Thursday, June 30, 2011


 I remember that afternoon when I wandered the high streets and alleyways that is blogging, when I saw this. I'd like to say it's a good picture of us: You being the lovable dog with that charisma and strangely transfixing air, and I being the prissy cat, unpredictable when faced with strangers and friends alike. We have our differences, our habits, our own weird, but it works. 

I miss You, like I always do.

I hope I haven't compounded Your worries of late. I understand, but again, I just miss You, like I always do.

Come hither to the shade of this aged tree I reside under, with sea-dreams to the west and mountain-sanctums to the east, and the great starry-sky above. See Your carven name upon its bark, a hundred times etched, each spurred by the same feeling. I wish I could say this in the lyric of Treebeard's Entwife song, but I suppose this will suffice.

I miss You, like I always do.

I love You. Happy second month to us both.


photo taken from: andrea joseph's sketchblog.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011


a thousand miles separate us,
hardly a stretch on Gaia's face,
yet enough to strike us,
our heartstrings

a thousand miles separate us,
I bridge that with a thought
and that is enough,
our hearts entwine

a thousand miles of space,
I miss your voice, your face
your song plays,
in refrain for days
my heart is comforted

a thousand miles of air,
I shall fly, if I must, but,
you asked for peace
and so I shall wait

a thousand miles of water,
the brine and spray are mementos
they remind me of you
your laughter is as tinkling coral

a thousand miles,
I abide: I shall wait,
in time we shall bridge that
with a thousand smiles again

Sunday, June 26, 2011


She lamented over her soiled and tattered dress. It was bloodied, as was her body. She grieved over the staccato of her wounds and her filigree scars and the blood-buds that threatened to flower across her form.

All around us, wails and cries rose in dissonant harmony, convoluted and absolute in their despair; understated and profound in their grief. They were too much and yet not quite enough to evince the loss.

The sight was equally jarring as the sound: the ruin and the waste of the uprooted homes and structures were discordant gravestones of the dreams and lives that once flourished in the young graveyard.

We looked at Death in the eye: even then, life-flames flickered here and there, threatening to give a last struggle before utterly failing.

I looked around in search of those dearest to me by virtue of blood and life: we were together, safe in the haven of our embrace, even after tides crashed upon us in a black torrent, even as we clung on to each other, blindly.

She lamented over her soiled and tattered dress, now blind to the fallen around her. She loved them, as they did her.

I looked in search of those dear to me: we were safe.


Love me like the pale salmon dawn,
be my beginning's air-embrace.
Love me like the morning chance
to hear your laughter's bird-song.
Love the fullness of my being's day,
be the shade in my noon-tide's heat.
Love the songs of my afternoon's  sloth,
be joy; be the comfort in my waning.
Love my dusk in its melancholy,
be the subtle grace in my failing.
Love the pitch of my night's defeat,
be hope, be contentment's starlight.
Love me as I am, as You are,
We are tomorrow's silent promise.

Saturday, June 25, 2011


They all flocked to him: squirrels and bees, and birds and butterflies, and snakes and snails. They all flourished under the benevolence of his shade: flowers and weeds, and vines and grass. 

He always felt that he had to be the one who's stronger and wiser. For all extents and purposes, he was. He was as big and as strong and as wise as any oak should be. The littler creatures all flocked and flourished under his shade. The sunshafts could not pierce through the canopy to spear them.

There was no lasting comfort for the oak.

The clouds that meandered by eased his pain, but they are transient and are bound to the wind - they were not there all the time.

The rain that the clouds sometimes bring granted him peace, but what of those under his shelter? He could not bear their despair, and so beseeched the rain sparingly.

There was no lasting comfort for the oak.

Only the night-dome allowed him rest.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Brain Fart VII

The importance of things dawn on us when we're on the verge of losing them, at best...

DSC - 2006-2008

...and at worst, it comes after we've lost them.

You are sorely missed, DSC. 
You were my partner in the crime of immortalizing candid moments.

Brain Fart XVI

 Of course, I'll find ways to make it stand the ravages of the changing weather.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Time Warp IV

Good times.

Time Warp III

There's a reason why I was deemed the resident school paparazzi.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

To my Lover and to our Friend

I realized a lot today while I spent time in that mountain park.

Thank you, Our Friend, for the dose of sanity and realism.

Thank You, Beloved.

I am deeply sorry for the antics the last two days have seen me commit.

