Friday, December 5, 2008

Atmosphere 16 - Eloquant Sources

Mood: Apprehensive
Sound Waves: MOVIN! by Takacha

Park bench

The crack etches of mahogany paint, applied only a few years back, were its only symbols of its integrity for holding a little longer for a century or so. The worksman knew this piece of curvish iron furniture had seen more than a box of fruit ever did. It even had the grandeu view of City Hall, just a few meters away between the lawn-mow friendly patch of snow.

As he observed the ancient artifact's many scars and markings (mainly a permanent heart with teenage love engraved and dents that managed to mar their way through the cold surface), the worker knew it had done its job quite to perfection.

The melancholic cooing of the flock of ruffled pigeons nearby and the scatterbrained chatter of a salad mix of children in their winter clothes was a nostalgic thing to see in this time of year. For one that has only depended on his leather case and silver watch for a mere twenty years, the worksman took in a whiff of the distant dead maple trees, the crushing steps his fancy shoes made in the pure, virgin snow, the foggy precipitation sending warning signals up his erect spine of another permanent day indoors.

The worksman's squinty eyes scanned the park with only the fading feeling of a longer summer, warming his conscious little by little from the ironcast cold.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Atmosphere 15 - Broken Nail

Mood: Angered
Sound Waves: SIX Feelings by Junichi Suwabe

"Besides smiling, name another way people express happiness"

I can make an upside down rainbow 
Burst into candy rain, sweetened with
The exuberance of delightful radiance.
I can share my lungful jubilee
To others around me
And it'll infect them so much, they'll
Cry tears of mirth for trying to resist.
I can communicate my own body to
Signify the felicitous euphoria
Through these limbs of self-control.
Let them break its bonds and let them
Feel what it is meant by the universal shout.
Whatever feeling I have that wants to be heard
I shall make itself known.
Then, there are some that don't even show the inside
Of their spiral-shaped shells, afraid of
What little they can offer.
To receive is to give.
With just gently rocking someone's perseverance,
A world is driven back from a forgiving cause.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Atmosphere 14 - Waste of Emotions

Mood: Kind of Lonely
Sound Waves: Fuyu No Hanabi - Gin Ichimaru & Rangiku Matsumoto

Roses Still Red

How long has it been since the feeling
I didn't want to have, suddenly start
Stuttering and making a complete fool
Out of myself?
I didn't know that the long awaited
Feelings of suffering accusations
Would hurt me this bad
I knew there was something wrong with
The picture consisting of a green
Hearted girl, silver haired boy
I have given away whatever hope I
Had believed I obtained 
Knowing that the dead feeling still
Wants to be noticed.

How selfless can I get?

Friday, November 28, 2008

Amosphere 13 - Misty

Mood: Depressed
Sound Waves: News From The Front by Bad Religion

Judged only by her DNA samples and false prayers
All they really see is the surface of her crimes
She can bloom only in the frozen rays of the sun
Smiling only when the ice needs to break.
Nobody knows if she is steadily
Drowning in the rain's embrace
Or wishing the minature figurine
Of a past she would want to forget but
Couldn't from the averting eyes.
The rain lets off
and she's the only one overlooking the happy ongoers of Earth
An angel?

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Atmosphere 12 - Caffeine

Mood: Drained
Sound Waves: LIFE by YUI

Oil Smell (the small restaurant)

First thing I notice: the chairs and tables.
What I can yank back from yesterday
Is that the table top's pattern didn't
Look the same. (Or... maybe it was
Just the November chill getting into my nerves.)
I smell the sizzling oil of
Bubbling fast food, served warm
On sensational smelling salted
Ceramics. I can hear the crisp
Crunch of earth-tiled flooring and
Quick transactions to visitors
Old and new, all the same, all diverse.
The eyes try to drink the familiar 
Images in, but can't bring up any
Fonder memories, since the last time
They visited.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Atmosphere 11 - Fortuna

Mood: Gloomy
Sound Waves: Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk

Lucky (A series)

Scrub out all the grime on top of
The dusty, fleshy cabinet.
The reddened sky, knife etched graffiti
Will be rid tonight.

So she says that she'll meet
Him first, not steadily recognizing
The stinging slap of the other's
Poison deep covetousness.

The fortunate bastard; Thinks that 
Whatever comes to mind, should
Be chiseled into his planned epitaph.
And there goes turned faces and beliefs.

What if they broke up? What if
There was already a gaping hole
In the presumed elastic fabric?
At least someone's listening.

