Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Calamities are the usual visitors of the Filipino people every year. With broken houses, broken dreams, dead love ones and serious economic problems, we can say that this is a curse a Filipino must pass every year. With this, I wrote this short story. Enjoy....
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
The dangerous life
There's a fire burning outside the window, smoke lingers through the open space of the house. I can barely see due to the smoke, but one thing is certain--it didn't choke me. This is the dream that woke me that day, on the day that I realized that I am living on numbers. That everything around me is manipulated by norms, that being creative and revolutionary is a sin, that really chokes me! So it started that way, in a dream. Anyway, I do believe that my dream has its meaning. Not a mystical one, but a psychological instead. I am seeing smoke as an indicator of what's coming, something disturbing--like fire.
Things happen very fast, I am thinking of resigning out of my job. I've experienced apathy enough with that kind of work, literally that kind of work will turn a sane man into a zombie. Or a clockwork being having an off button at the end of the day and a start button in the morning after. Same old stuff, same old shit, same old fucking faces that you wanna hit. And then somebody's calling the phone, its your supervisor from Japan cursing you with his unreasonable rants. Poor old guy you can't answer the boss with what you are allowed to say in corporate etiquette. In my case, poor old supervisor, this guy doesn't care if he will receive another IR (incident report) for your dumb reasons and foul words throwing at me without any explanation. Voila, MEMO! A fucking memo for calling your boss a stupid dumb-ass who cannot speak English as fast as I am. Who cannot identify what's a significant market to a lowly not profitable one. For being smart and being proactive. A fucking memo for that! Well that's what I deserve, people told me. The only person that didn't laugh is my Fiancee, for she knows my capabilities. Anyway that's out of the question, I decided to leave the company. There are no razrez whatsoever, I packed up my things, say goodbye to a few fellow who treated my stay there and called em mates ( for we consider ourselves prisoners of 8 hour shift) and then that's it.
As I walk around the J.Vargas avenue, I've seen so many happy faces, I am wondering why? Maybe being a corporate dude/gal is their dream in life, maybe sitting in an office and doing what they boss wants em to do sooth their longing for completeness in their being. I am wondering? Does parents want their children to be lobotomized by the system? I dunno, but I think this way of thinking is idealistic and immature (me saying in the future if I will change my views about life and philosophy). A question will left my statement here hanging and for me to continue writing my rants, does living dangerously will show me something (the BEING) that is worth seeking?
It's been awhile since I wrote something here. They say that blogging is like a way of life, everyday you will write everything that happened in your life, significant or not--just write it down. Well in my case, I treat my blog as a significant part to which my ramblings about life,death, and everything in between are intact. when time comes to reminisce those bittersweet whatever, I can just click it right away here in my URL. So for today, I am just updating my blog and preparing a debut poem to which a friendinspired me to craft and wield in my foundry of poems. And what a damn coincidence that I am thinking of Edgar Allan Poe's passage about sleep,( in my mind I was just thinking, "I should write this one") damn! I will just post it and here it is.
―Edgar Allan Poe
the title of this poem is 'what we miss in sleeping', technically the reason why I wrote this one is a mystery. It is for the reader to interpret what I've said and what the poem is actually about in their own perspective. to that, a poet will never reveal his own motives/intentions in his craft.
P.S. tomorrow again I will write something.