u/Plastic-Affect-45

​the crowd is always wrong

keep that in mind,

for if they were right

they would know their

true might.

some of them are barely even

aware of their rights.

whether they're from the far-left

or the far-right.

if you're in the middle of the spectrum

I suppose you will turn out alright.

don't bother listening to me,

I'm not bright

I just know for a fact

that some things will never be alright.

that is why I write.

quietly,

in pen, and in mind

because this is my might.

my mind

is what's left,

when the heart

is not right.

when the heart is out of control,

and the mind is out of touch,

you know what I do?

I write, write and write.

most of the time it turns out alright.

and if not, what the hell

I will still write, write and write.

Share your top 10 movies, I will treat your list as recommendations. He-he-he.

Here's mine:

1. Chungking Express

2. Fight Club

3. In The Mood For Love

4. Shawshank Redemption

5. Haru (A Japanese Movie)

6. Before Sunrise

7. Braveheart

8. Gladiator

9. 10 Things I Hate About You

10. A Knight's Tale

Share your top 10 movies, parang recommendation na din. He-he-he.

Here's mine:

1. Chungking Express

2. Fight Club

3. In The Mood For Love

4. Shawshank Redemption

5. Haru (A Japanese Movie)

6. Before Sunrise

7. Braveheart

8. Gladiator

9. 10 Things I Hate About You

10. A Knight's Tale

in all honesty,

I don't feel like I was born

in the wrong era

I feel alone

somehow I manage

to adapt whenever I want to,

with the young and the old

sometimes I alienate them for hilarity,

sometimes I act curious out of boredom

what truly interests me

are souls trapped in bodies

that burn through the agonies of life while dancing the ones who still sing songs of love,

with broken bones and wounded hearts.

the ones who are not afraid

to be weird and crazy

to be judged and stigmatized

the ones who are aware

that they're wasting their lives away

doing the same old routine

the ones who can tell stories of their own tragedies with a smile

the ones who laugh in the face of adversity

and grin at the absurdities of the world

it's us.

always and forever.

chosen and wondering why.

bloodied and bruised,

with watery eyes staring at the sky.

it's us who make this ride called life

worthy of living.

it's us and only us who have the chance

of not dying from within—

for death tried so many times,

but failed.

for people like us,

we just don't grow old.

love cuts him deep

and he whispers

the words from his lips,

"I am yours to keep

in times of lies and deceit,

I am yours to take

asleep or wide awake."

one way or another

I will escape.

come hell

or high water

I will prevail.

someday I will

have my night

for a champagne

of victory

a glorious escape

from the venomous pits

of life.

and in the morning,

I will sit there,

on my wooden chair,

staring at my White Russian,

sitting on my wooden desk,

the sun kissing my cheeks,

a naked woman

lying on my bed,

as I write the next lines.

the road might not rise with me.

somehow I'm sure life will find me.

just as the ocean fits

the Earth

in whatever form.

united for all the wrong reasons

like a plague of locusts

blotting out the sky

as I crawl beneath the surface

trying to escape this god-forsaken place

​but then the rivers

will be rivers

even if they escape their banks

the sky will be the sky

even when it's as dark as the pupil of the eye

mountains will be mountains

even if they're swallowed by the sea

​as I crawl down and under

no sympathy for the devil

no love for false angels

and the lamest of them,

the most vile,

idiotic creatures the world

has ever seen

will stumble upon

the world they have created

with joy and contentment

​I will not suffer them

but they will suffer me.

he got whores, young whores

who used to write him letters.

old whores that could pull

out their dentures and blow him.

and then beer, wine, whiskey,

horse race, Los Angeles,

a publishing company backing

him up

while he whores his way,

drinks his way,

and writes his way.

maybe it was a cheat code

the prostitutes, liquors,

the race tracks, the City of Angels,

a publisher.

I tried whores twice

but even with their consent

I couldn't take the transaction.

all I saw was a being

using pieces of their body to survive.

their parts in exchange

for what's inside my pocket.

the bottle of beer

with tissue paper wrapped around

its neck that made it expensive.

it was a good conversation

I felt like a priest that night.

