Fireworks (Much Ramblings On Nothing About Not Being Yourself)

Dear,
You, who is out there surviving.

Hey, how are you? How have you been hanging up to now?

Perhaps all is well, perhaps all is not, who can say for sure right now? Perhaps you are a spaceman, or maybe a scientist, or at least a coffee shop tender dozing off at noon aspiring to be a writer. All could be possible anyway, not knowing when this letter would reach to you.

You should have known already, even I, myself, burst into laughter the moment I thought of this idea. It all seems stupid for a moment, and I cried myself during my laughter. But the moment I give it a second thought, I found myself holding a pen and a piece of paper. I am, somehow enticed by the idea of writing to you.

You think so too, right?

So, here I am. Midnight has just passed around three hours ago without me finding myself fast asleep. Is this letter one of those ramblings an insomniac write off to pass time? Perhaps yes, but mostly not, I think. After all, this idea does have something in mind.

Are you still an airhead?

It occurred to me that long ago you are called one. You somehow tend to lose yourself within your mind, lost in your train of thoughts. Most of the time, you loved being only with yourself just cause. You liked being so, right?

Are you still yourself?

Today I promised myself not to change, being just as the ‘me’ I am now, but who knows what will happen later? Surely someday all could change in the blink of an eye just like that. I guess, being the same all the way would just be a burden whatsoever. Wouldn’t it be, what do you think?

Anyway, I am on a journey. A kind of a spiritual journey, I guess it is; it is supposed to be but all is not planned in any way like should. Too impulsive it seems reckless much. You remember, right, we are like this when we are still young and stupid.

You and I, we are not much different. You, you know me best.

Anyway, still, I am on a journey. The horizon is starting to light bright orange, scarlet at parts. The dawn is coming on to me again, it seems.

I bet, by the time I asked you whether you are still yourself or not, you took a long time to answer the question, perhaps you could not even find an answer to the end. I know you, you are indecisive just like that. Even as impulsive, you always take the longest time to decide. Quite a paradox it is, but I guess that is just like you in the end; indecisive in any way. Even in being yourself, you are.

By the way, have you still your simple dreams in you?

This time I am writing, I am stopping on this small rural town. Tonight here, there are supposed to be fireworks. You and I, the both of us, we liked fireworks, right? I hope this simple thing doesn’t change. I hope all the small things are still just as, they remain indifferent.

I hope you are still the same, better if may. I hope your imagination is still as bright. I hope we remain unchanged.

I hope, I hope, I hope.

I hope.

To end the letter here, would it bother you? I guess not, right? You would still remain neutral, that’s the part of you I mostly trust to still be the same. I hope the day this letter is opened, it would brighten your day. I hope you can look back to this letter and smile.

Last, once again; are you still yourself?

Am I still myself?

…

Best regards,

From me,
to latter me.

-

Now then, what have I to prove to myself?

15 – To Whom It May Concern

I sometimes cried at nights.

Nothing is usually up at those kind of times, yet somehow I broke down to tears, which is really what made it all don’t add up. I just burst up; quite literally, but not in the sense in which my intestine, or my heart, or my pitiful brain to come out of me and smack you in the eyes.

You know, it’s just that my eye sockets suddenly feel heavy and in need of emptying. All just got blurry and that’s it. I went down to them tears.

Do all out there feel somehow like that as well?

Your head is blank, but it is all the more reason there is to cry it all out. You just feel that the time is the most right there is to break down and let yourself just be yourself.

At times I felt like that; that in crying to myself I am the truest of myself. I am simply myself, I am without restrain to just be.

Which is why, perhaps all there is that made me do so is just that I am being only by myself at the moment.

At those times I thought to myself about everything. Nothing is really specific or anything to think about, just that my mind runs its fastest by those moments and it doesn’t want empty to be what it is working with.

One of those times which I’ve experienced, I thought to myself all I do fear; my fears.

Sure, like what I have said some time ago, I feared heights, but what I feared most like all other living is death. Yet, what was it that I am concerned about aside from death?

What would trigger the end of my wit should not really be death; death could probably be the freedom from thoughts I sought for. No, more like that within my death I won’t have much to think of, I would just went blank like that.

What really would frustrate me?

What really would break me down, crush my facade down in my reality, drown me in my sea of grief?

And it all came to me like so.

“What I really feared,” I said slowly, “is being only by myself.”

