These were some words I wrote

Scavenging the everyday
For scraps of verse
That reverberate with beauty

Cling to these with jealous hands
In vain hope
That strung out,
                these verses will

Assemble, in accordance to
Laws more sublime than divine
A letter of love: for you

I was, when the earth was hurled out from its fiery rim. I shall return with the earth to Father Sun, and still exist in substance when the sun has lost its fire, and disintegrated into infinity to perhaps become a part of the whirling rubble of space. Why fear? The stuff of my being is matter, ever changing, ever moving, but never lost;

Zora Neale Hurston

I choose not to censor/edit this for your enjoyment/cause I’m a dumbass. Think of this as lessons in the consequences of not sleeping.

People might call me smart but I’m not sure myself. For example here I am alone, dumbstruck with phone open, unable to articulate a word. An ashtray with a dead cigarette, not mine but I can’t help inhaling the third hand smoke loving how dead embers smell when they interlock in embrace with the sweet armoas of the tea that stews before me. A red ant, big as anything dances across the table

The same seat has been occupied now by two women of oncommon beauty. I don’t long for them but I do yearn for a return to the days when their stories would flash full fomed in my mind. It would take away my own fear of telling my own story as I delve into the deep fissures of their story revelling in their flaws instead of wallowing in my own

Sometimes I feel the story is not worth the telling

On second thought, thats probably a good place to stop the blather. I want to get a good post together chronicling the PyWeek game soon. Here’s the hilariously cheesy not-quite-couplet:

Oh please let this be but drunken revelry

For if my heart beats not with your yours by the morn

My eternal grief shall be aborn

FFS, I really need to write that PyWeek post to redeem myself of this cheese factory now.

It’s been five years. I don’t know how to celebrate it this year, coming back to the Philippines. It didn’t hit me to remember the day, April 1. I was too exhausted after the pressures of the exhibit. Traveling on the skyway one day made me miss Singapore so much. Leaving school, I don’t know if I really have many friends. No one to celebrate that last bittersweet day with. It’s my fault I know, never made much of an effort. It was far easier to cocoon myself with studies rather than dealing with people.

I say I hate people but secretly love them.

I miss the sensation of writing, forming words into tangible moments of beauty. The following is rescued from my notebook.

A book is more than the words, thoughts, feelings that it conveys. It is the entirety, the whole, a sensual experience rather than mere intellectual exercise. You begin with searching the shelf, eyes gazing across an expanse of words. You are overwhelmed, feeling like a soul drowned out by the homogenity of the human race. You reach out for another that can fill you, so is like the sensation of finding that book, the one that is yours.

And so you reach for it, snatching like an eager lover or slowly savouring the moment. Fingers play over the cover, tactile proof that perhaps your search is over…

I feel so inadequate next to this

The server hosting the blog images has gone offline. I actually like the inadvertent minimalist feel to it now.

Back from internship. Lessons learned there indeed. I now need to get out of school and into the scary as frak ‘real’ world.

First time in a week or so that I see the sun. I was a space cadet the whole time I was out in the world, looking up at the sky like that. Reason for my confinement? PyWeek! I think this is my first complete game ever and it was completed in a week! Awesome. Could never have done it without gord, the main programmer of our game. The game is very very pretty. Not necessarily innovative gameplay wise but I feel its pretty solid. Got the game making bug now that I’ve got one complete game under my belt.

Tangentially, I am fucking pissed at the local roman catholic churches. Maybe not everyone is spewing the same rhetoric but jeez. They are fighting the passing of a bill about sex education. This. Is. Stupid. And the crap they are spewing? That the supporters of the bill are false prophets. Can’t make this shit up folks. We’re back in the middle ages where the church wishes to suppress knowledge for their own ends. It’s incredibly… god.. angering that they will refuse to ease the burden of their flock HERE ON EARTH. It’s the same kind of reasoning that brought about the god damn inquisition. We’ll make you suffer so your soul will be pure woo!

I mean, jeez. Get on with the times. For an example to follow? What about the church of england? They’ve moved on from ignorance by making a formal apology to Charles Darwin. Sure its late but its a sign that they are ready to move on and be more accepting instead of irrational reactions. Like, you know, ‘false prophets’

Rant. Out.

Post-humanism would be too boring if it we just evolved into a single tribe of post-humans. Needs post-chronos, post-religionism, post-nerd, post-geek, post-post, post-hygeine, post-postal. Uh stuff. Would also be fun to RPG in this world I think.

