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fuck that shit cause today is family day for them ice cream lovin sunday family walks in the park [Sep. 20th, 2012|05:02 am]
monsieur kalentong
so its been almost a year since ive written anything on this journal. but as all disclaimers go, well, i dont really have a reason. but the truth is, and im gonna give it to you straight-up: im heart broken. my love just left me. for other things, among other things. things i dont know, things i cant speak of because i dont know what they are. things. the simple life beckoned, perhaps, or perhaps she couldnt stand the smell of my pits. whatever they maybe, i may never know. cause apparently shes in a self imposed ban on communicating with me at all costs. if that makes her happy, well obviously it doesnt suit me well. and the funny thing is, i always thought I was the unhappy, unsatisfied mature dolt. i always thought i was the one enduring, making it last, making it work. cause i cant stand her sometimes. her and her goldfish memory. her and her bratty ways. her and her, well, her. goddamnit. just tell me, ill listen. you dont have to give me the cold shoulder. ive cried enough, and wont anymore. ive shed tears for all of those beautiful memories, memories that you might not share cause youre goldfish brained remember? of course not. anyways, it was a happy fucking trip, but with a bad ending. yeah, you ruined it, you fuck. and now im stuck here, desperate, trying to get the words out of my mouth.

fat chicks getting fatter cause they feel the need to tweet about all them rest'rants [Nov. 17th, 2011|03:31 am]
monsieur kalentong
as i lay me to sleep
the whole dramatic theme whatnot
thoughts swirling
im just picking up
where i left
but i guess
i just cant go on
when im already on somebody else's train

i offer you words. cause, you know, i dont believe in poetry man. theyre just words to me, i mean, i get the whole imagery thing whatnot but i just really cant make myself like poetry. its too demanding of your time, your feelings and it kinda launches you into that whole poetic face, like as if what youre about to write should strike deeply, effectively; like it should matter. so. im just sitting here and i know i shouldnt be writing this but i just wanna offer you words. so. these words are for you.

and yeah, im not gonna launch into one of those nostalgia bit sequence. words, these i got. theres a way of laying them out, pretty much like pictures; pretty much like what i do for money. no two words are ever alike together. like, honey moon. or maybe shit face cause its more fitting. honest.

so, before me lays a platter of leftovers. i offer them you, cause its pretty much the same way i took care of you, down to the dumps and into the washer, to wash myself clear. of you. and your scent. and the way your eyes just... doesnt have whites. like theyre dirty. stains.
so. um, right now im getting that whole cigar-spitting, leaf-chewing character you most often see riding a horse shooting someone or at least trying to look sufficiently menacing to carry a hat. so yeah, im quitting this.

fat chicks getting fatter cause they feel the need to write about all them rest'rants theyve eaten in cause they think its cute.

right back at ya [May. 29th, 2011|01:03 am]
monsieur kalentong
this was supposed to be a flash story about a fat girl who was waiting for her order at some fast food joint who just so happened to pique my interest hence the tribute but oh well might as well go for it. but it still doesnt change the fact that im angry right now!

i blew it. i just let go and slammed my fists on the steering wheel at 60 km/h. it was burning hot from the inside, welling up to my throat; my ears wouldve whistled if i was a kettle. at the other side of the road was the fat girl. shes just standing there with her arms crossed and her fingers cradling a cigarette. it just piqued me. quite interesting.

and now, a short but fitting description of "fat girl":

fat girl looked like an ostrich, wearing a grey top, black pants and some white something. she had black lips and a fat, puffy, bitchy impatient face, the kind waiters dread facing lest they be handslapped for accidentally dipping their serving thumbs on the spaghetti. but she was pretty in a way. in a way even i couldnt understand. like i said, she piqued me. or did i pique her?
so i sat there with my awkward but meaningful glances. i shot her one "im gonna seduce you if youre game" glance but she didnt answer back. rather it was an awkward, smoke puffin under glance she threw my way; i cant really be sure, she was shrouded in smoke. i felt a pulse in my crotch. pulse, pulse, pulse. as with all men, i figured im gonna approach this fat, miserable girl waiting for her damned pathetic family size pizza. "you cant just eat that by yourself" i remark. "so, what are you gonna do about it?" says she. says she! in a moment of sheer panic and simultaneous disgust and arousal, i inched up close to her face and said "this" while lifting up her shirt slowly and sneaking in the ol' hand down her bushies. she was so fat i mustve gone through five layers of fatty lump before finally clinching the ol' bushy bushbush. it was not hot nor damp nor wet; kind of like sticky, icky and full of dead cell byproduct. it felt nasty. nas-ty. and then she was gone.

