IMODO.COM -   the soaring chorus

Anxious

How come so many of my blog-friends are either upset or in pain? Is there some kind of bug going around or what? Not all of the people concerned are aware that I read their blogs. But I know that some of them are really hurting, and that saddens me.

I wish I could do something to make it better for them.

Love and Immortality

Looking at Milan, her beautiful eyes, flawless skin, delicate fingers, the way she would slowly yawn and stick her tongue out in slow motion that is way more endearing than it has any right to be, I was elated for Myles and Ria for their blessing (and it really was a blessing; looking in the nursery, half the babies there were in incubators, with one barely half Milan's size. Milan on the other hand was as healthy as can be).

However, in that happiness there was a twinge of selfish sadness mixed in with that joy. Because it reminded me that I will in most likelihood never have one of my own. Not from me, anyway. Better writers than me have said it best: Children are the closest thing we have to immortality. There is now a piece of Myles that will be on this earth after he has passed it. I remember Nelz having similar feelings when he was blogging about his classmates; how happy they were with their families and their children. I understood his position, but didn't really feel it up until now.

Don't get me wrong: Being gay is who I am, no doubts whatsoever. I love Nelz intensely, and if I'm lucky, it's going to be me and him for the long haul. But he's said this too, and now I I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way; that I wish/wonder if there was some way to have a child of your own, from our own blood, a piece of your own flesh that would form the basis of a whole other person. In a perfect world, there would be some scientific method to blend the our genes and create a child with atributes from both Nelz and me (his smile, skin and modellific height; my....uhm................ sense of humor?).

I've always felt -- and still do -- that children will eventually be in my future. I love my siblings, especially my littlest brother RC, and I look forward to imparting my knowledge and experience to a child of my own. three out of the four Carandang children are adopted, so acquiring a child in that way is normal for me. But I have to admit, looking at Milan who you could see, even in her newborn state was a mix of both Myles and Ria (primarily Ria. Lucky baby. Lucky, lucky baby!!). There's a feeling of legacy there, something I can only imagine.

I've thought about this a lot, and if gay men want to have children, these are the current options for people in my position:

Surrogate Parent - The embryo would be inserted in vitro, and we would hire someone to carry our child to term. This is an extremely expensive option (and not yet available here) and there is a question of where the egg cell will come from.

Best Friend Approach (a.k.a. the "Next Best Thing" method) - Either Nelz or I impregnates a female friend (through either articifial or natural means) who agrees to carry our child. The tricky part here is actually finding a friend who would be willing to make that huge a sacrifice. Plus, since it would also be her child, there would be custody issued that would have to be worked out. For gay couples, they usually turn to their lesbian friends for this option.

Adoption - The simplest and most feasible option. It's a lot easier than you'd think to adopt a child here. With our family, Angel and RC came into our lives first, then mom petitioned them for legal adoption well after the fact, when they were already well-acclimated to the family household and it would be counter-productive to remove them from our care. There are too many children without good homes, and this would be in a rational sense the best move overall for people in my position. But still.............................. there is something about looking into your own child's eyes that simply cannot be described.

Like I said; If there was only a way to surgically implant a uterus, even temporarily, into a man so he could bring a child to term. Hey, if men knew, as in really knew, what it was like to carry a child, then maybe we'd have more respect for women overall. It makes no difference with me which one of us gets pregnant, but let me state for the record that Nelz is the one with the birthing hips. ;)

Birthday

Congratulations to Myles and his wife Ria for the birth of their new baby boy girl, Milan Jamito, weighing in at a whopping 8.3 pounds. Unlike some newborns who look like scrunched-up prunes where you fake a smile and say to the parents "She looks beautiful!", Milan really is a gorgeous baby.

Myles is one of my closest friends in life, and there was a time that something like this would be unthinkable for him (that he would settle down, get married, have a kid, etc) and I am just so happy for him. The best of luck to the three of you, may you all be blessed with good health and more happiness.

