voyeuristic abstract confessions

iconoclastica @ 2004-01-19T18:20:00

2004-01-19T10:22:21Z

as nomadic as i can be, i have moved to a different space. i am here.

sequence

2004-01-02T10:37:13Z

openingthis was the opening sentence to my novella to which i gave birth to in the middle of last year but had i abandoned my child due to my lackadaisical nerves:

"the dragonfly in front of him is ghostly mobile"

resolution

2004-01-01T12:59:26Z

broken

as i mentioned in my other journal, new year resolutions breathe nothingness and they breed monotonous shades. like an empty glass. like a vacant box. like an abandoned mansion with its hollow windows as eyes. i would like to break one of my resolutions. i thought of not destroying any length of my chemical-covered hair by not cutting even a centimetre off. i will break that resolution now. sliced an inch by 8:59. done.

pyramids

2003-12-23T13:47:57Z

sand

i will walk on the cold sand. the land of pyramids await. i will bring with me my lonely heart. and by next year, this journal will be benrik-based: the intriguing diary that might change my life. i will see you soon.

haemorrhage

2003-12-07T05:15:24Z

spine

i did not bleed. but i felt the pain. abstract elements can be very wonderful- it makes you think- why is it that i can feel yet i can never see? i have dark-colored photographs of my insides. my spine curving like a serpent. and swirling together with my spine is a metal. i want to show them that- how it feels like to have such a substance bolted in my spine. how it feels like to be jeered as a hunchback. but the end of it- i feel nothing but glad. i have something to tell, my life is not that pointless.

alcohol

2003-11-30T05:52:10Z

wishes

i wish to be away for the sake of my work.
i wish i could be vicious in front of him.
i wish to hide underneath the books.
i wish i could stop a psychotic man from haunting me.
i wish to burn the punk books he gave to me as a gift.
i wish to understand a different language.
i wish i have the money to purchase a distorted sampler.
i wish she could leave me alone for a few minutes.
i wish bottles of vodka, cognac and cheap red wine to be sent in a box for me tonight. cheers.

americaland

2003-11-25T22:01:31Z

reasons

i have done this in the kitchen. i came up with three. i hid one secretly inside me. mother would be upset if she knows the third key. but i am young and i am bound to make mistakes- why bother? because i am still the girl who worries on the rights and wrongs in concluding my choices. i will always bother myself with the questions i create. sometimes i wish for no answer, but at least an ear to listen to my inquiries attentively- but why bother? because no one listens to me. every other person is so curled up in their own virtual hiding places but still wishing to project their problems through my eyes. i cannot help them but i can hear them. i wish to listen to them. sometimes i think i listen too much to other beings that i stopped listening to myself. until recently when i started to keep myself silent and away from most people and start to crosstitch the questions. i do this frequently when i am at his apartment together with his presence. because he makes me think of myself and all the questions would emerge from deep within me. maybe they had been planted years before, maybe i had just given birth to them. but i had only lived for 18 naivete years- i have yet to taste depression or pain. i had just approached vulnerability. who knows why? i just feel susceptible. this is not meant to be a letter streaked with bipolar-phases. it can be read in a happy mode or a sombre tone- whichever but who would read this? i should be able to answer this myself: me

reasons to why i want to move to america next august

: my mission is to free my mother as soon as possible. only when i leave my homeland with sufficient amount of money can my mother flee herself from her depression.

: i have to adjust with the climate. winter can be fucking harsh and i need to fix myself with a different land at the most perfect time. september it is.

: i can be with him after his third or fourth month settling in that county. i need to feel the pain so i have to join him studying as soon as possible. if i move in during the winter, my feelings would be as numb as anesthetic. i still crave for pain to enjoy life as it is.

maternal

2003-11-23T18:50:40Z

anatomy

it was biological. anyone who knows my heart very well would know that i have no space of affection for little humans. i would usually run away from children- they scare me. my principle was nothing intricate: if there are two creatures- a baby and a kitten- drowning in a violent river, i would dive in and rescue the feline, not the human. my idea was that the baby would grow up to be an adult and as a human, he would develop most unpleasant characteristics. animals, on the other hand, do not matter. but i think i am trying to change my perspective on children. i think i should be more tolerant. after learning that my beloved visal is expecting his child and is soon to be a young father, i realized how important it is for me to learn to love young beings. he spoke to me of bringing up his child with me [though i doubt i would be a good godmother]. the idea is distorted: i am in love with a young man who is expecting a child while his impregnated girlfriend is planning on leaving their child with him in michigan while she searches for a better job in phnom penh. i, on the other hand, will be the bitter godmother learning the art of being maternal in between my studies.

