Wet Wet Wet Round# 4

For the final round, Riley and Shirl went ahead so there's just three of us trying to fill-out the blank page. And so, this is how we concluded our Spazzio evening. 

Below is a transcribed version of our drunken free writing activity.

The necessary form of release-- Eh, ano ngayon? This is NOT poetry!

You can also click on the audio to listen to this glorious garb of gibberish.

Round 4 07262011 Spazzio - JOV by Amber_Light


Round #4, 1st line by Cor – read by Jov

I’ve been creeping in crevices
beneath your head, where
is your soul? Not beneath
my heart but throughout my life which
is where I have expressed myself in
whole. Where do I get out?
The same crevices where
I crept in? Or do I
stay? Can I wait for
something? Always, you
and I will find something.
Anything. Enough that it
will suffice for the short
lives that we were meant
to live. And so I ask,
do you dare to stay?

Stay there? When you could
find other creeks and cracks in which
you could live a life so unexpectant.
You’ll never know what’ll come next.
Take the risk, enjoy the journey
on the path you walk. Live the
dream.
Live the dream. Even at
times they turn into night-
mares. The important thing
is, you wake up. Sooner
or later.
Wait just enough for the
change you need, want,
live for, to occur. Nobody
said you shouldn’t, you
have a choice. We must
live, it is not enough
to survive a menial
existence. All you have to do
is strive. Strive on that energy
a life support line… but what
if it runs out? You’ll never
know when it’ll strike until that
last moment. Then you’ll realize
that what you have lived was
more than just a life. It’s
a memory embedded in your
dead mind and living on in
the memory of others. You’re
a part of something more.
You’ve slowly helped the world
become what it is today.
Complete the uninspired.
Put a period to what is
hanging. Stop what lingers.
Live. But know when to
halt thy breath and
rest.

Cor, Shane, Jov

(Jov read, hoo-raaaah! Can't believe we did all this in one night. All this mental literary diarrhea on four pages. I felt so light coming home. Thank you (ala Natalie Portaman. lol.) Cheers to the night we felt alive.)

Spazzio July 26, 2011

Wet Wet Wet Round# 3

Below is a transcribed version of our drunken free writing activity.
The necessary form of release-- Eh, ano ngayon? This is NOT poetry!

You can also click on the audio to listen to this glorious garb of gibberish.

Round 3 07262011 Spazzio - SHANE by Amber_Light


Round #3, 1st line by Riley – read by Shane

It is not the best nor the worst of times.
I never said I’d bring the flowers. And
please, don’t call me ‘Ishmael’. I am merely
black ink on a tide of salty volume.
This is not the ocean
either. Nor is this the mountains.
This is just space—with
all the textures, with all
the flavors. With all the
“ifs”. Vast and undefined,
like the soft lines of your
palms, the curb of your
brows, the air that we breathe.
There is solace in all things
unnamed. I love the uncertainty
and utterance you bring forth
amidst all this static. But who
knows if we’re not far from the end.
From what we have heard, we’re not
far away, with every day… now I pray.
I confess to all the wrong I have done
and at the same time hope to see
the morning sun. For us, life as
we know it might be coming to an
end. I trust myself enough that
I won’t bend. I still want to
cherish every moment, as much as
I have unnoticeably lived by Shakespeare’s
every sonnet. As much as I love to
live, even just to give. I’ve learn’t
to love everybody as if they were
my own kid.

Ah! I know. I am cigarettes. Yeah, cigarettes. Or that awkward moment when a guy knocks on the men’s room door when you’re taking a leak. Yeah. Yeah. That.

                                                  _________This is not text on top of a line.___

Leaking. Licking. Lacking.
After that what?
Bad wet fucking?
Again I start,
depth-devoid logic,
shallow reasoning.
Meta my fuckin’
arse, I’m stickin’.
To all this graphic, sporadic,
to cadence. I create my own
world, exist in my mind, em-
brace my human mecha-
nism, acknowledge frailty.
It is necessary to deal with such
things: our complacence,
the final thought which haunts
us before sleeping. But still I
dream. Dream of a time where
there were no problems only
imaginary completeness. Nor
a problem in the world, just
happiness. Just love.
          If I were corporeal, even at least,
even if my ink were to sink, if I
were a whole, a shell to house my
memory, would it all change? Would
I sink or swim? Would my words dance
on the page or would they simply
bubble up the surface?


