Year: 2017

specter .1

Reading Time: 3 minutes

Over the weekend, after sulking into an existential abyss of holiday depression (my regularly scheduled Christmas one that just kind of happens because of traumatic incidents that happened in my adolescent, formative years) I got an idea for a game.

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EMO COUNTDOWN 2017

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Greetings. It is 11PM on a Sunday night and I am dying. Normally this doesn’t happen until about 4AM, which is why it’s quite strange. Here are my top emo songs of the year, not necessarily from the year, but of the year. Get ready to go down and get wild. Your local emo (TRUE EMO NOT FAKE EMO LIKE MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE AND AMERICAN FOOTBALL REAL EMO IS PAGENINETYNINE AND BLABLABLA… kidding) is about to show you what true torment in the form of soundwaves and lyrically-induced existential crisis is all about.

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Outside Gate 2.5

Reading Time: < 1 minute

Outside Gate 2.5
Here, I am the rich. I, ilk of captive
grasslands; interim of conversation and
strangers of shared descent. This discomfort

will follow – as oxide stains the validity of
tonsils, leaked of coarse throat, straining,
frugal with desire to be heard. I abuse the

story I come from. Here, a gun asks for a
namesake. His crippled hips grin of a lawless
history, scorned of the 70s. Hands shuffle us

inside. Tell us for a moment, we must finally
scream for our own selves. I, voiceless for
a future, has entanglement clock our sameness,

our waning fear of living. Inside, they pick up
all our mangled selves, sputtered of wax; and so
we become ember, holding onto life again. We

become your voice, ascent to fueling the ends
of times, like gunshots splayed of freefall towards
streets. Here, I am the rich, burdened of word –

further, they tell us not to fight again. Further, they
say we do not seek them. To this I wonder the
requirement of boiling my skin, or piecing apart

the words we give in pursuit of breathing human.
Or, so begins the collection of cardboard. Corrugated
certainty – and we never give the name. Here, wither life

failed of repetitions. History lessons: Hilao, Quimpo,
to which the voice is of wax or prestige – here,
never again.

(Never again.)