fences

Tonight I write directly to this blank canvas because emotions are smothering me, it needs a wall where I can spill my hurt.

I can't seem to breathe right now. Pillowcases, wet. Feeling my heart double its beat. My toes hurt. My face, numb.

I am at my worst.

I live by promises. I live by rules. Simple pact that I think is valid. A fence if you will. Not to serve as bars, but as a security blanket to keep me sane.

So yes, I am at fault with my neuroses. I am imperfect. Broken. I like to think I am proud of it because in acknowledging that fact, you gain identity and direction.

But why is it not easy to comprehend that each teeth of a fence means a lot to my sanity? Worse, I am pushed away and made to feel guilty and insane for rules we both agreed on.

Over and over again.
Over and over
again.
Over
and
over.

Now I am at my worst.
And I can't seem to forgive myself for reaching that brink again where I will be another dysfunctional stereotype.

Over and over again, you make me lost my sanity over simple rules that would have save us...

or me.

But do you really care?

All you care about when your sorrys came out empty are those projectiles you throw at my direction, making sure it find a spot it can dig in.

Do you even have a point when all I ask was just keep your little promises?

I am at my worst.

I feel so tired. So empty.
I feel so ashamed of what I have become.

POUR POOR PURR

Have you ever locked yourself in a CR cubicle so you can just cry it out?

I have. Did, actually. Moments ago.
And many moons before now.

I had the mistake of not emptying these ducts that I accidentally let it pour while performing at Van Gogh Is Bipolar last week.

They say it was bare, beautiful, and inspiring. I justified it with other adjectives to make it seem OK, knowing matter-of-factly that it was not ok for me to be seen that way. I don't know, must be an ego thing. Well, I'll feel uncomfortable if an artist I paid to watch start shitting his performance because he can't hold himself together.

Thank God I found the courage to write here again. Been putting it off for reasons other than laziness. Maybe this can temporarily halt whatever that wants to come out.

I am continually finding other reasons why I exist. Sometimes I run out of excuses.

FEAR AND LOATHING IN....NOWHERE

There are times I loathe the world.

Too deep a feeling, but not in a “millennial” sense 

(you know, those so-called depressed blabbermouths who can’t stop announcing what they are feeling. There is a big difference between depression and craving for attention).

That’s why I shut myself up and don’t talk much when I do. Because even the world doesn’t deserve to know what I am going through.

I’m not like them, but I can pretend.

I catch myself asking what these days are for.

I catch myself pleasuring myself with porn – a series of scratchy discs on the fourth drawer.

Repetitive stomping of flesh. Flap flap flap. In 5-10minutes, it’s over and I find myself reaching out for something to read. Other senses need to be triggered.

Some old music magazines I love collecting or maybe the daily bread to balance my guilty ordeal.

Something to distract this restless mind.

Sleep – that I need according to my neurologist, but what is it for but for dreams to be nested. 

Then what?

I have putting my writing off and I resent myself for that. There are ideas wriggling like worms, in search of a blatant hole to peek on. But I can’t seem to find a proper time to collect them and spill them. A proper canvass. I have been criticizing myself for not being good enough.

It doesn’t help that people don’t even recognize that I write differently than other songwriters. That I play with words more thoroughly. That I pay attention.

They want the usual hooks.  The usual rhymes. The usual staccato.  And the problem is words are taken for granted.

And I am getting tired recently.

But I am glad to be alive. Honestly.  These questions just linger once every blue moon.

Yes I am lying. 

It is more than what I expect. 

humdrum conundrum

Learning things about myself again.

That I am currently unstable in terms of career. 

I can do my work with my eyes closed so it is easy money. The company is decent too, a place secure enough to provide compensation possibly for my whole working years. But it does not excite me.

And don’t get me started with office politics. I am getting used to being numb and minding my own business because everything’s futile. I’ll always be the villain if I speak up. 

No, I am not looking for a job. I am not that kind of person who hops from one office to another, seemingly unsure of his life’s purpose. But I have to admit that I kept thinking of doing freelance work.