Riley, Jov, Cor, Shane


(Shane had to cuss by the time he read my part because my penmanship was growing harder by the hour to decipher. I'm sorry, dude. I blame it all on the Red Horse. Thanks for trying to read this though.)

Spazzio July 26, 2011

Wet Wet Wet Round# 2

 Below is a transcribed version of our drunken free writing activity.
The necessary form of release-- Eh, ano ngayon? This is NOT poetry!

You can also click on the audio to listen to this glorious garb of gibberish.

Round 2 07262011 Spazzio - COR by Amber_Light



Round #2, 1st line by Shane – read by Cor

I see a car at my feet.
Silently begging for scrap to eat
I give him a shroom and as
he swallows he starts to swoon.
reminds me of the world today.
Is this really why we live, just
to stay?

            And then there’s this chef wanting
to optimize his time in cooking. A lot
of tasks, a lot of recipes. Given the dish
on the stove & the list of dishes
that are in line to be cooked, what
dish should be cooked next?

            Sex.
Like orgasms mixed? Like
orgasms fakely fixed? I need
a good dish. I’m starving.
Foreplay is it? Like cutting
onions while you weep?
Wail in pleasure. Moan in great
Rapture for something new.
Unanticipated, unfamiliar,
UNSCATHED. Serve me
the purest dish you can muster
and I will consume it up to
the last piece. Make me
glad.
and the reward I shall grant
will be of the highest. Not
me, or my virginity. Something
more pure, but my whole true
love. For you to do with as
you wish. It may be something
as "malansa" as would be fish
but so full of flavor. It would
be more than what you could
ever wish.
           Today was a rainy day
Many cats are playing
Many cocks are
Fighting.1

            Fighting to get to the
same hour first. As if
the minutes don’t matter.
As if the seconds are
mere adjectives in a purple
prose—a purple prose that
doesn’t last. A feverish
one which inflicts. You may recover,
forget, feign robust enlightenment.
This I give you: clean air, space for
you to connect. But as you grow
older and connect, you learn. You
realize you’re lonely for more than just you
but others
too.


Shane, Shirl, Riley, Jov, Cor
________________________________
1 This is a footnote.
[[In the sense of conflict?]]


Spazzio July 26, 2011

Awfully Wet Wet Wet Tuesday

We all ended up at Spazzio due to the frustratingly erratic stormy Tuesday of July 26, 2011.
x – classes
x – work
x – Cinemalaya
CHECK!!! – beer

And the afternoon’s winning lines were:

Deelaytful Riley on his play, Six Boys and a Slut
“And in the end, all the boys didn’t care that she didn’t come.”

Shirl opening up about her high school daze with Riley (as Riley feigns ignorance)
“Nagtanung ka kaya kung pwede mo ‘ko ligawan!”

Jov to Riley while waiting for SRO tickets to watch Cinemalaya films
“Papapasukin ba tayo sa Septick Tank?”

Cor dipping every pulutan in ultra-spicy soy chili-mansi sauce prepared by Shane
“I can’t feel my tongue. I can’t feel my tongue.” (Hala sige, saw-saw pa!)

Shane after coming from the men’s room, telling Cor and Jov
“Na-realize ko may sili pala sa batok ko. Tapos, nag-CR ako. May sili pa pala yung kamay ko.” xD

Below is a transcribed version of our drunken free writing activity.

The necessary form of release-- Eh, ano ngayon? This is NOT poetry!

You can also click on the audio to listen to this glorious garb of gibberish.

Round 1 07262011 Spazzio - RILEY by Amber_Light



Round# 1, 1st line by Jov – read by Riley

Today is like one bad wet fuck.
It’s slippery as hell, but every time
I think I’ll make it, I never come.
The cigarettes are never enough,
do you give a damn?
But all’s well ends well they say.
Even though I have not seen that
happy ending, I’m sure that short
slip will bring me into a state
of sudden realization. A realization
I’m not yet ready to see, a realization
that is full of pretention.

I want to shout out to the old dog,
jump off the trapeze, pull the
plug that connects love and death.
Dumb old dog, had his neck caught by the plug
during the plunge. Dumb
old dog doesn’t fall, he
just hangs. The way snagged
sparrows hang on cables, the way
the child hangs on the cliff
when the catcher in the rye
fails to save him. We hang on
strings that can get cut at
any moment. I like hanging-
out in the goddamn mall.

