Night; I miss you my dear

It is a dark, cold night and you are not around. You are hundred of miles away. Nothing could be done except trying to breath the air around me, assuming that your heart beats the same with mine.

Wondering if you are dreaming of what you really love so much, wishing that you are not feeling this way on a cold lonely night. The light shines through the opaque louvers across the road, have not seem to be like my heart which got restrained whenever your messages did not reach me; during the day and especially night.

Loud are the noises coming from the bushes around me, silent is the night; what are you doing my dear?

My yearning heart craving for you and this feeling lingers around me during the darkest hour of the land when I can only wish for you.

Tender are the songs played from this faithful laptop; could you listen to the tones of my whisperings?

Soothing are the rhythms that bound to break the silence of the night, would they make me stop thinking of you?

Soft are my touches, could you feel me caressing your hair all night?

Gentle are the silhouettes of mine roaming the room, could you accompany me now?

Subtle are my smilings through these hard hours, could you feel my joy?

Delicate are my feelings, could you even understand the degree of my thoughts gravitate toward you?

Vulnerable is this heart, could you strengthen it; making it easier to go through this night when all I do is longing for you, my darling.

All I can do is to dream for your hands to wrap me.

All I can do is to wish for is your chin, on my chest; sharing the heat of our bodies.

All I can do is to hope for your warm palm, petting me not to worry about tonight.

All I can do is to pray for your angels, to convey me news about your night.

All I can do is to think about the best Christmas and birthday presents for you.

All I can do is to grasp your arm, to lead it close to my heart.

All I can do is to conquer for your heart, convince me that you are mine eternally.

Night almost comes to an end, yet, I feel that you are still far away from me. Will you ever understand how I have to go through the nights without you?

Angels, tell her how I feel; tribune to all lovers that this would be the worst wound when you are lonely; alone without the one you really love, really care.

Candle

The candle is burning slowly as I am finishing my cans of beer when there is nothing much I can do. I exhale the last puff of smoke and extinguish the cigarette butt in the ashtray. Why I am no more suicidal like before? I felt that there is so much changes happening these few days, I reckon this have not happened for weeks yet. There is some sort of disturbance within me and I can feel the imbalance these couple of days. It gravitates around the axis of unknown and yet I can feel there is a parallel force that walks with me. I am no more before where suicidal is part of me and being hedonistic distinguished me from the others. How did part of my bricked self have changed so promptly when I have no time to say goodbye to my old self? What is this? An intervention or isolation or perhaps its enunciation of what I have thought would destined to be?




If this is bad, why does my body vibrates warmly and not innuendos of disparaging nor corrosion of conformity? What really happened; I am sick playing with this sort of unknown feeling or vibe. Nevertheless, I feel that the snow surrounded the church of my heart start to melt. Where is the meadow covered with snow flakes? Why did I see creek of crystal clear water instead. Echo of angels reminds me of something which is so distance from me for a year or so. My fingers felt so smooth instead of those dead and numb due to frost bites and why does this happened? I used to dream of bonfires which will melt this unwillingness and this frozen soul of mine to accept the reality. Was I wondering within this cavern for years without noticing that I have been walking in circle? What kept me unnoticed that I have been trapped here for years? What blinded me when I can sense light and have been seeking for the bright beam that would lead me toward eternal freedom? Am I now in the state of being in trance or hallucinate with substance. Why this comes so drastic and gives me no room to accept subtle changes? What is bothering me is why I accepted it easily. I render my submission instantaneously.


