Tag Archives: The Bouncing Souls

I’d Like to Think

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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

Hostile

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I was tired and confused, and at the end of my thinking, I hadn’t had anything but scratch sleep in weeks and couldn’t for the life of me see how I was going to go on.

Dolores Claiborne by Stephen King p. 140

I didn’t cry about it as I had figured I would. There I was, staring into the inevitable that was my life. And I couldn’t see it, couldn’t grasp the unseeable future. I didn’t stare long; a glimpse was enough for me to get the message, and every last bit reminds me of John Laurinaitis that, for a while, there was a sour taste in my mouth. I feel so confused, so angry, so damn stupid.

“Did not qualify.” It said. “We wish you luck in your endeavors.” That was my fallback. My setback. My back-up. My safety school.

Now what? What with my life. I did pray too, you know? I really did. Long, repetitious prayers. Every day, every night, every time I think about college, which is more than you can expect from a faith confused prick like me. It dawns the obvious question: is life a matter of intellect or luck? Or am I naturally stupid to not even pass a test that my older brother got frickin academic placement for?

It’s funny because just the other day, the school principal asked me if I had already gotten into a university. I told her that the results haven’t come in yet. And you know what she told me? She said, “I’m sure you’ll get in.” That stings. It really stings like hell… when you know that they’re expecting, when they’re cheering on you because they know you can do it. I honestly thought I could pull it off, but I don’t know where the hell that bravado went.

I don’t think anyone knows at this point just how I feel, looking back at that moment when she said those words, and knowing about this. Disappointment – boy, that really slaps you right in the kisser, doesn’t it?

I failed. I think it’s too early for me to understand this, too early at this time. I should have just waited. I should have just stalled. I should have let things take shape for themselves. I was too excited, and now it has backfired. Right now it’s just too bad.

Now playing: Boogie Woogie Downtown – The Bouncing Souls

Anthem of a Reluctant Prophet by Joanne Proulx

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I’m not going to tell you life’s easy. I’m not going to tell you it’s simple. But I will tell you it’s worth living. Every minute of it.”

– Mr. Hunter (Anthem of a Reluctant Prophet by Joanne Proulx)

A fresh fugitive of one lackluster birthday party one Saturday afternoon, I found myself skimming through the stacks of novels at Booksale. I had wandered away from the side where the Stephen Kings used to sit (most of them have long gone by then), and I had decided to scan the ‘cheaper’ areas – yes, Booksale does have that, where the self-help manuscripts and autobiographies, along with other stray good novels, usually sit. And because I was sensing that the dull karaoke session of the birthday party was nearly over and that it would be time for KFC (and that I better be there when that happens), I finally took the book that Bet was handing me so we don’t linger around too long enough to make the clerk suspicious. It was Anthem of a Reluctant Prophet by Joanne Proulx. And, believe it or not, I got it for only P10.

But here’s where Booksale completely goes overboard because a novel such as this one should never be put up as cheap as that – not that I’m complaining. But it is just one of the best novels that I’ve read in recent times.

Here it is: Luke Hunter is real. Psychic or not, he’s just real, so there. I would unmask him to be anyone, and he’s still real. During the week that ensued, he’d been the best companion, him being so resentful and bitter and contemplative. The first chapter just threw me off guard with the swearing and the metaphors and the wily humor, above all. And for a whole week after reading the first lines, I just could not put the book down. Heck, I didn’t even want it to be over. Just imagine that sad pimply face all contorted when I reach the thirtieth chapter. I was in love with Luke’s character. It was his don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and verbosity or lack thereof that got to me. He was a curious thing, always deep in thought, fearful but honest, envious, dissipated, fucked-up even. When he made that “Stokum Sucks” shirt with Stan, I was just as inspirited to thicken my face and print “I am elite” all over our club tee. It is because of him that my inquisitiveness of the years ’02 and ‘03 resurfaced, as it had subtly submerged when I had stumbled upon CM Punk’s defunct Livejournal blog. Admittedly, it was also him who has buoyantly, unintentionally egged me on listening to music (I have my eyes on Johnny Cash – he’s ’02 album was indeed mournful – and Red Hot Chili Peppers, as of late). Of course, he also handed me the keen interest on suburban life, teen angst, young love… and drugs are never out of the picture.

