Tag Archives: life


A poem is like a memory of a dream after waking…


A fragment…

A vignette…

A story marginalized by frames…

…captioned by time.

without a beginning…

a middle…

or end.


And as the river of time passes by,

the strips of memories

scream to                          f a  d   e

yet, it echoes

bouncing back


from your mind

and curiosity, leaving you

wondering about how things

could have transpired.


But you will never                                remember

since it never really matter

and you’re back to this ugly world

because we are bound to                               forget

but never                          surrender.


Manifestations of Reality

If not in these types of manifestations we see life then we see our mirror selves being reflected by other people. Our insecurities that arise with each and every push and pull of emotions whenever you see a certain person, for example someone who is more capable than you are in things that you endeavor. But these things, these chains of perspectives don’t have to be bound by a single force of thought that may gradually elevate itself in an inverse manner throwing yourself to negativity and letting yourself become the thing you used to hate. There is more to see even in a droplet of water sitting by a leaf on the branch of a tree. Occupying that single space with such natural effortless grip of unseen friction between the water and the surface of the leaf. The water droplet, bending the light into little unseen spectrum by the eyes, magnifying your vision by imagination even if your eyes see nothing, the very thing that you can imagine it means the thought is on the hands of possibility.

If life can be seen as repetitions or patterns in nature then we can fully see life in its own beauty. Aesthetics teaches us that beauty and meaning are product of unified objectivity and subjectivity. There must be a standard for such things and it is where art draws the line. However, the basis of judgement is not synonymous to appreciation. Judgement brings us to the point of decision where we conclude whether an object is a work of art or not. Whether if it transcends you to another realm or successfully meet the standards that are raised to qualify a thing as art. Appreciation comes from the audience and not to the art itself. To the subjective perspective of the person consuming the aura the art tries to create. In these notions we see that there are actually patterns that persist within nature that help us get along with our lives and living it without noticing these repetitions lead to lack of life appreciation and judging our life as dull and uneventful.

Because life is a work of art. It is the spirit of events that transpires in your very being. It is a living thing in itself that manifests in your body and mind. It is a thing of beauty, of inspiration of nature within the very walls of our skins and inside our bloodstream as the oxygen rides inside your arteries carried by your red blood cells all throughout your system to keep you alive as you go on with your lives and zoom out to see yourself ride public transportation that will take you to work or at school and both both of these worlds sustains life. The life of a human being and the life of civilization, respectively. These parallel universes which are the microcosm or the macrocosm of another in a systemic pattern that create life or the things that blooms and creates a collective consciousness in its own self.

These different realms of realities coexist in a single continuum that we call Life as white light is divided into different colors of the spectrum. The universality of Nature is beyond gods and goddesses. It is transcendence that humanity is capable of. This kind of higher state of consciousness is necessary to be the agents of the Earth and create to be the Gaea’s children for the early Greeks and this thought is highly surprising that we, ourselves exist in different universes in one single motion from the Big Bang until now as we circumnavigate the world and we sit on our cozy couches, everything is happening at the same time.

This is a door to another perspective. Just like how great movies let you hang on your seats and leave you breathless until it ends. You transcend into another realm. Into another perspective with another experience of life by two hours. As you watch everything unravel twenty four frames per second, we have twenty four hours to capture a day. Movies and books are so dense that you just keep everything away for a moment to catch up with the life you have left in exchange for a captivating novel or story because you see the world in an entirely different perspective.

The constant intrusions of nature to art and the ability to see every inch of pattern that describes that this is the beauty we should see. The beauty of process that are the echoes of every final stage of the artform. The process in which the artist sways with madness and consumed by his own reality is where beauty originates. Because in each stroke of the paintbrush and layers of color resides another reality that instigates the art to be. The words and phrases in every novel or poem hides the very thing the writer wish to remain unsaid as secret, kept in every space he put in paragraphs and verses; in between every words that come from a thought is a manifestation of an idea. An idea that was once uncreated, unseen and undetected. So we all begin there. From a single abstract idea by your imagination that was once wasn’t true but is now. Intangible and perfect ideas from Plato’s World of Forms that are now concrete with its own imperfections and beauty. Life is an artform.

