Release.

Just the mundane thoughts of a mundane boy living in a mundane world.

[silentorrent]

You obliterated me. You damn well messed me up. There were paragraphs and pages where I had to stop because I was struggling to release the pressure that was crushing my chest. I had to reel myself and emerge from the story's depths so that I could breathe; to remind myself that my lungs are deflated and that they need to function properly and that I must stand up and shake off droplets of grief. To recover from the flurry of punches to the gut, to suck back the air that was knocked out of me. To stop the world from spinning as my eyes sped through thousands of words. To remind myself that I am still lucky, to remind myself that I am still safe, before I plunge into the novel's depths once again.

Then, to brace my body for the impact of shifting narratives (especially the few final ones), the remaining words that I knew would deliver the hardest blow.

I knew there was a right time to finally fish you out of my TBR pile. I knew that it must be when I am emotionally prepared and ready.

For those who haven't yet read "A Little Life" and are planning to, please know that it is a heavy book loaded with heavy issues that may trigger your mind to spiral. To call this novel dark and gloomy is an understatement. Prepare for the pain.

Yet, even after all that, I highly appreciated this reading experience. First time diving into prose that juggles themes of horrendous traumas and bright, complex friendships, of how they blend and clash and affect the fragile, broken self living in an often cruel age of anxiety.

[silentorrent]

I just like how they have the same letters in both of their names.

Elio. Oliver.

[silentorrent]

At last, touching. Callused fingers connecting, colliding. Closing. Clinging. Recreating. Intertwined. In synch. An undiluted source of pulsing electricy, radiating energy. Another's hand swallows mine in harmony.

[silentorrent]

Duwag, hindi mo matatakasan Bulag, wala kang mapagtataguan Sa problemang nakadagan Katawan ay nanginginig sa nakapasan Bitbit ang buslo ng pinagdadaanan Nais nang ibuhos ang laman

Pinilit ang sarili na magpakulong Sa sigaw ng konsensiya, ika’y nagpakapagong Walang humpay ang dabog ng kulog sa bubong ng simburyong atat mong takasan noon Kulang na lang sa pader magpalamon Upang maiwasan ang kinakatakutang hatol

[silentorrent]

I.)

Sa lawak ng kapatagan ika’y abandonado

Pagluluksa ng langit iyong sinasalo

Bagsak ng ulan, patak ng yelong pira-piraso

Nakatayong nag-aabang sa kidlat ng empatiko

Tamaan man, walang epekto

Matagal nang palpak, sindihan man, palyado

II.)

Papalapit na takipsilim

Kinumot ang mahiwagang dilim

Nagplano ng palihim

Inilabas ang patalim

Ipinuwesto sa puso, huminga ng malalim

Tulos ng pagsuko, idiniin

III.)

Kita sa saklob ng pag-asa

Sa ilalim ng nagtatagong mga tala

Nakatambak ang pinaglumaang mga maskara

Blankong hitsura na mistulang nanghuhusga

Pinagtatawanan ang iyong pagluluksa

Binabasura ang bawat malinis na alaala

Pekeng memorya.

IV.)

Dito ka nagsimulang magtago

sa dilim at liit ng iyong mundo

ang komplikasyon ng pagkatao

ang hugis at anyo ng mga prinsipyong

hinulma at inayos

Ngayo’y isinilid at ikinandado

[silentorrent]

The first sensation was the trace of a finger on my open palm; a feather that tickled an arousal of my dormant imagination. Slow stirring, silent teasing. Needless to say, consciousness kicked.

My eyelids parted open, and it was the dog with its tongue out. Dismay. The urgent press of desire immediately pulled back from the pit of my gut. I reached for the empty space of my bed once occupied by his figure. The scent lingering on the sheets, faint. I wondered if it would be as familiar to my pet's nose as it is for me. Would it still be fresh, or have I drowned it with the alcohol I drink every night in mourning his absence, this torture of a seperation. Brief envy. I sighed.

