The thing with fairytales

It is a curse that every damsel in distress must spend half her life in waiting. For prince charming to be the center of all the monster-slaying, horseback riding, heart-pumping action. What a shame it is for princesses to fall under the mercy of the prick of a needle, or a shiny red apple. What a shame it is, to just sit there and look pretty and wait to be kissed and rescued. To wait for her prince to carry her away into a better life.

When all this time we've had arms to weild a sword.



How much of human life is lost in waiting?
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

sheesh

its kind of frustrating how our words are so loosely strung. we can't even hold on to them long enough. its so pathetic that we'd much rather swallow than sting

life's ironic

The one time CRS gave me everything I need was right before the semester which I might not make into. haay.

I should know better, I know.
It's just that its so hard not to doubt that single set of footprints.

My name is Kim Kutledge and I am broken.

I'm not really broken in the way that a tree becomes broken in a tropical storm or the way or the way an egg becomes broken when it is dropped to the kitchen floor before it can be put in the omelet. I am broken like a bone, painfully and somewhat grotesque to look at, but under the right conditions and proper care I will heal.

-Kim Kutledge, The Absence of Gray Matter


Here's one of the monologues I liked from speech class.

Construction

That's the problem with skyscrapers - we forget they were once a sack of cement, rock from the earth we tread on. We think sometimes that they've always been there, or that something more glamorous than callous human hands have created them. I know, it's hard to think that such greatness was dust once, hard to believe that butterflies came from cocoons, or that adults once children

Its much easier picturing them this way, forgetting they went through construction We wake up seeing them the way they are, thinking they were never once humbled, that they have always been this towering strength but

Wouldn't it be interesting to see them again, dust and rock and blood and sweat,


(like how Babel rose with sand and earth,
the same sand and the same earth that it was,
when struck down.)

The trees, they say stood witness.
The sky refused to tell.
But someone who had seen it said
The story played out well

She longed to be a flame,
That brightly danced alone.
Felt jealous of the steam
That made the air its only home.

She spread her arms out wide.
Breathed in the break of dawn.
She just let go of all she held

And then she was gone.


-ginger foutley

here's a song that will sum up the chopseuy in my head today

'Cause you can't jump the track,we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe

-anna nalick, breathe



okay, and this one too:

I'm too sexy for my love too sexy for my love
Love's going to leave me

I'm too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts

-Right Said Fred, I'm too sexy



dang, I really like that second one. hehe

uh oh

where did all my leisure go??

grey matter

I am drifting without an anchor
through your ambiguous region
strange continent
immune to all reason
and I'm flattered
by your grey matter

fickle

she said: "you are too hesitant."
I was going to say "I am not."
I told her instead: "I see."

bleh

i know its about time i get things out of my system, but dammit. i'm out of puke bags.

so here's a tiny bit of vomit:

sorry?

it was something i ate.

STOP INTRUDING.

You don't have a soul.
"You are a Soul. you have a body."

hmm.

my pc is screwed,
and so is my plate, my kas exam and my pe practicals
to name a few

oh and i've got a bump on my head!

so i had a bad day.

well they can't all be like this. maybe tommorrow i'll go win a lottery. or a nobel prie.
or fly, like a bird.


and I'll sing to myself: what a wonderful world!

people are very needy creatures. and it only gets worse as they grow older: an infant may scream for a bottle of milk or fresh diapers but here we are screaming for truths..

should you admit your need: people give you strange looks because they think they're so good at concealing their lusts.

if I am brutish if I am dead if I am not divine
I am human and that is all, that is all..

a daisy on a chain

Ask no more.
Only listen to the sound of the trees
when no wind stirs.

train story

It's nothing really, you and I simultaneously entering the MRT. (a lot of other people do that, no cosmic energy brought us together, we come not by fate, but for sheer time-in checks, curfews or the urge to simply go somewhere.) I assume you are going somewhere. I am too, I just don't know yet where that is.

when I was a little girl in my fathers car, I would look out the window and say "the clouds are following us!" and my father, driving ever so steadily just rode along with that smirk on his face not even bothering to correct me. He simply mutters "then we have to go faster," and then we do, watching the clouds racing to catch us as the gauge reads the highest speed he could pull off without earning a speeding ticket. we were fast, and while I thought no policeman could get us, the clouds did. They always did.

