For INTPHIL purposes:

If there were stories of sort that i would probably believe more than anything else of how everything came to be. how the world has its own wonders and myths and legends and facts. how religion divides us into different, rough, and stubborn bricks, but binds us like concrete on a thing called belief. or how God is how we perceive Him, or them to be. Then maybe i would turn to Neil Gaiman, and sit and talk to him about The Sandman.

The Sandman is a graphical novel known for its dark humor, witty satires and familiar characters of the ancient and present realm--heroes or villains, you decide. The best way to elucidate the Sandman is to describe his family. Which i will do so in the best of my ability.

The Sandman, or Morpheus, or Orpheus or Dream, as you might have gotten an idea by now, is the ruler of the Dreaming. He governs the realm and possesses the power to shape our dreams as he sees fit. He is a tall, white skinned and black-haired fellow, with eyes like stars on a pool of darkest black. He is moody, serious, full of pride, yet possesses the knowledge and wit of someone who has lived for billions of years. He is the main character and the third oldest of a family of seven. Their family is named in the story as The Endless.




Destruction, described the Endless in The Sandman (vol. 2) # 48:
"The Endless are merely patterns. The Endless are ideas. The Endless are wave functions. The Endless are repeating motifs. The Endless are echoes of darkness, and nothing more... And even our existences are brief and bounded. None of us will last longer than this version of the Universe."


The Endless came to be in the succeeding order: Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Desire, Delirium. They have their own realms which they reign supreme as with Dream. Their names embody their responsibilities and functions, which they follow through religiously. But as with families, others are more dedicated with their tasks, and some are known to play games--mainly Desire.

As one finishes the graphic novel, one is only given but a few subtle hints as to why exactly the Endless exists. They have been best described as "creations of the consciousness of living beings". (Jimenez, Phil (2008), "Endless, The", in Dougall, Alastair, The DC Comics Encyclopedia, New York: Dorling Kindersley, pp. 115, ISBN 0-7566-4119-5, OCLC 213309017) They're a lot older that gods, fairyfolk, and other supernatural beings. They have manifested themselves long before the creation of earth.

If i were to be asked, what other story i would like to believe about God, religion and the world, then this is as close to the story as i could get. The whole point of the existence of the Endless lie solely in the consciousness of beings, how they think, believe and perceive things to be. The Endless are neither gods (maybe more powerful than gods if i may say) nor humans--they are powerless if living beings do not exist. They will cease to exist when the last living thing on the Universe will die.

As my thoughts on the world, i think it is just what it all of us see it to be, a massive rock of life teeming with stories, imaginations and beliefs of sort. as my thoughts would roll on the possibilities of religion and God would go, then i think i explained the part of The Sandman well enough.

oh hello there.

well as you can see, i barely write nowadays. barely, meaning i still do, and i probably always will. even in scratch papers, paper napkins or just plain space. i still have the words, the feeling--especially that--and i still have the urge to put it down. or at least for now, the effort to try and form better sentences or punchlines to further explain love, happiness, despair, hope, fear and all those emotions that come ever so often still hasn't gone away. it's always nice to hear people say, "hey, that's exactly what i feel too," like you've grasped a fleeting moment from their lives and made it clear, in beautiful plain text.

so keep checking back here, whoever you are.

In my pursuit to write,

between projects and exams and meetings and half hour of sleep and daydreams. between you and everybody else. between me and this computer screen and between slivers of thoughts, ideas, musings that i can't seem to grasp when the days clog of things that don't hold much value than a quarter and a dime. between attempts, failures, or the stillness of life,

this is something i won't forget to do.

write.

sitting with my back against the sofa and my eyes squinted on the light. i wait for time to creep from behind as i looked back on the familiar chaos of this certain week of this certain year. missing faces, summer heat, scattered rain, responsibilities, thesis topics, old friends, new acquaintances, sickness, love, fear and more nouns and adjectives to describe how it would feel again and how it would be for some time. the rush of the unknown and what's beyond as i try to make sense of it again, in words and phrases that mean less of what it is when i look at it with my eyes wide open and my heart on my sleeve.

there will be chances and the road is forked furiously into many directions. and there will be something that would weigh more in our hearts and there will be things we wouldn't bother battling our eyes on. there would be shortcomings and apologies, the promises to learn more and be better. there would be regret, or maybe the contenment of the things that had come to pass. there would be a lot of things to say, a lot of stories that will unfold and a lot of times we'll talk about it with bottles in our hands at two in the morning and youth on our side. there would be you and me and other people thinking "it's never gonna get any better than this."

and they'll be insanely right about that.

summer class is always a pain in the ass, no matter what subject you take it's all the same. Thank God it's over!

***

i'm a kid, but that's not all i am.

they say time weaves anyone into inevitable maturity. the way people went from Speed Racer to Prison Break, or Barbies to Gossip Girl. the way people refrain from saying unecessary things, or do unecessary stuff for fear of statements like, "man, you're too old to do that." or "how old are you anyway? that's kid stuff." and we let these things get to us, as if happiness depends on the sharp knife of words that people let go of carelessly.

then there are moments when we look up to the sky and say, "i miss being a kid." and i wonder what is it that robbed us of our luxury in being one, if there ever was such in the first place. was it the lost of innocence? or the bitterness of memories that we couldn't let go of? or is it the immature fear of looking uncool or stupid?

there are probably many conjured explanations or excuses out there, believable or otherwise as it may be. but i don't think it's wrong having a piece of youth in our hearts. and maybe that's what grown-ups lack or that's what most people lack--the sense of freedom and courage to say what's in their mind without any hint of hesitation in their voices, the carefree attutide to laugh out loud or just be like a plain old kid. i think there's real happiness there, and i wouldn't want any less of that.