ganymede

I was once a god of a billion lies,
for which I declared I am glorious, amicable and divine,
yet at one particular point, of which I was lazily
peering through earth's monotonous spin, 

I was struck by your thunderous smile,
where the stars shone brightly in your lightyear eyes. 

There and then, I took the descent.
 

To you, a lowly mortal, who paints with words
in a somewhat unconventional way,
words that leave me bursting and dazed. 

You who dream of warm sighs and cold winter cigarettes,

whose paths shift, changed by every spontaneous impulse. 

I am your stranger.

"But I despise love, I marvel in it, no wait.. I am love,"
coyly you surmise, as your indecisiveness tugs at my beating soul. 

With each conversation, the spark intensifies within. 

As you take me to realms I've never even heard of before,
with your ever-changing masks,
unable to conceal the hunger beneath.
"I am here for you to consume...," I whisper to your neck,
and thus we ignite.
 

And it's then I discover, worlds out of and within my reach. 

And I gaze at the open sky, your sky,
a different sight up from where I was before. 

Hands at the back of my head, I pondered,
on how this grass I'm lying on feels more real,
more intrinsically comforting,
than the clouds I was used to.

Then I see you, blocking my gaze. 

With that breathtaking smile, and a ready laugh.

And suddenly, it dawned on to me...
That I, who once was a god,
now knew what heaven really meant. 

***Ganymede, a literary contribution I wrote 

for our college paper back in 2008. photo was taken here

justifying an inebriety

When moments, fleeting, like common people you previously chanced upon but casually forgot, throughout the course of your jaded life, takes a few good forehead wrinkles to remember, vaguely.  Like the word refuge, or disarming --strange, yet leaves a slightly odd nostalgic feel.

Like how I made myself breakfast when you held me captive that day, willingly, in childish joy, like all was just a playful game, and that huge hotel room was our playground --those blissful hours just before you left, the way your kiss promised me you'd come back. The feel of longing and content and peculiar freedom as I woke up after a good six hour sleep, after the sex, after you left, after your promise. As I walked on unfamiliar corridors, elevators and floors, quaint streets and Makati alleyways on weekends serene. As I rummage through convenience store shelves looking for what to eat, what to eat…

A moment where people never cared, and the bellmen half smiling as I went back, and the walls, the bed sheets never seemed to mind --I felt so wide-eyed and obscure, which is fine because I knew I meant everything to you.

I remember feeling whole –caught, half-anticipating, half- what's the word...something about not caring, living in the moment, in stillness... perhaps, secure? ...peaceful? ...I can't be sure...

I remember you and your scent.

I remember each time you held the door for me, on those secret dates we had. The way you squeeze my fragile hands, on the off chance that no one was looking. Moments, forever etched in my memory.

The look --ah, yes the look you gave.

Of wonder and excitement, I was a breath of fresh air, you say.

I remember the first time, the first invite; you just had to have me drawn to your corner. “What’s a cute kid doing all by himself in a quiet cafe?” I remember smiling, sensing, hoping that that could be the start of something wonderful. The simple advances, the careful steps we took, towards each other, it’s interesting now how we inched our way closer to what we were never really sure of. But we couldn’t care less, only ‘cause we both were thrilled at what could possibly come of it.

I remember holding you as you fell asleep. I remember looking at you. Kissing your closed eyes --my way of telling you how safe it was to dream. On the off chance that this might be it, that I, that we, might perhaps, have a chance --my way of trying to prove to you that dreams can come true.

I remember clutching your pillow as I tried to inhale your scent, the moment I realized it's morning already --and for the last time, you were gone.

I remember bits and pieces of our encounters, the good ones,

Ones I’m willing to remember, and keep...

Because when parting, harsh, like the heaviest of traumas you desperately try to put behind, lost between the vivid and the lies, takes a few good swigs of beer to unlearn, momentarily. Like the words, trust, rely and expect, paired with too much --trite, yet still pokes sharp stings on your weary heart.

It’s true that in sleep, the moment you start questioning a dream, you wake up only to realize how silly it was to think it’s something you can hold on to. You fumble, as each strand of thought escapes your grasp. Those moments will stay as such, and really, that’s all they’ll ever be: intangible memories, encounters, dreams… Much like these flashbacks...

Still… It’s nice to be reminded of how happy we-- I was… once…

photo taken here. 

heavy rains

1rain noun \ˈrān\  water falling in drops condensed from vapor in the atmosphere

Last night’s rain bothered me. Yesterday afternoon was a definite scorcher, but last night seemed like the gods were throwing heaps of massive water globules all over hapless towns in the metro, like a whale of a childish one tree hill assault/prankfest.

What bothered me more is not the fact that the sudden weather shifts are happening one too many these days --all that environmental mumbo-jumbo whatnot thingamagig, I really could care less about that, what I hate is the fact that people, more often than not, equate rain with solace --deep heart-rending painful solace.

Why can’t people be reminded of how happy rain is? Like… like how nearly-wilted crops benefit immensely from a sudden downpour, or how Laida does the funny sundance, amidst a heavy rainfall, all for Miggy’s amusement, the ending to one of Philippine cinema's cheesiest films… or… or how Mister Gene Kelly (bless his soul) happily sings away pitter-pattering in a drizzle…Why does rain always have to remind us all of gloom?

