I’d Like to Think

The song that pervaded my existence when I awoke this morning opened with, “On the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man. Now I’ve reached that age, I’ve tried to do all those things the best I can”. And while I can never relate to the rest of the lyrics, those opening words remain true this evening. I have had my “Good Times, Bad Times”, and those can never be refracted by memory. Perhaps I’ve even come close to embracing them – even the ‘bad’ part. Cheesy? I bet. Well, tomorrow, I go to college.

Prior this writing, I had all the intentions to freshen my pulsing mind; to sleep (as I didn’t get much chance to do this summer, hence the massive amount of acne that has again infiltrated my face). I am now replenished, hungrier, as though nothing can bother me – not even the fact that, this morning, I ran into someone who had caused a sour taste in my mouth.

But, of course, this also was followed by an unexpected run into another someone who I have not seen for a long time. And, well, that was a sweet thing that made me happy, for what it’s worth.

I would presume that this entry will be a short one. I wouldn’t wish to go back to those entries that I had once deemed thoughtful and beautiful. Doing that would completely obstruct this PMA-train-of-thought. Because, before, I liked talking about feelings, and emotions; repetitious words and thinking. I wish to see/read less of it. It’s like what Rocco and the McManus brothers argued about in The Boondock Saints II:

Fuck it! Do it all I say! Do you think Duke Wayne spent all of his time talking about his feelings with a fuckin’ therapist?
There’s no fucking way he did!
John Wayne died with five pounds of undigested red meat in his ass. Now that’s a man! Real men hide their feelings. Why?
Because it’s none of your fuckin’ business!

So, with all the emotive factors aside, the sole purpose of this writing was to write something beautiful, an ending to all prose and shit; a little less than a tearful goodbye. And while that is not even coming into view, I’d still like to keep all previous writing. A reminder of the fourteen-, fifteen-, and sixteen-year old versions of myself. I seem to like that. Maybe someday I’ll take a look back and reflect on who I am now, today, as of this writing, albeit I’ll never stay like this for so long. But I’d like to remember. Why else did I proceed with this blog?

I just can’t explain to you right now how anxious and excited I feel thinking about tomorrow, what it shall bring forth and mean to my life. It’s a different juju. Like, I never anticipated it this summer, yet I am thrilled to see what it’s all about anyway. I’d like to know what I’m made of, how much stronger I’ve become from those things that never killed me.

I’m pulling off the same thing that CM Punk did in the latter days of his blogging life. Because, as I said, this feeling is different. And no other words can explain it. All the sensation is in the song alone.

NIGHT TRAIN//The Bouncing Souls

Goodbye to me and you
Goodbye to the life we knew
One last long embrace
Let go and walk on through

I’m leaving everything behind for a peace that I can’t find
The ghosts that roam this house
like winter air right through our souls
And it feels like dying
It just feels like time to go

Goin down south to dream another dream
Maybe check out Memphis, Tennessee
Take the night train and an extra pair of jeans
Can’t think of anything else I really need
And all my experiences ride with me

This town is dead to me
And I can’t stop chasing my dreams
I love you more than anything
but what you want I could never be
I love you more than anything
but only alone can we both be free

Goodbye to me and you
Goodbye to the life we knew
Wipe the tears from your eyes
Let go and walk on through

Democratic Country Pala Eh…

Lady Gaga is here in the Philippines for a two-night concert. How about that? It’s what everybody’s been talking about this past week. And, because this country is predominantly Catholic (partially conservative at that), sparks quickly fly in debates whether she ought to go on with the show or not. Little Monsters are doing business tickets while working on costumes, traffic is predicted near SM Mall of Asia, and, idiots who don’t know for shit what an illuminati actually is are trying to get attention with their journalistic views of this entire affair.

I’ve come to believe that we are a fake democratic country. The government says that it “supports freedom of expression”, yet it has the audacity to warily eye and threaten to arrest a talented artist who is just having a concert? And at the end of the day, that’s just that. These “defiant protests against Christ”, this “devil worship” will be just what it actually is in the first place: a concert. And, Lady Gaga is another artist who just wants to sing for the fans and to promote her album. Believe me, she’s not the only musician whose songs have subliminal messages in their lyrics.