(that was my father then. now you can give him a ticket for being the slowest driver in the whole of metro manila.)

I guess I never really grew out of that feeling. I ride trains and pretend that the city is moving, for the motion of this train is imperceptible; I - we - are suspended in this cubicle while right outside is the world speeding by. I suppose in a sense that is true also, everything about this train is suspended, while outside, eveything is in motion. Everything about this train is suspended, especially the people - it's amazing how close they get without even sharing the most fundamental things - like a word, or eye contact; we all stand so unimaginably close, this distance usually reserved for couples, or siamese twins, and then the minute we get off the train, we disappear forever, in each others lives just like that. Forget that we stood so close to a stranger enough to feel the heartbeat we never even knew.

like one person said: this has the makings of a sad story.

we leave the train. life resumes.

the clock that hung on my wall,

it started turning backwards, as though it always have. 12 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8 - back it went. It was morning, and there I was, looking outside my window, at what was to me, the most interesting sunset.

and then my alarm starts ringing

and then I fell to the ceiling. my feet clung there, like some messed up gravity was tugging at my weight. (take that, Isaac Newton) I looked up, expecting the rest of my furniture to come crashing any minute, but they never did, it was just me. I fell to the ceiling and that's all there is to it.

I wondered, eyeing the glass. I looked at my eyes that looked at my eyes; I wondered, if my reflection is me. or if I am my reflection. If in this state of being upside down everything is changed. If everything is reversed, why do I still keep running? You would think, if you lose the chains, there would be no need to escape. I wonder. looking at the glass, if I am the one trapped in a mirror or if she is.

even the happiest people in the world still wear a frown. If you hang them upside down

still, there's the window: (here we go again) no more pixie-dusts this time, just the mere sight of that wide open window is comforting. I stood at the edge. This time, this leap of faith will not bring me crashing down down down, onto the hard ground. I fall, upwards, to the sky. (apparently in this alter-world gravitational law where in you never fall: you float.) If floating is just as fierce as falling, if floating means you still go nine point eight meters per second squared, the same acceleration as gravity, only upward.

but this leap of faith is one I have not yet taken, because the risks I take and the heights I brave are not inversely proportional to what I seek. and because it is much much easier, to watch everything from a distance.

then again maybe it wouldn't hurt as much - just in case the floating fails and I happen to land where the ground is hard and jagged rocks break my fall into a million pieces of crushed bones

when I came back, my reflection, she said: "the sexiest thing is trust" and that I was a big fat cow in thin girl's clothing. I was still thinking if she meant the opposite of what she said (because either way it would've made perfect sense)

I might as well be dreaming.
because I never fall. I float.

Still you'd think I have to wake up sometime.

For you

(who looks too far to find art) -an acrostic
patricia magno

It is in every breath that we have drawn, the secret
nuances of the language we speak - a language forged

in the heat of war and the chill of conspiracy by people
(not gods, not dreams) but of flesh and bone and wounds never
cauterized. Child, listen! Child, heed my wounds because
Art flows within us, in the blood that still has the power to boil.
(No, art is creation, for good and for beauty and we swore to use it to
destroy) Child, listen. The lines in your palm and the sheen of your hair -
everything is rooted in creation, in art. We of the chameleon
skin and the chameleon languages have forgotten where we began, the
cradle of the womb, the oil paints of everyday life to the watercolor sky -
everywhere, art is everywhere you care to look
No, I speak of us now! (not your poems / stories you write in
class or the red inkblots you receive in their place) YOU, who is an
enigma of cultures, you without footing, determination, inspiration

We are art, we are the fullness of every Mona Lisa serene,
every David stone cold, every chapel cailing - every

wild, sweeping Van Gogh, but better - oh, so much better because
in us beats the heart of martyrs, in our footprints lie the dust if heroes. Our
life in itself is art. The arcane, the ancient
language we have neglected in the dull


repetition of everyday but Child! never forget that
in you throbs the masterpiece of masters, in you
sings the orchestra of the greatest conductor. In
every word we breathe - give glory, give thanks.

