"same-same"

I was diligently waiting for March to come in order to blog anew but thought of ending the current month instead. How have February been? I'd say it was a shorter version of any other months. As how my fellowmen in Dubai would put it, "same-same". So what really consist of these so-called 'same-same' things that happen in a month? They all scream with work-home-work. A once-in-a-while social affair jumps in on the brief but loaded up roster, which I somehow don't find relaxing at all. Not only that it exacerbates the stress that has already been spelled out in every corner of each month, I believe it also pushes to categorize me as 'old.' What the heck?! No one said that. Rather, the best way to refer to it is that I have started to see life in a different light--just the way mature people do. Still throws me back to 'old!' Hah! I don't give a shit.
Oh well, away from one's native country, a month feels dragging big time. There are two things; you either want the time to travel faster towards the end of the month to get the feel of the salary once again, OR you want the time to travel fast to the future to see exactly how you'd become rich. The second, of course, does not happen. And the first? It is a salary swept away by the winds and storms of the desert. Thank you for the good news but the good went bad in a snap. This is the life you would particularly expect as an expat of a country too obnoxious towards Filipinos (Racism, by the way, will never cease as long as there are particular races that make up the world, so better not hope to be treated equal with them whites). So life in a month in a foreign country is an awful waiting moment for nothing. Strange enough that we prefer this than Philippines. Yes, for in the Philippines 'to hope' is not a very promising way to assure oneself of a better future. You work to live and kill yourself simultaneously. Merely the reason for swallowing what foreign soil has to offer--survival. Yes, each passing month has ingredients of survival or surviving moments that give us the right 'to hope,' at least. C'est la vie.

The Lying Gene

I believe that every person, one way or another, is untrue to oneself. Our taste of judgment is very strict in isolating those who survive by lying from those who believe that they are fair to themselves by being true. But truth, being heavy a word, is never the same to everyone or at anything for that matter.

The human mind is the only thing that goes beyond human reach, capable of travelling through time, to the future and back. The mind has the widest range that all forms, impossibilities and possibilities are confined. Those that are difficult to realize all materialize in the mind at no cost and with all the pleasure one can get. It can be vague or clear in all dimensions, and on other ways, beyond the bounds of possibility it allows man to visualize its creation, a never ending series of such in fact. It kills the undesired or brings to life the desired. Beyond the universes, it saunters around limitlessly. On one hand, beyond the limits, it possesses an extraordinary power to control corporeality. In other words, it exhibits the dangers of manipulation. But, on the other, it can be stuck in one corner away from catastrophic adventures, might-have-beens or, in general, the world as it is--I’d say an arbitrary choice.

In moments of society’s provocation on man’s set of inherent distinguishing characteristics, the mind thinks of endless ways to cover up the unacceptable behavior--as per the norms set by society; or, in a much smaller scale, unacceptable to friends and the surrounding holier-than-thou. In simple words, people lie to save their asses. But lying, as provoking and undesirable as it is, is an art. In every man’s artistic way, a lie can seem to be either true or just a mishandled lie--the latter is unquestionably self-destructing. Oh! But the former can save you until the next lies to come. No one in the world ever said the truth about something in its true essence. One way or another, the truth is engineered in such a way that it would sound better and cause less pain. Some lies are necessary but, nevertheless, still a process of staining the truth.

Is it really all about lying? Or is it just the different ways of speaking the truth?--as trying to be told in the hardest of ways in the wildest illusions. The art is too dangerous to learn and too heavy to carry that carelessness will break you to the point of no reparation. On the preamble, I broached that there are those who survive by lying--communicating the mind through various artistic abilities, imparting self-crafted procedures as opposed to the ones already created and elucidating facts on a rather strange light. What an exciting world it is where truth seems to be hiding all the time. The more the earth gets older, the more it becomes difficult to see an undisputed axiom as mankind becomes accustomed to routine and therefore discovers better rules for manipulation.

Truth is, lies are all there is. There are a whole lot of reasons lined up why people lie. That being human nature, there is no point in enumerating them, but to mention a few; a father would lie to his sons and daughters about his terminal illness to avoid spoiling or disrupting the sequence of a workaday routine. A husband would lie about how he desired another woman’s body. A fed up employee would lie about being sick to absent himself from work and drown in alcohol. A man would lie about being hurt or emotional to project a two-fisted image. The woman is the best liar of all; she would lie about being gullible or emotional to prove that she’s making decisions soundly and substantially. She would lie about her actual weight and body measures to pretend being sexy. She would lie about everything to seduce a married man, in the same manner a man would lie about the size of his one-eyed trouser snake in order to get laid. She would lie and pretend that she’s intelligent and ask ‘what disease did cured ham actually have?’

It is an ultimate fashion that never fades out and will not under any condition go downhill. I do not intend to strike you blutterbunged for I myself lied as much as you did, just make sure that they slip through the cracks and you still seem to be redeemable at the end of the day.

And Because Love Battles

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.

About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.

I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.

What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.

And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.

But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: "The one you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me,
look how she's light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera."

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don't know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.

Here I Love You

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

...

"Just as man is free to attempt to survive by any random means, as a parasite, a moocher or a looter, but not free to succeed at it beyond the range of the moment--so he is free to seek his happiness in any irrational fraud, any whim, any delusion, any mindless escape from reality, but not free to succeed at it beyond the range of the moment nor to escape the consequences."

...

"Integrity is the recognition of the fact that you cannot fake your consciousness, just as honesty is the recognition of the fact that you cannot fake existence--that man is an indivisible entity, an integrated unit of two attributes: of matter and consciousness, and that he may permit no breach between body and mind, between action and thought, between his life and his convictions..."

...

"Do not envy a worthless heir; his wealth is not yours and you would have done no better with it. Do not think that it should have been distributed among you; loading the world with fifty parasites instead of one, would not bring back the dead virtue which was the fortune. Money is a living power that dies without its root. Money will not serve the mind that cannot match it. Is this the reason why you call it evil?"

...

"It is not justice or equal treatment that you grant to men when you abstain equally from praising men’s virtues and from condemning men’s vices. When your impartial attitude declares, in effect, that neither the good nor the evil may expect anything from you--whom do you betray and whom do you encourage?”

...

"A genius is a genius regardless of the number of morons who belong to the same race--and a moron is a moron, regardless of the number of geniuses who share his racial origin." | "Racism," The Virtue of Selfishness, 127.