Sunday, March 16, 2014

Hit me with your best shot

I was 19 when someone said he liked me. I wasn’t really sure what that meant. I know I’m ugly, I’m awkward, I don’t have cool friends. I’m not one of the boys who get entangled in the scandalous, repressed, messy, and romantic gay dating scene in college. I’m not even a wallflower. Wallflowers attend parties. I’m not even invited to any.

I was so used to hearing how two guys met, dated, hooked up, became official, broke up, and became bitter to each other, eventually. It was an exciting world for good looking guys. I do not belong in that circle. I’m just a bystander.

Hearing someone say that he liked me got me all confused. I mean, what kind of prank is he playing? No one will ever love me. No one CAN ever love me. Somehow in my heart of hearts I understood I’ll grow old alone. And die alone. And I was busy preparing for that moment.

But I didn’t care if his words confused me. For the first time in my life, I’ve become a normal person. I am not THAT ugly, perhaps. Probably even with all my flaws, I can be loved? Is that even possible? I didn’t really care anymore.

Someone said he liked me. Wow.

Seven years from then, saying things have changed is an understatement. EVERYTHING has changed. I am more confident now and I’ve learned that things happen in due time. I know now that I can be loved even with all the shit that I have from time to time. More importantly, I have learned how to love in return.

I understand now that love is sometimes fuelled by too much fiery passion, but as soon as the flames start to mellow, it’s up to the two of you to work things out, enliven the dying ember. That love can say good bye as swiftly as it said hello. That love is too fragile and pure that it should not be dragged in dirt. That love can bring out the best in you. That love can destroy your very being. That love is simply not enough.

Although I live in a different world now, I have to say that the most important things I hold dearly in my heart remained constant. They have kept me sane when the winds are rough and the ground is crumbling from underneath.

In the years to come, I know I’ll learn more from life. I’ll love more, hurt more, bleed more, laugh more, and trust more. I welcome everything. With my head held high.

So life, hit me with your best shot.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

A Letter to Nox

The first after a really long while.

Hi Nox. 

Our call ended just a couple of minutes ago yet here I am, already getting started with our blog. I fear that we'll just fall back to being victims of laziness and indifference if I did not get into this now . We have to make an effort. My relationship with you have run the deepest. Even when we don't actually have a regular correspondence--written or verbal--it is to be said that we worked hard for it. We make it work. We made it work. We are at the point where we're utterly comfortable with each other, secure even, that our friendship would last even when we forget each other every once in a while. Still, we shouldn't  commit the mistake of being careless and reckless with what we have. It is precisely because you own a great portion of my life that I should probably give more effort in establishing contact with you. But I can't do this alone.  I am going to start this but you'll always have to back me up and never leave me hanging alone.

Do you promise?

We have changed so much and I didn't realize this vital fact until you pointed it and read our college journal back to me over the phone. I had even forgotten that once upon a time, we looked at our Highschool yearbook and wondered who among the students on the pictures had probably already lost their virginity before the graduation. It may sound petty and childish now but all I can think about at this moment is-- "We must have had a lot of fun back then" I imagine us in our highschool uniforms, sitting in the canteen with our heads bowed over the annual year book with silly, childish grins on our lips. Because really, our thoughts back then were not of malice but of humor. Again, we must have had a blast.

What happened to us, Nox?

All I can think about now is how much I loved myself more back then than now. We have been overwhelmed by the world we promised to conquer when we were kids. We grew up but only became weaker and less insightful.  We got so preoccupied by what we considered were more important in the material world now that we're adults and are members of the work-force. We deteriorated. Lax. Without vigil. Lazy. We've become responsible in ways ordinary people would deem so but in all honesty, we've become irresponsible to our own selves. Do you feel happy where you stand now? We have to do something about it. Because truth be told, I think I have become more concerned with what most of the people think than with what I truly want to do. (Oh I'm definitely still with ambition and dreams--but I fear that more than half of them are influenced by what I think the common people would consider worthy) Hadn't we considered ourselves as non-conformists back then? Didn't we take pride in being ourselves and preserving our own rotten integrity?

we might still think highly for ourselves but when I compare our current standing to how we were back then, then I'd say today's version of ourselves faded in comparison with the past.