“Things don’t always have to be about chasing after boys you know…”

I was talking to a friend in facebook. A kid from Cagayan. We met once. A friendly date. And it’s then I discovered, the boy actually writes. And he writes good. He even worked as a magazine contributor once. I was reading through his facebook notes when I began to recognize a recurring theme, most of his notes were about… well, boys. He seems, for lack of a better word, obsessed.

Now, it’s not that I’ve actually refrained from going after guys, it’s just that at this point, I don’t really see it a priority in as much as I see it part of my future. Partly because,

Boys are overrated. And people are all swirls of issues --but when did that ever come as an excuse? Nakakapagod lang kasi talaga. “Im looking for baggage, that goes with mine...” says Mimi, right before she discovers Roger taking AZT breaks, too, like she does. Rent? The musical? I mean the movie? Watch it. So you’ll know how Mimi ends up nearly dying in her quest to find “someone to live for, unafraid to say I love you…” Well baggage schmaggage,

My life is currently going adrift. Everyone's at a quarter-life crisis lately –well, most of my friends are- it’s not even funny anymore. I mean I’m actually doing fine, so far, and its not that things have become frighteningly unbearable, it’s just that there are days when things become all too crippling. But even so, that could just be another anxiety attack sneaking up on me. Well, I’d seriously doubt that? but where else can I point the blame on? As weird as that may sound, I haven’t really been too keen on where or how my anxiety disorder manifests itself --something which, in itself, could pass off as another reason why I cannot chase after men. Apparently, not a lot of guys in Manila find neurosis adorable. Another stellar reason is that,

I’m not getting any younger. February’s nearly here. There are two dates I dread in February. One of which is my birthday. I will be twentythreefreakinyearsold in about a few weeks time and I don’t really think I’ve accomplished anything I can proudly call an achievement for the past years I have boringly existed. Actually, I’m most definite I haven’t accomplished anything remotely significant I can proudly call an achievement for the past few years I have boringly existed.  Sure sucks to be me.

The second most obvioooous date is... Valentines. Yep, blinding-redhearts-lovestruck-silly-cupids-die-all-you-mutherf*ckin-parkbench-smoochin-lovers Valentines. That’s pretty self-explanatory, since I’ve explicitly brandished my false appreciation over singlehood to almost every friend I know to date.

“I love you…” 

It’s been a while since I heard that whispered to my ear. It’s been a while, too, since I caught myself whispering that to someone --and actually meant it. I’m like a walking love disaster. Ask the last three guys I dated, well semi-dated and –actually no, DO NOT ASK the last three guys I dated. Haha. Yep, it’s that bad. There really should be a warning on my forehead when dating men; a sign that says “Pick me if you want your life screwed!”

Not that fate bitterly transfigured me into an old shakespearean shrew --last I checked, I haven’t really gone all frigid with love. I mean I still want it. I really do. It’s just I figured if I were to dive headfirst into a colossal world of rose-colored stupidity, I’d rather do it with/for someone worthy, someone… dreamy (wouldn’t hurt too if that someone had a car and/or a huge paycheck to boot, but yeah, haha.) I’m choosy as fuck. But who can blame me? Heartache made me this way. (ika nga ng aking trusty Relaks Puso Lang Yan planner, Quota Nako Sa Panget.)

My friends all know what I’ve been through --in terms of love. My heart has been trampled on so much that it got to a point where I began to think that the love shared between two males, the sincere type? tsk, that shit is obsolete. From Charlotte York I’ve gone Samantha Jones all of a sudden it’s actually a lot scarier now that I put it. But I’m over that. I mean sure I still think of love as a lie --well not really, but the complexities that shit down a commitment makes it seem so. But I have to admit, still, there would come nights when I desperately crave for warmth --and its shattering when that comes to surface. I’m only human after all, despite the green blood I carry. Haha. Lame sense of humour. I know.

It’s not that I lost it, you know, it’s just… I just… lost interest is all. I know I can love someone, but I also know I can never really trust anyone with my bruised heart right now. ‘Cuz now it’s more “you can never really know a person too much, enough to hand over your heart, your life and your everything, especially not with the painful baggage life left you with...” (Again with the baggage?!) Sometimes I think pretty soon the world will all have tumbled down and gone to rest and I still won't find the happiness I deserve. But enough sentimental crap. After all, “…not everything has to be about chasing after boys,” right?

It’s just sometimes I wish I could take a break from all the forward-thinking stuff I’ve been trying to preoccupy myself with lately. You know. Just to stop. Take a breather. Have a glass of wine or two. Snuggle up close to someone, as that someone’s exhilarating scent comforts me and the feel of his arms around me makes me feel all safe and protected, and warm, the warmth that no amount of rainstorm, or hail -or deluge for all I care- could ever subdue --that kind of stuff.

But I won’t fight tooth and nail for that fantasy, at least not yet. I’ve got stuff to do. Life awaits. And I won’t stick around daydreaming or spacing out over things that I know will eventually come –that much I’m willing to expect.

