A job application to the universe: to become a lover

Dear me

It’s still march 26 and i just finished watching call me by your name.

And i wonder where i got this thirst for the written word, this engaged creativity of making masterful co-creation ? with an author and his characters ? i saw felt and breathed Elio falling in love. Turning a city golden.

Street actors into these gilted figures of your memory.

I appreciate film but never in my life have i come home strongly the way that books and the worlds of fiction grip. The shape of their personas , their thoughts. The way describe people saying things. As if yes maybe she knows and it’s alright. The sworling self-doubts. The intimacy of a spot that you showed no one. Monet’s berm.

What struck me about this book was a how certain moment of time, of mundane normal time was turned miraculous. Wine drinking, espadrilles. The soft skin in the crook of an elbow. The creaking door to an ocean. Guessing if that crush of yours would wear red speedos or the green one. Really good apricot juice in the morning.
I wonder when was the last time we let ourselves be induced in this kind of sentimentality.

I once wrote about , in a highschool english paper, how my family had this ritual of grilling pork chops in lipa. This small quarter of land that was our own. The crisp slight chill of air. Fresh blanched talinum and chopped tomatoes. The perfect mix of calamansi and toyo on your finger tips.

Trimming roses, counting chickens and pigs.


I took so many photos those years. I write in notebooks and had sleep overs. The wind breathed through the walls. I was offended when my teacher even dare grade my sentimentality.

I think some things are too real that it would hurt like a wound when it was even slightly judged. Like a new fawn. Like a shy plant. I wonder. I wonder if we only have this kind of -reverence to things gone and passed.

Just this month i pondered this thought – this half done decision. What if i was to leave my work with st vincent and the homeless ? what would happen to the old priest and his dog watching the sunrise ? the construction of the seminarian dorm nearby. Ate len and her oddly portioned cafeteria lunches. The three dogs that swim in this overly huge pond. The adoration chapel where i argue with god.

The gruff lady who sells me my junkfood near the entrance, by the street.

I wonder what would happen to all of them, I wonder, if we are all truly living in some heady simulation. A more conscious dream, but a dream nonetheless – that what whipped me to dream such characters – such famicile backdrops ?

such odd family dramas of expectations when we already have so much, such harshness and coldness when all we are just dreamers. I wonder what my soul would say when it exits and leaves this life behind. How would it describe that i’ve lived thus far?

That i lived in the spacious home with large windows and white curtains ? painted by the colors of a childhood playroom ? that i had a genuine love for life, and one of the best time that i fell for the hardest was when i danced in someone else’s arms ?

what would it say ? that i loved my bestfriend so much that i was more worried about his well being and who he would marry than possibly my own ? I barely scratch the surface knots of goal setting and life visioning, though (bless you really tony robbins.. ) What is my life like really to anyone who’s never lived it ? what would be the shape of my thoughts ? my odd way of committing prayer.
1000 2000 400 milliion and eight.
How would they relish the water i experience from what i doubt as the raincloud of all knowable things. Maybe if i had a portal to a maria back in 5th grade or even third year highschool she’d be impressed and i would know how far i’ve gone. Maybe she wouldn’t know how to understand or be able to ground this information.
What do you mean about magic ? what do you mean calming down elementals ? what do you mean that you’ve found the answers to the deepest questions of life – but have found yourself even more dumbfounded by the asking of the questions.

That all answers are invented, and that you treat life miraculously only as a conscious choice. The way you treat each man that wants to hold you as a gift. What simple being. To be an old man who makes noodles. And all he knows in life would that this is a gift. A plaything from the divine you were supposed to make life good in. that would be too easy, you tell yourself.
And yet my dreams are becoming a reality. Like time, like the sureness of change i gain courage to teach movement, i earn courage the way i show up at work and realize that everyone is just as lost and i have many more things to be grateful for. I mean look at this computer, look at all the creative work for my enjoyment and disposal. (The pdf i just downloaded of the book i just finished).

Is there such menace into wanting a simple life? Is there cruelty in finding a non transcendant joy ? the mystics say, that you could be a fool for love. That you dear king want nothing but this surrender, to run in the fields like a wild and drunk man. That heaven is here, maybe in a whorling dervish.

We run around, so much seeking answers.

I don’t claim to no longer have questions.



Fuc i dont even think i have much answers beyond what works for myself, or what i think ive found and experienced to be true. I love you. I might be even in love with this entity who speaks to me in this column, in my room, in my bed. I dont know how many lives do we truly live.

What desires really do play out when my desires roll out in my dream world. I dont know what it means when a place is energetically resonant ? that i’ve never been happier ? yes. But also quite confused. Because if higher beings exist and not all necessarily good. —-
Then one must have discernment. But also. The greatest love of your life is and was always with you since the beginning of time. Etherically temporally and psychicly connected. With words and suggestion with hands resting on your ankle when you’re in this playful banter and argument.

I dont think children talk with imaginary friends. I think children easily pierce the veil and commune with god.

I dont know about my lover. Only that he is kind and has brought me out of the worst of my moments. I’m much stronger now. Less desperate in their needing of help. I invoke angels. I have an energy worthy of love and my ancestors looked forward to the universe thinking me up. (Oliver said something like that to Elio and i find that fucking sweet).

