Category: writing

(short stories! prose! poetry! editorials!) narratives and abstract retellings of things for imaginations to count ✍️

a self-orchestrated, half-drunken ramble towards demise

Reading Time: 3 minutes

when i was a kid i used to pray every single night.

it went something like this:

in the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit, god i love everything. i love all the galaxy and the universes and the stars and the sun and the moon and the planets and the earth and the clouds and the rain and the trees and the dogs and the rollercoasters and the books and the oceans and the sea and the lighthouses and all the food and the people who make the food and the dust and the grass and the rice and the eggs and the houses and the doors and the beds and my grandfather and my grandmother and my yaya and my cousins and mommy and my daddy and my sister and myself. bless us all. i am sorry for everything bad i have done, please help me get better always since i love getting better. i love the world i want to be better. please help me. i hope tomorrow goes well. thank you for tomorrow.”

it would drift off into incomprehensiblity but the start always remained the same; me proclaiming my love for everyone as a gesture of… pure passion.

of course, i stopped praying every night. i realized that it stopped as soon as the nightmares decreased. praying always gave young me the most fucked up, inexplicable nightmares. the kind of visuals you’d have to paint to describe. when pen-and-paper plus frantic teary-eyed whimpering confessions just aren’t enough.

of course, i stopped believing in god after a while. perhaps it was a mix of how i felt the need to grow up being that ‘edgy, different, one of the boys’ girl and blindly follow tons of things. (the internet, particularly a 9gag post told me that old music was cool. they listed down shit like the beatles and nirvana and metallica and i tried to listen to it and claimed to love it when i didn’t know anything i was talking about. pop music is a sin of course.) and soon i lost the religion in the school classroom and became a frustrated beacon of injustice when i began realizing the dangers of a god.

idk. he’s all evil. someone changwd the course of history and that’s pretty cool, it fucked ip the social sustem, fuxk organizing us by tracked ways.

what im trting to say is. god fuckwd us ip. the world is going to ruin. i have destroyed society in the confines of my own mattress laying in the corner and crying into gifted toys.
what im alao trying to say is: ive had leas than two hours of sleep in the past three days. im a mess. had so much coffee thought i was gonna die, complete witb the buzzing and the palpitations and the impending doom. idk what im typing anymore. but hwre: fuck you.

(can you believe it? we’ve sunk so far into the sea we feel like we’ve found ourselves. we haven’t. we’ve reached the bottom of every crevice and the delusions of every maniac. we are still falling, plummeting, and we call ourselves explorers. we’re dying. have you noticed that. i haven’t seen the west coast since the birth of the sunrays itself. i haven’t been one with the clouds since the dance of icarus with the scorching sun. we do not love in purity, nor in peace. we love in anchors that drag us down, splitting our beliefs and forgetting everything we stand for. we love in whispers and drunken promises that never really happen, we love in lust and we love in fury just like how the sun loves us all. echoing. beckoning. it is there, but we do not feel its full force. and if you were to love me like the sun, don’t love me at all. love me in a supernova, love me in an explosion, love me for an instant — if only that instant was an eternity of emotions and feeling. if you love me, love me like i am something more than a walking grave. love me like i am your only chance at life, or better yet — like i am the sweet taste of death that countless little boys and girls pray for. love me for a moment, if only that moment were a forever.)

—  then i’d take it.

Exulansis

Reading Time: 11 minutes

As defined by the dictionary of obscure sorrows; exulansis is “the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.”

Exulansis is me finding reason in letting thoughts loose, never checking how they’re arranged, puzzling equations grasped together and intertwined; my mind is racing, never appeased and a constant. All is as it is.

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Solstice

Reading Time: 17 minutes

The scorching sun, perturbed tidal waves beat like marching drums across the horizon. Leaf-lace, bottle bits, open wounds — newfound discoveries. This is the summer song, a cadet’s call for a voyage towards ubiquity. Yet the soldier is always so fragile — and home was never quite red brick and polished acacia floors; but the barefoot tread into the entrenches of a million little blades culling themselves in the midnight breeze. I feel like our rooftop was always meant to be the broad expanse of a million glowing torches, floating and beaming in little stardust trails. We find them so enticing we mouth little sounds and depress chapbooks with intonations until we find them tranquil enough to deem them as the ‘galaxies’; and in this way the solstice was born. An army spread about a million little shrivels of greenery stare at the droplets tracing their skin – they fall in love with the way their spine tingles at the ray’s fluid kisses; how the breeze comes every now and then and how the sky never seems to darken or give in. Summer is born and in its very birth it has been condemned to die.

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