Everything else could be a window to another door. And it’s not complicated when you start to see things and be consumed by the patterns when you see it everywhere. Because that’s how nature creates beauty through art.

It doesn’t matter how your life should end but the quality of life depends on how you live it.

Make every step in your process be meaningful and step up to the standards of beauty through art.

The Power of Locks

And the world is making a huge fuss about it. Whether your parents, friends or even your lovely pets.

The unnatural. The taboo. The spaces that consist behind the closed doors. The restricted. The forbidden. The don’ts. The what ifs. The unseen, invisible and the unexplained. The monster under the bed.

The mysteries of life is what fires up the curiosity of people and therefore adds vigor and color to the everyday life. We are tired of what we know and see if what we are experiencing is truly what life truly is. And yet, such thing as what I’ve just said is what you already knew and probably bored out of your sofa, reading this post. Probably, you don’t have a sofa but this is how predictable the world may seem.


What use is a box if it is empty? Most probably to fill in with new things that could fill the space and meet its capacity. However there is a completely different box. Unopened and in the darkest corner of your basement. It is no ordinary box. It is a black metal box and has a lock and can only be unlocked with a certain set of numbers. It may contain several things you can think of based from the dimensions of the box. It can be huge, small but it doesn’t matter because it all depends on what you can make out of it. The set of numbers are unknown. The thing or things that could be inside is unknown. It could be anything. It could be nothing. But you ask yourself, “What great thing could be possibly locked inside this box?” but in the back of your head, something whispers that it could be empty. The lock is deceiving you. The limit is what makes your mind go wild. But your mind is curious and it disregarded the possibility of the nothingness inside the locked box. Because we are never contented with anything empty and we always put things inside that we can think of that will fit.

Let us try and open the box. You see a 4-digit number lock. The possibilities of each set of number are now crowding your mind. Like endless spoiled and impatient little children waiting in line, screaming for their respective turns but which will you choose first? It doesn’t matter and you began entering random set of numbers with the hopes to unlock the box. You have entered the trial and error stage. Your impatience is growing. Another number set. One after the other. You wait for the click–the signal that you succeeded unlocking the box. Silence. Wrong. You try for another set of numbers. In this situation, you see your masochistic side. Your patience is wearing thin. You cannot open the box, yet you try. You are tired. You lost too much time unlocking the box. What is inside, became your obsession.

So I leave the decision to you. Now, as long as there is still time left for you to enjoy the remainder of your life. You can hide the box and leave it alone for the rest of your life and go back to where you left off, or you can try and open the box because you still cling to the hope you have. The latter has consequences. Severe ones. But one thing is for sure: you cannot bring back the time you have used to open the box. Still, the possibility of it being empty is not ruled out but it is not what you believe. There is something.

Take the first option, leave and forget about everything then stop reading this post right now and go back to your own life.

Take the second option, read on and prepare for the consequences.

I had opened the box and the number is 2710.

The box is empty.

What use is a box if it is empty? Most probably to fill in with new things that could fill the space and meet its capacity. However this is a completely different box. You found a box that is full of nothing. This box took almost half of your time being alive and you have nothing. But this is the only box you have right now. This is now in your possession. Everything that you could have been at this point in time could have been different. But you chose the box. The empty metal box. Which has nothing. You found your life. You found what you are looking for. And time has never deprived you of the chance to start all over again.


It is in itself what we could not see or obscured from our vision and understanding is what makes the little neurons in our brains ignite and floor the gas pedal to power up the engine of Hope. To venture the unknown, the future and the possible past that are never truly there. The futility of men to seek such water-less trenches deep below the grounds of sanity, into the dark, engulfing void where severe consequences and uncertainty lie. The risks are hanged and weighed in the balance with a continuous increase to topple the stack of what is at stake, what you bargained which consists of the things that you loved most. It is where man finds the entrance to madness.

