Preserving memories through art. Leaving you with my permanent mark.
Author: Genesis Gregorious Genelza
I am a geek. There is no other polite way of describing me, but as geekish.
A person. A bookworm. A writer in the dark. A teacher by profession. A singer-songwriter by heart. I just wanna see the magic in the ordinary life through art.
And through art, I am leaving you with my permanent mark.
Mary points the way. Knock on the door once close Enfolded with the chain of doom Only the right key can open.
The luxury of time ain’t here to play Drugged by the pills on a daily dose Lie in the bed of a white room where justice is served often.
Word of mouth is following the ray. Knees bend begging for a loose Tears fall asking for a wonder to loom Summoning the Saints for the plea to co-pen.
Where do miracles hide? Nothingness suddenly appears to preside. Are miracles a holy grail that is hard to find? Or was it a product of an imaginative mind?
Learn the impulsive choice others tossing. Verdict of the phony in fake Sanskrit. The victim of the mean hoax ain’t missing In a walk of shame of the true culprit. After the storm, something was born again. Rainbow in the rain makes grey days clearer. A stain, not art: there’s no need to bargain. From the twist of fate of savage bearer. Kaleidoscope of colors in one eye Shifting panoramas like Northern Lights. Signed, sealed and delivered will from on high A mark of love, hope, peace and pure insights. And there will be no umbrella needed. The showered vision of God is not dead.
Idiocy. Poisoning the well when the answer is there. Sipping tea while you are praising Lucifer. Dancing with the aces illuminates when you go down under.
Blind. You only see the darkness in style. You, feeling triumphant with your catatonic smile. You, a feral child living in the abandon isle.
Mute. There’s nothing left to say to the unused gift of gab. Here lies, the lies growing in mob. Their lips being padlocked not to speak for the truth while being stabbed.
Deaf. Do you hear what I see? Do you need to listen in supremacy? Do you find whispers in silence an intimacy?
Numb. Nullified with shallow sublimity overshadowed by the dark. Qualified Lannister ain’t born Stark, Stratified aura could not see the bottom of the ocean through the murk.
User. Like morphine hiding in secrets. Like addiction not afraid of the threats. Like psycho showing no sign of regrets.
Devil. Living like lovely angels in hell. Turning enigmatic coming out from the shell. Deflowering innocence in shiny pennies worth for the soul they sell.
Believer. Let’s dim the light of the falling star. How do they even think that God is far? Who do they think they are, when God is far?
The boat is sinking, and I feel like I’m at the wrong side of it. The role I am playing right now seems unbalance. Destabilize. Distort. Twist. The equilibrium of the scale turns out to be a fraud. A deceiver. A liar. A false storyteller. Oh, I forgot – everything I see that glitters ain’t always gold. All this time, my vision of collecting things like a broken glass that sparkles on the ground turns out to be temporary lights: it fades in a sec.
So sad…
I am too kind to let things go easily. I am too kind to give considerations to someone who does not deserve even the half of it. I am too kind enough even the impossibilities, I break barriers to save many. I am too kind enough even if I have to lie straight to my face that it’s okay to give chances as many as you can when the truth is right there in front of you, knocking in front of you to stop doing the same shitty old thing that you usually do (all the time). I am too kind to pretend that it’s alright to leave your heart unguarded when you know that “they” will be there for you when it is only beneficial. And the list goes on and on…
Is this really the vocation I hoped to be extraordinary and noble? Am I doing the right thing? It is not that easy to say, “Okay, go ahead, pull the trigger! I’m bullet proof!” when I know for a fact that I am not.
This is not really my principle at all. I know I said that I want “them” to remember me, but not like this. I want them to remember me that I might able to help them grow in knowledge with manners involve too, for the world is harsh and I want them to be prepared for the real battle: to the bigger game of their lives. X marks the spot. The real deal target of why “they” are here.
I did not sign up for this! At least I know I’m not. Give me back my state of mind when the four corners of the room are a place for learning and valuing things parallel to the reality when we go outside of it not daydreaming about distorted cinematic scenes but a happy place that feels like home.