---
currently playing: powerless - nelly furtado

happy 19th, JODI! you inspire us all.
cheers to another year!:)

these negative vibes are showing. but I had a really bad day. :(

so far my life is going unplanned. its a little funny, and yes, in a ha-ha sort of way. a little scary too, at times. but I'm learning.
like this flash movie plate. i'm really not sure how to go about it, or if I will be able to do the things I want before deadline...

I want to eat hello panda cookies.
And I wish sometimes my friends were elephants. if that makes sense. :)

--
What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to Heaven, and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awake, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?

"Only the children know what they are looking for," said the little prince. "They waste their time over a rag doll and it becomes very important to them; and if anybody takes it away from them, they cry…"

"They are lucky," the switchman said.

faith, trust and pixiedust!

So there I was, catching falling stars on my bed one night and contemplating on my longest ever crush on peter pan. Maybe if he were for real (and if dogs really could fly) I could too, if only I didn't know that while I believed so much on fairies, my fairies never did so believe in me. I could not blame them; I never really took off the galaxies stuffed in my pockets, and I kept on catching more falling stars than I could hold in my hands. They must have thought that it was this weight that kept me anchored to the ground.

I found pixie dust sprinkled inside my shoes, when I finally got off the bed. Only I didn't get that magical feeling in the movies, (the room did not echo "you can fly, you can fly!" ) It stung my feet instead, like when you sit on your leg for too long, stung my feet like having that funny bone on your elbow hit by the classroom chair. I liked wearing them anyway, for it reminded me of peter pan (and have I mentioned that I had the longest crush on him?) and I thought maybe if I wore these pixie shoes, by some good fairytale karma, he would appear. Even though it stung. (Even though I didn't know yet that later on, it will bleed.)

Anyway I always kept my needles ready, just in case he drops by searching for his shadow.

So then my window flew open, as I watched in awe as the second star to the right shone brighter and brighter, I ran to the sill and stood on the roof thinking of what it's like, face to face with your most elusive dream - must have been that same feeling in the wax museum when you're face to face with hollywood stars, only better. (as I have never really found wax a legitimate substitute for human beings - wax hands are too slippery to hold.) Peter pan was more than a Michael Jackson. Heck, peter pan was far greater to me then even Elvis.

I felt afloat. My feet began to leave the roof tiles - I was going to fly! I gave it one huge leap of faith, and I drifted into the endless sky. (And for the first time ever, like that cow in the nursery rhyme, I finally understood how it felt to jump over the moon)

I didn't stay there for long though. Next thing I knew I was being pulled hard into the earth, plunging into the darkness underneath me. Down down down down down down

It was a seemingly endless fall. How high have I really been? Down down down down

Down down down I couldn't have crashed harder. the moment I hit the ground I felt my bones dig themselves into my other bones, and the stars that I have held so dearly in these pockets fell all over the place, dug themselves into my skin, like shards of that full length mirror that used to hang in our old apartment, (along with those five years of bad luck multiplied by a thousand stars and a few dozen galaxies and the remains of the first dog in space)

I had legitimate reasons to cry then, only I figured that crying is not as much fun as laughing, And so I did. And all of a sudden I realized that it takes more than pixie dust to fly.

And while I thought that my fairies never did believe in me, I felt myself begin to rise.

(I never found my Peter, but who am I to protest now that I'm in Neverland?)