i found my newborn cousin in his cloth cradle, blinking his eyes slowly at me- half asleep, half awake. i was enthralled at the first sight. he did not cry so i swung th cradle while scrutinizing every features of him- his slit eyes, tiny fingers, tiny legs. it was magical. i never thought how wonderful it was to look at the anatomy of a young human. every single part of him was so mini. that was only i realized how amazing it would be for a mother to bear her own child and count every little fingers and toes that matter. shamine kept on smiling at my reaction on being close with a newborn. she must have knew that i was doing that for the first time, and that i was motivated in doing so because of my love for an expecting father. still, i was engrossed in every moment studying my little cousin. his breathing excited me. every other blinking he made was warm.

though sometimes i wish that visal's child was never to be produced at the first place or born for that matter, deep inside me, i actually wish to see and greet the child. whatever that is revolving around us, i am still a close friend of visal's and that position triggers me to meet his child, despite of what is going on between me and the father. i have no intention in becoming the child's substitute of a mother. i am just elated of the idea of seeing my friend's product of a lustful activity. i do not think i have to put on a motherly mask when the time comes for me to meet his child. i have learnt something new: i just have to appreciate nature- the birth of a human- and learn to love.

screenplay

2003-11-22T20:29:25Z

box

i had my story on jack and jill constructed but as far as i am concerned, my intuition tells me not to pass it on to that particular pop junkie channel. i should know better: jack and jill are not supposed to be portrayed on that kind of tube. i would rather see them both choking on valium on a murky dark-set stage or on an amateur blinding video. i had mathiau and heather before- but these necrophiliacs got out of hand. as a writer, i sometimes feel incredibly godlike each time i create a certain persona out of my very own brain and pen. but god should not be afraid of his own creation! i became terrified of what mathiau and heather have become: deliciously devouring flesh of the dead, notoriously slaughtering children of their own blood, fucking each other in the end. should a character be a part of the writer's personality? i am in a puzzle- am i psychologically stable? once, i told my beloved friend of my fiendish passion on writing. as i mentioned, creating a story is creating a universe for me. similar to god, i create abstract humans, locations and reality plots. still, i love my characters so much- elizabeth, mathiau, heather, jacques and jillian- that i usually end up murdering them. i take away their lives though i love them. sometimes i could just see them as my friends but that is the strangest part, i murder them. does that mean that i have thoughts of murdering any platonic relationships that i come across? i need to know if there is an interconnection. no one will bother to answer these questions and never would i utter these set of questions to any shrinks. this came to me as a random thought and thoughts- who knows where they come from. i also need to make it clear to myself that i would never allow jack and jill to appear on a junkie television channel. they are bleak- they do not belong there. they belong in my heart.

tuesday

2003-11-21T05:09:44Z

dateless

i do not understand why ed seems to be so interested in me. i hate his usage of english, though- his flaws are claws to me. "because you are a fucking weirdo and a rock and roller!" he needs a psychiatrict to treat his heart, not a weirdo. a weirdo does nothing but to rub salt on his wounded heart. in my case, i would smear acid. rock and roller? it reminds me of a poetry i used to read during thoughts in writing class- a particular rhyming work on prostitutes luring policemen listening to jazzy records. he wanted this to be a date, a special one for i was his dream girl. i wanted it to be a mutual meeting- 100% platonic inclination in order to exchange the books we promised. i brought along occult murders and walked in the rain towards the pyramid. as i was soaking myself, i wondered why i would go all the way for this pathetic being just for a book on andy warhol. apparently, ed appeared to be a darker and younger version of comic warhol himself. until i came up closer to him to actually know that he must be a complete chimney- a sucker for cigarettes like i used to be. awkward at first, i asked him whether he wanted to dine. he said yes and preferred mcdonald's. i brought him along to that place and he quickly grabbed a seat. i stood beside him, waiting for him to actually get up and line up for the orders. he smiled at me instead.

