Thomas and Friends

I Was Her Personal Photographer

HEY DRO

FAJA Keokham

Ace is A Graduate

Ace the Graduate

Grad Pineapple

The Love of my Fucking Life

I have been so consumed and caught up with the people that I choose to love that I forget about myself. And I learn to hate myself when love is unrequited. And I'm taking a lot of hits from myself for no reason at all. And I don't feel like doing that anymore. So I won't. I'm going to love the shit out of myself. I'm going to be so good to me that I won't need anyone else to fill in the spaces. I love you, but I love me more.

I'm officially gay for myself.

Here's another shitty one

I guess I shouldn't stop writing.

I found a new sense of indifference. This way I  lose my anger translation of anxiety. It's all still shit to me and I still have nothing to believe in but the day is getting longer. I'm still at war with myself. But now its a quietly stubborn battle between being who I want to be and who I know I should be. But they're all making me so happy. 

 I think.

Got to... got to.. I have got to get myself together. I need to save time for myself so I can do shit like this. Shit like writing shitty posts on my shitty blog. Shit like laying in my own bed, looking up at my own ceiling, listening to the sounds of my own walls. Shit like finishing the tower of books I eagerly built. SHIT LIKE FINDING NEW SHIT TO LIKE. Watching a fucking movie by myself without falling asleep because I get stoned. Taking a walk to the bench I like so much. Running errands alone. BEING FRIENDS WITH MYSELF, SHIT LIKE THAT. I got to be friends with myself again. I can feel myself leaning on everyone. Leaning on Mikal. And I can't be constantly leaning on anyone. I want to get good at being alone just so I can be alright with being alone.

Maybe I should stop writing. 

Girl

I'll let you stomp all over me. I fucking guess.

Goddamn

I get these panicky outbursts that make me feel the need to scream. My chest wells up. White knuckled fists. Like I could take the world into my hand and crush it as I please.

Yellow Eyes

For those who don't give a fuck,

I'm perpetually having a falling out with myself. Firmly believing in my own personally bred destruction, I am a stray. I creep through night and squint through day. I only tend for one thing and she's slowly trying to kill me. Dad asked, "Are you still living here?" I said yes, promised I'd be home for the night, then hung up straight to disappointment. I woke up this morning and I was sandwiched between my Every Days. We slept on a bed that once housed a junkie and I was uneasy. I tried to recall the night before but all the nights have swirled into the same simple scenes. My eyes won't recover from the yellow so I burn till they're red and glassy. Till my mind forgets the next words I want to say aloud and I'm silently steadying myself to be still. 'Maybe tomorrow,' I like to tell myself. But I have no intentions of digging myself out of this. I intend to sink lower. Just to see how far I can stray.

Give Up

I don't believe anymore.

Looking for Me

You're going to wake up one day.

AA

And I was just talking about how I drink so much and so often now that I probably couldn't reach a new level. I was very wrong.

RIP Angie

Sick of It

I just want to turn away from it.

21st Anniversary

My parents have been off on a journey to the great, white north. Ma has been sending me pictures through facebook of all their adventures. They seem to be having fun. And they seem to be happy. But they really wish we were with them. They just love us that much.

Every time I think about my parents growing old, tears form at the brim of my eyes. I don't know why it breaks my heart so much but there's this picture in my head of them with gray hairs, standing side by side with their arms around each other, smiling at us. Every single time I imagine that picture... I can't even help but cry as I compose this.

Happy 21st anniversary to my makers; my loving parents.

Car Talks

It's strange to say that you are a dream.
"It's sad to say that you are my dream."

Sick Fuck

with a smart phone.

For the first time since I first roamed this planet, I am with smart phone. This is an unusual transition for me. I feel overly-connected to everyone. There's FB, there's Twitter, and I keep staring at Instagram. There's all these apps that I never needed before. All these things to poke and slide and give my attention to. All things that I don't know what to do with. I never got along with technology much. Which is why I have always preferred shitty phones with unlimited text and talk because that was all I need. It's also why I don't join most social networking shit because I end up leaving it and not knowing what to do with myself. But here I am, feeding this brick of an alien all my attention because it stares at me to. I don't know why I feel like I'm under a lot of pressure. Like I should be doing exactly what everyone else is doing. But it's kind of stupid not to utilize what I have. I want to make use of this alienbitch somehow. At least for it to provide me with some momentary entertainment or distraction. Heh, the problem is, once I get used to this, it'll probably become more significant to me than just some momentary source of entertainment/distraction. But I guess it's time I step up. I can't deny technology forever or else I'll fall behind.