♥

The thing with fairytales

It is a curse that every damsel in distress must spend half her life in waiting. For prince charming to be the center of all the monster-slaying, horseback riding, heart-pumping action. What a shame it is for princesses to fall under the mercy of the prick of a needle, or a shiny red apple. What a shame it is, to just sit there and look pretty and wait to be kissed and rescued. To wait for her prince to carry her away into a better life.

When all this time we've had arms to weild a sword.



How much of human life is lost in waiting?
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

sheesh

its kind of frustrating how our words are so loosely strung. we can't even hold on to them long enough. its so pathetic that we'd much rather swallow than sting

life's ironic

The one time CRS gave me everything I need was right before the semester which I might not make into. haay.

I should know better, I know.
It's just that its so hard not to doubt that single set of footprints.

My name is Kim Kutledge and I am broken.

I'm not really broken in the way that a tree becomes broken in a tropical storm or the way or the way an egg becomes broken when it is dropped to the kitchen floor before it can be put in the omelet. I am broken like a bone, painfully and somewhat grotesque to look at, but under the right conditions and proper care I will heal.

-Kim Kutledge, The Absence of Gray Matter


Here's one of the monologues I liked from speech class.

Construction

That's the problem with skyscrapers - we forget they were once a sack of cement, rock from the earth we tread on. We think sometimes that they've always been there, or that something more glamorous than callous human hands have created them. I know, it's hard to think that such greatness was dust once, hard to believe that butterflies came from cocoons, or that adults once children

Its much easier picturing them this way, forgetting they went through construction We wake up seeing them the way they are, thinking they were never once humbled, that they have always been this towering strength but

Wouldn't it be interesting to see them again, dust and rock and blood and sweat,


(like how Babel rose with sand and earth,
the same sand and the same earth that it was,
when struck down.)

The trees, they say stood witness.
The sky refused to tell.
But someone who had seen it said
The story played out well

She longed to be a flame,
That brightly danced alone.
Felt jealous of the steam
That made the air its only home.

She spread her arms out wide.
Breathed in the break of dawn.
She just let go of all she held

And then she was gone.


-ginger foutley

here's a song that will sum up the chopseuy in my head today

'Cause you can't jump the track,we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe, just breathe

-anna nalick, breathe



okay, and this one too:

I'm too sexy for my love too sexy for my love
Love's going to leave me

I'm too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts

-Right Said Fred, I'm too sexy



dang, I really like that second one. hehe

uh oh

where did all my leisure go??

grey matter

I am drifting without an anchor
through your ambiguous region
strange continent
immune to all reason
and I'm flattered
by your grey matter

fickle

she said: "you are too hesitant."
I was going to say "I am not."
I told her instead: "I see."

bleh

i know its about time i get things out of my system, but dammit. i'm out of puke bags.

so here's a tiny bit of vomit:

sorry?

it was something i ate.

STOP INTRUDING.

You don't have a soul.
"You are a Soul. you have a body."

hmm.

my pc is screwed,
and so is my plate, my kas exam and my pe practicals
to name a few

oh and i've got a bump on my head!

so i had a bad day.

well they can't all be like this. maybe tommorrow i'll go win a lottery. or a nobel prie.
or fly, like a bird.


and I'll sing to myself: what a wonderful world!

people are very needy creatures. and it only gets worse as they grow older: an infant may scream for a bottle of milk or fresh diapers but here we are screaming for truths..

should you admit your need: people give you strange looks because they think they're so good at concealing their lusts.

if I am brutish if I am dead if I am not divine
I am human and that is all, that is all..

a daisy on a chain

Ask no more.
Only listen to the sound of the trees
when no wind stirs.

train story

It's nothing really, you and I simultaneously entering the MRT. (a lot of other people do that, no cosmic energy brought us together, we come not by fate, but for sheer time-in checks, curfews or the urge to simply go somewhere.) I assume you are going somewhere. I am too, I just don't know yet where that is.

when I was a little girl in my fathers car, I would look out the window and say "the clouds are following us!" and my father, driving ever so steadily just rode along with that smirk on his face not even bothering to correct me. He simply mutters "then we have to go faster," and then we do, watching the clouds racing to catch us as the gauge reads the highest speed he could pull off without earning a speeding ticket. we were fast, and while I thought no policeman could get us, the clouds did. They always did.