My jealousy, my love for luxury, the sinister side of me, they come to look at me as I said so.

“Think of it like this; what is it that made me crumble down to tears in my world?”

Apocalypso said then, “Many things, dear.”

“All are on one condition.”

“When you are by yourself,” Io Jealousy continued after Goldilux Amore.

“Correct?” I asked, seeking approval.

“Why,” Apocalypso said, “you know?”

So suddenly everything around me perished. All which is within ended. Narrow Avenue is now a total oblivion.

14 – The Painful Experience

The will to stand up and rebel against what is wrong is an important feature to all creatures living and thinking; courage, that is to generalize it all.

“Wit’s End, by logic at first is not the ruins you see before you now. It was a city, a prosperous one at that. Still, every light summons up darkness to its side; much inseparable, they are. Even with an eye closed, everyone could see what the town lacks; progression, excitement to be precise.”

Courage is, should be, the most basic instinct men have throughout their lifetime. Without courage, nothing would change, nothing would be done; nothing would ever be everywhere.

“The town prospers because everything are heavily watched and acted according to how the government wants it to be. Socialism is at play within, action outside of command is to be ruled out as an act of rebellion and will be punished severely. How the gear turns seem to be cruel and insensible, but it works; under the significant pressure, few are brave enough to fight, resulting the town to move on a successive manner towards its future.”

“Socialism only works in theory,” I said to Apocalypso.

“The town is small enough to be controlled by the government, which is why,” Goldilux Amore replied, “small number of population and the government underlings ready to spawn everywhere in case of truants, why not bow down to it all? Death is the only result, anyway.”

“Why were there nobilities within?”

“That is because the government favors our beings to support their dictatorship,” yet again he answered to my question, “which is, quite sadly, what literally divides the town to parts; government, nobilities, and commoners.”

“In time, the town is divided to only the two great classes; the bourgeois and the proletarian. Marx’s theory is thus at play, slowly the proletarians became the mindless pawns of the bourgeois. Commonwealth is only a dream within dreams as the rich continues to expand their fortune, while the poor continues to bask in their own poverty,” Apocalypso added.

“Still, then came the revolution,” Goldilux Amore continued, “the proletarians seek to seize political power within the governing majority. Their success happened quite easily, but the town went to ruination shortly after.”

Apocalypso suddenly laughed, “Quite true, Goldilux. Still, how the town revolves on its economic wheel is never a concern to the one perpetrator to the town sublimation; maybe second, perhaps third or other numbers there are compared to childish excitement that is the true reason the town went down.”

“What,” Goldilux Amore quickly asked, “what, what are you possibly be saying?”

“Why don’t you ask Io Jealousy?” Apocalypso pointed to the girl, “she was the first one who foresee the town’s sublimation anyway.”

“Why, what?”

“She was a key to how everything ended,” Apocalypso said as she walked nearer to Io Jealousy, “I merely turned the switch on and the rest went on by itself.”

“What were you to it?” Goldilux Amore asked, obviously trying to keep his temper within.

“Nothing, really nothing,” Io answered slowly, “I just… answered his question.”

“What question?”

“On whether his act would lead to a success.”

“You said yes?”

Io nodded.

“Why you…!” Goldilux exploded to anger, only then stopped by Apocalypso.

“Face it, Goldilux! The town sublimation is unavoidable!” Apocalypso said in a high voice tone.

“So, the never-before-known prophet, eh?” within my own surprise, he stays still in his position.

“What the former town mayor said before his withdrawal, all those premonitions the town faced, wasn’t it all for this?” Apocalypso said again.

“What are all these talks about?” I suddenly get in the conversation again.

“A boy starts the rebellion, a boy and a devil; they destroyed the town symbol to start the town all over again. What resulted after was not what they had schemed, sadly,” Apocalypso answered me, “the people went to rage in the midst of total confusion, wrecking all others associated with the upper class. Within hours, the town lost what it initially had and nothing can be done but to escape off it.”

“The great exodus,” Goldilux Amore said, “it happened just before you went in. The town had become the ruins you see before you now by then.”

Courage, that is, could lead to whether a success of great acts or chaos and jeopardy; the second one if not handled carefully. Still, what isn’t better than life to succumb in its own static?

“She lived in black and white,” Apocalypso rhymed, “she is suspended from time.”

