ncmaa

[ncmaa]

Unfinished - 2017

One can only say too many. A thousand? No - maybe more. As countless drifting smiles fleet over glazed eyes, have we ever really found it? Will we ever? Do we even know the slightest? Around twenty years racing for that bubbling, sparkling, maybe even tingling sensation. Only for moments to dull into the familiarity of a lullaby -  warp into a face we would feel fondly for until the end of our lives - all to chase around twenty more. Twenty times around ten more heartaches. Twenty times ten more to cry for. All for to feel the life from your chest wither slowly - twenty times ten more. Gone is the girl who believed in the simple. Where do we go from knowing what the heart looked for to being washed out of the balance, long lost into the flurry that is this life? Where do we go from here? "I wonder if they had made dinner by now." "Would they be eating roasted chicken over brown sauce again?" "Those little, little, green-brown round things I'd roll over the side of my plate..." "Would they notice." "Mother.." "I can't.." [2:19 AM] As I gaze into the dark nothing, that steady portrait of many lights, I feel the cold as I grasp onto the metal posts I have managed to climb my way up to. Rough. In the fading corner of my mind, I thought to myself that brown old steel drenched in water really did smell strongly. Probably almost like the inside of my skin, I thought absently. It wouldn't have hurt, I thought for sure. Feeling nothing underneath my feet, I sway them into a mindless rhythm as I flying with the world beneath me. The world. Distant and maybe even a bit odd. Until it started again. Again. The low humming from the tips of my toes, traveling towards the tips of my fingers, reaching the sides of my neck, reaching my ears, and finally my throat as the air around seems to get thinner and thinner. Harder and harder. I place a hand over the lump on my neck as tiny jolts spark over my abdomen, restricting my chest for what seems like a long while, dimming my consciousness along the nostalgic sky with many little buildings that was the Metro. "There are small miracles..." I tilt my head to rest on the side of the cold t as air filled my chest once again. I wait. With a stronger swing to my right foot, I decided. "This is it." And to my surprise, a single tear miraculously managed to escape and glide over my numb cheeks. Closing my eyes, the noise that beats shallow echoes in my mind starts to fade. "Goodbye.." [2:19 AM] Slowly... I loosen the grip on my fingers. Slowly. And that was when, as if out of nowhere, this light from the center of my closed eyes broke my lids free to gaze down on the peculiar sight of someone looking straight right into you. "Hey! Don't!" "I don't know what you're doing up there, but from the looks of it, it is best if you stayed right where you are." "Stay right where you are! Promise me!" Snapping out of my daze, I feel my eyes focus as my grip haplessly tightens around the metal posts. It was only then that I realized that my palms felt a bit wet. Before I can finish any semblance of power I had overthinking what was then to me very important little details - I have been called out once again. -- "Finally! I found you." "I found you" "I found..." "You." [2:19 AM] - "Bzz bzz bzz". Rustling over bedsheets, I stretch my whole body, arching my back as I slowly open my eyes into the ceiling. I glance at the still beeping clock and press over its top to silence the damn thing. The damn thing that woke me up at 5:25 AM. Sighing, I feel a small smile creep over the corners of my lips. Glancing at the side of the bed, I let myself sink into the passing second. It's peaceful. Warm. Expecting to see lumps of long cloudy bedsheets and pillows, I turn to the obstructive oddity before me. It was breathing, almost suggesting or resembling the presence of a person. That "person". My mind still half-asleep, I mused. Bending to reach, I softly plant a kiss over its cheeks. "Aah... Mhm."  A pair of beautiful green eyes with many little freckles within them open. "Hello." "Are you really awake now?" "Hmm.. Let me think about it." The lump of pillows not so subtly inches over, eventually crawling on my sides, between a fairly odd position of topping and being beside me. She giggles. Suddenly, I feel something tracing the sides of my back. Her fingertips are both cold and gentle. Feeling a familiar sense I have just had the night before, I shift my legs between us. Sensing my discomfort, the lump of pillow deliberately places her thighs tightly between mine. "...Mhm".

[ncmaa]

Unfinished, Volume 2 - 2017

Her fingertips were two inches away from mine. Idly scratching the top of the rock-bed we sat on - a little moist from the warm sea breeze. I could have reached her. But I did not. She exhaled a deep breath and faced away from me. I did not have to look. Not this time. It was enough to feel in the growing silence. Courage leaves me at times when truth settles deep into the hollow of where all these sentiments are supposed to go. But maybe, this time, it left me as an ally would. If I would have known better, it meant that it was over. That it was really, finally over. As doubt started to linger on the decision made by my now muddled mind, a fleeting ghost of regret tried reaching for the words I can never call back unsaid. Her lips parted. Nothing.

I did know better.

