hits and misses

Misery loves company. an old man's drunk babble.
Heard it first from the band Soul Asylum. 
I have always loved the build-up in the chorus.
A nostagia hit.
Never understood it until now.

There are people addicted to sadness, according to Billy Corgan.
Labels are not advisable, but indulge me when I say artists are usually
the saddest people in the world.
Hurt makes good art.
Good art doesn't necessarily sells, but it leaves a mark.
and maybe wins you a Winona Ryder on your side.

But what if you got the Ben Gibbard syndrome and tried to encapsulate happiness
in one package, go where Codes and Keys failed?

Failure is a probability. Some things need not to be proclaimed to the whole world.
You just let your glow speak for itself.

And it goes back to Dave Pirner's sage-like lyric in the first paragraph.
what if your friends doesn't want that glow to blanket their space because it's blinding them?

Will you adjust to fit their idea of gloom?
Is it acceptable to wallow in bitterness because they seem to distant themselves
suddenly even during times when you need them there?
Do you change your concept of friendship from then on?

Are they even friends to begin with?

the sentencing of faith

How do you gauge one's credibility : by the number of promises fulfilled or number of mistakes repeated?


My mom promising me a G.I. Joe and WWF action figure and leaving that promise to rot in dust never left my childhood memory. Heck, I can still remember how I envy my cousin for having a complete set and I have to settle with her own version of "remarkable" toys that I should be playing with. That leaves a mark, you know.

A lover giving you assurance to change for the better and not considering how you feel a day after is plain deception. Like trusting a blank wall to spew colors.

Both hurts real bad.

Mistakes are learned, not repeated. 

And there will be special instances that a jury vote or senate hearing debate is needed for those various occasions that should be in the exemption list.

or better, there should always a plan B.
It's difficult to create an ideal situation that all is given equal attention
So you adjust. We adjust.

The important thing is you have given your child or partner the "priority" thought. and it goes hand in hand with a verb : express.

To compliment, to please; to give; to sacrifice; to be there : this should all be automatic. For a prize of one toothy smile.

You can't expect anyone to read you. but there is such thing as obligation.
and obligation is sweeter when done out of initiative.

Psychologists do not read mind,  but they read patterns.

and these patterns I kept seeing are not recipes of future happiness.

but of internal combustion.



nakakapagod na tumanggap ng sorry.

TO HOPIA OR NOT?

I woke up to a hope that everything in my life will glide smoothly; intuition more adept to steer away from humps and road blocks, eyes clearer in spotting danger signs. As always, I was being arrogant.

My morning was greeted with a happy post from a friend claiming to have seen our music video in Myx.  

I have always dream of being on TV. People who grew up in provinces have this perception that you hit it big time when you find yourself on the boob tube. Of course that is absurd, but I secretly share that same perception. I will forever hold on to Andy Warhol's theory of everyone getting their 15-minute of fame in this lifetime, in whatever forms possible. Hopefully, not in an accidental mood swing video link (think Amalayaer video). I do refuse to give my soul to the likes of Willie Revillame or Lito Camo for my art should not be compromised. Marketing though, is the b-side of each art form. Why limit yourself to a crowd when you know your music deserves to be seen or heard? It can be a tool to maybe educate people about other forms of great music out there. 

Yes, arrogance oozing in. 

Anyway, it all boils down to this thought: I want my kids (who are residing in Bicol) to boast about their pot-bellied dad being on TV and doing his thing. That will surely inspire them that anything is possible.

There is a gig tonight where Your Imaginary Friends will perform for the first time for Bing Austria’s production. Khalid is still in Hongkong, trying to be a happy tourist amidst the racial discrimination. We settled to do it the early-Nirvana set-up because we miss playing and we are already giddy to celebrate the future success of our new EP.

Something is pricking all the happy bubbles though. I worry about not being competent to play the electric guitar alone. I have been performing ever since I learned how to strum an electric guitar (that was in 2nd year high school) and here I am, hesitating to deliver what I know I am good at. Currently injecting tea to my veins so I can smile the fear out with the help of this ever-reliable liquid caffeine.

Suddenly a bad news: I learned that my 3 and half days spent for Christmas vacation is not credited. My fault for only having 1-and-a-half day vacation leaves left, but I always thought that since it is part of the cut-off (Dec.24 to Jan.9), the leave credits of January can be carried over and used (and abused) within the duration. I was wrong.

And I call that the XMAS backlash. That’s 3 thousand minus from my salary. What a pitiful way to start 2013. There are bills to pay, loans to settle etc. Every blessing has its curse, as I say.

My girlfriend can be very church-y about these things, uttering verses of encouragement. She’s an emblem of positivity.  I find it equally amusing and impressive. And me? That’s another story. All I can do is nod and ask for a kiss.

Hope is the word here.  Hope is what I lack too.

I think about the atheists who settle for the practical truths. For tangible reasons. 

Do they still hope? 

I do believe that religion is a drug. And I cringe on the ordeal these believers go through, keeping on with mindless man-made traditions. I am with the atheists there. I understand what they find about the movement so repulsive. But faith for the unknown, for a force, for positivity, for answers against existential questions --- this is a common need. A heartbeat to cling on. And you can’t blame these believers to have sung praises unto the air for a God they haven’t even seen. Everyone wants to believe in something. And I pity those stubborn heads that are always standing by their arguments to disapprove anything relating to innocence, to hope for the sake of debate. Anything that is righteous is wrong.

What I am saying here is I know early on that Santa Claus is just my mom putting 3 pieces of 1-peso corn chips in my white school socks, but I still ready my socks every Christmas. Because innocence is a beautiful thing. I mean, what’s wrong with a little childlike happiness? I think I deserve to be arrogant with this stand.

"the emo-ness of esteban" by Mawhi Ballen

Let me shed a tear now because like all humans, I still crumble in fear and disappointment brought by bad luck. The weather can't be tamed by your own will or doing. But I will hope harder that it won't rain badly in my life this year.

As Lewis Bowman of Chapel Club stated; “in time, we will be fine”. Indeed.

tongue-twisted

Why is it a pain to write when you are in a happy plain?

Irony has its way of inserting into your epidermis when you’re more likely covered in armor. 

Like the above thought. Happy but mute? Humbug.

Now I am writing because I have to unleash a paperweight saddled on my chest.

To unmute.

But I have nothing to write about .

Maybe a few.

Gluttony is not an effective remedy for this hurt.

I wonder why girls indulge in such debauchery when they simply know that it adds to the burden. 

And weight.

Sublimation.

And I am being a girl right now.

My feminine side exudes confidence in unleashing this tirade of emotional outbursts

just because they were cracked open beforehand.

Too much trust can cause that, you see.

Unmuting.

But settling for silence instead.

I need a drink.