More and more questions start to linger within this space of mind; why come when I am unsure and provocatively left me clueless of what had happened within these days? I sip the last drops of beer around the rim of the beer can. It is getting warm and sour, coy of it for now. My senses and their census are like still betraying me when I need them to insulate me as if that is what I called as security. Now, what left of me is being naked; humiliate of what I did for years. Tears may subside for years but I can still feel the ravaging current and those rapids that kept me breathless and disoriented; capsized in the dark. What come undone in the past has been dominating this soul and it portrays possibilities yet, I feel stronger. I swear by my soul, I shall venture to find the reason of these happenings with kept me ponder. I prefer to ponder as it is painful to reminisce about the past; the pain for being flung off track. This body is a mass; soulless mass and when you touched me, you feel my cold zombie-like body. I may not turn green, my soul has degraded beyond anyone’s expectation and I was once a prodigal being who roam this land which never guided by zenith. What is the use of zenith when you broke the compass; I am steering away and going astern from the island of prudence and pride. Mercy on me, mercy on this poor soul, mercy on this lost soul; begging for chances and repentance. Will this old wooden rosary which tangled along my palm helps me with penance? My weak body shows resilient after a long penitence; will you at least explain to me what is going on with me?


Sorrows and guilt are the dominant residents in this church of my heart; however there is something, from what you have expected has come to radiate my soul. It gave me the vibes and the courage to transform from this comfortable deformation. Deformation has left me shapeless just like the element that has been dragging me out from this known coldness toward warmness of a new guest.


There was something unexpected at the end of the chapel. During a stormy night, when the dark satin curtains begin to torn apart; I shut the window and keep the storm from destroying more of this old chapel. It has been my bastion, my citadel which is a safe haven for me and it is eerie to most passersby. I found a wooden box, fell from the curtain rail; without anticipation I open it and found a key. I discard that wooden box away after reading a papyrus scroll with text of scriptures. They key has nothing special and it was wrapped in muslin cloth which partly deteriorate. I reached for that bronze key and unlock the secret compartment under the figureless cross. I finish the last sip of the wine in this old chalice before I proceed to reach for the content. It was not to what I have expected; it is only a candle. It was like most candles I have seen in the church and I continued pouring more wine and finish the whole bottle. Angst is what I have tried to reduce instead of volley of words on the day I left the little town, to reside in this old chapel. I was drawn to the velvet wrapped throne where bishop used to rest. The gloomy altar and the alcohol soften me and soothed my body, I fell asleep.


Soon, I woke up only to find myself glancing at that candle, there is something about it which is unknown to me. Unlike those candles I have seen and those which I have lighten up. It is easy to assume previously it was just a candle made from wax till you light it up. It shines the whole altar and the sweet sandalwood aroma begun to change the whole ambient. It remains a mystery on why it was stored in the secret compartment by the bishop or vicar. I lift the candle up and the old brick wall starts to shine, my eyes start to see things I have never seen before; it became a gold tint wall. Candle, o mystical candle; I begin to chant. I close my eyes and move my fingers on that candle; I can feel that there are auras which come dispersing through it. Unbelievable, the candle filled me with strength and courage; I still try to define these feelings and elements that are so beautiful which posses my soul.


Every night, I am spending my bright days with that mystical candle.
Every time in day light, I am staring at that candle and smile.
Every day, I spend most of my time turning the hourglass and hope that darkness comes fast because whenever I am spending the bright night with candle, I feel the urge to make myself better.


Yet, I still failed to understand and define what are these things that make these all happened and the rendezvous which I have been thinking of under the soft sun beam which penetrate through the dilapidated wooden window.


Candle, what are you make of and why are you so mystical? I just seemed to be out of knowledge of your origin and your strength. All I know, you provide what I ever wanted and I am looking forward to understand you better.

St George is a Star!

Fuck! I read a status profile at Facebook. Yeah! Don’t ask who and why, you never have the right to ask so; now bear with me damn it. Talking about dream and as I about to compose a new poem, I reluctantly decide to write about the pain of chasing dream.


