refuse

because it would hurt me so
i hope i do not end up among your decrepit shoes who once owned
the glow in your eyes
or the flowers of my written effort
that eventually find themselves in some forgotten corner in your house
may you acquire the sense it takes
to hold my heart well above
the dust collecting beneath your bed and sticking to your window pane
i can only shut my eyes and wish like hell that like you look at your pot before you flush, you would do the same and find me before you throw your garbage out

cryptography

if only i could pay a penny for all the secrets in your eyes
or the key to the back of your mind fall into my eager lap
how easier would it be to not need
the rosetta to speak your codes
decrypt the puzzles you feel the need to create

cowboy

if you do not see the signs, you must be falling asleep. all the letters i read are about the sad thing that is us, twisting and pulling a rope around my chest as a bull that struggles to unman itself or a dog scratching at its fleas. in melancholy lines i read the hurt in your eyes and i feel even more the helpless watching i am doing in this bad movie. we are strangers back again, thinking we know each other too well that there is nothing new to know and contempt is all there is to reach for. you are struggling too much to be the strapping cowboy that you are not and i douse your ego every time for saying so. and you never fail to bring me my comeuppance by hitting on every nerve you think hurts the most, but of course i am more dynamic than you think. i bury my aces beneath thorny roses and you have not thought to dig, perhaps dreading the dirt under your nails or the scratches to your flesh. what you will find is always worth the pain, i guess, but you are too afraid of hurt and would rather drown yourself in a golden stupor with ye old faithful friends. why is it that you believe you have given a world of effort when you haven't even hit the heart of what it is that keeps me at your side? the clock hasn't struck twelve and you are ready to trade in your guns so that you can pursue the craven life you feel safer off living. you have not even seduced my mind and yet you believe you have earned the right to keep your hat on while you follow the button trails to my breasts. even though you keep me on the edge of breathlessness, i am more inclined to kiss a man with a purple eye and bruised lips. you are more beautiful than any, but i have other plans than become a mother to someone who shuddered between my legs and thought of his horse.

bitch

is that a woman that shapes the secret in your eyes?
or are you really who you say you are?
am i leasing the use of your body without pay?

if you should decide that you need more than all i am
all at one time then heed that so soon you will lose
the right to my lips and the deed to my eyes
you will only so quickly drown in the eager
wetness of your woman and her fake fragrance
but thirst for a whiff of my mouth and a whole jug of my scent
and one day you will wake up in the staleness of her lips
on your face and long for my dewy thoughts that will
never again touch your parched ears

hallowed hollow

Just one of the sights when you are in Tuscany, Italy (probably not on the tourist circuit). To be able to be here and see it for myself gives me goosebumps.

do you know how it feels like

to want something with all your heart, seeing it in pictures, and you can't stand the thought of seeing them all through another person's camera shots and not through your own experience, that you just have to close that window and try to ease the pressure in your chest and the mercury of your emotions, to want something you don't know if you'll ever get, with all the road blocks that you have to clear from your way in order to finally be there and breathe the air no matter how cold and snuggle into a really nice trenchcoat and look good and belong in the scene overall, to finally be there after everything and everything actually goes well....ahhh, wouldn't it be loverly.

(Pre)occupations

Dimpling the doldrums.
Dropping off at the daydream-
ing office. Rummaging through the memory closet. Sweeping mental cobwebs. Exercising written imagination. Hoping for distant
sunsets and trench-coat weather. Wanting impossibilities
and
other
difficult
illusions.

an idyll to do again

sit back, kick your slippers off, have a huge helping of beach and sunset horizon over a cupful of thoughts...

the onset of spoilage (scrapheap of spoiled serenity)

after a while, you start to steer your mind toward those days when it was fun, when you believed there was nothing to worry about. when your best weapon was your state of mind. when you were free.

after a while of this, you do. inevitably.

cramped

there are so many hang-ups in my life, i've found. i can be more liberated in my thinking, and yet i am stuck with describing the surface, because i am unable to pierce through what's beyond. i do not even know what is beyond, i just know i can perceive more when i'm there. for now, i can only read my thoughts and what i am in some other person's words. i long for that time when i can read my thoughts, my very existence in my own words. or is that forever an impossible, blind thing? brandon boyd, alanis morissette, where do they find their words? i think it is only through going beyond the boundaries of what you know, venturing into the uncharted, though not so uncharted, for others would have gone before. i long to be the one who puts things on the map, and be ahead of the entire human pack for once. i want to grow wide and deep and well-watered. how, how, how.....

