The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac IV

you're beautiful.

and i don't know what to do,

'coz i'll never be with you.

and it's time to face the truth,

i will never be with you.

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac III {the One with Fernando Poe, Jr.}

I woke up at 3 am this morning with the phone ringing. It was from a very good friend from Paris who, thinking that it was Saturday Sunday, the weekend, thought I just came from a night of tequilla, funky music and reckless abandonment. Well, I wish, but since I had WORK on a SUNDAY, I couldn't possibly stay up all night, ergo the reason why I slept early and was rudely awaken (kidding mi amore, you still owe me a phonecall, by the way). We talked for like five minutes and I wanted to talk more but I was waaaay too knackered and sleepy and bothered (I'll explain later). She let me go after five minutes with a promised callback the next day (I'm still waiting....)

Now, on with what bothered me that unholy hour.

You see, I was dreaming before Shaz (hehe mwah) woke me. I think it was good that the phone woke me because the thing with most of my dreams is that I forget them the next day. I guess waking up with the phone ringing kept the dream fresh in my cerebral cortex. I dreamt I was back in my old uni, all shy, naive, gum chewing, Jesus loving (still do, by the way) and a small-town-boy-with-a-tommy-page-haircut humanities major studying in some school whatshisname near the red light district in Manila. What was weird about this dream was that I was wearing something, hehe (which was a breakthrough considering that most of my dreams could be censored by the MTRCB, FCC and the Vatican for mere exposure, kissing aaaaaaand #@^%$#). Anyways, I was wearing something white, like I just came out of a detergent commercial. In fact I smelled like I just came out of a laundromat. Very Tide Ultra, I must say. There I was, all squeaky clean and whiter than a Klu Klux Klan acolyte ready to burn someone (like some white guy named GWB) when I caught another scent... something ethereal, something earthy. SOMETHING VANILLA.

I followed the scent and it led me to, lo and behold some dude in a white shirt and dirty blue jeans, and a waaaaay cute face. Maaaaaaaaaaaaan the face of this 20 something guy in front of me was a sight to look at. He was I dunno, more than attractive, more than sexy, more of something I cannot pinpoint. Maybe it was the vanilla. Then, like an epiphany, I realized that I knew this guy. This vanilla guy in front me, somehow I knew him. There was something vaguely familiar about his face. Then vanilla guy, sensing my (gawking)awe, spoke to me. His voice was, I dunno how to describe it. Different. I could have creamed in my pants if he spoke my name. Good thing he didn't. Instead he said his name. He said he was Ronnie Poe. FERNANDO POE JR.

Yes, FCUKING Fernando Poe, Jr was standing in front of me, in his friggin 20's with just a white shirt and a pair of dirty blue jeans that seem to cling to his lower extremeties like there was no tomorrow. Not to mention the Vanilla scent that he keeps emitting. Maaaan if this was a wet dream, I never want to wake up (Sorry readers, my dream was all wholesome and soft core, hehe. and besides if it were hard core you'd never see it in THIS BLOG!).

Moving on.

So, here I was standing (more like DROOLING) over the King of Philippine Cinema, the Panday (Blacksmith), while the twenty something Ronnie is smiling at me asking me where MY MOTHER WAS?!?!?!? We we're going to a room (a classroom you perves!), I was carrying his bag, then he asks me WHERE MY MOTHER WAS! AARRRGH. I was drowning in his scent. I was like so close to him. I felt like melting there and then he gives me the MOTHER CARD! Well, I was stupid enuff to answer. I told Ronnie (hehe, we were in first name basis now) that she was attending some conference ( I don't know why the hell I said that). Then all of a sudden, he smiled and started to poke me in my side. Hehe, well, I'm kinda like ticklish on the sides so I was like giggling like a fcuking schoolboy in front of his highschool crush. It was sooo trippy being with him. Then he asked the weirdest favor. He asked me if I could help him change his clothes!!!!! then i started to feel dizzy and stuff, then his vanilla scent was getting stronger and stronger, his face became clearer and clearer, his whole body was coming closer and closer to mine then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my best friend Allan with some anonymous classmate of mine giving me a wink, somehow telling me to go for it, say "YES". I was about to respond to his request when I heard from some distant plane a PHONE RINGING.

Then I woke up and the rest was recollection.

I can still smell the vanilla while I'm writing this blog entry. God, if only Freud were here (like he'd make a difference!). That scent, that voice, that face.

