Jeepers! The monsters are coming
after the little girl! (Quick, get a camera.)


The little girl! With braids and a pack of ---
What? She's lighting a bleeping cigarette!


The monsters, all hairy and stuff.
Can you smell the stink all
the way from there?


By golly! They're dancing!
(Where the hell is that camera?)
   

<< August 2017 >>
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
 01 02 03 04 05
06 07 08 09 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29 30 31


If you want to be updated on this weblog Enter your email here:



rss feed



Sunday, September 18, 2005
Finale

I'm saying goodbye. Final as final can be. You can't keep hiding your cards from the world. Thanks for everything. We can still be together, you know. Some time, some place. I just really need to ... wrap this all up. See you around!

Posted at 06:40 pm by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Sunday, June 05, 2005
Steady Spirals

Down the landing I was looking for the creature with bright wings. We were talking about the going-price of ideas. {Everybody hates angels.}

Sati would have given me the proverbial shoulder but she needed someone to tell her she was pretty today. She was, always. I hated liking her, I told the dog as much, but human nature gravitates towards the odd and remarkable.

I was odd.

I was odd in that I remembered everything. My first faint memory was knowledge of my mother's womb, the safe coffin of her permanent embrace, what had woken me up was her voice, and how it reverberated throughout her body, acoustic and surreal in the confines of her tummy: Ebit, she said, fuckyounobodywantstoseeyouruglyfuckingpigface.

Surprise, she was talking to me.

She was either psychic, or insane, but one does not immediately identify contexts, just what is being said. And I did not know words yet, so I could not retaliate (I was underwater, too, remember.).

Sati tells me about her trip to Ferdinand Lancaster's giant aviary. It was odd; people in heaven bred birds the size of Yao Ming. This is all small talk, though. It was hard to establish correspondence with otherworldlies.

In half an hour, when she gave a mind to shut up, she said it: "I'm killing myself today, Ebit."

Why do these things happen? One moment we were talking, and then here she goes, scaring me and stuff.

"I realized nothing makes me happy anymore."

Why is it so important for people to be happy? Pain is beautiful, if you look closely enough. I spent twenty-five light years thinking about the random stupidities of people with blinders: my brain had bled out through sheer effort. Gory! Lessons make us smarter, but pain makes us resilient, like plastic and prayers.

"I've always thought about eternity and how life was gonna be after it."

Apparently, a contradiction.

"I mean, the whiteness of everything makes me puke: I want a non-color!"

Color is relative, Sati.

We are silent for about six seconds (and five nanos if you want the absolute truth).

"He's coming, anyways. He'll kiss me and touch me and I'll say, "Darling, your fly's open." And won't he find that funny. He'll hit me and curse me and I'll say, "More, darling, you're too consistent."

She knows how to tick me off.

"And don't say you hate me, Ebit. You know I feel the same way about myself."

Why don't you kill youself now, then. The terrace looks out towards a vast spiky landscape.

"What does it taste like? Death?"

Surreal, I try to say.

We laugh.

I try to hold her hand but trying kind of takes away the fun of just talking. One day, I swear to that mammoth housefly that takes a piece of my body every single fucking day, I will know the beauty of holding her, like dandelions.

She was already saying goodbye.

Posted at 07:31 pm by ccsantossa
(1)  

Saturday, May 14, 2005
Switchfoot Speaks the Truth

We were meant to live for so much more.


I've run out of observations. This is thepit them holy people talk about.

Halfway into the day I wanted out. That's what I've been feeling lately and there's no denying that.

They call it a phase, it's been a phase for one fucking year and I haven't written anything beautiful to be happy about. I've written minutes and cute versions of 'The Idoit's Guide to SAP', but that's all. I've written some of Sanga, the book I'm dying to write, but I'm not happy with it.
Yesterday at the ortho's (when the splint actually stuck to my teeth and they had to drill the damn thing to get it out of my mouth, promise, akala mo sa sitcom lang nangyayari yon? I was ready to sue but dentists are human, too.) while waiting for the new splint to set, I read a two-year-old issue of Cosmo. It had this article about figuring out what you really want out of your life. It said things like what are the things you daydream about, when are you most jealous of a person, how to draw out what your subconscious is telling you (by doing this dream collage), etc. It was interesting at the onset, and for a while I was getting ready to believe I knew what it was (I mean, the Whatever It Is That Makes My Heart Go Wild), but I lost it somewhere between the splint-fitting and the waiting for my father to come fetch me.

It's something along the lines of travel (because I was jealous when the girl friend went to Dubai), writing (because I was jealous when The Writer The World Should Watch Out For walked the talk by quitting Applied Physics to take up Creative Writing), and long vacations (because I was basically lazy and an expert at doing nothing).