"It was the sweetness of your skin"

Last night was our moon so I took us to to some place through the woods with a view, and some trains, and a body of water, and rocks to skip. I had a black plastic bag with two bottles of bum wine. They clanked against each other inside the bag and I liked the sound they made. I felt fearless somehow, standing on a cemented bench and hovering over water like the king of my castle. I knew the way you looked at me. With the lights in your eyes. And the way it seemed like your insides were bursting, traveling up your spine, to the back of your neck, and spreading across your face till it reaches your mouth. Your lips would part, hardly agape, in awe of the things I show you. I saw Mars, burning red next to the others stars. You refused to believe me. You said there was too much light pollution to see it. But it was Mars, and I was right, and your mouth opened wider this time. We sat side by side, looking up at every corner of the sky. You said the North star was near the moon. You smugly told me how it looked dim next to the moon. Like the moon was yours and you were its proud creator.

"Why does the moon remind me of you?" you asked. And I told you its because I could never shut up about it. Then you'd look at me, the way no one else knows how to. Like I was the moon orbiting your existence.

Dream Big

I'm going to settle for a job that makes enough money to support me with my writing. I will ultimately be a writer whether it kills me or not. I don't care if I end up forever freelancing shit or picking up odd jobs, as long as I get to continue writing. I've been dreaming more lately, which means that I've been writing more lately. I have a handful of short stories that I may or may not share with my audience of choice and a handful of unfinished stories that I just have not yet developed. I recently (kind of recently) started a book for Mikal. I'm filling it with stories from when I first met her till the book is no longer blank. She's my favorite audience so I thought I'd make it easy for myself to write to her. It'd keep me consistent, and that's all I really need right now. Besides, when it's filled, it'll be the best present I have ever made for anyone.

Also, if I want to be a writer, I can't be secretive about my work. Although I do prefer that I write in secrecy...because I love secrets...SECRETS. Actually, I just started sharing my secret writing to Mak because well, if I was going to share my secret shit with anyone, it's going to be Mak. But sharing with her comes with some pretty perks. She tells me, "If you don't do something with your writing, I'm going to forever live in despair." She didn't tell me those exact words but I'm sure that's something accurate... She motivates me. In her own unusual way. 

Little dreams.

The Bruises On My Legs Were An Understatement

This is the story of our detailed and shafted encounters with life.

Our first encounter was on a Thursday.

Ace, Mak, Xavier, and I took a trip to Sunol one familiarly hot Thursday. It was about a thirty minute hike to reach the waterfall; so naturally, we lazily found a trail that led to the stream after just ten minutes of our scorching walk. We stumbled upon our first problem when we reached the stream. Water shoes come in handy when wading through water and mossy rocks. Ace wore a pair of her gray kicks but refused to wear it in the water. She wobbled through the stream, like goddamned Bambi was learning to take her first steps again under water. Xavier had the same problem. So Mak and I walked several hundreds of yards ahead of them because I had my water shoes and Mak wore her torn up moccasins. “Ace, just wear your shoes underwater. This is gonna be dick for you,” I recall telling her. Typically, she refused and protested, telling us about the inconvenience of having wet, dusty shoes. I saw Xavier surrender his shoes to the water, but in attempt to save his socks from the wetness, he accidentally flung one sock right into the water because his clumsiness would inevitably give him the shaft. Finally, we were all equally tripping over rocks, branches, and the flow of the water. When we reached an open and calm body of water, we took a seat on each of the rocks big enough to be part of our smoke session. We regrouped and talked about the weather and how often we should do this and how water shoes are such a great idea and how they all thought I was a bumbling genius and how they wanted to throw a party in honor of my genius. Ace sat beside Xavier who spotted a bee intruding our peace. Just as I knew she would, Ace screamed and panicked. I told them to be still, and I recall stifling an inside giggle in reference to Ace’s tattoo. They were still. But impatience took hold of the situation. Xavier said, “Fuck this shit,” and began to hastily walk out of the water and onto to dry land. We all slowly and semi-carefully waded to dry land. But we panicked as it buzzed around us. And goddamn, that bee was resentful. We stood on dry rocks for a few minutes then returned back to the water when the coast was clear. Before we even reached our previous spot, the bee appeared out of nowhere and continued to harass us with its buzzing and hovering. We created a scattering of screams and splashes. Entirely out of panic, we ran. We weren’t slow or even semi-careful anymore. We ran. Ace found land first, then Xavier. Mak was right in front of me, and with the heavy hulking force of her irrational fear for insects, her arm swung to her side where her elbow lands right on my fucking face. Heavy, hulking force. My vision blurred and as I took a step forward without even a slight regard for the fucking bee anymore, I tripped on a rock as tall as my knees. And there I laid still; face down looking at the flow of the cold water that I fell on, refusing to get up because I decided to give up. I looked up and saw Ace with her hands on her knees, her mouth wide with what frighteningly looked like a roaring laugh. Xavier was nowhere in my sight of vision and Mak was just ascending to safety on the dry land. She asked, “What the fuck just happened?” But Ace didn’t respond. She continued to laugh until she felt the need to respond, which led to a choke of laughter and response. I didn’t move because my body was screaming at me not to move or else it threatened to be paralyzed (or so that’s what it felt like). I was still face down, belly down on the water and rocks, elbows slightly holding me up, my legs straight and just barely floating, and I felt the formation of bruises distinctly greeting me from both of my shins.

