Re:Vamp

Sparkling Vampires. Okay let's not laugh about this. But if you really can't help it, be my guest.

There is just something about the conversation I had this morning that jingled my urge to write a blog entry. The idea, actually, had been squirming in my head since last night, but this early morning's dialogue just pushed it to a "go".

One word: Vampires

I developed a premature fondness over Vampires in my younger years, having watched old films of Dracula and other interesting facts about those blood-sucking critters.

I especially liked Anne Rice's rendition of vamp tales namely The "Interview with a Vampire", "Queen of the Damned" and "The Vampire Lestat", two of which made it to the big screen. How I enjoyed the luscious view of Stuart Townsend's body. The late Aaliyah also starred in the Queen of the Damned, and damn, she was hot (no disrespect meant). Sadly by the time I watched this film of hers, I got a wift of the terrible news of her death.

Other vampire movies that followed suit: Blade and Van Helsing (but not so much due to the Lycan involvement).

No, I haven't watched Nosferatu. I'm not yet that of a hardcore fan. Although some say, it's the creepiest vampire movie ever made.

I retained my interest in vampires as I've become an avid viewer (addicted even) of AXN's Buffy the Vampire Slayer series that had Sarah Michelle Gellar as the infamous blonde, two-fanged-ass-kicking chosen slayer.

It's pretty interesting how vampires no longer age, feel pain or be subject to human sufferings. Of course, their exceptional beauty upon transformation, unfailing charisma to humans and supernatural abilities were added factors for my lured interest.


Those were the good ole days. When vampires roll and burn at the first streak of sunlight, when they flee at the sight of a garlic clove, when their best hang-outs were in cemeteries and when they sneak in for a bite.

NOW. There's the overly glimmified blood-suckers and cliched cold-hearted-vampy-needs-some-lovey-dovey.

Insert Twilight here.


No offense to Stephanie Meyer, that's her own perception of Vampires.

But, really, SPARKLING vampires? Has all the scary figure, lurking creature of the night really turned into a softie?
Weakness/es: Love?

And here's another thing.
I hate it when Vampires are mixed with Werewolves. Yes, I get it they're natural born enemies and all that. But it's like watching a Freddy versus Jason thrill film. Vamps have their own thing as well as those wolves.

Am I the only one who thinks about these? I mean, I watched a better vampire movie last night and it doesn't even compare to Twilight.
Remember "We Are The Night"?
Still a better love story than Twilight.

Ah, I see where the problem lies. It just overstretched itself on the bounds of fiction. It tried to be believable that it sort of distorted our outlook on vampires. Or was it due to what we were accustomed to believe about them?

Bah, head hurts. The books are good enough, I just don't know about the movie. Not satisfied about it I guess.


All I know is, Vampires don't sparkle unless they came from the breed of Tinkerbell.

Obliviation

I forgot.

I forgot what you said to me five seconds ago. I forgot to tell you that I borrowed a pen from your station, even though I reminded myself that thrice. I forgot that I was suppose to bring an umbrella due to the moody weather. Then again, I forgot how good it was to feel the rain running down on my skin.

I forgot how nostalgic it all seemed when I caught a glimpse of you from the outside of my freshly-painted-white window sill. I forgot how scrumptious my gran-gran's special Clubhouse sandwich is as the added melted cheese filled my mouth. How the pedicab drivers by-standing at our street's corner say their cheery Hello's whenever I pass them, the excitement of making new friends (not just flimsy acquaintances) motivates me, the indulgence in coffee makes me blurt out impossible phrases and ideas (more intoxicating than alcohol), and the feeling of being just fine.

Nothing to fret about except what's gonna be for lunch.
I forgot how lovely it all was when I still had feelings for you. And the goodness of my favorite Godiva white chocolate. The exchange of smiles and those knowing three-second stares made the butterflies in our stomach wild with glee. Or the time when we shared hours of conversation one rainy night, both waiting for that thing that didn't happen (perhaps it never will). Of course, there were times I tried questioning myself of how it all led to this, but it's too late. Always too late to ponder on such things though eager to make them right.

Maybe it's my fault. For being too weak when all the while I knew you were too. Making you carry all the burden. Not a word was said as it all just slowly faded.

Then was it all meant to be forgotten?

And then remembered and then forgotten just to infuriate our frustrations?
Flash forward. How painful it would seem when after all these years, when we meet once more we'll hear each other say: "Oh, I forgot about you." With all the pretentious smiles still intact.

The Block

Looking through old files, things I've written, half-baked stories and concepts,  an old feeling came over me. Made me realize how much I miss writing, writing with no sense, purely writing for the purpose of pouring ideas into one solid bowl. And then, I miss the person that I was. An idealistic writer, hoping to change even the puniest thing in our world. Just something, an achievement perhaps, but nonetheless, yes, I had believed that I had that kind of power.

We all do, I think, had thought of it once. Although, these words I use are not good enough to make that "move" or these clichéd lines and outlines seemed to be lost and buried among the countless efforts of other writers. It's not that I've completely lost faith in myself, it's just sometimes I question myself, if this is what I really wanted to do. Or is it just because it was the only thing I held onto when I was a child. Had I tried other dreams, would I still choose this path? Apparently, I'm a bit disorganized with thoughts causing jams and loops in every flow. How can I be a writer? How can I be a better writer when I filter everything I read, I write about things that other people are not even interested about and I'm a lazy-ass who leaves story ideas untouched afterwards? It feels like I've been to those social groups with all those troubled people sharing their problems and stuff and I've just digested that I'm a bad mother. And here I thought, I just lost my writing mojo. But what if, it wasn't there to begin with? Am I prepared to abandon this long-term dream and start finding a new? Scary thought there. It would be like leaping from a cliff to plunge into a sea of uncertainties. I have no idea where I'll go from here on out or I am ever bound to go somewhere.

Whatever it is I am supposed to do, I’ll be glad to accept. As long as it does not involved poles and poop sanitization. For now, if it is writing, then I’ll just have to write and write until every ounce of passion in my particle is exhausted.

Pour écrire est de créer une nouvelle vie.

(To write is to create new life)

An equivocal truth: Denial

 

You try so hard to be unaffected and you keep telling yourself it's nothing, but the more you do, the more you realize it does mean something. It means a lot actually to the point that you're ready to deny it every time it comes up. Quite an obvious defense mechanism, but lies do not become you. They grow into solid blocks that fervently lock you away and soon make it difficult for everybody else to know you. Or yourself, when you eventually live on your own lie.





La vie et le mensonge d'un prisonnier. (The life and lies of a prisoner.)
You can't let just one passive answer slip out as this will surely haunt you  or worse, backfire on your safest retreat. Paranoia.


Pour dire la vérité, denying is simply also stating the fact of its existence.
Your refusal to admit that there is something would just leave a dent on you somewhere, perhaps not now, but soon you'll realize.


D'ignorer, c'est à son insu crier pour il.
(To ignore it is to unwittingly scream for it.)