It is raining again and I have not been sleeping much lately as I got bundles of work I need to finish until this moment. I am not sure why, my stress level is low as I have finished everything and done almost every single chores at home and in business. It is Saturday; yes, it is a mellow Saturday afternoon with nothing planned for the evening or so. Sitting here in my room, watching all the Facebook pages updates and status until, one particular status update prompt me to write. I am not sure where and why this initiated me to write. But I cay say, I wish she will have her dream and wish come true. Dang! Déjà vu, the “Somewhere over the rainbow” song is playing mildly from my notebook tone my writing down for now.


I am currently living in a nightmare as the nightmare have stalked me almost every night for the past months but not recently. I am not really glad this nightmare passed through, it is just I am getting a weird feeling. I never ask for sympathy and empathy on me through my writings as you all have always read previously. Yeah! True, it is less suicidal than before and I can say I have not resolve to bulimia to kill my pain. I have no grudge to my previous past instead I cherish the pain of growing to a wiser man everyday.


I am happy that in the past relationship, I hold strong to the value of chivalry where I play St. George to save and sway the distress maiden and then probably ride with her through heaven for eternity. Yeah! That is a fucking dream! Yeah, call me names, named me names; I couldn’t care more about shit you are about to say as you read through my writing. Fuck you if you disagree and fucking thank you if you agree. Vulgarity is part of me, the frustrating me and I wish I could change myself back to a person who is far away from the edge of being insecure and timid for a relationship.



I admit I am timid for a relationship because I do know what every maiden in the vineyard of God wanted. I play St. George because I believe that in every single thing you do, you should firmly grasp for the intention is part of the execution. I know how vulnerable women are but did the previous maiden, laboring at the vineyard of God understand me?


Reassure me please. They failed to understand the actual intention of every St. George most possibly because naturally women want to embrace the witty charmed prince who kissed them from their dream. Dreadful as I might say, they want to taste their first kiss together and relive the moment of heel upside-down if not one-feet-up-feel-like-flying kiss.


Not many maiden remember the ever laboring yet boring St. George who polished their shield and armor to save maiden. St. George did not choose to save a princess like Prince Charming because St. George understood the true concept of love as love is not a dream. Love is about to be hand in hand building a dream. Once part of the dream is labored and fruitful, we live under the dream.


Alas, St. George who saves the maiden was forgotten and died off in shame, humiliation and distraction. Shame of his situation, humiliate by the lesson and distraction comes as attention. You tell me, if I live a life of St. George previously, would you ever care to come close to me and ask? Would you blow kisses to my cheek, blow bubbles around the old oak tree to cheer me or even treat my wound? Would you wash the shroud filled with blood and pull of the broken arrow stuck to my heart. Would you take risk to cure him and own him?


St. George reminisced his past and pondered. A series of thought and lesson learn along the way is here, on his hand. A compendium of past failures and it speaks publically about love and life being in love.


“I ask you for once maiden of the Honor Court, would you unbound his wire mesh armor set? If you come to me and ask, I would smile. If you come and ask me about my past, I have one particular thing installed for you. Hold my hand, my beautiful maiden.”


“I place your palm onto my chest and you can feel all the wounds that I have endured all these while.

If you touch my skin, I am aging faster than my age.
If you feel my heartbeat, the ever burning passion for love is still beating hard.
If you fondle my cheek, this unshaven beard has been hiding all the miseries.
If you taste my lip, you read and talk to my histories.”


What matter is would you come close to St. George whom you first wrongly noticed for a leper? Would you come close to an outcast? Would a maiden from the pheasant family even come close and play Good Samaritan with just a piece of bread? The hunger of for love and despair of dreams never kept St. George from his ever ready mission toward greatness and dreams even if he have to endure more wound and slashes. You read and hear about St. George skills in slaying and sword fighting, but I guess you would still prefer Prince Charming from the foreign land. The land you have never heard before. Your fondness to St. George is remarkable yet, you have not noticed him by the cavern where you usually stroll in the morning.