Our second encounter was on a Sunday.

Ace, Mak, and I expected to do nothing on that Sunday. In her room, Mak and I woke up around noon, just as we did every day. I began to get myself dressed and ready which meant that I was slowly peeling off my clothes as I danced in front of her mirror. Mak was sitting on her bed, paying me no mind because I did this every day. Ace walks in her room, greets us, then begins to ramble. I was still dancing around the room, rolling around the bed, and getting myself ready for the day. I then struck a pose so inappropriate that I was on my hands and knees with my mouth forming a duck face and the desire to capture the moment. “Ace take a picture of me,” I demanded. “What no, you’re hurt,” she responded. “Just fucking do it!!” So she unwillingly snapped a shot in her phone and I continued getting ready. I sat down on the edge of the bed looking at myself in the mirror. Ace stood over me and immediately took notice of the black, purple, yellow, green, and grotesque bruises up and down both of my legs. “What the hell happened to your legs?” she asked just barely choking on a laugh. I looked at her with the dead seriousness of a PTA meeting. “What happened to my legs? Oh you wanna know what happened to my fucking legs?” I responded. Mak laughed and told her that it was from our first shafted encounter in Sunol. Between disbelief and laughter, she said, “Let me take a picture of them.” I grabbed both of my legs and yelled, “What, fuck no!” None of us understood why I refused a picture considering that we all just witnessed my very inappropriately posed snapshot on the bed. I dodged her attempts to capture my legs until she left the room. I knew she wasn’t about to give up so while she was gone, I looked around the room to find something to cover the bruises on my legs. Mak looked at me, puzzled. “What are you doing?” she said. “I’m trying to find something to cover my bruises so she won’t take a picture,” I responded. “Why don’t you just put pants on?” she insisted. And of course, I ignored her and stubbornly looked around the room. On the bedside table, I saw a black glittery bottle of nail polish sitting next to a clutter of things. Impulsively, I grabbed the bottle, twisted it open, then began to paint up and down my legs. I painted fast and covered all the bruises before Ace returned. When she walked back in, Mak and Ace shared their laughter and I was satisfied that they were unseen.