Butterflies and Kites

(words inspired by the Tori Amos song)


I wouldn't have held on to the tail of your kite had you not led me to believe I could. I wouldn't have, and I would not again. It is never an intention of mine to hold you back or tie you down. Perhaps it needs your understanding that the situation you placed yourself in makes that inevitable. It has become logical to me to say that to pursue love would be to let go of a good many things. But I guess that sort of statement is not easily comprehensible to you who feel the urge of flight and freedom, tainted by the views of the world as it is. You are not getting blamed for that, as I am doing no such thing. It is only lamentable that for such a person who can think outside the box, you are so much in one. (I am sure I am inside several of boxes myself, none of which are relevant at the moment. I am only pointing to that which concerns this mutuality). Lamentable still, that it is a box which divides our views irreconcilably. For something that has endured over years, there is a substantial lot left unsaid, unexplored, and undiscussed. Surprising though how it could endure when it started and kept starting on the wrong foot. But something founded on the wrong things will always be wrong. But stay and fight and try to straighten it out. That's a guarantee only of a rough road, and I'm sure flight is more compelling. There is an exhilaration to it, an almost boundless freedom. No, regrettably, I cannot hold the string while you fly your kite. I am a butterfly who flies on her own wings to pursue her own compulsions and ambitions. Lose your string and gain your wings. My freedom was not meant to buy you yours.

You must also see, we are right now creatures of flight. To pursue our path will eventually lead to staying aground. It may seem untimely to shed my wings when I've only just gained them. So will you get your tail pulled from behind you should you proceed in such similar fashion as you do now. We, all of us, feel that urge to be cared for and be paid attention to by someone, when everyone else has their concentrations on some other thing or person. But don't you think it rather selfish of us? To only want a someone for their exclusive attention on us when the world is ignoring us, and then when we have all eyes back on us again, we have them totally out of mind. For what do you propose is the reason for seeking such personal connection as this? Are you having marriage in mind? What more do you need to learn of a person after all those years to not be thinking of marrying? Yes, maybe I have changed my point of view, which in all honesty, I feel many times better having done so. I feel purer, less tainted, though I am nothing holy. Scoffing and mocking will lead you nowhere, tightening only my resolve. I propose that it is not the means you use to persuade me from this, if you do intend such a thing.

This is not to say I feel nothing or care any less. This is a consideration for practicality and an evaluation for direction. Where is it going? Where do you intend should this go? I do not desire to go with the wind, or with the moment. I intend to have a purpose there in your life, beyond than what meets your needs at this time. Well, that is one expectation this has brought about. And there are and will be many more. So think. I have places to go; my heart is almost ready for the unknown, to take on adventure. I don't think you'd want to move away from where you are now. I won't pull your tail again. I won't push you, the acrobat, seeing as you don't have a net. So tell me if you want to fly your kite. I am not in charge of the string, hand it to someone else. I am a butterfly, I did say. You can keep having someone hold the string for you, or you can join me on your own wings. Only then will I acquiesce to let the wind blow me. Until then, maybe you might finally metamorphose. Maybe. In the meantime, I am almost there. Join me or we'll see each other again one day. I do believe in destiny, after all. Don't you?

Birthday Post

Maybe one's birthday is indeed one's (special) day. For one day, you get to have some attention (if you're not at all the center of attention). For one day, you get to feel how special you are to others, or at the very least (which is not at all less), to your Maker who made you happen. Not only are you special because you are alive , you get to feel special as well, at least once a year.


This must be vague. I can't quite find the words to perfectly describe the wonderful set-up God has created around each one's creation, birth, and birthdays. I'll get back on this when I get it right.

An Invitation To Come

Come. Stray, wander. Cultivate pleasant fountains where you find them. Linger where you will, there is no hurry in this endeavor. Stray ever south, for more pleasantries lie in impatient waiting. Don't hesitate at the door; come right in, for you are awaited. You have been invited for something warmer than tea, to soar on a rush more intense than caffeine. Once joined at the hip, hesitant of parting, let's pursue the elusive excitement of touching every star. And when we've wearied, let's rest a bit and regain the vigor we would need, before long. But as I stir early and head for the southerly pole, the ride begins anew.

