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?
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Squeezing the juice out of reality.
We possess five explicit senses: sight, audition, touch, taste, smell. In other instances I would add intuition as the implicit sense, but it is not important for this monologue. Given this, assume four situations:
In the first situation, you are walking down the street, when you hear a whistle blowing at your right. You look to your right and see a thick, brick wall. You assume the noise is coming from inside. You alternately hear a buzz like that of a bumblebee, flying closer to your ear and then disappearing. You wave the noise away, as it comes from no apparent thing. You take a few steps when you hear the same whistle as before blow in your other ear. You try to find its source, staring at the passing cars and across the street at the shops and cafe'. Nothing there.
In the second scenario, you are still walking in the sidewalk in the autumn dusk. The air smells of the dust raised by the hustle and bustle of the day. And the lamps set against the trees set against the pale sky have a surreal quality that catches your eye. You walk down the sidewalk and something makes you trip. It actually does more than that. It cuts your shin, and blood runs down into your sandal; the few steps back to the place of the darned object feel sticky on the left foot. You see nothing where you are sure to have tripped on something. In fact, as you sweep your foot across the sidewalk, it is again hurt by a blunt object. You are surprised to find nothing by way of sight. You seek with your hands and feel the object. You lift it, it is quite heavy, and with your fingers you trace its contour to determine its form. Those who see you carrying it home think you are playing a joke on the world. When you arrive you place it somewhere where it is soon forgotten and never found again.
In the third scenario, you are back out in the city doing what you usually do. In one of the blocks you sense this smell drifting from an alleyway. You pursue it to its source. Again, as the sound, you find nothing, but the smell is so strong and so delicious it makes your mouth water, it infuses your saliva and creates in your mouth something similar to nectar. It is all a mystery. You cannot account for the smell nor the taste.
Finally, after you have satiated your appetite on the invisible feast, and you have gone to bed for the night, and woken up in the morning to work till late, and returned home, you find yourself in the same sidewalk as before, without experiencing deja vu, and in your path you almost step on a strange, curvy, colorful object. You try to stop the step but it is too late. Your foot falls right on it, and through it; it feels like air. You try to pick it up but you cannot grasp it. It just sits still, morphing very slowly, like pudding in heat. You convenientely carry a notepad and pencil, and you depict it to the best of your ability. You wake up the next morning and find the object still depicted on the notebook, and you are quite sure you did not draw it in your sleep, as the level of detail is excellent.
So tell you me, which of these cases holds most reality for you? My assumption is the latter, as we are visual creatures. My conclusion is that we are not getting an equal amount of information (later to be processed as reality) from the world. Were we blind, the primary three would all seem more real to us that the last. If we were blind, I think, we would be able to perceive more of the world. While we see, much remains subliminal. So much myth has been created around the sun, around sight, in order to make some superior and others inferior. The ability to see has often been misconstrued to mean knowledge, when these example show much of what we do not sense. The absolute nature we attribute to the deceitful sight should be undermined, and the other senses exalted. Tis true, sight is not to blame for the failings of humanity, as these arise from intention, rather than sense (i.e. the ability to see skin color in relation to racism); and had we been blind we would not have been deaf to the cries of victims, or the ferrous smell of blood, or the bitterness of food, or the viscous feel of viscera. The main idea, nevertheless, is that the other senses are undermined to favor sight, and that it should be interesting to undermine sight to experience the world in a new 'light'.
In the first situation, you are walking down the street, when you hear a whistle blowing at your right. You look to your right and see a thick, brick wall. You assume the noise is coming from inside. You alternately hear a buzz like that of a bumblebee, flying closer to your ear and then disappearing. You wave the noise away, as it comes from no apparent thing. You take a few steps when you hear the same whistle as before blow in your other ear. You try to find its source, staring at the passing cars and across the street at the shops and cafe'. Nothing there.
