Short Story: NUKEKUBI DREAMING
Just finished the P150 chicken meal at Teriyaki Boy. God, the money you spend for food nowadays. Almost the same price for our movie ticket. But yeah, the movie we saw was stupid.
Question of the night: what superpower would you have?
You say you wish you could read people's thoughts.
Good answer.
People, realizing that it was indeed a good answer, they go: Oh yes, yes, I wish I'd have that power too.
I guess we're all too emotional nowadays. Read people's thoughts. Where's the fun in that? Me? I'm having too much fun just trying to figure you out. If you could read people's thoughts then there'd be no more secrets. No mysteries. No dark personas. Ooohh. You. Yeah, I wish I could your thoughts. What you're really saying now, what you really said then, what you mean by this and that. I guess too much fun.
What about you? What superpowers would you have?
All eyes on me now. Oh, I gotta say something cool - something deep and emotional.
Turn back time. Turn back time. Turn back time.
"Shape shift"
Sometimes we give away stupid answers so people won't figure us out completely. How I wish you gave away tons of stupid answers to me. Told you reading thoughts was no fun. But yeah, If I could just turn back time.
"Shape shift?"
"Yeah, shape shifting. Imagine, I could manipulate people to do what i want."
I never had what I want. Some things, you say just to yourself. Some people, you don't want others to hear. Like "hey, I wanna tell you something...I Lo...". Wouldn't want your friend to hear that.
Of course shape shifting isn't as cool as reading people's thoughts. That stuff is just too emotional, just can't top that one. But yeah, if I could just turn back time.
We go to Jack's Loft to get some beer. I don't know why we went there. I just go where they go. You, you don't drink much but you told me about 2 months ago you were a drunkard. See? If I could just read your thoughts. But if I could turn back time, I'd go for that.
Some things we say we really don't mean. Some things we say are metaphors. Some things we say, we say to make people think.
I look at you and you're a moving picture a mile away. Question and answer portion with friends isn't over. The beer's kinda kicking in, listening to them talk. Me? I'm still wishing to turn back time.
Rewind to about a year ago.
You've emptied the whole tissue box with your tears. I try to ask what's going on but you don't tell. How I wish I could read your mind right now. I move in closer to hold you but I don't. I pat your back. I tell you to cry. Just cry.
Some things we say are anti-cliche cliche. Reverse psychology stuff. I've never seen you cry like this.
Rewind more.
Do you like her?
No way man. We're just friends.
Some things we say, they come back to haunt us.
Fast forward to Jack's Loft.
Lookin' at myself at the mirror, I still wonder what things would be like if I had turned back time. Water bits dripping at the side of my cheeks. If I could just read your thoughts.
Yeah. If I could just read your thoughts. If I could have just read your thoughts then you wouldn't be telling me that you only consider me as a friend 2 months from now. I would be dreaming about you for 2 weeks after that. People wouldn't be asking what we talked about and where I go from there.
Yeah. If I could have just read your thoughts then I would know what you really meant when you said you were drunkard and you changed alot and this and that and everything. I wouldn't have gone sleepless for 4 months.
If I could have just read your thoughts then I could have said the right words and not just some anti-cliche cliche, reverse psychology stuff and pat you in the back.
If I could have just read your thoughts. Oh well, I guess it's too late to wish for that and now I'm wanting to turn back time.
Turn back time.
Kiss your lips.
Hold you warm.
Turn back time. Kiss your lips. Hold you warm.
Turn back time. Kiss your lips. Hold you warm.
Turn back time. Kiss your lips. Hold you warm.
Turn back time. Kiss your lips. Hold you warm.
Turn back time. Kiss your lips. Hold you warm. Make you mine.
Some things we say, we say until we sleep.
Some things we say, we say all night.
grasseseatcows
6/22/2007 07:57:00 PM
Short Story: BREAK
"Put your backs into it", one member tells the others.
Dead bodies are always hard to carry around. Must be because of all that dead weight. Haha. But if you see 20 guys transport body bags back and forth, you wouldn't think it was that hard.
