It isn’t madness but shame for wanting
and shame for not having what I want,

which is a kind of madness—drunk,
3 a.m., the stairwell too steep to climb.

The bed can wait. I go to the pool instead,
strip and step in, the smell of smoke and sweat

washing from hair and skin. The wet kiss:
his mouth pressed here, my neck, and there,

my chest—in the end—went nowhere.
Cars pass with coupled strangers. I wade.

The brick wall stretches into the sky,
the sky empty, save the constellations,

whose lives I love—yours most of all,
father of poets, whose lyre filled trees

and stones with awe, the lover torn to shreds
and thrown in to the river. Tonight,

you’re the swan, lost among pinholes of light,
your throat bitten by a black hole

that takes and takes and never fills. I kick,
stroke my tired arms to buoy this body.

It makes ring after perfect ring, but each one
breaks along the edge. You who never were,

did you look down on the world at last
and see that more won’t be enough? Not now.

Not ever. Want picks the human heart.
You’re the lie I won’t believe forever.
by Blas Falconer

within and without

Sometimes I feel like I’m an outsider in my own skin.

An observer peering inside, voyeuristic, but not quite involved. Perennially subjected to the whims and qualms of people living around me– all characters kept unaware under the bright lure of their own stories; novelty disintegrating, plot lines fading, dialogue banal and prosaic.

Yet all are characters nonetheless.


Is reality a story to be told, or to be heard? Is a story a story without an ending? 

Can a character be within, and without?


I’ve always wanted the world, and more. It’s in my nature.
It’s ridiculous to hear it now, but I’ve been pondering on what I really want to do with my life. With my future, career-wise.

It really just hit me earlier in religion class when Sister asked us how God reveals Himself to us.
Of course, I said that God was always an essential part in my process of decision-making. (Which is very true, ever since All The Evil happened last year) That was a Millenium reference, if you spotted it.

I think I’m starting to question my decision for my career path. I mean yeah, the thing I want isn’t exactly the easiest path (well it’s fruckin hard, tbh), but I really love it. P.S. I’m talking about film.

Cinema is such a big thing in my life– and to be honest, I don’t think there’s anything besides poetry and film that I’m extremely passionate about. Well, besides traveling, and perhaps eating, but wow, now I’m rambling. Ok.

Back to the main issue here.
My ultimate dream is to direct my own movie. Like Francis Ford Coppola, Alfred Hitchcock, Steve McQueen and all that jazz. Directing is something that I am extremely interested in (not the play type of drama, if I liked that kind of thing I would’ve joined Curtain Call), and screenwriting sounds pretty tempting too. I love Hollywood glam, I mean literally everything about the art of cinema I love. I can’t act, but I love the whole idea of acting– so I’d rather direct and stuff. Plus I want to venture into the wonderful world of cinematography! Ahhh I’m already giddy. Damn.
But at the same time, practicality has to eventually come in the picture. I chose Economics since well, I don’t exactly hate it, and I do enjoy my Marx and Freakonomics as well. Problem is, it’s jot something that I love love, you get me? It’s okay, but I want more. As usual.

Okay, I’ve rambled on for quite some time and it’s 22 minutes past midnight and I do have my Economics exam tomorrow which I need to ace– so adieu, farewell. Wish me luck.