"so what do you want?" i asked, still in an awkward manner.

ed stated so-and-so. i stood there like a statuette, still wanting him to at least get up and run for the queue. he sat down silently still. i sighed and said: "fine then. i'll take up the orders for us." i marched down for the line, muttering a single fine word: "jerk" all over and over again. food aside, he showed me the books he brought along- the andy warhol biography, the roots of punk and burrough's naked lunch. he also gave me his sonic youth cd. our conversation was very monotonous and dry- he went on telling me about his inclination in using drugs without getting addicted [yeah right], his passion for electronic music and such. when he mentioned the german electronic band that came to town a few years ago having similarities to depeche mode, i quickly pointed out:

"depeche mode? i love depeche mode."
"really? which album do you prefer?"
"not exciter. i like their 80s shit."
"right on. the era when they had that particular haircut, eh?"
"exactly. you know the frontman? david gahan?"
"that's his name? yeah, i know him. why?"
"he looks like my boyfriend. i really feel good walking with my boyfriend because i keep on thinking that i'm actually walking with david gahan himself. it's a very nice feeling, you know."

ed did not answer anything. he kept on smiling but it was somewhat plastic. i quickly told him that i needed to go home for my assignments are waiting to be done. he nodded and we walked off. we shook hands, i took a cab and boy, was i relieved to back in my bedroom soon after- not having to look or converse anything with such a person. but not for long. soon after he sent me messages indicating his interest in me, how he wanted a second date and such. i told him "no" since i would be sticking with sensible visal, not a dude who does not even care to fill his brain up with some quality education but instead fucks his neurons with more hallucinogen substances. ugh. i started to hate him as i went to sleep. his messages had been so mushy, i deleted every single one of them with pure elation. fuck you, ed- hyperpathetica being.

psycho

2003-11-20T18:38:17Z

sleep

i could not shut my eyes. maybe i was anxious. the fact that i could not concentrate on focusing my attention fully on my two assignments: practicing my speech on psycho being a classic and studying the communication theories textbook for the quizzes. i was awake in the wee hours of morning- writing the text, compiling the pictures, reading the fucking green book and answering eddy's lovesick messages at the same time. it was polychronic. i felt the rush i could not even sleep. therefore i woke up a zombie. i was in need of full-stomach sleep. i wrote a legnthy essay on the static stages of relationships. why do all these people have to make something so natural to sound so mechanical and robotic? i was wondering. my mind was cloudy yet questionable. i could still think a bit though i needed bottles of oxygen to calm me down. i stepped out of the first class for my public speaking session. i had the technical things set up and began my speech. i swore mark was not listening well when i first started. i took 40 seconds more than i should- it was frustrating. i fumbled with my words and time- if only i were more relaxed and had more sleep- i could have scored fully. yet mark, as wonderful as he can be, gave me 9 points for my ability to cover up my flaws while speaking [?].

bed

i lied to eddy. so what if i did? what right did he have to know about when i was to go for my bed? i needed sleep but i ended up on the couch with visal instead, listening to his historic bedtime stories of cambodian politics and possible wars that he would create if ever he gets to assasinate hun sen. it was afternoon- i lied down beside him, exhausted of watching him drinking deliriously. he ushered me to his bedroom instead and played the fucking bryan adams song on a repeat mode. i found out that he finds blood interesting. i was not bleeding too much but if blood doth fascinates him [i thought why not?] it did not worked. maybe it was the bryan adams song that distracted me. maybe it was my uncertainty. we ended up watching eyes wide shut instead. visal thought the film would intrigue me since he knows my passion for strange-built movies but no, i was bored and tired. he taught me cambodian language during his lovely dinner though. but i found out that i do not have a good tongue.

fence

we said goodbye by the fence. he was to fly for vietnam the following morning. i was supposedly the mad patient suffering from a mental disorder, wearing my pajamas outside late at night. he was supposedly the monkey caged in a luxarious zoo. the fence had been our border since day one. but we tend to get more platonic at the fence, and i liked it. it was a nice goodbye. if only eddy could fuck himself off.

