Monthly Archives: January 2013

(internal) weather report

This blog’s entry’s title is borrowed from cynthia alexander’s song, the weather report.

I collect quotes from books and films, but I post them seldom online. In other words, I hoard them, and I keep them away from your eyes. I have this pompous notion that my taste when it comes to quotes surpasses the average (read: banal) taste of most people. I prefer to write the quotes down on the pages of my journals (the yellow one or the red Moleskin depending on the weather outside and the internal weather). But let me share with you a secret. My most favored quote is not from River Phoenix, not from Morrissey, not from Rilke, not from Winterson, but from a graphic novel that sums up this humble life that I am leading. It’s so spot-on that it is now a mantra that goes on in my head every time things get more fucked. It’s anti-climactic, it’s sarcastic, it’s short, it’s so simple that its brevity and its exactness are downright amazing.

People never change. They just go around in circles as if they’re playing musical chairs, but the center never changes its facial ridges and expression. We never change. After multiple attempts and experiments (Yes, I do use myself as my own guinea pig most of the time), I realized finally that self-truth and have resorted not to fight its strong pull.

To say that I have many books is an understatement. This time, I wish to ‘broaden’ my choices. While browsing books at a Booksale branch, I chanced upon comedian and host Chelsea Handler’s book entitled Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea. I also found Alias Grace written by Margaret Atwood. Since I need to devote money to buy a gift for my Kris Kringle baby (Yes, in January for crying out loud!!!), I decided to be smart about my purchases. Now if this were my bright-eyed self two years back, I would have bought Alias Grace plus Handler’s book plus that Christmas gift, but this is the crazier me now. I bought the Kringle gift and Handler’s book. I stashed Alias Grace in a corner nook as if I were still in grade school sliding Nancy Drew books behind a row of hard bounds as my stock for my next book loaning (This would be because I had already exceeded the allowed number of borrowed books). I figured my literary-oriented friends may consider loaning me a copy of Alias Grace. What are friends for, right?

I remember writing somewhere that if you’re mentioned in my journal, either you’re an ass or you managed to make yourself favorable in my eyes. Now if you were mentioned there and if I decided to stop writing about you cold turkey-style, you should be alarmed.

“I don’t think E– likes Mushroomburger.”

This was what a friend told another friend when they were planning the logistics for our informal meeting.

Whenever i pass by that food place, my face would instinctively arrange itself into a frown. That friend remembered that bit. It was casual, the message, but it pretty much touched me — someone remembering that useless detail.

It’s awfully hard, this task of remembering things. That’s why I get curious when people do remember things such as this other person who is named after a planet. She quotes words that I have delivered to this person days back. Sometimes, I find the words ring concentric in a strange way, and this person reminds me that those are my words. It made me think that once we have exhausted our thoughts and verbalized these through words that somehow, they cease being ours. Aaah, language.

My cat, Timon, did a lightning-quick trick. She played a song by Metric while I wasn’t looking. I’m so happy she’s also into music. That plus she turns her head away every time I try to give her cheek a peck. I trained her well.

❤ ❤ ❤
My friend, B, and I always gush about Sara Q. of the duo, Tegan and Sara, over on Twitter. Now that it's January, their latest album, Heartthrob, is set to be released on January 29 and on April 8 in Asia (birthday month = destiny, haha!). Imagine our tweets that range from retweeting online features or interviews to fantasizing what will happen once we meet Sarah with Sarah hugging us, the moment requiring a medic team, and it requiring us to abandon our lives and tour with Tegan and Sara *kilig.

So here are samples courtesy of Youtube to celebrate all kinds of weather (and to celebrate Sara + Tegan):

SARA IS SO SEXY DOING HER FUNNY JIG! (I die over and over!)

Their latest track from Heartthrob, I Was a Fool, courtesy of Stereogum

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true north

one of the reasons why orphans and their welfare are part of my personal crusade is because i. get. them.. their narrative is mine, in a way, too.

i know how maddening it is to wake up flailing and to not have roots to anchor you.

i tweeted recently that only a few truly know me, a handful, around five people.  they’re an endangered bunch simply because they are also targeted because they, like me, are still in the process of knowing themselves and rediscovering the sheer joy of claiming who they really are.

a true friend recently said of me: “my baby is not like that, what those people are saying about her.”

i have always fought my fights (and stirred fights that are not my own), but seeing how she wanted to rage and rave and rant for me was endearing.  we were drinking beer at 4PM, there were gold leaves dancing above our heads, and she was fighting my fight.  it made me tear up, made me excuse myself to use the restroom.

it is strange and eerie how my life and hers have similar tangents.  i thought, if i could make it, really make it past the devils cradling me, this is my future — a steady hand resting on the table, an honest voice, a defiant look, with a clutch of songs like an amulet seizing my days.


freefall is a section in weight of words for masturbatory, practice writing, random quotes and pieces of poetry. similar to a tattoo where an artist sketches an outline first before the very illustration, freefall is an outline of either beautiful or monstrous sets of words to come.


When you add an exclamation mark after game, the sentence connotes acquiescence, excitement, the promise of a burst of energy.

When you add a question mark after game, that can project search for approval, hesitation, courtesy, with a slight purring and vibration thrumming at the base of your throat.

When you say that someone is game, you think of dark meat, risqué, gamey, pluckiness, fearlessness, the whiff and waft of the wild nipping at the air.

You say game and you channel feral. You say game and you channel go or run or hide or attack.

(The best game should be subdued with strong limbs and tongue and washed down with yesteryear’s wine.)

(The best game is right here right now right there at the base of your throat right there on your wrist right at the center of your ribcage the caged inside the cage right at the marrow of things within the inner fold of secrets and bright blight of this day.)

Game? Game! Game. Game