Why me, you ask?
Instead, do tell:
Why you? It is not
Any different.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Atmosphere Air 10 - Snapshots

Mood: Lonely/Productive
Sound Waves: Always With Me in the Spirited Away Soundtrack

Series of Short Poems
The Hitman
He is a tall dark stranger, lulling whoever
He sees with his trance-like gaze
He has skin glistening with rave music
And alcohol-poisoned streaks
He has a voice that burns inside my veins--
The one that denies he's already flirted
With the social butterflies, but hasn't
Retrieved all of the pollen from a certain
Wallflower in the sidelines.
I could hear it among the beats of
Wailing voices
Wanting something out from this night
Of limited seduction.
He has caught me, where he wants me
To be.
He's lit up some interior stove I
Never knew I had installed there.
Amid the shouts of unwanted want,
Much needed desire
Its selfish but all five senses are
This man has taken contrl of what I
Still have left of me.
The thrill-filled part of it all--
I don't want to break this
Given, blessed chance
"One look could kill. My pain, your thrill"
The Bridesmaid and Admirer
Why am I always a bridesmaid,
Never the blushing bride?
Ding! Dong! Wedding bells
Always ring for other gals
But one fine day--
Please let it be soon--
I shall wake up in the morning
On my own honeymoon.
You're a beauty, saved up for the better
That bride may look happy, but you will too.
Bing! Bong! Wedding bells
May ring for other gals
But you'll look forward to it
You're not a girl who'd quit
You'll wake up every morning
In your own special honeymoon.
This isn't a new, heavy-weighted feeling
That is invisible to the eye but
Painstakenly there in the blue
Pale shadows hang out eerily
Over shuddering shoulders, ripping
Away with streams carved out from
False claims.
No signs have informed strangers
That there is something incresingly wrong
Underneath that hollow-eyed smile
The screams echo and bounc playfully
Making their circumference around the
Victims and victimizers
"You've lost the fight"
"You're useless"
"Nothing to gain"
Always written in verbal form, its
Always, always, the victimizer's fault
You want to be helped?
Why aren't you helping me?'re different
And thus, tis why burning bridges
Fails to annihilate the feelings
Still holding the gun towards
Your frightened mind.
When will I be forgiven for
Whatever I've done?
Will these tears, even spoken out of
The defence stand, say what
I cannot anymore?
Hillside (an 'epilogue' to Trust)
I shouldn't presume anymore
Otherwise I'll constantly spin about
In my lonesome teacup for one
Ancd watch in misery the people
I know who care but
Obviously want to be with
Better, more imaginative people.
This is selfish desires to
Be popular,
Not some childish want of
Being part of the happy
Fruits basket of high school.
Always with me, only my heart.
I say goodbye to whatever childhood I
Would've been glad to live in.
But instead, I dream
This unreachable cloud of tear-soaked

Atmosphere 10 - Crash Dive

Mood: Agitated/Restless
Sound Waves: Heavenly Star by Genki Rockets

Decision Sledgehammer (rain proof)

Spin the cog on the color wheel
See what you'll get someday
My plans don't include luxuries of treason
You know what I'm talking about: you were there.

Yellow wave length, what a happy time.
Thinking that such ideas we think are steeless
Can everlast the test of time
But ain't it so cruel, we're so cruel and innocent.

Switch to green light, lets go!
We're happy people, wondering when the hell are we gonna grow up.
From the skin of undergraduate knowledge,
To the sky, we can take the world.

Orange prisma lights, shy away from
Feelings of wanting some of that numbing, warming feeling.
We're only human after all.
Its only right to have felt like that.

Blast the blue away, blast the sheets of jargonized talk
Cannon fire sounds like a merry jamboree of twisted people.
Maybe for a little while, we can rip away
From the dark beings of our minds.

Dripping away, red slips from the fray
The numbers greaten, the emotions unfurl their fists,
Could it be just that a hug meant more
Than just contact?

Where did the time go? says pastel indigo
And suddenly the circle turns into that of a wheel not functional
Seems darker than the fireworks we created
So very long time ago.

And purple shadows speak.
We're here now, but just not HERE.
Where do we go now, now that Fate burnt the damn map?
Only our hearts can tell.