An Extremely Slow Satisfied Cow [May. 3rd, 2011|12:51 am]
monsieur kalentong
(on normal days, one would usually call this a disclaimer: this feels weird. almost a year without writing anything of utmost nonsense. but this night calls for a different beat, a yearning for an old voice lost through the grills of what they like to call maturity.

its rather odd.
so i guess im gonna start off with yet another story, crafted straight from the guts of a dying cockroach, green guts oozing out as i stand yet again the victor, conqueror of a vast horde of vermin with nothing but yesterdays news put to good use.)***

An extremely straightforward meeting with a woman of good quality

we were sitting at a table in a fastfood place that had four rows of five undimmed florescent lights rendering all that was ugly in that place uglier. the kids, with smut oozing down the curve of their whining lips as they tug their mother for whoever knows what, ice cream, spaghetti, kiddie meal perhaps? i dont really know. all i know is i hate kids. but id rather not bring that up at the moment, for the moment is precious. im with someone who was once special. though i used to whine endlessly to her about all things that made me sick and hateful, todays an exception. today would be the end of a four-year drought of not seeing this woman. this woman, THIS woman, is an exception.
but i would rather just tell you how it went. i dont wanna go into details, what she said, how she flinched as i showed her my scar from my recent failed trip to the zoo. which was all just a lie, of course, i mean i wouldnt go to the zoo for my life. thatd be stupid. i was just being funny. the truth was later revealed though, which is a must specially if youre trying to be funny. i mean, you know; the whole funny formula of story telling. i mean, you gotta have some humor, right? break the ice, shit like that. i couldnt imagine starting off any other way but with some stupid joke cause i think im funny that way. so anyway. it was bugging the hell out of me why we had to meet in such a place. its funny. let me tell you how it happened.
so i was working late researching for this paper that i was working on. it was supposed to be really interesting and stuff, so i spent a whole day fucking researching facts that was supposed to make it interesting to people who barely even read. so yea, my job sucked. but i needed it. i got tired staring at the computer so i went out for a breather, which then brought me to the nearest 24-hour convenient store. as i paying my loot, i saw an old friend. shes not the woman im talking about. but she did say something about the woman im talking about. so we talked. faked it. i mean, i really would rather hide than see that friend's face, but come on, im tired. what would a little boring conversation do? she mentioned Her, The Woman Im Talkin Bout in passing and i kind of did a funny double take there, i mean it was obvious i was just humming and nodding to her yapping til she mentioned the magic words. at least, to my ears. four fucking years id wondered how shed been, and this friend holds the ticket to the answer! fast forward. i hate to tell stories like that cause they always tend to end up prolonged and spiked with a lot of side stories like i always do.
so the fastfood place. i was really trying to be nice. the usual pleasantries, howvyoubeens, whatchadoinnow. i was really wondering, why cant i just be honest with this woman? for once and for all? what was i afraid of? do we even have something mutual? but i just couldnt let myself loose. i was stuck. she was choking me and i couldnt do a thing about it. alls a blur.

i was scratching the back of my leg discreetly when i told her. i said "you know what? i hate this. i hate how we had to have this conversation. its pleasant and all, but its just my nature. i dont know. im sorry.". just like that. that was all i had to say. four fucking years.

