiral Prince: I suppose we'll wait for them, then. I'll cook dinner, too.



Brother: Sure.


Spiral Prince: Does our sister know about what happened?


Brother: Yep.


Spiral Prince: Alright. Tell me when they get here. I'll be in my room.


LATE EVENING:


Mama arrived home to find her children eating. There was no sign of Papa. The spiral prince asked Mama what happened, and so Mama told him the incident. Apparently, when she got there, the shop tender was confused why she still came, since Papa left a few minutes earlier. Mama was confused,too, since she walked all the way to the shop - it was quite a few kilometers, to boot. At this point of the narration, the spiral prince highly suspected that walking was mama's way of letting her thoughts settle down - and realized that the trait must run in the family. Anyway, Mama, in answer to the tender's inquiry as to why she wouldn't call Papa, told the man that Papa doesn't use his phone anyway, so it would be futile. In reply, the man tried to debunk this by saying that Papa was always talking to someone on the phone while in the shop. In Tagalog. This shot down the spiral prince's theories that Papa must've been talking to his siblings, but he has not a single sibling who prefers Tagalog over Bisaya. The spiral prince is taken a few months back into the past - he recalls how he once called, while feeling dangerously cold-blooded, a contact in Papa's phonebook assigned a name Mama had previously found in her investigations of Papa's belonging's. The spiral prince recalls how the call was answered, and how the spiral prince's hello went to to thin air. The same fate met the spiral prince's threat to the silent listener. Mama went on to talk about the usual things: a confrontation, an adamant denial despite overwhelming evidence, the raised voices, the dead silence, the other evidences and encounters and misgivings, too, are brought to light. Many other things happen, but Papa is not home.


MIDNIGHT:

The door and gates are locked. The spiral prince still feels a twisted sense of detachment. Emotions are still kept in check - hidden in the deepest and most obscure recesses of the mind, and the heart. The spiral prince knows that the next day might be vastly different from all the prince's other days - an upheaval may happen, and the spiral prince might have to make sacrifices for himself. The spiral prince...might have to start making a living. The spiral prince knows that great change might be on its way - and that it will affect the spiral prince, and the spiral prince's family. The spiral prince is aware that this change will not be light, that this change might truly transform him, although the prince is unsure if 'transform' is the right word by virtue of its allegiance - is it loyal to the prince or is it traitorous? The spiral prince is unsure of what is to come with the light of day, but the spiral prince knows that he can, and he is highly likely bound to make that sacrifice, by the spiral prince's own choice.

The spiral prince writes this down with the same sense of detachment as earlier. This truly is a form of sacrifice - by sparing the prince's self from the heated outburst is he sparing the family, too, from the hurt, from the pain, from the utter hate. The spiral prince is aware there might be a lot of backlash - conscious or unconscious - from skipping a step in the mastery of...anger?..pain?...hurt?...but whatever it is that the spiral prince has to master, he is aware of the possible consequences. Strange as it may seem, the spiral prince is a limbo, and is thus capable of going towards any path: vendetta, transformation, greater maturity, and  yes, forgiveness and reconciliation are included, but those things, too, depend on one thing: whether Papa returns or not.

Come home, Pa. We miss you already.


---

Cliche as it may sound, but the spiral prince wishes that all of this is but a dream. Life has this thing for timing and widely disparate things that go together. 

Happy New Year, Spiral's Eye. You have chronicled the spiral prince's life for a year now. The spiral prince wishes that the spiral prince could write of happier things. The things the spiral prince prepared might have to wait.


May the spiral prince weather what storm broods in the distance. May he hold on to the peace this spot in the cyber world represents for him. May this eye of the storm grant him time to marshal what strength and resilience he needs.

---
I could write more, but the time of those words is not yet now, when I still am unable to cry. Those saline rivers will spring someday, and I hope, against all hope, that they will be for joy.


Kaloy.