(that was my father then. now you can give him a ticket for being the slowest driver in the whole of metro manila.)

I guess I never really grew out of that feeling. I ride trains and pretend that the city is moving, for the motion of this train is imperceptible; I - we - are suspended in this cubicle while right outside is the world speeding by. I suppose in a sense that is true also, everything about this train is suspended, while outside, eveything is in motion. Everything about this train is suspended, especially the people - it's amazing how close they get without even sharing the most fundamental things - like a word, or eye contact; we all stand so unimaginably close, this distance usually reserved for couples, or siamese twins, and then the minute we get off the train, we disappear forever, in each others lives just like that. Forget that we stood so close to a stranger enough to feel the heartbeat we never even knew.

like one person said: this has the makings of a sad story.

we leave the train. life resumes.

the clock that hung on my wall,

it started turning backwards, as though it always have. 12 - 11 - 10 - 9 - 8 - back it went. It was morning, and there I was, looking outside my window, at what was to me, the most interesting sunset.

and then my alarm starts ringing

and then I fell to the ceiling. my feet clung there, like some messed up gravity was tugging at my weight. (take that, Isaac Newton) I looked up, expecting the rest of my furniture to come crashing any minute, but they never did, it was just me. I fell to the ceiling and that's all there is to it.

I wondered, eyeing the glass. I looked at my eyes that looked at my eyes; I wondered, if my reflection is me. or if I am my reflection. If in this state of being upside down everything is changed. If everything is reversed, why do I still keep running? You would think, if you lose the chains, there would be no need to escape. I wonder. looking at the glass, if I am the one trapped in a mirror or if she is.

even the happiest people in the world still wear a frown. If you hang them upside down

still, there's the window: (here we go again) no more pixie-dusts this time, just the mere sight of that wide open window is comforting. I stood at the edge. This time, this leap of faith will not bring me crashing down down down, onto the hard ground. I fall, upwards, to the sky. (apparently in this alter-world gravitational law where in you never fall: you float.) If floating is just as fierce as falling, if floating means you still go nine point eight meters per second squared, the same acceleration as gravity, only upward.

but this leap of faith is one I have not yet taken, because the risks I take and the heights I brave are not inversely proportional to what I seek. and because it is much much easier, to watch everything from a distance.

then again maybe it wouldn't hurt as much - just in case the floating fails and I happen to land where the ground is hard and jagged rocks break my fall into a million pieces of crushed bones

when I came back, my reflection, she said: "the sexiest thing is trust" and that I was a big fat cow in thin girl's clothing. I was still thinking if she meant the opposite of what she said (because either way it would've made perfect sense)

I might as well be dreaming.
because I never fall. I float.

Still you'd think I have to wake up sometime.

For you

(who looks too far to find art) -an acrostic
patricia magno

It is in every breath that we have drawn, the secret
nuances of the language we speak - a language forged

in the heat of war and the chill of conspiracy by people
(not gods, not dreams) but of flesh and bone and wounds never
cauterized. Child, listen! Child, heed my wounds because
Art flows within us, in the blood that still has the power to boil.
(No, art is creation, for good and for beauty and we swore to use it to
destroy) Child, listen. The lines in your palm and the sheen of your hair -
everything is rooted in creation, in art. We of the chameleon
skin and the chameleon languages have forgotten where we began, the
cradle of the womb, the oil paints of everyday life to the watercolor sky -
everywhere, art is everywhere you care to look
No, I speak of us now! (not your poems / stories you write in
class or the red inkblots you receive in their place) YOU, who is an
enigma of cultures, you without footing, determination, inspiration

We are art, we are the fullness of every Mona Lisa serene,
every David stone cold, every chapel cailing - every

wild, sweeping Van Gogh, but better - oh, so much better because
in us beats the heart of martyrs, in our footprints lie the dust if heroes. Our
life in itself is art. The arcane, the ancient
language we have neglected in the dull


repetition of everyday but Child! never forget that
in you throbs the masterpiece of masters, in you
sings the orchestra of the greatest conductor. In
every word we breathe - give glory, give thanks.