Trust. Spiral shall Trust.


there was a little kitten,
the colour of sunset gold,
quite content,
was he with scratching
his claws upon the wooden posts

but the little kitten,
youth envied by the old,
he was by
strange ways given,
twisted yarn and heartstring
in a kitty ball's mold

thus the litten kitten,
in happiness mewled bold,
and in feline fashion,
toyed with
the rolling, spinning cat-globe

without warning,
the globe-toy was
from the little kitten wrest,
and the golden kitty was
most upset at the unfair jest

fled did the kitty hence
from the cruel prankster-kin
and on the streets
he lived on scraps,
and grew verily thin

there was a little kitten,
the colour of sunset gold,
quite content,
was he to wander off
and go scratching
his claws upon wooden posts

Shrink II: The Mirror

Blind once told Enchantress about the Mirror in the room next to the boudoir.

What's so special about the Mirror?

Visit the Mirror alone. You'll understand.

What difference does it make? My boudoir has a mirror, too.

You will understand.

Blind had always been so cryptic. Enchantress never fully understood Blind and the eccentricities around him, nevertheless, there was no harm in trying Blind's advice. She made her way towards the room next to her boudoir and found the Mirror.

It was old, and its oval frame was carved into the likeness of twisting flowers and leaves. The dark wood possessed a quaint sheen, while the mirror itself was the silver untouched by age. Enchantress hovered before it and understood at once what Blind hinted at: it could show her - or at least the faint outline of her form. It was cloudy and she could see no features of her face at all. The image of the room reflected on the mirror, along with Enchantress' hazy form, rippled without warning.

Who are you, alone and nameless?

Who are you, without the walls with which you barred prejudice out?

Who are you, stripped bare of the raiment of lies, white and otherwise?

Who are you, revealed without the shadow you hide in?

Who are you, as you are, as you were supposed to be?

Who are you, bathed in the truth of your being?

The vision faded with the dying echoes of the disembodied voice. Enchantress herself was enchanted, for once. The questions gave form to the incoherent confusion within her.

Who was Enchantress?

Tuesday, June 21, 2011


I met Dorothy a few months earlier, and she seemed quite friendly. She was bubbly and was such a sweet lass. We were introduced to each other by a common friend, who thought it good that we both meet. I enjoyed her company, and I like to think that she enjoyed mine.

We used to talk a lot about anything under the sun - art, books, people, places and dreams. She would rouse me in the morning, ask me if I ate my lunch at noon, and waited patiently in the evening for our usual conversations on facebook.

We clicked.

I thought and hoped that she would eventually become a good friend in Cebu, not unlike those I had in Bohol. She was so alike with her, that I half-expected her to become someone similar - a kindred soul. In several extents,I was right, but I was mostly mistaken.

Her silence was abrupt, and the cold shoulder chilling. No reason was given, why she spirited the warmth away. I'd have thought that given the many times I went through that, I'd get used to it by then. I was wrong, as I always was in the matters of kinship. I was in denial, as I am wont at first, but the truth can be suffocating - you either take it in or you suffer.

Imagine my surprise, and vexation, when a few months later, when I thought I had finally gotten over the failed friendship, she initiates contact as if it was like yesterday when we last spoke.

Hi, Spiral! How are you?
I haven't heard from you in months!

Hello, Dorothy.
I'm both surprised and happy to talk to you again.
I'm doing well - a few complaints here and there,
but you know me: I try to manage.
How are you? It's so good to hear from you!
How was the book? Did you finish it?

Oh, good to hear!

Can you please like this page: Page
I'm trying to get as many likes as I can.
I need your help!
Please help me win.

Just Like a Pill

I just want to run or walk or drive a bike going anywhere.
Being in a funk sucks.
I hate this.

I'm going on a sabbatical here on Blogger for a month.
No new posts, except those which have been scheduled already.

I'm also going on a sabbatical on Twitter.
No tweets.

I rarely visit Facebook these days.
No updates.

I need to get my shit in order.

I'm dead serious this time.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Padawan Crossing

You're around 5'9" to 5'10" tall.
You're wearing a maroon polo shirt.

Oh. Where did you see me?

I saw you crossing the road.

Were you the car that slowed down to let me pass?

No. I'm the one that sped up.

Oh. So you're one of those types.

Ha! Not really. I jest.
Anyway, I saw you cross the road, yes.
You were smiling.


You were smiling.
You were probably thinking about happy things.

That's a surprise.
Here I was thinking that I smile rarely these days.

Maybe you're like a dolphin - you always have a smile.

I'm not really sure.
Thanks, though.

For what?

Well, you reminded me that I still smiled without me knowing.


And that's good.
I haven't lost it at all.

Post Marrydiem

I once asked mama an awkward question:

Who was your first love, ma? Where is he now?

In the eyes of the young spiral prince, it was but an innocent question. I half expected her to say that it was my progenitor, something instilled by the old Disney movies. Her answer, although different from what was expected, did not bother me at all. I took it as any boy who was genuinely interested in his mother's answer would: without question, and absolute.