Can’t sleep can’t eat can’t talk can’t walk
Just think and drink and smoke and
shot. Go out at night never in the
day to spend all the cash I’ve worked
so hard to gain. I can’t clearly see
while I still live. The only reason
-- the love I give. For the depth
of my heart can run so deep. You
can sometimes see hell coz that
cliff is so steep. But from
hell when you look high above
you’ll always spot where I
safe keep your love. Whether
for me it means life of death
please think with your heart, and
not with your head.

             I’ve been trying for so long to get your attention, trying
so hard hoping you’d accept me. But despite you close your door
for me. I’d still be here. I won’t fight. I’ll just stick around
coz I know we’ll soon be together, maybe next year,
the other year or the afterlife.

Alas, no. Oh, alas, oh no.
Alas, yes. Socks still wet,
hair still drips. Let me
start again, today is like
a bad fuck –
all wet. All sweat nothing
more nothing less.
All is lost, we all examine the
mess. Still that door will be there
where I will linger. Hang. Rest.
Ruminate. Because there is nothing
more.

Jov, Cor, Shane, Shirl, and Riley


***

I just listened to / read this madness we gave birth to. What a day. Frustrated much? 

I will post the next 3 rounds of our free writing madness with its corresponding audio. It will be great to laugh over this years later. Thanks for making this terrible terrible day alright. 

Cheers to more nights we'll feel alive!

Sailing

As long as it floats my boat

July 20, 2011

I think I'll go home now
It's been the greatest day
Thank you for shedding life
To my fantasy

Throw me a wicked smile,
The one like yesterday
That threw me up and away
To the evergreen

Like a spiral staircase,
Down I go, losing every step
I sense an earthquake, I.L.U.
Don't even know how to say
When will it break? Today is gone
But tomorrow will be okay

I'll wait another day
I'll wait another day

Morning awakes me,
I need a special plan
This very simple task
I cannot overcome
Hundreds of streets I roamed
In search for a perfect line
But nothing I've found good enough
For a boy like you...

Like a spiral staircase, 

Down I go, losing every step 

I sense an earthquake, I.L.U. 

Don't even know how to save 

When will it break? Today is gone

But tomorrow will be okay

I'll wait another day

I'll wait another day

I'll wait another day

I'll wait another day

Why I can never let you go?
So strange, extraordinary
Why I can never tell you so?
I must be dumb
Why I can never let this go?
Can't stop this fun,
It must be done

I'll wait another day

I'll wait another day

I'll wait another day

I'll wait another day.

--Mojofly, "Another Day"

The Ceremony of Unfinished Verses

I know, I know. I’m making myself sick again (as if I’m not sick enough) with all the late night bitter coffee and over-played tracks on my abused hard drive. As caffeine profusely over-takes my veins from the futility of thinning blood, I attempt to examine my disposition from a severely faded frame of being. I’m uttering gibberish, but that’s fine by me. At the end of the day, I’m writing this particular entry for myself, I believe, as a reminder of sorts. My twisted rationalization dictates, and I quite agree, that by making myself sicker, I may in due course remedy this ineffable disease— which is basically called the human condition. My human condition. I used to hover over the realization that I'm not exactly normal. I still sometimes wish I could just be like everyone else. But, I have chosen, and I know. I can never go back now. I will no longer tread the conventional road to existence.

So, what the hell am I gathering? Let me ask you: How does one try to salvage memories after loss? I don’t even understand why I feel the need to save memories. As if these memories will mean anything when I one day burst into flames and turn to ash.


Loss, premeditated or otherwise, the latter is the common misfortune. We can never really be prepared for something we always thought wouldn't change. Even people who deliberately try to lose something didn't foresee the need for it, until. O, well. Fuck Nietzsche and his eternal return bull-crap theory. I refuse to succumb to the probability that my life will continue to endure cataclysm, I am tired of having change as the only constant object there is to comfort me in this short seemingly imploding life of mine.

Below are strings of words. Incomplete verses. I have to write them down before this mad entity ceases to possess me, before these words escape me. They frighten me. They dishearten me. They make me feel alive. Though they do not mean anything coherent today, like in dreams, I will always know what they mean even when I read them again in the future, the world over, one day. Whatever the mind loses, the heart always houses. Forgetfulness is simply an illusion of lightness. Because to forget does not mean liberation; it doesn’t signify letting go.