Lest not meet again.
I cannot say why
It seemed better with just the memories we left behind.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Atmosphere 9 - Blindfold

Mood: Accomplished
Sound Waves: Final by Dir en Grey


What can you say, to describe
Such a stigma?
Its a curse, its a blessing
Call it what you will--you gain and lose
You see through invisible walls
Run into cemented illusions
Its more than just the exaggerated handicap
Its more of a lifestyle
You gain some piece of Shangri-La
With its peace and tranquility
But there is also, obtained
The feeling that you're screened out from what
You really want to visualize.
Instead, its a bright eclispe you wish to avoid.
You have an untapped wisdom to yield to
But have lost the will to touch walls
With only your hesitant fingertips
And only with your lost voice to lead the way.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Atmosphere 8 - Moon Phases

Mood: Comtemplative
Sound Waves: "Ichirin no Hana -HUGE HOLLOW MIX- High and Mighty Color

On the concept of love and phases

It is a crisp, summer afternoon. All things are beginning. Little things like these shouldn't bother her.

It blooms like a flower, so delicate, so new. Such concepts are so intricate, they must be handled with a fragile conscience in mind. Simple rules are made diverse; its like turning a cup of water into a vast ocean.

She can't handle such responsibilities. She is reassured that she can. And she tries.

It is a crisp, autumn day. All things are weakening. these issues are more than her expected phone call.

The leaves change colors, along with the seasons. Personalities overflow, yet they feel the same like a childhood memrory. its letting the choices that bind, break into a thousaund pieces. The chily air carries these emotions to greater, unimaginable heights.

She feels like she is on top of world's mountain. She knows she can never be blown off it. And she tries.

It is a crisp, winter evening. All things fall dead. Her world stops like a running faucet's valve, being shut off, cut off.

It settles in, a dark nimbus cloud, pouring its flurry to cover the scars, the fresh wounds. The silent Earth wants to be lulled into an eternal sleep, into an innocent silence. It wants to forget what childish desires and mistakes it created.

She needs this sleep. she has to wake up suddenly from the past, from the grave. And she tries.

It is a crisp, spring morning. Everything that was is renewed. A reborn spring of feelings sprouts up from her, waiting for these emotions to be discovered.

The flower may have wilted, died, but there is always dropped seeds of faith and hope, surviving and flourishing. Even if there are scars that look impossible to heal, it is by the strong, fiery embrace of time and the gentle candle of preserverance that helps immensely.

She believes she can try again.
She wants to try again.

And she does.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Atmosphere 7 - Heart Strings

Mood: Lonely
Sound Waves: HIKARI - Eliza

A Pair of Doves

The universal question: What is there for us without love?

Love is something more than just an emotion, a feeling, something so ancient and traditional that its often seen now as materialistic.

Love... is taken for granted countless times in history. Even now, its considered some dirty device that uses people and manipulates their living.

Would jealousy and envy play a part in Love's puzzling game?

In a way, those negative feelings plague what's important.

I believe Love sometimes isn't such a fairy tale as one might try to categorize as.

Love may stand the test of time, but there is enough woe in this world for me to see it as some excuse to be happy.

Is it just me?

Is it just the simple fact that I'm only standing and letting everyone else who I know, pass me by happily?

Are they just lucky?

Am I being too impatient?

Love.... is a cruel test for anyone to take.

It might withstand, but only for a littlewhile.

Maybe for the fact that I haven't even felt the surge of Love's exhilarating race for happiness...

.... that I feel all the less left out from it all.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Atmosphere 6 - A Dream (One)

Mood: Apprehensive
Sound Waves: Train Ride - Spirited Away Soundtrack


You find yourself in a flat surface. No.

Its actually a metal table. 

Your arms and legs are nowhere to be found. 

All you can really feel is your head, and... whatever else was attached to it. 

Your heart, even. 

It would be beating so furiously in where your body used to be.

Your eyes dart frantically, searching for an answer as to why you arrived here in the first place 

... when you see a teal-colored clad figure, its back turned at you. 

You realize you can only murmur your words in some alien slur you're not familiar with.

The figure turns around swiftly, now holding a wooden stick dripping with hot wax.

What's going on?! you scream helplessly in your mind.

The wax nears the bridge between your eyes.

You scrunch your eyes shut to shield yourself from the pain ready to commence towards you.

And then your eyes open without your brain's command.

You see a golden field.

You now feel your body and your arms, legs, intact. 

Your hand is clutching onto something. 

Something clammy.

Its... a hand. A warm hand that feel so familiar in your grasp.

 Your head's motor mechanisms return and you look up.

To see your beloved.

What the hell's going on here, you demand towards your beloved.

Your beloved whispers its fine now. Your safe with me.

Somehow, those words alone calm your soul, and your smile returns to your face.

The same smile that fell in love with this certain person.

Suddenly, both of you are walking through the golden fields of wheat and endless sky.