The group has been digging dead bodies last week. We collected about a hundred. What are the bodies for? We are filling train tracks so nobody could use the trains tomorrow. They either walk or take the jeepney like the others. Teams were assigned to do different stations. We're here in Katipunan. 2:00-4:00am is a great time to do these kinds of stuff. About 8, 9, 10 cars pass by an hour. Drivers would either be too drunk or too sleepy to notice anything. No one passing around. If ever there was one, the very security guard that is assigned to this station would put up his shotgun against the poor stranger’s face. Oh yeah, the group had members employed as security guards. You see, these things are what we call “organized chaos”. Haha.
A few hours after this, employees are going to find the security guards gagged, bound, tied and beat up inside the public comfort rooms. Police are going to come in, ask questions and they all have the same answer: “There were 20,30 of them. They were armed. They threatened our lives.” Yeah, these guards are mostly the same. The only difference they have is whether they are members or not. If they weren’t, then they wouldn’t be lying. Media people come in and they report train tracks filled with dead bodies and they ask their audience “Who would do such a thing?” People who would do such a thing are already on their way to switch the newest DVD releases of some record bar with pornographic films. Imagine the lawsuits that record bar will get. And the media people are going to report this and they ask the same question.
Oh yeah, the group has been in and out of the news. They just can’t pinpoint who are doing these things.
Remember that teenage model that was gang-raped by her own bodyguards? I was the driver and look-out. God, did she scream for help.
Remember all those billboards of disabled men along EDSA? The caption says it all: “PLEASE FUCK US”. You’d see those freaks in Cubao everyday. People see these kinds of things and they ask themselves: “who would do such a thing?” Such a thing like exploiting the “unfortunate” and “disabled”? The “gifted”!? I don’t know who’s more funny – them or me. Ha. Screw them. Yeah, along with those freaks. They have no idea what we’re fighting for. Don’t they see that it’s them exploiting these people? If they haven’t treated them like they were charity cases then they wouldn’t be feeling so sorry for themselves. Calling retards “gifted”, oh, fuck me. Where’s the gift in that? Can’t speak one straight sentence. Can’t take care of his stupid retard self. Who would ever dream of marrying a retard huh? Where’s the fucking gift in that? People today talk about peace and equality and morality as they step on others and arm themselves. Like I said, I don't know who's more funny.
I think by now you got an idea of what the group has been looking for.
If you want to destroy society, the group wants you.
If you want to fight conformity, the group wants you.
If you want to break civilization, the group wants you.
“Hey! You brought the sign?” a member yells to me. He must have found the security camera. Cameras are a great of way of getting your messages across. Like putting up a sign that says “I guess they missed the train”. Haha – dead people missing the train. The group also wants people with some sense of humor. Yeah. If you’re funny and bitter and angry and lonely and empty, the group wants you.
You’d meet different kinds of people in the group.
There are those who hate their jobs.
There are those who hate their bosses.
There are those who hate their wives.
There are those who hate their families.
There are those who hate their friends. Or they’re just tired of them.
Come to think of it, people don’t join the group with their friends. I guess joining the group is more of an "individual choice".
You never know who’s a member or not. I go to school and I look at janitors and guards and I ask myself if they’re one of us. I wouldn’t know until I see them at meetings. Oh yeah, group meetings. The group meets at least once a week, actually depends of how big a “project” is. If there are no projects or activities, the group meets and members brainstorm. The group then picks the best ideas and others are thrown outta the window. The group has had lots of ideas.
Those glass shards conveniently placed at the bottom of car wheels? That idea took out a whole parking lot.
Some kids who think they’re tough and smart do it just for kicks. They’re smart enough to get caught by the police. We have to thank them though. They provide us distraction. Not that we need it. You see a crappy country like this is the best brooding place for anarchy. Pissed off people, crappy police investigations, crappy media, crappy government, paradise.
Police would never know it was the group who put all those bodies in there.
That the seaplane that crashed into the Mall of Asia never really went out of control.