Random Ubuntu-ness. Why does evolution need so many critical updates. And why do I download these updates when I don’t use evolution?

I feel so far away. I had a small private breakdown recently, a conflagration of a multitude of things that reminded me of my loneliness.

Turned 23, minor footnote. They say age doesn’t matter. I would agree except I feel like I’m going nowhere. I’m about due for a quarter life crisis it seems. Should I have achieved more by now? I worry I’ll never get anywhere, nothing is driving me forward except for sheer momentum. What am I waking up for every morning? Theres the hazy goal of “get a job in the games industry” but what is that? It’s nothing substantial, nothing inspirational.

Critical introspection. I am shallow. I never express what is in my head, I don’t process input anymore (have I ever?), I’ve gone into pure automaton mode. Being a robot isn’t all that its cracked up to be. Give me back my body.

Found Microserf’s on sale. Halfway through it. In retrospect it feels more depressing now, the inversion of the hope it inspired in me.

I wish I had the guts to just ask her to break me now.

When I see the world I want to do it with a good pair of shoes and all the time in the world, the better to soak in the details that you might otherwise miss behind a car or something. It was a treat to walk through neighbourhoods on the route I usually take and discover so much sensory details that the car deprives me.

I still don’t know if I’ve been emptied of all feelings. El Roboto out.

We’ll work backwards from here.

Correction, I’ll work backwards. I don’t know who else reads this.

Congratulations, you have not worked out how to get back from that seething pit of anger. I don’t know if its right to call it emotions, I never seem to have them. Messr. El Roboto. I just push it under. Not healthy, I commented to a friend that I’m jealous of my sister and her drinking binges. Friend laughingly offers to go drinking with me. It’s a sweet gesture but I wisely don’t take her up on it. Last time I went drinking with friends I started attempting to speak in drunken filipino. What the hell. Also I get damn maudlin, I can’t take that now.

I walked to fort boni from school, about three times now. It’s my escape, the mindless footsteps bleeding anger. All roads lead to home. I wish I had a camera, I want to document this. Third time doing this, the concrete feels firm under my feet like it will hold, at last. The first time I let my anger unscythe I ride raw hatred over scarred streets. A place, might have been special because of a girl but I carry my boiling anger past unmolested. The green fields and dark night conspire to remind me of better times in Singapore.

God I miss my buds, they just had a primary school reunion. I know, I just chatted to them, pretended I was all right. I lied to them with a straight face but it seemed right at the time. There was a meteor shower too.

Second time was almost better, more punishing. I take the longer way, I almost die of exhaustion. It was exhilarating. All the while I keep hoping for the stupidest thing, a glance of her.

The third time is the last day of school. I proceed by the direct route, leaving bewildered friends as I seem to walk towards nowhere. I feel like I’m headed nowhere. I know that back at school I’ve let myself fail three subjects intentionally. I could have fought the feelings of dejection but I didn’t I let myself sink to the lowest mental capacity. Happy days it feels like secondary school again. I should have been able to do better. Fuck it, my psyche commands. The least I did was ensure that I didn’t take a group down with me. Seems like I can let myself down but not a group. I feel like a dipshit.

And I exacerbate my feeling of defeat. I carry it on my shoulders, my dead blank stare. I have mastered apathy as the cure for the dull aching despair. Nothing goes right, a disaster of my own crafting. I had hoped for release. That my beloved night would have answers for me. On that walk I find questions that but mirrors my despair.

I find myself on a road. The dark pools around it and the world beyond in the light seems artificial, a mirage. For that moment I own that negative space, before a car clumsily casts its headlight in wild abandon, an attempt to drive away my darkness, I own it. It feels perfect but I must move on.

I don’t know which is more painful, that the girl didn’t acknowledge my invitation that night or that I found that I can shrug off the physical manifestations of defeat so easily and yet the emotional scars remain. Neither helped heal me I think.

I’m sick but I refuse to sleep. I think I fear something there now.

Douglas Coupland. Saw his latest book, for some reason while writing this I read up on the experience of someone being waterboarded. This incongruity struck me as Coupland-esque. I don’t know why, but I’m compelled to write it down. I think I’m god damned chuffed to see myself as being worthy of a Coupland narrative. It’s crazy but fuck it. Also, too much swearing in this post.

Fuck it.

Went to Baguio. Didn’t get the girls anything in return for their Darth Vader. Sigh, I am a scumbag. I’ll get them something from Manila I guess. Came back sick. Full damn circle.