Friday, February 25, 2011

Dawn Ramble VIII: Heart, Home, and Happiness

We never truly stagnate. The world will always find reasons to drive us out of shells, our comfort zones, our shelters. The child cannot remain one forever, buds eventually flower, shoots grow bark in time. We are driven to grow by our very natures, and by nature itself. Sir Christopher Go put it quite well two weeks ago: when one is at the cutting-edge of things, one eventually realizes his own ignorance - that there is infinitely many more things to know. We climb the summit only to find it is but a cliff - and that a descent and subsequent ascent is necessary in order to climb the loftier one within sight - one hidden from the mountain root, and from our own worm vantage points.

What is the eldest supposed to do when he finds himself between bickering parents? The white elephant can only be ignored for so long. The heart is torn when it witnesses the mother weep before the son, as soon as the son arrives home from the neighboring island touted fertile for scholastic pursuits. The mind is perplexed at the civility of the father who seems impervious to the storm winds of conflict. Both know that the clash has to be kept from the adolescent siblings, barely into puberty and the angst of the early teenage years. But I am an adolescent, too. The son knows he can be a potent force to end this conflict and usher amends where they ought be, that he has to act, before it is all too late and beyond repair. The son does not know how to best approach the problem, how to tame the beast, or kill it, if need be. This is leagues beyond the puppy love conflicts of his peers in the years of yore, even at present, really. They were all too easy, because he was uninvolved. What soldier would not hesitate to raise hand or blade against an enemy whose life has been entwined with his to certain extents?

I am not heartless. I am not unfeeling. What is delayed now, by virtue of respect and observance of respectful timing, if such a thing exists, has to commence on the morrow. May the heart steady the mind, and may the mind stay the tongue, and may tongue aid the adolescent in his attempt to fulfill a task set at birth. 

May enlightenment, Divine and mortal, and love, too, avail me.

Some princes face their trials too soon. 

May I not fail.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Table

Well? 

Yes, those eyes were wells to your soul.

Is it a yes or is it a no?

It would take more than those to answer your question.

Hmm. You see...

You looked at me expectantly, the same look I must have given you in the past. Is that hope I see? But I have gotten used to that, my interest is directed at what's behind them. Is this another one of your masks?

You reached out a hand, which I thought was for another bottle. You clasped my hand instead. Faint shivers ran across my frame, but I did not lose my composure. Not anymore. You smiled. How many others have seen that smile? I smiled back, and for a moment, yours faltered. Tonight is the night of the fox.

An applause brought us back to the present. The singer stood up and took a break. The humdrum rose to what little heights it can to fill the silence. You tugged my gaze off the surround as your left hand joined your right to envelop mine in an embrace. Your eyes locked with mine. What is the reason behind this determination? I smiled again, and your eyes pooled with confusion.

I broke my hand free and called over a waiter. I indicated the lone instruments on the stage and asked, May I? We both watched him talk to the who we guessed was the manager, and then the singer, before finally looking back at us to give is a thumbs up. I looked back at you and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. You sighed, then shrugged.

Go.

Thanks.

I made my way to the stage, took to my hands the guitar resting there, switched the microphone on and after a deep breath, strummed B-minor to life. Heads turned, curious, and espied my awkward self sitting there. I took another deep breath and looked at you, before all the world blurred into color and light.


No I can't take one more step towards you
Cause all that's waiting is regret

And don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore
You lost the love
I loved the most


It was never easy, losing us. It pains me all the more when I think no closure ever happened. Time served that purpose, if anything. I learned to live with it over time, and time allowed me to step forward - moving on is something I've yet to use, because in my heart of hearts, I know that I haven't wholly moved on. I was never like you then - strong-willed and confident. You got whatever you set your mind on, you did whatever you wanted - much like how you spirited yourself away.


I learned to live, half-alive
And now you want me one more time



We were strolling through a park, and soon found ourselves loitering by a bench. I began tossing popped-corn before me, and watched as the pigeons flocked to the sudden abundance of food. I mused how they seemed like love-famished seekers - ravenous and without much care with what goes on around them. You sat beside and joined me and my silent thoughts, we shared a smile then, and looked on, content with the serenity we were in. I was a fool to have gotten used to you being there. I went blind when you left. In giving a lot of myself to you, I became an empty shell when you disappeared.

