Don’t Give Up. Ever.

This week’s been an indescribable ordeal. Suffice to say, coming out of it alive has been a real blessing. I don’t have a particular faith, but if Big Guns Upstairs truly does exist, I owe him or her one. Thanks for looking out for me. (And of course to E, fist fighting geckos and enriching the lives of children in Lagazpi City right about now too.)

It’s moments of pain, agony and sometimes pure suffering that teach you that life is precious. Even your own. Flesh and blood sometimes in the larger relative to the larger worldly schematic can look vulnerable and frail. But you can never really put a measuring tape around the human heart. It’s far more resilient than science can fathom.  And no matter how battered and bruised it can get, there’s always a way through. Always.

The New Process…

There’s something about this song that preaches never giving up. I can’t really pinpoint what it is but I do know it would be a good song to drive or ride to. Perhaps there’s something about repetitions of words, phrases in conjunction with an awesome melody that drives home the notion of being persistent, not giving a shit about what others think or say and just doing you. I like that. And I like the requisite I give myself to good songs being ones that I can ride, run, or drive to. Because when you can multitask and appreciate a good song to any one of those things, you can’t really complain about much else can you? Unless of course your favorite sandwich was included in that equation somewhere.

Night.

It casts no shadow. Doesn’t ever look back. You lose and find what you had and knew. The quiet can give you the answers you need, and at the same time, questions the very answers you received. 

But it’s always peaceful. You fear it, yet look into it with an inquisitive eye. Stories of it since young, make you tremble till old.

You can be as bold and as bashful as you please. And it’ll never question why. 

You sleep in it, dream in it, and awake when it all goes away. And you wait all day for it’s return. 

Night.

homeland.

I’ll be seeing you this weekend. And I’m bringing someone with me, so be nice to her and stop raining please.

It’s been a while.

Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you. You exist here for a very special reason. You are somewhere where very few people go. You will not judge. You will not blame. You don’t look at me with disdain, desperation or uncertainty. You don’t care about what I say, when I say it, the content of what I say and the extent to which I say it. You could care less that I only speak of the negative and not the positive, but are merely glad to present anything I say, whatever it may be, however crude, disturbing or embarrassing it may be. You’re but a earshot of me, except that you’re on a screen and a few keystrokes away. And for that I cannot forget you, and it’s remarkable how underrated your soothing presence is to the untrained eye. My wide receiver that somehow never drops any of my passes, however sloppy they always seem to be.

I’ll be.

I’ll be the grapes fermented, bottled and
served with the table set in my finest suit
like a perfect gentleman.
I’ll be the fire escape that’s bolted to the
ancient brick where you will sit
and contemplate your day.

I’ll be the waterwings that save you if you
start drowning in an open tab when your
judgement’s on the brink.
I’ll be the phonograph that plays your favorite
albums back as you’re lying there, drifting off
to sleep… drifting off to sleep…
I’ll be the platform shoes; undo what heredity’s done to you:
you won’t have to strain to look into my eyes.
I’ll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped
straight to the throat with the collar up so
you won’t catch a cold.

I want to take you far from the cynics in this town
and kiss you on the mouth.
We’ll cut our bodies free from the tethers of
this scene, start a brand new colony.
Where everything will change, we’ll give
ourselves new names. Identities erased.
The sun will heat the grounds, under our bare
feet in this brand new colony.
This Brand new colony…

roots…

I know I constantly romanticize about the past. But there is a perfectly good reason for it. Something, anything for that matter that impacts your present state of being deserves a huge amount of respect and recollection. Be it your parents, a college diploma, old polaroids of drunken nights and days, an old tee shirt or uniform from an old sports or school, a card or letter from a long lost friend or loved one.

These ‘things’ however, are all material. And one day, whether it is from a natural cause or negligence, will be gone.

Memories, sounds, tastes and sights, will never leave you. Sure, they may fade over time as all things do. They’ll get blurry and distorted, like an old Metallica song, Joy Division or Pink Floyd tee, but they never truly disappear.

The past, is just like that. Except that it grows with you. You see it every single day. You use it every single day. And though, it probably looks, sounds and feels very different to how it was when it first started, you can always look back and see it exactly how it was. And you can do it whenever you want.

See you later this year old friend!

on it’s way…

I can wait. But at the same time I really can’t…

 

a taste…

of things to come. It’s been a fairly long wait. From an idea, to a preference and, well, hopefully fruition…

many…

things have gone unsaid. and time continues to unfold the necessary. you find yourself fully awake in the lost night while the world rests. you worry for worrying sake. without a care but your own. you realize. you self correct. and you learn to appreciate all the things you missed. you learn and re-learn the word ‘cherish’, ‘gratitude’ and ‘life’. you re-learn a new game. you keep calm. you find a way to eat and be nourished again. you find yourself in old photos, posts and songs again. you rumble through the traffic and wet. you simply come to terms with doing your very best and nothing more. you learn that the aforementioned din was what you went through the past 2 weeks. you are grateful to be alive.