I have changed so much. I am directionless. I have the end goal at the back of my head but I am left confused on which path to take. My moral compass may have become skewed, terribly so. i boast and tell a lot of things I know and I broadcast the fruits of my imaginations but I think I have forgotten to give ample consideration to a lot of things.

If I want to change, will you be with me? Will you not abandon our goals?

We have to start with something small (and slow?). As was before, I will consider anything written sacred. Let us not lie when we write and if, in the future, we said something that turned out to be a lie, then let's do all that we can to change it and make it true. Let us not sully the place where we might find our only reprieve and have food for our tainted souls.

So... starting with something small...

I think I have been consumed with my Hermit Mode (in which I write gayporns) that I have neglected my corporeal body. I stay cooped up inside my flat that I no longer go out which in turn made me indifferent with how I present myself to people. I shouldn't forget that the place outside my room is a battlefield and I should always wear my armor. I just neglected myself, apparently. And I have to make amends and re-learn the game. Do I make sense? Do you follow?

I want to feel great for my own sake and not because other people told me so or requested anything of me. You know how I retaliate and turn rebellious when I'm dictated to do something. That still has not changed. So while no body's telling me to try to lose weight (at the moment), i'll say here that I will (amongst other things). I won't socialize with anybody when I don't want to. I'll read Robert Greene's 48 Laws of Power once a week. I'll play games. I'll read. Drink tea everyday. Think about how my day went by every night. Write to you when I want to. Thinks less of what other people might think but also take into consideration how it might impact my future actions (reference to Greene's)...

Think of something for me.

You make me want to be great, (btw, just a random thought... i still want to bear children. Six of them.)

but I think the most important thing is to re-establish our Sabbath Day. I really think we should do this,

I am somehow undecided how i should end this entry of mine. Do I sign it with Roughnight--the person I have grown to be, the same one who works abroad and writes gay romances for her hobby? Do I sign with Aki Strife--the version of me from the past who is more cruel and abrasive yet the one I love more? or Do i sign this with Cedric Nyt--the gentler part of me that I think have long since disappeared?

Doesn't matter.

My entry has gotten long but I think it can be excused seeing that we haven't written to each other for a long while now...


I promise.

Aki Strife

Friday, August 9, 2013

On Losing Ibrahim. And Others.

I didn't realize how much I treasured someone's mind until it was too late. I keep thinking that maybe, perhaps, I had shown my ugly colors too fast and got him scared. Or maybe he was just as brilliant and smart as I thought he was and realized that prolonging contact with me would sully him, taint him even. I really can't say that I'm a good influence. I have a jar full of wicked things inside my chest. Most people do but I'm better at hiding them. Most people have petty affairs, tangible worldly concerns. Mine... Mine is of something deeper, something that cannot be washed. Something rooted at my very essence and perhaps would stay with me throughout the tides of time.

For the sake of this entry, I would name him Ibrahim. Naming him as such reflects upon the sentiment I carry for him for he is so dear. So very few has been on par with me. Ibrahim is one of my favorite names and I think he deserves whatever pleasantry I could grant.

There are only a number of people whose opinions I regard, whose voices matter to me. Ibrahim is one of them. I have placed him on a pedestal since I was in high school. He would always be untouchable. He would never be a friend. He would be my brilliant acquaintance, a sort of beacon for my drowning mind..Have you met such person in your life? See someone with a great mind, be scared of him and know instantly, deep down in your bones that he was someone you could look up to and be scared at the same time?

I have re-established contact with him lately and he was very insightful. I could see the smudges on my skin and see where things got wrong with me whenever we exchanged mails. I loved his views, his opinions. Like all that is good, though, he stopped his correspondence of course.

And as usual, I got too scared. It scared the shit out of me that I couldn't even find the courage to ask him where things have gotten wrong. Did I repulse him? Did I scare him? Did he think my penchant and love for homosexual relationships sinful? Did he think I was a lascivious person because I admittedly watch adult animes when the truth is that I actually am asexual? Did he disapprove of my views? Did he think I'm a liar when the truth is that I never lie when I write But that I am often blind sided and cannot see myself for what I truly am?

