The Writer.

Two fingers clipped around a cigarette,

A pencil tucked behind his ear.

On his table a coffee-stained paper sheet,

In his eye, a dried up tear.

A hushed prayer slide from heart to ink,

Scribbles and caffeine fill his void,

That, which once brimmed with youthful dreams,

Now only a melancholy he can’t ever avoid.

With nicotine musk and coffee breath,

And his words his world entire;

With worker’s hands that give them bread,

And his aching legs for fire.

An artist’s fingers of words and phrases,

A child’s dream slowly dimming.

A wearied man burdened with faces

hears a song beyond the word breaking.

He sips further into the bitterness,

to calm his dreary nerves,

And lose himself in the sweetness,

of his pen’s black lines and curves.

But, ah, the clock is chiming,

Far off from the plaza mayor,

And the writer’s hand had stopped writing.

His expression still and sour.

He gathered his paper and pens and cigar,

and placed his hat upon his head.

Forlorn and distraught he walks through the door,

Knowing that outside from the coffeeshop,

he is a writer no more.

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By and by.

By and by until I die,
I’ll sit by the fire with you
We need no gold or silk or so,
For these chipped cups will do.

I see no shame in our broken china,
As we drink our days through,
It matters not what they say or think,
So long as I sit by the fire with you.

By and by until I die,
I’ll sing you a lullaby each night,
I’ll hold you in my arms’ embrace,
as your consciousness takes flight.

You’ll not be alone in a December chill,
Nor be lonely in August noons,
It matters not if we are old and damned,
So long as I breathe the world with you.

I Am Who.

I am Who.

Who dares speak the tongue of the forgotten,

For forgotten, that, I am.

Who breathes in the color of the sunset sky,

To paint my life again,

Who dances with the wind and trees,

To a music that only I can hear,

Who sees none further than the clock and the book,

As was the curse of the Future.

I am How.

How I really wanted myself to be,

Seeing the beauty that is to be seen,

Still a child, in heart and spirit,

Whose power is with art,

Whose Love is within Loathing.

Investing on sweaters and coats.

Grey, rain-stained mornings. Dull, blazing evenings.

I cannot recall the last day I looked upon the face of the sun and not curse it for its heat. I am beginning to loathe cool, breathy evenings – I writhe in my bed, covered with at least two blankets. I despise waking to the sound of silence -knowing that most people are still in their beds, I am envious. I cringe at social obligations. I cry easily under pressure. I buckle under the domineering, judgmental glance of society.

I am weak, cold and exhausted.

Worry is writ upon my forehead. Ambition, my only fuel. Dreams, crumbling and then reconstructing again. Knowledge, less than what they think. Intellect, not to be praised. Beauty, fuckery and damnation. Confidence, exists someplace else. Voice, diminished. Art, gone.

The world is dimming down for me. I am turning into a robot. Continuous, monotone, colorless, dull and cold.

I am always cold.

Well, at least nowadays.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Or the lack of recreation. Or lack of everything else that I used to have that’s bugging me to bits. I am tired of our system. Always at work. Always busy. Each and everyday. The responsibilities that I am burdened with falls heavy unto my shoulders. My just-passing grades consuming me. And people. People who are constantly praising none but themselves and their own crapped up shit.

I am not in a good mood right now.

All the more reason why I should keep on writing.

What else must I write about?

Ah, sweaters.

A lot of people -may they be the bird-faced or the greedy potatoes- had been asking me as to why I am always wearing such wintry sorts of clothing when I am -after all- in a tropical country. They find it appalling that one can stand to be under heaps of garment when the sun is beating down.

Well.

Sweaters make me feel safe & secure.

Although not much people know of it, I was never the one to be emotionally attached. Some people might insist that I am. Some might agree. But fact is, I am my own girl. I belong to no one but myself. Thus, it took quite a while for me to get used to physical contacts with other people outside my gene pool. I believed -well, and I still do- that everyone will leave everyone. In one way or another they will. And when that time comes that they voluntarily step away from your life, you will feel a gaping hole form in the pit of your stomach. A hole that can’t ever be filled. Unless that person comes back again.

They never do, mind you.

If they step off from the painting that is your life, they step off never to be seen again.

Never to be heard of.

And you will be left with your other paintings with them in it and other paintings without.

What does his have to do with sweaters?

..Well..

Sweaters provide comfort.

Of course they do.

But it’s more than that for me.

They give me some sort of warmth that makes me feel a tad bit capable of most anything. It’s hard to explain, actually. Mmm.. Imagine I am a fragmented spirit and that there’s nothing keeping me together except my sweaters & coats. Like an additional colorful skin.

I began buying heaps of jackets right after my dad died.

It was the year 2007. And I distinctly remember that it was the frostiest year I’ve ever seen. The fog was thicker. White smoke emanating from our lips. And cold. Damn the cold. It seeped into my bones and rattled in my tummy.