The view of the ocean was vast. Somewhere from the back of my mind, I wondered how long it would take for any small rock to sink into the very bottom. The first time it happened was subtle. Too small - too trivial that you would have missed it if you failed to notice the tens of letters piling into thousands in modesty over that brown leather and crystal table. Gods and Goddesses forbid how long that ancient precipice has been sitting on my study. If the extravagantly detailed etching of the artisan's signature was any indication, it has been serving dutifully around a humble four centuries. It was one of the few things I was able to save from my late mother's library.

Missing out has too much of an advantage. Just as, if you would have chosen to miss out, chosen to have just been perfectly too occupied at the right time to notice the silver and gold pots that imposed a threat to the space of my small home, you would have thought I made a plausible host to that tea party last Vestian. It certainly did not help that about more than half of my two dozen guests were struggling for air only a couple of minutes past teatime. They were wheezing and appeared to have transformed into creatures who are unable to do anything more than croak in various levels and pitch. The grand horror of social suicide. Pots recklessly shoved with plants that had many different colored drooping leaves.

Pollen - as I have come to find out - was the singular culprit of what made the air of my study - that leaked into my bedroom - one shade yellow. The same culprit to the orchestra of frogs my room seemed to have inspired in people. A rogue guest turned hero that drove that stout man I did not remember ever inviting with the blue over yellow undershirt that had brown stains on them, away. The blue and yellow man who probably had a difficult enough childhood to have resulted in becoming a severe epitome of an uncultured swine - who also spent a good thirty minutes or so leering and licking his lips with an off-putting wink at every one of my invited guests, puffed by swelling and reddening allergies. Nature is always so kind. The buzzing of a mechanical bird stuck to the window woke me from my most critical thoughts and worries. I let the messenger in.

[ncmaa]

"I See Clowns" - Feb 22, 2012

Who are they? What are they? They are these savage beasts! They eat your sons! Daughters, and  elders! Through blatant hypocracies! Faced painted in white Red buttoned noses, Them, and their Silly antics Oh, How much she hates them Them, with their waving flags Red and White Blue and Green What tasteless fashion! Disgusting creatures! A Threat to the inoccent! Out with the truth! Sing all thy lies! And make truth known He takes a rabbit, And feeds it to his hat, Stuffs the dead into his pockets, And he does it again, Surely, the end is near. World damnation.

[ncmaa]

Laroine’s Election Speech

We cannot be afraid of change, because change is Nature.

As long as we respect this, we will flow as a timeless stream – beautiful, bright, and forgiving.

I am writing to speak of thoughts penned by my very heart.

Let us never forget that as long as we respect the uniqueness in every one of our voices, we will remain in harmony.

To speak is not to say that trust has been shattered or shaken. Within everyone’s depths, exists a common collective passion to serve the Nature we all live for and with. We may project it all differently, but in the end of most earnest honesty, crashing waves ebb on gentle shores. That is to say that ideas regardless of transient conflict, grow into materialization, flourishing into the currents of the desire to keep going.

There has always been a tendency to hush voices, hear ones who'd sound a certain way, discard any earnest possibly ones if said without conforming to the way that has been decided on. Always been around. Which is why voices happen. We are spirits. We are not civilization. We are a commune. We can be proud and varied. Unique, but cultured. Loud and quiet. But all passionate. In the end, it boils down to caring enough to push things forward.

The responsibility of leading the voice of Serenwilde in diplomacy, as how it is with everything we call ‘political’ and in all of its irony, as much as the tendencies to take in the weight of the pressure of dealing with many, I hope we do not forget that the more hands pushing against the weather in the sky, the farther we would fly. In simple terms, no one has to be alone. Not even a Seneschal. Not anyone. If we wish to change, we may change together in togetherness. It does not matter who takes the responsibility, as in the end, we love the same.

If we are able to accept uniqueness instead of shooting them down, listen to voices regardless of pitch focusing into its content, if we are able to humble enough regardless of respectful time spent seeing what may seem to be all there is to life in tired aged eyes, if we listen and value every passionate voice as part of equal importance, then we are able to foster a community unstoppable moving along every one of our strengths instead of weakness.

Personally, I think as much as it would be convenient to, one cannot stop reactions to adversity - example being the reaction to the growing silent concern over the Serenwilde's lack of grit in terms of its current state of influence over the Basin. A simple example being is that one lone village we have mananged to influence as many thanks to a few actively passionate forestfolks, combined with the spirit of uneasy growing worry we may all feel as, as I have in some days able to witness painfully passerbys threatening our forests in the context of juvenile curiosity as if lacking the respect our commune once built over centuries.