Down the rabbit-hole where Alice faced the unnatural is the place where we turn the tables, close the curtains and tread to the un-walkable path. It is not about courage. It is not about bravery. It is not about safety and certainty but a question that has to be answered, “Are you mad enough to give up all that you know to replace them with something…exquisitely sophisticated?”

Remove the doubts and lies; take all of the irregularities, the chaos, entropy, discord and everything that can possibly lead to destruction and severing of ties. Of all that is left is an uneventful life, place and time. A colorless world woven out of the true meaning. Without obscurity and thinking. Reasoning and imagination will leave the world and all we have there is and all that our brains will do is to kill every brain cell in side of it because we have come to the time of a collective acceptance of information. No questions asked, the stimuli aren’t enough, the mind is in deep slumber and the information itself has grasped and hold our brains to empower an idea. The evolution of ideas some of us may recognize as Memetics. An unseen revolution in an entirely different realm of reality whereas the generators of ideas are now being ruled by its creation.

Face the consequences. Locks are deceptions and discovery.

Trade Mistakes

My mind is running on Limbo.

This day is dull, yet it’s bright. It’s like I’m living a life covered in fog. I know something is wrong but my vision is blurred by something I cannot fully comprehend. The time is still, yet the hands of the clock move and I can hear it’s annoying ticking sound every second as if it’s mocking me. As if I can hear time laughing at me, looking at me directly in the face trying to make sense of what is happening around me. Then, I’ll realize that the time I spent thinking was wasted because I’ll come out with nothing. Not even a trace of reason behind this gray feeling when you just want life to pass by and stare at the strands of time that passes every minute.

I feel like I’ve been too ahead of time the past week and all that is left for me to do at this moment is absolutely nothing. It’s as if I already used my time for this week in the past week, yet I always feel like I have to do more things than the allocated time for a day. I need more time and I’m being impatient. Yes. That may be it.

I’m rushing things and I know I shouldn’t. We can’t buy more time in our lives so I feel like rushing it. I want to do more things than this life has to offer. I want to learn more but reality hits me hard when death proudly presents itself in my mind.

Everyone says that everything comes at the right time so I almost always spend my time thinking when in the near future could possibly be that right time to exist. And there it goes. I keep missing it.

Thinking too much isn’t helping either. I don’t like being limited so I always push towards the boundaries and it has been a habit I cannot undo.

Being too much ahead of everything isn’t something I should keep on doing. And now is the time to do things right.

Blend in the society while weaving the world into words and create influence. There’s always a room for a change because Time is never still.

A Calling for Eternal Slumber

And I could talk to the moon every night

About the things we cannot grasp

About how we struggle to keep chasing

The sun we dream to have


We burn bridges instead of creating them

We isolate ourselves to the things we love the most

Fearing that someday we’ll regret

How we lost the things that keeps us who we are


Until we lose every part of ourselves

Bit by bit tearing us apart

Until the fire burns us to ashes

Slowly drifting to the memories of the wind


Every single thing you own will fade

Every single friend you love won’t stay

But neither of these, I have none

But only a single person, the epitome of my existence


Yet the things we desire are the ones out of reach

It’ll dare you to jump to the ocean

And swim to the farthest island

And no one will care if you reach it alive or not


So I pretend not to care if she’ll stay or not

In my life, though she’s not my possession

Yet her her presence is enough

To stir my emotions


How many times I tore myself apart longing for her

But I cannot because I have myself

A problem no one sees, hear or feel

A problem neither I could comprehend


How Nobody feels my agony beneath my lungs

How Nobody sees me alone inside the darkness of my mind

How Nobody hears the screams of my desperate plea

Against the course of madness in me spinning for eternity


I have this empty space in me where my heart was once filed

This hole of emptiness shall be filled with my muffled cries

So high that it would be my steps to reach the sky and face the new day with a smile

In return to the past I traversed a hundred million miles.


