november

harry potter movie.
naruto 515.
having a job with a decent internet connection.
wonderful boyfriend who actually acts like one.


isn't november awesome?

briefs

i confess.

i am officially addicted to Naruto. i have finished the series beginning to current and the manga too, fell in love with Sai, got irritated to Sasuke and Sakura, amazed by Shikamaru, secretly had a crush with Kiba (and almost wanted to dognap Akamaru), mourned over Jiraya and won a bet with Tsunade in a span of three-and-a-half weeks. The show and the manga still continue.

- - -

right now i am sooo busy writing, juggling meetings for my high school alumni and squeezing in a little dating here and there. i had been doing the writing gig for a while now thanks to the nudging of a dear friend and i can say i am able to survive. and somehow, happy.

- - -

a dream of mine is about to come true. in january, i shall be handling a small class of high school students from my rural school and teach them a few things about writing. it shall be my personal advocacy to volunteer for this workshop. i shall be doing lessons a day a week hoping that i can make some difference here and there. hopefully... with my fat fingers crossed. i shall probably blog about this project of mine come january.

bus stops

seriously, there is something wrong with me.

i don't remember exactly when this had first happened or how; but whenever i ride the bus especially when the destination is cubao, my mind goes haywire. as soon as i get my money ready to pay the approaching conductor five rows ahead (i normally won't sit at the first five rows given the choice), i start thinking of marlboro lights. yes. the cigarette. it's not that i want to smoke or anything but it starts competing with what i should say as my destination. in my mind, i have to repeat my destination over and over again for fear that i may actually say marlboro lights instead of cubao.

one time i rode the bus at monumento to meet with a friend at cubao. the conductor approached me for my payment and asked where i'll be getting down. i had rehearsed cubao over and over again in my mind but i began to space out and i told the guy "monumento." he stared at me and said i rode the bus at monumento with a slight sneer. i chuckled and said " oh sorry, marlboro lights!" what?

i don't know how to figure this thing out. am i really that much of a wacko? whaddup. true story.

strangers in the night

3:47 am. it has been a while since i had last blogged and i hope my now two readers would grant me pardon. for nothing has been happening in my life lately to exact a smitten feeling. perhaps i should tell the story of that one who slept over but i would bore myself to extinction if i relieved the ordeal of inviting a stranger to my house, which i shall never do again, i hope.

well... i have ran out of words to say after reading new moon. i have found black boy appealing and a better choice than the blood sucker. i prefer dogs over mosquitoes. that juliet wannabe sure is retarded.

i should finish my blog with a tanaga so as to compensate my lack of desire to write today.

the world precariously sat

atop an old woven mat

and a man obviously strung

by his own weight as he hung

marauder's map

is life really a matter of getting lost and getting found? perhaps it's time i do the looking,
shouldn't i?

validation

i had almost fallen prey to sacrificing myself in lieu of getting in favor with the social network. it is funny that i had almost created a new identity, something in semblance of me but a totally different path... one that i fear may consume my method of writing. almost at the point of simile with others.

yes, i was guilty to have spent hours tweaking css and brain storming for content that i had almost left my original blogs to the deep recesses of the blogosphere. i am thankful that i did not wander that path.

sometimes, you just need real people to validate you, for you to know that you are.

new look

yahoo! finished the blog's new look.

after eons of cussing and fussing i have finally changed my theme.

room for improvement of course, but at least i am no longer green.

here, i plant my dream

soon...

this view shall be mine.

meeting with the matchsticks

i had a great time last night with some of the matchsticks. a whale of time actually.

1. spent the night arguing about work, and not having one. we are a majority of freelance writers, which is a synonym for 'excuse', who debated about money, conflict, respect and catch 22 over iced tea that was too sweet and chicken parts coated with crusty carbs.
2. we meditated on life and what mud hole our feet are currently buried into. most of the time, our ideals of self does not really equate with what we have become and what others think we should become.
3. we went to starlight to baptize the karaoke bar with our own symphony of booze powered voices. somehow, it was so hard to please the stupid karaoke that we have feigned ecstasy at the score of anything greater than zero.
4. lastly, we visited my last company to remind the trainers that they should stop sucking other people's balls and start counting whatever is left of their hair and their conscience.

so much fun, so little time.

a man asleep (wake up, matt)

if ever you see the world again

you will see faces

will you be able to remember

or will you continue living in your dreams

will you hear more laughter

or the silence of their tears

the world does not lie on your shoulders

the burden is never yours to bear

go on and live again for however you dare

the fight is never over until you choose to surrender

...a post for a certain guy whom i have never known personally know but at one point wanted to meet. he now battles to wake up from his coma. wake up matty. wake up.

whaddup?

is an unemployed single close-to-getting-too-chubby gay guy who doesn't dress well. how desirable is that? but i am happy because i have a working rectum and i have a complete set of teeth attached to my gums.

what a day yesterday was. i'll butcher it all by making kwento using haikus.

working your ass off
catching stars and taking calls
unenmployment sucks

it has been a while
fighting over jet setting
i should get laid soon

plate less of chicken
ocean of potatoes mashed
what the fuck? rip off!

binging and purging,
the gang of losers we are
treasures, they are my

to the poet who weaved happiness

i see someone light that path for me

a random star

whom i have previously woven poetry

delighted with quiet ecstatic

overflowing happiness

here i am. wanting to remember the word we created. but it was long gone. we have two different lives now. i have mine. you have yours.

you had me wonder how precious my mind is. how daring it is to think and believe and wonder and exxxagerate and stay real. you are somehow floating above your flamboyant clouds. and you breathe air that is in me. but i shall never forget our nights recounting names of all occasions. i shall never forget the gluttony of edible ideas. i shall never forget the poetry we concocted out of nowhere. and the story that was even without the story itself.

here's to the best times talking. purely talking.

and a wonderful friendship.

to come.

first blog: flood

they say the first should be as monumental as the last. i do not know if i shall be able to maintain this site for there are lots of things in my life that i am having a hard time maintaining - like the state of my hair. being said, i shall try my best to devote part of my mafia wars time to write about my day or someone else's day religiously every week (everyday is better but i'll get there).

i write the first blog 3.16 computer time. flood is 3-inches-above-knee deep in obando, my beloved hometown. all the cats are begging to get inside the house. none allowed. the bed is raised by four paluchina chairs which was supposed to be part of an indistinct dining area now drenched in water. i have lived in obando all my life except for a year in makati when i was in grade six and some odd months in makati again while in a live-in relationship that i had ended. the flood has always been an expected yet unwelcomed visitor. every year it rises in june to come uninvited until it drenches everything it can demonically reach. here in obando we swim the murky waters of our intentions. we hold fiestas for the rivers that support us. we play in the cold waters that bathe our towns - the only way to accept such lonesome state.

there is no leaving the hometown. it will always be the beacon where your feet will eventually take you to when you have nowhere else to go.

i often wonder why i cannot leave obando. i know the reason already before i even ask it. at the moment i'm stuck. but not for long.

after watching 7 pounds

Seven days ago...
I had been facing the same computer at the same bed at the same room of the same house. I am growing tired of the same old days that define my week working working working rummaging the symptomatic closet of the wonderful and eerie and monotonous cubao. thank you for calling me everyday every second every handling time spent on aftercall is bliss that is. somehow, coffee circles in my desk make it easier to be diverted.