So what does Lito Atienza and Tony Calixto care whether Lady Gaga sings Judas in her concert? They wouldn’t even know that she has that song had not they been alarmed by these overly concerned, narrow-minded detractors of hers. Like she said, she’s not a creature of our government. And, anyway, doesn’t the country have more things to be concerned about other than a two-night gig? Stop rushing, go help with the Corona trial or something.

“Her fans are in danger of falling into the clutches of Satan!” Can you comprehend how ridiculous this Catholic leader sounds? It’s embarrassing. As far as I’m concerned, I have yet to hear about anyone getting demonically possessed by listening to a song. I feel that most religious conservatives overlook the lyrics of Born this Way, which does not provoke, but rather gratifies a Supreme Being. Does this act have anything to do with the fact that the song has plenty to do with gay rights? Well, we know how the church feels about that material.

How stupid is it for Christian youths to march to Manila just to protest against this matter? And how dare the government disallow Gaga’s song, Judas, which music video stars my love, Norman Reedus? Listen: if you dislike Lady Gaga, then don’t watch the concert. Case closed.

I’m not a fan of Lady Gaga, but I admire her bravado. She said, “It’s not about the music, but about being yourself”. This is what people never get. Unlike the dim-wits who foolishly tagged along the bandwagon of “anti-illuminati” (are you serious?), the Mother Monster has her own beliefs. Tell me, did half of those Christian fundamentalists even did their research on Lady Gaga or her music? Or, did they just march in with their placards because some idiot quoted a nonsensical “translation” of Alejandro?

This I get: these narrow-minded people are so dogmatic that even depth cannot fit inside their constricted minds. Hence, they feel opposed to metaphors and symbolism that they’d rather listen to some lucid, meaningless cliche lyric of a sappy love song that repeatedly talks about feelings and nothing more.

I’m not for the belief that we are what we listen to. How stupid is that? I listen to songs that I feel do not completely – or even partially – make up my being. Amy Winehouse, for example: Frank album, which lyrics I perceive as an honest view on relationships, lustful men, and women in speakeasies. Yet, I’m not in a fem-dominated relationship with some guy who would eventually kick me to the curb. Point is that I listen to Amy Winehouse because of her witty abrasiveness and second-to-none talent. What we are is what we profess, not what’s coming out of our iPod. Any smart person that is entitled to his/her belief knows this.

Art is expressed in diverse ways. Music is art. Lady Gaga is an artist. One must completely comprehend what that means. The show must go on.

“All the things that I sing about and the way that I am, my lifestyle is just part of this one big giant life performance-sized statement of liberation…. So many people have been protesting, and it really doesn’t bother me, truly, because I know there has to be change…. I am you, little monsters. Tonight’s not about making a statement. Tonight is about us all coming together because we believe we were all born this way. This is a singular moment, a moment for us to share, to forget about everything else and just dance.”

– Lady Gaga, The Born this Way Ball: live in Manila

3. Favourite Male Wrestler

CM Punk. Best in the World.

Yes Yes Yes Daniel Bryan!

Two indie schmucks who didn’t turn out so bad. Best technical wrestlers around, in my opinion. Need I say more?

To the Next President of the English Literati Society of My School

To the Next President of the English Literati Society of My School

Indeed you are.

Dear Mr./Ms. President,

I meant to write last March, but I never wanted to remember. In reading this letter, which you will only find as either derogatory or insightful, please bear in mind that these are not tips. Helping hasn’t always been part of my nature, and I will tell you that I am out of my braggadocio shell as I write this. So I hope that you manage to see past my ramblings and read on until the end. Most especially, I hope you get the message that I am trying to convey.

There is a saying that goes, “A wise man learns by the mistakes of others, a fool by his own”. Well, my friend, I’m going to tell you that you will be that wise man for I had been that fool.