I never bothered with them again.

but

the whores are just flesh

and horse racing

is just gambling

the City of Angels is not

a special place

and any fool can be a drunk.

it's all part of a well-oiled

machine to move his

fingertips towards the typewriter

it's not a secret.

there was never a secret in doing it.

you just do it,

you start letter by letter,

then one word after another,

and all the horses will gallop,

and all the liquors will

be pouring down in California,

and all the whores will find their way home.

here's to my greatest adversary

the silhouette raising the glass

let's toast to your unholy belligerence

and your gray, compromised honor

your neutral morality

to your endless war with your own

mortality

to your sea of questions

and drops of answers

to your lingering defeats

and pathetic pyrrhic victories

to your roaring rage

and silent pain that could

bury a mountain with all its weight

here's to my nemesis

the smirking terror in the mirror

my shadow raising the glass

as the sun lights upon you like a towering giant

and the dark of the moon makes you ever defiant

one foot in front of the other

as we burn slowly in the flat circle of time

to death

and to life

to rebirth

and back again.

here's to my greatest adversary

the silhouette raising the glass

let's toast to your unholy belligerence

and your gray, compromised honor

your neutral morality

to your endless war with your own

mortality

to your sea of questions

and drops of answers

to your lingering defeats

and pathetic pyrrhic victories

to your roaring rage

and silent pain that could

bury a mountain with all its weight

here's to my nemesis

the smirking terror in the mirror

my shadow raising the glass

as the sun lights upon you like a towering giant

and the dark of the moon makes you ever defiant

one foot in front of the other

as we burn slowly in the flat circle of time

to death

and to life

to rebirth

and back again.

diving, free fall,

arms wide opened

through it all.

mind cracked open

like watermelon,

seeking meaning,

my antidote or venom.

everything is just a phase,

wear a mask or show your face.

it doesn't matter anyhow

you're not a Japanese sacred cow.

everything is falling apart,

old wounds scratched the beating heart.

souls catching fire and flame,

with wild eyes ablazed,

melt down icy veins.

grind your teeth, show your claws

the drums will beat, with the riff

I'll strike a pose.

rock bottom is a trampoline

for this Tondo boy's childhood dream.

the plot, his scheme

is to pollute the mainstream.

I'm not good at this.

I have had more than a decade

with women,

in and out of relationships.

I can still remember,

the eyes locked on each other,

a hand on the nape and waist,

the lips raw with tenderness,

a touch of jelly tongue,

warmth of breasts pressing on me,

soul seducing, body in motion.

the morning sex,

the cuddling after it.

and the nagging,

the cruel intentions,

the games they used

to play,

rivers of tears,

hearts pounded into grain,

the fighting and the shouting,

through boring dates,

and unforgettable moments.

some memories will be forever blurred,

some scars are ripped open

just to feel alive.

some are still living under my skin.

but the good ones,

oh the good ones, baby.

they will be with me

until my dying day.

and here I am,

I have found solace

in the absence of women.

it's going to take a long

time to hear a woman's whisper

in my ear.

there are too many voices

in my head,

for the ones in here,

don't need their help.

they say you should

shoot for the stars,

if you missed, you might

land on the moon.

but nobody told you the truth

that in pursuing your dreams

you might end up lonely.

you might land nowhere.

nobody says you might

end up floating in space.

spiraling into nothingness,

to the gaping void,

slowly and aimlessly,

like an arrow in flight forever.

in all honesty

I don't feel like I was born

in the wrong era.

I feel alone in my own era.

I can only adapt whenever I want to,

with the young and the old.

sometimes I alienate them for hilarity,

sometimes I play curious out of boredom.

what truly interests me are spirits

trapped in bodies that burns

through the agonies of life while dancing.

the ones that still sing songs of love,

with broken bones and wounded heart.

the ones that are not afraid

to be weird and crazy,

to be judged and stigmatized.

the ones who are aware they're wasting

their lives away doing the same old routine.

the ones that can tell stories of their

own tragedies with a smile.

the ones that laugh in the face

of adversities and grins on the

absurdities of the world.

it's us.

always and forever.

chosen and wondering why.

bloodied and bruised

with watery eyes staring at the sky.

it's us that makes this ride called life

worthy of living.

it's us and only us

has the chance of not dying from within

for death tried so many times but failed.

for people like us

we just don't grow old.

they say you should

shoot for the stars,

if you missed, you might

land on the moon.

but nobody told you the truth

that in pursuing your dreams

you might end up lonely.

you might land nowhere.

nobody says you might

end up floating in space.

spiraling into nothingness,

to the gaping void,

slowly and aimlessly,

like an arrow in flight forever.

Where were you when this song put MYX and MTV in a chokehold?

"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again."

"You kiss by the book."

Come a little closer, flicker in flight. At pogi rock pa rin mga ulol.