Today Is Tomorrow's Yesterday

Death is not only the permanent physical absence of a living being, it is also the end of a solitary and humdrum life. It is the inception of another story different from the one that had just ended. Welcoming the new is a stage too wearisome--episodes of predicaments in getting used to the new that will sooner or later end and die. Death is the end and the beginning, the beginning of an end and the end of that which had just begun. Emotive responses turn up spontaneously through abhorrent feelings. But that, too, is a phase towards acceptance, then euphoria and, later on, death. As bluntly as waking up to the unfamiliar light, as if the sun, in connivance with change, has its way of telling me that today marks the onset of a new beginning. Today, I entwine myself around the new but tomorrow I wallow in and get ready for its death. Today is tomorrow's yesterday.

Judas Kiss

Prevarications of truth are a multiple ways of ingenuity. The mendacities of foolish mouths and deceptive eyes, no matter how embellished, will remain an act of pretense and trickery.
The human head has a size that's smaller than its thoughts. The thoughts that make up the human head have shaped and framed it into provoking falseness.
The dark hasn't been so black, blacker than the night, leaving the clean-handed defenseless. It is the kiss of ebony that marks the fall. The delinquently hiding light seems chastised for no apparent reason. What the mouth utters the mind recoils. "The truth will set you free" but the truth is not at all free. The "freedom of truth" has boondoggled a pitiful mind into its solid phrase.
To believe is such an expensive gesture. Too precious that it takes a more expensive truth to get acquiesced.
The victims fall and rise, but the oppressors rise then fall.

Permanency Purporting to be Just That

It speaks of amaranthine refinement. It insists on keeping the eyes blind. The czar of harrowing surprises; of hurtful deceptive days. What permanency hurls the mind catches and the heart swallows hard. What chips off an overly concrete wall ruins the foundation altogether. What the eyes cannot see will always come as a surprise. Nothing is permanent.

One lifetime, Infinite Soultime

I’ll go to places I can never go in my lifetime. I’ll do things my entire lifetime cannot allow. I’ll even meet people that distance and probability calculated and deemed as negative.

When I die I’ll do all these.

I’ll even go to the highest level of dimension a soul can reach. Then I’ll tell you what it’s like. I can be earthbound for sometime and keep you posted of the future.

I’ll write a book no matter how long it takes. It will entail the kind of world spirits dwell in.

I am not a great person in the physical world, but I will be the greatest soul there will ever be in that realm we all avoid to face.

I am not the holiest person on earth. I even caused too much pain to the people I love. But I promise that I will save all of you from harm. I am not a good player and all factors that make up living on earth forced me to become an unexpectedly abhorred and unwanted entity. My pure heart and intentions as well as my fear of the bad will make me the healer of the world.

I have been waiting to be in the dimensions unrecognized by the many. The souls and spirits (yes there is a difference between the two) are waiting for my arrival.

I will be great! I will be recognized and loved by the living. I will be your guardian. I will be your soul.

This is the plan I’ve been wanting to make, This is the soul I’ve been wanting to become.

Mirror Mirror on Jesse's Wall

I have so much in mind that I could hardly put into words. I was kept on the ground by my own two feet when confronted by the mirror of life brought by Jesse. Since August 21 (six days after my birthday), I could not help but reflect on the life that was bestowed upon me--how I actually used it. I suddenly got scared when I saw what I needed to see in the mirror of life. It reflected the past, present and bounced to the future. It simply shone the light that woke me up as if two big hands huddled around me. Right then and there I knew that I was in a deep sleep for 30 long years and came to realize that you can't be in a deep sleep for a very long time or you'll be in deep shit when you wake up. Talks of how life is ought to be lived simply came and went carrying the impact of a typhoon--it comes ragingly felt one day and gone on the next. I cared too much but got easily drifted away by unwanted forces. Me going adrift was too easy than hanging around, and I was in full awareness of it.

I realized some things while watching myself in front of Jesse's mirror of life.

First, I saw that when you have already done significantly good enough on earth and influenced a great so many with your simple and innocent gestures, you will then have passed the test and will soon have to be voyaged from earth to heaven at a very unlikely time and place inasmuch as perfect timing always comes as a surprise.

This may not always be the case for those who were executed for killing innocent people. With no chance to repent, their lives where taken, too, and souls drifting, but I am not quite sure about the means of their deliverance from earth. 

Second, I was able to peep at a window in that mirror and spotted my erstwhile life. I knew that Jesse had led me to that window on purpose. This was the part when my being adrift was too evident that I couldn't find the door. I was lost.

