Dirges, elegies, laments or whatever you may want to call them, these are the songs that will follow you to your grave. These will be the songs that they will play on your wake, flowing out somberly from speakers that someone brought in to add more ambience to the funeral parlor, adding more drama to your drama. These will be the songs that will play out from the tinny speakers of the hearse that will bring you to your supposed final resting place, and more often than not, they will play it from cassette players. Almost always "Hindi kita malilimutan" would be played, and the playlist of the usual crud of music that were playing even before you were born or songs you never hear anywhere except in funerals. Songs in the ever lonely minor keys, and songs made only to wring more grief out of sadness. Now, what if someone could just play the songs you were fond of when you were still alive...what if you could, before you ever expired, told the world that they play your playlist in your wake and in your funeral to remember you by instead of those songs...
I dont think I am writing this is out of morbidity or even a deathwish or a penchant for death but perhaps, I should say, insurance for the living. I am not a moviestar, a politician or even a rockstar, I don't think I am even barely popular but I'm sure there would be souls who will come to my wake and walk alongside that black hearse towards my still unoccupied grave and I will be more than thankful if the songs that will be played would be the songs they knew I liked and loved to hear. Small comfort if you're dead but a comfort still. And to those people who came it would be more okay if the last song that will play in their head when they depart from the cemetery would be a familiar tune, instead of Gary Valenciano's voice crooning "Hindi kita malilimutan".
My playlist would always include Counting Crows at the top my list along with Blind Melon. It would be a free for all from there; from Gin Blossoms to Metallica, from John Mayer to Soundgarden to Rage Against the Machine, from Eraserheads to Backdraft, to Indio I; from Daft Punk to Tom Waits. I know could go on for some more and the songs would just go on and they will continue on playing long after I have been buried and started to go soft, I guess there are just too many of them after those first two bands; perhaps I should make my playlist more definitive then. Perhaps I should start writing it down and lower it down to just 400 songs and give that list to whoever would be able on my wake and funeral. Now, wouldn't it be wonderful if they could play the songs you like on your funeral, on your last hurrah before you start turning to dust, before they start forgetting about the color of your eyes...
How about you, have a playlist running in your mind?
Feb 18, 2009
Feb 14, 2009
the distance to the sun.
A few hours ago, as I sat inside the Fort Bus and resigned to the fact that I was running late, I looked out of the window and everything outside was suddenly in soft focus; all encased in their own glow, or reflected from somewhere. Perhaps it was the surreality of the scene passing outside, or even perhaps coupled with my mood that I was unexpectedly drawn back to the present and found some different pieces that I have been holding in my mind suddenly falling into place. And I continued looking outside and just lost myself in the music I was listening to, not wanting to think at that moment, and felt that sudden unbearable lightness of being carried no weight anymore tonight and some more things in my mind floated away like errant ballons and were gone.
Then I got off the bus, went inside our building and in the enclosed space of the elevator, I realized that I had turned the volume up in my player loud enough to drown any ambient noise and the heady trip that I was having continued. The flourescent lights were also suddenly glaring tonight as I looked over the digital clock that read I was 19 minutes late for my graveyard shift. Then I went online and read an e-mail from you and reread old ones and thought perhaps that there was a habit starting to form somewhere here as I went through the motions of looking for you online. Then work intruded once more.
A quarter of a day later as l looked out of the 12th floor, I saw that morning had calmly intruded through the dark blue of the fading night and remembered that short ride a few hours back in the bus whose windows, covered in a sheer patina of dust and age, were soft focus lenses. Unconsciously, I ran my hand over my head and knew that my mind was still right there and if things were changing then this was just a sort of a follow through, the ripples going out in ever smaller and tinier circles.
I knew this also meant that I could feel again, that my emotions were right again, and that singular prevailing emotion was right back with me again. Alive and flowing through me; making me myself again.