That the car explosions in the Manila Hotel parking lot were never really an accident.
All these got reported by the media but investigations were always faulty. It’s the very system we want to destroy that's helping us.
Not all group projects make it to the news though. Not all of them are train-tracks-filled-with-dead-bodies big. Some members, they act independently or with only a few others involved. So even us never really know who did what. Not all of them make the news but are enough to create such a fuss.
Remember that HIV guy who mixed considerable amount of blood into ketchup bottles at fast food restaurants? He’s my hero.
Those who splashed paint all over the Spoliarium?
That guy who chopped Rizal’s head off at Luneta Park? Too bad he got shot.
Those exhibitionists at overpasses?
Those waiters who jack off and blow their load all over your burgers?
Those castrated men who snuck into last year’s oblation run?
That college kid who wrote short stories about us? One day went berserk, killing other college kids and himself?
grasseseatcows
6/22/2007 07:57:00 PM
Short Story: FUEL
I
I’m driving. I never drive. I know how to but I don’t. I never drive but I am now – 120 kilometers per hour on the endless concrete stretch of this seemingly abandoned expressway. I smell good and fresh and there’s a gym bag full of clothes in the backseat. I must be headed somewhere. I must be headed somewhere but I don’t seem to know where. I’ve been sleepless for 4 months now and the thing with insomnia is you’re never really awake nor asleep. You’re in 3D dreamland wishing you were asleep and then you snap out of your senses thinking “How’d I get here?” This is not something new to me.
My phone rings and my arms stretch a mile away to the dashboard. My phone’s LCD tells me it’s Monique calling. Monique? But how? It can’t be. It can’t be her. The ring dies and I’m still wondering if it was Monique who called – the thing with insomnia is you think something is one thing and you close and rub your eyes and you snap out of your hallucination to realize what it really is. There’s a call again and the LCD still reads Monique. I rub my eyes. I shouldn’t be doing this while driving but I am – still Monique. I pick the phone up.
Hello? Hello. She’s panting, breathing heavily, catching her breath for the next word. I still can’t believe it’s her. No. It can’t be her.
“Have you heard about Eileen?” it IS Monique.
I go speechless. Eileen?
The name refreshes my memory as if the insomnia never happened and I remember everything and everything’s all clear to me now.
II
I’ve been sleepless for a month now and I should be crying.
About Monique.
About my miserable life.
About me never getting what I want.
I should be crying right now but I’m not and I’m angry and frustrated and irrational and throwing myself around the four walls of my room. I should be crying right now, thinking about how Monique and her boyfriend are probably celebrating somewhere, fucking each other because it’s their first “month-sary”. We celebrate too much nothing nowadays, you know.
The thing with insomnia is you get attacked by words and thoughts and twisted thoughts and mumbled, jumbled words all at once at every fucking direction.
Why him?
I guess you’re not who I thought you were.
He’ll just dump you once he’s done with you.
Why did you have to change?
And why now?
I hate you.
I love you.
So much.
I love you so much.
If you could just know.
I masturbate.
Masturbation helps. Especially when you’re body’s tired from the lack of rest and God’s simply not there to listen to you beg for sleep. I come. I come and all the tension and little energy I’ve left goes with it as my eyes twitch while electricity goes to down to my legs and after that I drown in a sea of bed and blankets to grant me about 2 hours of sleep. I have to get up by 5. I don’t want to miss school.
III
Eileen tells me I look like a zombie.
Yeah. More like limp, lifeless, piercing cold flesh, formalin battery-powered zombie. I don’t tell her this. What I do tell her is that I haven’t been having my beauty sleep and I crack a smile with my dry, chapped lips.
“You also haven’t been eating much lately”, she says.
What the fuck do you care?
I say, “Oh, you noticed?”
“You still thinking about her?” she asks.
Yeah. And I’m miserable.
“It’s been 2 months you know. I think you should move on” – there goes Eileen’s daily friendly advice. “Well, yeah, I know.”