I love you man (in a manly, platonic straight-guy way, of course).

Di ka makatiis, ano?

Walking along Session Road, I passed an Internet Cafe, so being the hopeless 'net junkie that I am, I quickly stepped in to get my fix. I gotta say, just seeing Nelz.org and Television without pity felt so relaxing and familiar to me, as if it was the smell of a homecooked meal or the feel of my own bed. Now I know what Nelz felt like when we was in Los Banos without net access.

So far, it's been fun. Did most of my list already: Went to the ukay-ukay for the first time and got some clothes (only ONE black shirt this time, I swear!), and we also went to what used to be Camp John Hay. Emphasis on "used to be" because what was once a cool place to go to with plenty to do and places to eat, has been reduced to several very expensive looking vacation homes (undoubtedly owned by government peopl and the like) and the only eateries that are left replacing classics like the 18th Tee and the Halfway House? A Country Waffles and Starbucks.

I remember even when I was a kid, my family would go to the 18th tee and I would always order the same thing: A grilled cheese sandwich, coke and a banana cream pie for dessert. Unlike today, these were foods that were unknown to local cuisine and virtually impossible to get outside of John Hay. I can still remember it in my mind's tongue (the cousin of my mind's eye) and it was a comfort food for me. I still can't fully reproduce the taste from my childhood, even though I've tried.

And now it's all gone. Replaced by golf courses, log cabins and overpriced and mediocre eateries. If there was one word to descrive the feel of this 'new' John Hay, it would have to be Pretension. Like they didn't have to say anything, but if felt like if you didn't have a net worth of at least P100 mil in your bank account, you ain't welcome here. The only thing missing was a sign saying "MIDDLE CLASS KEEP OUT". We couldn't get out of there fast enough for my taste. That's just one of the things about Baguio. I haven't been there in 5 years, but I seem to recall a lot more trees and a lot less malls than before.

It's sad, really. You go to a place where you want to get away from it all, and 'It All' just follows you and sets up shop there.

Off I go

..To Baguio, until saturday, to spend some much needed (and hopefully, bonding) time with the family brood. I haven't been to Baguio in years, and even then only to the usual places my family goes to (Marketplace, Horseback riding, Camp John Hay, Mines View park).

This time there are a lot more things I want to do; namely ukay-ukay, and just walking along Session Road and checking everything at my lesiure (there's this artist's cafe that Nelz wants me to check out), and eating, eating, eating (my poor waistline...). As I type this my mom is yelling at me to turn everything off and Get In The Damn Car, so I guess I'de better wrap everything up.

See you all on saturday. I'll miss you, honey! *MWAH!*

From where the source?

Earlier tonight, some friends and I went out to order chinese take-out from this restaurant I know. After we had gotten the food, we had piled into the car and were heading home via EDSA southbound, planning to turn right at Shaw boulevard. In the middle of the trip, someone asks for sounds, so I put in the new brand-new Cynthia Alexander album, her newest work since Rippingyarns. I hadn't heard it before now, and I'm quite excited to hear it. The first strains of percussion play over the car's speakers, and Cynthia's familiar voice begins to ring. It's a lovely sound, and I can remember smiling inside as we drove down a nearly-deserted EDSA that late night.

The first song was upbeat, with plenty of drums and a scottish accent to it, probably owing to her husband's influence. The second was more classic Cynthia, with her jangly guitars, medium tempo and dreamlike lyrics. Scanning the lyric sheet, some of the rhymes didn't even make full words, with her going 'doo-doo-doo' at the end of some measures. They were classic Cynthia Alexander songs that were beautiful and I had never heard them before. They were also totally all just a dream.

I woke up groggily from my bed, the echoes of the second song washing away from my mind the way a light impression of a flashbulb burns into your retina behind your eyelid, then quickly fades. I scramble next to my bed for my portable tape recorder to capture it, until I remember that I left it in the glove compartment of my car, in the garage.