And who do you think you are
Runnin' round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You're gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don't come back for me
Who do you think you are


A way is found when there exists a will strong enough to find ways where it can - or forge one where there is none. This is a law so strongly echoed within the rhythm of nature. The species that manages to grow beyond what already is, lives; that which cannot, perishes. Competitors fail when it cannot improvise in answer to the demand of the populace, while those that can reign supreme. As much as these things are true, I truly cannot see a reason for you to have broken, no, leeched the life off of the hearts of those who fell to your false professions, myself among them. My conscience is confused as to whether I am at fault, too, or not. Should I have given due warning to them all? Would I have not appeared bitter? Did I even know where you were and what you did until my recent awakening from the sleepless and dreamless slumber of my existence? We grow best when we experience hardships ourselves. I am sorry for the pain those countless others went through.

I hear you're asking all around
If I am anywhere to be found
But I have grown too strong
To ever fall back in your arms


Hey, can we talk?

Who is this?

It's me.

I knew even before I asked. We are bound to those we meet in our lifetime by strings we cannot see. They persist even after we declare our acquaintances sundered from us, because we shared portions of ourselves with these people. We grew from our shared experiences, no matter how trivial. Your strings had a ring to them my unconscious self learned to sing in our time together. It heard the strains of your melody when you re-established contact: dark, mysterious, and compelling.

I learned to live, half-alive
And now you want me one more time


The time is long gone when your song could draw me in, like siren voices draw sailor and ship alike to their deaths. My heart would not live through the pain of death again. Not for you.


Who do you think you are
Runnin round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You're gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don't come back for me
Who do you think you are



Hey. Your eyes had a warmth and a measure of uncertainty to them.

Hey. Did you perceive my hesitance? It wasn't for you.


It took so long just to feel alright
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes
I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed
Cause you broke all your promises



We met outside this place - the place we frequented then, not unlike how vultures ghost grim places of death for carrion. We thrived off the songs, the humdrum, the smoke, the tango of sobriety and intoxication - the joint symphony of an almost bohemian setting nourished the woeful salience of our disparate souls. A lifeblood with which our twisted gamut, and ourselves, lived.


And now you're back
You don't get to get me back


I admit I was curious - how you are and what you're doing. Whose life were you messing with. Whose heart were you toying with. I was curious, and so gave you time. That much I was willing to give. I will be kinder, because two lefts does not make a right. You are human, and deserve to be treated as such, whatever your other faults may be.


Who do you think you are
Runnin' round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You're gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don't come back for me
Don't come back at all



Tonight is the night of the fox.


Well? 

Yes, those eyes were wells to your soul.

Is it a yes or is it a no?

It would take more than those to answer your question.

Hmm. You see...

I cannot. 


And who do you think you are?
Runnin round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You're gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don't come back for me
Don't come back at all


I can never allow to willingly put myself through all that pain again. 


Who do you think you are?



Not anymore.

Who do you think you are?

I'm sorry.

Who do you think you are?


I opened my eyes as the last D faded to silence, which swelled into louder applause. Apparently my heart sang itself out, but with enough control to not allow tears to well up. I looked for your face in the crowd, and saw it laced with saline rivers. 

You knew.


I stood up and headed towards you. I took your hands, which were cold, and tried to share what warmth I can to you, and looked you in the eye.

I said what I can with as much honesty and without enmity, and hoped that you would understand - you are not so inhuman that it would seem alien, are you?

I'm sorry. I can't.

I stood up. You remained seated, frozen, while I gave you a final embrace. I heard the sobbing beginnings of a deluge when I kissed your head and wished you well.

I hope for the best.

I walked away, and those measured steps eventually allowed me to leave. 
I am not unfeeling. I know your pain, but I'm sorry. I truly am.







