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31 December 2037 @ 12:11 am
This is a recording of my quest to find balance between the two great loves of my life, art and words, and how these reflect or deflect the undercurrents of the soul, whatever that means. (I figured i will probably never fully understand the "soul", but in keeping snippets of it here at least i'll be doing something productive.)

Photos taken with a Nikon D60, while alternating between 18-55mm and 55-200mm lenses. Film shots taken with Canon Rebel G.
31 October 2009 @ 01:51 pm
I'm becoming a bigger blogging addict by the minute. As such, I've created yet another blog for my creative endeavors. It's in a sphere which is more accessible to my FA fellows and thus possibly more productive and conducive than this current one. Thus, this shall be my last post here. I'm only keeping it up because of outside links which I might want to go back to someday. Otherwise, visit me and my "art" at this creative repository.

18 September 2009 @ 05:50 pm
So I cheated on this a little. Instead of a photo from every day of the week, all these came from just two relatively inspired days. As for the words, one poem in particular was swimming in my mind while I was writing so they pretty much have a similar rhythm among them. And would you look at that, some of them rhyme!



How hard the paths we take
How strong the lines we cross
How hard the hearts we break,
How strong the pains we cause.
All on our own,
All for our own.
All for no real purpose.
All but our own
None but our own
Will know the greatest loss.


Eye to Eye

Pint-sized, below my eyes
The smallest thing’s the greatest prize
Not a thorn, just on my side
Diminutive, too large to hide

The road in front too wide to see
What they say for hearts that be
What they say for minds that flee
Not too big for you or me.

Zooming in on ocean’s talk
While following a holy flock
Between you and me, we mock
The pint-sized eyes beyond the stalk


In Circles

Soft are the hands of time carried in the breeze.
Soft are the wings of grace flying in the sun.
Soft are the feet of dust running on the earth.
Soft are the breaths of light dancing in the sky.

Soft are the dreams we take lying in the night.
Soft are the stars we make that light up in our eyes.
Soft are the clouds glowing velvet in the dark
Soft are the arms of softness lingering about.



There is no sadness in my eyes
No longing for you to see
There is no regret drowning behind
Yarns of exuberant glow
That hide the depths of me.

This is it, all you can get
All you can set, all you can be.
No regret.



Do you look up as you go down?
Does it affect your perspective,
Your point of view,
Your state of mind?
Does it change how you react
To gravity pulling you
When you see the sky up high?
Do you reach up and grab hold
As you start to kiss the ground?
Does it change your state of mind,
Your point of view,
The perspective you acquired?
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
08 September 2009 @ 11:28 pm
(first artwork! hurrah!)

pencil sketch and Photoshop

For some reason most of the things i've been doing lately are women with their eyes closed; I guess it's just a summation of my current state of suspension, or the in-between where we stay when we're asleep.
03 August 2009 @ 07:17 pm

Wordplaying, or finding an excuse to not make sense

Amalgam, myriad. Fusion, consolidation.
Coagulation, coalescence.
Amalgam, myriad. Fusion, consolidation.
Coagulation, coalescence.
Color discoordination.
Creative overloadization. Aridation.
Amalgamation barfation.


Shedding excess skin

A chance to work in a photography studio: a chance at photography, a chance at a studio. Not bad to the ears at all, not bad for the spirit either. Or so I thought. I guess you could never really know how hot the bottom of the pot is until you touch it with your bare hands. It leaves a mark, and bitter sensations In the mouth, but ones that are necessary in order to move forward. Once the scar has healed, whether it takes a year or an hour, you could peel it off and shed it. Like it was never really there.


Trying everyday

Change your life: three words that stare me in the face everyday of my existence. Fourteen letters that on their own are meaningless symbols, but together form a battalion of commanders leading forth my life. I have so many generals around me, why can’t I seem to just follow orders and change my life?

I try it everyday. I succeed a little everyday. I fail a little everyday. Everyday it’s easier said than done.


Rhythm-less and trying to make something of it

Rain falls for five minutes. It falls so hard the jalousies shake, the doors slam shut, the roof shudders. Five minutes later rain stops falling so suddenly everything feels like they’ve been dropped to the ground to die. Then gray clouds glide past and make way for blue skies. The sun shines so bright the garden set glows white, the wet trees glint, the concrete dries. Five minutes later the sunshine fades and a mist settles overhead. Winds blow so strong that drying laundry flies to the ground, the weeds go all awry. Five minutes later I’m lying in paralysis, not knowing how I should react to this rhythm-less hour, to this rhythm-less day. Five minutes later I decide to run outdoors, take advantage of the wind on my face. Five minutes later it’s storming outside my door it’s silly to go out; I stay inside to sketch. Five minutes it’s sunshine again; I put down my pencils to run errands instead. Five minutes later the wind is blowing again; I will run errands and go straight to running exercises. Five minutes later I am dressed and ready to go; it is raining again.


