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of rushed words and hushed thirsts
mellowman

the wave, the surge

Some call it love and some call it sex.
opposites.
Call it what you want, but with one touch and you’re gone, so call in sick.
Human politics, from whispered hushes and distant crushes.
Mental fits breakin’ pencil tips and
inkin’ brushes.
Simple rushes.
God makes man and this is the devil's finishing touches.
- Butterfly Effect -

alfresco

beat, rhythm
questions, answers

movements



brief traces

August 2010
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December 2024
January 2025

Friday, July 29, 2011

every night, a dragon would bring out the monopoly board, set it on the center of the two beds pushed close together and lean against the wall, sitting at his favourite region of the bed. strategically near the wall for easy resting and indirectly proportional to the air conditioner. cold enough to wrap himself with his blanket comfortably, warm enough to extend his hands out of his little cocoon.

soon, the door swings open and in comes a walking ball, a comedic stick, and a self-claimed diva. behind them, a puffy penguin waddles close behind, staring at the monopoly board hungrily. they circle the board and greet their respective tokens. "bark bark bark to you, little puppy!" says the walking ball, while the comedic stick starts to feign sewing; the dragon proudly rides his horse and the diva, surprisingly, opts to handle the wheelbarrow. the puffy penguin though, it's a tough one for him. the gleaming silver car or the equally sparkly left shoe? slyly, the penguin reaches for both of those tokens with his tubby-wubby hands. he is satisfied.

the battle commences. it begins at a snail-pace, all competitors evenly pacing forward into the game. for those who forget their turns, namecalling that ranges from lembabun (a mesh-word of lembab and babun) to OOOHH OOOHH AAAHH AAAHH arises. the dragon takes the lead, for he is the wisest. the comedic stick delivers a demanding challenge, but she's not quite there yet. the others though, they're just there. they're just following those standing on top of them, imitating each and every movement of their beloved idols.

the dragon checks his watch, gosh, it's already 10pm! time for the iguana drama!abandoning their tokens, leaving the board, all of them quickly scramble to the room opposite. huddling in front of the big box emitting animated light forming shapes and patterns, it entrances these unadultered minds albeit the language barrier. the drama is cliched, overdone and highly ridiculous. but they enjoy it anyway.

little did they know how precious these times would be. little did they know that they would look back -when the dragon isn't a dragon anymore, but an accountant, when the comedic stick isn't a stick anymore, but a literature-manic martial artist, when the self-claimed diva isn't just self-claimed, but a widely acknowledged diva, when the walking ball isn't a ball anymore, but an erratic wind, when the puffy penguin isn't a penguin anymore, but an oblivious flower boy- and cry, and laugh, and miss those moments of pureness, of simple thinking inundated with joy, of happiness spent together.

i miss it.



6:09 PM


Thursday, July 28, 2011

i am just like this. you know, quiet and closed. meeting new people silences me, filters me, masks me. i wish i was prettier, because everyone would want to talk to me. i wish i looked more comical, so that everything i utter is a joke so blatant those around me has to laugh. but i am plain. not the homey plainness that people can drift closer to unintentionally, but the plainness that lacks interesting features, that strangers pass by with no concern whatsoever. it is at these times that i soundlessly glance at my shoes, touch the scraped surface of my wristwatch and take a book out of my bag. a must in my bag, a book. so that i can be left alone without looking like a social leper. so that the magnification of the emptiness around me lessens. how cunning.

a scroll through my newsfeed awakens the green monster in me, with longing eyes and hopeless sighs. i am not one of these people, who can strike up conversations without thinking. i worry. too much, probably. what ifs are the evil dwellers of my mind, incessantly whispering incites of anxiety, deflating my self-esteem.

pitiful, me.


8:03 PM


Friday, July 22, 2011

so, here i am, attempting to fulfill the things i've promised myself to do. write whatever comes to mind. right now, it's facebook.

facebook, a place to socialize yadda yadda yadda. for me though, it's like my weird collection of songs that i have stored in my laptop. they're there for me to listen to, but i never really do. sometimes i feel like deleting the songs i barely connect to anymore, but somehow, they still make the list of thousands of songs that i keep. that tiny voice in my head will always tell me, you know, you might need them in the future.

facebook, with all these strangers adding me, automatically labeling them as my 'friends'. funny, considering i would never talk to them in a million years. facebook is also the medium where we stay connected. here, it means if you ever need that guy who you met 3 years ago at a convention, you would still be able to find him even though you've never made an effort to ask how he was for the past few years. that's staying connected through facebook.

i had this bright idea today, to post hi on everyone's wall just to catch them offguard, to actually make friends and not just stalk their profile once in a while. it would be fun, it would be interesting, but i just don't have the guts to do it.

i read something on tumblr that young writers shouldn't try so hard to decorate their prose but approach styles of writing with the utmost simplicity, with the greatest minimalistic tendencies. so i'm trying to just write, and write, and write. and not worry about what it will result to, but to just enjoy it all.


12:58 PM


Friday, July 1, 2011

A child ensconced with the weight of things far greater, embellished by the fluff of erratic disinterests. Defense mechanism? A ninja aspiring to be the next Edward Scissorshand, masking herself beneath the curve of the lips. Long enough, it turns into just teeth, just a pasted tedium.

But the child will always be a ninja, fluent in miao-ing and never leaving the battered leafs of papers. She will be alright.


11:30 PM



“To be a writer is to sit down at one’s desk in the chill portion of every day, and to write; not waiting for the little jet of the blue flame of genius to start from the breastbone – just plain going at it, in pain and delight. To be a writer is to throw away a great deal, not to be satisfied, to type again, and then again, and once more, and over and over…”

- John Hersey -

And that is why I will write. A writer's block will be a thing of the past for me, lack of inspiration will be an unreasonable excuse. No matter how occupied I am, I will set aside all things, and write.

A fair warning to all, the things I write may not be pleasing to the eyes, may come off as menial ramblings, they may not even touch you at all. But I will still write, for I need it as much as Potter needs to boast.


1:31 PM



i need to start writing again. this has been going for far too long, far too much. i need to find within, innately push myself, in order for me to be who i really am, for me to pick up what has long been abandoned. a part of myself.

fingers, click those black buttons embossed with lifeless letters, build the bridges that once collapsed brick by brick, lego by lego, and whisper souls into their awaiting forms as you've always wanted to. this is your forte, make it your forte.

hands, furtive glances from Eyes wont help you to wield the pen into your companion. initiative from your senses are required, are of the essence, so those papers can be crumpled after endless hours of pouring your all into beautiful words, ugly words, fancy words. the grandiloquence elevated for the sake of not only imparting pretentious crap overloaded with vanity, but to save your arse from degrading your aptitude.

remember them with the utmost effort, drill them into your tiny little head, etch them so they wont be wandering, fragile and lost, and relinquish them when the time is right.

the time is now.

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2:51 AM