:twisted: :twisted: :twisted: I'm mad, mad, mad. Mad on a two-way street. Angry-Mad and Loony-Mad. I'm having allergy attacks. Man. What to do? What to do? Nothing. Can't bribe them off. :oops:
:? <=confused?>“Brevity is the soul of wit” [Hamlet. Polonius. Act 2. Sc. 2] …So I guess I lack this so-called wit. My journals are quite too long. And boring? Brace yourselves for another one.
**pinch** **pinch** I can’t find myself. This is the umpteenth time I’m giving myself a reality check. I don’t seem to be me. Earth-to-Jaye. Earth-to-Jaye. My world rotated more than 365 times this year. It did a thousand. I’ve gone light-years away from where I used to stand still and quite undisturbed in the silken silence. Wasn’t it only yesterday when I was rushing across the streets to catch a jeepney to Katipunan for my CET classes? Wasn’t it only yesterday when I was but an only child? Wasn’t it only yesterday when I sneaked-out for some clandestine rendezvous with the love of my life? It wasn’t but it seems so. Everything has changed. Everything but me. When the world turned a thousand times, sad to say, I think it left me behind in my yellow childhood days. I still remember…. Even so, I guess life hasn’t closed for me. It actually opened a lot of new opportunities. Getting into my dream university by passing the upcat and the talent auditions altogether was more than I could ever ask for. I saw it as the be-all and end-all of my life. There I was wrong. I thought my suffering finally gets dotted. [i]Free at last[/i], I used to say to myself. But actually, now, now, now, I’m on the real roadkill. I wonder if I will survive this. I’ve been through other roadkills before. I just want to be sure that I still have the stamina to will myself through this one.
:cry: :cry: :cry: All had stopped in silence—the stars from twinkling in the dark night sky(together with that remarkable twinkle in your eye.), our hearty laughter, my invincible pride, my tear halfway down my cheek, and I guess all that’s in one fantastic thing we used to believe to be love. But not my heart from beating persistently, leaving me but pain and desolation altogether. The confusion is, “why so soon?” Why so drastic? Why so poignant? Appalling, as I would put it in. It may qualify as another phenomenal entry for my Traumatic Experiences Hall of Fame. So I was there on my bed, pausing in fear of the very violent silence, having no choice but to unravel the intricate pattern of bears and checkers on my dirty sheets. I keep pondering, though, deep within me. I’m sorry, so sorry. Demented as I was born, I wish not to add to it by pondering and befuddling myself, but I just could not stop. The need and the urge is strong, fervent, and very passionate. I must punish myself for what I have done. I had been bad again. When will I ever change? Every willful act of trying seems to be in vain. You had stopped speaking, and so had I. Yet in that silence, we never ceased hurting each other. Perhaps I had been so selfish. And now, how I am plagued by guilt because I feel your pain. I can not get up. I can not speak. Nor do I have the strength to put down the phone. It’s because I’m not yet into being cold and into forgetting everything. I’m not into that stage most people in mock bravery delineate as “moving on.” There’s no such thing as moving-on when you haven’t forgotten and forgiven each other. I guess this is how war was born. It was conceived not because love had died away, but because love was forgotten, worse, ignored. God, give me the grace to forget everything…but love. :( :(
What could have happened after you’ve seen them on the road?
It is a wonder how diverse people are, yet how unified they could be. Bet you never came across the fact that we Filipinos who live rather personal and secluded lives still are bound together by places…like the streets and crossroads. Everytime we drive around, stroll along or whatever, we somehow become a part of one another’s existence, or greater, a part of what the others are. Relation? Yeah, right. We become related in some way, like saying, ‘oh, that one is my acquaintance or my mutual smile-fellow. He never fails to give me a smile each time we bump into each other.’ Or, proving that we somehow become a part of each other, we can say, ‘hi. I’m Cathy, I am friendly because I smile at people I encounter on the streets.’ It may also be the other way around. See? We can never change that fact that we build associations on the road. Sometimes, though, we ignore the encounters and dump them the very minute we get over. But haven’t you noticed that you’ve observed, or seen at the very least, a portion of those people’s lives? But what could have happened after you’ve lead your own directions? I always wondered. So, here are the products of my questions—some varied hypotheses.
I was on my way to school one morning, riding my old, rust-encrusted school service. (By the way, I want to give some special credit to the blue-metallic paint that tried in vain to conceal the rust and to preserve some of my dignity.) On my bumpy ride, my eyes drifted to the “normal”, gray car that tagged behind. Behind the wheel was a fat man, with moderately dark complexion. He looked okay, well, he seemed like a businessman to me. Usual businessman attire--long sleeved polo shirt with a neatly tied tie. But there was something different. Guess what, he was picking his nose! (I hope he doesn’t bite his tongue.) When he realized I was looking at him, he “courteously” put his pointing finger down, and laid his hands back on the wheel. So, of course, I never saw the rest of him. But, I know somehow, I made him realize that picking your nose on the streets, even when in your car is bad for your image, even only for that day. Anyway, like I said, I never saw the rest of him, but the story does not end right there. Granting that he is a busy businessman, perhaps he sits in his office, staring(if not working) on stacks of papers on his desk and phoning people for all I care. We also know for a fact that businessmen love to shake hands as a sign of what they call “partnership”, blah, blah. Now perhaps you know where I’m driving this conversation. Ooh, poor confederates. They will never know that they’re shaking a booger-stained hand. But if the man is a hygienic person, he will perhaps apply some hand-sanitizer, wash his hands, or at least give it a brush on his slacks before giving a friendly shake. That’s one variation of my story. I’m leaving the rest for you to imagine. 8)
:lol: Get used to it for I'll be posting at least one of my poems every day. By the way, my favorite poets are Edward Estlin Cummings and the very romantic Pablo Neruda. :wink: So don't ask me whether I was in love when I wrote this. It was mostly out of inspiration. Not exactly that momentary spur of romanticism. I can't believe it. I was actually angry when I wrote this.
