Category Archives: Love

Kabaliwan at Sibilisasyon: O Kung Paano Kami Nag-usapang Lasing ni Foucault Tungkol sa Pag-Ibig

Bago sya dumating dito sakay ng eroplano, nagbabasa ko ng Madness and Civilization ni Michel Foucault. Basically, tungkol yung libro sa nagiiba-ibang kahulugan ng “kabaliwan” sa kultura ng Europe mula sa Middle Ages hanggang sa 18th century. Halos wala kong maintindihan. Pero may mga kaunting tumatak sa isip ko na lalo kong naalala habang kasama ko sya rito sa maikling panahon.

Sabi sa libro, at the core of madness is passion and a flawless, perfected reason.

Passion. Kahit anong translation nito sa Filipino, magtu-tunog cheesy: silakbo ng damdamin, simbuyo ng damdamin, pagkahumaling, pagsinta. Kapag hindi nakontrol ng isang tao ang kanyang passion, maaari itong mauwi sa kabaliwan–at wala na sigurong mas may alam pa nito kundi ako.

Gigibain kong lahat nang pinaghirapan kong buuin sa tatlong taon pagkatapos naming natapos, at iiwan kong lahat ang meron ako kulitin lang nya ko ng tatlong minuto. Yung kakulitan na parang bata na sya lang ang nakakagawa. Wala saking nagbago. Ipagpapalit ko pa rin ang trabaho ko, ang common sense, ang hiya, ang tamang pag-iisip–makasama ko lang sya ng ilang saglit. Kahit pilit. Kahit parang ampalayang mapait.

Siguro may mga magtatanong, “Eh kung ganon, bakit mo ginawa pa rin eh alam mo namang wala na? Di ba mukha ka lang tanga?” Sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam. At wala akong pakialam.

Makakalimot ang mga tao, iikot ang mundo, iibig si Kris Aquino, iiwan si Kris Aquino, iiyak si Kris Aquino, at –bukas makalawa–iibig sya ulit. Darating ang araw, mauubusan ng sasabihin ang mga tao tungkol sa kanya at saken, pero ako, di ako mauubusan ng nararamdaman para sa kanya. Continue reading

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“After the boys of summer have gone”*

The Boys of Summer

Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach

I feel it in the air
The summer’s out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I’m drivin’ by your house
Though I know you’re not at home

But I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I never will forget those nights
I wonder if it was a dream
Remember how you made me crazy?
Remember how I made you scream
Now I don’t understand what happened to our love
But babe, when I get you back
I’m gonna show you what I’m made of

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
I see you walkin’ real slow and you’re smilin’ at everyone
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

Out on the road today, I saw a BLACK FLAG sticker on a Cadillac
A little voice Inside my head said, “Don’t look back. You can never look back.”
I thought I knew what love was
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but-

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that hair slicked back and those Wayfarers on, baby
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

——————————
*This is one of those very rare nights that I could actually write something. But then I stumbled upon this on Spotify and now I just want tomorrow to find me still listening to this song.

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A Perfect Contradiction

contradiction

I wanna see you happy but I also wanna see you sad.

I want to see you smiling but I also want to see you bawling on your knees with your teeth falling out.

I’m just glad when I see you glad but I’m also glad when I hear you’re mad. Like I’m mad when I hear you’re mad and I’m mad when I see you glad.

Get it?

I’m sure you understand that I’m not meant to be understood. At least not completely.

See, I would want nothing more than for you to be a success but I’d also pay to see your epic failure. Like an old light bulb going out in a glorious explosion that leaves the room in total, eerie darkness.

That’s what I’m really hoping for and I pray every night for it not to happen.

I mean I really wish things work out for you so swell that when you’re finally alone, staring at the glitz of domestication, you’ll feel a cruel emptiness and the realization that all was for naught.

But god I won’t ever want that to happen to you. I’d do anything in my power to stop it.

Because what I am is a man who only wishes what’s best for you and the bloody apocalypse to come crashing down on your head.

And I’m a man who longs for you and can’t wait to forget you every day.

I’m a man who patiently waits for you while looking for someone else to replace you. Still.

I go left while going right, does what’s right even when the results are almost always wrong.

And when they’re wrong I say, “Well, I expected that” wearing a truly shocked expression.

And when they’re right I say, “Finally, we’re off to something new!” with the most cynical, skeptical look possible.

Yes, I’m a contradiction but I’m quite sure of what I’m saying.

And what I’m saying is that I love you and I don’t, which is probably the most honest love of all, if not the greatest.

But you know it’s all bullshit.