The Songbird’s Lamentation

In intricate words the songbird sings,
telling the sparrow not to wander off.
Still, disobedience is a patterned act shown.
Beyond the glass window the songbird sits still,
All in wait until what is velvet up high turned to crimson to dark.

Almost always,
the sparrow reflected after.
Repentance, but to what extent?
To what purpose the apology is summoned the songbird never know,
for the sparrow acts indifferent shortly after.

The songbird waited for the day,
that day the sparrow made game by canines and projectiles.
Hoping it to never happen so,
the songbird shows no face.
But always his sound echoes as promised to the sparrow,
so in the end she would know;
the songbird sits in wait,
the songbird sings still with ache.

13 – The Gathering of Ants

I have always hated going somewhere with a children-themed convention in it. In each and every one of them they always have this show in which they present children out into a stage and made them do tricks, anything which might bring attention to them, generally the convention itself; be it singing, dancing, or anything else entertaining.

I say corny. Corny as hell, it could bring tears to my eyes.

There is this one time, a little girl showed upstage and start to move according to the music being played while doing magic tricks. As soon as the music fades away and her few moments of fame ended, I asked the person next to me, “When do I have to cry?”

I cracked, I burst into cynical laughter; I think I did, but could perhaps only be in my mind by the time. Those little children in their stupid suits and glossy store-bought smiles, it just makes fun of themselves, right?

Well, the thing I loathed precisely would be how they appeared as I see it; I mean, little girls in heavy make-up? The world has really gone upside-down, tsunami-torn apart.

Little midgets in their flashy suits, prancing around in front of yet also flashy camera light. The gathering of ants. Just wait until they are all grown up and show them those images of them. Would they laugh, would they cry? No, a weak smile should work out enough for them to show that those aren’t really their prime time in limelight.

Well, those last sentences were not really something I intended to do here. What I really meant is this; an age of great consumerism with quick mass media spreading, and what you cared about in it are what celebrities are wearing, how they looks, what movies they are in, how to become like them, more unrealistically how to become one of them; total chaos.

Oh man, oh wow, you know nothing is going to come out right if these are what rotates in the children’s mind, coming and going out in a cycle within their short prologue in life.

By the way, sure, you could say some of these celebrities also cared for the world. But let me ask you this, when they said nothing more about it; even though the problem is still going on worldwide, would you still care for the commotion? Did the celebrity you sought for really care for the matter? Was it just another conspiracy to gain an out-of-season popularity? That is not for me to decide.

Moving on, with those kind of things going in and out of their tiny little mind, the children are going to grow up thinking that is the right way to act and end up like whores in dim-lit streets.

Life is a bitch, but it is not supposed to be interpreted like that.

That is, one gathering of ants. By now, I really has figured out how it captivated me in something either fear or horrid sickness. I am in it now, all with the rest of my personas which remained in Wit’s End. A smaller scale, yet more grandeur gathering of ants.

Suddenly Apocalypso broke the almost-eternal silence, “Has it ever occurred to you how Wit’s End came to be?”

Io Jealousy and Goldilux Amore set their eyes to me, Narrow Avenue is never that silenced in times I have been within.

A Great Adversity

I am really having a hard time since my last post to write again within my new campus life, (me) taking science really have affected my time to write; I somehow regretted making the choice, still I tried to carry on anyway for it is not that bad (just my writing life).

By the way, I have changed something to the blog, and I have written another story under Narrow Avenue on a piece of paper and it has ended successfully. That is right, I am trying to revive back NA even though I felt nobody really did read it. Still, I found myself fascinated after reading it again while listening to Kekal (again!), and I decided to write on. The new NA chapter is entitled The Gathering of Ants, and will be posted next week, perhaps if I am not busy like these three days facing me right now.

The Paper Stars That Late December

The paper stars that late December, they are wet and perhaps can be torn apart if it were to be done so.

I, with those in my hand, stepped slowly across the bright white, snow-covered town, marching to the hospital she is in. The roads are slippery, but the traffics usually there are nowhere to be seen now, so I think everything is just fine.

Fine, right, fine.

I really didn’t think the stupid me would even crumble down this one last tiny bit of act I could do to show to her, to fell down on the road as I ran forward this couple past hours. The stupid me, now I ended up with aching back and those paper stars in that condition.

I shouted at myself for my recklessness to just run, why was I made a man who did everything on impulse?

