smoky weekend

It's a Monday. Another Monday in an endless and vicious cycle of weeks and months and years. Hopefully, I'd get to take my money home for last month's worth of work.

Anyhow, there are a few things that are worth writing about today. Well, all of them happened during the weekend. I was lazing around during last Saturday. It was sticky and humid. Another sleepy weekend. I got a call from a friend, he was asking me what I was up to. I sheepishly answered 'Not much. Just trying to get some more sleep." He told me to come over, I did, and so did other friends. We were gathered to hear news. He told me on the phone that he'd rather tell the story personally.

I was first on the scene, he was grilling some homemade burgers. They were delicious. As other friends arrived (most of us came from the same high school but we never really got to hang out in the same group of friends.) He popped the news. He was already a dad. It didn't come out as a surprise to most of us, the surprise was he was a father for almost three months. The kid was beautiful. Congratulatory remarks came after and so did the story behind it. He himself told us that it felt like it came from a comedy script. I'll write more about that later on.

We enjoyed drinks and snacks and helluva lotta laughter. We remembered different tales from the not so distant past. But it felt like it was a decade ago. Come to think of it, we're half past due on those stories. We got acquainted with each other's current dilemmas and idiosyncrasies about being on the post-college phase.

Sharing a paunch with the new dad and son. 
They have identical perfect domes for an old man cut.

Fatherhood has different faces. For my dear friend, and for me, as I put it all up in my idea board of a mind: his story was that of irony and quirkiness. His daddy face is somewhat of a guy reading a magazine or a book or an online article on a hot afternoon. He is a fellow writer, and a god damn good one at that. Straight fucking A of a writer and he's now a dad. His story will be unfolding and it feels script worthy. I know it is. I feel it is. We just have to think of ways to write it.

I don't know how he'll react to this. I know he'll be reading this post and I didn't get the chance to fully congratulate him. Good job. You'll be a great father and friend to your son. He'll grow up to be a weird but brilliant hipster just like his old man and sweet mom.

Another noteworthy thing is a friend having the same feelings about work and making it big and happy in the fucking world. "Tara. Game ako dyan. Tapos magreresign ako, magbibisyo at magsusulat. Maganda pa t-shirt ko" like minded shit from a brilliant mind. I just put my friends in such high regard and they deserve every bit of it.

We kinda hooked it up on making my project work. It'll be more than a collaboration, more of a partnership. With his help, I know we can make something good with our god-given talents and ill skillz. I love that dude, no homo.

Quit our jobs. Do our shit. Write the hell out of every emotion, injustice, unfortunate event and other shit. Do more shit. Feed our vices and do more shit. And as icing to the cake, we get to have cool threads. How fucking good is that? And we'd get tatted up like we own our bodies. Sorry moms.

Head strong, boiiieee.

frigid

"The temptation was over bearing. The proximity was fearful and delectable at the same time. She was inches away but I was too scared to do anything. It was a frozen yet passing moment. It was delightfully memorable.

She was just there but I was far away in a place I've created for myself. I had no ticket home though I felt that I was never away. Never away as long as she was close.

I've had passed to make sure no mistakes were made. No regrets in the next morning. My mouth was a minty hot mess. Maybe it's how I'd want her to remember my lips. Disgusting but somehow... Different, in a good way. I want to steal her sleep but I can't. That's why I'm writing this now to make me realize how much of a chance I let slip by.

It passed through the gaps of my fingers. I couldn't even smell her, even with just inches of gaping and proud space that's separating us. It was a long fall, long enough to reminisce the firsts of many things. I had let my perfect goodbye slip into just a memory of a failed sortie. She was too much for me. That I know, that I'll never forget. Foolish boy. Goddam foolish boy. Pansy-ass sissy.

There is no songbird tonight."

...

how to fucking make it out of work

I've been watching this show religiously. It's a 2-season series that's made up of 8 episodes per season. Bad news is that it got canceled on HBO and 'may' have the chance of resurfacing on another channel.

This is something of a wake-up call for me since the show revolves about 20-somethings in their constant sprawl to hustle and make a name for themselves at the gritty NYC. It's a good story but short lived.

"Hustle" is such a strong word for me. It represents a scuffle, street smarts, struggle and balancing victory and defeat. The events portrayed on the show represents each and adds a spritz of comedy and relatability (not to mention generous amounts of nudity and innuendo.)

Staying up late just to watch the complete two seasons made me want to take a move on with my plans for a silk screen printing business. Yes, if I weren't writing, I'd be making clothes. Sucky and tacky, I know. The prospect of making good clothes that people can actually appreciate is something I've thought about waaaay more than I do for work.

Once I get enough funds to start my own craft, I'd quit this day job and make my own way. The confidence and doubt of the characters are fighting to win over each other. It's another relatable thing for most 20-somethings. I'm feeeling like I'm writing a review for Thought Catalog but that's how it is. We never figure out what we want to do in our 20s. Some of us may have good day jobs but the fact of the matter is, most of us don't want it, we just kinda need it to stay afloat in a quagmire of bureaucratic ladders.

Many of us can say that we are anchored by something in some way, most of the time, that's true. MOST of the time. But we still feel like floating. And this post is already starting to rise up to the surface instead of sinking to my deeper thoughts.

Anyhow, I'd get a start up on my business as soon as I have the money. In the meantime, I think I'll make a concept for my project. 

Fuck! I love this show. Dirty, ambitious, flashy and fucking rad. Higher being, please send us season three. You can do it anytime you wish, we'll be waiting.

Good morning, Doctor.

Photo from The Selvedge Yard

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming– “Wow! What a Ride!”

— Hunter S. Thompson

Wise words from a man who didn't wait for life to take him away. Badly bruised and beaten, half-drunk and half-stoned on a full head-on collision course. Life is supposed to wear people down. Otherwise, we should have been made immortal and forever young in our physical shells.

Threadbare and worn to the ground, I'm feeling like an old man with no trophy or medal or some sort of accomplishment to put up in the air. I know you don't believe in luck, Doctor. I don't, either. Let's get beautifully mangled.

Half-hearted Monday

photo from The Selvedge Yard

“I make a point of staying right at the edge of poverty. I don’t have a pair of pants without a hole in them, and the only pair of boots I have are on my feet. I don’t mess around with unnecessary stuff, so I don’t need much money. I believe it’s meant to be that way. There’s a ‘struggle’ you have to go through, and if you make a lot of money it doesn’t make the ‘struggle’ go away. It just makes it more complicated. If you keep poor, the struggle is simple." 

- Kenny Howard aka Von Dutch

The quote came from The Selvedge Yard.

I believe that this should be a constant reminder, to everyone. Making money is not bad, unless it becomes what you live your life for.