It wasn't Luigi's poor attempts to shout "I object!" that made Eeya's marriage ceremony dramaful. I don't believe in marriages, but I never expected to be giddy and close to tears yesterday. Holy mother fuck. Eeya is fucking chained and stable.

In other news, __unculturedity is moving out. I disgust myself.


p.s. KC CABANOS! I told you we're soul sisters! We are quasi beatnik/hipsters with mutual dementia. *licks*

I was never comfortable with happiness, because I used to believe that misery makes things stark: a natural standard for determining reality. You used to believe in the power of will, and realized that that was just a mere defense from welcoming the real thing. 

We both hated cliches. I adamantly believed in the futility of relationships, you - you never believed in commitment. We thought we could be safe with unattached acquaintanceship, casual fucks.

That night, I told you what I finally understood: You said, "I love you." Why is is that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear? "I love you" is always a quotation. You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them. (Jeanette Winterson)

We are so alike, you and I. Our brokenness, our fears, our simple dreams, our quiet resignation. Let's hang on for each other. I never knew how to love, or felt how it is to be loved. Neither did you. But the powerlifting Buddhabud was right when he told me this (and addressed it indirectly to you too), "You are capable of love." 

Now that we have found our forever, we are finally lost.

RAMp Presents

Los Chupacabras
with Gapos and Sofia

Other performances by: Edgar Samar, Jonar Sabilano, Mark Cayanan,
Shereen Saiyed, BITAW Collective, UP Writers' Club and Thomasian Writers' Guild

8pm, Monday, 29 January 2007 in Mag:net Katipunan

Last night you told me I was quite stunning, likening me to "some weird infatuation from a 90's music video." 
 
Within the same hour you stole me from my decline with songs that make you out of key with your time.

My brain is oozing out of my ears but my heart is in the right place. I lack the capacity to narrate everything that has been happening these past two weeks. It's frightening to acknowledge that in the process of encountering something new, something else recede into Nothing. Blarg Heidegger. I don't believe I get him. But it's reassuring to know that these consistent ambiguities we call days are not unnatural.

Leaving that aside, thanks to Bart Simpson's summer romance Tin, Jex and I are on a Spread-Cooties-Mission Spread the Lurve Project (a.k.a Kissing Spree). Winner is the first one to get a hundred on her tally sheet. Rules are: 1 point for cheek, 2 points for lips and 3 for French. No repeats, no kissing of fellow participants. Deadline is February, before the Jexter graduates. Personal rule: No 3s for guys who are friends or friends of friends. Wait, let's just make me lesbian and pull 3s to all girls, yes?

Today I got 11 (cunt, if only we started last week...) Yep and I could have sworn Reg was going for a number 3 due to her hangover. What a gas. So yeah. Those who owe me kisses, ahem ahem, please show up before February or while I am floating around Singledom (you know I'm a Whore with Feelings). And to my lovely hooker Lea, come come! Perfect chance for Tyronnasaurus to ogle. X3