About the travel thing, I won't be saying that in real life, because for a long time I've always believed I'd lost my wanderlust to something else entirely. It just wasn't a fascination for me; I have an overactive imagination and in my mind I've been to every imaginable place. But when the girl friend said goodbye, I wanted changes.

My memory's failing me, too. It can only hold so much. The general anaesthesia (sp?) I had during the appendectomy hit something permanent in my brain. To date, all my childhood memories are blurry.

I think I'm sad because I'm not ready to die yet. That's it, I guess. You don't go around being happy when you've been screwing people left and right.

I screw people when I make stupid promises I can't keep. I screw people when I pretend I understand the fuck they're talking about when I could not, for the life of me, care less. I screw people when I waste my time doing mind-numbing administrative stuff that I could pass off as work.

I'm tired, DAMN IT. I'm so tired.

I'm tired not being where I want to be. I'm tired figuring out what the fuck I'm here for. I'm tired sabotaging my success because of this nagging feeling of guilt (of what? Fucked if I knew). I'm tired of waking up every single day wishing it were Saturday (I know we all do, but you know how you can stay up late at night reading a novel, but under the same circumstances a boring book -- like accounting -- can set you off sleeping in two minutes flat?). I'm tired wishing I could be a better person. I'm tired trying to deserve whatever it is I'm getting (my boss loves me, promise). I'm tired of all this, man.

Somebody save me.


"Ultimately, all moments are really one.
Therefore now is eternity."
David Bohm

It's fucking simplistic but's that's the damn fucking nugget of wisdom that should get you out of bed every single day.
Ready for a mind job? Try this one. Or this one.
Don't tell me I didn't warn you.

Posted at 12:19 am by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Saturday, May 07, 2005
Trundling Tests

The dandelion walking me home kept getting stringy in my ear. For what else should steam-hearts grozzle? Someday, Post-Grizzly, your dreams and mine will walk across this rainbow-ish vortex, sucking all vibrance from thing-dids that wander. To Tomatoes with them!

Darling, you seem to be of different earth-matter. It bothers me to some degree. I went for you when morning came, wondering where you'd be. I prayed the moon shine softly on you tonight and in it you might feel a little of that little something some people feel when incredibly lonely, that maybe someone somewhere thinks you're cool, and the coffee near the window can fall over in two seconds flat what are we doing about that, Post-Grizzly?

I love you! I love you! I love you!

I extrapolate like crazy because that's what writers do. Or it's just me. I can tell you now, when nobody's listening, how much I like your girlfriend. Too much, I think, I should be going after her. But I could be bald and unwed. You! You're so beautiful my heart aches.

And it's drama, if you want drama, then let's talk about how we're never going to end up together at the end of this arbitrary post. There, glass ceilings and tags and how I'm not choosing myself if I were male and single, giving me sad, sad days {and nights, if you must, pooper}.

Sordid like bleeding hearts and beasts begging the bayonet have I not made it clear enough, darling? Coochie? Yesterday you called and my heart reached the twenty-third floor.

Damn good looking.

Posted at 12:29 am by ccsantossa
(1)  

Sunday, May 01, 2005
La Luz (The Light)

My mother's bitter my brother ate the chicken she offered to me earlier.

I had my back against the recliners they put up at the beach last night. The entire universe was laid out before me, black and beautiful and ancient. I was trying to explain to one of the girls I had with me about how some of the stars we were seeing that night could actually be dead / extinguished 650 light years ago. But she couldn't understand what I was trying to say, and it made me sad. I had just gone for a massage at the beach -- could be my brain had gone soft. It could be anything.

Yesterday I wondered whether fulfilling your life's purpose, and finding the love of your life, were mutually exclusive, as a matter of both being the sources of the biggest hang-ups I have about my life. And I'm not talking about your life.

I'm talking about how maybe when the Lord fashioned my life, as He fashions others and picks a particular issue this life is going to be about, He was thinking:

Your Life, little Keebster, will be about your head. You will have battles: against your selfishness, your pride, your insecurities (and don't be fooled, they are all the same). Your soul will clamour for the love that will change your life, but you are either too foolish, or too scared, or too prideful to admit it. You will want to leave a mark; you will want it so badly you will create a kind of personality people will run to when they want an explanation (or alternate name) for something; you will make up stories that are lessons in disguise; you will smother people with compliments, find anything to like in unlikeable people, say what's right even though it's out of place, or it hurts, or it's true. You will think your Life lacks love, but it is really because you think too much, and love too little. Because the world is very gracious; it can give back so much.