None of my predecessors gave me any memo about the traumatic extracurricular that we call English Club. I’m never angry, sad, or frustrated about that, but I wish that I at least received a heads-up before I attempted something. I guess that that is the drive that allowed me to write to you. I came up with twenty things that may or may not help in your ventures. If you are skeptical, close this window right now because reading will never do you good. But if you are amused, go on, sir/madam, and comprehend the following pointers to heart.

1. The campaign period is inevitable by the last week of June, and if you aren’t fast enough, it could just hit you in the face.
2. Your smartest investment will be choosing nominees for club officers that are designated in the field of English and the arts. It’s what we call a win-win situation.
3. During the orientation period, whore every building. No exceptions, and especially no “but’s”, for that is the place in which shit comes out of. And, trust your orientation group because they will be your only friends against the mean-spirited pricks of each different classroom.
4. Whatever you decide to call the club – whether it be English and Arts, or English Schmucks, or E-Lite Society again, make sure everybody gets the name loud and clear – especially those teachers.
5. Another heads-up for orientation week: try to be human. Mag-Tagalog din because, according to a teacher who tried to help me at the last minute, “the students are intimidated”, that’s why only a few kids are joining.
6. Once the officers are elected, get to know one another for better communication. But while that is so, refrain from leniency. Trust me, too much of both will disinterest you. Be strict.
7. Take suggestions from your officers, and make sure you get one instead of just complaints. Those officers might be good in English and the arts, but a nonsensical mind will make for a mediocre result. And because I didn’t get much of it last year, find support from those officers.
8. In meetings, ALWAYS bring your club adviser, and ALWAYS ask your secretary to keep a record of what you have discussed.
9. If one officer doesn’t want to have a club t-shirt it, but everyone else does, push through with it. If two officers don’t want it, then don’t do it. It’s going to be hard, and it will only show how adhesive the group is.
10. Implement writing contests. We have a lot of students who very much excel in writing, but are not regarded for it. This is because our school does not publish a school paper nor does it indulge in nationwide high school writing contests – which is audibly odd for a private school.
11. I don’t blame you if you don’t wish to continue The Beacon, our school newsletter. But if you do, I hope that you will be more persuasive than I ever was. Monitor the publication yourself. Never be a cliché in your choice of words. AND, make sure that thing comes out colored, for God’s sakes!
12. Two sports news is enough – no matter what the authoritative figures tell you. You’re not writing a sports column now, are you?
13. Never mind those jackasses who just want to make your blood boil by turning the newsletter into paper airplanes – this will happen, take it from me.
14. A lot of people will always think that the English Club is boring because it connotes the English-speaking campaign – which, again, is inevitable. And apparently, speaking in English is “baduy”.
15. In classroom competitions that involves your club, look for ways to secure that the deserving class wins. The first section cannot always win when another class deserves it more. This will set off the students’ ire – as was the case with our English speaking campaign last year.
16. If there ever is a Thanksgiving presentation (I hope there wouldn’t be), best believe that whatever the Powers That Be tell you, fact is this: the pre-school and elementary pupils do not care. It’s the high school students who give a damn.
17. No one wants to watch another play for the Christmas program. Innovate – I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.
18. If there’s “not enough time”, heads up, my friend: make time. Do that and I guarantee that you will never be placed in the same humiliation that I had endured just before the holidays.
19. We seem to have lost the theatrical art that I used to enjoy in our alma mater. Whatever happened to the speech fest? Try to get it onstage, probably during one of those dull days in foundation week. If you can do that, I will forever applaud your bravado.
20. Document EVERYTHING that the English Society does – most preferably with a camera. It will not only make for bragging rights – you also need it for the end-of-the-year scrapbook. But that’s another story.

Difficult? No, it’s actually quite simple. We just need you – the charismatic sonofawhore that will make the school a better haven for the liberal arts – and your genuine time and passion. There will be ups if you persevere, and a lot of downs if you are meek, as was the case with me.

But when it all comes down to one day in which you feel unsupported, betrayed, beat, or heavy with these burdens that we call “responsibility”, always remember that you are never in this alone. You have your officers, advisers, subject teachers, fellow club presidents, and most importantly, the voice of your classmates – however rude and insulting they may be. At least they’re being honest to your face.

