Awake

48 hours later, I feel as awake as I’ll ever be. Sometime ago, we were standing under yellow streetlamps making smalltalk about how our days turned out when all of a sudden, I noticed the smoke from young boy’s cigarette forming monsters along Katipunan. The cars roared past us and the people’s faces were melded in the strange yellow light. i could hardly make out the shapes of eyes, ears or noses except yours. The proximity sanctioned recognition but everyone else wasn’t so lucky.

It’s on days like this that I’m glad I’m not into hallucinogens. I’m delirious enough on my own, thank you. What am I on, you ask? What vice?

Well, I’ve recently discovered that the ratio between books/movies/media I want to absorb and the amount of hours per day translated into weeks, months and years will render me a vegetable by the time I’m thirty and probably kill me by forty–before I even get to embark on that life adventure we all have planned. Mind you, this is just the backlog and it’s made up of things that belong solely to the years between my birth and today. I’m not even moving piles classified under centuries past. And I haven’t even accounted for the things yet to come. Everyday people tell stories in on way or another and if you put all of that together, the awe you’ll have toward the human spirit will be enough to make you transcend into the next life, if you catch my drift.
me in the morning
With this pressure looming, I’ve wondered about sleep and how much of it seems wasteful in the event that I may not live to see everything come as I’d planned. The recklessness of it all–to be asleep for more than half my life and inattentive an eight of the time leaves so little of the pie spent on the actual “living” / “being” or what have you. So, I tried a little experiment and stayed up all day, all night for the last 48 hours. I’m bent on staying up longer but I feel like for once my body is gonna think on it’s own and trap me in a sleep inducing trance wherein I meet Nino Quincampoix and life happens in bold technicolor. But, alas, it won’t happen in this way. Even my dazed self knows fidelity and I know of which fields I’ll be walking in and of whose company I’ll be keeping.

Still, imagine the waste of life? Even this guy, Dustin Curtis, is about to spew a manual on how to hack one’s brain. It seems even for the most natural habits like sleep, we acknowledge our likeness to machines that need controlling, decoding and decrypting.

I want to stay awake. I want to survive the addiction to Video 48 DVD’s and random paragraphs off the books on my shelves. I want to feel everything all at once as if I were seizing this magnanimous life and capturing all of what it has to offer. I want to be present to whatever is out there.

I want to be here.
Breathless and free,
awake and alive.

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