Blearily, I put on my slippers and pad downstairs, desperately trying to replay the first stanza of the second song (the first song was a loss. I remember that it was wonderful, and that it was unlike any song I had ever heard before, but nothing from the song itself) until I get to the car outside the house.I open the door and crawl in, dig out the tape recorder, and mumble the melody into the recorder. It's a bit tricky, because the song really was in Cynthia's range, which is at a much higher register than mine.

I get the dreamlyric down (that's a lovely word; dreamlyric. If it's not an actual word, It should be) and play it back. In actuality it's only 2 lines of melody repeated once for a 4-measure stanza and I hadn't even gotten to the chorus before I woke up. It's pleasant enough, but nowhere near a song. The beginnings of a song yes, but it's like having the corner section of a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle that you have to reconstruct from memory.

It's unusual, and not entirely unpleasant to the ear. The question is, is the melody derivative of a song that I've already heard before (which has happened previously, with me channelling of all things, The fucking Backstreet Boys, for Christ's sake which is why I'm a lot more wary about these supposed flashes of inspiration), and whether or not it's actually good. One's critical judgement can be impaired when suddenly roused out of bed at 5 in the morning. So I'm going to let it simmer there and listen to it later when I'm more alert and all my faculties are present.

I don't need a pyschoanalyst to know what the dream was about. Just yesterday I had spent the entire afternoon and much of the night in front of the computer, just aimlessly wandering from site to site, looking for something to read just to distract myself. Hating myself every single minute of the way for not picking up the guitar and being productive coming up with a decent new song. I haven't written a song worth listening to for months and the fact that I knowingly frittered this afternoon of opportunity away weighed heavily on my mind.

Was I doing the same with my life? Here I was with opportunity after opportunity in my hands in the form of time, a resource that artists far more talented than me make infinitely better use of. And yet here I was, numbly staring at a computer screen, my guitar sitting idly on my bed, waiting in vain to be played. Were the songs that I had written actually any good? Or were they just derivative, overly simplistic crap? I was beginning to wonder if I was actually talented at ALL, and whether or not I was just some spoiled rich kid with way too much time on my hands who had deluded himself into believing he was actually an artist, when in reality all I was was............a spoiled rich kid with too much time on his hands.

But the songs.... I heard them. They were complete songs, with drums, bass, guitars, melody, all coming together for not one but two beautifully memorable pieces of music. If I was actually knowledgeable in these instruments like say, Prince, or Jazz Nicholas I could have laid down each individual track and made the songs complete. But I fricking DON'T, all I know is how to sing, and even then the song was meant for a much higher voice.

I don't know how I can fully describe how maddeningly infuriating it is to hear a song in my head and be to utterly incapable of bringing it OUT. It's like a mute woman having composed the world's most beautiful melody. Even now as I type, the echoes of the songs are fading from my head as the dreamscape recedes into the distance and my mind fully enters the waking world, The only thing I can remember is that -- as of right now anyway -- that these songs were original and beautiful.

The point of my dream? (before I had taken a long rambling journey through my words and almost forgotten my destination) That I was still capable of coming up with a melody people could be drawn to, a lyric people could relate with. That my connection to that great unknown that all artists draw from in varying degrees was still big enough to come up with something that pleased even me, my own worst critic (and don't think I haven't caught the subtle symbolism of the songs having been dreamt to have come from another artist). That I am capable. I just haven't gotten around to fully harnessing whatever it is you're supposed to do to bring it out. See, just because of that dream I've already come up with an 11-paragraph blog entry, most of it good stuff. I only wish I knew how to bring it out when I'm actually awake.

Bugger this. I'm going back to sleep.

