The Usual Pleasures

Sunday night: Slept 10 hours and woke up in the afternoon to visit the mall with D. for my obligated consumerism: a new body pillow, and the more rewarding buys from Book Sale. I found Goethe’s “The Sorrows of Young Werther.” It’s hardcover, newly translated Random House publication for the unbelievable bargain of 120 pesos. I’ve always wanted to read this, ever since I heard about it in Sophie’s World back in 2nd year high school. My adolescent urges made me interested in a book that caused suicide rates to increase. I remember reading that it was banned in Denmark and Norway for a time.

I also got a back-issue (August 2004) of the New Yorker from Book Sale. I’m not a big magazine fan, but this is a magazine that gives yourself a kind of blandishment for your good taste. The magazine has poetry and fiction, good reviews, the most well-written magazine features. Even the font looks good. I afforded this pleasure for P50.00 or 90 cents (against the $4.95 price on the cover.) And I’m reading on quiet Sunday night burning scented oils, while playing the Thievery Corporation, Groove Armada, and Jakata Visions.

Thanks to Book Sale, you can at least take a break from profligate book buying.

Another night: Spent the evening having dinner with D., at a Japanese restaurant whose servings are too big, then coffee at Café Ad.

Saturday: Visiting D. at her place, shopping sale items at Podium, and her treat to an excellent dinner at China Star. Hakaw, fish fillet spicy garlic, seafood rice. Laughing with D. while watching Friends’ final season. PS2 and booze until 6 in the morning with M.M., D.D., V.E. A.V. and my brothers.

I was spent some time listening and really re-absorbing The Smashing Pumpkin’s Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. It’s one of the albums I’d bring if I’m going to be stuck in a desert island. Listening to Billy Corgan’s sad lines, I feel like Rob in High Fidelity (that part about having a which-came-first-the-music-or-the-misery? kind of conundrum.) How easily I identified to these lines:

holding back the fool pretends
(from To Forgive)

rescue me from me
(from Galapogos)

suffer my desire for you
(from In The Arms of Sleep)

tomorrow’s just an excuse way
(from Thirty-Three)

Having these usual pleasures, I remember how I was once miserable high school dweeb singing along to Melon Collie and Infinite Sadness. I’ve already attained a high on happiness that I’d almost be happy to be a little sad. You barely feel that you are yourself when you’re happy.

I'm a Model, an Alienated Labor Model

I’m a model, an alienated labor model. Work’s been so tedious, repetitive, bobofying, and dehumanizing. I have metamorphosed into one of the office furnishings. I’m just one of the pieces of furniture occupying office space. And I’m exceptionally tired of repeating to ask why.

My life felt like a Kafka novel.

And I feel useless. I’m as useless as the in-and-out tray for letters, at a time when everyone e-mails everything.

I wouldn’t have noticed that I’m actually alive if I didn’t hear some chillout or late 90’s music from my launchcast station. And if I didn’t sit beside a window behind the broad metropolitan sky, with a daily serving of sunsets during late afternoons.