Tag Archives: blurtouts

365 for 2012: (52) Fluid

beyond surface marks,

a ripple embeds itself.

the presence persists

———————

May 23, 17:50 pm. Revisiting the thought.

touching the   beyond surface marks,

a ripple embeds itself.

the presence persists

persisting presence.

And  this gives birth to another thought.


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Under Dim Streetlights

Here is something I copied and pasted from the notes section of my iTouch. Even during a cab ride from Makati to Quezon City, the city tries to get through past the tinted car window. You just have to catch it before it gets lost at the next corner. The journey provides the process, the thoughts become the story to tell. 

————

May 14, 2012 9:32pm

I’m inside a cab snaking through Manila, from a different city towards another city. The rain taps on the window I stare out from. I stare out far, thinking of what deep thoughts to occupy myself, internalizing the moment like a sequence from a film. Maybe something about families and the struggle with distance. Or how to get the kids off the streets. Or the problem of garbage. And water. And hunger. Or maybe just him. Maybe just hoping to hear from him before I sleep. Then the light will fall the way it does in the movies while in my head the soundtrack of the moment plays. Fundamental loneliness might fit it. Or that’s more like a song that will play while I’m biking to meet my lover at sunrise. The thing is I don’t know how to bike. Haha. And that’s the needle that pops the bubble. Im back in my cab. Now a lady sings in Spanish and the driver rants about men looking more and more like women. What’s the world come to, he asks. I think of all the men I did not choose and then all the men who didn’t choose me. Manong driver takes a sudden turn, a detour. It will be easier this way, he says. He chooses the way, I do not complain. The street we are on is called Sobriedad and the children play in the rain. It is past their bedtime. And I haven’t had dinner. Actually, no decent meal the entire day. I think of why I made my choices. The woman sitting under a dilapidated waiting shed reminds me of why I chose to leave a man who wanted to take me away. I do not know where we are anymore. The street names are unfamiliar. But we are moving fast. I think we’ll be there soon. I do not know the way but I’ll get to where I have to be. I am after all in a city that owns me. There is no running away. There is no need to run away. The driver steers clear of roads that can get us stuck. I let myself be taken away. Somewhere, the cameras are rolling. Another song, still  in Spanish: quizas, quizas, quizas.

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Conversations with the City

I wonder what tonight will bring.

Polished nails, a decent dinner, another bottle of beer (or more), a cold breeze? Today there is no orange sky. What will I long for then, after the gray heavens stop rumbling, when Wednesday has sneaked up on me?  

The cars crawl through the city while the children smelling of afternoon sweat rush through the dimly lit streets. My hours of work are finished, the reports pile up on my desk. Outside the window, a horde of problems wait to be solved. There is no rest. I walk through the alleys wondering what  needs to be done. A motorcycle speeds by and I catch myself  swept off to the side, clutching a sense of reality that almost escaped me.

The sun is down. The ones in uniforms are on their way home, worn out books inside bags weighing down on their backs. The soles of their shoes crumble with every step on the concrete. The day’s heat rises from the ground, stinging tired feet. At the end of the street a mother waits, forgets about the rice boiling over the stove.  Her child cries in her arms. I hear these things from an opposite corner. The sounds bounce off other bodies, dragging with it another banter, squeal, whine, scream.

Tonight, the city brings me a new story. She whispers something in my ear. 

But I am still behind this window. Still staring at the lampposts light up one by one, illuminating the metropolis inch by inch. The sun has set. Another day ends. What am I waiting for?

Why am I waiting?

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Five Hours Since The Last Call

It’s almost eight. Today I woke up with an anticipated sense of calm. Like, coming from my dreams, there was no other way to feel upon facing the morning in this realm.

I am gaining a sense of bravery here. Talking about the  way I feel in such exposure. But believe me when I say that this time I really didn’t know what the song meant. I just liked how it sounded and paid no attention to the words. I didn’t understand it. But after this morning, I wish I still didn’t.

