a bunch of dreadfully common-looking flowers

If I had graduated last April what could have happened is this:

I’ll end up crazy in some nameless street in Singapore.

And because I did not graduate last April and I am very susceptible to criticisms from family and friends, I have come to think that either way around life is crazy for the inevitable and irrevocable quasi circumstances that leave people to regret the one thousand things they could have done over the two thousand they wish undone.

“I was like this therefore I am like this,” would not serve my case. But what can I say?

A friend tells me a month ago that he feels futile. I ask him now and I hear the echo of his futile self.

Out of the blue, I receive a wall post in Facebook that says I should fix my life. Another friend likes the post.

A drunk Philosophy teacher preaches “You can’t end up with x, y, and z. You end up with one. That’s when you end up with x. You end up with me.”

“Suit yourself,” a friend says. The same friend says, “You are addicted to disallowing people to be happy.”

Another friend asks me if I have certain issues I have to tell him about because I am very sarcastic the whole day.

—————-

This could not be the commencement of my 21^st year.

P.S.

Talk to me when I have developed the one-time skill to clean my room because that will mark the end of this phase. When that happens, I can do just about anything.

For instance, a new blog for my new perception.

I’m fine
is the template to how are you,
and what are you doing reminds me of
“Where Are you Going,
Where Have You Been?”

Unless we say what we mean,
you P-O-I-N-T O-U-T that these are just
B-U-T-T-O-N-S
we key-in to precede
a grin,
as in to shift+
colon
then D.

Then
Then
Then -
for -O-N-’T D-O T-H-A-T A-G-A-I-N.

Because you say “I never thought this means anything,”
instead of “I’m not like this in person,”
so I say “Yes, I figured,” for whatever it might mean;
in place of shift+colon then D.







for -O-N-’T B-E.

I said and wrote and thought of so many things I wish to say. As the events of my life have proven, that kind of leisure is not possible. There are just too many words to waste.

As the cliché goes, things are not always what they seem. You, whom I have never really known all the while, do not realize that you have not known me too. You haven’t tried knowing me.

My fascination is wasted not because you did not succumb to it, but because it is something you do not understand—something you mistake we can settle in the privacy of your cheap trick.

I was wrong to believe I needed closure from you. Closure does not exist. You, from my imagination, do not exist.
And just like you, I said things I do not really mean so I can write about it. Hate is not necessary, as I said. I have always had something else in mind, which you call paranoia.

You, as always, are the character I imagined in my head.

I told myself days ago that I must be needing a tragedy so I can write. It was a bad thing to actually think of it, and worse, let other people know that idea ever crossed my mind.

First thing, I learned that my brother got dumped. And now he is threatening his ex-boyfriend that he’ll kill himself.
Second thing, which is not really as tragic-sounding as the other, my alleged OTL whom I haven’t talked personally in three bitter years, wants to meet me in a private room.

Why would I ever fashion something like these into fiction? when all the world, REALLY, does not care about the beauty and tenderness of intricately weaving un-feeling after feeling after un-feeling–no matter how painful they are for someone who has to know.

For all I care, they are dreadful in an ugly way. Fiction chokes to death.

*One True Love

it has not rolled up yet. the curtain is still down. there is a show on no show. but i must write on that so i can drag this abstract to wherever. so dont expect i am going to mean anything. writing has become so confrontative for me that i have been evading anything that has to do with it. i mean, except on talking about everything that i wanted to write. i tell you, i have been trying. but everytime i sit to rummage for words, i lose everything. it frustrates me. the fact that i have inc’s to complete does not help me to write at all.

and so i am just letting myself burst. i have used all the metaphors i can think of. i have become so impatient with words. i have become apathetic to even find sense to write. although this is ironic, i am teasing myself to meet a deadline this month.