The title that you have right now bears so much meaning, so much more when I finally stepped in it a year ago. You may or may not have earned it. Some will hate you for being a complete douchebag for bearing that mark. At the end of the day, it’s just high school, man. No biggie?

Two years ago, before running as vice-president, I had fooled myself into thinking that I already had things sorted out. Unfortunately, because of the difficulties that our school has endowed on my ideas, I failed to deliver. I sincerely hope that that never happens to you, my friend.

I hope that this message gets to you, and that if you find it insightful or has helped you in any way during your term, that you pass it on to your successor. If it never did you any good, you are free to trash talk this letter and shoot me in broad daylight for ruining all the plans that never involved the aforementioned. In high spirits, I hope you have a successful and prosperous term.

I sincerely wish you luck in all your endeavors.

Yours truly,
X Kat Punk X, Club President
English Literati Society
SY 2011 – 2012

I am Magical!

I signed up at Pottermore a few days ago, and well…

SkullPhoenix26422
House: Gryffindor
Wand: Apple, Dragon core, 12 3/4 inches, supple

Blaze by Richard Bachman

He was going to make this happen. His feet and his head was set, and when he got that way, he always did what he said he was going to do. It was his pride. The only one he had.

– Blaze by Richard Bachman

I remember reading From a Buick 8 a summer ago and being completely at loss for words. Not only do I feel the same after reading Blaze – a novel strewn from the mind of a 70’s writer (and who had since died of cancer of the pseudonym) who had turned the transcript to its true maker, Stephen King – but I also spy a twinge of depression in my core.

Blaze, though fictitious, seems like an actual person, who, I believe, deserves more: more justice, more truth. His character upheld the entire novel, which in turn, makes us think about options: the good ones and the bad ones, and how life would, could, should turn out to be so much more in whichever we choose; chances; the right call. The drive to stay alive. The desire to achieve something great before we die. The cohesiveness of using and being used. The importance of indulgence and freedom. We can choose to be bad if we deem it for the good of ourselves, of society, or of the ones that matter to us. We all have reasons – reasons that are not always acceptable. As Brandon Flowers sings, “You were born with goodness”, and it is amazing how the bad can sometimes end up as or for the common good.

It was sad. The idea that struck me the most was knowing how Blaze’s life could have turned out differently. How it could have been had he not triggered his father’s ire in those early days of his life, had his friends stuck with him for the latter parts of his days, had people listened and had not overlooked him, had people not used him, and had he not fallen in bad company. Fact is, Blaze is a good guy, probably the only con that you can sympathize with. All he wanted to do was to take care of that baby. He could have done so, too, but we all know that Blaze wouldn’t be going anywhere. He just kept on running, keeping the kid safe in his arms, enduring; keeping his pride – the climax that construed the complete and irrevocable sadness that I cannot even clearly express. There was just one way to end the tale.

It broke my heart thinking about life’s purpose and the freedom that comes with it. There is always the inevitable, and there are many people, myself included, who would like to come out of it embossed with things that we never screwed up; things that we carefully plotted not because of greed but because we deserve it, and we understand that best. It’s sad thinking about watching birds fly in their absolute freedom. Or dying for someone who will never know you when you’re buried in the ground. Blaze just wanted a purpose to live – anything to tell him that he’s doing well on his own; somewhere he can place his faith, among other things.

It’s painfully emotive how Stephen King can grip at your heart and toy with your feelings. Well played – it works in a surprisingly real way, too. In his foreword, Mr. King bade the Constant Reader a pleasant reading, hoping that we mist up, and hoping that they wouldn’t be tears of laughter. Believe me, the heartbreaking truths of human nature and the odd hand of God cannot suppress a laugh out of my stomach. It is more difficult now to divert ethics and morals, and I think one has to read Blaze’s story to understand why.