I didn't realize how much I am gratified with the amount of Kudos I receive over my posts, how much they uplifted me until Ibrahim pointed them out. I wanted to send a private message and gleefully tell him how he's been right and I didn't see it...but he already stopped his correspondence.

And I am too scared to ask him exactly why he decided to cut off ties.

And now that I think about it, I was always scared of him because not only was he a beacon, he was also someone I recognized even from long ago, could exchange blades with me and crush me mercilessly. That is why I have placed him on a pedestal. So very few scared me. I have met less than a handful of people who could ride the current of my hay wired mind and not get burned or get swept aside.

He was grounded.

I wonder if I would regret not having sent him a message how much I appreciated his correspondence and respected his view of the world; if I would regret not having asked him his reason for cutting off our internet ties? I'm too scared to hear his response and even more scared that he would not respond.

I feel so different from everyone.

Ibrahim is not a friend. Not even someone I considered having an amorous relationship with. But he has become dear. A dear acquaintance.

A beacon. A blinding one. One that covered a wide radius and served as light.

I wonder if he understood my feelings. If he would understand.

I also think that this is very selfish of me, placing someone on a pedestal without their permission.

But I guess he deemed my mind dirty and sinful. I failed at that, I guess, for I thought he would be indifferent with colors. I treasured his witty blows and cutting sharpness. I did not dare cloak the demon inside my mind. That was careless of me. And perhaps a smart move on his part.

Well then, it is done.

Goodbye, Ibrahim.

For I am a selfish person, and a coward one at that. I would never have the courage to establish contact once again for even when I am the abomination I am, I am not ashamed and would not apologize for the monster my mind may have become.


I think, maybe, that there is something wrong in my head. I generally prefer that people don't talk to me when they have nothing note worthy to say, when I am outside my work or outside my social gathering. People should avoid me. There is a time for them. I like to be left alone in my own devices when I am not conditioned for a social-relationship-catering mood. But this...the Quiet this time is irritating. I find myself restless. It is most unpleasant. My brother and sister are preoccupied with their worldly affairs and I want to hear from them. This is intolerable. While I, myself, don't talk to them when I'm in one of my moods and while I do understand them, this time, the Quiet is just grating my nerves. Unforgivable. So I expressed how I strongly miss them and I think perhaps, people would not be able to understand the message I conveyed so dearly...

  "Talk to me, peaches!!!!!! The world is not right when I don't hear from you! I feel like crawling out of this human skin, summoning Crowley and  
    unleashing Armageddon upon the world as the angels drop from the sky like cascading bullets. I would tear every living organic that kept your attentions
    away limb per limb and I'll gift wrap them with a bloody ribbon back to you. My laughter will be the thunder in the darkening sky and my wrath palpable
    as a maddening quake. So I say once again, talk to me,"

As I was saying, then,

            I miss them bastards.


Buck Tick... Never thought I'd say it. There was a time I used to look at my sister (renovati) and be puzzled over her fussing and worshiping. It was in the past. Buck Tick, thanks for salvaging the day. My soul feels like soaring the thunderous sky. You are a lover whose embrace remains solid and warm. Your voice generates the mass effect and I'm your turret that keeps the enemies at bay. I feel like taking up arms once again.

My Name is Sloth

I've got a secret I decided the world should know about. I am the child of Gluttony and Greed. My name is Sloth.

I was a soldier before-- with clear eyes, level head and firm stance, I surged forward. Unstoppable.

Then the tragedy. Change started to take place. With the lines, as everything else in this world is, blurred, I started lumbering into the other side. I was chin deep in the sea of all that is Undesirable before I finally noticed where I was, blinded by Pride--my twin who was somehow sharing the other side of my brain. He possesses my transport when I neglect being vigilant about keeping the shields on my mind. I was swimming in the sea of sins when I regained control. I couldn't escape from the liquid anymore, then. I was drowning. I couldn't separate the dark pool from my limbs. We are of the same color, the sea and I. It was an eye opener. I was one with all that is Undesirable.