Then I got off the bus, went inside our building and in the enclosed space of the elevator, I realized that I had turned the volume up in my player loud enough to drown any ambient noise and the heady trip that I was having continued. The flourescent lights were also suddenly glaring tonight as I looked over the digital clock that read I was 19 minutes late for my graveyard shift. Then I went online and read an e-mail from you and reread old ones and thought perhaps that there was a habit starting to form somewhere here as I went through the motions of looking for you online. Then work intruded once more.
A quarter of a day later as l looked out of the 12th floor, I saw that morning had calmly intruded through the dark blue of the fading night and remembered that short ride a few hours back in the bus whose windows, covered in a sheer patina of dust and age, were soft focus lenses. Unconsciously, I ran my hand over my head and knew that my mind was still right there and if things were changing then this was just a sort of a follow through, the ripples going out in ever smaller and tinier circles.
I knew this also meant that I could feel again, that my emotions were right again, and that singular prevailing emotion was right back with me again. Alive and flowing through me; making me myself again.
Feb 8, 2009
another 160 characters.
Perhaps I wasn't expecting to see more of these, I guess I was wrong then. I found more of my 160 characters; some faithfully rewritten more than half a decade ago, some I saw again from old journals that I haven't read in a lifetime, some were collecting electronic dust in an old sim card, some are words that I know would never get sent and some recent ones I wrote for ghosts and perhaps for myself.
even this far i can see you, the evening wind making you cold, making me miss you like 7 years ago, wishing i had eight arms to hold you and to keep you warm.
before sleep comes,before tiredness wins and before i seek the refuge of sleep,i think of you;your voice,your hair,your skin and let all of you cover over me.
life, at the moment, is waking up in the morning, alone on a cold strange bed, and finding daisies printed on my pillow and missing all of you and your warmth.
have lost & found myself in them. have burned their images in my mind. have made love loving them. perhaps they're closed now, can i,may i kiss them open again?
you know, i would kill for a kiss, a single french kiss from you; and I'll massacre for a naked hug along with that kiss; a genocide if we could make love.
remember rain,remember you.remember oceans,remember you.remember blue mornings,remember you.remember summer afternoons,remember you.remember me,remember you.
no chance for sleep, only trying to ignore the deep want that i was there watching over you. i tried the tv, and saw us there, our lives two movies in a row.
and i'll hold you as i want you;hold me as you want me and we'll slowdance in the music of our warmth,together after for so long, our souls can make love again.
somewhere between naga and the thought of home; between this place and that time, the expected and the not; with only you in my mind together with our escapes.
yes, change; always as a wind, scentless and with clouds, formless and of all shapes. yes, a change is coming; cold troubled air molecules troubling karmas.
an empty house is a cold companion even with cable tv, and i sudden feel more older today, as i kept looking for you as the channels flash on by.
i remember our adobo dinners held like celebrations in different plates and zip codes and how we ate our dinners with each other in our minds and tongues.
even this far i can see you, the evening wind making you cold, making me miss you like 7 years ago, wishing i had eight arms to hold you and to keep you warm.
before sleep comes,before tiredness wins and before i seek the refuge of sleep,i think of you;your voice,your hair,your skin and let all of you cover over me.
life, at the moment, is waking up in the morning, alone on a cold strange bed, and finding daisies printed on my pillow and missing all of you and your warmth.
have lost & found myself in them. have burned their images in my mind. have made love loving them. perhaps they're closed now, can i,may i kiss them open again?
you know, i would kill for a kiss, a single french kiss from you; and I'll massacre for a naked hug along with that kiss; a genocide if we could make love.
remember rain,remember you.remember oceans,remember you.remember blue mornings,remember you.remember summer afternoons,remember you.remember me,remember you.
no chance for sleep, only trying to ignore the deep want that i was there watching over you. i tried the tv, and saw us there, our lives two movies in a row.
and i'll hold you as i want you;hold me as you want me and we'll slowdance in the music of our warmth,together after for so long, our souls can make love again.
somewhere between naga and the thought of home; between this place and that time, the expected and the not; with only you in my mind together with our escapes.
yes, change; always as a wind, scentless and with clouds, formless and of all shapes. yes, a change is coming; cold troubled air molecules troubling karmas.
an empty house is a cold companion even with cable tv, and i sudden feel more older today, as i kept looking for you as the channels flash on by.
i remember our adobo dinners held like celebrations in different plates and zip codes and how we ate our dinners with each other in our minds and tongues.
