10AM Guilt

All the blue books and pens doing the necessary scratches. Friction. Enumerate twelve signs why Kevin has been doing roughly nothing lately. Oh yes, I’ve been in this war in Zimbabwe or someplace and I had to befriend a general. If not, we’re stewed. There is this slight buzz in my head in my ten-minute walk en route the apartment. The bliss of guilt. The comparisons. Two years ago I would have made quite a little effort for an exam. I rarely learn from exams (in the strictest sense of the word). My French professor must have been wondering what the hell have I been up to? That happens when it’s the only subject you have in a day. In my case I tend to slack and watch porn. Read some article about this and that. The boring life. I just want to keep myself busy with my lips, peeling off the skin. Now it’s like seeing craters off some distant red planet.

For a 10AM class I smoke a cigarette. I find comfort in the dust of the leaves. Whenever I say ephemeral–well, I don’t say such word. Some words are just really manly, like cavort or raucous. Ephemeral is much like gossamer hung with a wooden clothespin.

Saturday always gets it.

Wait, I have this hangnail and it hurts. You’ll know when it hurts. Tried fishing my wallet in my pocket, I ended up yelping.

This entry was written by Kevin, posted on September 1, 2010 at 3:10 am, filed under IRLs, Life at UPLB. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.

I’ll walk my thoughts with a cigarette

My readers,

Too much vignettes I’ve been writing lately. Probably because I’ve been into Livejournal these days (made it three years ago and it’s only now that I’ve revived it for very personal reasons). Been listening to a lot of Up Dharma Down these days. Depress the hell out of me by singing the lines from The World Is Our Playground And We Will Always Be Home: I swear I belong / this is where I belong.

Triggers have been sent. I just woke up one day not feeling comfortable with my roommates. Our thoughts clash, our philosophies in a state of derision (because derisive is such an awkward word). Problematic enough that I’ve been planning to move to another apartment next semester. Problematic enough that I reside in the apartment to sleep and wake up. I even forgot my keys a while ago. Signs are surfacing. I’m not buying this shit anymore. It’s probably just me overreading things but I’d love to stay in another apartment and do (cook, smoke) anything I want.

And then I badly need a housemate. Like Sheldon Cooper, I do have a single requirement I’d rather not discuss here for the fear that my roommates would read this. We should have the same interests. That’s it. I don’t care if he’s limp or, I dunno, messy or anything.

My poetry class have exhausted me last weekend. I had to write five Tagalog poems under a theme I proposed (that is: tragedies in everyday life, where images of calamities should and must surface throughout the poems as organic as possible, and that it is a commentary with the mundane). It actually made me think: tragedies occur in the everyday. I’m proud of doing poetry for a while but I fear I should stop it. It’s too heavy to handle, too emotional, even. It’s not definitely as light as fiction. I’ll post it some time.

To bombard you with the mundane:

1. My wallet was lost last Tuesday. Contains several twenties. My ATM closed last June so I don’t have to worry. Sadly, all my Cinemalaya tickets are there. Memories: receipts, ID pictures. A condom. More receipts. My fucking school ID. How lame.
2. I’ve quit alcohol (thank god it’s working for a month and a half now).
3. I’m addicted to something else.
4. Health is at the least of my priorities! That’s… surprising! I jogged once last week, once two weeks ago, and I feel like I don’t have the will to run. Who am I running for, anyway? Back then I run for myself, to trim the fats and everything, but now I’d rather run away from myself because OH FUCK I’M RANTING.
5. Been skinning my lips again. I’ve been working on it, but it’s a sign of insecurity. Problems. Spaced-out days. The dry weather. Overanalyzing things. Stigmas. Issues. I’m getting moody sometimes. This is bad. Lips tell a lot, really. Basically you just have to stare at my lips to see whether I still function. (But that’s awkward.)
6. This is one of the lowest points of my life, but this is Livejournal shit I’d rather not write about.
7. For three months I’ve only went home four times. Last time I went home I slept for twelve hours, and then another twelve hours, then another. Dad thought I died. Friends have been calling me, asking where the fuck are you? Oh, I overslept.
8. I have one mushy line in my poetry, and it says (translated from the Tagalog): I’d want to tattoo your name in my body / under my eyelids / at my shoulders / at my nipples. It’s funny. No, I made up that nipple part.
9. When you do poetry and you’re shallow as fuck (just like me), you’re either of these: depressed-slash-suicidal or wide-eyed-romantic. You can’t go in between. You’re just either of the two. Labeling poetry classmates as these is a very honest pastime.
10. My professor in prose said you have to lose faith in something to know if you do have the passion for it. After a brief discussion on metafiction, I winced. I’m starting to hate the world (specifically the contexts I’ve been noticing in the world, in the society).
11. When blog posts start in you, as in “you, who shakes the bed with me,” it all gets whiny and mushy at the same fucking time.
12. Man, did that make you laugh.
13. Cloud 9 is made of win because they put cereals on it nowadays.
14. Seriously, this is one of the lowest points in my life. Friends aren’t friends anymore. I couldn’t disclose everything with them. Now friends should understand you, in a way, but most of them? They don’t.
15. See how the “you” sounded pedagogic? And mushy?
16. I haven’t watched too much Big Bang Theory that much (a couple of times, really) because I might get addicted to it. I get addicted to easily.