I am Sloth.

I remembered.

The soldier has been purged out of my system now. All that is left is the broken shell of a man who used to carry guns and stormed the battlefield while wearing a medal of honor and military fatigues.

Sloth has taken over, without a shred of humanity--devoid of human impulses. The true nature of my being, my very essence, has sipped through from the cage that contained it.

I am home now. With all the Undesirable. In this dirty sea.

I look at Lust and Envy prancing around each other like teenagers and I snort at them. They invited me to their private party but I was too lazy to take up their offer. It was much better to stay inside the flat and drink my tea. I might be the child of Gluttony which meant I have a different kind of hunger sitting inside my belly, nut I have never wanted anything more than my drink. Lust is a shallow person even when he is truly beautiful. He could make me forget but he was never someone I'd break a leg for. It's always a "no" for him. My tea would always seem preferable than him. Envy is hot and sometimes I fancy him but he has a habit of demanding too much from me so I just pass up his offers most of the time.

Wrath sits beside me. He was the most tolerable. Pleasant even. I like him. He's sharp and abrasive but his mind is illuminating. Fiery.

Wrath is always restless, but the quiet in me was like a vacuum. I find Wrath lovely. And sometimes I call him Anger. He calls me Lazy.

I suppose it ought to make sense since I'm a child of Greed... but then it doesn't. When I watch Anger drink his tea and watch the telly with me, I just think there's no other place I'd rather be. I want him and the tea, both. The world could burn right outside our window and I'll remain sitting in my chair watching the sparks and the smoke and hearing the agonized cry of all that is organic. It would be picturesque.

Anger's always angry.

But I think he shares my sentiment.

We'll watch the world burn while we drink our tea.

I'm too lazy to care and he's too angry to actually do something about it.

Someday. In the future... If I do take up the gun again and try pushing back my nature--try suppressing Sloth back into the shell--and return to the world of the living and leave the sea of all that is Undesirable,

I know I'll always take a part of Anger with me. Carry it inside my chest and treasure it desperately.

I'll burn my tongue every time I take my scalding tea and remember Anger just as I burned him in my memory.

I'll go to war, maybe burn a person or two, maybe wage war against the world even,

and all the time...

I would hope Anger was watching me from the window of our flat. As he drank his cuppa.

And I would pray deep down that he would recognize me for who I am even when I am inside the shell of a human.

I am Sloth.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

LAW 7: Life is a Race and we're ALL its Runners

LAW: 7
LIFE is a Race and we're all its Runners
We really have no choice in the matter except on how to play the game.
There's no escaping it.
There could be shorcuts and longcuts but it all just means we stay in the game.

It's such a journey isn't it? Life, that is. One doesn't end with a lone goal. It's a series of goals piling up on top of one another. It's like a long race where you only get to reach stop overs but never really see the end of the line. One can only imagine but he can never truly set his eyes on the end game. Like knowing there ought to be a flag somewhere but all you see are roads and paths and alleyways. That's why life is truly a marvel. You could hate it or learn to love it. You can embrace all the shit and see the beauty of things at the same time. There's no rule that you had to choose one over the other. See things for what they really are and recognize life for what it really is. It is dreadful sometimes but it has wonderful people and some miracles dropped every now and then and they serve as water filling your dry, thirsty throat. Like this, we can be anyone we dare to be. One could choose to stay at one stop over for years and years or one can decide if he'll stay only for a short period of time before standing up to his feet again and continuing the run. There's no right or wrong with choosing the stop overs as long as one doesn't decide to simpy resign himself at one goal post when deep inside he just truly wants to leap for another more league. So don't hate people who keep running. Don't look down on people who has decided he liked a certain stop over even when he could've leap for another or two more. It's our own individual choice what we want to do with our lives. We just better stand tall and carry our chins up. There's no shame in playing the game as there is no shame even when we stumble every now and then, drunken or not. We write how we want the race to end up. We can never truly control the time but how far we could take up the game decides on us. We could be barging in at stopovers one after another then be contented for a time before we decide to march forward...doesn't really matter. We're stuck in the race so may as well learn to be good at it and love it.


