I think it was Ricky Lee who said, "Mas masakit ang ala-ala kapag umuulan."
So here I am feeling the heaviness of rain, the heavy, unconsoled breathing of a storm. There really is no sadness, not even a sense of emptiness.
Just graceless madness.
This year has been difficult. (Mabi, here I go.) Dis facultas rings true; I haven't been able to function appropriately, if at all I performed in any of the multiple roles I auditioned for, some, I was destined to play. I have been a distant son, a snappish brother, a lackluster lover, a lethargic employee and a withdrawn friend. And to add to the pungent stew, the lingering trauma of getting beaten up by strangers, and the recurring heaviness of heart.
The heaviness of rain.
On the other hand, sleep has been kind to me. Sweet, even. Drifted off last night to Angie Hart's Untitled EP. Her high, angelic voice is calming like a cigarette, a slow crawling rush to the head. Slow motion heady, the techno floursihes and the reluctant piano are fluid sonicscapes that drown out the world in their thoughful pauses.
Sweet dreams are made of these.