The caverns where St. George lingers around even during his loneliest hours have not caught your attention. Yet, his cavern is the warmest tavern you ever can enjoy. Splashed with honey, wines and chalices of wonderful potions where every maiden even from the foreign land has ever wanted. Alas, you see the physical of what have embodied St. George.


Flesh rot but heart grows fonder where you failed to understand. What entombed this cold heart is nothing more than the guilt of putting a distress maiden and exposed them to the fiery spells of that fox-in-sheep-costumed-horn-growing Prince Charming.


That is the regret that have been bothering St. George for years now. In the court of Honor, the rules are clear to St. George and unknown to many pheasant maidens who enjoyed the stake of straws deposited by Prince Charming. The court wrote these guidelines for every knight in shining armor.


Thou shall not mask dishonor amongst kindness
Thou shall not tribune false news among the ignorance
Thou shall not hope for retribution after labor chivalry
Thou shall not hunt along the alley close to the vineyard of the Court
Thou shall not speak language of love to the negligent pheasant
Thou shall not restrain those who choose to walk in shadow, shelter them


Has any Sheriff you have met at the Fiesta have told you this?
Has any Viceroy you have corresponded told you this?
Has any knight or Lancelot whispered and told you this?
Has any Prince Charming who kissed your hand told you this?


Dreams are like group of stars and because of that, I chose to build a dream from stars. Stars are beautiful and stars are deemed as something so special.


Stars help navigators to bring fortune and trades as well as diplomacy.
A northern star is not at the north after all, it is the brightest thing you ever saw.
Star is something no more than fragmented and shattered explosion in the past.


Star only born after the explosion or Supernova, unknown to you, and star understood why supernova happened and the shattered story of the past. That is why when you look at star, they are the most beautiful thing and I must stress, it has been beautiful because stars endured a painful journey in the whole processes before you can even see them shine. How far before you can collect stars and make them your dreams? It never been how far, it is the matter how long it takes you to understand the star and only to find them around you.


Why St. George can be well affiliated with stars? Stars, St. George and your dream all have to do with the whole universe.


You wish for a star.
St. George is a star.
St George is you wish.


Long before St. George was born and in his compendium of misery and miserable past, it was written about Andromeda. St. George walks along the path of chivalry where it also relates to the past when Greek gods and goddess rule the earth. Perseus is a mentor to every man and I think many man have not understand the context and the contemporary importance of Perseus aside from the ignored discipline of St. George. He saved Andromeda who was chained naked on a rock, ready to be sacrificed to Cetus the sea monster.


Andromeda Galaxy was named after Andromeda and yet, Perseus was never known. This is because all good men, a true warrior who rode with chivalry chooses to stand at their belief that every women deserve to be treated with kindness even if that course he undertook may not lead him to fame.


St. George is a star as he endured the pain of everlasting heartbreak, knowing that one day a fine pheasant maiden will pick him up tumbling forward. Restless and careless in the past St. George can be; his slashes marked his pasts which are not accountable for any of his misfortune. Sometime, even the wisest person who walks by instinct, guide by the law from the Court of Honor may find it troublesome to please every soul. Nevertheless, St. George is now back on his feet, crafting his long discolored lance and fix the tip with the alloy he mastered from the alchemy from the foreign land. Now, he must ride during dust; a mission has started to unwind the past and probably the lucky Divine intervention.


Before he start his first ride after years and the dream to ride with the Horseman as said in the Book of Revelation, he stand to his feet even it hurt him. Crunching his fist, he can see himself in the crystal clear water; delay will only prolong the hurting and moaning period.


Suddenly a dove landed at the tree stump. That piece of paper wrote “Damsel in Distress”. He smile and said,” Let me die and be a constellation which shall shine upon distress women and may my deed spread among men who wish to understand the real meaning and the key to courtship and love”.