Vikki arrives and pulls a seat beside Eileen. “Have you seen Mike?” I ask.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eileen asks.
“Mike. I’m talking about Mike”, I say.
A mouth opens and a voice comes out, “Are you serious?” it’s Mike. It’s Mike and it’s not Vikki. “I, uh, didn’t notice.”
Mike laughs it off.
Yeah. Laugh it off.
IV
“You shouldn’t be drinking too much beer you know…”
It’s Monique. This has been the only time we could talk – beer and parties.
“Beer helps me sleep”, I say.
“Oh ok. Are you down with insomnia or something?”, she asks.
Yeah, and for 3 months now, no thanks to you.
“No. I just want to get more sleep. You don’t wake up easily when you’re down with beer, you know.”
Her fuck of a boyfriend is across the room flirting with some girl who’s got a C-cup bra. And Monique’s here by my side, flirting with me. You fucking whore. I love you.
“I might have to drive you home if you get too drunk”, she says. You fucking whore.
“Eileen says I could drink all the beer I want and she’ll drive me home”, stupid, stupid thing to say.
“Oh, ok. So you and Eileen, you got something going?” she asks.
“No, we’re just friends”, I say.
She scoffs and sips a bit off her drink and says “well, I’ve heard a lot of that lately.”
Yeah. You and dickwad there used to be such good friends.
“No really, we’re just friends.”
V
“There’s this mnemonic, DIGFAST, and I got every symptom except for A which stands for Activity Increased…”
I’m talking to Eileen who’s driving me home. Telling her about this article I saw on the net about manic depression. I really hate what I’m going through right now. I hate Monique and I hate her boyfriend. I hate the fact that I love her. I hate my stupid life. I never had what I want but people everywhere are off taking it for granted. Give me what I want. Give me what I want, for a change. Give me what I want.
I continue talking, “I haven’t been sleeping and eating much and I think I’m having hallucinations and I’ve become belligerent and irritable and violent and sometimes I just want to hurt someone.” I’ve been masturbating more frequently too.
“And now you’re paranoid”, Eileen tells me as she gives me a smirk.
Blank piercing hateful stare.
“I was trying to make you laugh”, she says.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Just go drive”, I say.
Sometimes I just want to hurt someone. Out of the blue. Let it all out. Snap and scream and cry and shout and get mad and hurt someone. Give me what I want, for a change.
VI
Hollywood makes the world go fucking round. And actors and movie-stars who know how to use their 6-inch cocks and where to put them are our gods and the whole world is their sex slave. I’m outside a convenience store drowning myself in beer. There’s a party I didn’t throw at my house as I speak but I don’t want to get anywhere near that filth of a whorehouse right now. Eileen’s beside me and she tries to take the beer can out of my hand and she says it’s too much beer even for me.
"What the fuck do you care?” I shove her off as I defend for my beer. “YOU NEVER CAUGHT THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE FUCKING HER BOYFRIEND IN YOUR OWN ROOM!”
Eileen was going to take me to my room and get me to sleep for I had too much beer and was thrashing every inch of furniture in my house. She takes me to my room and she turns the knob and pushes the door and Monique and her boyfriend are there fucking. Great. Just great. Be my guests.
“Then why couldn’t you move on?” she asks and she stands for a more dramatic effect.
“Because I love her! I LOVE HER!” I stand for a much more dramatic effect and I’m shouting and everything is thrown out of the window. I’m not making any sense.
“BUT SHE MAKES YOU MISERABLE!” Eileen shout-replies. The cashier inside the store is watching his favorite after-midnight drama series.
“SO WHAT? SO-WHAT? SHE CAN GO FUCK EVERYONE OUT THERE BUT I’LL-STILL-LOVE-HER!” I’m not making any sense. “AND IF RUNNING TOWARDS HER WOULD MEAN RUNNING TOWARDS MY OWN SELF-DESTRUCTION THEN IT'LL BE ME COLLIDING HEAD-ON WITH DISASTER!” Eileen tries to open her mouth but I continue talking. “AND SHE…SHE COULD GIVE UP ON ME FOR ALL I CARE. SHE COULD GIVE UP ON ME AND STEP ON ME AND PUSH ME AND SPIT ON ME BUT I’LL STILL LOVE HER AND I WILL NEVER-EVER GIVE UP ON HER.”