Talk about unstable.

I just hope to catch up on my sleep. I mean I need it after my health scare (I’ll write about it soon). And do a lot of things at my own time. But do I have the discipline? Nope --- that I am sure of. 

So where do I go from here?

At least I get to drink good coffee (ESSENCE wins as the best 3-in-1 concoction out there) and I am allowed an hour nap at the clinic’s office. That’s what I look forward to every working day.  

That’s enough for now.

keeping it normal and failing (era 2016)

I now understand how apathy can be a weapon. Imagine having Invisible Woman’s power. 

You can see through everyone yet have a powerful shield to deflect whatever they have 

for/against you. Problem is they can easily see through me. I am too flowery to be a wallflower.

I had a mini panic attack while on a bus to work. I don’t mean that metaphorically. 

I experienced what it was like to be panting for breath, wanting to get out and run away, 

begging my brain not to give up on my sanity, and tearing up without any specific reason. 

In a public bus. Just this sudden knifing of fear. It was scary. 

And I was conscious the whole time. 

Like watching myself on an astral plane. At that moment is when I learned about 

what I fear most – losing my mind (Dementophobia). I can almost 

picture it to be like a Matrix scene where you can’t distinguish reality. I shall never touch any 

hallucinogenic drug. No, I did not take any, but this will be a reminder that I can’t handle 

anything that involves distortion of reality. I mean how can I? My reality is too dysfunctional 

to begin with.

Analyzing that previous phobic encounter, it was triggered by lack of sleep, sudden 

existential questioning, and that Mark Wahlberg movie Lone Survivor which was playing 

on the bus. This film in turn reminded me of American Sniper. I then pictured myself how 

hard it was to be exposed to a terrifying environment like war, with death as a common sight. 

Funny you will say how shallow the trigger was, but I have been going through this train of 

thought a lot. I am psychoanalyzing the shit out of this ‘cause no one will do that for me.

Plus I have been keeping a lot of thoughts to myself. I don’t even talk much in the office. 

So unlike me. 

I learned the hard way that you have to test the waters before plunging in. 

Here I am, 34 and gullible 

that colleagues will take the drift of my humor and truths. I know better now.

Know better? Haha here you are exposing yourself to the world again.

I wish my brain is septic tank where you can flush out and drain whatever’s inside. 

Peryodiko’s Bakasyon plays loudly in my imaginary radio. 

But getting out in the city isn’t the solution. 

It just blinds you with different scenery. Never does it dull reality.

Sometimes I want to explain to my band that 

we need to record more. I am slowly deteriorating, 

and I want all these nagging verses out of my system. 

This is my sole therapy. 

I can imagine them raising their eyebrows or 

shaking their heads, thinking that I am trying 

to adapt a fake local Brian Wilson story. 

You can’t blame them. 

I once told my drummer 

that I felt like Cobain 

with the struggle to stay punk and genuine 

and that burning desire to be popular. 

He didn’t buy it. That’s me being too 

flowery again in his book.

Pisces.

I just want to write and sing more. 

There’s this overwhelming urge to keep creating. 

I have been devoting my time to fleshing out 

all these restless ideas in my hypothalamus, but I can feel my band slowly 

losing trust. Yes there are other priorities. 

Yes there are other factors that should be given attention to. 

But how can this task be too difficult if this is what redeems you to the world? 

It pulls me down when I feel people who once believe in your vision losing the plot. 

All they can see is the surface. Again, who can blame them? 

Life happens as the cliche goes.

I am not Cobain. I am not Wilson. I shan’t feel that way.

I question my faith in God often. I am fascinated with His word. His story. 

I have felt His presence. 

But I have been to numb that I somehow question my judgment. 

Are His words even applicable to my fear of going mental? 

I mean they can’t say I am just possessed by demons, can they? 

Hope no one will do a Conjuring on me. That would be a stupid local adaptation.

I stand by love. I will forever stand by love. 

People will always have that momentary desire 

to see blood, but that is a tiny lapse in judgment. 