For the things I choose to forget and those who left me alone

I would not need my heart again for all of you shall be written in stone

As this person who writes behind words, tears begins to foam

For at last, his visions is now what he calls home.

Life in Motion

Everyday I see unspoken words from people’s faces,

Walking on the streets, strangers to everyone’s senses.

I feel they all choose to pick the one that is safest.

They hide behind a mask, living outside the curtains.


A father went home wearing his coat and tie,

Kissing his daughter Myles as the clock strikes nine.

Every night he lies awake thinking beside his sleeping wife,

How was he able to stand and live a life of a lie?


It’s rather amusing how it feels like

That I can hide in plain sight.

Past the roads and empty streets,

Concealed behind the crowded geeks.


People come and people go.

Seems like for them, it’s only a show.

A scheme no one will know.

Except the ones who control the flow.


The director says what to do,

The writer dictates what to say,

The camera starts to roll,

The actors come into play.


Dance under the rain, and watch the stars collide,

Be one with the world and it’ll speak by your side.

A whisper of the Mother, a friendly advice,

For her words, it shall open your eyes.




Nobody understands.

Everyday in his life are memories etched in every self-inflicted scars where the it wants it to be.

“It feeds with pain,” he says “So let them indulge upon me. I am their master.”

Years passed and he is tired of crying anymore. He is too damaged to cry. Now, it only seems that pain has abandoned him. Numb from grief of everyday’s fucked-up disorder. A mouth sealed shut, not wanting to be wrong, nor be heard for he himself was a terrible mistake the world has to offer. A rock sitting by the pavement. Invisible, behind those smiles. Eyes longing for attention and understanding. Yet, he sits by his bedroom window, looking at the constellations and counting his dead dreams and for another time, he takes again the razors and proceed to let himself feel again. To feel in the midst of numbness. To show these four walls how he struggles to survive in this world he cannot comprehend.

Loneliness has cast a void upon him. A hole that can never be filled. A bottomless pit. It is the place of solace where time does not exist. Just another abstraction of nature that consumes insanity.

Dreams are the only thing that keeps him going. As a small being in this world, he knows, he can make a change. He can change. He had fallen countless of times. Hit the ground with bloody forehead and lips. His wrists trailing with crimson ink.

He caught a drip of blood with his fingers and wrote on the walls of his mind,

“This madness too shall cease and will forever be buried under the depths of my consciousness. I know this all too shall pass and when the time comes, I will be ready to break this walls and shout to the world how I could turn this planet on the tips of my fingers and hold it against the galaxies to show how a little trash could be an asset to this reality. I have lived and will continue living for tomorrow. I have broken the chains that binds me to this rotting Hell.”

As he wrote the last words, the space has begun to crumble, falling under the vast void surrounding him. He stood on an empty space, where he is among the stars of the universe and its alluring beauty. So he started to make what has become.

Because perception is everything.

The Song of the Missed

I do not exist.

Well, technically speaking, I do exist but not on the physical plane. Fictional characters. That’s what they call it, right? That’s how you people recognize a personality without the necessity for a physical body to exist, yes? I can say though, that’s only an example of what I am but no. Being fictional is something or at some cases, someone who lives in an utterly different reality that that of the one who perceives the mental existence of that character. I am not like that. I live with the same reality most people are in this planet we call Earth. I coexist with a body, but the body is not me. I could exist without a body but it would be impossible for me to touch or move objects. Some people who like to watch movies might call me a ghost, religious people would call me a spirit or a soul. You have the freedom to choose what to call me but I would like to present myself as an Idea.

As one, coming into existence is such a nerve-racking feat. So I am thanking this person who is typing for me now using this tiny notebook for using his brain to think, and for refusing to do so in the past, I may not have achieved this state.