This is deliberate, the act of stepping out from that shadow of a pseudonym nobody knows about. You will find these words duplicated in another backlit sheet. If you do find that, you must have probably deserved the privilege of access. Right now, not yet.

Right now, we maintain this distance. Let’s try to catch ourselves from stepping beyond the lines. While it is somewhere we’d like to be, it may not be something we need to destroy ourselves for.

Right now, I’ll write my stuff and listen to these songs. You, stay.

And if you no longer can, tiptoe quietly away. Because if I catch you drifting away, I might never let you go.

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Monday Morning Blurtout / 365 for 2012: (44-50) Estimated Arrivals, Definite Departures

there is nothing to prompt this note. it is half past ten and yet it feels like the hour hasn’t moved past three AM. only the fan moves in the living room, whirring steadily. while i listen to a hipster playlist made for mornings like this by a stranger somewhere i’d like to meet someday. there are options to get up and eat or clean up the room or — just get the fuck up. but i’m still in bed, stuck.

somebody, please remind me how do i pick up myself from this. or, no, yeah, leave me alone.

—————-

another strange dream

i would like to revisit,

lost under the sheets.

 –   

under the blanket

there is a body missing,

another concealed.

 –   

under the pillow

fingers search for another,

that cannot be there.

 –

the bed, a landscape

of plains, crevices, cliffs: vast.

 we travel this way.

 –

there’s a map somewhere,

find yourself searching for years

when you go to sleep.

 –   

the return ticket,

the cost of a memory,

brings you back: awake.

 –

strange dream, you again,

always there. where will you be?

gone in the morning.

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Appealing at Daybreak

Half past seven and I’m not supposed to be awake.

Half past seven and I could only be awake. I was waiting when I fell asleep at half past one, listening to a song that hauntingly speaks of the kind of mess I now seemingly find myself  in. The song is repetitive, persistent: Stay, don’t close your eyes. Stay open. Apparently, it seems to have manipulated my own patterns of sleep.

These recent nights, I kept toggling between what I needed to do and what I wanted to do: write a poem or write a report, keep talking or wait for a response, sleep before sunrise or wait for it. I couldn’t let it rest. The thing about absence is that it makes us crave for something that could not be there. There are things that we could have and things we could only allow ourselves to hope for. Like a few more minutes to stay awake. Or another hour. Or the rest of the dawn, maybe until daybreak. Could you afford a day?

Maybe not. At least not today.

So, stay. Don’t close your eyes. Please. Stay. Stay open.

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50 for the 25th: A Kind of Disconnect

my hands are cold. my fingers, stiff, tap on the keyboard. i try to get to you. each letter becomes more difficult. my voice fades into a series of clicking sounds. can you hear me? i press both palms against the keys. warm. do you feel it?

i wish i could.

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365 for 2012: (39) Before Sunrise

There’s no certainty.

I’m waiting with my senses.

Breathing in the dark.

There’s always something about being the one at the waiting end. Oh these things we subject ourselves to. I did write about this before.

So, after all the waiting, what do you get in the end?

 

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-50 for 25th: Good Morning

 The stars have left us.

But we continue to speak of galaxies and universes we converse with, prayers we whisper inside pillowcases or wide open rooftops. Inside my pocket, a piece of paper remains neatly folded. Inside your mug, steam rises. The scent of coffee wakes up my senses.

————

Well. I was just musing about the first day of March and then I realized my word count was below 50 and so I decided to edit the ramble accordingly. What a useful exercise. Hahaha. Oh these thoughts of fifty words or fewer . Such motivating inspiration 🙂

So now, instead of including this entry in my 365 for 2012 Verses Project, I’m just going to start a new project but this time for prose:  Fifty or Fewer  for the 25th.

Yeah, yeah. You get what that means.

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Remuneration for the Wait

Don’t we all dwell on things serendipitous, paradoxical, ironic? We interpret signs, try to read between the lines, sometimes over-analyze. We hope to satisfy  our most banal instincts and our impossible delusions. We dream. We make-believe. We also laugh and mock ourselves for it.

I could hear the laughter, you know. These backlit displays and protected profiles are not enough to temper the energy. It goes on and on and on.

