Sa Mga Panahong Tulad Nito

Matagal na pala. Pinilit kong di

Bilangin ang mga taong alam kong hindi

Sumagi sa isip mo ang tayo.

Inisip kong hindi makakahabol ang panahon

Kung hindi ako magbibilang.

Tama. Pagbilang. Nakita ko na.

Pagbilang ang naging mitsa ng nuon

At ngayon nating dalawa. Kung ilang araw

At buwan, kung ilang beses

Ginapos ng gabi ang ating mga katawan.

Ilang ngiti ang ang hindi nahuli ng mga mata.

Ilang bulong ang hindi gumising

Sa mga tawag. Ilang hiling na hindi napagbigyan.

Ilang munting mga halik at haplos.

Ilang beses nga ba akong nagkamali?

Ikaw? Tayo? Ilang patak ng luha ang hindi

Pinahid at pinatuyo ng manggas?

Ilang sandali nga ba tayo? Hindi ko na binilang.

Hindi ko na inalala. Dahil sa mga panahong tulad nito,

Mahirap magbilang ng mga bagay na lumipas na.

Tulad ng kahapon. Tulad ng ngayon.

Tulang ng hanggang kailan. Hanggang saan.

Kung meron akong natutunan,

Hindi nabibilang ang bukas.

Atomised Part 2

There are people who seem to go through most of their lives seeing the funny side, but in the end, life always breaks your heart. - Atomised, Michel Houellebecq

Atomised

I'm completely dependent on my society, but I play no useful role in it. The only thing I know how to do is write dubious articles on outdated cultural issues. I get paid for it, too - well paid for it - much more than the average wage.

- Atomised, Michel Houellebecq

Tamaan ang dapat tamaan.

An atrocity of great proportions!

Read this.

Now let's weigh the reasons behind this.

To appease our Muslim brothers and sisters: After an autonomous region, this? What's next? South Philippines? Let's learn from India and Pakistan, people. This is the same exact reason behind it. And six decades after, what do they have? The same exact bullshit they were fighting over at the very onset.

Representation of Muslims in history: That's why you have three stars, dummy! You might as well have the stylized letter "K" on the flag again if it represents Filipinos. Then what's next? A tenth ray for Iglesia ni Cristo? Might as well add a few more for Creationists, Scientologists and Pagans.

This is clearly politically motivated geared towards putting the names of the people behind it in history so they can claim to doing something while in the senate so they can plaster something on their resume come election time.

Remember that the 8 rays were there to represent the 8 provinces to rebel against the Spanish occupation.

Muslim = Religious group of people. Province = a geographical location. Now tell me, where is the sense in this? That's right, its not even in the same interplanetary zip code.

The big question is whether this stupidity is going to do squat in making the country any better. That's not something I can give an answer to right now, but let me make a bold prediction.

Its going to do shit!

Kwarto

So, our old house is being renovated. And since I'm the only one living there now since my family moved across the street to a bigger house, Its natural that I spend time thinking about the childhood that it gave me.

It would have been easier to sell the damned thing if not for the memories it left me and my family.

Ermat: Kung di lang 17 years akong tumira dito binenta ko na lang 'to. Eh kaso mag-aasawa ka na ata eh.

And its not easy to let go. Considering that my parents spent a good amount of their money over the years, building the house, dismantling a room and turning into a terrace, then builting another room then dismantling the whole thing again... repeat, (a good 2-3m for a 50 sq meter house for fuck's sake.) then its really hard to let go.

My parents also have this belief that this house brings more money to them for some reasons... I'd credit it to hard work but they'd rather bet it on luck.

Well anyway, I didn't know how to react to all these changes over the years. I spent a good 7 years not including the time that I lived with them in their new house living in a different place anyway. But still the memories this house gave me is just - that. I don't have a word for it I guess.

Where I'm writing this post is almost exactly where I normally write my blog posts from 5-6 years back in my old tabulas blog. I was using dial up then, only a few people had dsl at that time. A lot has changed indeed.

Just earlier today, I heard my sister singing while watching carpenters taking apart their old room.

Del: Mae! Magpapaalam na sa'yo ang aking kwarto, na punung-puno ng galit at damit...

Here I am writing about something and I really don't know where to take this. I guess its just one of those times when you just want to let go of something but it just keeps on sticking to some place inside you. Well...

Looking forward to finally sleeping on a decent bed again.

Dear Erika

Dear Erika,

As a kid, I asked a bunch of questions.
I asked if god was true and why stars go to sleep during the day.
I asked why there was pain and where rainbows end.
Is it true what they say about tooth fairies and birds delivering babies to happy mom's and dad's doorsteps?

As a kid, I waited for dumbo to fly past my window.
As a kid, I watched at night amused at the stars drawing their figures to make a face, or a tree, or animals. Whatever it was I never got tired of watching them.
Now that I think about it, I think I even saw you there a few times.

As a kid, I wondered how to make a song,
How magic was done with words and flick of fingers.
Why my chest would beat fast when I know I'll see another movie.

As a kid, I wondered about too many things. Not as much as I do now.
The answers didn't matter as much now as it did then. Maybe because age does that to you. Maybe because I got a bunch of other things to do.