Therefore with complete trust and respect into what is to unfold, I am expressing my intention to mark my penmanship under the possibly historically notorious list for the very sake of keeping everything moving, giving this chance for everyone curious to see this through.

Offering myself knowing full-well that the real contestation is currently, as of writing, obviously among the other two.

Taking a bullet – in light that there might be actual room for the insanity of possibly ever considering me, with much respect and honor to uniqueness, the following – though definitely amendable through collaborative communication - are my own thoughts, with regards to direction;

First, if proved beneficial, I will resolve rekindle and start an alliance with the City of Celest and Gaudiguch. As much of you might know, I grew up a humble bird within the arms of our forests - wandering along the bright lights of the city of Celest. Although I have awoken to a time where we may not be politically allied with Gaudiguch, under the safety neutral grounds bring, I may have had the chance to hear some of their bright voices – leaning me curious to wanting to know more. I am aware that histories have happened causing drastic shifts to our alliances, but I believe this is nothing but inevitable as one personal decision brought against representational seats of power does not necessarily mean the decision of many. I will, if given the power to be able to and again unless proven otherwise that an alliance will not be beneficial, will take steps to resolve and rekindle.

Second, I value transparency. As does my fiancé. I am sure everyone would and as we are currently relatively small in number, to be able to address to concerns effectively, I suggest we keep a public log recording said concerns in a few words, at most to a sentence so that once anyone able is awake, we may inspire communication and keep it done as we all help each other.

Third, I will be holding two types of meetings. One marked with a date. The other, spontaneous – called when everyone is awake. We are to address concerns collaboratively, assess the nature of priorities, call every element needed both internal and externally. Internally, which is to say everything to do within Serenwilde such as empowering our culture, inspiring for literature, power distributions and such. Externally, which is to say discussions regarding Serenwilde’s political influence.

Forth, empowerment for combat will be a priority. We are to inspire mutual betterment in combat by holding sparring events and organize with the Ministry of Defense a communal system wherein we are to push one another for the best of ways not only to counter and defend, but also when the Basin calls for a time where we are to raise our pride -  we are to do so united.

If you have reached this part, I would like to send my deepest thanks you have made in listening to this humble voice.

Pouring my heart into the forest that I love,

Humbled, Laroine.

[ncmaa]

---- 9:48 am, August 8, 2017

Countless. Confused as to which, where, and even more so, how. How, like that one time. Six-grade. Lady of mid-forties tipped down to write on the bottom of a board so grey you forget it ever was green. Tight. With tiny ripples, you think they were crates to a little planet. Oops, my pencil broke. That screeching continuously halting rubbing of nails of a nervous thirteen year old waiting for nothing at all, distracting my focus. Focus to what? A confusion? No. Humans like me, around me. Nervous for nothing. Nervous for the exciting disillusionment of every happy ever afters. Bright smiles, flushing cheeks - lame. (Yes, but no I have not had too much coffee to spill.) I never paid so much attention. You may ask whatever happened to my ‘heart’, ‘soul’? Anything, something inside - the thought crossed my mind before, and maybe all I know is that I do not know. If only a way was ever made possible to catch every thought, idea, musings to your physical hands, fingers, to feel them moving, growing - oh what an easier life. I would like to think it’s the same for everyone, but as we age and experience whatever we are thrown with, we come to realizations that that is not certainly and with absolute confused arrogant certainty, the case. That you only ever live for yourself. You feel for yourself. No matter your eastern western philosophy, ultimately, you are left with yourself. Only yourself to think about. Yourself on what and which to think about. And here we go. Therefore I have maybe came to a conclusion. That I, maybe am countless. Countless. Like the water you cannot hold. Confused as to what it is that is countless. Why is there a need to count? Why probe a heart. Why a soul. And just like that, 8 hours has passed. Class ended. 

Bucker dropped twenty-feet from the vending machine where I had just dropped my 5 peso coin, thirteen seconds ago. “Don’t touch him!” As if drawn to some form of hope, I looked into his eyes. Or at least tried to - it was bright but it was as if something was missing. What was it? I wanted to know. Before what Nelson said would have gotten the best of me, I felt my foot turn and left. 