After all, “…things are, most definitely, not all about chasing after boys.”

whooty woot woot

Yuki, a phallophobic asian girl from the webcomic, Menage a 3.

I was minding my own business one night, when an IM window pops up.

tianabalister2157: Is he out there?  

Wow, who's this? Normally I'd have closed that window and brush it off like it never happened, but I was bored and I was feeling particularly chatty that night.Little did I know how interesting things would go from there...

tianabalister2157: (ding) 
tianabalister2157: Is he out there?

ericthespaceoutjunkie: if by he yer referring to me, im here. who are you?
tianabalister2157: Hello there.. My name is Mrs Whooty.. Got ur ID through Messenger Directory :)
ericthespaceoutjunkie: what's that?
tianabalister2157: I love chatting with new people.. Would you like to chat today? Where are you from?
ericthespaceoutjunkie: im from the philippines.
ericthespaceoutjunkie: are you someone i know?
ericthespaceoutjunkie: is this a prank?
tianabalister2157: Can i ask you a quest?
ericthespaceoutjunkie: a quest?
ericthespaceoutjunkie: what quest?
ericthespaceoutjunkie: this is weird.
tianabalister2157: Do you like big booty girls with big tits? lol seriously cuz thats what i am/have..Is that too much for you to handle?
ericthespaceoutjunkie: haha! im gay.
tianabalister2157: Do you know what a whooty is? Would you like to see me i'll show you my Whooty....
ericthespaceoutjunkie: this is sumthin i dont get everyday. haha. what a laugh you gave me.
ericthespaceoutjunkie: no no thanks...
ericthespaceoutjunkie: whootys scare me.
ericthespaceoutjunkie: :)
tianabalister2157: lol Whooty is a White Girl with a BOOTY!  i wanna show u mine...
ericthespaceoutjunkie: no id much prefer you show it to someone else.
ericthespaceoutjunkie: i suck dick.
tianabalister2157: ok let me set up my camera for you honey..
ericthespaceoutjunkie: hahahaha! *okay getting scared now*
tianabalister2157: um goto http://www.smallu.net/a56x and we can go 1 on 1 chat. Just click Accept Invite on the left!
ericthespaceoutjunkie: great. a talking computer virus.
tianabalister2157: Don't worry baby its free to join this site all you have to do is register

At that point I was really freaked, but in about less than five seconds I managed to: close yahoo messenger, open a new browser, type in the words www.dudetubeonline.com, hit enter, and calmed myself down with pure adulterous manflesh. I'm gay, and yes, I really am scared of whooties -or any kind of female booty, for that matter. I think my ym's infected. That or somebody signed me up for that... that... atrocity. Whoever did it, I really hope he burns in hell for doing so. I'm reminded of how my straight friends would often ask me, how can I be so adamant with my preference when I haven't really actually tasted (ugh. wrong word. I shiver in disgust.) the alternative.

It's simple. Vaginas scare me.

To me, a woman's groin, with all its labial folds, 

is gross, filthy, repulsive and sickening.

Much like how Yuki, a character in the webcomic, Menage a 3, has phallophobia --an anxiety disorder precipitated by the fear of penises, or simply put, the fear of erect penises. Yuki sleeps with girls and her dad, a hentai author, draws tentacle doujinshi for a living. Each time Yuki  sees a man's privates, she goes all wacko and screams "TENTACLES!", as if she actually sees phallic tentacles and ends up either tearing out the thing, if it's on paper, or kicking the guy in the groin, if it's actual.

(refer to these links: one, two, three, four, five)

Now my crazy's not THAT bad. If I could think of something to match Yuki's phallophobic manifestations, that would be dentata, vagina dentata. Google it. (God! The fangs! That stuff's the stuff of nightmares!)

A genuine factor would be me having three charming, lovely little sisters, mostly teenage ones, and seeing them in almost every state of undress will never,  in any way possible, arouse me. Again, I shiver in disgust.

To this I say pass on the pussy,

I'd rather have me a fresh serving of  
smooth boyhole manmeat love! ;-)

...

of ginsberg and writing

James Franco portrays Allen Ginsberg in the 2010 film Howl.

Just last night, I was watching Howl. Allen Ginsberg’s biopic: A film about the obscenity trial of his published piece, Howl. Set in the 50s, the movie centers on a court trial, where the prosecution regarded the material (Ginsberg’s Howl) crass and insulting, something that requires banning --defense thought otherwise. Several witnesses, some of whom were credible literary giants, at the time, were called forth to the stand, in court proceedings, where arguments on freedom of speech and creative expression were explicitly discussed --whether or not the actual poem has literary merit. In a nutshell, the trial went in favor of the publisher. And all’s well that ends well in that San Francisco courtroom.

The real beauty of the film though, lies not within the court drama, but in the effective retelling of the poem itself, replete with breath-taking animation and rich images depicting the subcontext of each of the poem's lines. I won’t spoil much but I do recommend seeing it for yourself --figure out what lead me to say, with full conviction, that Ginsberg truly was a genius.