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Science Fiction

alien world

The year is 9014. I could go for an alien if not for you.

One of those alien spawns born from massive swaths of egg farms in AStD941 in Canis Major Dwarf. They’re raised to life-rearing age within a week using advanced cellular differentiation acceleration and culture implantation. My resource-value has long been ascertained by the Government. I can afford an alien bitch.

That or go traditional mech. Unlike others, I don’t have a misplaced sentimentality that puts organics over androids. Who would’ve thought we’d still have this hippie problem in this age of human devolution and social stagnation? Universes are collapsing, realities have ceased merging some years ago, and yet here we are—these activist fools, not me—proclaiming the sanctity of flesh over ferrous? I don’t carry that bullshit. I’d fuck a robot as savagely as I’d fuck a shape-shifting mass of alien tissue if it would make me hibernate longer than four solar revolutions.

But I can’t do that, can I? ‘Cause there you are, still mapped in my neural networks—an electric anomaly that can’t be removed or rebooted. You’re lodged somewhere in the deepest recesses of the unconscious levels of my brain, and no program or custom-ware could corrupt you. In my dreams, your skin still glistens when hit by the original sun, blinding me for a second, reminding me of Earth 1.0., its roaring seas and chestnut mountains. Extinct fauna like jellyfish.

How unusually human of you. Two big, round eyes; thin lips; wavy strands of hair; two pairs of appendages—so simple. Primitive. But maybe that’s why what’s left of my recalibrated instincts long for you over the black holes and eras that separate us—because you take me back to my humanity. You know I’ve always tried to adjust the past in simulation and in linear life, always waiting for the next time-alteration update, but nothing has worked. I don’t even know why I keep trying when the best minds have done the tests and run the formulas infinite number of times only to reaffirm that the philosophers have won—nothing can change the past.

Some days, I’d lie under the shadow of an intergalactic explorer and wonder about you and me as the scheduled breeze blows my hair on the dot. I’d pointlessly ponder the inescapable logic and categories that have defined our actions putting them squarely in one social system or another, then jumble them again in my head, repeatedly rearranging and fixing them like a Rubik’s Chiliagon. But I would always fare no better than if I tried to live my life as another soul. Time and again, I gravitate toward our impossibility.

Where do I find inspiration when the degenerative reification of this multiverse has solved practically all unanswerable questions? No magic now in the air when air has been tagged as a precious commodity. I can’t trust no ship to bring me good news from any new planet or asteroid discovered and mined unless the algorithms birth a messianic mutant that would allow us to break free from these logic prisons we’ve built ourselves.

Where do I find love if the dark curtain of space—its only hiding place, so they say—cannot be peeled off?

I tell myself it’s in the trying. I tell myself a logical fallacy. I tell myself I still can find you and that you can find me before aliens and robots devour my soul.

Before I completely scrap the thought of you as mere science fiction.

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An Entire Mall of Memories

Where others saw endless shops and a sea of stuff to buy, I saw an unwelcome stream of recollections, like vague, semi-transparent scenes from a film I used to know so well.

I was roaming an entire mall of memories.

Maybe it was the night because nights are always cruel. As your metabolism starts to slow down while the moon rises in the dark sky, that same darkness finds its way into your unguarded mind and defenseless heart. It starts digging corpses from graves you’ve tried to consciously forget you dug yourself. The darkness breathes life to the dead.

Not even the lights inside nor the hubbub from shoppers walking hither and thither could shatter that darkness. And perhaps the most excruciating thing was that I kept asking myself, “If this is darkness, if these are such dark memories, then why do they feel so sweet–so colorful?”

I walked a dimly lit path outside the mall, and I saw our shadows on the ground, holding hands, walking… home. Headlights were flashing before my eyes as I crossed the road but I wasn’t traversing it alone like I hoped. It was she and I–staying up late, buying things we shouldn’t be buying because we’d regret it the next day; she and I inside the pancake place, laughing at the stupid piece of expensive, tasteless dough on our plates we both made the mistake of ordering. She and I talking about this and that, what kinds of shoes looked good on women, what kind of affection looked good in public, what types of people our friends were. I saw us everywhere, in every pillar and corner, joking, arguing, laughing and fighting–and it was difficult. I have this feeling it’s getting more difficult by the day.

I put my hands in my pocket, told myself for the umpteenth time I cannot go back without destroying myself. There’s just no going back this time. I kept on walking, reminding myself that it’s just the mall. It’s just the night.