He is gone. And I am alone.

[silentorrent]

I hate "should've"s and "could've"s. They feel like broken glass piercing my skin.

[silentorrent]

Voice the tone of wine clink a lore classic Adorn me in tales melded in trinkets Pour in me the days of Diomedes In these hours, we drink

Clink.

[silentorrent]

It will be over soon, a promise anchored by blood. When the time comes, remember my name. Speak it, and I shall attend to you. I will make it painless. And your feet will step on the shores of tomorrow. And that tomorrow is now. And that now is forevermore. Your tears are in a cup overflowing. Drink and be restored. Taste the air. Dance and be merry. It is done. It is over. It is finished. In this Glen of Glory, I welcome thee.

[silentorrent]

With chokes of anguish, your name would pass from lip to lip. Just this once. You will say nothing. With wails of despair, they would gather and surround you. Just this once. You will say nothing. With heads pressed close and hearts tender, they would mutter and relish fond memories of you. A pathetic attempt at reconciliation and recollection. Just this once. You will say nothing. The thing you denied yourself of, that wretched vile craving, would be bestowed upon your body. Just this once. You will say nothing. With a final, weeping farewell, the gates are closed, you are lowered in the ground. And you will say nothing. You will say nothing.

[silentorrent]

Hold me in the twilight of our own creation, I beg you. Let it illuminate and unfold and cast a prismic ensemble of auras and shadows and patterns and pallets before it retreats and restarts. Let me see your halo. Unfurl your wings, dear angel. Winds of change embrace you. When it carries you away, take me with you. I let go of my baggage. I am yours. Let me marvel at this sight, this blessing from heaven. Let me show you my sleeve, and the pulse that longs for your touch. Place your head on my chest and hear the heart bleeding pure admiration. Let me whisper my secrets in your ear. Refrain from wiping the tears from my eyes. I love you, I love you. Let me burn in your warm embrace, let this be the last thing I see and feel before I perish. If an afterlife does collect my soul, I hope, I pray, that I find yours there. Let me sing with you. Let that moment enter the meanings of forever, let it swim in the streams of my consciousness. Just let me. Please, just let me.

[silentorrent]

Of Her

Eyes, a shade of secrets shared between the wind and waves of her Whispers, a treasure lost deep in the valleys of her Lips, a stretch of land that teases the horizons of her Face, a wonder, a marvel, a tapestry framed by both tranquil and tempestuous threads of her Hair, a love letter ingrained in every root and fiber, destined to dwindle in the Autumn

of her Spring

[silentorrent]

Is that not what you dread,

to walk as the living dead?

Is that not what you fear,

to deface what was once held dear?

[patrouclous]

your name is patroclus and this is your destiny: your love will kiss you, tender and your legs will spread beneath him. your horses will sing for their charioteer, because your kindness will make even heartless warriors become your comrades, your protector. your bones will be mingled with the boy’s who your heart will grow fond of, by a girl your sweet voice will save. your name will be whispered by the sea for she will be your mother, too—from the first time your eyes met his.

this is how you will be loved, patroclus (via patrouclous)

[silentorrent]

Public Transit Cancer

The horror of witnessing the daily throng of passengers pushing their way into an already cramped compartment can be slightly amusing in a twisted kind of way. But when will it cease, though? 😒 Hindi ako affected kapag umuuwi ako sa Rizal, pero dang, may nakikita na akong nagsisikuan e. Competition, pre.

[silentorrent]

scene in the early pages of the book where Patroclus tells Achilles how he had killed the boy who had tried to take away his dice, as they sit on the branches of a courtyard oak. Achilles: "No one has ever tried to take something from me."  Patroclus: "Never?"  Achilles: "Never. I don't know. I think I would be angry." 

[silentorrent]

The difficulty in soothing the sharp pang of invariable musings that one is outside the archetype of manhood proves to exhaust some reserves of patience - if not all. My thought for today.