01/30/10

My head is throbbing in pain. It's like a vice grip has been placed around my head and is constantly, yet gradually being tightened. Something in my head is not right, and i'm trying to trace my day's experience so i may know what caused this exasperating and uncomfortable predicament. But to the extent of my reminiscing, i just can't seem to target one thing that may have caused this, and i'm left in constant petty self-massages on my forehead. And amidst the pulsating and intermittent thuds on the forehead, my head feels light. It's like the weight inside my head suddenly was un-carpeted. But i'm making this entry, so thank god i'm assured my brain's still inside my skull. The one-two punch combination of head palpitations and light-headedness is the perfect combo for tonight. A cold night, with rain relapse every now and then. Why don't the rain fall down in one go? Why must they delay their descend? One way or another, one place or another, they'll fall down the ground. Maybe some of the raindrops are afraid they may break into a simple spatter of wetfulness on the rigid ground called earth. They shouldn't be. It's a cycle, and the thrill they may feel when they are falling is incomparable and sublime. They should take the trip towards earth. They'll never be disappointed. Gravity will give them one hell of a descend.


Some people are like those raindrops, particularly those who delay their fall. They are afraid to plunge into unknown water for purposes they themselves do not know. I am one myself, if i'd be candid about it. I'm always afraid of what is in store for me, even if i do not know beforehand what is in store for me. I'm a pessimist who looks at the bright side of things. Ironic, right? I always think of the maladic outcome, so much so that i tend to believe it to happen imminently. I do not also impute these highly unanticipated scenarios since i believe that nothing happens bereft of purpose. Whenever i think pessimistically, dire as it may seem, i still think that even as that happens, life goes on. With or without me. Fact! The world is cruelly impatient and will not be waiting for you once you stumble into something.


Back to the raindrops, since they are one of my favorite things; makes me sentimental instantly. Sometimes when i see raindrops fall down and break into little fragments of sprinkled water, i think of the things they might be thinking when they were still falling down. It's not a short fall. Fromt the clouds down the ground is a lifetime already. And if ever those tiny, translucent raindrops were able to think, remember, and feel, what would they be thinking, rememebering, and feeling when they are in the process of falling? If we, humans, are about to dive into the unknown and untested waters, what would we be thinking before the actual jump? Especially if we do not know if the landing of our fall may result ominously to death. Would we be afraid? Would we hesitate and consequently not jump? If so, are these raindrops just coerced to take the greatest leap of faith in their cyclic life?


Man is so much like these raindrops. No matter how many times they are assured that everything will be alright, they are never assured. Their delaying of certain falls only prolongs their agony of waiting, since falling is inevitable, and breaking into little pieces of quasi-invisible water is part of their rote lives. Water-ground-air-water. Over and over again. Why do some men fear blunders? Life is full of them, why don't they just accept that hard-bound fact, experience some of it, live, then move on? We can never evade predicaments that can parch our eyes dry from tears. We are bound to fail, one way or another. But man's life, like those raindrops', is cyclical. We fail, we gloom, we move on, then we live again. As Sue Sylvester from an episode of glee i have watched awhile ago said, it's like milk! It makes the bones stronger!As Sartre again insinuated, "What doesn't kill us can only make us stronger." Failure may be a knife, but a blunt one. One that can hardly scrape the thinnest skin on our body, what that is, i have no slight idea. But i think it is the antecubital skin. But yeah! Hardly scraped if grazed by the blunt knife of failure. So why fear failure when it is prevalent in our lives? Do we never get accustomed to the constant bombardment of seemingly unexcavateable pitholes of failure which we dug up ourselves? Are we, as a species of self-purported high intelligence, doomed to be invariably fearing the one thing that can callous our feet, induce accretion on our bones, and thicken the walls of our hearts? We should not fear anything in life. Death is no exemption, since death is the laiden end of life. Or as was traditionally believed. Let us not be like those raindrops who delays their fall, and then fall eventually.


We may spatter once we landed cushionless on our falls, but it is those that makes us stronger. So, before we even encounter such falls, let us ready ourselves, build up on the muscles of our asses, so whenever we land on them, we have at least a comfy cushion. However insufficient an ass-cushion may be, it's way better than having virtually none. Re-quoting Jean Paul Sartre: "What don't kill you makes you stronger!" Man is immortal! =]

Another humdrum day. The lack of something surprising in my life is making me want to live life unconventionally. Go skydiving, snorkeling, and whatever it is that can emebellish life with a bit of flavorful twist. But sometimes, it is those ordinary days that makes living worthwhile. For it is in them that we seek and yearn for something atypical of life. It's like this, the things we are used to are the things we find stale, be it extraordinary or out-of-this-world. We will never be satisfied, and we will always want something, and that something i'm pretty sure is not in our current life and age. For how can we seek something that we already have? There! I perpetually wander aimlessly to seek those things that i do not have, and i am not experiencing. I am a journeyman! We should all be! And while we are in the pillars of conformity, we will not be living a life that we chose.