A Woman

I am a woman. You cannot expect me to be like you. I am a woman, with a brain and a heart. You cannot sever either one from my being. I can think for myself, and I feel even more. I am a woman, in touch with my emotion; do not presume I can be so cerebral and invariably logical. I am emotional, even if I do not seem so. I am a woman. I feel the need to be beautiful and feminine, sensual and romantic, the essence of what I am. No matter what I may do or say or appear to be, I go back to my fundamental core, a woman. I am a woman, unique, with my own senses and perceptions. Do not dictate on me what I am supposed to become and just let me be...a woman. I am a woman. I am strong. No matter if you say you are stronger. I am a woman, made to be me, not made to be made into what someone else would want me to be. I give of myself because it is what I want or feel, not because it is what you want. Love me for me, what I am - a woman.

Because the Night Belongs to Lovers

A love stronger than death... Gothic and eerie, almost supernatural... or even already that...

The moon is an unearthly glow of a hundred stars...I'm playing that song...It seems to come from a distance...I am somewhere else, on another night like this...The notes echo in that gaping emptiness where you used to be ...Could you hear me where you are, I wonder...Can you still the wrenching inside me...It feels like you're here somehow...I'll keep playing for a while...

My love...I am here...Our love is an endless song in my lonely, forgetful hereafter...Bringing me back from the dark folds of moon shadow...to remembering...to you...Feel me beside you, ethereal but aching...Play the melodies that beckon me to life...On this silver night, we are one...

Feeling (v.)

if this seems irrational, it's not, just non-rational. the brain cannot process that sort of things.




you would think that life was perfect because you have it all...or almost all of it that you want in your life. a guy, a job, graduation, euro trip...or whatever it is that you have and think you love right now...


are those really touching movies realistic? are they common occurrences in the world? surely they didn't mean for us to despair?

think spirited away. there wasn't even a kiss that was shared but the emotions were so infectious that there's no question it was... l'amour...

or those korean movies and TV series. one thing about them is that they know how it should be.. walking the talk, or even no talk at all. a flutter of the heart here, a rush of anger there...and there's heaven. and the best part is, they didn't even have to shed anything. and the guys get angry and affected! i like that. i think i have a peeve about guys that think emotions are for women. when you love, i don't think you could be anything else but jelly. there is dignity in love, contrary to their ideas.

i want... to be swept away, to go through a rollercoaster ride - of emotions, of happenings, of the senses. i want to feel. to experience everything through my senses. i'm tired of the thinking brain. i feel like i will only be needing that area to interpret my emotions into words so i can write them down.

better yet, pictures. snapshots remind you better of sensations. snapshots of what i did, where i went, who i was with. they let you remember better, communicate faster. words tend to delay the transmission to the core of emotions.

yes, because i really want to feel. i feel i've stopped feeling with too much thinking. i've been rationalizing and i want to stop.

if i am with someone, i don't want to think. i want to just feel my way through the time we spend together. guard down, cards on the table. just feel... and it won't work if he just keeps thoughts. no thoughts. just sensations.

i may never be good at exchanging wits. okay, okay. i'm as slow as i may as well be. but i actually feel i'm better off feeling.

this city is dull, overflowing with westernization and americanism, like skin without exfoliation. i want to go someplace and be shocked back to feeling and living. japan. or the european country - the lands of my idealized dreams. no, no america. someplace where ideals are not scoffed at but held in esteem, someplace untouched or barely tainted by business, money, and worldliness. someplace, where i would like to spend my life in because i like it there.

i have no japanese animations to evoke these sentiments in the midst of my dreary existence. i can only aspire and dream, waiting to see if the universe has meant for me to have this, this small ambition to be free from the wearying sophistication of the times, and just live simply to feel...to pursue beauty. to live to pursue beauty...wouldn't that be lovely.

God is in the beautiful things... that Paulo Coelho is really clever.

The Craft

This is another of those lengthy ponderings/ramblings. Consider yourself forewarned. xoxoxo


Words... I love words. I am always interested in how to put things another way, creatively, or to achieve a certain effect or tone or mood. I am always interested in how other people use words to put things in whatever way they wish to put them. I wonder if they merely use words just as they are, in random, or are their sentences carefully constructed, with purpose and meaning that only they and whoever else they told are privy to. I wonder at those whose vocabularies encompass words, phrasings and idioms that mine doesn't, how they had come upon these elements of language in their lives.