2009

I do not feel like to tell you about 2009 as 2009 was the year which I has tried to dismember from any cells in my brain which stored the memories and the nightmares. Hell and wraths, these are the things I get from 2009. There was nothing pleasant about 2009 and I wish 2009 never will re-submerge in my life again; not in this life and the life thereafter. All the pains and the miseries, the despairs I have gone through and the anxiety that I have undertook nearly choked my life and as you can see, part of me has disintegrated, dilapidated and I feel like I am a walking testimony of feeling being crucified.

Yes, I am not worthy to carry the crucifix even at the session of the cross but can you feel my burden, can you feel the lash that hits my flesh and can you even have empathy for my soul? My soul has taken its toll and yet, I manage to heal myself throughout the time of being sad.

My words has never being the rule, they are merely scribbles at the vandalized tomb which you never notice. Have you given a thought and what your conscience told you about me? I am not living with aliases in the day and in the night. I am who I am and I am whom I aimed. Say nothing to me as this weakened body has felt everything life has thrown to it. I never ask for mercy nor submit to your demand. Leave me as I am and I shall render happiness in a way that known to me.

It probably will be the last thing a catholic church wants to hear from and I don’t feel that what I am going through is close as many stigmata as you have read before. But the pain is real and the bitterness of my soul in provoking hatred is here to stay.

I can feel the blood rushing through my head and I can feel the crown made from thorn

I can feel the sound of my bone breaking when I get attached to the crucifix by nails

I can feel the spear thrusting through my limb and my rib

I can feel the warm blood clogging on my linen

I can feel the guilt of the criminals

I can feel the ignorance of the human race;

You cannot feel what I feel, you are here only to witness my destruction and you are documenting my departure. Bid farewell and be joyful of my passing. I wish the pain of the passing and the fore coming karma will serve me better as I am the unwanted and I have being placed among those whom they believed unworthy to attend to.

Friends, I wish to tell you that the joy of spreading happiness has never side me. The least you can do at this very moment are

Give me a breathing space so that I can transform the fear of death into the joy of departure

Give me a fast death so that the pain of dying will not be part of the joyful departure

Give me no humiliation so that my passing wouldn’t be remembered

Give me no mutilation so that I depart as an entity known to you

Give me no fear as I am departing with animals that yearn for love and kindness

Give me no farewell as departure is temporary which is known to the less ignorant

The joy and happiness I once understood has fed away and I am here again wishing you nothing more than a small prayer to set your soul free from being entrapped by fears that made to be believed by many. You are living a superficial matrix which you choose to live.

Liberate yourself and follow me

Deliberately release the shackles you have locked yourself to

Berate injustice serve to yourself but never provoke

Delicate is the ideology we choose to yield

Anger has dispersed and I succumbed to damages and death as a passerby. Year 2009 has made me the victim which left me with nothing but a burnt mark in the diary of my life and the journal of my genealogy.

Emptiness is just a word; emptiness is more than just a feeling.

I am embarking on a journey. Quit tripping!

I am back now to my old favorite past time where I usually blog at late night. There is nothing sensitive like political issues or racism I want to talk about. It is plain, it is boring and mind you, it is pretty stupid so bear with my writings.

I am not the common asshole you probably see at the street nor I am not just the passerby you have seen and you said, “Déjà vu, I knew him somewhere and some how”. Whining is not what I am good with; all I want to do is to have the freedom to express my thoughts and share my wisdoms.

Half of me will say keep the wisdom to yourself and the other half told me share it. I am in the crossroad for a year to decide either to care or to hell the fuck I fucking care about you. I may sound selfish, I am paranoid and sometimes, I am in the verge of suicidal. Yes, my writings are very suicidal oriented and I cannot detached myself from the dark side of me thinking death is a reborn. Death provides purity and death is divine. On the other hand, I love myself and I love the scriptures. Again, I am in the middle of this crossroad due to my ideology and my age.

