Leaves in a puddle.

 

This is where C and I ended up the other day. I found an inky puddle on the road with fall leaves drowning in it.

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φῶς (phos) "light" and γραφή (graphê)

Drawing with Light

This is our fate:
to see things that aren't there.
The next movement is an anticipated
syncopation,
breaking into gesture.
A sigh, a head lays on a shoulder.

This is our fate:
To forget what we saw,
For color cannot be remembered.
Light falls differently on every eye absorbing a moment.

This is our fate:
To know the difference.
For to compose, composite, de-compose,
is to choose a story.
(They will never know.)
They should know,
that reality does not satisfy the dreamer.

This is our fate:
To blink, to lose an instant to time.
For clicking opens the shutter long enough,
only to close as quickly.
Eyes water and to dream is a forgivable luxury.

This is our fate:
to step away from ourselves.
For distance allows us to focus, unfocus,
until the decisive moment.

This is our fate:
To record history with silence.
For every print trades its lightness for gravity.
A mimicry of stories unfold in front of the viewers gaze.

(to be continued within the course of the year. probably. hopefully!)
This just might evolve into one of my pet projects. I'm thinking of taking photos to match each stanza and perhaps put together a small book.

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Enough is enough.

3am mornings in a row. Death to the witching hour.

I think I made up for my lack of sleep in the worst way. I kept on passing out in school at random intervals except when it mattered: dinner time! Such. a. fatty.

I suppose make-up sleep was overdue because during IT class, a photo of a tree/sky reflection started to look like faces every time I'd open my eyes after dozing off. It reminded me of my bathroom walls back home.

Ah, home. What I would give to sleep soundly.

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October 20th Morning Playlist

Marching Bands of Manhattan- Death Cab for Cutie
Passing Afternoon- Iron & Wine
Bulletproof Weeks- Matt Nathanson
On your Porch- The Format
Only You- Joshua Radin
This Modern Love- Bloc Party
The Swell Season- Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

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3AM again.

I hope these 3AM mornings aren't becoming a habit. Sleep, would you be so kind to let me dream? I prefer silence, instead of this humming quiet of thoughts creeping from shadowy corners. Come to think of it, I've been listening to music constantly.

It's only 7am and the day is already half-way over! That's what I get for keeping up with the timezones. Good evening, Manila. It's time to chase some frost.

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Dead stars

At the parking lot in front of the bowling alley, O and I decided to play around with his 50mm. With all the lights on the streets, who would've thought we'd catch all these stars staring down at us.

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Washing

Sorrow seeps through cupped hands
like water taken against it's will.
It cannot be contained.
Tears
brim over the edges,
like bleeding watercolor on white paper.
The world is a gasp of shapes,
lacking in dimension.
I blink to give way to gravity's course.

It's best not to fight it,
in exchange for clarity.

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Why does the world birth brokenness?

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Once: Falling Slowly.

Gravity is cruel.



I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

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Photoshoots in the white room, almost bedroom

Shooting on a Sunday after helping out in school. You know you love what you're doing when you can't help but do it 24/7. FOR FUN.

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A void

I think I lost a friend today.
My condolences.
No, not to death. But similar to it, I suppose.
To what then?

To silence.
To space.
To a void. (Avoid.)

Lost words float on a wave with no sound.
Memories dip, falter, and are taken in, in an instant swell of emotion.
Wave after wave after wave,
I send a flying kiss to find you in the depths.
I promise not to wait on the shore
or to bother with prayers.
It is enough,
somehow enough,
to survive such tragedies.



You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Well jump on, enjoy, you can gorge away
You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness
Jump right
Baby, you've got to be more discerning
I've never known what's good for me
Baby, you've got to be more demanding
Jump left

This modern love breaks me
This modern love wastes me

Do you wanna come over and kill some time?
Tell me facts, tell me facts, tell me facts
Tell me facts
Throw your arms around me.

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5AM sadness. blah-ness.

I'm up so early today. I don't know if it's because I'm used to it or if sleep is depriving me of its escape. The day has begun. More time to think. More time for torture.

Right now, everything is so hazy. I woke up in fog when I broke away. This path, it's leading me elsewhere, to so many other options which would never have sprung up if I remained. I'm afraid of where it will lead.

Why do I always need to 'wait and see.' What is with waiting, with time, with timing. We are swallowed up by minutes and we think we 'manage' time.

What is there to see. To be honest? So much. Maybe we can see together. Maybe we see different things now. Or have we always seen apart? Maybe we see things that aren't there. So, are we holding on for a future? Holding on for the glories of the past? Or for a future like the past? Both don't exist anymore though, what now?

What is a 'relationship'? People relating. People re-lating. A back-and-forth gesture. Like a lonesome wave. Hello, goodbye. See you later.

And feelings are relative.
What are you feeling?
I am relative-ly alone. Apart from you. A part of you.

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K, such a talented person.

So there are many, many ways to leave forever;

» So we take a stroll down a park we’ve known all our lives while we lived here (there are many lives to leave), every step away from the train station also a step towards an approaching departure.

» Behind us, streetlamps blink to life one by one, illuminating all we’ve passed through. Before us, the park teems with strangers, and it is only by the sound of your steps that I know, I know you.

» So sound never really disappears after it has been cast, because that is the nature of a wave; it continues, threads itself onto the next crest, becomes new. He sits in the middle of the bridge that spans across the lake, weaves a song on strained strings. Above the unmoving water, he floats between.

» This city has taught us how to be alone. Unfurls what we keep close and fisted, spreads distances deep where light is faint. Where we are ‘touched’, sightless, fleeting. So that even as we walk together, “you” are also thousands of years away.

READ MORE.

-Kae Batiquin

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If only we could collapse inward--
crushing this loneliness
under a debris
of bones.
Maybe we can forget
such a structure existed
and discover ourselves whole
once more--
contained in a heartbeat.

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