Eyeing the sky

My dad came across a sculptural tree branch one day, brought in by the winds no doubt. We take a minute to take photos. Then he gets the idea to raise it so I could photograph it against the sky. Everything against the sky – like the sky is what makes it grand. Like height is what gives it worth. And I thought, yeah. It was a beautiful branch lying on the ground this morning, adrift in strong winds. It is an even more beautiful branch standing against the sky, alive and moving, and making my dad happy even for just a minute.
Current Mood: awake
Current Music: himala - rivermaya
31 July 2009 @ 10:59 pm
I recently started an exercise that combines photography and words, my two great loves. It was initially created by a local artist, and I thought it would do me good to try it for myself. I've so far been consistent with it for two weeks. I posted the results of week one on my personal LJ, as a signpost of sorts. The following ones would be appearing here. Soon enough. Hee.

In my room
Current Mood: mellowmellow
Current Music: bittersweet symphony - the verve
06 July 2009 @ 06:56 pm
This is a poem i wrote way back in high school, about 5 years ago, when i was lashing out against the sad state of my environment. I posted it in another online poetry community and got the most interesting responses. One guy said it reminded him of Donnie Darko, while another very violently negated him. They then proceeded into a lengthy argument about the poem and the film. I've looked for a copy of the film since, and upon finding it last year, i finally understood what both guys were saying. While there's something in the theme that's reminiscent of Donnie, i have to agree that they're two completely different things, in the tone and personality, to be specific. So anyway,here's the poem. Think of it what you will. Teehee.


Ethereal illusions mock
in a world tangible beyond my reach
Trying to grasp the evanescent
whispers luring me to insanity.
Enticing eyes tell me more,
but I avert my gaze. Fear overcomes.
Incomprehension for conformity's sake,
binding my shackled feet
ever closer to the Hades of my enigma.
Because understanding is suicide
and the Spring of this cycle hasn't come.

A test of faith and patience-
to invest my soul on ephemeral mirth
and nonexistent reality.
Sitting languidly on the benches
of fire and throw myself into
the tempest of my mind.
Innocent screams - unreal; slapping
my face. They couldn't grasp
scathing truth, save boundless silence.
Then the twinkle of dawn draws near,
inviting me to come lose myself.
But I can't.
Incomprehension for conformity's sake,
freeing my tongue of diabolical dialects.
I am blind
but surrender is not salvation.
And salvation will come after the storm
is vanquished.
Current Music: the park - feist
25 June 2009 @ 11:54 pm
I decided to repost this entry because i finally have the photo that went with it, and i want them seen side by side. The view in the photo is not only the inspiration for the whole thing, but the actual place where the whole poem occurs. Of course, it didn't really occur, it's just my imagination run amok. This, by the way, is the result of an exercise where we're supposed to use color to develop/accentuate a theme in a work of fiction. My color: violet.

The World and A Blanket

The world sleeps, snug
beneath a blanket of violet
light that enshrouds us before dawn awakes.

Here we are, bumbling up this slope,
the rocks beneath our feet
a pitch beyond night, but just not quite
reaching morning.
I look up at you, climbing ahead,
and I am engulfed
by the sheer translucence of your face.
Your eyes aimed towards me and I am convinced:
it is your breath on my face on this early morning,
your pulse beneath my feet at the core of this hill.
of the soft palms of the wild, violet blooms reaching out.
And your hand.

Now we sit at the peak-
of the hill, of the world, it’s all the same to you-
staring down the quilted landscape.
You tell me of flight, the still unbroken sky.
I know how you’ve seen its every corner,
how you wear its every hue.
You tell me of lights
beyond the violet range across the sleeping sea.
And I know how you’ve swallowed its every shade.

While the world slumbers,
I deny how this violet has consumed me, despite
you sitting by my side.
I just wait for dawn to wake and
release me from this shadow.
Let me go on uphill
so I can meet you in the next light.

revised March 30, 2009
Current Mood: pensivepensive
Current Music: styrofoam plates - deathcab for cutie
25 June 2009 @ 07:38 pm
I will be uploading higher res versions of my photos, that i will probably be editing as well. Just to be more presentable.
Current Mood: awake
Current Music: buzzing fan
22 June 2009 @ 07:03 pm


First dimension:
the self on a quest for territory
to claim
on its own, though regretting it.
Walking back and forth
point A to point B,
and back to A,
like from a bed to a door
making a mark.
The self's space:
one dimension.

Second dimension:
Selves yearning for closeness,
all lines crossed, all borders erased.
How one doesn't just reach out
but pours out
like liquid coming in waves
transcending, and contained-
but not really.
How one pulls in, lets in
two selves:
two dimensions.

Third dimension:
Selves in a fountain
flooding out and swathing
all entities
before expanding infinitely
into nooks and crannies
and the vast cosmos beyond.
Conquering all in its path
in a never ending
swell of selves:
three dimensions
Tags: ,
Current Mood: just about ready to explode
Current Music: falling slowly - glen hansard and marketa irglova