A familiar tune

Since saturday I've felt a slight pain in the back of my throat. I've had these symptoms before, (viral infection) and I decided I would try to flush it out before it began by repeatedly gargling with bactidol (which was prescribed to me the last time) the results were mixed; the pain seemed to go away, but only to move to another part of my throat. (first the left side, then the right, now straight up the middle)

This morning, after waking up barely able to swallow, I decide enough is enough and go to the EENT at Clinica. My mom hears this (not before making another crack about how I come down with something every other week, as if she could actually resist) and tells me to go to her doctor in Lourdes Hospital instead. I shrug my shoulders and say olay.

Lourdes hospital is a lot more difficult to get to than Megamall, but the advantages were obvious. While in Clinica I could expect at least a half-hour wait (if I was lucky) before seeing a doctor, I was in this Doc's office for less than 15 minutes. Quick, in and out.

The doctor took one look at my throat with his tongue depressor and gave his diagnosis: Pharyngitis (sp?) or inflammation and bacterial infection of the throat. He prescribed me some medicines which I should take for five days, assured me that I wasn't contagious, and and that was that.

Before I left though, I asked him how I came down with it so I might be able to avoid it next time. He took off his glasses and told me. You'd think by now I should know the answer before I even ask: Low resistance, possibly due to staying up late or "too much *shrugs shoulders in a hunkering manner*", a motion which I have no idea what he meant. Physical exertion? Sex?

Once again I am brought down by my wretched excuse for an immune system. This has been going on for a long time now, even in my early college days. I would stay up late, pull an all-nighter, and I would invariably get sick the next day. It's REALLY frustrating, because it basically says I can't tough it out for any deadlines if and when any should come along, lest I risk my health. Anyone who knows me personally knows how laid-back I am about work in general, and this is one of the reasons why. News like the SARS epidemic really really scares me, because all accounts are that the ones most severely affected are the ones with preexisting sicknesses or weak immune systems. I fear the worst if I were ever to *knock wood* catch the disease.

I'm surrounded by people in music, web publishing and advertising who make lack of sleep a part of life. They get used to it, their body adapts, why can't I?? The knowledge that I cannot be a part of their world because my body simply cannot take it, that I can't hack it, makes me feel like less of a man. Less than them. And I hate it. I hate myself.

I hate this, I really do.

Vindicated

Click this link. Nuff said.

*folds arms with a smug expression on face*

Guilt

We are SO going to hell.

Feliciano Xavier's debut

The camera doesn't love Feliciano Xavier as much as Feliciano Xavier would like. Feliciano Xavier needs to do a bit more cardio.

.....But it was fun, though!

*grins*

Screening Day

Mr. Director, I'm ready for my close-up....

More Video Game Geek News

Did anyone know that new Soul Calibur 2 fighter Talim is a Filipina? I mean, I knew from the name she was definitely Southeast Asian, but figured they would keep it vague since we shared a lot of words with other countries. (try watching a subtitled Malaysian cable channel; you'll be surprised as how many words you recognize).

But I checked her online character profile and yep, she's definitely a Filipina: one of the last nature preistesses of her village whose culture was under attack by European imperialism. Actual accurate historical references too! If my memory is correct, this makes her the first official fighting game character from the Philippines. To which, as a fighting game afficionado, I say: coooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool......

I've always had a fondness for playing the cute little kick-ass girls (along with the big, burly muscle characters, but for *ahem* different reasons, of course) but now looks like I'll have to master her, just on priniciple.

Word of the Day: Misandrist

That's the technical term for "man-hater"; the male counterpart to "misogynist". I was discussing this in the car with Nelz, how the term 'Misogynist" was in the vernacular and basically a widely-understood (but hopefully not widely-used) word, but while trying to come up with the male equivalent, both of us came up empty-handed.

It was little things like this that may or may not tell you something about a culture: A word that has several synonyms versus say, a word that has no equivalent at all in another culture. It's the little things like that that fascinate me about linguistics. (but not enough for me to take a course or it or anything, mind you)

What does it say then, about a society that knows the meaning of 'misogynist', but for whom 'misandrist' is a little-known term?

Question of the day

Why IS the wah-wah pedal is so intergral to porn music?