This is not being in a state of denial to refuse to exist physically but recognizing your deeper sense. I have met people–using this body, of course–who also exist as an Idea. We talk using our mouths but we converse through our minds. Words are a powerful manifestation of an Idea. It is the way of breaking down the concepts and expressing it as how you understand it. And in exchanging ideas, you’ll know much more the sense and purpose of a person’s life.

The body is nothing but a vessel. A vessel to give us the chance to take our own course.

If any of you who are reading this is considering me as a product of a psychological disorder, well, I AM NOT. I am a projection of myself inside my head who wants to reach out through this physical world. Keeping in touch with your physical aspects with the physical world is something that is too obvious for humans to realize. It is never restricted for different planes to interact, but only made possible through a medium. The body is the medium and I see others to use them only what it really is and not what else could be possibly achieved by it.

I am not doing this to wave at everyone and boom at their faces to give them information that I simply exist. Well, then SO WHAT?

Everything has a purpose. If you can’t comprehend what is, look at something that is not. Life is like a vast ocean. You have too swim deeper. You have to swim deep even if it takes for your lungs to crush because of the pressure or the waves push you back ashore. Something so important and valuable as answers to your own questions only you can provide is impossible to achieve through petty feats. It just comes along with petty answers. And you’re better than that. Just keep swimmin’.

It is something that has faded through Time, collecting dust in the corner of your cerebral cortex. The meaning and purpose many has lost importance of. It is something that we beg the answers for but never truly have the thought to engage ourselves to find what is lost within. Many have complained but never tried to sort it out.

I am a type of Idea who is still what most consider as an infant. A baby. So small that it could tickle the emotions of the unconscious, yet you don’t know what I truly am after.

So I am challenging everyone to seek out yourselves.Their existence as an Idea. To be Conscious. To be Eternal.

Along with this body, I grow. It is not measured by inches or meters. I expand. Just how our universe continually is. I am a manifestation of a matter. A result of fulfilling its mother’s purpose. I am the Big Bang inside this human’s mind.

I am an Epiphany.

Past Dwellers Are Not Allowed

I hate it how people make you look stupid when they tell you what you should have done instead. I hate it how they make it sound so easy besides the given fact that they know that you can’t undo what you have done and make themselves look superior to you while you are there regretting your choices, giving them satisfaction that what they had just told you was the right thing to do. Their words say, “I’m right because we will never know the answer so shut up.”. I mean, it sucks. Big time. They can make you feel that you are so wrong as if you had just made your biggest decision in life. You’ll know when it’s coming. I know how it sounds like.

They say it in a way that they are so extremely sure of what they are saying. It even comes with the story of their own experience. Seriously, what are the odds that you share the same fate? The possibilities are infinite. A certain decision will make one of those possibilities real and those that are not chosen will disappear. Some would probably exist again somewhere in a point of your future in life. That, I may say is what most of us call the “second chances”. So why would you tell someone that the other choices will give better outcomes than of that you chose? How can you possibly know what are the right and wrong decisions an individual can make? I remember my Economics professor once told us, “Your decisions are all based on where you think you can get the most satisfaction among the possible choices that you have.”

Is it the feeling of being above all else that makes people to push others down much more when they know if the person is helpless? The feeling of being in control with something that you know you can’t? Because the right answer one assumes lies unverifiable and will never be once you talk about it in the past tense.

It’s entirely different from the I-told-you-so scenarios. This is more likely of a prediction that came true but the other chooses otherwise. What I’m talking about is more like of a you-suck-at-decision-making-but-you-won’t-be-if-I-were-you scenario.

You can change the past as long as your imagination can handle it but accept that reality forbids it. If even there’s a concrete living representation of reality, it would be laughing in your face because that’s just plain stupid. If by any chance what you think you’ve done is wrong, you can always apologize and make up for the mess you made. You spilled someone’s drink. Accident or on purpose, you’re the one responsible. Make sure you’ll clean it up. You don’t have to be told to clean your shit anymore. Stop messing with people’s past.