When we were all finally decent and ready for the day, we headed to Mak’s car and began driving. We had no destinations for the day so we decided to go to the gazebo at the park and have a cigarette or two. We played Frisbee on the tall, dry grass of the park. It was windy and the Frisbee flopped for the most part, but Ace insisted to make this hobby our talent anyway. Eventually, we gave up our talent and sat inside the gazebo. We talked aimlessly and miscellaneously. Mak and I shared a cigarette or two, and I began playing with my lighter. There were dry leaves and branches covering the floors of the gazebo so I told them the story about how Jordan and I tried to set the gazebo on fire one winter night. I told them about my disappointment of when Jordan decided to put out the fire and be a good citizen of this country. In an unspoken agreement, we began to set our own little fires. At first with the dry leaves, then dry branches, then a pile of dried up things until we created a very small bonfire. The very small bonfire turned into a bigger bonfire and it kept enlarging until it led us to hop over the gazebo, onto the swampy area to find more dried up things to add to the fire. There we found a small trail under a bridge that we decided to one day turn into a clubhouse. We resumed back to picking up dried up leaves, branches, and kindling. Being the monkey that she is, Ace easily climbed back up on the gazebo unlike Mak and I who struggled to get our legs up. When we finally found our way back up, we continued to tend to the fire. I took 3 more trips out of the gazebo to find more kindling. The fire grew to a normal, adult-sized bonfire. We watched it without even talking anymore, and waited. Mak began kicking at the fire, and we wondered if the whole thing could really set ablaze. Some of the fire finally fell through from under the gazebo, and unexpectedly, the grass and dried branches from under the gazebo set itself on fire. It was small but it eventually grew bigger until the whole damned thing looked like an oven. Mak ended up kicking more fire under the gazebo which made it massive and made them panic. She said, “We either have to commit to stomping it out or just leave right now.” I wanted to leave. I was ready to walk away. Adrenaline found us. A rush of aspiring but failed arsons. Mak was running out of the gazebo but I was patiently standing on top of the fire. Ace was frantically looking through a trash can and found a few cups from Jamba Juice that she wanted to use to fill up with water and put out the fire. She then found a big tub of cheeseball puffs container, handed it to me, then ordered me to fill it with water from the swamp. I grabbed it and did as she said. I filled the container with water and just as I was about to walk back up, I slipped on mud, landed on my ass, with my legs soaking in the swamp, and yelling, “What the fuck!!” I walked back to the gazebo, spilled the water onto the fire and we heard it die to a sizzle. They looked at me, looked at my wet pants, and we walked out of the gazebo with smoke rising from under.

Finally.

In my car, I knew I had a pair of dry shorts to change into so I did just that. We were at the parking lot and I was just fortunate enough to be wearing a thong that day. My ass was hanging out, saying hello to mother nature when all of a sudden, a woman on a bike was passing by me. It was my art teacher from high school. She glanced my way then glanced quickly away, but I knew I recognized her so I screamed, “HI MS. S!!” She glanced back at me only to quickly glance back away again. I knew she’d thought of me strange, but now I was certain she thought I was insane. You’d think that this incident was enough dose of embarrassment for me, but it wasn’t over. A few seconds later, her husband passes by me on his bike followed by her 5-year old daughter, looking at me like with really no emotion or reactive response to my bare behind. To top off their family day at the park, I looked down and saw black glitter nail polish smothered up and down my legs. I poked my head inside the car and found Mak and Ace dying till they were dead, so I said to them, “It’s OK, Ms. S understands me.”

A Gift for the Sick

Dean Reese and Raemon Karlo.

Return

Blogger looks strange. I've been accustomed to its same style for years and I took comfort in that. Like I could always come back to it and it wouldn't taunt me. But now it looks nothing like it did before. I guess that's alright, I've been expecting it to become unfamiliar just like everything else.

My assumption is that no one visits this anymore. After being an avid blogger for so long, I was bound to get sick of it and not post anymore. Sometimes I wish it wasn't like that because at least it kept me writing. But now I write my shorts on loose papers and napkins, and it isn't so bad. I just hand the piece of writing to my audience of choice and wait for feedback or some polite smile.

I'm also coming to terms with a few things. I decided to settle and calm down. These passed several months, I feel like I've been trying a lot to keep myself up. I've been very mean to a few people. People who probably don't deserve that extent of meanness. But people who irritate me enough for me to think they deserve so. I won't apologize, I'll just try to be nicer. I have to stop being at Mikal's house as well. It's taking me down to a new level of dependency and I hate the way that dependency stiffens inside me when I'm at my lows. I need to be at my house, in my room, on my bed, writing these posts and these shorts, and finding myself again. I keep losing myself in my stresses and my fears and my worries and I'm becoming someone that I truly resent. I just want to care about myself again. People get really shitty so there's no reason why I should be taking it out on myself. It's not my fault it gets shitty. Sometimes things are just shitty. Shitty yeah shit yeah shitty. 

I think I might've gotten sick at a perfect time. 

Regroup. Reassemble.