Third, I am still alive, no doubt about that, and I still have time to allow a juncture of retraction. 

I learned that everyone's future is predestined (yes, in so many instances, I ascertained that it is so), but I also think that there are different doors to pre-designed places that are waiting to be knocked on by us. The lead to whichever door shall be determined by how well-lived we can keep our lives on earth. I may be setting forth my own conception of destiny but this is what I simply saw and adjudged. And even without me putting them into words, you'll find that it is what it is however you may want to put it. The mirror just showed me that.

30 years and counting. 30 years in the making. How have the mirror gone looking for me for so many years? Borne by Jesse I believe you have the mirror now in front of you, too. A looking glass that offered transparency of the future. In brutal statements, don't hate just love, don't be angry just smile, don't steal just give, don't boast just stay humble, don't fear just believe, don't cheat just do good and you will be okay.

But how much of it should I engage myself in, how far can I go and how long will I live? The answer stays unknown. My last naked statement would be, don't ask just live well.

exemplary and inspiring...

When you age, will you be able to ask yourself the question that most people avoid? That is, have you ever fulfilled your dreams? Or have you ever lived up to your aspirations without feeling regretful about what-could-have-beens?

The situation that we were deliberately brought in suggests, if you haven't noticed yet, that a single human being is in no control of billions more. How they think or behave is not your call, at least that much is true. So how do you propose we live our lives without being affected so much by arrogance and greed? I advocate living up to your dreams. 

Your dreams do not, of necessity, have to be grand and familiar. It has to be what you want, in an impulse, an inclination and something that you are excellent at. Not something that makes you normal, in fact being normal is not what it requires, but what makes you just you. 

In case you haven't a clue, making your dreams known is your only ticket away from pretending to be somebody else. If you weren't taught of this in school yet, I would most ardently profess that life is short. In fact, shorter than you think it is.

The Magic of Belle Isle is a movie that focused on the same subject. No matter how many times you turn your back on the things that you love, there is a powerful force that would take you right where you belong. It's a no-brainer, how you must live a life surrounded by the things you have zest for. Not so many people have the courage to give up anything for it. But once you did, then already you have discovered the lesson that our ancestors have been trying to teach us.

Be somebody else and regret that you can not take pride for anything. Note that you have even died long before your life's end.

Be the person that you ought to be and your story will live much longer than you.

Silence Interrupted

The splitting up of a piece of paper. The clanks of fragile plates. The buzzing sound of a busy fan. The echoes of unfamiliar vanishing voices. The mundane movements of light objects persistently gusted by the wind. The light's taking of the room and its retreat by the clock's rhythm. The drowning patches of darkness in a partially lit room. The immobile, apathetic objects granting my stares. The ostensible piece of snug furniture meant to sit but seems to push me away. The kind-colored paint on my walls. An overlay that's more decorative than practical. The gushing of water down the pipes. The descent of the minutest debris on thin air. The momentary escapes from realism.


The silence that's broken by the senses...

A Dream of Reality?

Surreal? Or absolute, genuine existence? 
The difference is as vague as the eyes can only see.
Ultimate question: If living on earth is a calculated endeavor towards judgment day right before the plummet to hell or rise to heaven, then which dream is deemed to be real?
Is your existence in this so called earth the real dream? Or is your destination after death the real reality?


What then separates a dream from reality?

or just bitter...

I sulk. I get enslaved by the compulsions. Disproportionately meticulous and perfectionistic. The ticking of the clock annoys me. People doing what they do again and again agitates the normalcy of my brain as it does in their sheer presence. It makes me sick and want to speak of words defined to condescend, but senseless when uttered. Crumbs on the bed or in between the hairs of the carpet crack my head like a puzzle unsolved or a mystery undefined. Lazy people crouched and unmindful make me shiver in disgust. Irresponsible, absent-minded people boil my blood in a constantly high temperature. They loiter. Garbage originated from them. Disarrangement is the result of their filthy actions. Yes it does, it gets into me when I allow myself to be present in the world where you move around. This is my place, too, as a mortal who lives and dies. But I don't get along too well with your place. As ungenerous as spitting me out of the loop and as feelingless and careless as the earth's gravitational pull keeping me back to your ground. Freedom of choice does not count living on earth or living up to the expectations of being here. I call this a trap. I get all the understatements first before acceptance. But acceptance is in itself an understatement by terminating all possibilities and taking up clinical condition as an acknowledgement of such behavior. I could not even fathom the worst part--that whatever I have now is the result of your world's sickening behavior towards me!
But I see that you are happy effortlessly. 
And I need to have my rituals first before I even get comfortable.