Whatever your belief is, don’t let any event turn you against love. 

That Orlando tragedy gave an opening to some friends to openly blame religion. 

That saddens me a lot. 

You can go philosophical and dig up some Vatican or Jewish bullshit, 

but it will never be an answer. 

It’s like saying we should stop living in “countries” because it is a sort of division. 

Terrorists are winning not because the death toll is rising, 

but because confusion and fear are being sparked everywhere.

 This is the real division, not religion. 

Don’t be a perpetrator of hate. 

Don’t be a living casualty.

I have been thinking too much. But what else can I do?

Pre-32 Hot Choco-fuelled Introspections

I find it really fascinating that life nowadays changes in a blink. No exaggeration there. It’s already the 3^rd month of the year, a few days to my 32^nd birthday and it’s 2014 for God’s sake! Twenty-Fourteen!

Do you remember during the early 90’s where we can only imagine 2020 as like the year of jet packs and robot butlers and silver-cased flying vehicles? It didn’t turn out the way it was envisioned but we are getting there. And man, that’s like 6 years away. How soon can it get?

I feel refreshed.

Must be the hot choco cup that I downed in one gulp that’s causing this hysteria in my nerves, but it is just boosting what I am really feeling.

I am turning 32 in approximately 13 days.

In spite of all the ribbing of good friends, I really can’t be worried about getting old because I really don’t feel old. I like to think I have my best days ahead of me. Life may not be perfect, but I am learning to tame those negative thoughts. Everyone deserves to be happy, I heard myself telling somebody.

Yes, Ahmad. That includes you.

Some changes are needed in facing reality, because in all relationships, you can’t be forever lenient. That includes my relationship with life.

Here are a few things I kept thinking about lately:

• I need to exercise more. 

Health doesn’t usually agree with our philosophy that everything comes down to a sunny disposition. The mind is powerful, but it can only do so much.

More push ups. Brown rice. Minimal fast food diet, if not nil. Fruits, more fruits.

• I need to invest on my guitar gear.

This may sound like a want., but you can’t be a serious musician if you are not really revving up your own signature sound. 

Main target gear: MXR Carbon Copy + Visual Sound Double Trouble + Korg Pitch Black + Zoom G3.

I only got the Zoom G3 for now. I hope to own the Double Trouble before our recording this end of the month. A birthday wish that is destined to be an impossible one. Boohoo.

And oh maybe another guitar. Still dreaming of my own Epiphone ES-339, and a Squier Tele Custom, but not rushing it. I still have Areola, and Nami.

I need more guitar lessons too. Just watching some tutorials in youtube gives me the rush to write some more. That’s a good thing now for my overly-critical self are hijacking every creative idea I can muster these days.

• I need to save. 

I admit I don’t have any hidden treasure in the bank. But I am not the typical spender who waste every penny of my salary for my hobbies. Everything is cashed out to settle bills and priorities. I am a responsible man. I just need to find my footing. Work harder, grab all rakets so there will be extra. 

I need money for my annulment too. Damn that’s a pretty expensive ordeal. I still find myself praying for a law to be passed that will make it easier for someone like me who have moved on from my past mistake.  

Everyone deserves to be happy. Hope politicians see that as a huge non-debatable point.

• I need to finish my MA.

This has been going on forever. I am not succumbing to the possibility of just letting this go because I feel that my strengths will shine more in the academe. It's actually surreal to be talking about this now since I have just dreamt about teaching last night. That dream is still up for grabs.

• I need to spend more time with my kids. 

They are growing up fast. I talked to them almost every day, but I know it is not enough. Bringing Art here over for her birthday was a dream come true for both of us. It was only for 3 days but it felt like eternity. I know she will cherish what we did for the rest of her life. I am planning to give Dylan that experience too this June. I am excited to be bringing her to her very first concert. Never mind that I am not a fan of Taylor Swift, but on that day, it will be all about her (Scalpers, if you are reading this, contact me). 