---
currently playing: powerless - nelly furtado

happy 19th, JODI! you inspire us all.
cheers to another year!:)

these negative vibes are showing. but I had a really bad day. :(

so far my life is going unplanned. its a little funny, and yes, in a ha-ha sort of way. a little scary too, at times. but I'm learning.
like this flash movie plate. i'm really not sure how to go about it, or if I will be able to do the things I want before deadline...

I want to eat hello panda cookies.
And I wish sometimes my friends were elephants. if that makes sense. :)

--
What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to Heaven, and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awake, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?

"Only the children know what they are looking for," said the little prince. "They waste their time over a rag doll and it becomes very important to them; and if anybody takes it away from them, they cry…"

"They are lucky," the switchman said.

faith, trust and pixiedust!

So there I was, catching falling stars on my bed one night and contemplating on my longest ever crush on peter pan. Maybe if he were for real (and if dogs really could fly) I could too, if only I didn't know that while I believed so much on fairies, my fairies never did so believe in me. I could not blame them; I never really took off the galaxies stuffed in my pockets, and I kept on catching more falling stars than I could hold in my hands. They must have thought that it was this weight that kept me anchored to the ground.

I found pixie dust sprinkled inside my shoes, when I finally got off the bed. Only I didn't get that magical feeling in the movies, (the room did not echo "you can fly, you can fly!" ) It stung my feet instead, like when you sit on your leg for too long, stung my feet like having that funny bone on your elbow hit by the classroom chair. I liked wearing them anyway, for it reminded me of peter pan (and have I mentioned that I had the longest crush on him?) and I thought maybe if I wore these pixie shoes, by some good fairytale karma, he would appear. Even though it stung. (Even though I didn't know yet that later on, it will bleed.)

Anyway I always kept my needles ready, just in case he drops by searching for his shadow.

So then my window flew open, as I watched in awe as the second star to the right shone brighter and brighter, I ran to the sill and stood on the roof thinking of what it's like, face to face with your most elusive dream - must have been that same feeling in the wax museum when you're face to face with hollywood stars, only better. (as I have never really found wax a legitimate substitute for human beings - wax hands are too slippery to hold.) Peter pan was more than a Michael Jackson. Heck, peter pan was far greater to me then even Elvis.

I felt afloat. My feet began to leave the roof tiles - I was going to fly! I gave it one huge leap of faith, and I drifted into the endless sky. (And for the first time ever, like that cow in the nursery rhyme, I finally understood how it felt to jump over the moon)

I didn't stay there for long though. Next thing I knew I was being pulled hard into the earth, plunging into the darkness underneath me. Down down down down down down

It was a seemingly endless fall. How high have I really been? Down down down down

Down down down I couldn't have crashed harder. the moment I hit the ground I felt my bones dig themselves into my other bones, and the stars that I have held so dearly in these pockets fell all over the place, dug themselves into my skin, like shards of that full length mirror that used to hang in our old apartment, (along with those five years of bad luck multiplied by a thousand stars and a few dozen galaxies and the remains of the first dog in space)

I had legitimate reasons to cry then, only I figured that crying is not as much fun as laughing, And so I did. And all of a sudden I realized that it takes more than pixie dust to fly.

And while I thought that my fairies never did believe in me, I felt myself begin to rise.

(I never found my Peter, but who am I to protest now that I'm in Neverland?)


♥