Awhile ago, while i was trudging home, dragging my legs of exhaustion and painful palpitations, and out of sheer misfortune, i accidentally kicked an inanimate rock. And in it, i had a sudden life realization: though we are living, conscious or otherwise, something, spontaneously and inadvertently, will suddenly show unnoticeably in front of us and makes us think of why are we even living? What grand scheme is in script for us? Why do sometimes we think we are alive, then something smacks our faces, and make us ask why we even missed that in the first place? If we are so aware of the life we are living, why does something, even in front of us, conspicuous and ostentatious, escape our attention? Are we really mechanically programmed to not notice whatever it is that we deem insignificant, and therefore ignore it as it is? The little things in life are the things that makes life's clockwerk function. It is those little things that makes us appreciate life's flabbergasting nature. In a world of jumbles and complications, the quarks and simple things holds it together,keeps it sane.Keeps us sane. If we have no simplicity to adhere to, where will we be taken? Of course, in the land of the gargantuan complexity.


The big toe on my left leg still throbs in pinching pain, but manageable. The petty experience of me accidentally kicking an unsuspected rock made me delve deep into my inquiring imagination. Who are the rocks in my life that begged to me to notice them? Have i forgotten them, so much so, that they have all turned against me and whose only will is my demise and suffering? Enough of the pessimistic prospection. Somnolence has knocked on my bucolic door once again, and who am i to not answer it? With the lack of things to do, i have continually find myself supinely lying on my self-proclaimed comfortable bed. I have to lie down already and make up for all the lost hours i had by not closing my eyes when time dictates it should. Somnolence, wait for a little while. I still have to meander to distant places of unintelligible prospects.


The dorsal part of my arm hurts like hell, well not that hell hurts, it might be paradise for all we know. I can't raise my arms erect, reach the highest limit of my arm length and i end up gnawing my teeth in sheer discomfort. I did this to myself, and i do not have any regrest or whatsoever. I did this to myself, my choice, my responsibility, the cause of such pain,as of now, should remain vested in invisibility cloak. Muscle pains are at its acme the second day, and i am so not looking forward to tomorrow. Have to wake up, acquiscingly, early. Submit the draft questionnaires which we are required someday to distribute to 300 students, that's the minimum. Standards! Standards! Standards! Would life cease if the standards they set are not that high? Achievable, but impractical. Understandable, but totally outrageous. Will they get cramps on their diaphragms, painfully breath, if the standards they set are mediocre? Then again, the hubbubs i may have, the resentment i may harbor, will all go with the wind as a whistle of eldritch and gelid.



Don't get me wrong! I do not harbor ill-feelings towards the instructors which expects so much of us that we tend to choke on our own beds, die in front of our monitor screens, and stumble as we walk. I totally understand where they are coming from, they want the best to come out in us, scrape us against sandpapers of turmoil and adversities to smoothen us, make us shine. Not that we are not shining enough already. Believe me..I'm being sarcastic here. The totally unhumorous kind of sarcasm.They'll have their days, and they'll be deserving every bit of it. As of now, let them laugh, for the wicked always laughs first, then will condescend into nothing short of giggles. We, the students will have the last laugh! I hope.. :))


I will be answering the missed calls of somnolence any time soon now. I will be more than happy to have "it" as a guest, and if alright, make it stay as long as it likes. I want to end with a thought-provoking thought: Aware we may be in our self-purported lives, we can never be too sure of its genuinity, we may not be living a life that is ours, adhering to the constant dictates and narrations of the external world. We are bereaved of the freedom of a life that is supposed to be ours. We may be. Kick a rock! The ephemeric pain it might cause may bruise your toe, but it will surely make you think and ask are you even in the life you thought you are in?

What would be of a fortnight or two?
If not without you.
They would be but only fireflies
In a forest cursed by night
that glows for a moment
and is then gone.

Just an unconscious blink of an eye
If not without you.

What would be of the thirty blue skies
If not without you?
They would be but
a flower abloom on spring's last day
That withers when it relays its throne to autumn.

Just a stolen moment of sleep
If not without you.

Then, what of the thirty cloudless nights,
though abundant of night lights
and rejuvenated sounds,
If not without you?
They would be but a stranger on the bus
that's gone at the stop.

But you're not here.
And each day
upon the opening of my eyes
to its pretentious slumber,
is an ebb that flows slowly.

What of these days without you?
And such is a day.

