i have so much to finish and yet i find myself in friendster checking out the profile of the one person i should stop being interested in. god, the regret of adding to his "profile views!" argh right now i'm actually banging my head on the wall. okay, the internet is a neutral thing; i am a stupid boy.
i have just finished reading hey nostradamus! by douglas coupland and i must say that i like it so much. the book has been with me for more than a year now but since i had all his books bought for me, i was determined to read them all in sequence. i finished it in what, two days and now i'm starting with eleanor rigby. although i'm the kind of person who would rather have an interval in between reading novels, so i'm guessing that i'd stop reading this and put it off for maybe a week or two. or when (or if) i go to baguio next month with hans and co. i guess i digest these stories. i think that's why i prefer fiction, or prose, over poetry. i like to be lost in scenes, in moments, in...well - no other way to put it - stories.
not to say that my life is boring. god knows how much i love myself and no torture can ever make me admit that i'd rather be someone else. none.
* * *
speaking of being myself, the semester's about to end and i haven't posted anything about my classes yet. well, technically, my poetry class is done with; i just submitted my poems and my paper last tuesday. i'm not a poet yet but i never really expected (nor will i ever expect to) to be one. the workshop class was fun though. sir jneil was (is) a fantastic prof and i had (have) wonderful classmates.
i just had dinner with sir jneil, kath and noel the other day and it was so much fun. well, the first plan was to have coffee, but since some funky thing was going on at the bahay ng alumni, we decided against choc kiss and went to chateau verde instead. i had lasagna that mysteriously filled up my tummy as if it expanded into a blimp inside my stomach. it still scares me, what kind of cheese was in there, up to this day.
we were just laughing the whole time, but in spite of being with these interesting people, we did not miss checking out the cute guy who sat in the next table. i've learned so many things, like about nawals, how to get rid of crabs and all sorts of drugs. hahaha kidding. well not really. one other thing i learned is something about myself: how is that i am totally capable of talking about sex as if i am not a virgin? even i am wondering where i get all these...material. cos when i say conversing about sex, i really mean conversing. as in sharing opinion and well, um, experiences. (that may not be of sex, but are sexy nonetheless) god i talk crazy for a sixteen year old.
okay i'm starting to be a psycho so i think this means i should start working again. god, i've been doing photoshop all day, my eyes are starting to melt. having this kit ready by later is like so next to impossible. i think i'm going to post the poem i submitted for poetry; the one i most like:
LESSONS IN ASTRONOMY
1
As if an earnest professor
whose excited words just eddy
in the earlobes of his
one and only student (freshman, i think you think),
you lecture me about
looking up
to see for myself the wonders
of the zodiac:
those flickering dots with which to play
an ancient game
of connecting them
into a belt, creatures, heroes,
lovers.
A busy sidewalk café is
where we always hold class. You drink
your macchiato with long,
slow sips in between sessions that
never went passed the silly name-game
and the explanation of the syllabus.
2
Tonight,
the practical test.
I haven’t any idea of
the grading scheme but I try my best;
suck up anyway. Hidden behind
foliage and squeaky park benches,
I tremble
while lying on an improvised mat
of our clothes.
I was never told
by you that I have to be shaken and
thrown into a multitude of angles
just to watch this “spectacular,”
and stagnant, lightshow.
3
What I failed to say:
I have done some advanced reading.
I shiver under your vast, black umbrella
pricked with countless holes
and I run this in my head:
the stars are not the stars
but light coming all the way from
unimaginable distances,
some from sources that
have already went out
before the imprints poked dots on the sky.
So I light a cigarette and look up,
as you’ve always instructed.
I see not a belt, creatures, heroes,
nor lovers
but a graveyard for promised illumination.
to see for myself the wonders
of the zodiac:
those flickering dots with which to play
an ancient game
of connecting them
into a belt, creatures, heroes,
lovers.
A busy sidewalk café is
where we always hold class. You drink
your macchiato with long,
slow sips in between sessions that
never went passed the silly name-game
and the explanation of the syllabus.
2
Tonight,
the practical test.
I haven’t any idea of
the grading scheme but I try my best;
suck up anyway. Hidden behind
foliage and squeaky park benches,
I tremble
while lying on an improvised mat
of our clothes.
I was never told
by you that I have to be shaken and
thrown into a multitude of angles
just to watch this “spectacular,”
and stagnant, lightshow.
3
What I failed to say:
I have done some advanced reading.
I shiver under your vast, black umbrella
pricked with countless holes
and I run this in my head:
the stars are not the stars
but light coming all the way from
unimaginable distances,
some from sources that
have already went out
before the imprints poked dots on the sky.
So I light a cigarette and look up,
as you’ve always instructed.
I see not a belt, creatures, heroes,
nor lovers
but a graveyard for promised illumination.
1 Comments:
Where did you find it? Interesting read » »
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