Or Maybe It's Time I Face It

I don't want to write anything on this thing anymore. Ever. I outgrew this blog a long time ago. Or blogging at all. I look at this thing and I feel obligated to post something. Like I owe it my time. I've shut it down just to bring it back. After I took the longest hiatus, I can never do it again. Ace is the consistent now anyway. Memories will still be documented. I can still jizz and reminisce.

Oh well.

Like Licking a Bar of Soap

That's what I feel everyday now for these passed weeks. These passed, unbearably long weeks. I feel uneasy, unsettled, uninviting, unapproachable, unkind, and uncooperative. I started to feel shitty about myself a little while ago, and I thought it was just a funk. I thought it was a side effect from the drone, or from the limp start of the year, or from not caring too much about anything but being a shithead. But then it started to weigh on me. It started with sadness. It was this warm wave of break downs and sad stories. But I was able to talk about it. I'd just get sad. The sadness led to denial. Denial meaning parties. Meaning wasted, and wasted, and wasted. My system got really good with alcohol ingestion during those times. Shortly after, the parties turned into a desire for quiet, alone, and stoned. This is when I stopped talking. Then it turned to emotional attachment. But every single emotional attachment I had for anyone hailed on me all of a sudden. It brought me to frustration and a desire to be apathetic and alone again, where I'd screech through terse outbursts of tears. When I couldn't get myself to detach, my chest started to panic. I was feeling like I should be six feet under where I can't hear or see anyone. That turned into hate. The hot, unrelenting fever of hate. And now I just hate. I'm a hater. I hate on everything and everyone and I want to talk shit and make people feel like shit because I feel like shit. And when I can't take the fact that I feel this excessively hateful, I cut myself out of pictures and lay low in my head. But all I really picture in my head is shattering glass. Or bashing a face with a baseball bat. Or driving 90 the other way on one-way streets. Or kidney failure. What. Or lung cancer from the indulgent amount of cigarettes I smoke.

THIS IS HOW I FEEL.

Things I Cannot Recollect

I don't remember this year. Or being here. Or even being this person at all. It doesn't even look like me. Hair extensions and lunch with people who aren't my homies. Except for Ace, of course. I think I faked my entire senior year in highschool. But if I did fake it, I look pretty happy in this photo. Maybe I was just good at it.

Things I Cannot Recollect

I don't remember this year. Or being here. Or even being this person at all. It doesn't even look like me. Hair extensions and lunch with people who aren't my homies. Except for Ace, of course. I think I faked my entire senior year in highschool. But if I did fake it, I look pretty happy in this photo. Maybe I was just good at it.

No We

It could be the weather. Lately, I've been finding myself craving the perks of a relationship. I crave lazy days, shared meals, play time, adventure time. I miss the bestfriend in a relationship. It makes me miss all the good moments I've shared with my past flames. Picnics, walks, talks, trips, naps, and laughs. Letters and gifts, phone calls and photo shoots, secrets and sexy time. Can I rent a relationship? Juice out all the fun in a week, then break up, no hard feelings?

"WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET SOME INTIMACY AROUND HERE??!!!!!!!"

Suit Up or Shut Up

I kept hearing your name and I shook my head at each of them. I thought about your old belongings that I began to own and my belongings that I've debated to ask for in return. I'd even deliberated specific, proper words to be my greeting. But then I'd remember how endlessly infinite this could go on for and how ridiculously far futility goes on for.

I heard someone say, "Mortified..." And I immediately thought of you.

They Look At Me Like I'm Crazy

I just don't want to be a nurse. I know it's safe and I know it's stable and I could probably make my parents incredibly proud if I ever change my mind and settle for it, but I don't fit in that picture. I don't want to fit in that picture. I can already imagine working myself to exhaustion to be a nurse, become a nurse, marry my really nice, Filipino, steady boyfriend of a few years, have little Filipino babies, attend Filipino parties, and continue being a nurse so my kids can maybe try to do the same. Maybe one day my mind will change, but right now, all I know is I don't want to be a nurse. I don't want to fall into that category. I want to stubbornly be a fucking scum until I know exactly what I can live with. I want to do something that will keep me from feeling like my insides are rotting with routine. I just want to be able to say I did things through out my life. A lot of...things. But what the fuck am I talking about? I have to let the party end some time...do I?