Ella

let's play dress-up, let's play pretend,
let's hope this dream never ends,
step front, step side, glide, step
under the diamond dome,
where dreams and dreamers converge

a skip, a twirl, a spin, another twirl
I love the way your lashes curl,
your eyes so deep, so true,
beneath your mask of false hues
under this crystal dome,
where dreams and dreamers converge


a thousand candles light us all
dancers and dreamers `neath the faerie enclave
shimmering overtones of the honest dark
casting faerie glows that dim our naive lies
under the diamond dome,
where seekers come and leave their marks

we breathed life into our honest lies
the heart-dreams beyond our reach,
and danced ourselves amongst ourselves
to each heart's transient content
under this crystal dome,
where seekers come and leave their marks


glances land on the gargantuan timepiece
the sword of Damocles, under the cloak of a clock,
the grim, unfeeling overseer of our fates,
did the faerie not say the spell shall break
with that fatal strike?

what then would become of us,
seekers, and dreamers under the accursed dome,
should we rid the clock of the pendulum a-swinging
and let time go on unsullied, 
forever in this ever-night,


but that plan is for another night,
the pantomine breaks under the resounding ring
off we go to rest beside the smoldering fire,
the dying embers and the familiar cinder,
let's play dress-up, let's play pretend,
let's hope in sleep that this dream never ends


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Seeing Red

I cannot recall when I first saw it - was it a few months ago, or was it the year before last year? What I do know is that for the longest time now, I've implied, I might even have said it explicitly, that I tend to notice the things people tend to take for granted; tiny details that fail to attract the attention of most of us. I suppose it has been with me since I was young - and now that I think about it, several incidents from the years of yore come to mind, but I think I only became aware of it fourth or fifth grade. I digress, that will be another entry.

It was a few months ago, or it might have been the year before last year, when I saw a red car drop someone off the road along the university while I was at a bakery looking for something to eat for the vigil I devoted to my then overpowering online game addiction. I think the said someone was a student, although I'm not exactly sure. I thought then that it was weird, given that it was three or four in the morning, but I never thought much of it later. Knowing my penchant for noticing things otherwise unnoticed by others, I mentally told myself off for being nosy, although I did know that I am not nosy. In my book, nosiness involves a conscious desire to snoop around before anything actually catches our attention, see for example Aunt Petunia in Harry Potter. I had no such desire back then, and as such declare myself an innocent victim of circumstances and stimuli.

And then it happened.

I stayed up all night last Saturday, having slept all day after the Stargazing Activity our department(more like the department's students, really, but that is another story) organized for the CAS Week drained me of energy. Sunday found me still at the Internet Cafe, along with a lot of other students who decided not to go partying wherever during the previous night. I decided to go home after the rain, which had been going on for a few hours, stopped.

I visited the same bakery to get food because I'm compulsive like that. After doing so, I started heading back to my boarding house. Now, the bakery is elevated - it's on a 35 degree slope, because, yes, Talamban is mountainous and hilly - it is just less pronounced these days because of industrialization. The said slope was slippery, too, in fact, a lot of people have slipped to their indignation and humiliation there, so one has to be careful. As I made my diagonal way down, I held on to the railings of a closed food stall - a method I found to be quite effective a few years back, it so happened that a red car passed by real close - close enough to lightly splash murky puddle water to the lower portion of my shorts. I did not really mind it - I made a quick note to myself to wash upon arriving at my boarding house. I was already passing the closed and therefore barricaded gasoline station when the said car stopped. It was at this time when I recalled the car I saw in the past. I then decided to walk faster, but a few meters after passing it, I told myself off for being presumptuous and for panicking. I relaxed and slowed my stride. I was right across the gates of the university when my pace returned to normal. When I was a few meters past it, the car started again, and slowly accelerated, then stopped just ahead of me.

Crap.

I still continued walking. I suddenly recalled Johnny Walker's Keep Walking line and smiled at how twisted I was. Here I am, suddenly caught in a strange scene and that thing comes to mind. As I was nearing the car, I had half a mind to stop, tap at the passenger window, and ask the driver, excuse me are you following me? If so, please stop. But some fancies of the mind remain fancies, unless of course one is pushed past his comfort zone and is forced to make them come to reality. As I passed the passenger seat, I glanced at car and glared my most contemptuous, yet subtle, three am glare, and continued walking onwards.

