After all that sleeping, scurrying, squirming --- I finally resolved to cease the searching.
It leads the leaves to a dance, along with the curtains, the mist of the incense. There’s always a delicate movement that never seems to stop.
Makati burns aglow with a million light bulbs.
Everybody’s pockets are full. Everybody’s extra kind. Everybody’s spending a lot of money on alcoholic stupor. Every year, I think I speak of the same fucking thing.
Love’s (Inevitable) Logic? The only logic of love is that it cannot be found where it does not exist. After all that sleeping, scurrying, squirming --- I finally resolved to cease the searching. Perhaps I made this decision too early, but I’ve already felt that she has no love for me and I can’t love her anyway. So there is no point in persisting. To my surprise, it is more liberating to tell someone that you do not love her. And so I do. And so I am. The dashing dates are good for show and there’s some fun but it’s really solitude that counts.
Love your loveless piece of fate.
Six Feet Under, A Week Of. Viewing around two or three episodes right after the shift, I finished the entire first season after a week. It’s amazing how a drama series with so much death, corpses and morbidity just relieves any grief left you have in the crevices of your body. I found myself sobbing every fifteen minutes, and laughing every twenty. Allan Ball is a terrific screen writer. Or maybe the dialogue is a bit too clever. Too clever, but also too real. Claire goes: “I wish that once, people wouldn’t act the clichés that they are.” Or “Is that the only option? Go to college, get a job, be a good consumer, until you drop dead in exhaustion?”
I stand in applause after each episode. I’d like to thank the Pirates of Quiapo for letting me afford the complete first season DVD set for 240 pesos. The best thing 240 pesos ever bought.
Morning Shift. Once in a while, it helps to experience what it like is to work on a regular day shift, like normal people do. When the skies stop glowing, you can have beer and pizza with officemates. You can sleep at night. This job has been too easy this month. There’s so much slackering involved in each shift that I’m wondering why they pay me. At least the say it will be more challenging this January.
In addition, weekends off are such a blessing. Like I always rant and rave about. Recently, aside from Greenbelt 3, the Racks in Valero is a wonderful place to be during Friday nights. It starts off with an acoustic band with a violinist, the some raggae music for the bonehead men, and bare-backed, stiletto-heeled women of the crowd.
I think it was my high school literature teacher and mentor, Mrs. P., who told me that people are at their most honest when they’re drunk. I’ve always wondered if this holds true, and why people are always apologetic, after they’ve lost all temperance, for their actions they’ve taken and confessions they’ve given in their inebriated frenzy.
H. is back in Manila, briefly for this Christmas season. Last night, together with his UP friends, we met at megamall. I had a beer while they were dining. We headed to Greenhills for bowling, and to El Pueblo in Ortigas for a few more drinks.
We bought a lot of fancy beer lat the 7-11 then headed to the house in Panay, where we had a few more drinks so much laughs, singing, and conversation.
And I slept all day Saturday.
It's December night alone at home, and I found some of my father's red wine. It's open but it's barely touched. I almost finished it. I had a little cheese on the side. Red wine warms my insides and blood rushes through knees.
Sometime while I was drinking, a cat sneaked into our house and happily feasted on a fish left on our dinner table. I saw what remained of the devoured fish, scattered on the dinner table. It’s like a corpse on the crime scene. A little mouse ran across the room. It’s 4 am and the neighbor’s German Shepherds are barking and wailing. Something strikes me, remembering how drunk I was last night. And then I felt afraid. I felt afraid of anything that just moved.
I’m afraid of what I’ve said, or what I might say, or think once I’m drunk again.