Are these the words of one who suffers from OCPD*? Or is just bitter?


--------------------

*The phrase obsessive–compulsive has become part of the English lexicon, and is often used in an informal or caricatured manner to describe someone who is excessively meticulous, perfectionistic, absorbed, or otherwise fixated. Although these signs are present in OCD, a person who exhibits them does not necessarily have OCD, and may instead have obsessive–compulsive personality disorder (OCPD), an autism spectrum disorder, or no clinical condition. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive–compulsive_disorder)

What Dreams May Become

It’s been a while now and whiling away was all worth it when a still life was born…

The aberrant. The fine & prime. The shady & blue. And the dauntless.

Human differences can be too many to count, but the counting does not even stop at the distinctions in blood or color. There is a continuous crack running through cultural traits that even a single race turns deceptive and inconstant.

One color, one smile, one generation, one country, but different people concocting their own stories, in their own time, as different as it can tell. Making each a far cry from the other and keeping the cultures unique or strange.

One color, one smile, one generation, one country, one place, but broken by language, culture and history… The forces of nature may have brought them together but it’s a story written long before the gods of the universes. It was destiny. What made the little antithetic hands hold each other will remain as elusive as a mystery.

These faces have been sketched where most of the battles that will be fought are in the places where they can neither go nor touch. But here they are fighting the same intangible battle hoping to slip through the cracks and learn the fight.

These various early life existences have been laid out on different roads relying on dreams for more vivid and obvious trails. What dreams may become will entirely depend on the first walks. This is the checkpoint, captured in a most candid way, but leaves the next leaps translucent with swarming threats and danger on the other side.

The aberrant. The fine & prime. The shady & blue. And the dauntless. Dreams are extracted from the divergence of a common race. What they can become will reflect on the checkpoint. That checkpoint is now.

Thirsty? This way --->

Thirty. Add "s" before "ty" and I get "Thirsty". Yes, at thirty I'm thirsty. I am compelled by the moment to believe that all these years I have been walking the wrong path. It is hard to believe what the moment has been pointing at. I have been pushed and fell head down just to see that it was so. It is hard all the same to decipher whether I'm meant to reach thirty so things can be seen lucidly or things just don't get clear as crystal until you reach the path that seems to be reconstructed to look like a dead end. Then you're convinced that you are lost. At thirty, my path ended in crowded bushes where clarity is coercively undefined. I thought I was doomed, but as a kid I was told that life is full of hope and so I clung on to that. More than anything else, justice will be generously served if I say that thirty is such a young age and that hope is at my fingertips. I just needed a nice table to tap my fingers on. I only needed fortitude and tenacity to clear the bushes and find the road that says "This way --->". 
People around me may not have the same mantra but, to the people of the world, it is never too late to eagerly start looking for the road that's danced on to get through. You don't say you are happy unless you've been to that road--unless you danced on that road. I realized that the moment the sign "This way ---->" reveals itself and the road is uncovered before one's eyes, it's time to dance. Don't worry, you'll never know you're dancing. You're just happy. Content. Nothing else matters after that.

Just Another Year Ender

Had 'courage' been sold in the market for public consumption, 'courage' sellers could have been crazily and idiosyncratically rich by now. I am saying this because each year takes just that as we face a new year of nothing but the same old things here and there. As the numbers grow like a piled up mountain of papers, the turning of each phase is nothing but a new number (but even the same numbers are utilized continually) with the same old things disguised as new, no difference from a newly shined 3-year old pair of shoes. Over and over again, the people on this same ground are trapped by the thought that a new year predicates a new life. If you take a closer look at the idea, this thought is a fallacy or a mistaken impression of 'new year' as simply a new set of numbers to fill in dates. Hopefulness may be the major factor but courage is the engine for it to eventuate. Besides, a new beginning can always start in the middle of the year -- a coherent aphorism that remains uncontested, or an aphorism that suits the shiftless. 
Let me then say that twenty eleven was a year that followed twenty ten and preceded twenty twelve. There is nothing more pronounced than that as it was with my nevus that has always been there. As a thought that lingers to and fro, as this blog is mine and mine to mess up, I stubbornly rehearse that numbers don't have the force of power to change what must and what-not. You certainly must have the courage to begin now or wait year after year and watch the changing numbers vanish into thin air. Then you feign courage glancing at the mirror taken aback by the mole you believed you always had at the right cheek but appeared at the left. Fooling oneself is the easiest one. Think again.