Time to go to bed

Nobody better wake me up early.

Insomnia

The funny thing is, I was all set to go to sleep early tonight.

Contemplative

"When a door closes, a window opens."
                                                  - unknown

Please, please, please God, let this be true.

Never Underestimate the Power of the Force

How the hell does she DO it?? Plans have to be changed now. The advantage of being a planner is having several backups....

So far it's getting better and better

In the latest video game geek headlines, Spike just announced Fire Pro Wrestling Z for the Playstation 2, to be released on June 5. For the uninitiated, The Fire Pro Series is bar none the BEST wrestling game ever made, with literally THOUSANDS of moves, and simply the deepest create-a-wrestler system ever devised.

Anyone who knows me during my Business Admin days knows how much time I spent/wasted playing with this game with friends in the utterly insane Battle Royal mode, or simply toiling away by myself making and tweaking my own wrestlers. It taps into my love of character design, and making an over-the-top colorful personality from scratch was a perfect fit for me. Even if I never use the character I spent hours upon hours just making the perfect wrestler.

Everything is going great right now, and I am most definitely NOT wondering when it will end.

All better now

I wonder how much a blank video 8 cassette tape costs nowadays?............

Blackout

Out of respect for people who don't want to read about other people's problems; and until I can write sincerely about pleasant things again, I am putting this blog on hold until further notice.

I hate their foreign policy but love their cookies

Oh. My. God.

Given that I am currently in the midst of an Oreo binge, I was overcome with deliriousl surprise (which quickly turned into bitter envy) at what I discovered: Double Delight Oreos. Imagine Oreo cookies with the same amount of filling as a Double Stuf, but with two, count 'em, two different flavors of cream.

Yes, two types of cream gloriously converge into a single Oreo Cookie to make a thick, wonderful treat that is a joy both to the tongue and the eyes (the 2-tone filling has this great yin-yang look to it). Varieties include Coffee and Cream, Mint and Cream, and my personal favorite, the one that had my mouth watering the moment I saw it..... Peanut Butter and Chocolate.

Peanut Butter and Chocolate. In a thick Oreo. I'll let that sink in for you all to get get the full effect.

Peanut Butter. And Chocolate. In an Oreo Cookie. I want one, RIGHT NOW!!!

Say, Isn't my Tita Beng coming from the states soon? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...............

*smile slowly forms*

Everything Falls Apart

In my romantic life, I’ve noticed it has been marked by elaborate, grand schemes. I plan intricate scenarios in my head all designed to woo my quarry. These are the type of plans that you would see in a cheeky Meg Ryan movie (before she went off and committed adultery with Russell Crowe, anyway), designed specifically to sweep the person in question off his or her feet. Additionally, my life has also been marked consistently by the fact that by one reason or another, said plans NEVER happen the way I expect them to. The success rate of my plans roughly coincides with that of Wile E. Coyote's.

Flashback: About 3 years ago, I was courting this girl. She worked in Quezon city, but lived in Bulacan. So three times a week, I would pick her up from her office and drive her allllll the way home (I’m amazed at how far I went looking back on it now). This had been going on for about a couple months now, and we had really gotten close as friends. I felt that the time was just about right to Tell Her How I Really Felt, so I designed a Grand Scheme™ to do so.

She enjoyed Christina Aguilera, and we would listen to her self titled debut album during the drive home. Tonight though, as the tape reached “I Turn to You” (one of the most sentimental songs on the album) during the bridge, I would turn to her in the car, look deep into her eyes and tell her that I loved her. Swept up in the moment and the song’s crescendo, I imagined her looking back at me as the music played:

For the arms to be my shelter
through all the rain,
For truth that will never change,
For someone to lean on,
For a heart I can rely on through anything,
For that one who I can run to...

She would tell me that she felt the same way, and we would share our first kiss.

……Yeah, I know. Shut up. Anyway….