psychoanalysis

2003-11-15T16:54:10Z

letter

dual personality. i used to adore norman bates and i used to be directly ecstatic at the sound of his being on the b&w screen. i was in the convent and that was what i usually do- fantasized of having sex metaphorically with him while getting murdered brutally. i wanted his knife to penetrate deep within me and let me sigh in both orgasm and torture before i die. it was my sense of morbidity. but nowadays, i do not care about psycho anymore. i used to write letters to norman bates, saying how much love i have to offer him and how much tolerance i have for his mental state. but last evening, i wrote a letter to the boy. by the second page, i had already drenched the paper with my tears and smudged the ink all over my face. ed tried to console my heart through the cellphone but that did not worked. i cried so rapidly a river, so loud that my folks were wondering why. this was nothing bipolar. i moved around the house with my puffy eyes and rudolph red nose without answering any of their concerned questions. i continued on with my crying until my mother let me embraced her fully. i needed that- just a simple physical contact with someone i love. i should have not written the goddamn letter!

lucid

2003-11-15T06:29:41Z

dreams

in a normal manner, i would cry if in reality if my dreams play sad dramas revolving my being. i despise every single sad dreams i have had. i would have opened my eyes only to find my sallow face streaked with saline liquid and my pulse pushing against my skin. however, the dream i have encountered today was different. my reaction had been varied. i saw visal slipping the ring onto her finger, and they were in bliss in front of so many humans i do not know still. i could not figure out the faces but they were there to celebrate the moment. i was there as well, location a foggy hideaway, and though i knew my cue was on and tears were what i could afford to release- i stood silent. after moments of static, i walked away heartbroken to a nearby drain and sat down on the dirty pavement as i watched the polluted water running fast enough to generate electricity. i wanted to electrocute myself but still i did not cry. suddenly, i felt his hands on my shoulders- the touch was extremely familiar, i did not have to use my brain to figure out who. "why are you sitting here alone?" he asked softly. i could detect that particular bliss in his voice, all mixed with semi-empathic emotions. i turned to him, sniffed his alcoholic scent and answered: "because i can never make you be with me." he sighed his usual problematic sigh and hugged me instead. i pushed him away and drowned myself in the drain. i woke up and instantly, i ran my fingers on my face. my skin should have been damp with tears but it was dry instead. i have lost my feelings to rationality.

haemorrage

2003-11-15T05:38:53Z

alone

as my eyes fluttered open, i saw an unfamiliar wall. visal was not beside me and the bedroom was shattered in coldness. i thought i heard his nasal voice saying that he could kill the cold in order to rejuvenate me. i mumbled him that he needed to give his keys and everything would be alright. but he was gone. i walked around the room, still in a midst of sleephood, searching for the remote control. i thought i found it lying on a desk- a metallic gadget of some sort. i pushed the off button but the machine still rumbled monotonously. i fumbled with the buttons for a few seconds until i saw the razorblades. i laughed at my own stupidity- how could i have assumed a shaver for an air conditioner controller?

interview

how could visal have left me alone in his crib? i was devastated, i played around his bedroom like a brainless 5-year-old. i discovered him being a metrosexual [as trendy as it is these mod days]- facial cleanser, whitening products, a teddy hidden underneath the laundry. i managed to not look at his bitch's photographs though. i refused. i walked away leaving his place for the interview. the idiots running the sessions drove me to the edge of the cliff- i nearly fell down in a pit of boiled anger. i projected them my dark side- just because they posess the power to lead does not mean that they can easily waste my time as a mere volunteering journalist! i made them apologize to me, especially eugene, whom i felt deep hatred for. i walked off the interview and as i was walking back to visal's place, i received a good luck message from him. too late, darling.

blood

i bled continuously at a so-called mysterious apartment. justin has one of the most wonderful bathrooms ever- the one without a lock + how secured was i to be inside there while faisal was next door curling up in pure nakedness, full on weed perhaps. faisal these few days. he used to irritate my nerves but nowadays, he is plain scary. i met him in the elavator while i was drinking my carton of juice this evening + he came in saying hi complete with a trippy drawl. i quickly put away the carton, embarrassed to be caught drinking in the middle of the fasting month. i gave him a half-terrified-half-sheepish smile until i noticed his fag dangling from his mouth. "hey, you're not fasting too!" i managed to say. he laughed so loud that i quickly make my way out of the elavator without saying goodbye.

