Archive for July, 2010 LOVE.


…and there’s a thousand movies rented for a thousand nights with him.

A few minutes on Friday

Posted: July 23, 2010 in MUSIKA
Tags: , , , ,

she kills, with foreign films, the emptiness of day to day
and i wait until the weekend comes
so i can clear this uselessness from my brain
i count the days until she arrives
those precious minutes when she is mine
as we walk from my front door to her car
we are so close and alone
but that will disappear in a room filled with the warmth
of others company

there is too much company
i hide my wounded pride and stare off into the other cars
if i could just speak the words to tell her
exactly how i feel
i count the ways that i might say it
but i know that none of them will work because
she won’t feel the same
i’ve come this far
but i can’t go through with it because the truth would hurt
too much
this hurts too much
she goes back to the west coast to drink in the sunshine
and i will stay here in these dead plains
and try to make a seed grow
and i would pray for rain
if i thought that that would help.

..with me.


Thinking too much is bad for the heart. Worse than super size me or being force-fed with pure fat & oil since birth.

I’m a thinker, more than I am a talker (imagine that!). That’s what I do. Even if I consciously will my brain to just shut off – it won’t. I don’t have power over it. I don’t have power over how I feel. And being this way, the pseudo-“writer” I supposedly am, I feel everything twice or thrice more than any normal person. Didn’t choose to be this way, but heck I am. And I’ve accepted that.

I’m alive when I think, reflect, contemplate, etc. But in rare moments of thoughtlessness, I am genuinely happy.

Weird. goes easy on me. most of the time. Indeed. Still, I wonder if life could ever be just a tad easier. Or less harder than it usually is. Even in the most mundane forms like smoother traffic, less pollution, clearer skies… A big comfy bear hug from the person you miss the most would be nice. Solved na’ko dun.

I pray for everyone else who obviously has more weight on their shoulders than I could ever muster to carry.

Heartache is more than just a state of mind. Because it literally hurts, promise. Poor beat-up thing.


Damn forks in the road. Always out of sync with time, with the willingness to choose. How to separate a need from a want. A dream is a dream. And I’ve always been a realistic dreamer. What to do when a dream comes a knockin’ yet again. Shall I kiss my current reality/security goodbye to pursue such an evasive fancy and make it stay or make myself be kept by it, a part of it.. forever? Or til I’m no longer in need of it. No longer at the mercy of its long-term desirability. I’m enslaved by my passions, and I can only move so much. Can’t i just wake up in some alternate universe where I’m no longer such a puppet on strings…

I’m scared to wake up one day, living the dream, and realizing that the glass has been empty all along.

But what scares me more than this is letting the cup pass me by without drinking from it.


Time moves in such a way that when it’s steady, it drags on.

And when it flies, it sweeps you off your feet.

Soar or fall. What’s the diff?

I’m in a daze of constant change and rapidly passing moments.
A tiny insignificant wave caught up in the ethereal sea of fortuity.
Forever in the eye of Fate’s folly.

A free spirit always a free spirit.

Yeah right.

Commitment gives me the heebie jeebies. Scared to fail?

Or to succeed? That is the question.

Shine (4:46:18 PM): man you’ve got some good stuff goin here!
reyneil_hilaga (4:46:25 PM): you always say that
Shine (4:46:31 PM): no im serious!!
Shine (4:46:39 PM): shit wish i could write like this…
Shine (4:46:51 PM): im just so… poetic
Shine (4:46:54 PM): ??
Shine (4:47:01 PM): dramatic!
Shine (4:47:06 PM): yes thats the word hehe
reyneil_hilaga (4:48:00 PM): thanks for the ass-kissing hehe joke
reyneil_hilaga (4:48:00 PM): actually you’re right, you’re a more poetic writer
reyneil_hilaga (4:48:00 PM): dramatic is just a classy way of saying emo, which you my dear, are not

Not sure how I got my ‘poetic’ writing style. I’m really not much of an emo person (I have my moments). All I know is I loved gobbling up piles and piles of lit – from Archie to the Francine Pascal Valley series and on to the ravings of Bukowski, Palahniuk’s madness, and the genius of Tolstoy.

I remember way back grade school when 50pesos was enough reward for my “school achievements..” 50pesos for a pocketbook, why don’t I. I’ve always been that type of kid who’d shun the latest barbie for the latest Sweet Valley Twin saga. So, I’ve always been a geek – BFD. But a poet? Hmm.

If being a poet means having the ingenuity and the craft in manipulating words from being mere typo or ink scribbles to something that’s collectively alive then, by george, I am one.

If photographers work with cameras and film and lighting, and painters with paint and canvas, I work with words. Rather the words work me.

There is an infinite realm of possibilities with wordplay. Each single day is a whole new realm, a whole new discovery, a whole new game where everyone – myself included – always wins. If just in essence.

Sometimes though, I wish I’m not as figurative.


I strive to be professional in my writing. I want to address an issue like nose picking or the mystery of female intuition as a professional. Of course, everyone’s entitled to their opinion and I like to stay close to objectivity.

I remember reading this book by Andy Rooney and I was struck by how he took any subject matter and flipped it into Rooney style. He wrote about bathtubs, cars, beaches, trash cans, children, toothpaste, desks and so on. He wrote about everyday stuff that everybody could relate to. I was inspired by his writing. Words are a tool and put them together you can be very powerful in your writing.

Professionals write about anything and turn it into their specialty. Your desire to write has to be greater than the desire to not write. It’s a lonely job when you’re staring at a piece of paper and your pen isn’t moving. Writing is lonely. Your thoughts are pondering on all kinds of things. Existentialism, water cooler dialogue, fantasies, cartoons, penguins, music, reality TV, celebrity gossip, Santa Claus, gold, and whatever’s left-over in the universe.

I still strive to be a professional in my writing. As H. Thompson once said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro”. And I am weird. But who isn’t? Whenever I write, the words I choose are used for a purpose. I respect all writers and whatever they write because I realize it ain’t easy to be a writer. A lot of people hate writing and that’s their choice. I write because this is what I love to do and it’s better than being a stripper (even though I’m damn good at it.. ha!)

I’ll say that I’m blessed to have this opportunity to write . My life hasn’t been easy but the obvious is: I’M ALIVE.
There’s a lot I can do as opposed to going down for the dirt nap. “Amateurs hope, professionals work.” Hear, hear!

You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we’re doing it. –Neil Gaiman