Obviously, that plan didn’t QUITE work out. During the song, I was psyching myself up, screaming in my head GO! GO! TELL HER!!, but my gut on the other hand told me otherwise. I was tremendously conflcted, and I ended up literally croaking something untilligible to her as the song pitifully crawled to it’s conclusion.

The moment passed, I was silently kicking myself all the way home. I dropped her at her place, and I was so distraught, so instead of driving home I called my female friend and confidant at the time to tell her about the disastrous event and if there was some way I could somehow salvage it. There I was, in my car, in front of the Girl’s house, whimpering to my fag hag about what a wuss I was. Pathetic isnt it? What could make it worse, you might ask? Why, Girl coming back OUT of the house to ask what I was still doing there, of course!

“Ian, ikaw ba yan?” she asked. “Okey ka ba?”

Not wanting to humiliate myself further, I quickly changed faces, told her I was okay and gave her a lame story that probably neither of us bought, and quickly went home. It was a good thing she did come out, otherwise I might have been there all night, too paralyzed to do anything. Afer that disaster of an evening she distanced herself from me, probably because of how weird I was, and that was that. How easily the best laid plans can fall apart. If that isn’t a cliché, it should very well be.

Last night, I can add yet another one to my list. If you’ve been reading his blog lately, you’ll know that Nelz has not been in the best of moods. And I admit, I’m probably partly responsible for that. He’s asked for space, and as this isn’t the first time it’s happened, the best thing is give it to him. This is something that we’ve both agreed only he can work through on his own. I haven’t called him since Monday, the only communication between us sporadic text messages (to which he hasn’t replied to).

So I decided to surprise him by getting him a white chocolate roll from Cinnzeo. Those are his favorite cinnamon rolls, but neither of us have had one since the Cinnzeo in Madison Square closed. I was coming from a family gathering in Greenhills Northeast; there was a big dinner to commemorate the 7-day death anniversary of Lola Angeles. It was catered professionally, and we also brought some Hotstix bbq there to grill and serve.

I ate quickly, then helped out in serving th bbq to the guests, planning to leave at 8:30 to buy the roll. I wasn’t sure what time Nelz would go to bed and I wanted to catch him befor he went to sleep. I even bought him some mefanamic acid in case the sugar in the roll gave him a migraine. After the mass, I drove quickly to Shopsville and got two tablets, then drove to the dinner in Greenhils.

At 8:30 I quietly excused myself and set out to the Cinnzeo in Ortigas, near Medical City. My trip was delayed because I was confused by all the newly redirected traffic roads of the area thanks to the MMDA.It was like frigging Malate, where what was once 2 lanes roads were now one way, and you had to find a U turn lane to get to where you wanted to go (consider yourselves warned).

As soon as I got my bearings I double parked in front of Cinnzeo and ran in. I went to the counter and ordered a white chocolate roll when I realized in horror that I had spent almost all my money today on groceries and gas. I literally had JUST enough money left for that white chocolate roll. After that, my wallet was as empty as George W. Bush’s head. Ah well, it’s only money.

My white chocolate roll in hand, I drove off to Nelz’s place, again braving the confusing roads and heavy nighttime traffic. It felt like I was in an episode of The Amazing Race: “Go to party for first route marker. Your next task is to find a Cinnzeo by navigating through confusing Metro Manila Roads and purchase a white chocolate roll. Bring the roll to Nelz’s Apartment, which is the pit stop for this leg of the race. Last team to check in...... will be eliminated”.

Along the way I had pictured the dialogue between the two of us, and what I would say to him. I would enter his apartment area and knock on his door. I would most likely find him sitting in front of his comupter in a tank top and shorts, surfing or writing. He would be surprised to see me, but still depressed. Before he had a chance to speak I wouls say my piece:

I know that you’re not in the mood to talk, so I’m not going to ask you to.” I would begin.