This entry was written by Kevin, posted on August 5, 2010 at 2:19 am, filed under IRLs, Last song syndromes, Life at UPLB, Pensive shits, Sentemotional, Slang and random, Stress ball narratives, Stupid, Vignettes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.

F.O. Santos

Weird how I met a lot of people on my way home. Lit class seatmate with her girlfriend. Buying isaw. Word she said when she admitted she’s a lesbian: hush. Probably confused back then. We’re pretty tight but that’s because she was asking me tips: how do I get her to eat lunch with me? I really don’t know but it should be easy, knowing both of you are girls. She’s still wearing the same lesbo hair I used to tease her about. Now she was dying to know why I got the semi-kal. We used to laugh about our professor’s lousy handwriting. Well, reading Chinese Literature is fucking lousy in the first place, though that’s just my old AgEcon self. I’m good with anything to read. Hypertexts are awesome.

Then another friend who happened to be gay. Had to rant about graduating. Used to smoke cigarettes with him at the apartment with a lot of friends. Used to bring his toothbrush. Hygiene shit I don’t understand, especially those three-minute bathroom visits. Last semester his father died. Actually, murdered. From what I’ve heard some Muslim shot him in the chest. Forgot why. No idea about Muslims–they’re good people. Anyways, the death crippled him for days. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t give a damn. I haven’t met his father but they’re like twins. Same faces. Oh, if there’s one thing I’d like to remember, it’s the ersatz tetra-pack orange juice he served during the wake. Just fucking boss, though honestly I couldn’t really remember about it. First thing that came to mind when I think of the guy. And how I felt completely bored with his friends during the wake, I almost emptied a pack of cigarettes. Nowadays I usually do but back then that’s a big deal.

An orgmate was buying food at Parduch, the 24-hour carinderia. Tipsy-red. Said he’s drinking at the nearby apartment. A year ago he quit school just because he felt like it. Real deal behind it: they don’t have enough money to pay for school. Fucking tuition fee increase. Saddened the org for quite a while, but what can we do? Now I’ve heard he’s taking up hardcore Statistics this semester. Probably as hardcore as his drinking life.

A friend was wearing short shorts and a black tank top. Effin’ hot, in every sense of the word, and to match it are her glasses. Makes her look smart. She said she’s off to Elbi Square. Saw her smoking once and I confronted her about it, said it wasn’t what I was expecting. Which makes things more magnetic, bashing stereotypes. Funny how I learned the theory with her. We’re seatmates for two semesters. Bragged a little of her beaus. Asked me once: is he honest? Hell no he isn’t. Ditch the guy.

Two other friends were former housemates of a former housemate. Basically we’re friends. They were asking me to come have dinner with them somewhere, but I told them I have this 8:30AM class (though honestly, I had to blog about this). Should’ve joined them. Fun people with cigarettes and curves for dirty dancing. I did party once, with them. Dancing is just bullshit for me, as bullshit as this church in Majayjay, Laguna which has gained attention because it’s old, and that it was made by forced labor. Polo y servicios? Post-colonial shit I hate, these friars.

Had to write these down. Such different characters you could meet by the street.

This entry was written by Kevin, posted on July 20, 2010 at 12:25 am, filed under IRLs, Life at UPLB. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.