“BUT WHY ARE YOU DROWNING YOURSELF IN BEER THEN?” she makes complete sense.
I sit down, lifeless, empty stoic stare on concrete parking floor. “Because beer helps. Make me forget. It makes everything surreal. It’s petrifying…” I cry. It’s been about 4 months now that I should’ve been crying and I’m crying in front of a convenience store with a cashier watching. Eileen sits down beside me and pats me in the back. I feel like vomiting.
“You know, there might be someone out there for you. Someone who’s going to take care of you and sit beside you when you cry…”, another one of her friendly advices.
“I don’t know. I’m not very sure of my life right now. But if there’s something better than this, I wouldn’t want that right now. If I were to choose between Monique and happiness, I’ll choose her. And if there really is somebody out there for me, then I guess I’m sorry for her, I’ve stopped looking”, every word I say drains me. I feel like vomiting. Eileen’s head tilts down towards the same concrete parking floor I’ve been scratching with my stare.
“You know those stories wherein happy endings get killed?” I don’t think she’s listening to my nonsense. “I’d kill my own happy ending…”, I really feel like vomiting.
“You really have to be this dense huh?” Eileen mumbles. She was saying something else but I wouldn’t remember. I guess it was a bad time to vomit.
VII
I wake up and my eyes roll and roam and I realize I’m in somebody else’s room. Scissors and art paper and other art stuff is on the table beside the bed. A cutter is beside the lampshade. How convenient. I sit myself up and I smell like vomit and my vision is blurry. I’ve had too much beer and I’m drunk but I’m still able to get hold of the cutter.
I push the blade out.
I hate my life. I hate my stupid, stupid life.
The cutter is on my wrist and soon the blade will be tearing through my skin. This wouldn’t really hurt. Death has to be better than this.
Deliver me from pain and suffering.
Deliver me from love and hate.
Deliver me from my emotions.
The door opens and Monique comes in, cup of coffee in her hands. “You should drink this…” I put the cutter back where I found it.
Monique? I’m in Monique’s room? Since when did I join your fuck list? I take the cup of coffee out of her hands and put it beside the lampshade.
“Are you ok now?” she asks. I’m in complete disbelief. I must be hallucinating. I’ve had too much beer and I’m drunk. Too drunk. “Let’s get you out of those clothes…” She takes hold of my shirt and I raise my arms to help her pull my vomit-smell shirt out. I’m drunk and I’m sleepless and I’m neither awake nor asleep and I’m really not aware of what’s happening around me. I’m hallucinating and out of control and I kiss her.
She gets startled but she kisses me back. You fucking whore.
I lie her down and unzip my pants as she takes off her top and bra. We kiss and it’s the greatest kiss I’ve ever had and ever will have. I take her pants and panties off and she’s naked and beautiful and I fuck her and I love her and I fuck her harder.
She moans and she tells me she loves me. You fucking whore. Don’t tell me you love me. You don’t love me. I love you. And now is the only chance I could ever have you. After this, you’ll go back to fucking your boyfriend in my room. I stretch my hands towards the lampshade and I get hold of the cutter beside it, beside the cup of coffee. How convenient.
“I love you, I love you…”, she moans repeatedly.
You fucking whore. You don’t love me. I love you. I hate you. I hate your boyfriend. I hate my life. I love you. So much. I love you so much.
VIII
“Hello? Hello? Are you there?”
It was Monique on the other end of the line and I’m driving. 120 kilometers per hour on the endless concrete stretch of this seemingly abandoned expressway. “Hello?”, it was Monique and I believe it.
“Uh, yeah…I’m just, uh… in shock.”
I guess everybody has an idea of where the cutter went.