The trouble with parenting is there is no concrete formula. It a hit-or-miss thing that you make up the rules as you go. I am honestly defying all concepts by trying to be the best dad even if I am not physically present, but I am determined to win. God help me.

• Lastly, I need to be expressive in the right places.

There used to be strains in my relationship with Mawhi for my outburst. That happened too with my band. I talk too much. I feel too much. I have not tamed that trait as it already become a signature character, but I am learning when to stay put. I am blessed to have people who listens and who doesn’t leave you for dead when you are at your worst.

I realized I am getting cheesier. That will give away my age, I suppose.

an argument with my demons

Things that got to me last week:

That this blog site is becoming a public confessional. 

That’s OK. I need sympathy. I find it really unfortunate that people choose to pour their hearts out in a page then keep it like they're Marcos’ hidden treasures. The point you write is for sanity, and sometimes sanity can be redeem by sincere ears (or in this case, eyes). We all want someone to just take it all in for us.

I am proud to say that I can thoroughly accept that I need the attention. I don't want to fake it. Number one to big realizations.

Number two isn't a big revalation: I am a jealous lover.

And though there’s a romantic notion always chained to that feeling, I assure you that high school kids got it good. It won’t be funny anymore when you are older, you see. And jealousy encompasses all relationships. And where I am going with this, I don’t know. I just want to say that it is a real serious emotion.

One can easily point out insecurity as the main culprit, and he/she may be right. But who isn’t insecure? I find it baffling that there are people who are too secure, it is almost unworldly.  That’s a real problem right there. That’s one thing I don’t agree in church – calling out insecurities as if it’s a big disease. Well it may be is, but it is what makes you human.

Because we all have that. Like that artificial heart that serves as the main breathing apparatus for Iron Man, it is a rather unfortunate fault to your perfect world. Maybe how you project it is what we should be mindful of.

I have been trying to exorcize my demons. To people who knows me, they may not actually see it, but I am in the process of doing so. And somehow it gets in the way of trying to fix relationships.

It hurts me to see close friends not accept what I am feeling or going through when I openly spill it, and eventually take it against me – resulting to bigger catastrophes. But who can blame ‘em – everyone got demons to chase. I just wish mine can coexist with their fiends.

I mentioned this to Eric days ago, and I still know, without raising the flag of egoistical bullshit, that this is true: our band is like a marriage of four individuals. It is harder than a real marriage ‘cause you have 3 minds to please, secure, understand and live with. Everyone needs assurance. Everyone. You know you are in the right relationship if you don’t get tired of taming each other’s fears.

Oh wait, you’ll get tired – we are humans after all - but the connection and your children (songs) are too deep and special, you won’t even think of leaving. 

And I assure you, this isn’t idealistic. Insecurities will abound, but heck, that’s part of the ride. Main advice I think is not keep it wrapped up. And not take the imperfections as something to convince yourself that what you have isn’t special anymore. 

I am being general now, but I guess being in so many bands, so many f**ked up relationships and one bad marriage, I can safely say I am slowly figuring out the recipe:

commitment. and communication.

That is number 3.

It may sound too cliché, and too dramatic, and it is actually. That’s what confessionals are for. I’ll try to talk about something else to break the mood. Hmmm.

About Time is such a special movie. I cried hard. Mawhi cried too. It isn’t a love story like what I expected it to be. It was light-hearted, but just hits the right spots. I really have a big weakness for stories about fathers being expressive to their loved ones. Richard Curtis has a gift of storytelling. He also got me with Love, Actually.

I was taught to remind myself about the blessing I have to beat the blues.

Well, here goes: I have a great band and I am excited to record new songs. Just got in a new label, which means it won't be long 'til the world hear our masterpiece. I got Mawhi who seems to never get tired laughing at my clumsiness and geeky jokes. I have wonderful kids whose smile means the world to me. I have a well-paying job. I even got free passes to The National concert and 7107 (which I opt not to attend) last week.

But friends, where are you, real friends?

I wish I can write a song about this, but I am too busy. and blank. You see, demons…