4/5

As by the door to get to Heaven
Seven trumpets big and bright
You hear it coming in the middle of the night
A caution to the children
Time to turn your crimson white

We’ve all got reservations
Trials will come suddenly
And without explanation
But you were born with goodness
You were born with goodness
Wherever you go now

I’m right behind you
In the light of hope
I’ll be beside you
On that dusty road
And if you get blind, well that’s alright
Wicked winds blow with grace and might
Cling to the ways of my name
When you touch the stone

Break your word over me
Sinking in the quicksand
Break your word
Don’t you see?
You’re breaking me down now

I’m right behind you
In the light of hope
I’ll be beside you on that dusty road
When no one expects you to deny
And no one accepts your reasons why
You cling to the ways of my name
When you touch the stone

No one expects you to deny
And no one accepts your reasons why
You cling to the ways of my name
When you touch the stone

Why I Boycott Jack TV

It’s summer again.

You might be wondering where I’ve been.

I graduated. From high school. That suck of an institution, in reality. Been on a Stephen King frenzy. I’ve only really read him last summer, but it seems that all I want to do now is buy all his works. I just finished Different Seasons, and I’m just starting in on Blaze. I’d probably proceed to Dolores Claiborne. I don’t know what’s up with me. Don’t know what’s up with this blog. Or with music. Or with today’s literature. Or even with wrestling.

That last one strikes such a bad chord. Two months ago, Jack TV removed WWE from their network. At first, it was just a “satellite-thing”. But then weeks piled up and everyone lost all hope. You should see their Facebook page – it is completely littered with WWE fans ranting about the loss of the program and the establishment of seemingly suckish shows that could never get Jack ratings. 

I don’t think Jack TV will bring back WWE. With Walking Dead, Criminal Minds, NCIS, Family Guy on their team, I’m rooting for FOX now. They already released a teaser for WWE. I’ve been rather hopeful. But it’s taking too long. Yesterday, out of sentimental reasons, I actually turned the pages of my December 2010 copy of the WWE Magazine to the Body Shop and worked out like Dolph Ziggler, thinking, I just want to watch wrestling on my goddamn cable, goddamnit.

Anyway, I’m keeping track of the events that I have missed since WWE was unjustly torn off my cable. Lots of props to Jack TV for this.

 

Whatever happened to Eve and Zack Ryder?

The Miz on Psych

HBK’s “return”

Santino Marella winning the United States Championship

CENA/ROCK BATTLE

PUNK/JERICHO WAR

Eve’s heel turn, of course

Team Teddy vs. Team Johnny

UNDERTAKER VS. TRIPLE H VS. HBK

WRESTLEfuckingMANIA!!121212!!@@!@!@!!!

Lord Tensai?

BROCK LESNAR’S RETURN

That’s about it. Fuck Jack TV.

 

 

The Road to Take in Departure

I feel I am excited, so excited I can hardly hold the pencil in my trembling hand. I think it is the excitement that only a free man can feel, a free man starting a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain.

– Different Seasons: Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King

Tell them that I’ve made the journey
And tell them that my heart is true
I’d like his blessing of forgiveness
Before the angel sends it through
And I will know that I am clean now
And I will dance and the band will play
In the old out to cantina
‘Cause we’ll runneth over the ancient clay.

– Brandon Flowers (Magdalena)

I’ll be graduating in a few hours. I have always imagined this day as a happy, exciting one with dedication letters – and with me without a care in the world. But… I actually feel a bit morose. The thought of starting over, entering a new school with new people as a new student (for the first time) penetrates my soul and depresses me each day. Thirteen years in this damn school, imagine that. These past few days have only been the bests of my life. But then again, I have asked for this much-awaited freedom for so long that it’s too far away to back down. I’m slowing down and taking my time to evolve.

Fart Life

I have been skimming through this poem that I wrote three years ago. It’s been hidden since then that I thought it would turn out amazing or meaningful now. Back then, it felt like a masterpiece. But, after reading it today, it felt worthless, destitute; incomplete.