While I was at work, I kept thinkin to myself why I dreamt of Fernando Poe, Jr. I mean, there must be a reason. I thought about the food I ate the night before. I read somewhere that sometimes, the food you eat affects your dreams. This is what I ate. I had pasta with mayonaise and mutton slices and ketchup and mustard and bagoong. Well, maybe that was it.

Still...why Fernando Poe? Was it even him? Maybe it was Fernando Poe, Sr. Well, I'm pretty sure that it was Fernando Poe (either Senior. or Junior). He introduced himself for crying out loud. And another thing that kinda bothered me was I don't know how my dream ended. Would have I said YES? NO? Would I have helped him change his clothes? I guess I'll never know.

Well, where ever he is, whoever he is... I hope he's groovy and serene and happy. And by the way Ronnie, if you're reading this somewhere, hehe, keep the scent. It suits you.

FERNANDO POE, JR. (1939-2004)

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac II

couldn't sleep

again... maaaaaaaaaaaaan this is so getting old. i've read like 25 stories and i still couldn't sleep. (seriously, i think i need help. )

anyways...

lately, i've been thinkin about the fuck*&g human condition. i mean, it's just unfair sometimes. like i was browsing at this blogpage and reading about this guy who thinks that the world is caving on him just because he has crisis on where to go next month, paris or moscow - to attend a bloody fashion show! don't get me wrong, i like the guy. he's kewl and shit and he doesn't give a flying f&!@ whatever comes outta his mouth. he's filthy rich, he pops antidepressant drugs like smints and mentos, he wears women's clothing and he doesn't give a shit. he has spunk, and one expensive spunk he has. anyways, what i'm trying to say here is this. here he is, filthy rich... man, i mean his fucking hermes bag could alleviate a third world country's debt. and here i am (LoL), fucking dirt poor. hohoho. i'm enjoying this. ok ok. man. sometimes, life is just way too fucked up mysterious. you got rich assed people and poor shitty people, or rich shitty people and poor assed people, whatever. and then you got people in the middle. it doesn't make any difference though. sometimes everything seems so FUCKING hopeless!

just look (i must warn the reader that there will be too many words like FUCK and FUCKING involved, at least in the metaphorical sense. so if you are not comfortable with the aforementioned words, please be advised not to go further, because it will just give you an upset stomach or if you're a perve who likes to use these words a lot for sexual gratification, a good case of blue balls)

the fucking economy is fucked up. the fucking government couldn't even fucking represent the majority of the people who are DIRT FUCKING POOR. the fucking government representatives are dirty fucking rich. and the fucking majority were fucking stupid enough to vote for them. the fucking constitution couldn't even fucking protect me. i couldn't even fucking get married (as if i'd want to)! fucking jollibee value meals are so fucked up expensive (whatever happened to fifty pesos drinks spaghetti, rice and chicken?). fucking lucky me pansit canton looks so malnourishingly small these days (you can even cook the shit in a test tube). fucking people (even rich ones) still eat the fucking malnourished noodles. the fucking tv is showing fucking trash all the time (not that i don't like it, but PLEASE MAKE US FUCKING THINK! AT LEAST FUCKING BALANCE IT A LITTLE, YOU BLOODSUCKING NETWORK EXECUTIVES). fucking floods every year (you have to fucking swim to go somewhere). there are fucking muggers everywhere (they get everything from cellphones to class rings to hankies to designer underwear) and they fucking know when to mug you. fucking can't smoke in makati. fucking networking companies who suck money out of people just to buy a fucking bar of soap. fucking korean novelas. fucking exes (don't ask).. fucking britney pears. fucking latoya jackson. fucking james van der beek (hehe, i wish). fucking venga boys. fucking george w. bush. fucking pat robertson. fucking ratzinger. fucking global warming. fucking bill gates. fucking republicans. fucking democrats (who are closeted republicans). fucking peter greenway (i don't get a shit of what you make). fucking rumsfeld. fucking global war on terrorism. fucking bin laden. fucking dollar and cfucking euro. and fucking yen. fucking greenspan. fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuckaroo fuck fuck. FUCK

there. i'm finished. i think i could sleep now. that was good therapy. maaaaaaaaaan i'm beat. i should call it a night. hey, don't mind what i said above. bah, don't listen to me. i'm just one fucked up insomniac trying to catch the elusive sleeping god of kiribati. i'm off. i'm audi. seeyalatermastur...er... whatever. i should stop this. hehe. fuck. next time i swear, i'm gonna take sleeping pills.