Tel Quel

In an unexpected turn of events, I ended up defending my graduation thesis against a one-man panel or “Arnold” as we all fondly but truthfully know him to be. Gradually it seeped into a whirlwind of Noynoy, Ninoy and the generic insanity of Imelda and her two thousand & seven hundred pairs of shoes, after which these letters to no one — ghost-written and sealed — caved under the gravity of mid-day melancholia and all was quiet again. But as soon as it left, the visions of euphoria rose once more, this time in orgiastic waves of threes; a climactic collision of sight, sound and the sweetest scent of Sampoerna. When I’m not people-watching and waiting or responding to Satori Blues, I try to keep myself steady but inevitably relent to the unbearable lightness of 808s three aisles away and later on provoke unsuspecting colleagues into shuffle showdowns. They humour me most of the time. When I’ve finally used up all of my energy, I begin to look for love in all sorts of places; one of which is the dark cinder couch behind me, if not amongst the dwarven chairs: out of sight, out of mind. But every once in awhile, these little birds come to visit the hanging cages of Babylon and I begin to breathe once more. Later, we would all fall in but mostly out (of our minds) and learn to live modestly around the elusive harp of an end by embracing these dream-induced moments and non-sequiturs. Sometime after that, I quietly decided that the League of the Irreverently Departed was found, and with so much more love to go around.

My life is average, but these people; here and now, are something else altogether.

Tags: I am not high, I like my whistle, Playlab Playground, Premium stuff