for childhood dreams to return to me
Five seconds ago, while logging into blogger, I was already formulating my thesis statement for today's blogging piece. I actually wanted to discuss Encantadia, Mulawin, Darna, Krystala and the whole slop.... or maybe, more specifically, the Filipino concept of fantasy. And how it's being murdered by teleserye directors, editors, scriptwriters and actors.
But friggin' hello. Like I care. Not tonight. Right now, all I have are empty spaces inside of me. Let the geek goddess discuss her geeky topic some other day. And my Tori Amos soundtrack isn't helping. Tonight, the music is paralyzing me into a static form of ennui. I can't erase it.
I'll tell you a secret. Something I have always been afraid to say aloud, fearing that giving words to it would make it come true. Imagine --- to hex yourself into losing the most important thing you've ever had. But this one's been eating at me and maybe I have to pull at it, draw it out, study it until I know what to do about it. If... I can still do something about it.
I think I'm losing my gift for words. It isn't writer's block though I know that too can last for decades. I wish it was just a simple problem of not having ideas, because then I wouldn't know what I'm missing. But to know the story and not be able to express it... what do I do about that? It's a muteness that has stealthily stolen over my body. Someone's robbed me of my silver pen and the worst thing is --- I think it's an inside job.
That's why I love just sitting here in front of my computer every night. Sometimes I even believe the blank monitor is a sorta friend. So many spaces to fill. And I would sit here, every night I can. Just in case the first few words would return to me. I don't care if it comes to me two phrases at a time.
I will wait until the dreams come back.
But friggin' hello. Like I care. Not tonight. Right now, all I have are empty spaces inside of me. Let the geek goddess discuss her geeky topic some other day. And my Tori Amos soundtrack isn't helping. Tonight, the music is paralyzing me into a static form of ennui. I can't erase it.
I'll tell you a secret. Something I have always been afraid to say aloud, fearing that giving words to it would make it come true. Imagine --- to hex yourself into losing the most important thing you've ever had. But this one's been eating at me and maybe I have to pull at it, draw it out, study it until I know what to do about it. If... I can still do something about it.
I think I'm losing my gift for words. It isn't writer's block though I know that too can last for decades. I wish it was just a simple problem of not having ideas, because then I wouldn't know what I'm missing. But to know the story and not be able to express it... what do I do about that? It's a muteness that has stealthily stolen over my body. Someone's robbed me of my silver pen and the worst thing is --- I think it's an inside job.
That's why I love just sitting here in front of my computer every night. Sometimes I even believe the blank monitor is a sorta friend. So many spaces to fill. And I would sit here, every night I can. Just in case the first few words would return to me. I don't care if it comes to me two phrases at a time.
I will wait until the dreams come back.
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