Jan 22, 2009
just bring me some rain because I'm dying.*
Now, she just stares at me and shakes her head if I ask if it's okay. It's getting harder everytime, and even if she smiles in the end, I know she's right that it is not okay. The sad truth that I have to leave every time I come home, is digging deeper and deeper, oftentimes catching and dragging across my figurative flesh like a barbed hook. When it's hours before I leave and we both know it, I shift my eyes somewhere when she looks at me. But I can only embrace her and feel her frame embrace me back with what love she can muster. Inwardly, I am screaming.
I cannot let her see me crying, I feel that perhaps it wouldn't do any good; just create more sadness in my absence.
Then days after, I know she'll be looking for me, asking where I am even if she knows where; like a heartbreaking sort of an exercise but not exactly to the point of futility, some kind of assurance that there are still answers to her questions and I don't want to think about the time when the answers can't contain that assurance anymore.
And I'll call her in a little while, perhaps after I wake up just to hear her say my name, just to hear her laugh and to hear her tell me about her day or about what happened to her yesterday; then there will be that silence again after she had told me all her little stories, and when she hesitates to ask me to tell my own little stories. I can hear her on the other end, even after she had stopped speaking. At this point, I will be wishing to the point of hallucination that I can embrace her; feel her embrace me even for just a minute of uninterrupted bliss. Then after the call, I will space out and float away, not wanting to feel anything for some spell then come back to this one thought:
I miss you.
* A. Duritz - title taken from a line of "Children in Bloom"
I cannot let her see me crying, I feel that perhaps it wouldn't do any good; just create more sadness in my absence.
Then days after, I know she'll be looking for me, asking where I am even if she knows where; like a heartbreaking sort of an exercise but not exactly to the point of futility, some kind of assurance that there are still answers to her questions and I don't want to think about the time when the answers can't contain that assurance anymore.
And I'll call her in a little while, perhaps after I wake up just to hear her say my name, just to hear her laugh and to hear her tell me about her day or about what happened to her yesterday; then there will be that silence again after she had told me all her little stories, and when she hesitates to ask me to tell my own little stories. I can hear her on the other end, even after she had stopped speaking. At this point, I will be wishing to the point of hallucination that I can embrace her; feel her embrace me even for just a minute of uninterrupted bliss. Then after the call, I will space out and float away, not wanting to feel anything for some spell then come back to this one thought:
I miss you.
* A. Duritz - title taken from a line of "Children in Bloom"
Jan 14, 2009
crime rate.
Since there is no escaping this cold, in the different places where we are, I will turn to our thoughts and the memory of your voice to keep warm and most importantly to keep sane. Although in an afterthought I know I should try to avoid the memory of your skin, the memory of the warmth escaping from it when we are close enough, when we are locked in an embrace, or when we are sharing a kiss or when you are there behind me, your face resting on my shoulder; because then I float away and lose all sense of time and space.
Perhaps there never was a more futile attempt as inevitably all memory will trail a path towards it, like silent tributaries joining a river before losing themselves in the ocean.
Still, even if there's some misery in trying, I try anyway, as the cold keeps on going and sometimes relentless but not unforgiving enough that I will not miss you in its chill. Then I smile, as I almost always desperately fail in trying.
As I continue to continue, there's an increasing sense of foreboding that this will only get stronger and even more desperate as time passes; so unlike this cold of mid-January which will fade away like earthly pain come March. And only that ache will remain, something forever stuck in my soul.
For I know the secret in that ache: I get to be with you;
afterwards, the cold can rage all it wants and freeze anything it wants, I will only get to be warm.
And then perhaps Friday, I will get to see you again.
Perhaps there never was a more futile attempt as inevitably all memory will trail a path towards it, like silent tributaries joining a river before losing themselves in the ocean.