It does not follow…

1.

To move like water is a graceful blessing bestowed upon birth. Mastering this movement entails suffering, attempting to acquire it is a lifetime feat herald with desolation and wretchedness.

2.

Our hands will always have their way: they dare to say what these muffled lips utter not.

3.

The gecko on the ceiling intently stares at light’s milky fluorescence

It’s fond of movement and illuminated things, his head rushes

With blood, his world remains upside down. Meanwhile, darkness grows

Older. I drank coffee as the black ants swirled in caffeine suicide.

4.

The 12:10 O’clock Prayer

You died sullenly

No source of life flowed

From your heart so selfish

And an ocean of pity opened up

To my whole world

O fountain of disdain,

Immeasurable divine heresy

Covers the whole world’s eyes

And empties our souls upon waking

O blood and water which flowed out

From the heart of discontent,

As a fountain of delusion for us,

Who will trust in you?

O, lowly god
Lonely mighty one

You lonely immortal one

Have mercy on us

And the whole world,

Laments.

Lowly god

Lonely mighty one

Lonely immortal one

Have mercy on us

And the whole world,

Laments.

Lowly god

Lonely mighty one

Lonely immortal one

Have mercy on us

And the whole world,

Laments.

Give me reason, king of mercy

Deliver the dying

From eternal fright and misery

And I will trust in you.

Years After You've Withered

A Conversation with My Dead Dream Girl 


XX: I apologize for deliberately losing you. All those years in the same hallway truly meant so much to me. We could have at least shared a cigarette?


XY: I remember the first time we spoke. We were alike in so many ways. Sadly, I shunned myself from bright elements like you.


XX: I was wrong. We failed to have this because we were so afraid of ourselves. Do you think that kind of likeness can save?


XY: I wish you could have stayed. I wish you knew your kind was never really alone.

For the love of Valium

If I meet the maker of all the universe, 
I'll ask him why we're here and what we're here for.

Random Patterns

I choose the middle road between loneliness and freedom.
-- Vagabond (1985), directed by Agnès Varda
(a French film I failed to finish watching yesterday)

Submitting to routine isn’t every body’s cup of tea. For the past few months, I’ve put up with a freelance job which only required me to work at home. It was laid-back and I could pretty much dispose of time however I wished, for as long as I produced what these capitalists wanted. Now, I’m not so great at time management and I don’t always meet deadlines on the dot, but I found relief knowing that I didn’t have to venture toward the world outside. In short, aside from being too lethargic to come out, I’ve set certain restrictions for myself.

I wouldn’t come out of my lair unless I had to help my folks with errands or dine out. Being such a home-buddy and sticking to that agenda day in and day out made me feel a sense of stability. After the grave things I’ve seen (trust me, I’ve seen things) now that I’ve eased half-way into the year, I realized I’m not very fond of surprises. I remember writing about not being a fan of change years back, but I think to put it more specifically, it’s not the change I dread. I think it’s more about how uncertainty bleeds into our established systems. I find comfort in routine and the fact that applying this pattern guarantees I’ll know how my day will begin and conclude itself. It’s not a full-proof plan, but at least it’s the steadier choice. Plus, it’s easier to plan meetings with real friends—I appreciate this because I’m able to give them ample attention. It’s good to look forward to something that breaks routine every now and then so you have a pleasant highlight to your week. That way, I feel I’m not taking anything or anyone for granted.

I’ve had my share of excesses which include everything in the erratic blender: listless afternoons lost to chain smoking, eventful nights overflowing with alcohol (which I unfortunately forgot), surreal Saturdays with peculiar personalities, failing to come home and spending the night in an alternate universe, possible encounters with paranormal entities during the wee hours and other things I cannot possibly disclose, which is typical for most 20 something year olds of the golden age (a euphemism for a world which produced cynical organic machines trying to live decent lives).

So basically, yes, I have been avoiding that scattered kind of life. Now that education has been added to this routine picture of mine, things just got a little bit more challenging and interesting. I can be very impulsive when I choose to, but I guess discipline really does come with age. When our priorities change, our lifestyle comes along with it.

I’m bored to death sometimes. But hey, it doesn’t mean I’ll forget being young. After all, I’ve chosen to live a sort of anti-cookie-cutter-existence. What ever that means.