In the second scenario, you are still walking in the sidewalk in the autumn dusk. The air smells of the dust raised by the hustle and bustle of the day. And the lamps set against the trees set against the pale sky have a surreal quality that catches your eye. You walk down the sidewalk and something makes you trip. It actually does more than that. It cuts your shin, and blood runs down into your sandal; the few steps back to the place of the darned object feel sticky on the left foot. You see nothing where you are sure to have tripped on something. In fact, as you sweep your foot across the sidewalk, it is again hurt by a blunt object. You are surprised to find nothing by way of sight. You seek with your hands and feel the object. You lift it, it is quite heavy, and with your fingers you trace its contour to determine its form. Those who see you carrying it home think you are playing a joke on the world. When you arrive you place it somewhere where it is soon forgotten and never found again.
In the third scenario, you are back out in the city doing what you usually do. In one of the blocks you sense this smell drifting from an alleyway. You pursue it to its source. Again, as the sound, you find nothing, but the smell is so strong and so delicious it makes your mouth water, it infuses your saliva and creates in your mouth something similar to nectar. It is all a mystery. You cannot account for the smell nor the taste.
Finally, after you have satiated your appetite on the invisible feast, and you have gone to bed for the night, and woken up in the morning to work till late, and returned home, you find yourself in the same sidewalk as before, without experiencing deja vu, and in your path you almost step on a strange, curvy, colorful object. You try to stop the step but it is too late. Your foot falls right on it, and through it; it feels like air. You try to pick it up but you cannot grasp it. It just sits still, morphing very slowly, like pudding in heat. You convenientely carry a notepad and pencil, and you depict it to the best of your ability. You wake up the next morning and find the object still depicted on the notebook, and you are quite sure you did not draw it in your sleep, as the level of detail is excellent.
So tell you me, which of these cases holds most reality for you? My assumption is the latter, as we are visual creatures. My conclusion is that we are not getting an equal amount of information (later to be processed as reality) from the world. Were we blind, the primary three would all seem more real to us that the last. If we were blind, I think, we would be able to perceive more of the world. While we see, much remains subliminal. So much myth has been created around the sun, around sight, in order to make some superior and others inferior. The ability to see has often been misconstrued to mean knowledge, when these example show much of what we do not sense. The absolute nature we attribute to the deceitful sight should be undermined, and the other senses exalted. Tis true, sight is not to blame for the failings of humanity, as these arise from intention, rather than sense (i.e. the ability to see skin color in relation to racism); and had we been blind we would not have been deaf to the cries of victims, or the ferrous smell of blood, or the bitterness of food, or the viscous feel of viscera. The main idea, nevertheless, is that the other senses are undermined to favor sight, and that it should be interesting to undermine sight to experience the world in a new 'light'.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Hermit Crabs of the Universe
There was that day, the one day he felt it. He felt it around him, enveloping him in a cozy prison of matter and interpretative information.
Gazing outward -- or inward, as it may be -- he felt the cold and clammy touch of reality caress his earthly coating. It felt odd, almost alien. Inescapable but for the moments when the curtain drops and time expires in the dark state of nonexistence.
It was moments such as these when he wished he could retreat into a haven of pure feeling, a place only his imagination was capable of crafting.
Emotions ablaze, he shone like a dying star, a shock wave of desperation tearing through the space around him. Curled tightly into a ball, he wanted nothing more than to squeeze himself out of his pervasive realm of consciousness...*blip*...and into the singularity of a conjectured after-death.
Gazing outward -- or inward, as it may be -- he felt the cold and clammy touch of reality caress his earthly coating. It felt odd, almost alien. Inescapable but for the moments when the curtain drops and time expires in the dark state of nonexistence.
It was moments such as these when he wished he could retreat into a haven of pure feeling, a place only his imagination was capable of crafting.
Emotions ablaze, he shone like a dying star, a shock wave of desperation tearing through the space around him. Curled tightly into a ball, he wanted nothing more than to squeeze himself out of his pervasive realm of consciousness...*blip*...and into the singularity of a conjectured after-death.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
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