Every night I wore sweaters to keep me warm.

I huddled underneath my blankets like a kitten in a haystack. Socks were my new bestfriends. My hands hidden deep within my pockets. It was the coldest year I’ve seen. And my dad was dead. Which made everything colder and distant. No soup can kill the frost within me. Even if I burned my tongue on hot chocolates and boiling stews. It still wasn’t enough.

I guess my inner clock died.

And for 4 years -my whole highschool life- I was still within that year.

I’m proud to say that I’ve stopped wearing sweaters ‘everyday’.

I still wear them. Occasionally. Every other day.

Perhaps because I have become too dependent on them.

Ha Ha Ha.

~ o ~

Beating For.

Great minds are great because they know what it is that their hearts beat for.

If only -oh, how much it grieves me to use that toxic combination of words- I know what mine beats for. Is it History? That, which had aroused me at the tender age of 7 or 8. That, which was the cause as to why I am this weird, dull creature. Is it Literature? That, which made my rainy days warm and soothing? That made me see the world underneath a different light? Is it the art of cinematography? That wonderful modern art that offers mankind to see what truly is inside of me. Cinematography, that made my knees weak with exhaustion and my eyes brightening for more?

Maybe my heart beats for them all.

But one thing is for sure: the path I am now taking is not what I want.

There is no joy in me. I do not feel any excitement when I learned something new from it. No pulsing moments of wonderment. There is nothing. I was never meant to be a technologist. I loathed technology for its consuming void in the lives of the people. They fail to see the beauty beyond the summit of buildings and the luminescence of their cellulars.

I was never born to be here.

I am not smart in terms of mathematical ability nor am I gifted in logical reasoning.

I believe I am an artist. A free-willed person who wants to do what she wants and what she can. I was not gifted with a brain that can be above more than the others. I am given the mind of a dunce -an imbecile. An imbecile who cannot make her own decisions correctly.

This is wrong.

The longer I stay in this path, the more grievous I feel. It is like not being able to marry the one that you care deeply for. And its really constricting.

I want to be free in some way or another but then, society dictates that one must earn money to survive and so indeed, I must. But what is money, truly? When the rest of the world is ash, rust and bones, money will be nothing more than paper to fuel the fire for warmth. And by then, what will be coins for? None but tokens of a memory long gone.

If and only if, I am not confined. If and only if I can be truly alone most of the time. I might achieve a higher sense of enlightenment. And yet again, I must complain about always surrounded by people who loves to talk more about themselves than whatever else that there might be. If and only if, they can leave me alone. Even for such a small amount of time: I will be very grateful. If and only if I have enough time to know more about the things that I love the most. If and only if, I have the money to provide my own education for these crafts.

But I have none.

No solace.

No time.

No money.

I cannot do anything about it. I am only a mere slave -a puppet- to the society’s domineering principles. I am stuck with people who will not think twice of stamping down on you with their ruthless, egoistic feet. I am a victim and a predator, at the same time. I prey on the weak-hearted and the slow of mind. That was how the world taught us -in my perspective, that is. And as we grow older we earn more and more horns upon our heads, our tails will grow longer and God’s kindled fire inside us will fade out and die.

~Sigh~

Namaste.

Namaste.

I have decided upon a schedule on which I must indulge myself for a cooler peace of mind. I would like to feel an endless calm wash over me every single day as so I might survive college life in UST and it’s about time I live a healthy lifestyle.

I can only hope that I will pay strict observance to the things I’ve planned out for myself. I sure do hope i won’t stop.

— o —

Namaste

— o —

If there are classes:

– Wake up at 4.00

– Yoga for 15 minutes

– Meditation for 30 minutes

– Prepare school things –

– Bathe for 15 minutes only

– Eat for as fast as possible –

Always dry your hair –

– Facial care for 5 minutes

– Music indulging when done –

In the afternoon, after classes:

– Check if there is homework – 

There are levels of homework you should always look out for:
Yellow is easy = the sort of thing that requires only definition and examples.
Blue is moderate- easy = essays and long paperwork.
Violet is moderate = long paperwork plus hard subject.
Green is moderate-severe =  teamwork and time-taxing projects.
Red is severe = The sort of thing that will make you scream.

– Allow gala if : Yellow / Blue

– Always enjoy the little things –

– Check  up on updates –

-Chat up friends to increase socialization skills –

– Drink milk –

– Meditate if possible –

— o —

Continuing on..

— o —

If there are no classes:

– Wake up at 5.00 –

– Yoga for as much as you like – 

– Meditate for as much as you like –

– Jog if possible –

– Be back by breakfast –

— o —

Now that it is all planned out and ready, all I have to do is implement it.

— o —

Much love, care and support.

— o —

armie