It was name.

Does he have a family, too?

From what I heard, I don't think so.

Where is he now?

I'm afraid I don't know, son.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if that man, whom mama said never married because of her, were to meet mama. Would mama be able to love another man again? What change would come into our lives? Was the absence of a father figure during those years behind the calm with which I accepted the answer?

More importantly, why do I even think of this now? Am I seeking a way out of the responsibility I took? Or this is some sliver of pre-cognition?

Sunday, June 19, 2011


Share a random fact Sunday:

I am afraid that I am too self-centered at times. I try to crush the need to get approval because of the people who'd look at me and say bata pa talaga in a condescending manner.

I am always infuriated by these types.

It's funny how 'adults' forget they were once like I am. It's even funnier how they claim to have some semblance of control over their lives and yet the mistakes and the mess they make have a potential to destroy lives, or mar them forever. The funniest thing is the way they look at you and say that one day, you'd understand and yet they blindly grope around their own lives, which is still a mystery to them.

Perhaps they meant that one day, I'd understand that life doesn't always stay the same. Paradigms shift. One good turn may birth an ill other, or the other way around; or a better one yet.

Silly adults, don't go teaching the wrong things and giving the wrong impression to fawns of the generation. Say rather that life is volatile. Unpredictable. What is right may not always be the best. What is wrong may feel safer. One thing can be another to different person. Mistakes happen but they do not mean the end of things, but(yes, stress out this conjunction), they may spell a lasting change to everyone involved.

Logic doesn't always churn out the best outcomes. The brain is not perfect. Animals other than humans can think after all. What we claim that sets us apart from our touted intelligence is our ability to empathize. To feel. While this is true, we forget one crucial thing: our conscience.

An old Disney movie put it quite right:

Let your conscience be your guide.

So yeah, just let us be. We might be blind to what you know, or what you claim to know now, but if it's a fundamental truth to life, then we are bound to know it one day. Let us hack and slash our way through the thicket. Let us forge our own paths. That is not to say that we are entitled to what you call mopy-emo spells. This to assert the fact that we are entitled to learn from our own experience. It is, after all, the whole lot of middle that we have between birth and death. Do not force us to go this way and that. Stay rather behind us as we cut through the wilderness. We are not too ignorant to realize, in our own time, that we are lost, after all. Should that time come, tap our shoulder, smile, and give us a clue, and a reminder, that you are a few steps behind; that we are not alone. Life was not meant to be lived alone, after all. Let us not become so lost and stagnate, only to forget that we have the means to forge a way out.

Life is too beautiful for any of us to become too jaded to live it through.

I, Spiral

I wonder if I should greet myself a happy father's day.
I had to take someone's place, anyway.

Happy Father's Day, Spiral.

Happy Father's Day, all sons who had take on the mantle of being fathers because of dysfunctional fathers.


P.S. Happy Father's Day, friend! You know who you are.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Time Warp II

Once a prince-ling, always a prince-ling.

I miss Bohol and the people there.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Time Warp I

I've trained my photo-stalking prowess since high school.

And I was dead serious when I said I loved older men.

Dear rock, where are you? I need to crawl under you now.

Brain Fart XV

It's not enough to accept who we are.
We should make peace with who we are not.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


What is he doing?

Being himself again.
Being me. Being us.


He's doing a ritual burning.

And he's burning what?

Look at the smoke.

Oh. The shadow of his past?

Mhmm. Look closer, too.

His past. . .and all the fears it taught him.

And all the ghosts, too.

So, I see.

Look at him. Look at the smile on his face.

What about it?

It has been so long since I saw the ghost of that smile.

Now that you see it again, isn't that good?

Of course it is.

Then all is well.

You taught him how to find it in him to smile that way again.

Did I? That is good.

It is.
Thank you.

For what?

For this.


Oh, but you know what I mean.
You better take good care of him.

I will.
I'll take care of you, too.

Thank you.

Sunday, June 12, 2011


Share a Random Fact Sunday:

I thoroughly enjoy chasing chickens whenever I go home to Mama's hometown.
I also cluck at them, too.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Art Stuff

An epiphany came to me yesterday afternoon as I was making my way to the internet cafe. I realized what I wanted to accomplish with all the art things that I do. It has been bothering me for quite a time now.

Whenever I go through all the delightful works at deviantart or elsewhere, I would always be at a loss for words. I have always wondered what drove all those deviants to continue doing what they were doing in the name of art, especially the ones who seemed to be churning out their works non-stop.

