Saturday, April 14, 2007

The Randomized and Un-transitional Process of Disjointed Thinking During a Friday the Thirteenth

It was Friday the 13th, and I couldn't sleep last night. The vibes were all weird, and I found myself leaving for Los Banos a whole hour earlier because there was nothing to do and everybody else was asleep.

Maybe it's getting grades that were much higher than I expected, or the day being a Friday the 13th, or going back to Los Banos, but the whole day I was on this weird high, not unlike the high one has when one is sleep-deprived. Strange, though, was the fact that in spite of having literally zero hours of sleep the previous night, I was in a more energized state of high that I would be with sleep. So energized, in fact, that I walked around Los Banos, Megamall AND Greenhills, just to calm myself down.

And I'm still not sleepy.

...

In "The Storyteller" by Mario Vargas Llosa, one of the legends of the moon's dimness compared to the sun was brought about by shit. Yes, shit. Kashiri, the moon, took the form of a man and sought a wife among humans. A demoness, pissed at the idea that she wouldn't be the mother of the sun (yep, in the story, the sun's the moon's son - pun intended), she ambushes Kashiri and wipes her shit on his face. Ashamed, Kashiri returns to the sky without removing the shit off his face, which explains the dimness.

*Back to reality (Note: true story)*

A very dirty girl was the first passenger in what was to be the jeepney ride home this evening. She sat down behind the navigator's seat as the rest of the passengers boarded. Upon sitting, one would immediately smell what was undeniably the smell of human shit in the immediate vicinity, so everybody covered their noses. She was quiet for the duration of her trip, though it was nothing unusual, as people are almost always quiet when riding in a public vehicle surrounded by strangers. Strange, though, was that the smell of shit lingered instead of being left in the terminal area, where it supposedly belonged. The girl hurriedly and wordlessly gets off before the vehicle climbs Antipolo's incline road. The passengers beside her immediately check the place where she sat, and their suspicions are verified: there is an unmistakably shitty-looking stain where she sat.

"Probably LBM. Poor girl," says the one closest to the girl at the time, checking her white pants for other stains.

"I thought I stepped on something on the way here," said the old man who sat across her.

And there I was, beside the old man, remembering the tale of Kashiri as the jeepney stopped at a gas station, the driver whipping out a bunch of rags.

...

I haven't been dreaming lately, and it's scaring me. On one hand, it could mean that I'm perfectly content with my current life situation. On the other, it coud mean that I'm either very forgetful these days, or I'm simply out of weird things to imagine given the drudgery of my present situation (which would really suck, by the way).

...

Now I'm sleepy.

posted by Ocnarf @ 1:03 AM   3 have spoken

The Keeper

Franco Regalado

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