Then I met you. I guess love does that to you. Magic becomes amusing again -
even though I know how the trick is done. Then I asked too many questions again. Like, "Does she love me more than I love her?" or "Do I love her more than she loves me?"
Then questions become worries, "Will I ever get to build that house I want for us?" Or "Will one of us ever get tired of this?"

A few months ago I was thinking of all these things. How I wrote another letter much like this a few years ago.Designed to melt the heart only to have something else melt after that. I guess time does that sometimes. You really can't count on the damn thing. You got to do what you got to do.

I was looking for assurance then. But I guess love has that something that makes you just squirm - not in disgust but in all the mixed emotions and the questions that play in your head.

But it really doesn't matter now. I guess something does that to you. Until you just don't care about what the future brings. Whether its age, or time, or whatever does it no longer matters. Assurance won't have anything to do with it. Because if there's one thing I learned from asking and spending all that time wondering about a bunch of things when I was a kid, It's that the future never looks bright without taking care of the now.

P.S. I hope not to write another letter like this with a different name on the salutation.

Jake

Because Love Poems Always End Up Between Pages Never To Be Read Again

Because Love Poems Always End Up Between Pages Never To Be Read Again

I want to write you a love poem.
Something like, "The moon is a mute
Nightingale lending music
To a scene I plagiarized from an erotic film.
My heart still yearns for what used to be lying
On the indentation you left on my bed."

But the five year-old
Warrior in me says its not good enough.
Its never good enough as we both know
Love poems get lost in time
Drowned in seas of sheets where
Moans reign supreme.

I would have written you a love poem.
Something like, "Good morning, stargirl.
Please make yourself comfortable.
I'm only off to make a mental picture
Of our little night together on replay
Catching dreams we'll share with a cup of coffee."

But I won't. See, romance is a poison
We drink to escape realities of pain
Engulfing us until it lasts. And us,
We don't understand yet how pain
Would fill our cups yet again Only to have our buzz
crashing and leaving us limp in each other's arms.

So, I'm not writing you a love poem.
I'm not leaving you with something to leave
Between pages of your favorite book together
With a little flower I picked in a park.
I'm not writing you a love poem
You can share with your friends.

I won't write you a "Tonight I can
Sing praise to gods and ask them for the moon
And stars. I love you and I loose my head
Thinking, because my brave soul weakens
And my longing heart breaks, but I got this thing
For you and you know how I don't believe in fate."

And I won't write you a love poem
And please don't make me do,
Instead I'll say this, and tomorrow we'll make it true.
"In a sea of sheets, we'll swim and move
As one, breathing each others' breath and moaning as we grind.
And if tomorrow, we're still not done,

then breakfast will have to wait til dinner time."

Office Boo Boo

So i ate outside in an effort to salvage a few bucks since our office pantry is a 7 star hotel with a drunken gorilla as a chef. Alas! From the moment i woke up i knew this won't be a good day.

So i was buying dinner, then when i got my food i clumsily dropped the god damn food on my lap. I ended up paying twice for food i only ate once.

Fucking trying to save money. At least i didnt eat something from a drunken gorilla.

will update soon

i have a bunch of things written as drafts i have yet to post, including something that will surely have me dead by "patriotic pinoys". ill post them as soon as im done with them.

now im just so pissed off getting my company id which i waited 2 months to get only to discover my name yet again murdered. i mean, its not the best name in the world but its my name for crying out loud. its not schwartzenneger or nietzsche. its fajardo. how hard it that to spell? now i got to wait another 2 months to get my id. fuck!

anyway, this is a nice song keeping me sane for the past few days.

Gogol Bordello - Supertheory of Supereverything

we don't care about poetry

we, we don't worry about line breaks.
there
are many things
more important than li-
ne
breaks.

like when i think of you
mostly naked. i mean, me
- naked
thinking of you.
though i must admit, i
most of the time
think of you naked too.
as i walk round my room.
not because i am
a pervert, not that you can't make that
argument
but because i want my
body to come across whatever scent
or memory or part of you
that's left disintegrated in the
four walls
of
my room.

the philosopher side of
me
argues that for every time you
come
and go,
something is left
right
from the time you step out.
and it is my duty
to collect what is left
and put it all right
inside
me.

we, we don't worry about semantics.
a wise man does not care
about the meaning of the word but how its

used.

but a wise man is hardly a wise man if they know not how to use words.

so i say this.

when i say love, i mean the rushing of blood from my chest to my brain
while fully relaxed. without the aid of fat and oil nor alcohol and porn.
when i say love, it is the gushing of emotions that even the best poets' words
cannot describe.
when i say love, i mean the singing of the stars only heard by hearts that have nothing to say.
when i say love, i mean me dreaming of you sleeping and dreaming of me too.

there is no point in making this deep.

because we, we don't care about poetry.
we don't care about how we stop to take a breath, because love always leaves us breathless.
we don't care about what do say because words are never enough.

see

there aren't many things that will describe this, but every time i think of you

naked. i mean, me naked.

thinking of you - naked too.

no sonnet justifies how i need to rise and fall.

because i know, just the image of you is enough, to paint my lifelong fantasy.