I did not sign up for this! This is too much of a headache for me! I am not beautifully numb. I have feelings too…
And ta-da…
Here I am, feeling like I’m repeating the cycle again, 3 straight years in a row…
Oh, this is what I get from pursuing this kind of profession after graduation.
But then again (I remember) my teacher once said, “If they succeeded to their chosen track of their lives, you have to take part of it, because you have played something useful for them to achieve it like a good instrument to play. But if they failed, then do not also forget that you have to get your fair share as you contributed something to their drawbacks.” Sigh to this. Back against the wall of the illusionist. Truly, truth hurts.
So now, I have to blame myself (in advance) for those who are losing their way right through the hilltop they are aiming to. And I am sorry for being not good enough for you to see the light spectrum of success. I never thought you would be that bright without the blindfold as well. And I am ready to take my part now. Feel my deep remorse my children.
X marks the spot. And in the end, my perpetual marks will be your guide or your conscience on the way to realizing how far you go without the brakes.
“I told you so” will never be my last words to you…
*This is what I get when I befriended words. I cannot control my mind especially on days like this. Too much headache and thinking through the lenses of the microscope. I’m blinded by the things I felt on not so vibrant happenstance. But hoping for better days…
Call it a regular. Call it something unrecognizable. Does something require anything? Does it require you to pay for a cause? For a cost? A debt to pay? And IOU’s? The mind of an idiot is far more better than the mind of an “intellect” wherein an idiot does nothing to prove nothing while an intellect does something to prove anything unusual just to prove a point. What a ten-cent worth! Name the price. It costs you, life.
Life starts here. At the end of the rainbow, there is a pot of gold waiting for you to claim the prize. So, what’s the prize? Oh, a ten-cent worth made up of clichés and norms with a bonus track – “Shame on you!” Congratulations! It’s a celebration! You win!
And as for me, the only consolation I received is to lie here in my bed and put these memories to rest for a bit. After all, I have the mind of an idiot. I’d rather have “The Mind of an Idiot” than having that sound alluring to the ears, “Ka-ching! Ka-ching! I’ll be rich!”
Me, just trying to understand something then trying to process it and the moment I knew it, I instantly smiled and looked back not regretting it, but owning it. Just me, trying to embrace the preconceived notions throwing on my pedestal. I carry the weight of it and my heavy heart as if I’m Atlas, carrying the weight of the world like no one’s gonna help me, just me alone suffering the irrevocable curse bestowed upon me.
Flashback to my mistaken turns. Flashback to my gift of faults. Flashback to the songs, poems, essays written out of pain. Flashback to the name carved in the tombstone in the name of being honest. Flashback to the foreshadowing emerging out of the blue of chaos, depression, light vs dark era, drowning moments at the dead sea, “Vincent Van Gogh or Taylor Swift” lifelike happenstance, to the names they called and to the stories they told…
Finally, I am me again. I want to remember this moment. Or that moment.
Rapid eye movement sleep Let’s not part ways and say, “Goodnight and Go”. What happens when we sleep? When we all fall asleep, where do we go?
Counting sheep through the night Ignite the fire of the losing side. A bad guy acting like a Knight. Sleep within sleep in side by side.
We are only good at being bad. They should see us in a crown! Wait for the plastic faces turned into sad. Critics frown on the idea of going down.
Are we the product of a problem we could not alter? That is why our rendezvous’ quite blurry and fuzzy. But I’m counting 1,2,3 for it doesn’t matter. As long as I see you in whole not in mazy.
I don’t want to wake up in this beautiful nightmare. 3-dimensional space as they call it, “The Further”. I’ll be calm and collected in this dream we share. As we bury the hatchet when we bury a friend right there.
I just hope I could draw a map that will lead to you Wear your cologne, so that I could go straight in a perfect time. Do not let me let you go when my heart’s not blue but hue. Hold me tight, you’re my strange addiction like a dime.
In this place, life is an endless story. Captivated by the view, you and I both created The place has no name to say in a hurry Paper town as it is, so as our names stamped and cemented.
REM sleep; dream vividly. Two hearts become 1 in intensity Goodbye for now as lights down low slowly In sleep, we’ll meet again in the loop of serenity.
*The poem was born out of love and obsession to the album of Billie Eilish entitled, “When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?”
The Written Enochian Code of an Imperfect Angel 