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The Rains

Aren’t lovers like the rain?
They come pouring from the skies,
heaven-sent.
They laugh for no reason
and fill the nights with screams.
They soak the world with fluids
and make everything
so

much

heavier

than they should be.
They make a lot of us sick,
revolted,
nauseated–
an unhealthy bunch overflowing with madness.

Aren’t lovers like the rain? Think about it.
Oh they don’t care about the earth;
clouds drop them like freed angels
and they fall,

fall,

fall without ever thinking,
ever stopping one bit

until they crash

and turn into mud. Filthy puddles in the torn ground.

And aren’t lovers like the rain?
They hurtle in one direction
then go down the drain.
They’re raging rivers and bursting creeks,
claps of thunder and roaring winds;
the drip,
drip,

drip

from a hole in your roof–
the annoying sound while you try to sleep.

You know, I do remember it’s like the rain,
the giver of life
and the most numbing of pains
like ice in your head as your chest burns
and the squish in your shoes
when you brave the stupid.

God it’s stupid.

So stupid it flooded my head and swamped my work!
‘Twas everywhere I looked, shit, even in my bed!
And all the basins were filled–no teacup to spare!
Nothing was dry for everything was goddamn wet.

And I bet

that I haven’t learned a thing from the rains.
Though I say I love the sun
it’s not what my skin seeks.
For as clean and dry as I aspire to be,
clearly, the storms know the real me;

for the heavens set the rule,

the lightning is the judge,

the droplets are the hearts,

and rains are lovers,

water is love.

And I

I’m nothing but

a sponge.

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Filed under Love, Poems

Yun ang Pinakamasarap Don.

Ang pinakamasarap don yung nabanggit mo.

Yun talaga eh. Alam mo yung bigla akong umepal sa isipan mo kahit punung-puno yan ng mga bulaklak, paru-paro, alitaptap, mountain tops–at iba pang magagandang bagay sa mundo? Alam mo yung parang kulangot ako na sinungkit sa ilong ng katutubo tapos pinitik papunta sa kokote mo? Tapos dumikit ako don, kumapit nang kayhigpit kahit ilang sandali? Yun talaga eh. Yun yun eh.

Yun ang pinakamasarap don.

Kasi di ba, sino ba ko? Ibig kong sabihin–sino ba ko sa’yo? Umepaloids lang naman ako sa buhay mo kamakailan lang di ba? Fumoto-bomb. Kumey-espi. Umeksena. Sumabit. Bumalandra. Nag-cartwheel. ‘Di mo naman talaga ‘ko kailangan bigyan ni katiting na atensyon o pakialaman–pero pinakialamanan mo ‘ko kaya abot anit ang ngiti ko ngayon.

Kung tutuusin nga mas resonable pang isipin mo yung tae mo kesa sakin eh; kasi at least yung tae mo araw-araw mong nakikita yun tuwing titingin ka sa inidoro. Eh ako? Once or twice a day lang tapos bihira pa ‘ko sumulyap pabalik. Pero sa totoo lang tanggap ko na mas naaalala mo pa tae mo kesa sa’kin. Tae mo yun eh. Ako rin naman yung tae ko, sobrang close kami nun. Nagku-QT kami nun minsan tatlong beses sa isang araw–higit pa pag may masama ‘kong nakain. So tanggap ko yun. Tanggap ko na sa listahan ng mga bagay na nasa isip mo, nasa baba ako ng tae mo. At sa totoo lang, proud ako na sa araw na ‘to, umalingasaw ako sa kokote mo tulad ng ebak mo.

Yun ang pinakamasarap don.

Inspirasyon na sa’kin yung maalala mo mga pinaggagagawa ko. Pwede ko nang ulamin yung putahe sa isip ko ng isang linggo. Putanginang putahe yan! Ganon kabigat yung effect. Iba yung tama sa arteries. Delikado–parang chicharong bulaklak tsaka isang mangkok na mantika ng tocino. Nung nakita kong tumakbo ako sa isip mo ng ilang segundo tapos dumausdos papunta sa mga letra mo, parang gusto kong hamunin si Shaider ng tadyakan.

Kaya heto, babalik na ‘ko sa trabaho. Pwede ka na ring bumalik sa buhay mo. Ok lang ulit na nagka-temporary amnesia ka nanaman tungkol saken at mas iniisip mo pa ngayon yung tinga mo sa Ma-Ling kesa sa ngiti ko. Happens every day. Alam ko naman maaalala mo ulit ako eh, bukas, sa makalawa, o sa bertdey ko. Ok lang! No prob! Wapaker! Oks lang talaga kahit ‘di na muna ulit ako ang bida.

Makikita naman ulit kita bukas eh. Yun ang pinakamasarap don.

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