It’s funny. I was thirteen when I wrote that poem – almost out of my first year in high school. The Seniors then were so cool that the title alone bore such fecund distinction. From the outside looking in, I had at least hoped that our batch would turn out to be like them. I now feel years behind them; immature. I am full of bitterness, though I can never understand why.

I am almost seventeen now. My anger has consumed me, and thinking about it frustrates me all the more. I don’t like who I have become, but I’d like to shove my way to where I want to be.

On Monday, I’ll be reconciling with a lot of people because that’s how I roll. I need to get some things off my chest.

Poems are not like novels or legal opinions; they are more like blown leaves…. Poems have a way of getting lost under sofas – it is one of their charms, and one of the reasons why they endure.

– Different Seasons: The Breathing Method by Stephen King p. 446

A beginning and an end
A full bag finds its place
Another has been left
Half-opened and untraced

Another has been reached for
Just to have and to hold
Another is being washed
Before it could get old

The things observed at hand
Used to be eras away
Now years have mounted up
Just counting on your stay

As real as it could get
Childhood swiftly flown
Visions of uncertainty
Vaguely outdoes what has grown

A toga lightly brushed
A cap proudly worn
An end to life’s stories
A promise she has sworn

Books soaked with hopes and regrets
En route to summer school
Not a fretting matter
The boy is but a fool

Reminiscence ascends
Atop the faded stoop
A spot where she sat on
When she had met her group

Hope fills the atmosphere
Next to that stapled joint
A spot he had stood on
When he had made his point

Bitterness and anger
Kills her sorry soul
Restrained from her merits
She cannot control

A casket says goodbyes
So innocent and young
A soul who left off plenty
Where new life had since sprung

A stage set for reckoning
The carpet paced and blue
Firmed desires and goals
Halfway coming true

When harmony settles
We see no disarray
But endings are expected
For life passes away

Sabi Nila

This isn’t sour grapes. Cold, hard truths need to be said right now.

“I’ve grabbed so many of Vincent K. McMahon’s brass rings that it’s finally dawned on me that they’re just that, they’re completely imaginary. The only thing that’s real is me and the fact that day in and day out, for almost six years, I have proved to everybody in the world that I am the best on this microphone, in that ring, even in commentary! Nobody can touch me! And yet no matter how many times I prove it, I’m not on your lovely little collector cups. I’m not on the cover of the program. I’m barely promoted. I don’t get to be in movies. I’m certainly not on any crappy show on the USA Network. I’m not on the poster of WrestleMania. I’m not on the signature that’s produced at the start of the show. I’m not on Conan O’Brien. I’m not on Jimmy Fallon. But the fact of the matter is, I should be.”

– CM Punk (Monday Night RAW. 6/27/11)

I feel so fucking sentimental and I don’t know why, but it really keeps me down. Is it knowing that I can never reach my aspirations as easily as I had plotted out? I’ve always believed that there will always be a part of you that knows what will happen in your life. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I really think that there are signals in our existence that just about assume the factors that will lead us to our fate. I know I will never get shot. I know will never get kidnapped.

Hell, I know I will graduate without recognition, no matter how much crap I’ve brought to that school. Crap that seems honorable to them. No matter how much I had endured to get to where I am. How responsible I had been. How good. How very good. All those extracurricular, those class plannings, bulletin boards, reports that I worked hard on – and four years, four fucking years of taking charge of four different classes – they don’t matter! At the end of the day, I’m just another graduate without honors, or salutations. No fucking scholarship – far from what I had envisioned. And, I’m never going to my dream school, which had been too good to be true when I hallucinated. Visions – they cloud up stealthily. And if you’re not careful, if you forget to keep your eyes on the road or your feet planted firmly on the ground, those visions might just blow up in your face.

I know I will never win the previous writing prompt that I joined. I know I’m going to die someday. It hurts thinking about that last bit. Not moving. Not doing anything. Nothing. Last Wednesday, I had a conversation about this with Claudette, and what she told me was just the saddest thing. It makes me stone cold pensive now when I think about it, so I try not to. It’s just been so long since I popped the question about the inevitable to say what I fear, to know what I don’t know. It didn’t make me feel better.