So maybe I'll dare. I don't know why I hate myself too much.
I coughed so much that night the other girls decided it was time to take me back to the cottage when twelve came.

Didn't 'Fast Car' get it smack in the middle? "We've got to make a decision. Leave tonight or live and die this way." There are crossroads, everywhere. Each a chance to get it right this time.

Posted at 09:13 pm by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Sunday, April 24, 2005
Word of the Week

Yesterday "turnaround time" was one of the words we had to spell (along with reticent, which means reluctant to speech, and irregardless, which didn't exist). The instructor was trying to catch who was going to use a hyphen. Also we were going to use it in a sentence.

The bully said his sentence was: "If only I could turnaround time..." but the instructor glared at us so I didn't have time to check whether he was actually kidding.

Also it was final: all the good guys were hooked up. Which leaves the month-end outing kind of dry, if you ask me.

Which also brings me to the ortho on Monday, because someone has to get her jaw fixed.

I'll be buying shorts, a bathing suit, new tweezers and possibly, a life.

The inspiration being: "In the quantum astrology of the 21st century, a delightful degree of unpredictability will be assumed as the birthright of each individual man and woman, just as we now recognize it to be the birthright of every subatomic particle."

And how, although ironically, the observation of certain peaks in my life in general gives me hope (because although they say fate is the sum total of your past decisions, attitudes, etc., the past can tell me I am capable of change).

Happiness is a choice, bubbs. The sooner I learn it, the better for all of us.

Because I'm such a beautiful woman, geddemit {cadet}.

Posted at 07:47 pm by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Thursday, March 24, 2005
Blueprint

I'm not much of a person, if you think about it. I'm a little weirded out creating and maintaining relationships. I shrivel at the thought of commitment. I overanalyze. I judge too much and yet overlook the glaring human anomaly that is myself. I'm an intellectual snob. I'm not even that smart to deserve it. Not that anybody does, but you get my point.

--- the past two weeks I've been going home at 6pm sharp; I've become the clockwatcher I've been warning myself against

Who knows where sadness comes from? We are attracted to misery. We are sick. I swore off angst a couple of years ago. Not that my life is full of melodrama. Sometimes you realize you've been looking at the trees too long you've missed the forest.

--- like when we, financial analysts extraordinaire, interpreted the 46% jump in gross profit as a miscalculation, trying to explain the horror of the 'blessing' (we are conservative mites and will not stop at anything that will allow the work horses to take it easy) with reviews of last-minute account reclassifications in the past months, etc. when in the middle of number-crunching, the new hire tips his head in confusion and says, "Did we not acquire the plant precisely because we wanted full margins?" Full Margins. Because now we produced our products, and did not have to pass through profit-seeking middlemen which are really our brothers in the business. That had been my mantra when this whole Let's Put Up a Bloody Commissary for No Reason At All Project started. We are one weird. We, financial analysts extraordinaire, denied having accepted the truth of this observation by saying of course, we knew it all along, we were just checking our figures to be really sure.

But the truth is we are missing the forest. It is beautiful, glittering, free. And yet I disparage the dust at my feet, for not being crumby enough, or something.

The Holy Week is arbitrary, but the opportunity is too neon to ignore. Here you have four free days, away from media and all things stressful. I asked Tatay if we could stay somewhere nice during the weekend.

{{{ Dear Lord, my prayer is that You teach me how to love, for the sake of love alone, because although You tell us it is why You made us, I have yet to let go of all my hang-ups. I tell the world what to do, smile, be happy, choose to do the right thing, and they admire me for it. I'm the coolest rocking sunflower my friends have ever known. But they don't know me, Lord. In my heart, I am angry. I am sad. I don't know why people become so sad for no reason, but that is the truth. It is a mixture of different things, I guess, and You can trace it to a lonely childhood and a severe fear of rejection, or my physical appearance, or my personal inadequacies, but the bottom line is the same: I am sad, Lord, please help me not be sad anymore. }}}

And this is my prayer for the rest of the world, because the struggle is universal and you can try to pretend we're not related but that's bullshit because we're both alive, in this particular century, and I believe there is a distinctly crucial reason why we're both here now, my prayer is that we learn how to live, finally, after all failed attempts, after all half-hearted endeavors at sucking the marrow of life, not just in the bungee-jumping adrenalin that comes with new, exhilirating experiences, but especially in the ubiquitious ones that are important only to you,

like the feel of your father's hand, after years of not talking to him,


or the smell of the air before a thunderstorm, because you've been busy all these years cursing whatever gets in the way of your work,


or the color of the wall of your neighbor's house, which tells you you probably have the same tastes in architecture, and more besides, but you were too narrow talking to your other neighbor about the heinous smell of his dog's dumpings.