And of course, there was death and the constant knowledge that everybody, everybody, is going to die. It is no secret that I am afraid of this piece of information, this short memo that appears from the moment we were conceived. But reading this book made me feel completely tacit. As though there is someone to share the mutual feeling with. The feeling of constraint and being trapped in a world that you’re not going to walk on forever. He brought fear, the question of a Supreme Being’s existence and losing faith, the options of what to believe and who to believe. He had the questions that people always have. Why him? Why not him? Why this life? He didn’t have a lot of answers as none of us do, but I think that’s what’s really comforting, what’s really believable. With all the shebang that has been happening these past couple of days, I needed a breather, something relatable, not an advice. And that’s where Luke stood. He was the barrier that sustained all the good things from all the bad ones. He filtered the bad ones and managed to cross them off the list of worries. And that is, by far, cheaper than therapy.

There was Fang, who, at first came off as bit annoying, but became incredibly heartbreaking in the end. I myself was shocked at his big McCreary Park revelation. Of course, we never did know if he ever went back to Jefferson or if he ever did kill himself. But when Luke decided to stick to Fang by all means, even after knowing of the latter’s dirty little secrets, made the story even more compelling for my part. It was climbing Jefferson’s roofs and Fang having an emotional breakdown that broke my heart. I was over all shocked for Todd Delaney because he was right the minute he told Luke that the latter “does not know a fucking thing”. I initially thought that it was only his absent mother that strikes up his nerves, but I did not know as well. So, the thing about climbing Gandy’s Rock was the best. It was just so real and honest and breathtaking, I had to reread it several times.

And then there’s Stan. Or as Luke would describe him:

Fucking Stan. He could do shit like that. Look people in the eye and say good, true things. Fool you into believing that everything you ever wanted was so close all you had to do was reach out and grab it. Fucking Stan. Busting with laughter. Thrilling to life. Making it look so goddamn effortless.

Stan – the dead friend. The holiest friend. The only good and pure thing in the world. Everything began and ended with him. And whether we believe in fate or not, it was all about Stan. Everything was interconnected because of him. And if Luke and Faith’s theory about believing in the godliness of human nature was not true, what else could be?

The writing was bold and remarkable. The novel itself struck a chord in my innermost being. I don’t think I would be able to consider thoughts and feelings had I not read this. It made me focus on my deepest and strangest emotions and whatever it is that gets me down just as Luke had questioned his life. The book had a lot of points that I just completely agreed with. One of this is the disputable opinion of having a fair God, not the one that the church would force you to know about, not the one-sided Being that fundamentalists will tell you about. The fact that Joanne Proulx made Luke Hunter a first-person omniscient was perfect. I would not have had it any other way. Reading it aloud is way better than just keeping the story to yourself, just so you know. I’ve often wondered why I can’t seem to find any other book that Ms. Proulx has written after Prophet. Could it be possible that this is her only novel? Is this going to turn into a movie soon? I am deeply interested in reading her work and knowing more about it. In just a week, she has turned me into a fan.

We could go on and on talking about this incredible book, but that would take me days. It’s just so beautiful I don’t have the right words to describe it. But this is just me. We all have interpretations. This one knocked me off my feet.

Another MUST-READ. Wouldn’t it be if I post it here?

Well it’s a 6/5.

I’m dropping you off this Bouncing Souls song, Like The Sun. I found it rather suiting for the novel. If Luke Hunters had a soundtrack from every time someone passes through his life, here’s what I have heard throughout my perusal.

Drifting alone on a wide open sea, letting life pass me by
Avoiding everything I’m afraid to be, but your heart shines a light
Lost in my own misery, till you came and helped me see
That I don’t have to be alone
Thank you for giving this lost heart a home

So keep the light on
I’m coming home
‘Cause I’ve been gone for so long

Always lost inside, always looking away
When the best moments in life are ours to take
The tragedy of human life, the darkness that lurks inside
The days that we quit and start to die
This is the time to stand and fight

So keep the light on
I’m coming home
‘Cause I’ve been gone for so long

Keep the light on
Yeah I’m coming home
‘Cause I’ve been gone for so long

So shine on
Shine on
Shine on
Shine on
Shine on

Drifting alone on a wide open sea, letting life pass me by
Avoiding everything I’m afraid to be, but your heart shines a light

So keep the light on
I’m coming home
‘Cause I’ve been gone for so long

Keep the light on
‘Cause I’m coming home
‘Cause I’ve been gone for so long

So shine on
Shine on
Shine on
Shine on
Shine on
Shine on
Shine on