All i have are memories
of the comfort of your embrace.
All i have are ideas,
And such is a day
that these memories
of you and me
locked arm in arm
become a temporary reality.

Such is a day.


©deluterio2009

01/28/10

Febrile & Slaved by Time


I'm feeling sick today..I suppose this was due to the exhausting dissection of a cat and inefficaciously locate its muscles, memorize the names, and snuffing volatile, though diluted mixture of water and formaldehyde, which by the way if constantly within a feet from your visage squeezes tears from your eyes. And believe me, this type of crying is not therapeutic. Every now and then, my sinusitis erupts like an unnoticeable breeze, tickles the insides of my nose, and produces a relaxing, though irating at times, sneeze. Sneeze really feels good, only if it is done once, or twice. It cleanses your nostrils from dust, debris, and booger.. Believe me, a clear nose is a clear mind. =]


Enough of the booger talk. I am not the easily disgusted type of person, but it is not worth expounding and revolving around with. Life still has many things untackled, and though booger may be one of it, it is not worthwhile at this moment in time.This day was again mediocre. Nothing astonishing or even slightly beyond ordinary. The things i perfunctorily do are again haunting me. I hate routines, and i am the type of person who does not adhere to well-established routine as it makes me gag and it bores me. Routines are like toxins injected into the bloodstream of our daily lives. They may let u feel temporarily energized, but the after-effects are causes of maladies. When we become slaves of routines, we are no longer in control of our lives. Though we think we are, and though we are, our control is unsubstantial, and it breeds emptiness since we no longer feel satisfied with what we are living for and living with. Routines are bereft of contention, therefore not of our own and willing. Without the will, man cannot give consent, therefore does not command the act. If man does not command the act, then who is when we are engaged in our hypnotizing routines?

Routines are the culprit of the constant stream of depressive cases in this now-globalized world. It removes the interest in the lives of people. Without interest, what would people be living with? They say that work minus fun equals job; it is somewhat true since people's works today is grounded on practicality, which for me is bogus, asinine, and cantankerous. We should have an intimate feeling of like towards the things we do, for if we do not, then it is a forced and externally-commanded act.
What then is the problem of doing something outside our will? Firstly, without our willing it, we are not consenting it. Meaning, we did it out of habit or fear, out of protecting something or someone. Man must be in control of his life in order
for him to fully live it. When we are not ahold of our stirring wheels, our life would meander out of control; aimless and amok. For man to fully appreciate his existence, his fleeting existence, he should be in the driver's seat. Man is responsible for his life, his actions, and his choices. We responsibly choose our paths taken, we should also responsibly confront the consequences that is entailed after it. Then again, since man chooses, he should know beforehand what the consequences of his choice will be.

I refuse to be a serf of routine. I will not work for it, with or without pay. I am not denying though that i am in a predicament of a routine-based life, but i assert that i am not enjoying every bit of it. Well, some spontaneous unfolding may lighten up a little filament of my life, there is a paucity of it. There is a paucity of everything nowadays. From an invigorating sleep to an invigorated waking. Sleep is no longer the master of people, especially my classmates in 117. Sleep has been junked, ignored, and even suppressed. Its drowsying power is no longer working. Sleep deprivation is now a common ordeal, ailment if i may. But i'm pretty sure that after all of these, chest-raising or chest-excavating it may be, everyone who was cursed by such sickening disease will celebrate. I am one of them, and will see to it that i will be having fun, relaxation, and letting all my frustrations out. I am already thinking of how i can release my still crunked up frustrations in my chest.

Tonight, again, i am void of work. I am not one to complain, since these kind of days are scarce. I miss these days, and wish that all of these will one day depart and liberate me from exhaustion and frustrations. Again, freedom may be innate in all of us, as of these moment and epoch, i still feel a slave of social interest. My mind may be free, unleashed and amorphic, but the bearer of the mind is trapped in the vortex of dizzying death experienced while breathing. Free me! So i may stand a better chance of being able to inquire without restraints. Quoting Maya Angelou: "Only caged birds sing!"... I don't sing though..I berate..

Sleep..I'll be coming to you any time soon..Bring me to the land of intangible visions of panorama and nostalgia..=]

The night will never be silent;
the whistle of the wind,
the rustle of leaves,
even the dead silence
All speak your name,
and remind me
of how much i miss you
Which i myself does not know.


I have allied with the night
and plead to stop
bringing you to me
For even the thought
of our distance
trembles my knees.


I have been reminded
of you once again
This has been
one of the countless times
and i have lost count,
since you left.
The night brought you to me
I am in emptiness,
in a vortex of pristine nostalgia,
But in all of this,
still i am filled.



©deluterio2010