Tag Archives: reality

Phantasmagoria

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

incompletely

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.


A Detour to the Beginning

Every night he sees himself die. An endless false awakening. A series of tragedies of how in every possible way he could see how his life would end. The nightmares are always so vivid, it all felt as if it were all real. Yet, how sure he was? He’s not quite sure anymore.

His reality is now twisted into several different mindblowing forms of his imagination. The world is a different place, crafted by his own mind. Everything is not what it seems. Everything has been replaced by something else entirely. Something has taken hold of his thoughts and it is all nothing but a game he constantly plays. No, reality is not conforming with the world itself. He his bending the world to his own reality.

Every day, he wakes up in a different place. A place he was never been before. His memories fail to take hold for he cannot recognize the place he grew up with people one may call a family. Yet, they’re all strangers to him.

Always reaching for a door, looking for a place to escape, to hide, to seek freedom from something that isn’t after him. A futile goal that would lead him nowhere but back to his madness. Fleeing from himself for all eternity.

Run. It’s all that he could do, but not all what he’s capable of. Sure another day would last with his fear chasing him. He will survive a day. He will always survive. Because he is never tired, as well as his other self who wears the mask of fear. The latter won’t go for the kill. He cannot for he exist to be vanquished and he knows that. That’s why he’s after his other half so that he can peacefully rest but the path they are taking is not for the courageous.

Our hero is nothing but a coward who prolongs his suffering. Drenched in sweat, he would still find every hole he could see and stick his whole body in it even if it crushes his bones and there he will slumber and dream.

He’ll die. Wake up and continue running from himself.


In The Eyes of Another

Another truthful gaze, he started to raise

The questions in his head while I look him in the face.

He blabbered words, lines that I can’t make sense

Watching him leaving this reality’s pretense.

 

With an outcry, his thoughts set the world on fire.

Of the universe, he felt them all conspire,

Against him, against everyone else.

Seeing them all light up and burn to themselves.

 

He left the rage and watch him stand up,

Took him a seat and brought him a cup,

Of water with ice on the sides

As he stare at me with those beady eyes.

Image

 

I just realized I was taken to a dream

A madman’s fantasy heating with steam,

A reality entirely different from my own,

Something I know of, forgotten, engraved in stone.

 

After he’s done, he started to lean closer,

To my ear as if anyone will dare to come nearer,

And hear him speak as he dropped the tone,

He threw the cup to the mirror, it broke and I am alone.


Espoir

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.


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.