Fine, right, fine.

To start over would be nice, but the time is only now and nothing can be done to change that. I just wished the person to receive this would not mind the condition they are in right now.

What good could a single man alone do to change the universe?

If miracles really did exist, how I hoped very much to not let the paper stars be broken down. Perhaps, to dry up before I ended up giving them to her? But, what are the odds of that to happen?

A single man alone could never had that kind of thing. Miracles are only for children and the elderly and perhaps all the more possible the entertainment business, anyway.

Fine, right, fine.

If possible, could I fight the world, would I run forward once again with my aching back, force myself to my own limit? Would I do so? Could I restart everything before it all ended like the wet paper stars? Would I give off everything for it to be undone?

…

What are the odds? Nothing can be done in the end. The world is just a place far too big for one to fight alone.

Fine, right, fine.

The hospital door is just in front of me. I get in.

Nothing to be scared of, now.

I asked again in what room is she now to the same nurse as the one I asked the first time I came here. She inhaled her breath, seemingly a little confused at first.

I never thought I would be here and see her again, after that one time, still here I am as I decided to do so.

She asked what is with the paper stars, and I said they are for her. She nodded slowly.

They said a huge number of paper stars grant you wishes.

Let’s just say this, her illness is something you usually see in a drama in your usual afternoon television. You see it in your TV, you thought nothing alike is going to happen in the true world. Sadly, it really does, you know, it really does. Never say anything like it never really happened.

See her right that one instance I last saw her and you will see. The fragile state she is in is nothing like those actress sleeping in their fake hospital room crying for their fake lives.

I was crushed that one last time, and I never stepped forward again to see her. Much too afraid I will break down as well seeing her in that state. That is, until today, as I, run half my way to this one hospital before ending up walking to the place.

Fine, right, fine.

I get my paper stars on my other hand as I opened the door to her room with my right hand, whispering her name two or three times to call on her.

“I get you these, I am sorry they are a little broken down,” I showed up the paper stars, “you loved them, right? You told me you do.”

“I loved them as well, these paper stars,” I continued, “making them is so much fun like you told me, I never thought I would end up making them as well to give to you. Sorry they are not as good as yours.”

I babbled on, I gulped, my eyes a little blurry now.

“Why did you die before giving me the chance to give them to you?”

The room an empty one now, the bed bright-white in color, clean and neat still in wait for another patient like her. Her, nowhere to be seen.

Today is her funeral.

I brought out a small letter with the name of the hospital on it, entitled to me written in her small, girlish font.

This is why I came rushing here, right? Now I remember what is with the sudden impulse I felt. Slowly I open the envelope to the letter, within is still the same small, girlish font.

I loved the paper stars, but you don’t. You loved to ramble on with your inner thoughts, but I don’t.
In our differences, still I loved you so.
You know how I loved the paper stars? A huge number of them supposedly grant you wishes, but I never really did trust the words.
That is, until I met you. You are the wish I had in my dreams, you are the reason I lived my ending year in happiness.
Why, I didn’t know, to answer the question I made much more, only to find nothing ever come to mind after all.
Why, must be because I have had it in my mind after all ever since I see you.
Would you think the paper-stars’ miracle really did happen if it is like that?
I would, because I loved the paper stars. And if you loved the paper stars, somehow for sure you believed in miracles it supposedly do.
Your rational mind, would it think of me now like how you used to ramble on? It wouldn’t, right?
Fine, right, fine.
Right?

You once asked me could a man alone be able to change the universe.
the answer I can give is if you loved the paper stars, somehow you believed in miracles it supposedly do.
You, the once pessimistic boy who sat at the right end of the class,
YOU changed MY universe.
Fine, right, fine.
Right?

P.S: Thank you for the paper stars, you worked hard, right?

The paper stars that late December, they are wet and perhaps can be torn apart if it were to be done so. Still, they are wetter than before now as the letter is now on the floor, half dried.

Some New Drawings

I see my drawings were pretty well-liked these past few days, opposed against the writings this blog is supposed to be about; Well, sure I don’t mind, but I sure would love it if my number one hobby is to be seen first ha3.

Here are the new ones, sorry one is not complete, I haven’t got the time to finish it since university has started again and I am dying to get it uploaded.

The first one is credited to Aiko-Frikki, and the second one still to Pyromaniac. Enjoy.

