New People’s Army guerrilla camp in the mountains of Philippines, 1986.
via reddit

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@yuexing88
New People’s Army guerrilla camp in the mountains of Philippines, 1986.
via reddit
how it feels to pretend to give a fuck about any of what you tumblr communists are saying when my friend was murdered by the afp in the mountains and his ghost appears everyday and i would trade many of your lives for his in return
MY FRIEND AND COMRADE WAS MURDERED IN THE TOBOSO 19 MASSACRE
HAYOP MONG AFP AYAW GYD MOG TUO ANING MGA ANIMAL
Tonight I will leave on a bus. I will feel closer to home than I ever did while I was there. Tomorrow she might die. She will feel more present than she ever did while she was alive.
Goodnight again, planet Dagit
Tonight I will leave on a bus. I will feel closer to home than I ever did while I was there. Tomorrow she might die. She will feel more present than she ever did while she was alive.
I read a story yesterday that ate my heart and until now has not spat it out. It was about these planets and their inhabitants who unknowingly exist, very co-dependently among each other. There is one planet that broke my heart. I cannot stop thinking about it.
I live in what used to feel like a geriatric town. the constant exposure to "Natural" death was always a weight on my mind, even as a child. i am Sure now that i am fated to relive the same loss over and over again. i am Sure now that my mission is to interpret this loss in all its infrastructure: political, scientific, philosophical, medical...i am Sure now that, i do not have the body or soul with the capacity to do so. It is my defect. Curse.
i wish you still posted
it's okay. the closer i am to losing everything the closer i am in the shoes of the buddha.
i'm breaking my short silence to profess of something while i drift to sleep, a process that's become easier ever since medication. it's also a bit fitting for the upcoming EDSA 40th. i've coped with a lot of my emotional turbulence by overworking myself, and while becoming slowly re-involved in activist groups, i've noticed that national collectives who attempt to localize in out-of-Manila chapters are led by too many students only connected to socialist ideals by vague senses of nationalism; thus they continuously fail to get a good sense of a locale's attitude towards its own problems. Issues while organizing turn into petty spats of gossip and drama. If I meet an individual with a rightfully defensive attitude yet deeply understanding of their hometown's political issues, they're mostly from Mindanao.
It's made me quite emotional about where I live. If given the chance to return to my father's country I would still make the decision to stay by my mother's side, defend what's left of what's raised her & me to the best of my abilities. I see a lot of love in the waste, I hear a lot of the dead in my sleep. The ocean, the beast. And I dream so much in color, and I think of the people here full and happy that it brings me to tears. It's idealistic but I promise it's raw to the point of being shameful. In my dreams they never take you away from me.
departure, my last post in a very long time if not forever.
i am following the close SEAn friends ive made here; sa tinuod, insakto rajd mo, kini ang korek na desisyon.
dad, quit it, quit playing this race to suicide with me, i'm begging you
i don't need it right now, the missed calls from strangers, i think about you, river, no, you do not. i don't need it right now. what a lonely race. domesticated and bred species for our own companionship. if i could forfeit all of my soul and body to be part of a larger organism, i gladly would. you have sympathy for dead kittens and i have sympathy for cultists.
typical of you to be interested in me, younger, curious, with the misassumption that our melancholy and solitude are reciprocal, even-folded. the chase was so fun, wasn't it? up until it led to a massive crater. a gap you can't cross. they never make it past this one in the space movies. a dead ship is a dead star without the capacity for rebirth. i don't need rage when the light has already died.
do i seriously have to deal with a stalker right now
strange fucking bitten into christmas ham has been left by my doorstep in rot by the same person who wont stop passing by my place
do i seriously have to deal with a stalker right now
why is shunji iwai songood at writing about falling in love with pitiful fucking weirdos wauyghghgh i love you iwai i love y
Priestess of Yemaya/Iemanjá, of Candomblé in Bahia, Brazil by Phyllis Galembo