For fucking sake, I am reaching 32 and I amaze to find myself still having time to stroke the keyboard keys to send my message to you dear readers. The least I can do is to share my wrongdoings and I still ask your forgiveness if I ever trespass you intentionally or subliminally. I am not a clean cloths and I am not that morbid to be a sinner. I am just an unsung countryman who tries to be less obscene with words and writings.

It is another lonely Tuesday night and I made up my mind, to come back into writing arena to provide you an option of reading style on how suicidal people may think. I am not gothic fan or my dressing codes have any symbols of these genres, I am just putting my pen and try to portray to you what I felt and what I should have done in the pass. Some may think I am another crusty punk rock star who write shit, yeah and no. I am no crusty punk fan but I do write shit! The fuck with your brain mister and missus, you can just close the fucking window and leave. This would be the last sentence you want to read or to be associated with you immersion fool. Fuck you!

If you stay, thank you for your kind ear as I do need attention for my writings. Yeah, this is no trivia and this may sound like the whole summary of the whole shit I have put before this but you opt to continue and I would say thank you for your kind support.

A beautiful girl (in art school)

Beautiful girl, I saw you again today

I have been with you throughout the day

You and your beautiful avatar stuck there

So beautiful, I hate to say that I do not dare

Well, you are depressed

I know how it feels to be oppressed

It is not part of you that I am obsessed

I am assured that I feel like I am possessed

Your dear self enchants me and I am always dazed

I wish I can take your fear away and make you amazed

I know the distance

I wish I could touch you this very instant

Your heart is so full with passion

I know it is hard with your mission

Beautiful girl, please show resistance

It is a way of remittance

Be calm and stop being reluctant

Put your mind into a constant

The stage is ready and set

You beautiful artwork shall be a gazette

Everything you have known shall be reset

This is your time; your creativity is your asset

Beautiful girl,

When you work, do swirl,

It is your trademark that will yield

And a hallmark in the field

Time will come to a stop,

It is time to pull the knob,

My heart may throb

I know you cannot rob

This is my confession to a crowd

The beautiful girl has no stop

In the time to come,

Be strong be calm,

For you know for once

I have said you are the finest one

The whiskey sip

After I opened the lid

The sensation burns my lip

It makes my mind on a slip

It also binds my thoughts like a clip

This anger I am trying to get rid

Yes, I am talking too much shit

Indeed, I feel like I am stuck in a pit

I should not address issues like a prick

Nor behave motionless like a brick

I am not full of gimmick

Only this hatred is so thick

I am fed up with your tweet

Which you think is very gay and sweet

It is like talking high on weed

That is why I do not subscribe your stupid feed

Clit, your bloody clit

I feel that you are about to get hit

Do not speak back on desires I have lit

Before I kick, off to the bushes you better sit

Cunt, your smelly cunt

Stop pushing me with your taunt

I am sending a voodoo spirit that will haunt

You may live in days which you can count

Ass, you stinky ass

Your are just merely a lass

I am forgetting about our past

It hardly sticks in my mind, what to say to last

Dick, your fucking dick,

An epitome which makes me sick,

If a fight is what you pick,

Blood is the last thing you will lick

Pussy, your gabbing pussy,

You always being so fussy,

Stop your bags of drama missy,

You are just being a sissy

Cock, your retarded cock

I think your so-called Glock needs a lock

You think every night your drifting dodgy dongle will dock?

Opps! Sadly all females ditched your fixed asset as a mock

Anus, your bowel disease prone anus,

Your writing is getting a D minus

You think your stupid trivia will get us?

You are dead wrong, you lamed leper with puss!

This is the last sip and I am done

It heats me up to the bone

I am drowsy and I shall be gone

Yeah, this stupid poem is sick like none

Peeps!! I am back for more in 2010

Yeah peeps!

I mean i am back to write for more. What reason I left the whole blog for almost a year?

Facebook killed me! Pet Society killed me.

I overcame FB and i am back to write you stupid postings! If you hate it, take a hike, if you love it, you understand my grieves.

Thanks peeps!