Your happiness feels just like the sky.

But then, you reach a tunnel. As you peer through the entrance, you feel an extreme cold reach you. 

It feels all too familiar.

Your hold with your beloved breaks. You turn and

Your beloved's not there.

You turn back towards the tunnel and your beloved is standing in front of the entrance.

"I'm sorry."

Exactly like the surging heat of hot wax, you don't want to accept this.

Your eyes close in frustration.

Let it all go away.

The lies, the deceit.

The love that you, yourself, pushed away stubbornly.

Let it all go.

You close your eyes without fail.


And I wake up.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Atmosphere 5 - Mo More Lullabies

Mood: VERY depressed
Sound Waves: On The Arrow by AFI

Going (An Euology)

Two days ago, it was my 18th birthday.

I believe there are all sorts of customs on one's 18th birthday but what I think is the most important event of all--is becoming an adult.
It's not a blessing, or an obligation. Its shedding into an new kind of skin but still being yourself. That is why I believe I should be right here to relief myself about this one person who helped me become who I am today.

From the beginning of my childhood, I was taught through actions and kind words that in order to obtain happiness, you create your own happiness. Not just some artificial joy or materialistic illusion that might comfort for only a little while. It is a happiness simple enough to make a person content for a lifetime.

My beloved grandfather, my Lolo Tettet, has taught me this and so much more.

The one year when I found out that he wasn't my true Lolo, it didn't exactly come as a shock. Already I knew that even if he wasn't my blood, this one man let me in nevertheless. He let me gently hold his hand with my fearful one when I was growing up. Even up to this day, he led me through a shining future, one he'd be happy to see me in, whatever I planned to do.

He promised to protect me and let me bloom into the adult lady he always wrote about in his annual greeting cards to me.

He never forgot about me even after all these years. Sometimes I get pangs of regret, about realizing that I didn't contribute a lot of my kindness to my Lolo in return. I feel that I couldn't forgive myself. Even now. But whatever feelings of regret that I have, I then turn to these thoughts:

As long as I can remember, my Lolo taught me the smallest things and then quickly let them grow. He showed me how to approach life with open arms. To laugh wholeheartedly at my fears. And to always reach my goals, no matter how hard the challenge may be. He never got angry--he was a peaceful boat amongst the rocky waves of Life's ocean.

My Lolo was a man that always had a bright smile lit on his face. Whenever I saw him, whenever he or I visited, there it was, present on his lips, a joyful smile so free, wise, strong-willed.
That smile will always be imprinted in my memory, never to be forgotten.

He wished for me to touch the limitless sky, as if forever was just the beginning of something even better. Eternally, his sweet memory will always linger and flourish in my childish heart.

I may be an adult now--but forever I will always be Lolo Tettet's young, spirited granddaughter.


Thank you, Lolo. Thank you for letting me into your life. My dearly beloved Lolo, I love and till we meet again.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Atmosphere Air 4 - Background Music

Mood: Alienated
Sound Waves: BT by See-Saw

Island of Desks

The blister bubbling on my right pinky toe is beginning to swell
Alongside this stupid pride of being the well dressed on of the room.
My eyes are glued towards the plastic screen and my ears
Should only be listening intently to the furious discord of black keyboard keys.
But instead, behind my back
Are these voices.
Voices that sound so happy, but poisoning my trust altogether.
So full of themselves.
So wanting to show how much they have that much know-how of doing such
Useless banter.
I hate it.
I want to block it out.
I don't care who won.
I don't care if your test mark is better than everyone in the room.
I don't care if there's something bugging your laptop.
I don't want to know who's finally gotten together with that one person.
What use do I have when I wish for not to listen to it?
Proclaiming such things should be written, not told around
The others among your happy wreckage.
Ignorance is bliss, in my book.
They make me feel like a black sheep, which is laughable considering my attire.
One pleads for someone's lunch, and mutitasks also about their considered race.
One pretends this life is some stupid board game that everyone else should understand.
One is hesitantly just hanging onto the wavelength of the conversation, laughing along.
Selfish, without knowing it.
That's just the way they are.

I was once part of such a socially active island.
I was once ignorant of whoever looked my way.
Wanting to be part of the group of stars
That constantly gossip about themselves, like instant five o'clock newscasts.
Now I feel bending my head and ignoring the
Bothersome voices is all I need to wish for the damned clock to strike
For the next block
So that they can scatter and be together somewhere else.
....which doesn't happen, once the bell tolls dimly over their
Chorus of sarcastic jargon.

Can't they just shut up and do some work for once?