“But I know you still like to eat, so I brought you this.” At which point I would with a flourish bring out the brown Cinnzeo bag. He would smile, knowing what I had gotten him, and he would say thank you. But I wasn’t done yet! “And in case you get a headache, I also got you this!” in what would be the masterstroke of a grand display of well-planned thoughtfulness I would bring out the mefanamic acid.

And as he was still looking at what I had gotten him I would make my exit. Without saying anything, I would move in close and embrace him, and give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Come back to me soon.”, I would whisper into his ear, and I would leave. He would bask in the Love he knew I had for him, and I would be satisfied in a job well done. It would be grand, it would be perfect. So of course, when I get to his place, no one’s there.

The lights are out, and nobody’s home, not even his younger brother Erwin. I figure he must have decided to watch a movie or something (he mentioned wanting to watch Sex Drive, which was not my cup of tea). I call him up on his cel, and I find out that he’s consoling a friend, who’s having some difficulties.

As I see my plans go up in smoke, I just tell Nelz what I got him, and he tells me to leave it with Ate Maring, the lady manning the sari-sari store in the apartment complex. He thanks me for the roll, and I give my regards to the aforementioned troubled friend. I drive home, and that is that. Yet another Grand Scheme™ blows up in my face. I’m a little disappointed, but not really surprised.

I swear, if I could actually bet on myself for my plans to NOT work, I’d be a frigging millionaire.

I was hoping for something a little more interesting than this



You're A Yaoi Boi (Gay Boy)!
Sensitive and caring, you just want some boyXboy
love! Is that too much to ask?


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Peeling through the scar tissue

So now I realize that I have a deep-seated issue with trust, the question remains: WHY do I have trouble trusting?

I've only just now started to seriously ponder this issue, and I have to admit I can find no immediate answer. This is my first ever real relationship. And even in the 'previous' ones, I experienced no real betrayal of trust. If anything, it was me purporting a deception by lying to myself and the other of who I really was.

Is it self esteem? Do I, deep down, believe myself unworthy to be loved in that manner? Do my parents somehow have a hand in this? The whole gay thing is definitely plays a part, but only as a signpost of a deeper issue. Nelz has gone through 50 times the amount of sordidness that I have, and still is the more trusting (and patient. very, very patient) one between the both of us.

One thing I know for sure: This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. If nothing else, please, please, PLEASE believe that.

This is something I'm going to have to work through on my own.

Revelations

"It's a hard thing, not being able to trust."

    - Me, in the car with Nelz, on the way home from Los Banos

And with that, it finally hit me on the head like a giant cartoon anvil. In talking about someone else, I discovered that the very thing that I had been concerned/worried/yes even partially judging someone else on was the EXACT SAME THING that was at the root of what I myself had been grappling with in recent weeks. And like one of those moments Oprah with Dr. Phil, where the person being diagnosed finally gets it, I could see the Light of Revelation shining down on me and hear the Heavenly Chorus of Newfound Awareness playing in my head.

I've always been a slow learner, and it took me this long to see, via someone else to boot, how I was letting past scars affect my relationships in the HERE AND NOW, and how it was hurting the people I cared about the most. It was a humbling experience, to put it mildly.

So when I feel like running
I have to look inside
I want to find the answer
I want to break my line

    - Tonic, "Take me as I Am"

....

I seem to be undergoing a bout with mood swings lately. I was severely down and pensive for no reason on monday, and it only finally let up on wednesday.

And now I feel it starting to swing back down again. Guess there's no other recourse than to just ride it out.

s t r e a m o f c o n s c i o u s n e s s

Moon.

Moon, June.

Moon, bloom, June.

Moon, bloom, June, soon.

Moon, bloom, June, tune, soon.

Moon, bloom, June, tune, soon, spoon.

Moon, bloom, June, tune, room, soon, spoon.

Moon, bloom, June, tune, soon, spoon.

Moon, bloom, June, soon, spoon.

Moon, bloom, June, soon.

Moon, bloom, soon.

Moon, bloom.

Moon.