Friday, March 12, 2010

Liar, Liar

Disappointments. Endless disappointments. Seems like searching for the perfect love story brings you to the complete contradiction of what the ideal is. True, ideals can suck since they are so far from what the actual moderate reality is but what sucks the more is that the non-ideal i am currently faced with is the total and equal opposite of what an ideal is and even worse.
It is best to expect less, because it leads to lesser heartache and feelings of doubting your capacity to bridge the distance of reality and illusion, and though making both meet is the challenge, risking things for an illusion is just plain unreasonable and inhumanely unfair to oneself. Reality is still the one thing we can hold on to.
What’s better than the best is to expect nothing and nothing at all. In the end, totally distancing yourself from pseudo existence is the most rewarding experience you can get.
Fairytales and dreams are wonderful. They make us happy and love this round-sometimes-lopsided world. But then, it’s about time we stop and think of this: There is a special and extremely important reason why reality and the other dimension are placed on opposite poles, divided by time and space,
REALITY and ILLUSIONS were NEVER meant to be together, they NEVER will be and NEVER should.
So choose which to live, we all have the freedom to die an illusion or die a reality anyway.

Live, Love and Lasting Whatevers

We make mistakes. We suck and kick the wrong ass and save the wrong damsel in distress. In our life’s drunk reality we find our way to the kitchen to realize we opened the front door. And Meredith Grey was right, we never really grow up. For even in the scary truth of the historical “adulthood”, when we’re allowed to drive, drink, smoke and waste our own lives beacuse we are at legal age, we remain to be kids — Naive, curious, deadly and royal pains in the ass, but we already know that.
For no jolly, happy reason, we love drama and showbiz. So, we bulid our own little hollywood inside our heads and houses. I built my own hollywood, the whole red carpet and stuff, i had my own share of paparrazis and blind items. For a while, the whole celebrity thing rocked but it doesn’t last. Admit it, the hang-over of all those pesky talks and everything serially showbiz is a nasty headache that breaks not only our skull, but also our hearts.
And love? Love is a humble, great force that makes us happy, not used or lustful. It does not make us take our clothes off and hump away, nor does it make us throw an innocent brown stuffed toy to the trash…or maybe it does, but the one thing i am certain it does do is to mold us into perfection by making our own arrogant and smart-in-different-levels, sane and intolerably hard-headed self. To make it short, it doesn’t make angelina or brad look more gorgeous than us, but i could be just exaggerating.. ;p
The beauty of being wrong is that we learn what is right. It is by following a ghost that we come face to face with reality, death teaches us life.
And though we can do nothing about the truth that stories in books sound more perfect than our own life and love stories, the reality that we are “the reality” is the best and most twisted happy and painfully unchangeable beauty in this cuboidal-round world.
So live life, laugh more, cry harder and do something crazy just so you’d have something to laugh about when you’re older.
The beauty of life is that we don’t always know,
but it gives us the freedom to learn and find evidences to uncover it’s darkest, most anonymous mysteries.. It gives us the chance to understand..
The beauty of life is that we don’t always do it right,
beacuse we don’t have to, we have to do the wrong things to understand why the other choice is the right one, we should fall to stand up again and know that our skepticism must be willing to embrace questionable truths sometimes…
The beauty of life is that we face hundreds and thousands of rules,
but life gives us the freedom to die to make us realize that life can be too short to follow rules, so dare to break them. For in breaking rules we find ourselves and create our own personalities, imperfect but unique— just like evryone else..
the beauty of life is that it crushes our illusions and dreams,
but only to give us the chance to live a reality that will never be as beautiful as our illusions, because our reality will always be something more, much more beautiful than our dreams because we have it, we own it.
“Dreaming, we see the what we want to see, hear what we want to hear. Life challenges us to do more than that, we have to work and make those dreams become the bigger reality.”
For even unreachable stars can fall to the earth to grant us wishes, and the unrevealed amd unknown will never be as beautiful as the existing truths.
At this point, I have learned that most of the time, the only way to find the thing we want the most is to go and follow the opposite direction.


I did tell the world of who he was and what he meant to me.I did fight a war without a seemingly logical reason. I did. And I do realize that I never really loved him.
Yet, I seem to be doing the same mistake all over again.
Because as real as these could be, the truth remains that none of them are quite existent - except in that lopsided universe i have given birth to with such beautiful imaginations that almost always never did come true -nor were as sweet as whatever really happened.
My sentimental love seat is a mess, i sit there alone. And all the seemingly perfect princes either stood up, walked away or only stayed for the sake of their own borrowed and illegal affection of this totally complicated nocturnal b.i.t.c.h.
I woke up this morning, in the usual trance of everyday. To be swept away to the daydreams as he chose to mold and sketch the artwork of his subconsciously adulterous heart. And i temporarily dwell in the whirlpool of secret glances and unspoken words.
The depth of one thing as twisted as this is a question that would take tons of revelations. Or maybe, never ever realized as bridges break and are left uncrossed.
Because someone else has been taking the seat next to him, and walks along the songs of the pornographic saxophone. And him not pulling away is a bullet that my proud, sarcastic shield burns to ashes - left to the shadows, where I heal the scorching wounds of the gun powder that penetrated my skin, in secrecy - because none of them would have chosen to understand.
The floodgates have been opened, and some time ago, i would have drowned in the sham of preconceived confessions and serenades - but the thorns have gripped me hard enough to the shore.
Yet, even the scratches couldn’t stop me from swimming back again to the sea.
Because the painful stings heal me, and the death I’ve found in this sinful drowning - bathed in his poison-antidote, is a resurrection - sealed inside the shortest of all eternities.