Atmosphere 4 - Dancing Without

Mood: Heartache
Sound Waves: Half-Pain by Bana


I found his silver linked bracelet
Underneath my bed the other day.
It was still glistening with the faint
Shimmer of that time when he first lent it to me.
I decide to wear it today and try to remember
How it still fitted onto this thick
Wrist of tea-colored skin.
I think it was because I knew
There was something wrong when I
Came back from that sunny Californian place.
Only to come home two days later,
To hear the rainbow bridge I thought would last
Turn into a dark nimbus cloud of something
I denied was desolation.
It's his loss, not mine;
But I clearly feel guilty of myself for believing,
"It wasn't going to happen."
I stand alone, now still dreaming of what was and
Now meant affliction on this fragile
Still-born organ in my chest.
I look at others and tell myself,
"I now don't belong there; my golden road is gone.
Because I'm not happy with myself."
But I'm typically punching mirrors
--I'm not ready to accept the prize of "not negotiable."
The dream that was, now has dried
Up in my inanimate soul but is
Crawling in the daisy scattered dirt to obtain
An artificial resurrection.
I want to kill it.
But at the same time, I dream foolishly for
This silver linked bracelet to magically
Warp me back to the tunnel of lost emotions.
To him again.

I'm not so sure if I should give it back
or keep it tenderly beside this filthy, egoistic heart.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Atmosphere 3 - summa cum laude

Mood: Defective
Sound Waves: Creep by Radiohead

The lost salt gift of blood
-alistar macleod

Come all ye fair and tender ladies
Take warning how you court your men
They're like the stars on a summer's morning
First they'll appear and then they're gone

I wish I were a tiny sparrow
And I had wings and I could fly
I'd fly away to my own true lover
And all he'd ask I would deny

Alas I'm not a tiny sparrow
I have not wings nor can I fly
And on this earth in grief and sorrow
I am bound until I die

All alone as I strayed by the banks of the river
Watching the moonbeams at evening of day
All alone as I wandered I spied a young stranger
Weeping and wailing with many a sigh

Weeping for one who is now lying lonely
Weeping for one who no mortal can save
As the foaming dark waters flow silently past him
Onward they flow over a young girl's grave

Oh my darling come tarry here with me
Don't leave me alone distracted in pain
For as death is the dagger that piled us asunder
Wide is this gulf, love, between you and I.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Atmosphere 2 - Oratorio

Mood: Quiet, thinking
Sound Waves: Uninstall, Chiaki Ishikawa

Solid Note

There are voices everywhere.
Laughing, mocking, trying to make themselves superior.
They sound so happy.
They seem like they have something to look forward to, when they talk.
Different tones
Different stories
And I could only hear what is there:
What is it that they have that I can't see when I talk?
Holding more lift in their voices
When mine floats in an empty course across two meters of ground.
I can't say whether or not they can see the me 
They really want to talk to.
But this doubt is more disturbing me than
Actually coming to say what I can say.
My ears are the ones who gain much more than what this
Dried up leaf-like voice can ever retrieve from simple conversation.
I could only talk to myself.
I can only say what I want to myself.
And I can only doubt whether or not 
I can get out of this self-made glass box,
In order to see the socially made light of being 'there'.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Atmosphere One - Ice Age

Mood: Despairing
Sound Waves: Idioteque, Radiohead

System Error

For the time being, I'm stuck having to plug my conscious away from the 
wary eyes and sounds of content people.
Time goes so slowly.
But it never changes.
I know I'm missing whatever is out there, beyond the sea of sound waves and 
Dysfunctional family trills of chaos and disorder.
"You're useless!
You're hopeless!"
I cannot take action with those kind of motivations.
For a while, it was nice, not to be warmed from the constant worries
And pressured faiths bestowed upon me.
I feel like a king with too much time in his hands
But with just enough of that time not to count his blessings.
"You're crazy!
You're insane!"
The discord of silent remarks make its way, making no mistake
Of making myself a fool of who I really am.
This is me.
No it isn't.
Why ask myself the same rhetorical simplicities, when I don't know how to put it
In proper, acceptable honorifics?
"When are you ever going to try?
When DID you see me try?"
For a while now, even I haven't figured that piece of architecture yet.
Can't I try applying such cosmetics
and try to go around without anyone else knowing
what kind of mask I wear underneath the emotion?
"We only want what's best.
But you must try for once."
I keep the doubt in like a bottle, not ready to set sail 
In a sea of blind justice.
I haven't yet known how to completely open
These dusty-filled eyes
To who I really am.