When I got nearer to the alley where my boarding house was, I heard the car start again. When I turned and entered the alley, I could hear it coming closer. I turned my head back as I got nearer to the gate, and saw the car, with the window down and the driver looking at me. I turned my head back and entered the now-unlocked gate.

It would be a full hour before I got over what happened. I wasn't shocked, though. Somehow, I had the feeling that person knew me, and rest assured my spare time with the Tarot shall be to find out who that was. That hour was spent analyzing what happened, and contemplating on a few realizations that hit me. Somehow, it reminded me of how I was the year before. Back then, I might've had more nerve and dared, hoping that I might find what I was looking for in the next stolen moments with people hiding behind pictures and words and messages. I looked for companionship, for love, in the wrong places, and in the wrong people. I recalled how I hoped that the next one would be the one. I recall how those hopes withered and turned to ashes that crumbled at the wind.

We mistake a few things for love, and none is as deadly and as potent as lust when it comes to these delusions. It takes a lot to realize this - in my case, my awakening came with getting fed up with everything that planet chucked at me. It was more insecurity and hurt than those rare moments of pseudo-contentment and pseudo-clarity could make up for. 


It really is not easy to stand by the better choices we make. When we become disenchanted by and give up the things deemed by most lost seekers as the closest things to that one great goal, and choose for ourselves the better things, it is not always rare to have doubts - and oft these things will eat us. This is not too different from deciding to share a portion of our meal to the impoverished right before us - it is a decision that allows us to grow beyond the mortal and physical coils that chain us - to the world and to the norms set by society or the societal niche we navigate in.


It reminds me how there are a lot of stories I want to tell, but their narration is perpetually held back because I think it would be too bothersome to write them. Most decisions are like that - they seem and are most probably bothersome, yes, but oft they are rewarding.


Saturday, February 19, 2011

Life Goals: Aurora Borealis


Aurora Borealis timelapse HD - Tromsø 2010 from Tor Even Mathisen on Vimeo.

When I saw this while browsing through astronomy pictures earlier, I was speechless - my silence was one of awe and appreciation.  Aside from the auroras, you will towards the end of the video the stars traverse through the sky(and a falling star, too) - something quite magical, in my opinion. It reminded me how little I am compared to the whole Universe, but I did not despair. I embraced it. It made me appreciate how beautiful existence is. It is sad, too, since we humans, in our greed, disregard this.

I hope I get the chance to see them for myself one day. I am also wary of being moved to tears when I finally get to do so, nevertheless, I would like it to happen.

Man, now I really want to get the chance to work at National Geographic someday. I might not get the chance to fulfill my dream of becoming an astronaut, but getting into Nat. Geo. would be one of the closest ways I'll get to that dream. I guess I'll start by learning how to take really good pictures. As for that amateur telescope, I will find a way.



I found this treasure here. See more astronomy pictures at NASA's Astronomy Picture of the Day!

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Brain Fart: IV

Sometimes, those sudden moments of clarity effect a rather holistic change in us. For reasons still unknown to myself, I was smiling on my way to my boarding house earlier. The few people I passed by must've thought me senile. Let them be. Those ten minutes of serene inexplicable happiness cheered me up a lot.

I pray for good times and good things. I hope for a better, happier me.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Ugly by Choice

Tuesday noon saw the return of a wimpy kid from high school. Many a time have I looked at frozen mementos from that time and wonder how I managed then. Why did things matter now? Maybe it's an inevitable part of growing up, getting conscious of how other people see you. Then again, I've always been guarded, I suppose I just...widened my horizons, albeit in  a twisted not-so-twisted way.

It amazes me how people can be tactless at the wrong times. My patience, being not spun from Rumplestiltskin's spinning wheel, is neither golden nor seemingly endless. It is not perfectly homogeneous, too, and as such, is thinner at some places and thicker at others. Use the right shear at the right place and I might snap at once, unleashing spite and enmity from an abyss rarely seen. Do note that there is no pattern to this trait. It is forever at the mercy of Fate. It can be beyond my control, too, but the years have taught me the skill of holding my tongue and staying my hand.