Oh, and did you hear that? Could-have-been, should-have-done, probably-would, maybe-if, guess-so, guess-not, guess-what, will-you-ever, I-would-never, someday-perhaps, perhaps-perhaps.  Here is a list we should avoid.

Do you know what  ‘uncanny’ means?

Yeah? Strange. I thought so too.

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Paradox and Paradise

In a letter I wrote to a friend, I talk about how the concept of emptiness gives such a negative connotation to the actual beginning of things. The reason why  Nothing and Absence is often associated with an agonizing sense of lack is because too much emphasis is given on What Should Be There and Presence.  If only we learned to take things as they are, we would be able to overcome Loss painlessly precisely because Loss as a concept would cease to exist in itself.  

There was nothing to lose to begin with because there was only Nothing in the beginning. 

The song is an appendage to the thought. It is not the point of the post but maybe necessary to the mood and feeling. It could stand on its own, it can also be done without.

 

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365 for 2012: (26) Grey Weather

**Because the rain came too early in February.

Not the only one

left behind, will not stay, who

gets wet in the rain.

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Black & Blue

The song sounds so delightfully painful, it makes me want to dance and do headstands. But for who? 😛

 

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So Shoot Me

Like what I said previously, it’s that little chubby winged creature’s day.

If he’s not tossing around our hearts —

–he may be releasing arrows towards unwilling targets. So please, duck.

And as for me, I’m still waiting for that arrow to come my way.

Say hello to my bullet.

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Workweek Ends

My desk is filled with such delightful thingamabobs. If too much home-dwelling activity prompts domestication, there’s probably an equivalent for a life lived in cubicle corners inside brightly-lit airconditioned rooms. I never thought I’d enjoy office life this much.

I like surrounding myself with all these paraphernalia: the post-its, cutters, scissors, paper clips, bull clips, clip boards, cork boards, push pins, stamps, stamp pads, ink bottles, markers, pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, book cases, book ends,  long bonds, short bonds, special papers, scratch papers, paper trays, punchers, staplers, staple removers — I could go on naming everything that’s on my desk and even justify why I have it there. There’s even a separate tray under my table dedicated solely to office snacks. The more stuff occupying my desk, the more meaning desk-dwelling develops in my life. I’ve begun to fully embrace administrative, logistical, eight hours per day, Bundy-measured workweeks. It’s created in me a life of habit that puts a sense of order to my intrinsic chaos. The overlap of order and spontaneity is beautiful.

This experience is showing me how logical wonder really is. That it erupts in so-called unlikely places when it does because it should and therefore, although it is unexpected, we can anticipate it. Better yet, we can will the wonder in each minute.  That is how I know for a fact that there is never too little time to smile in-between to-do lists and marginal notes despite tight schedules and guerrilla meetings. The random smile will take place when it should if everything has fallen into place beforehand.

Strange? Maybe a little difficult to follow. For the skeptic, even maybe a little unbelievable. I don’t know why I’m saying all these things but, well, this bubbly  blurtout’s been brought about by the accomplishment of the week’s tasks and had I not been able to answer that need according to the order of what needs to be done then maybe this entry wouldn’t exist.

Every little knick-knack tucked in each nook of my desk is evidence of a fulfilling life. I would do away with nothing, make room for more than enough.

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365 for 2012: (23) Dealing with Departures

Before you leave, don’t

forget your return ticket.

Reconsider? Stay.

**This haiku deserves a follow-up ramble on how — bam.

I just can’t deal. It’s so unfair universe. I just can’t deal.

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Word or image, what do you choose? Word and image, nothing to lose.

 

deannewilliamson.com/paintings-iii/

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The sight of your name still pains me.

I feel the letters move from my insides to my lips. I fumble for the sound. It couldn’t quite make its way out.

The sight of yo…

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There is a profound sense of being alive while listening and processing the statement of the need to chronicle the experience of practicing the values we teach and study in our actual lives. Creativity, mistake, compassion, strength.

Positive Discipline

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