Thursday, September 20, 2012

LAW 6: The Art of Flirting

LAW 6 :
 The Art of Flirting. How hard could it be>>?
When without knowledge or experience, let the animal part of you take over. End.

Hypothetically, and perhaps theoretically speaking, there must be some kind of rules in the art of flirting--just as there are thousands of unspoken rules about other more irritatingly mundane things. Realistically speaking though, advices in the art of flirting most likely should not come from a person who's had so little-to-none of such activity... well, one such as yours truly. But really, apart from the tangible, material and physical aspect of it, how hard could it be or how difficult could it be to try to attempt it? Take aside the outside skin, the artificial perfumes and other worldly things; I believe there are just some things that are ingrained in every cell of our existence, some things that were already existent in our human drives. We aren't wholly clean slates to begin with, the conscious part like attitudes and behaviors,- they may be influenced and directed and only filled up by human experience--but instincts, they were given birth the same time we mortals first breathed air. Instincts are there in our slates, perhaps hidden, perhaps ignored, perhaps have been behaving like the infant it was but surely growing, maturing and awakening with time, dependent on our needs as humans, as some higher form of animals. That is why in the art of flirting, I believe that no one is truly innocent of the knowledge on it. At the very least, a primal drive exists. An instinct, at the back of everyone's mind, that could turn savage anytime.

To someone whose never had experience in practicing the art, succumbing to the drive can be the only reasonable option. In short, be the animal that you are. Close off the rational thoughts that attempt to follow logic and norms and be the blind who lets something more raw and powerful take control. When to bat eyelashes, when to render a fleeting smile, when to tease with a ghost of a touch or when to put a solid caress,---such things you don't really learn from watching or from other people telling- and such things you especially can't execute efficiently by logic alone... (probably). Though these are all just theories, we're basically still animals..., there's some animals in us. It's the scent. Flirting is useless when the target can't even understand that you're flirting with him/her. Targets have to feel. Flirting is never an innocent act after all although it can be guised as one. Flirting is a purposeful act, so full of intent and scheming---though the scheming part consists only of a goal, that is, the end--the getting the target's attention or affection. Step by step actions don't have to be plotted or agonized over when you can let loose the animal anytime. They'd scent it--your intention, your desire. The subtle things suddenly become noticeable because you desired it, wanted it to happen... When the targets scents you, every little thing you do becomes magnified. A shy smile from you would seem coy and teasing, your normal gait would seem accompanied by a sweet sinful sway, your voice he or she would hear with a purr... In a way, it's like a mating process. Flirting is.. 

...I think so,

Saturday, March 17, 2012

LAW 5: The Broken Blade

A blade that's broken shall still forever remain as what it is: a blade.

Even in its confines, in its degraded state, its steel will continuously and stubbornly refuse to get dull. And in silence or the sound of turmoil, it shall tremble in excitement to once again strike at a fellow blade or pierce through a man's flesh. You can use it in may other ways, being broken and altered, but what it really is, you can never erase. The blade can't help being what it's made for in the first place. Different people may wield it for different reasons but the blade, however weakened and broken it may be will opt to choose what it'd painstakingly longed for. And trust me, it will make known to the world when, what and if it'd finally chosen another wielder,. And it will surprise you with its own vigor after the long time it has been suppressed.

There will always come a time when you will realize what you're made of and for. There's no definite date and time, no definite landmark. It shall be completely unbeknownst. You're like an empty gauge that's being filled with skills, experience, wisdom and a little bit of everything else. You never really get to know which factors are slowly but surely making up your whole being. But you can bet your ass that without a doubt there will come a time you'll realize that the gauge been filled up. And there's one thing that's taking the large part of what you are. And trust me, this you can never change. It'd seeped through slowly and thoroughly to your core, the relationship deeper that whatever you can dare to imagine. And may the years come upon you, this one thing that makes you who you are shall also age alongside, attached bloodily to your heart.