death

visal was concerned about my bleeding. he knew that the rush of blood would transmogrify me into a monstrous being or a serpent-headed bitch with a venom tongue. i wanted him to take me for a walk down the garden because my mission was to fight off the pain and if my darling could be with me, the pain would be lessened. maybe it was psychological. but he refused. he guzzled more beer and created many excuses. he suggested he could walk with me from the 13th floor to the basement using the staircase instead! the pain inside was unbearable but the pain of being rejected was more hurtful. i knew he was ashamed to be with me in public, due to his own guilt. i left his house immediately, walked around with zephina near the cobalt pool, and went to see him again to apologize. i hugged him dearly and said: "i am sorry." "why? i didn't take any offence to whatever you've done!" he replied nonchalantly. silence. "what if you die or i die and i don't get the chance to apologize and you don't get the chance to forgive?" he smiled teasingly and said: "well, if you die then goodbye!" that was it. i turned around and left him again in anger. and the worst thing was that i left my discman accidentally on his bed.

locomotives

2003-11-14T19:10:49Z

travel

the train journey was unbelievable. as i was sitting down in between the fully-clothed ladies, i concentrated my optical views in between my communication theory textbook and the landscape before me from the window. there were many buildings, and although i know they are in reality new, i secretly felt that they were ruined and dysfunctional. the walls were grim and gloomy, the windows appeared like sunken eyes of a drunken man, the grounds were vacant. the reflection scared me. i closed my eyes but each time i open them back, i was bound to be afraid. i felt as if i was trapped in a horrific game.

venom

i was aggravated by the absense of both adriana and mihiri. i was alone for awhile, until jimmy striked up a conversation on his theory of the matrix trilogy and a sketch of a metaphorical puerto rican poetry. but that moment lasted for a few seconds. he dashed off with his group members for his presentation for the day and i was left alone, yet again, with my artwork on poverty during the second wave of immigration in america. visal was behind me, as usual, ignoring my presence for the sake of his reputation as a loyal lover to the paedophiliac bitch. the atmosphere was surreal until rajee snapped my brain into reality again. her sarcasms burnt my insides but i resorted to being silent. i know my silence and blank expression can cut others deeply. i used that against her. she could have taken my goddamn colored lollipops for all i care- why was she holding that sort of a grudge for not being in the grainy footage? i took off pisey's poster off the wall and pinned in mine instead. i love the interconnection- i gave her poster to visal, he gave me back the satanic, punchy films and i returned his bulky sweatshirt.

worries

the afternoon burnt my skin badly. my eyes became tiny slits on the face- the lights were blaring. i worried for adriana the whole razing day- she was nowhere. she did not picked up her phone, no one knew where she was until she said: "i am at some mysterious place." zephina drove me to her house. i studied her cooking the cornbeef-i was so delighted about cooking it. i had in my mind that i would cook the very same dish in order to impress my father and later on to visal. i had the recipe printed automatically in my brain- every single move and ingredients zephina dealt with, i counted in a proper fashion. she later on brought me to the ramadhan bazaar. i felt mushy. there was a time back five years ago when i would walk to a similar bazaar with my mother but not anymore. i do not think i would go to another bazaar ever before going to the land of westernization.

fear

my heart felt uneasy as i finished breaking my fast. i wanted to see him badly- i could not bear a single fact that i could not sleep beside him again for that night. i packed my clothing and walked secretly to his hiding place in the middle of the night- i did not care. visal had his smile glued to his childish face as i entered the apartment. he listened to what i had to rant- how sorry i am to be such an arrogant leader of the group and the anguish to be hated by someone i should be able to cooperate with. "after all, we're only humans," was what he managed to say at the end. the television was buzzing in front of us. later on, we were both in his bedroom and i could not help but to feel how happy i was to be with him. i could just erase any sexual encounters with him but just being there beside him- hearing him breathing and heartbeats were able to produce such wonderful elation in me. i will miss those elements soon enough. and i know that missing those elements will be a cursed pain for me.

prologue

2003-11-12T15:30:44Z

beginning

i breathe to you a wishful thinking- a happy beginning for the both of us. my brain, my heart and my soul needs a techno disclosure. whatever happens in reality and in the abstract world will be constructed into prose words in the forms of letters. my letters to every single human that i come in contact and communicate with in life as well as to every single thing that exists before my very asiatic eyes. i need you to be a narcotic element for me to indulge in catharsis. this life is painful enough for me without such revelations and darling confessions. i want you to listen. i need you to understand and i likened to you be a part of the oxygen that i breathe in- completely essential. i, hereby, declare this you as my placebo that i need to consume on for the rest of my fragile life.