Had they constantly rubbed elbows with an intelligent, language-conscious crowd? Did they read widely, on every field of interest, every subject in the world?

I am amazed by such acquisitions, and since I have no immediate answers, I merely believe my own uneducated, purely instinctive guesses into the matter. I try to get my hands on every book that interests me. Indeed, I read every piece of reading material that so much as contains a word or phrase that piques my curiosity. I worry about the action I assume I am missing, thinking there might exist certain circles or groups that I am not aware about, who live and breathe the intricacies of language. I worry that there may be things that I need to know to become better at wordplay that I may never know.

Perhaps there are self-inflicted standards, perhaps it is instinctively knowing that there are higher levels to the abilities at the moment. It is not clear, but there is a drive in me to continually learn about styles and manners of putting things, words upon words, and new ways of looking at things. Stopping or hindering this continuous learning process might lead to mediocrity. I fear of inadequacy and incompetence in this craft that I happen to love, because of what I may not know. And I just find that unacceptable, because I know it in my gut that this is what I was born to do. It is difficult to speak of any other feasible job that I would want to practice as near to perfection as I could deem.

I believe this is what I want to be called as or be thought of. And if others may decline to think so, I hereby and thenceforth proclaim that I am --amateur, but yes, a writer. As a preventive measure to complications arising from differences of opinion, the matter of my being a writer is self-imposed, should other contentions (e.g., natural ability) be deemed inapplicable.

To simplify it all, I am one because I say I am one. The world will agree, or it will respect that declaration. Either way, they will call me a "writer", or by any other term that means the same thing. Self-proclaimed or whatever.

xoxoxo

I don't really know how I will go about life as a writer. I am uncertain of what kind of writer I would go down in history as. I'm quite doubtful about becoming a novelist. The work seems, I don't know, daunting. I fear, though I am a writer (because I proclaim to be, if for no other reason), I am not too fond of intricately twisted or even heart-wrenching plots (with J. Grisham and N. Sparks particularly in mind), unless I myself am the reader. It will cost me too much brooding and too much time. It's still too early, the time is not yet ripe for such decisions. We never know, but we never know.

I'd like to leave further ponderings of my writing career to the near future, but here is one more hopefully helpful insight about what it might be. I do like to put my thoughts down on just about anything that keeps me awake at night, stirs me from my idle lounging on the sofa, or just plain spurs my mind to keep its cogs in good repair. It helps me think about things better. It helps me learn. Most relevantly though, it puts my wordplay abilities to good use.

To articulate one's thoughts and emotions, to aptly match the descriptive term to the mental image or sentiment, is a small but satisfying task, from which I derive a warm pleasure every time.

Which leads me to consider the idea of becoming an essayist. In my partially educated belief, an essay can concern just about anything, anything at all, at the author's personal discretion, and in a formal or informal manner.

So, let's see...

A boundless playing field to attempt to cover. Endless combinations of variations in wordplay.

Sounds like fun. So yeah. Why not.


But that will be the furthest that I will go for now. As of today, such talk is still woven of the very fabric of the future: uncertainty.

Ostentatiously Making Sense

It could be that one creates the ends that come about in one's life, whether one may like them or one may not. The ceaseless naggings of self-doubt wears on one after a while, that one is compelled to choose self-preservation above otherwise important priorities. The rationality of such personal uncertainties does not even substantiate such choice to be chosen. Anxiety is so much a human essence, so embedded into the most basic core of being, that the responses are practically automatisms. Notwithstanding, you learn to frown upon such mechanisms of the human psyche, albeit subconscious and so, involuntary, for the unhealthy outcomes it can create in relationships. When in certain instances you would only aspire for the happy continuance of such intimate connections, the invisible triggers of anxiety and its spontaneous outputs fairly manage to complicate the simplicity of such goals. The road to accomplishing supposedly simple objectives becomes riddled with all manner of hindrances, that the traveler down such road undoubtedly experiences adversities, often in varying intensities. Furthermore, it is often than not that the unfortunate pilgrim is tested beyond his limits and is continually made to confront his imperfections by overcoming them, which does not at all seem uncomplicated, even just by itself. One is hence inclined to sigh both in pity for the journeying fellow and in the stark realization that it is simply the way that all life proceeds, though there is anything but simple about it. Life is intrinsically complicated, arduous, and problematic. All are hopelessly intricately entangled by a pernicious coincidence into its unintelligible tapestry.