Stupefied shriveling twigs for brains [Sep. 8th, 2010|04:15 am]
monsieur kalentong
so here we are again. actually im just waiting for my files to be copied. day will come when we'll virtually download knowledge directly to our brain. somewhat like the matrix. but ill be dead by then, and so will you, and it will be our sickly descendants who will occupy this sick planet. i get the feeling that somewhere out there, really powerful people are already planning their escape strategies once the real deal starts. im talking turmoil, disaster, catastrophe, abomination; seas swirling into cities and gaps opening on the ground swallowing houses whole. but that sucky stupid CG movie 2012 is just fucking stupid it makes the hair on my ass stand, and make sitting down really painful. it just pains me to see stupidly written stuff like that, you know; i mean what the fuck are the chances this particular guy will actually survive? and how fucking melodramatic the scenes, what with the whole love angle thing and shit like that. thats what's feeding peoples minds these days: crap. crappy fucking movies and hogwash shows. people should wake up! man, you know what, its just crazy how some hours ago i was drinking beer and sharing thoughts with a bunch of people, some of who actually consider themselves to be fucking "intellectuals" and "philosophers" who read up on plenty of stuff about basically all things American: some American singer; some American philosopher; American drug culture; American shiznit fuck... come on! i mean its not wrong to read up on these things and take them up as inspirations, but it just detaches you... uproots oh wait sorry ive gotta go

on and on [Aug. 6th, 2010|04:30 am]
monsieur kalentong
on certain days i wake up and take off with a mouthful of encouraging words to jolt me fully awake. that can be said of yesterday, around 6 am along with the jangling of churchbells right across the street, which i always greet with muffled hostility. and the morning before that, at around 4 am, i went out into our driveway lined with hibiscus trees and other unknowable greens, bending over the dewy cold, paving the way for my grandiosity. whoops. blah blah, a couple more lines of intensified observations leading to pointless conclusions and here we are, fresh from the mothballed velvety cushion of verbal delights.
im no longer a kid, nor a punk, nor a collegiate intellectual; as a matter of fact i dont really care much about who or whatever it is i project myself to be nowadays. im just drifting along, doing whatever. sometimes i get ideas for a script, or a graphic story (not comics), or a painting, but ive resolved never to get myself too hung up on my ideas. they slow me down. its kind of ironic how i find relaxation and peace of mind from doing mundane, everyday tasks like cleaning my studio, sweeping the leaves off the driveway, organizing books, as opposed to, say, preparing a draft for a design or composing some shitty email to some gallery owner, or thinking up a hell of a storm just to be able to prove that you did indeed do some thinking. ive never been wary of the so-called real world bulshit that everybody else has to contend with, i never bothered. i think of it as a kind of diversity; a clash of poles between left and right hemisphere thinkers. its as simple as that, yin and yang. so those people who fucked me up years ago by not paying me for my design services, well, i just dont see how people like them will ever reach any fulfillment in life whatsoever. they can probably get by fucking people over, but theyll never get beyond that, theyre stuck in their stupidity. and shortsightedness. but whatever. ive some things to do.

its become fashionable nowadays to not make sense. or, im hungry, so please get me a sandwich [Mar. 24th, 2010|03:44 am]
monsieur kalentong
to make it sweet fucking short, i just, for the life of all the fucking ants subsisting on a steady diet off of my own living skin particles, cant write anymore. this is a fluke, a myriad of lines stuck and jumbled in a scrabble lottery where words are picked for their aesthetic value bullshit and not what theyre supposed to represent. words have become a little difficult for me, or maybe ive just become a little too difficult for myself. what, smelling your armpits and constantly checking your emails aint really gonna change a thing. its like waiting for something that you vividly expect and imagine in your mind just minutes, seconds before you actually get to the real thing and it just frustrates you like hell. im talking about those dying, anticipating seconds where youre about to convert idea into action, like for example stepping out of a vehicle once you get to your destination and youre still wiping your eyes off from having dozed off the rest of the boring trip and you get that fleeting, almost undiscernable thought just flashing in your mind and your seeing it clearly, but then you put your arms down and its just hello, this is reality. its out of your fucking reach and your imagination is clearly off the course, dumbass. ive experienced it a lot of times, you know, and all of the time it just doesnt hit the mark. so maybe this is why i feel a little dejected most of the time and i feel like hiding in some cave where the rest of humanity will cease to depress me. but thats just depressing. all the time i get that weird mix, sort of like the way you level the gas pedal and the clutch pedal. with me i have this extremely happy weird pedal where i can just take off and rant on and on about mostly random things that may have to do with whatever interest it is you have in life and make all these far off associations that tend to give me some sort of high, you know, just from the talking and releasing all that nauseous negative mind gas of sorts. but on the other hand is the depress pedal, it just sucks the fun out of me. enough of the shit though, im fucking too old for this kind of stuff. hell, for all i know i could be raising a kid right now or sleeping with a smile on my face looking forward to the day ahead at work where im probably sifting semi-fine sand for an hourglass factory down in the southern tip of some mystic island in faraway samar where they have these fine beds of sand dune.