So, yes, dear friends, by virtue of wanting to rediscover innocence lost, I now am a physical avatar of my past. So please, should you beg to differ, I'd appreciate it if you master your mouths and present it in ways unhurtful, or better yet, be a paragon of blessed silence. Remember: it is my past you insult if you assassinate my character, at least for the moment, and for the foreseeable future. Know that the past I embody at present is a better man than who I am now. Leave me be, I seek to find such strength and confidence once more, that I may be empowered to face the looming trials ahead. If this simple request shall fall upon ears feigning deafness, or encounter selfish hearts, alas the absence of empathy! You were warned!

But really, seriously, I chose to have my hair cut as I did then: plain, unassuming, and unflattering. I, too, was aware when I feasted upon my secret banquets that the weight of the price I was bound to pay would come and haunt me eventually. I now suffer the weight of my sins.

But really, seriously, the enigma of the suddenly-fatter-cheeks and the curious case of the once-prominent-but-now-disappearing jawline aren't your mysteries to solve. They're mine. They really aren't mysteries, silly. But I digress.  How are you doing in life right now? What do you think does the future hold in store for you? These are the mysteries life has for you. Get over the little choices I make and try making yours - I'm sure your life would turn out to be as colorful, if not more, than mine!

Really now, right now, just get over it. I am ugly by choice.


The return of the comeback of the snotty spiral prince-ling!
At least until he grows his hair back and loses weight.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Watercolor Challenge: Week III and IV

Reversed - 2/4/2011


This is quite late, since I just found a shop here in Talamban which had a scanner. Anyway, the idea behind this piece was something that came to me during the wee hours of the morning. Without warning, I just asked what if our situation was reversed: that Nature should live off our life energies instead. Maybe then we'd understand the harsh realities of our own crimes against the world that sustains us.

I wasn't able to put in more details because the paper started to pulp after the third layer of color. I have to find papers more suitable for this medium when this sketchpad gets filled, but I'll do what best I can do right now!  

Return -2/10/2011

Though not really a watercolor piece, I did this for Week 4. I might as well rename the entire challenge to Art Challenge instead. I'll do that for this week. I want to hone my skills with as many mediums as I am comfortable with(and maybe when I feel daring enough those I'm uncomfortable with, too). I still have a lot to improve(especially when it comes to monochromatic shading and backgrounds, mhrrr, backgrounds), and I hope that this challenge will help me. As for the piece's name, I called it Return because this is basically a return to more serious pencil drawings, not just the usual manga and random doodles. The reference I used for this drawing is this one:






Clearly my version is a far-cry from the original, nevertheless, I'm happy with what I came up with. It's better than my previous pencil attempts. I do apologize if I forgot the name of deviantart artist who took this photo, somehow the filename got changed when I saved it. I'll try to find the artist over the week. I do have a hunch that it might be Lina Tesch's work. Please visit her blog! She's an amazing photographer, and I've only dared to comment once on her blog. If I muster enough courage, I'll try to show her what appreciation humble me has.


Happy Valentines Day, everyone!




P.S.

Now that the reference and the product are close to each other, I feel really awkward posting this, but what the heck. I swear I'll try to improve!

P.P.S.
I realized I got a few things(especially the details) off. This is because I had the picture printed as a reference. I miss you, Q.



Saturday, February 12, 2011

Art and Epiphany

 
Burn the sky by ~bast-86 on deviantART


Life is a behemoth, but oft is it in the little things that we find meaning: the shared smile between you and the person behind the counter you bought your food from; the 'thank you's' exchanged unexpectedly; the well wish of the elder you helped cross the road; the company of reunited friends; the good-feeling of teamwork between unlikely parties; a confession of love; a profession of faith; the unexpected hug from a father you rarely see; the surprise encouragement from the mother who almost always saw your worst first, for your own sake; the despair of the knowledge of your father's infidelity; the words of comfort from the unexpected friend; being on the receiving end of empathy - something you've forgotten after only giving it for quite some time; the oblivion of getting drunk; the catharsis from release; the ruefulness birthed by the hang-over; all. the. unexpected. things. It is in these stolen moments where we find that our quest still has hope, that the quest becomes seemingly less cruel. That kinder realities seem within reach.
  February 3, 2011