Here goes:
[u]Touch Me Like the Rain[/u]
Touch my hands like the rain Touches the ground again, again. Let thy warmth touch my veins Like the rain touches the ground— I become numb.
Touch my arms like the wind Touches the leaves incessantly. Let thy warmth touch my soul As the wind kisses the trees. I fall…
Touch my face like the moon, With its light lines them all. Let thy passion touch myself Just as the way the moon captures All concealed by the dark. I am not bemused anymore.
Touch my eyes with such covetous looks Like the rain would fall and would not cease. Let thy love touch my deepest, my most insecure Being Just as the rain would fall without ceasing.
I am falling… I am falling… In love.
Preface to the Nostalgic Journals of an Untamed Poet
They say that life is a book where each one is its own author, editor, illustrator, and the protagonist (or antagonist himself if one chooses to move toward his downfall) altogether. So life moves… .It moves on like any other plot beginning with the introduction, to the climax until the resolution. However it is that beginnings do not always determine the ends, they are still substantial to the story as a foundation or foreground. They help us infer the succeeding events, and the psychological background of the characters. Such is the purpose of this preface. This is preface to the tale of a tragic hero indomitably battling for that thing called poetic justice.
The battle has just begun. So has my life.
Never in my life has the thought of keeping an online journal crossed my head. The hell even with keeping journals. Not until now have I entertained the idea. I used to think that “journal” and “junk” were synonymous. I mean why keep a record of my life? How vain! As if the world would care! But then, when this junk thingie emerged into the IT industry, my perception sort of evolved—or mutated. Just in time with someone stubbornly prying open my doors I’ve closed and almost decided to lock for the rest of my life. Yet, I still don’t intend this for every tom-dick-and-harry to read. So far, I’m not thinking of going international, nor am I hoping this to be as phenomenal and controversial as Anne Frank’s diary whatsoever. Man! This won’t even pass as features article to the worst-selling magazine in the Philippines. I guess this is but one way to understand myself clearly, to be able to ponder and reflect. And likewise, if proven to be effectual, may this be a way for others to understand the “me” I am so timid and insecure to unveil. I find it also a good diversion—healthy to the mind and heart. First in the order of my business is the title. Why was my title as it is? Poignant Pointillism—makes little sense right? Don’t fret. I can explain. Besides the fact that I liked the pun, I actually like the word poignant for the plain reason that it summarizes my life. Bursts of pain. Yes pain. Pain heart-rending, excruciating, still, short-lived. However intense pain may seem, it actually does not last. It is like a disturbed spirit that goes away after you heed its sentiments. Pain goes away after you’ve learned to love it. When you learn to love it, you surmount it, then you become strong: stronger to face higher degrees of ordeals. Like a wheel, the cycle turns without end. The wheel, FYI, is universally known as “life”. I guess pain is just best delineated as continual rather than continuous. For pointillism, I got the word for the reason that I regard my life as a premature work of art that given the chance and the [b][i]courage[/i][/b]I would craft beautifully. And I am proud to say that lately, I have been given the chance and the best deal I got! I’m only waiting…oops! Working, I mean, on the courage. My life is a play of different colors that people may interpret or misinterpret in a number of ways. Like for example, some have found me to be this timid socially-challenged moron, some this bore-me-to-death geek (my family in particular), some this passionate poet and pianist, some this lousy volleyball player, some this drunken buffoon, and some this bitch! Like how extreme! Timid Moron and Bitch Butterfly are light-years apart. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t know myself. Not that I get carried away with comments easily, but then it’s actually rather confusing when people say the same things. So even though I don’t like believing them…. But who cares? Anyway, those folks who said those nasty things about me are all hopeless-romantics. I’m proud to say that I’m not. I’ve been desolate, but never ever in my life DESPERATE!
Such is my preface. A preface indeed.
To all of you who took time reading this, thank you for being a huge piece of my life and heart, and for being significant characters in my lifestory.
THE AUTHOR—Jaye
:oops: :oops: :oops:
PoiGnaNt PoiNtiLLisM by the PiXiE Tears are the Sweat of the Heart -jaye
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/brunettes/ubr28.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/B/123.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/bathing_suits_preps/bat12_7_5_2004.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/black_hair/ubl19.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/HOLIDAY/11.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/brunettes_preps/lpr12_7_5_2004.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/B/blondes_pinkgoddess_7_24_2003.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/formal_preps/PFOR1_7_5_2004.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/bathing_suits_preps/bat8_7_5_2004.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/mystics/bathing_suits/ub1.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/B/78.gif)
![Visit The Doll Palace [Where Cartoon Dolls Live]](http://public.thedollpalace.com/public/images/dolls_library_linked/BR/brownandred_modelboots_8_27_2002.gif)