Still, even if there's some misery in trying, I try anyway, as the cold keeps on going and sometimes relentless but not unforgiving enough that I will not miss you in its chill. Then I smile, as I almost always desperately fail in trying.
As I continue to continue, there's an increasing sense of foreboding that this will only get stronger and even more desperate as time passes; so unlike this cold of mid-January which will fade away like earthly pain come March. And only that ache will remain, something forever stuck in my soul.
For I know the secret in that ache: I get to be with you;
afterwards, the cold can rage all it wants and freeze anything it wants, I will only get to be warm.
And then perhaps Friday, I will get to see you again.
Jan 5, 2009
not missing the sun.
you once spoke of hiding the sun ages ago and I fell in love
with the way you spoke those words,
hearing you say them through the phone and I
wanted to see your eyes just at that moment
as those words, those words went to live me with me
like a newly acquired mole on my body; marking it, branding it
and taking it out of the ordinary realm of my emotional skin,
as I fell, like you were gravity personified.
as always with your words,
with your soft exhalations and abrupt interjections,
or those turn of phrases that only you had the unique flair of speaking.
it would always be that and something more than that;
after that first instance you blocked my view of the sun that early June
and forever blended with my life, like dark chocolate melting in our tongues,
always finding the right places to nestle into, the right emotions to nuzzle with,
always the right moments to embrace and always
the right words for the epiphanies in our lives;
entwined, interlaced and forever linked.
and in this early January when rains are like our memories
sliding down from our secret archives
I can only miss you and not miss the sun at all, here with the rain.
with the way you spoke those words,
hearing you say them through the phone and I
wanted to see your eyes just at that moment
as those words, those words went to live me with me
like a newly acquired mole on my body; marking it, branding it
and taking it out of the ordinary realm of my emotional skin,
as I fell, like you were gravity personified.
as always with your words,
with your soft exhalations and abrupt interjections,
or those turn of phrases that only you had the unique flair of speaking.
it would always be that and something more than that;
after that first instance you blocked my view of the sun that early June
and forever blended with my life, like dark chocolate melting in our tongues,
always finding the right places to nestle into, the right emotions to nuzzle with,
always the right moments to embrace and always
the right words for the epiphanies in our lives;
entwined, interlaced and forever linked.
and in this early January when rains are like our memories
sliding down from our secret archives
I can only miss you and not miss the sun at all, here with the rain.
Jan 1, 2009
new year rain.
the sunlight was coming in muted, and still overwhelmed by the leftover blueness of the last day of last year. It rained at the time the year changed, and I could hear your laughter, along with mine, and it has been too long since I heard us and outside the fireworks were vainly trying to reach glory in the rain.
As the the day struggled to break free of the vestiges of a new year's night, I wanted to hear our laughter again, but I guess, there were more things I wanted other than us being temporarily giddy with our laughter. More things -- a lot of things; the first of them all being you; and I also wanted this new year to be kinder and more surreal than the hard reality that was 2008. But you; really you, most of all.
In my mind, I can see you sleeping. I like watching you sleep, love. I like to look at you when you close eyes. I'm your blatant voyeur and always reckless in telling you that I love everything that you are and I am missing you to the point that I can feel my jaw hurt, along with a major part of my chest.
That rain falling on midnight meant well for us, that rain for a new year; of soft dreams falling and us waking in time for some little wishes to come true, love.
As the the day struggled to break free of the vestiges of a new year's night, I wanted to hear our laughter again, but I guess, there were more things I wanted other than us being temporarily giddy with our laughter. More things -- a lot of things; the first of them all being you; and I also wanted this new year to be kinder and more surreal than the hard reality that was 2008. But you; really you, most of all.
In my mind, I can see you sleeping. I like watching you sleep, love. I like to look at you when you close eyes. I'm your blatant voyeur and always reckless in telling you that I love everything that you are and I am missing you to the point that I can feel my jaw hurt, along with a major part of my chest.
That rain falling on midnight meant well for us, that rain for a new year; of soft dreams falling and us waking in time for some little wishes to come true, love.
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