One good thing is that the deviantart community is one forged from strong ties among deviants all over the world. Racial uniqueness does not serve to divide people at all. If anything it allows for a more interesting interaction and cooperation. You see the well-known deviants reach out to help those who are in need: fellow deviants and non-deviants alike.

I recall seeing a few months ago a relatively new and young deviant who offered to do commissions to help save for her father who had cancer. She was eleven. Another deviant, who was well-known for her detailed watercolor and color pencil works has a special section, much like a blogger widget, on her deviantart page called "Artists for Artists" with links to artists who needed help. The eleven year-old deviant was one of them, along with a lot of other artists who needed help paying their rent or studies; those who needed to help save for sick loved ones; those who were kicked out of their homes and are attempting to start again.

Art has become a way of life that empowers these deviants to reach out and help, aside from sharing their own works and takes on the many wonders of the world. It has never ceased to amaze me. In the same vein, it has made me question myself: what drives you, Spiral? Why do you do what you do? Why do you constantly seek to become better? Why do you share what you do, despite the many flaws in them?

I have but one answer to these questions, one that I am quite sure of. Perhaps it will get expounded or compounded or trimmed down in time, but I am quite happy with what I as of the moment.

I want to transport people into moments of quiet serenity sundered from time and space, to share to them the beauty I see in the world.


Friday, June 10, 2011

I was working on my raket this afternoon while Q belted out my go-to quasi-playlist with VLC, when this song played out of the blue. I haven't heard it for months and it reminded me of You at once.

Thank you for all the cottage-goat-blue-mozarella-ness of everything.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Brine Dreams

When I think of the sea, I think of you. The salt in the breeze; the salt in the spray; the salt upon the broken coral-shells; the salt in the foam; the salt in the sand; the salt that's yet to be - they all remind me of you. The golden sun as bright as your soul, and the wispy, dreamy, airy clouds as whimsical and as delightful as your fancies. The seaside symphony's rush as mellifluous as your laughter, the distant thunder as booming as your voice, the gentle wave-hiss and wind-howl as rich as your song.

The white sand-blanket as refined as you are, and as rough, as brusque, as alluring. Let me build my dreams around and with you. Let my fears and insecurities be worn by your ways, as you do, as you are. I float upon the sea and you are the bright moon lording over the dark star-less sky, tinting a beautiful mauve my many flaws. I float upon the sea and you are the starry sky frosted with diamond dust, as fair as you can possibly be.

The sea-folk sing songs of and to you, they love you, as do I. Grey clouds may swirl above and about, while thunder-drums beat and rave as lightning-veins web across the sky, but be still my heart, my beloved, my love. I am the storm-borne prince upon and within the eye. I may rage, as how most see it, save you, but you shall rein me and my winds and my thunder and my lightning in. I abide, because I love you. 

You are my peace.

When I think of the sea, I think of you.
The sea-folk sing songs of and to you, they love you, as do I.

Sunday, June 5, 2011


Being open-minded and open-hearted is a work in progress. I understand that, but sometimes, I sorely wish I am able to let go of all my rules and restrictions and just be free. I'd like to be utterly selfish for once in my life. Up until now, most of the rules and restrictions I placed upon myself were to 'protect' those around me, anyway, especially from their own ignorance and close-mindedness, among other things. Given all the years I've endured, I'd like to think I have at least achieved some semblance of right to be selfish for a span of time. My patience is finite and I'd love to be at ease, too. I need these things lest I break, figuratively and literally.

For once, I'd like to do all the taking and all the asking. Being the one who always attempts to understand and empathize is over-rated, anyway, regardless of the many romanticisms that have been written down.

I want to be the villain.

Give me the chance to be selfish.


Mutant and Proud.
 That is all.

On second thought, Mystique's do bothered me from time to time, rather, the heart shaped forehead did, but I digress. See you in July, Hogwarts.


Share a Random Fact Sunday:

I mew at the cats I meet outside the boarding house's door, and to those I meet in parks. I'd like to think I'm good at it, too, seeing as I've been doing it for years.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Art Challenge: Watercolor Impulse

Red Grin - Lusternia Artisanal Entry for May 2011

Sea Dream
I had been itching to do watercolors for quite some time now, and I finally managed to steal some time alone. The first work, Red Grin, was done in 4 hours, since I was trying to beat a deadline. I made a rough sketch last week on my sketchpad and I was glad that I was still able to replicate it onto the oslo paper. I don't really have much confidence when it comes to doing second attempts at the things I already drew. I guess I should practice more! The second one, is a present. I drew from my imagination as there was no picture of a deserted beach at hand. It took me about 3 hours to finish. It's the first artwork I did for someone, really. It felt good to do that. I should do it more to show my appreciation for the people who long deserved it.

And now I go back and try to do life hurdles again!