I was struggling to finish the sequel to The Grey Road earlier, but I failed, miserably. Maybe it's not yet time for the sequel to find itself woven in words. There were just a lot of things happening at once: music, random musings, conversations, noise. It was truly a sensory overload, not because I lost consciousness in the process, but because I kept getting tiny ideas that while not necessarily anathemas of each other, were all divergent and proved themselves quite a challenge against my abilities to put together something coherent. I didn't lose, actually. In fact, I managed to lengthen the narrative by a few paragraphs. I just wasn't able to pull it off in the end. I blame one particular idea that slowly gnawed at me until it bloated itself up into a gargantuan mass of an epiphany: all the things I did for Art's sake were actually my attempts to capture the moments like ones I wrote of in 11. Through my own ways, I want to freeze these things in stasis - this was my way of immersing myself in these moments, and affirm and actualize and spur to loftier heights my own life and all my creative impetus and inspiration. I do think it is a bit perverse, given that I have this thing for doing the same towards some of my lowest lows: until recently, I kept several verbose letters brimming with self-depreciation. They are gone now, a choice I had to make. 

Why though, do I do these things? The answer is simple: I keep them as reminders of my ability to feel such immense emotions. They are mementos. I cherish a lot of memories: the good, the bad, the ugly, the elating. I see Art as a means to capture the beauty of the things around me, a means to make tangible memories of beauty, of life, of the world, if you may. 


Which reminds me, for quite a few years now, I've realized my greatest fear: forgetting and losing my identity and the memories I hold of the people and the things around me. I fear forgetting everything. I fear the most to become a helpless blank slate without a means to fill the void.



2

From my OC-Facebook:

I included all comments in an effort to show how we cope with the ups and downs of being a Physics major. Also, Te Lau's name isn't hidden because I've shared her youtube covers here already.

Jojee/Elvi got severe head-aches last Thursday and so I decided to cheer her up, via my Facebook OC-ness. I wanted my way of helping her to be subtle so I went down this route. 

Excuse the grammatical errors in the actual conversation,i.e.those found in the image - facebook statuses weren't meant to be word wonders anyway - at least not when the moment doesn't call for it.

And in the end, a lot of kind people come to my rescue. I look forward to making it through! Although that would mean I might have to beg Te Lau and Sir M for advice(read:tutorials).They're both excellent in this field, and since they've both graduated(with Latin honours at that), I figured I might as well look on to them to help me keep my head. I might as well reassemble the broken pieces of my study habits. They've gathered enough dust and cobwebs, anyway.


Focus. I need focus.

P.S.

mutilation. agony. frozen in death.
Here's a tribute to our Zoology Class, my current profile picture. It's sad, really. Lives lost to Science.

And no, the Biology majors did that. I only ever dissected frogs in my life. Mammals are another thing, to me.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Mapagmahal Blog Awards

Kamila, of Road to Kill with Kamil, recently concluded her 'Mapagmahal Blog Awards' in celebration of Valentines Day. I did not post about my contention there here, though, because I'm plain shy. I entered two of my posts to her contest: Glass, which I think is still my most personal, if not overall best, work, and Existence, a poem I wrote for an unrequited high-school love during the summer prior to my Freshman year in College. If I ever run out of things to write, I might dissect Glass paragraph-per-paragraph, but meh, I think that would mar one of its best(at least to me) points. I will tell this much: it presents an all-encompassing truth about me in a way that, to me, is both elusive and blunt, maybe because Glass is a work which reeks of Existentialism(in its broadest sense) the most? I digress.

I'd like to thank Kamila, for giving me a chance to share my take on love this Valentines season! Whoever judged the entries, thank you, too! I do apologize for bombarding you guys with my elusive analogies and metaphors. I do like my way with them - it's how I explain things best, I think.