Heart or Limbic System or Whatever

Love is so blind, it feels right when it's wrong...


Knowing when something's wrong is fairly easy; it won't feel right. It's knowing if it's right that's somewhat tricky. 'Cause, you know, it might feel right even if it's wrong.

Or...well, I'm confused. Why would something wrong feel right? Cancer hurts because there's something wrong.

Okay, here it is. Right or wrong belongs in the logic department. Use your head to determine right from wrong, wrong from right. Never determine one from the other using your heart, or limbic system, whatever. Tends to confuse the unfortunate soul in such predicament.

And if it's a little too late 'cause you've already used your heart (or limbic system or whatever) to lose your way, use your head to find your way back. It's how the text message goes, and it makes sense.

Correction...

So I discovered a link from a comment on one of my older posts that led me to read, oh, just one or two hate posts about me. I know it was about me, of course, because I happen to know the blog owner (I seem unable to apply the term "blogger"). And there's also the time that she said one of those slanderous words she used against me in her posts, literally behind my back. So perhaps that doesn't leave much room for doubt about who the intended receiver of those electronic hate publications is. I pretty much know the story behind the whole drama, although she pretty much took great liberty at interpreting my whole life, blog, and demeanor for me - in a very malicious and insulting way, I might add. I am the only person who can say what things are for me with certainty, but I guess everyone is indeed entitled to an opinion, regardless of accuracy and truth content.

But that was long ago, though I don't think anyone would forget anytime soon. Amidst the foul effects of her blind rage, she raised a question in my mind that I would like to elaborate on: Am I really that kind of person who does not know how to value friendship? Do I truly use friendship as a tool to achieve my selfish intentions?

I will admit to many things (except to what she had been accusing me of), including being not too friendly and sociable. I make my way in life not picking up a lot of friends as I go. I swim through social situations without making at least one person think of me in a new and enlightened way, or at least make them think again about their initial impressions. But that probably doesn't mean it's because I'm evil, does it? There could be several good reasons, and her best bet could have been psychological. Not having close friends, or just having friends, for that matter, does not automatically make me a poor appraiser of the value of friendship. Not having friends does not entitle me the description "manipulative" (not her own words). I don't think so.

Because I do value friendship. The person who has less of something, makes that person value that thing more, I guess. I do not operate by the statement "I don't need anyone", because simply put, I need others. It's not easy to bottle up emotions all the time, for lack of a sounding board to beat the melodrama away. But I don't know how it would be that simple to open up to someone whom you have not learned to become comfortable sharing your emotions with. There are people I am surrounded by on an almost day-to-day basis, but I don't think I can spill my insides to them. They're the type that first needs...well, pleasing. It's a different thing that you try to please others so that they will accept you and become their friend, from that you become other people's friend because they know and accept who you are, even if they don't totally like you. Whoever said that you have to please people first before you become their friend? Well that's how it is right now, where I am. I do not agree, and I could not bring myself to conform. Plus totally pathetic social skills equals no close friends at the moment.

I value friendship, but I don't think you make friends because you value friendship. You become friends with people. And that's because you can connect with them. It's the connection, not the necessity, that paves the way for friendship to develop and grow. Maybe we've developed our own ideals about friendship that we force them upon ourselves and those people we consider our friends. And we make all these expectations that we think are intrinsic in a friendship, and end up disappointing ourselves and others. And sometimes, we cannot even be blamed, for do we not all wear some type of colored glasses, that we each see things in a different light?

But anyway, maybe I am socially inept. Being that as it may, it still does not translate that friendship is a functional relationship for me. Well yeah, some friendships can be functional. And perhaps everyone has had one or two at some point in their lives. But in the context that was used, I should take issue with that person. But then I guess, no matter how twistedly malicious her point of view was, I saw where she was coming from, so I can say, regardless of the somewhat strong urge to retaliate, I understand. It's one of those instances that you want to indulge your emotions, but you still have enough sense left to realize that there really is nothing to gain in doing so. And you get uneasy from the internal turmoil that you have to let it out somehow. This is what it's all about, I guess.