Everyone died yesterday. Yesterday everyone died. Even words are meaningless now, since there is no one to hear them nor read them. There are no blind beings to touch them. They have no conscience to touch. No one is left. I mean, everyone is left, just that their chests don't move and their eyes are empty. The tears that once made them shine have dried up, and the retinas have been drawn into the pupils. Their lips are wrinkles and their skin is cracked. They are all there, it is just that no one breathes. And how did I escape this death, I do not know how I escaped it... It doesn't really matter now, I guess. It is only I and the future from hereon, and a lot of canned food. How sad will be it when it all boils down to Spam...
I do not think of attempting to save anything from the world that has been given me upon awakening. I will use and waste, use and waste, use and waste. If only there were children to save things for, so they may take it all down the line and into eternity. Ha! Eternity! Look around me, you, I, we, both inside me, look! This is eternity petrifying in the empty streets and in the desolate homes. It is all so empty, it echoes when I speak, and you cannot imagine how terrifying it all is. I have been deceived of hearing others speak when it was only my own words calling out to someone. Everything we do, we somehow do for the future. Even when we eat, we eat for a future. Where we born with no belief in the future, do you think there'd be a need to eat?
How sick must I be in the head! So many dead, and I speak of eating! And yet, I am hungry, and most of these people are strangers. And yet, lying there, all shriveled up and translucent, all sad and humble, all... gone... god... do You still exist? After all your churches have been reduced to caves, and those lips that prayed recede into the bones, do You still exist? Can you exist for ONE MAN?! GOD!!!!! GOOOOOD!!!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU???? I cannot take this silence anymore... i can't... please... please...
Silence is misery. Loneliness is misery. I hate to be alone, with all these people watching me. I cannot stand it. The day is waning and the birds have begun to shriek. At least they're still around. What a strange strange thing... this. Why did it have to happen to me... And yet, despite it all, as the sun sets, am i not still living? Should I die because they all died? They didn't choose this fate, and I am willingly to give in to it. I makes no sense. And if in heaven, they all recognize me, as the one who had the choice to keep on living... They would put my ass in hell for stupidity, for being an ingrate. I owe them nothing. Nothing.
It is all mine. Everything. Even the corpses decomposing everywhere I look. Damn these glasses. Why do I even wear them? Here... take this... I don't need to see! I'd rather live in a blur and ignore everything around me than have to care to look into every single face reminding me of my solitude. Hence I crush you in my hands, little glasses. You served me well when you mattered...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
a memory
Of the things I recall, I remember the tiny holes in my grandmother's tiled roof. She lived in a valley, which meant the sun shone fiercely and the vapor could be seen ascending in the places where one could spot the horizon.
At noon, or circumscribing that hour, the light would find its way through the tiny holes in the roof, and it would seem as if laser beams fell at angles from the ceiling onto the floor. The dust that was swept everyday, that would rise and remain latent in the air, would then appear; like snowflakes they would cross the beam and then merge back into the dusk interior.
I remember playing with the beams of light as a child. I would deposit the golden spot in the center of my palm, as if expecting it to uncover some divine secret. I would try to drink it. I would bounce it off walls with the aid of a mirror. Sometimes, I would put my eye right under it, to find closed after one second. The sun of the valley was a strong sun, and the spot shone brighter and more valuable, I now find, than any golden coin.
Comayagua, the name of the valley, was my childhood soul place. It was the place where the child I once was remains. And as most things past, nothing is left but its remains; lest we were born without memory, the warmest feelings would be irrecoverable...
At noon, or circumscribing that hour, the light would find its way through the tiny holes in the roof, and it would seem as if laser beams fell at angles from the ceiling onto the floor. The dust that was swept everyday, that would rise and remain latent in the air, would then appear; like snowflakes they would cross the beam and then merge back into the dusk interior.
I remember playing with the beams of light as a child. I would deposit the golden spot in the center of my palm, as if expecting it to uncover some divine secret. I would try to drink it. I would bounce it off walls with the aid of a mirror. Sometimes, I would put my eye right under it, to find closed after one second. The sun of the valley was a strong sun, and the spot shone brighter and more valuable, I now find, than any golden coin.
Comayagua, the name of the valley, was my childhood soul place. It was the place where the child I once was remains. And as most things past, nothing is left but its remains; lest we were born without memory, the warmest feelings would be irrecoverable...
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
anarchy
I knew of a girl who said she majored and got her degree in anarchy, in order to do activism, and that was waiting for the next vegan product to appear in the market.
My mind which constantly bothers me with petty thoughts, remarked several things within the next few seconds after this rant. For one, it asked how one can major in anarchy. Then i realized in order to major or get a degree in something one has to go through an educational system, which slightly resembles that of our government. Then I noticed the iMac, and realized that she had bought into some of the material goods provided by the capitalist system. I understood that there can be no completely anarchy, unless we were all drunk and the trees shifted in our path. Then I remembered the monkeys that live in some beaches, such as jamaica, and often steal the drinks from the napping tourists to get drunk in or around some palm trees, and that's probably how the term 'drunk as a monkey' got coined. Then, as my mind wandered in the animal realm, I reminisced on the beauty of slug sexual intercourse, as the british guy spies on them and disrupts their intimacy while they are pending from a tree making the translucent mushroom*, and as the thoughts mount up I ended up in the logical depository: do i suffer mild schizophrenia? and finally, does she? do we?
My mind which constantly bothers me with petty thoughts, remarked several things within the next few seconds after this rant. For one, it asked how one can major in anarchy. Then i realized in order to major or get a degree in something one has to go through an educational system, which slightly resembles that of our government. Then I noticed the iMac, and realized that she had bought into some of the material goods provided by the capitalist system. I understood that there can be no completely anarchy, unless we were all drunk and the trees shifted in our path. Then I remembered the monkeys that live in some beaches, such as jamaica, and often steal the drinks from the napping tourists to get drunk in or around some palm trees, and that's probably how the term 'drunk as a monkey' got coined. Then, as my mind wandered in the animal realm, I reminisced on the beauty of slug sexual intercourse, as the british guy spies on them and disrupts their intimacy while they are pending from a tree making the translucent mushroom*, and as the thoughts mount up I ended up in the logical depository: do i suffer mild schizophrenia? and finally, does she? do we?
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