In Kamila's words and work, here are the badges I got ( woot woot! Also, I will try to translate it in the best way I can, too):
Nakakadugo Blog Award -- Spiral Prince for Glass
Lahat ng hurado ay nagkaroon ng iisang commento sa entry na ito at alam mo na kung ano yun.
(Nosebleed-inducing Blog Award) -- Spiral Prince for Glass
(All judges have a common comment about this entry, and I know you know what that is)




 (Again, sorry! :p)



Pantastiko Blog Award -- Spiral Prince for Existence
Ang mga entry na ito ay mga entry na simple ngunit may dating para sa mga hurado.
Fantastic-o Blog Award -- Spiral Prince for Existence
These entries(there were more than one entries that got this award) were simple but had quite an effect on the judges)






Top 4 -- Spiral Prince for Glass
Mga entry na pare-parehong may score na: 30
(Entries(there were more than one which ranked 4th) that got a score of 30)




Top 1 -- Spiral Prince for Existence

Mga entry na pare-parehong may score na: 33
(Entries(there were more than one which ranked 1st) that got a score of 33)


Now, Kamila has been quite naughty and hasn't named the blogger and entry who won this:





Yes, that's the badge the Ultimate Winner gets, among other things, the complete list of which is found here.Kamila is most likely to name the winner tomorrow, me thinks!


CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL WINNERS! HAVE A HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!

Dawn Ramble: Sobriety and Inebration

We were puzzle pieces that fit, really, but we painted different pictures. Now that I think about it, you were an eagle in your eyrie. I was a vulture fascinated with carrion. You were lofty. You were proud. In your own way, you were kind. You were the king of the sky, and although I could comprehend the heights that were a part of your existence, these things did not govern me. I flew on thermal currents in spiraling ascents and descents. You saw far and wide and understood things I saw in passing. Having then the more constant higher vantage, you were easy to be mistaken as cynical. Being involved with the art of fiddling with carrion, I was easily branded as disorderly, weather-minded, graceless.

Chance it was that we met halfway, upon a lone tree above the clouds. Call me sentimental, but wasn't it like yin and yang back then? We complemented each other, but we weren't really meant to be parts of a whole. I dunno, it was a mutual coexistence, but it just wasn't it.

After all this time, you still hold a special place in my heart. I still get awkward around you, but what the heck. Thank you, I guess. For opening up to me. For reaching out. For making me feel happy. For the radical views, which were endearing as much as they were eye-opening. For all the little things.
"I rarely open up to people, and so most of them think I'm a snob, which I partially am, but you have to understand that I'm just shy."
-First

Sometimes I dislike getting sentimental thoughts at dawn, but what the heck.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

5


I was supposed to write a sequel to 'The Grey Road', but I got devoured by the vacuum that is deviantart, having completed an artwork this afternoon. I'll post it as soon as I can, together with my entries for the watercolor challenge. 

Aaanyway, I'm proud and happy to announce that I and  a few friends will be playing Tekken this weekend! I just got hooked to Tekken recently, and I've a few funny anecdotes to share related to it.

I just watched the Tekken movie, too, which was okay. Nothing good, nothing bad, just okay.

Shoutout to gillboard, who plays Tekken, too!

Okay, I admit, it would have been better if She was there, but meh, she's still a good 5 games away!

I blame her for my addiction:








TEKKEN 6 - The Girls by *rOx-WINDy on deviantART



Alisa defeated. by *ringo-031 on deviantART




Zafina.

*deep contented sigh*

I just have this attachment to mysterious characters. I have this desire to know what's beneath their exterior. If I think of people like that, the thought just consumes me. It doesn't bother me at all. I just have this deep and perverse(?!) desire to empathize with them. I want to know their stories. Their sadness. Their pain. Their secret happiness. Argharwarrawrawrawr.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

UP OtakuFest 4.0





















A gathering of a lot of people with similar interests is always, always, always exciting and fun. Need I describe the happiness wavelength of the people last Saturday?!

Okay, Cebu. One more reason to like you. Because I'll make it a point to come back next year. Will I dare to come in costume?! We'll see!

Photo credits goes to the many Otakus on Facebook. More power!