Besco Dr.

It's starting to feel strange sleeping in my own bed because this doesn't feel like my bed anymore. This doesn't feel like my room anymore and this doesn't feel like my house anymore. I've been living with Mikal for these passed months that I can't even familiarize with my own home anymore. Maybe it's best this way. I would've imagined our family living here for...ever. Soon I'll have to drive by the corner of this house, of where we will soon used to live. And soon I'll have to see cars that aren't ours parked outside of the driveway. I'll probably even get to see how they decorate during Christmas. If they'll do that at all. They'll probably never sit on that porch like we did.

I love this house. I loved when we first moved in here, and how I listened to Depeche Mode during dusk while I chose which room was going to be mine. I remember the very moment I chose my room. I just got back from being a mallrat with a good friend of mine. Dad said we had to decide who was going to get which room. I walked into mine, sat down in the middle of it, looked out the window where the sky was gray and blue and dimming by the second. I sat there for several long and silent minutes. I didn't move. I didn't inspect the room. I just sat there in the middle with my legs crossed, looking out the window, and letting my thoughts wander through leaving an old life for a new one. And I remember breathing in the smell of the empty house. And as rarely as I find them, I remember clarity at its best. I remember contentment. And everything was alright. How can I ever claim another room to be mine?

House Mourning~

Ha

I woke up and giggled. She said I just needed a hug, and she was right.

What the fuck am I so mad for

It's Sunday night now, and I'm doing homework now, and tomorrow will be Monday and my week starts again. I can't be angry every fucking week. Could I? I'd be sucked dry.

I just need to breathe again. Make myself breathe again. Have meals with people who enjoy food. Listen to music again. Watch movies again. Maybe speak kindly. Sit around and not feel like I'm wasting away by sitting down. I can sit and not be mad. I can.

Be a thug.

The Great Outdoors

I don't know why I keep climbing back up when I know for certain that someone's big, hiking boots will just stomp me down, leave a mark on my face, then continue walking.

I know I said I wouldn't, but I think I give up.

Fuck.

I began wishing I wasn't there. Like the planets aligned wrong and I entered time too soon or too late or goddamn, I don't know. I was physically squirming out of my skin. It reminded me of the full intent of wanting to set that gazebo on fire. We made a fire so big that if we just kept walking away, the entire thing would've set ablaze. And no one would have to know. And that secret could've been mine to keep. I could've smirked at overhearing anyone speak of it. But this is just because I'm angry. I'm so fucking angry. I keep hating everything around me. Nothing is interesting and I'm stuck in this rut in my mind where I can't shake anything off. I can't fucking talk to anyone because I'm partially stupid and cold and I wouldn't want to waste anyone's time anyway. Gay. Gay, gay. Fucking gay.

There isn't a single person that I can grab onto and feel alright with. I just don't understand why everything crawls under my fucking skin. It's making me sick and I can't watch any of it anymore.

The Cut Off

Living should have a cut off.

Those who refuse to grow up should have the option for life termination after youth. And those who want to keep carrying on with the burdens of life should have the option to proceed doing so. Just kidding. Kind of. Sort of. I don't want to grow up so I prefer I had the life termination option. My 20 years have been sufficient. Everything goes down from here. Unless I decide to take denial like the rest of you settlers.

PESSIMISM, yum.

FAITH??????

Trying to pinpoint as to when I started giving up on everything around me... I'm trying to figure out why and how I got so twisted up that I stopped believing in anything. All I know is that I started to practice my own shit and now I can't see anything very clearly. Everything becomes distorted and meaningless and so fucking dull. I'm losing faith in art and music and literature and family and friends and happiness. And I stopped believing in myself long before I even realized that I don't care about anything. What's a bitch to do when all of a sudden... nothing really matters.

Hate and Shit

I'm starting to lose control with my temper. It's starting to seep out and this shit's getting worse. I keep hating everything with so much of my energy. Then I get angry when I lose all of that energy. Every single person I know finds their way to crawl under my skin. Even when they don't mean to. My teeth keep grinding and my gears are already ground. What the hell is happening to me? I'm drained and I don't even know how I got here. And everyone else is just as miserable. Everyone. Can't I just stop living so I wouldn't have to die this slowly? God fucking damn it.

Enough of this bull shit.

Bring Your Own Noose party time.