If I were to choose between her and happiness, I’ll choose her.
I was drunk and I vomited on my self and my shirt in front of a convenience store.
And if there really is somebody out there for me, I guess I’m sorry for her, I’ve stopped looking.
Eileen took me to her apartment and to her room knowing that I didn’t want to go to my filth of a house where I caught Monique and her boyfriend fucking.
You know those stories wherein happy endings get killed?
I wasn’t in Monique’s room. I was in Eileen’s. Eileen brought me a cup of coffee and took me out of my vomit-smell shirt and I was drunk and hallucinating.
I’d kill my own happy ending.
She was my happy ending – Eileen.
She was my happy ending and I killed her. And now I’m running, escaping.
“Hey, are you ok?” Monique’s blood-filled live face asks.
A few seconds of silence and everything is thrown out of the window.
“I love you…”
“What?” she asks. For the first time in the last 4 months I’m thinking clearly and she’s asking me “what?”
“I love you…”
grasseseatcows
3/05/2007 06:43:00 PM
ANG DAHILAN KO AY SILA [Dahilan ni Walang Ngalan]
Ika'y mag-isa
Sa mundong paniwala mo'y ikaw ang may gawa
Pero tama
'Wag kang mamuhay kung saan ika'y patuloy na nasasaktan
Ngunit ano ang 'yong dahilan?
Malamig ang 'yong buto
Balat mo'y nangingilo
Baga't puso mo'y natutuyo
'Yan ang 'yong dahilan?
'Wag kang umasang ika'y aking hahalikan
Hahalikan at hahagkan
Ng dahil lamang sa iyong mga dahilan
Ano nga ulit ang 'yong dahilan?Paki-ulit nga sa akin kung ano ang iyong mga dahilan
Nanlalamig ang 'yong buto?Balat mo ay nangingilo?Baga't puso mo'y nanunuyo?
IYAN BA ANG IYONG DAHILAN!?
Pakinggan mo ang iyong mga dahilan!
'Wag ka nang magsalita at hindi mo naman talaga alam
'Pagkat 'di mo naiintindihan
Hindi mo ba naiintindihan?
Hindi mo naiintindihan?
Hindi mo naiintindihan.
Hindi mo naiintindihan...
HINDI
MO
NAIINTINDIHAN
H'wag
'Wag na 'wag kang magsasalita
'Pagkat sila'y patuloy na nakikinig
Dahil ayaw kanilang marinig
Sila'y patuloy ring naghihintay
Patuloy na naghihintay NG dahilan
Ano ang kanilang dahilan?
Ang dahilan nila'y IKAWAng dahilan nila'y siya, ang dahilan nila'y siya
Ang dahilan nila'y SILASILA MISMO
NGAYON ISIPIN MOANO NGA ULIT ANG DAHILAN MO?
ANG NAIINTINDIHAN MONG DAHILAN MO
DAHILAN KO!?ANG DAHILAN KO AY IISA
ANG DAHILAN KO AY SILA
grasseseatcows
1/15/2007 06:50:00 PM
PARANOID
Every picture
Every look
Every word
Everytime
All the blood
All the brains
All the thoughts
All the time
Who are you
Who am I
Where are we
I don't know
What I know
Is not true
Nor false
All I know is
It is what I don't know
Who was I and who were you
Who are we now
Tell me and I know I won't listen
Because I don't wanna hear the truth
Live in the fantasy wherein you are a God
Live in the fantasy where everything is mine
Live in the fantasy wherein time controls absolutely nothing
Live in the fantasy WHEREIN YOU AND ME AREN'T EVEN THERE
Scream
On the very top of your lungs
Supersonic
Silent
And dead
Who are you
I wish you were dead
Who am I
I wish I was dead
Where are we
I wish we were dead
I don't know
Maybe we're dead
What I know is not true
But are we really dead?
Nor false
I can't tell...
All I know is
We're dead
It is what I don't know
The fact that I'm dead
There are no facts.
grasseseatcows
10/28/2006 06:14:00 PM