My Drawings, Based on Pyromaniac’s on DeviantArt

I had recently caught back to drawing, and I never really did take it seriously. Just might let you all out there know. Here are some examples I drew from DeviantArt’s Pyromaniac. God, I loved his way of drawing… All credit to Pyromaniac himself, as my comment seemed to never reached to him. All I asked in it was just could I draw from his galleries or not… More coming, perhaps still in credit to Pyromaniac or perhaps some others with the same style.

P.S: Sorry about the paper used, I am the type who suddenly feel the urge to draw or to write instantly. So, any paper near me and… Ha3.

Within The Sea

I dreamed I am ’someone’.

I was within the sea, I am within the sea; I have been within for as long as I can remember.

The sea is warm, and at the same time it gives off a pleasant feel to its surrounding. I have always wanted to see how the sea looks or how sand would feel on my bare hands, but not only my eyes never open themselves, my hands are numb to every act I requested them to do. Even so, everytime I can hear voices. usually only the sea waves, a couple of times a day the sand drifting around me.

Sometimes, there is laughter.

Two kinds of laughter, I have to say, but only within my early days. Who are those two I am curious, but I have no intention to seek out. At first.

The laughter’s’ frequency somehow dropped down within days, to the point in which it ends entirely. I tried to call up to them, for their voices here again to accompany me within this monotonous loneliness, but no whisper is heard. I guess my mouth is bound as well.

I recognized days later that in my acts to call for them, they know now of me being there and were engulfed in fear. I can say so because the emotion within the sea changed drastically all of a sudden to worst I have ever faced since the beginning of days. Like, one of those uneasiness you fell on top of a sea ship before a huge rainstorm.

I called for help, of course, in my little strength I tried to hold my hands up high even though they don’t really do so. I screamed to the highest pitch of my voice as well, yet nothing came out in the end. Nothing I do seem to affect my surrounding at all.

To surrender to the sickening feeling is not an option, isn’t it? After all, there is something for me to accomplish now.

Just last night, I dreamed I am someone.

‘Someone’ in my definition perhaps seems to be too simple to be a dream, too basic of a dream it is of high possibility to be a laughingstock.

`

I dreamed, I am nowhere near the sea. I am with others of my own, unlike the solitary me now. I grow as seasons change and years passed by. I finished college and entered a work institution I am pleased to be in. There, I found someone I am in love in I consider to be my soul mate; a woman with a lovely face and a fair background who seems to impress others who I introduced her to.

We go out at occasions, and without me knowing we are already married. We have kids, of couse. What is there in a marriage if we have no children in the end? Ever since the dawn of time, we men are made to reproduce to leave our lineage on the world, anyway.

We grow old together, our children grow as well to teenage going into adulthood. We shed tears on one of our kids’ marriage. A happy one in a white chapel on a hill before the ocean; just like the one we dreamed we had back then.

In the end, I died of old age. Surrounded by the family I had built, with their tears accompanying their loved one who have just left them. I died smiling, a huge smile at that to prove that I have been on top until the very end. In my death, I have beaten life.

`

Thus the dream ended there, and I am back to my reality. Will a storm come I can not predict, but everything near me seem to say so.

I felt fear for the sea frequently trembled these past few days. In any day or so, perhaps I am going to die. Call it an intuition, still the optimism I carries in me keep me holding on longer to not lose hope. I keep gripping on to life, any chance something comes to lullaby me to sleep I don’t bow down to them; I know if I let my eyes be closed even just for a moment I will die.

I fought on; that is until a harpoon bigger than me comes into the sea, whirling full of rage which then summons up a storm. The sky darkens and only the roaring thunders are heard on my ears. A giant splash of wave as the harpoon struck me hard slowly. I perished.

Now the dream is never to be fulfilled. Perhaps too sad to be true as I weep for it. Still, life is like that and no one can predict what to happen in the near future. What I wished then is for me to be back again within the sea, the calm monotonous sea which has hold me within for as long as I can remember. The drifting sand, the splashes of sea wave, and not forgetting the laughter I heard on my early days. The laughter which seem to be of no malice, pure soundings flow inside my ear, calming me to an even more light extent. Laughter completely made out of love. How I hoped I can hear it for one last time, but I guess I can not now, right?

Good bye, then.

.

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.

.

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“The abortion is complete.”