I looked to see my shirt sticking too close to my skin. Cold. I was drenched. “Ha! You don’t ever pay attention, _Kayle.” Rolling his eyes like he always seems to do, _Rupert flipped a page to the book we all were mandated to hold three seats behind where this unidentified creature was speaking. As if he cared. Lotti? Lolli? Letti? Would he ever. Whatever her name was, never will concern me. Before the third insult describing the creature came to my mind, with haste,  Professor _Galihal lifted her metal rod to draw a line between the chair of where I sat and the creature with the dust that had formed naturally on where we were stationed before tapping it three times, the third being the loudest. “Explain.” The creature looked at her with eyes that were so dumbening, it would put the worst of mankind to shame. “She stole my portion, Ms. Galihal.” Without delay, the creature looked down on its feet. “I had just asked her.. And then.. She.. s-she suddenly..” Corner of its eyes filled with water, sounding like a horse on a rock-band she says, “Why…”. “Kayle, I want you at the seventh cell at five.”. Tipping her nose to the air, Ms Galihal left us, creatures to the state we were in before she came. “Hahaha! See?”. “Easy.”, the unidentified creature grins its lowly mouth. There was only one thing we ever did learn from this cell - we have adapted to lie. Feeling a burst of emotion, I felt my fingers grind against my palm, moist in its trembling. “Soon”. I felt the start of a smile.

[ncmaa]

Creative Writing - 2015, March

Arrogance and ignorance is the cause of countless deaths of the innocent succumbed to the product of the time we have spent trying to preserve the world from each of our own “projected” forms of chaos. As an inseparable pair and tool fed from each selfish thought of man, they have been haunting what we define as humanity like a web of endless layers of conceit. The onset of “evolution” has paved the way to cemented roads to nowhere, built with the cries and pleas of the oppressed innocent. The ways of the “world” that we have unwittingly allowed to create ourselves. 

To one point of the extreme, we fear the different, the unique. We fear change. We fear as though it would one day become directly a part of our own lives – a cause to act for the “greater good”. Limited to seeing, and probably having the will to choose to see, one forth a patch on the dirt road. In a world where circumstance dictates whether the horse may choose to shop for blinkers for questionably protective accessories, have them grow on their heads from the moment they were born, or having picked them along the way, all as we race further into the forest with no other end but our own lives. 

The perceived are formless glass shards. Like everything else that exists, it reflects what the mind wants to see at a given angle. To what we describe as human logic, they are processed as symbols within symbols. Such as a piece of artwork, they are made to communicate to what matters to us – the fulfillment of desire. Just as how we interact and relate everything there is to witness, to keep a steady foot is to know that there will always be more to know. 

In human relations, no one, not even one’s self will ever completely know oneself if not only for the present moment in time, which applies to both inter and intrapersonal relationships. In the context of intangible things, such as the issues we face, we tend to seclude, categorize and detach ourselves to understanding the things we have started to brand with a certain degree of exhausting familiarity. They only ever exist to us as symbols, signs, and eventually, may it be conscious or unconsciously, we stop caring. 

Whenever we are engaged in an activity, all we see is the activity and not how much it resembles the entirety of relations. One would not often tend to ponder about how many planes of existence are constantly expanding through a series of universes given that it expands at all while eating cereals in the morning. Or how much of a possibility it is that a new form of organism might have begun to promulgate at the ends of every strand of polyester you have on your toothbrush while brushing your teeth, when they all sum up to how much difference you can choose to change. 

 Everything unusual or unknown scares a majority of us. I would like to think that part of why this happens is because of the very foundations and systems made in an attempt to “control” what we call a society. The largest of all systems is Religion – what we believe in, regardless of rationale and symmetries. Our moral foundations. The norms. “Guidelines to a better living” - guidelines to anything. Disregarding all forms of belief and depending on reasoning ‘purely’ on logic, as everything is made up of variables that we can never control, any form of organization “made” solely to control often destroys the full potential of the mind by constricting limits of thought. As we are scared, eventually the majority gathers, and those who are different suffer. Casted out, diagnosed by the “norm”, until their sense of individuality and or identity dies within them. 

 At the present general state of the majority, if not all of how we think, every pattern we make will never cease to constrain us to limits, limits that we make ourselves, limits that leads to each untimely death of potential, limits that are born out of the undermined continuous instances of every individual turning a blind eye to what is there; the corruption of the mind.  

[ncmaa]

You are my death.

Lingering

Caressing

Gentle

Soothing

Agony.

Painful

Addicting

Addicting

Addicting

Beautiful.

You are my death.

I need you.

I cant stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I cant.

I'm drowning.

Helpless

Falling.

Falling

Falling

Drowning.

You are my death.

[ncmaa]

What you are, was, and will be, will never matter to me. I love you, and that includes everything that is you.

[ncmaa]

Love is weird.

I am weird. It makes me weirder.

It laughs at how you've completely no choice over it.

No control.

No handbreak to pull.

No seatbelts.

No airbags to support you when you hit a street post.

No nothing.

You've no choice but to sit and ride a groundless path with no signs.

To move and move,

and continue moving

with the constant fear

of losing the one sitting next to you.

[ncmaa]

We fear everything close to the unknown. 

The unfamiliar. 

When we are barely know ourselves.

[ncmaa]

The moment you start thinking over how you might run out of words to say to someone, will the words eventually run out.