I wish to get my life back. They say it's really easy. They say all you have to do is to give it up. Give everything up. Everything you think is important is dung in the science of lasting things.

--- Sometimes I think I can never be the good person I really want to be. It's easy to be nice and loving and fun to be with, but being good-to-the-bone is tough. Being a writer I like the flashy conversions, the complete turn-around of one bad person's view of life. I like the thunder and stage lighting that comes with a person's realization of all his faults, and then follows his immediate decision to live a life of godliness. I like it when people say they converted radically because of this one incident, like this song in Mass, or this little act of kindness by one person, etc. But the really holy people I know tell me otherwise.

They say life is a constant battle field. They tell me the struggle is miniscule but grand, regal even. That each and every moment is a chance to show the creator our vast gratefulness for being allowed to live.

But most especially that pride discourages us from beginning again. Pride tells us, since this is the six hundred seventy-fifth time we've fallen, there is absolutely no use getting up. Pride tells up that when we decide to get better, we have to be better all at once.

But the truth is, the Lord loves us more for trying, and trying, and trying, and trying, almost as if our trying is the sole basis of our entrance to heaven, because He likes it better when we are bad people who want to be good, than if we are good people who are being ourselves.

--- I am really just who I am.


Posted at 10:15 am by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Saturday, March 12, 2005
Fast Car (Wrong Road Nga Lang, Dammit)

The search for the perfect metaphor has ended, thanks to Ducky, Skinny's friend, both of whom shall never know I quoted them.

During acting time at the Small But Spunky, in the middle of an incredible unforgiving busy season (hello to the world of auditors), Ducky takes a deep breath and blows everyone away with this:

{her face scrunches up in preparation, tears ready to roll down her cheeks}

"Sabi ko sa mamang driver, mama, para ho, para na! Manong, para na ho, please.

"Ambilis bilis ng takbo niya, Skinny, ambilis-bilis! Hindi ako makahinga sa bilis. Sabi ko, mama, ibaba nyo na ako.

"Kaso ayaw tumigil nung jeep! Sabi nung driver, naku miss, dapat kanina ka pa pumara. Sayang. Hindi na tayo pwede tumigil dito. Pasensya na."

Iiyak na sana ako sa Italiani's kahapon para ipakita kung gaano ko ka-feel yung sinabi ni Ducky, talking about my life right now.

Later on I'd sing till 4 am at the Red Box with office mates and watch My Sassy Girl at a unit at the West of Ayala. So much has been said about the movie kaya hindi ko na dadagdagan. Basta cute siya, period.

Posted at 10:48 pm by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Enough About Me

Isn't it amazing how all you really need to do to survive the world is to not think about what you're going to get out of it?

Posted at 09:41 pm by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Monday, February 07, 2005
Yellow Jar

Everything is just a matter of hanging on.

When it becomes not worth the crap, one must quit.

One owes it to himself to quit.

But that's only when one can say 'It's my life,' like it's his life; but your life is never truly entirely your own.

Mouths to feed, people to satisfy.

They say the Big Bad's got it going.

I say, I hate meetings. What I like, is sitting here, talking to you.

* * * * * *


Now, for the Keeb front (in italics, with fluttering pink candy hearts and rainbows):

It's February. I almost didn't notice.

* * * * * *


Let me tell you a tiny story...

Once there was a little yellow jar that had brown Chinese characters on it.

It said, "Oh, how useful I must be."

There were tons of other similar yellow jars in other houses, but the little yellow jar does not know this.

A relatively young couple with a young son used the little yellow jar to keep condoms for emergency. The relatively young couple's young son does not know this.

"What are these strange colorful packets inside me? Oh, how useful I must be."

The little yellow jar listens while the relatively young couple teaches their young son about the abominations of pre-marital sex and other Catholic tenets. The Pope does not know this.

One day, the little yellow jar decided to take a better look at the relatively young couple's young son. In doing so it fell and shattered into a million pieces, revealing five beautiful, colorful packs of many-flavored contraceptives.

Twitching as it reached its final moments of existing, the little yellow jar was happy, nevertheless, as the relatively young couple's young son reached for the packets and started blowing them into wonderful, transparent balloons.

"Oh," it said, as it breathed its last, "how useful I must be."

* * * * * *


You get tired of talking, eventually.

You get tired pretending you want to get somewhere.

Oh, should I die a sad and horrible death thinking these things?

The real kind of person never loses sight of his end-state.

It's a Big Bad word: "end-state". I better watch it.

* * * * * *


I'm trying out Blubster.

Posted at 08:53 pm by ccsantossa
Nasagasaan ka ba? Sagot!  

Next Page