embed [Mar. 10th, 2010|04:37 am]
monsieur kalentong
earlier this afternoon while sleeping soundly at the sofa i dreamed a dream that has haunted me since i can remember. and its bothering me again. its about a girl who changed the way i look at people. i havent been looking, but i havent met anyone like her since. nor do i feel ill meet anyone wholl come even close. its... just frustrating.

sitting next to her in a strange van filled with strange people, i glance at her face and notice how shed changed so little. she was wearing a yellow funny cap, the kind japanese school children are required to wear, and she was looking irresistible. i got the impression that she was somehow deranged from the way her eyes looked and behaved. shes been lost to me and i am not inclined to retrieve her any time soon...
her head hovers closely to my right ear, approaching slowly from behind, lightly touching on my shoulder. this part makes me shiver. she motions for a kiss, but i decline. too many people around us, i hear myself say. politeness in the dreamworld.

i dont really need this [Jan. 12th, 2010|05:18 pm]
monsieur kalentong
this is hyper awareness, macro-level slightly dazed delirious dehydrated aggravated by the fact that there are noisy hyperactive children playing right next to them damned spurious discriminating walls. headache, i havent had in so long. farewell, i dont really need this. or you. and the fact that im slightly hovering beneath whats usually called sanity; no, im not insane, no. simply wanted to make an exaggeration. point exclamation, disease and starvation or perhaps ive just had too much alcohol my body's breaking down. or folding up. extreme polar opposites, is what we talked about a week ago, about a friend who also happens to be my friend's girlfriend and the usual stinking arguments that usually follow. those kind of things. im so fucking bone tired, i biked a hell of a route yesterday only to come around again and again.

givens. my heads splitting open

conundrum and spaghettini arabiata con carneliciously simple life were living. [Dec. 2nd, 2009|11:24 pm]
monsieur kalentong
december comes silently with the breeze. i should know, im a medical doctor. seven tired men smelling their armpits makes for an interesting plot. trickle like blood, fluid as mud? enema of the soulll... yeas, its a long roll. shot. interestingly, everyone was killed. but i cant delve into that. this is more like a journal thats not meant to be read. no questioning of sorts. no friendly connections and happy exchanges of pasts revisited. i wanna visit taytay rizal. stay in the mountainous terrain and die like a hungry bobcat. bobcats have a certain grace... ive seen one in the wild before, in the jungles of corregidor. i was lonely, and i was alone. eating-fucking-pringles-pathetic. and so i stumbled upon a bamboo thicket. and i saw a wildcat. and im sleepy too. so i yawned and threw the sonomabitch a cheese flavored pringle. closed my eyes, felt the sunny sea breeze. saw a tunnel at the end of the light. at the end of the light was a tunnel. which became my nosehole. which became a mole. i plucked it off and gave it to the rat conductor cause he was laughing at my face. the roachestra playing the death's opus no.666, with the rat conductor and death himself playing the fucking bassoon. i laughed it off and choked on my cigarette, but it was funny cause i only smoke when theres brandy. and beer and gin and vodka and red wine. so alls funny then, and i came to the conclusion that perhaps this is only reality, that i should close my eyes so i can finally sleep to my dream. so i dreamt. i thought i would remain awake there, and be carried into the abyss of certainty... of being awake.

visions. themes. reflections of our otherwise boring, single-serving real life experiences. i wanna hoard something, buy off a warehouse full of red ballpens and laugh at all the fucking teachers. corrections. bah. who the fuck needs em. were all gonna die anyways, and yet you keep on prodding me with that supposedly superior brain of yours. non-authoritarian school for boys and girls who dont wanna be doctors, artists, engineers, dentists and whatnots. o-kay.

OKAY. i dont know the hell ive just written but yeah its crap and so am i so please please please stop gazing at me through those hellish eyes

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