I
am actually buying my time to think of things that can complete me nowadays, it
is just that finding the real completion of self is hard to find. Whenever my
eyes post its focus, it tends to shatter in a way that I can’t really
comprehend; a scene to which my moving consciousness is alien. At the moment of
planning the grand conclusion of my life, a strife appeals to be heard at the
deepest realm of my thriving awareness of being a tidy man in a so-called
ordered universe. At first the bite of reality was neglected, to the innermost
complexity of my ‘undying spirit’ to resist the urge to be one with the many.
In that point of time, the diversion to confusion starts to linger, away to the
spirit of the so-called bohemian/idealistic/philosophical life. To which the
conclusion arrives at the most contradictory endings of my so-called planned
existence.
I used to live in a
not-the-usual fashion, burning books inside my mind, burning cigarettes,
roaming and exploring things with my muse, writing poems and drinking liquors
with friends while talking about deepest metaphysical thoughts you could ever
imagine, that was the lifestyle I am imploring to the world/society to
understand. That is life per se on a man searching for his place in a diverse
universe with different sorts of choices are to be made.
I remember once a
Japanese movie character said to the protagonist while his practicing his
samurai skills, the character actually said ‘too many minds must have one’ (I
can’t recall the exact phrase but the thought is more likely the same). And to
that phrase I remember myself being on the verge of thinking of doing different
things at the same time. And David Hume actually talked to me that fast, like a
lightning bolt struck me with a fraction of a second; ‘you cannot see the
totality of the moon, only its partial side’. Damn! It makes sense at all! The
tilting of my hourglass of life is near; I must find a way to cure the fits
that’s eating me. The confusion that resembles the inner cycle of maturity, the
confusion of leaving the old self, everything that composed my future reverberates
like a pendulum in wooden room. The stings of reality crashes as it turns out
to be unfolded, by the things before which are blurred turning to be clearer as
the time of revealing draws nearer and alas the plight of transition came; I
must react on the things at hand.
I
left my old lifestyle with just a snap. Forgetting the usual Saturdays,
weekdays with the muse, liquor heavy Friday nights with some philosophical
talks do not exist anymore. Reality came like death misfiring its stray bullets
on the things I’ve enjoyed doing. The things that I am actually enjoying at
this moment are thinking in a long blank just like ______________. That’s a
non-sense for some persons, because they actually spent most of their time
thinking on the 15th pay out, the 30th, the credit card
and household bills all of that sort to which life of theirs are
revolving. Naïve for others that is
actually their judgment over me that I am taking things not that seriously or I
have got an immature views about things. Basically on ‘mature’ person’s point
of view it is. For thinking about a date, a new phone, a nice car to put a loan
is a mature man’s line of thinking. Not that sort runs inside my mind. I used
to think about a world wherein everyone’s got a right to point things out,
things they want to be. Things that can actually make their lives much better,
the kind of stuffs an idealist dream of. Well as my confession continues, it is
a form of putting objects on the blank spaces that I am thinking of. A leeway
of some sort, call me weird but it is just like a game, like a million chance
of a lifetime game. Putting letters that can actually make you won the price
you dream of, for others it is a six letter word that comprises their
aspiration W-E-A-L-T-H. A typical answer to everyone’s dream but what would be
the completion of my million chance of a lifetime question? Come to think of
it. The prescribe focus that standardized the goals are biting my limbs, as I
walk through the concrete jungle of Ortigas, the conditions are much and much
more becoming harsh. To the fact that clothing myself with long sleeves and tie
doesn’t make sense at all. The furious stares and uncanny words starting to
spray a tinge of stain in my modest being that of which everything that
conspire to transform me to the many is putting blood on my back up; my
philosophy. At some extent it is incomprehensible, but the way language games
starts to mingle with my own language games solitude ‘Ortigas-dreamy-state’ the
violence occurs. Eating my world, being fed up with intrigues that I am no
involved with but they‘re keep on putting my place over it stacks up. Politics of the office, fucking hardcore of
faggots and their escapades are neither of my business. All I want is to forget
the stereotypical bonds to which ‘others’ keep on imposing. Resistance, it is a
tabooed concept on their part. You must conform on the sorts of their doing.
You must put side in order not to be taken down, demotion; a fucking parasite!
A splinter of the civilized world to which numbness is your best friend, for
eating the shit in order to survive resembles the vomiting part! The part of
which, you and I are situated to conform on their own gauge and standard. Most
likely the mores of the society claims to be the standard, a way to which that
presupposed concept to which it is repressed to the core affects the judgment
of the people. It affects everything and the effect is vital. To which the
inevitable part is the convulsive way of stereotyping. Thus the confession
leads in a very furious revolt against societal norms. And as to conclude this
shit of mine a phrase will complete the million chance of a lifetime question
“FUCK THE NORMS!!!”