I am nothing short of miraculous and i keep treating myself otherwise. I keep saying i have difficulties asserting my will and my warrior where my aries is nothing but that. Divine will, the child warrior. The exalted one, a pioneer. I keep saying im no good at things that i am quite good at. Maybe like elio. Definetly like the oikawa i wrote , the one who destroyed his own voice, but cooed like a being from the beyond.


There’s something there. About spirit i wander to get through.

That there was some sort and shape of divine trust and journey and will that transcends logic, skill and time. Channel is an approximate word for it. I don’t think it’s nearly enough. It’s a dissolution, leap and trust. It’s raw non-discriminatory power and that’s what oikawa sings with.
Thats what i sing with, when i let me be me. Its this non logic i worship and at the same time taste. What use really are your fitness goals when your body doesn’t leap this way? Doesn’t cry this way, doesn’t lust and hurl on the bed covers with a kind of ecstatic embrace of just loving to be alive ?

i wonder if you could ever brand excessiveness that way and not be hurled in the trashcan. The love of loving and living to be alive.


Whats a life skill really ? ask that ten hundred times and please how so many things fall away ? how alive were you today ? how in love in the way your expand your awareness that your loving gaze just explodes with every detail.

Adoring the woodwork. Adoring this quiant smell. Saying grace for your friends, wondering what god designed the sun and being thankful for having this odd mechanism of a job, a routine and friends?

We roll in anxiety we roll around trying to fix things and be of a degree of importance that some days i just want to cry. We live such adorable lives appreciating people like sunsets, photographs like references and extensions of ourselves and we’re so damn shot at expressing ourselves.

We’ve forgotten to be beautiful in the oldest sense of that word.


Let all vogue magazines , elle and cosmopolitan say this: you are all wonderful, your nails, your teeth your smile. There is no beauty secret in the product we’re tithing. look at you hands, your face. The book case and your meager belongings. Look at it and fall in love.

Look at it like you were a new born baby or a new character made from a sim and surrealist new age rpg game.

Look at this one so zany look at that one , what interesting shapes and curves.



I hope to apply for one job on this earth: that is to become a lover. If we’d really speak of the things we lack. If there was one arch daemon goddess i would gladly trust and invoke i’d wonder really. What would love do now ? and it’s not some philosophical trite and some thought exercise. With the wholeness of your being, your emotion your fire, your swords and your resources – what would love do now ? what would the perfect embrace of the gods and almight do in such a wake ? how our lives would realign if we followed that one philosophy.
I have a job application for earth:
To become a lover.
Of not a single person , but of everything. a people the way japanese stand and face the wall. The way fudurate makes comics . the way my brother, is tired when he comes home. The way dave is shy and even the way i’d question my own decisions.

I wonder how much or how long how really i could full fall in love, like self-hypnosis. I wonder how deeply i’d delude myself and not trip on the energetics. Like making a failsafe, a just in case exit point. The maybe i wont live life to truly lest i get hurt -exit point.



Lest i feel nirvana and never be able to taste his hand again. Lest that the wind may come and sweep all things away and that i would learn to even love in disasters. It’s a tough one, this job application. It’s a tough one , but i think i like it for it’s ambition.
Simple, cut-throat, all encompassing. That’s love.
It leaves no takers and it asks nothing less of complete absolution. I wonder if i’ll be rewarded. Or if the making of love – the act of love making already precludes and sanctifies the love itself. I can’t make much sense of that sentence, but i like how it sounds.

Is it so foolish of me to center from this state ? is it so foolhardy to want to be drenched ? i love you. I want to be able to say that and come from a state of my being that can radiate with laughter , a vomitting of trauma, a quiet and resolute understanding. I wonder where she is. This version of me punchdrunk on the elixir of straight rocking heels of love.
I wonder what insane person wrote the goddess love stories of eros that ever endeavoured to make love look cheap. Do you not see the wonder in their eyes ? do you not see them truly enjoy and feel the happiness sink into their faces ? is not youth a wonder and an examplar of this pahse. Is it so stupid of me to think that the omniscient is really on of divine love and grace, maybe not zeus. Not exactly Aphrodite. But lovers all the same.
Maybe nagapply tayo lahat para sa earth para maging lovers.
For all the energy of my panic and disappointment and walls and barriers. I am scared. Would you berate a lover if she was scared to bathe in sunset water ? i am scared. I love you yet i am scared. The world is beautiful and i ask of it, no i beg of it to take all this scaredness and anxiety away.



Render me beautiful render me patient to know what my priorities are. What my priorities are to make my love safe. To make my love safe from ill thoughts, to make my love safe from all judgement, make her strong and foolish. Make her singing wedding bells to the broken couchleg. Make her fall in love with a beggars eyebrows.

Can i love life ? is it so difficult.

I feel the shape of me in dreams , less heavy, curious and observant. I wonder what she would look like. Punchdrunk, in love. This feels less of goal, but a genuine curiosity. What would it feel like to live in that state of wellness. Just that state- with no care for the artifice the objects and shape that surround her but this webbing of her loveness, this effusivenss, this 10billion watt performance that its the undercurrent, that is like this small sphere of a world that follows her.

That is the wink of A world in her. A split of reality. Multidimensional theory, sort of. Except she has less the gravitas of matter , but the gravitas of consciousness, and loving and divine.
Can i marry her ? this version of me that i would like to meet some day. This herald of a rift maker who insists the world bend into a more effusive state. To remind themselves of what they were when they were happy, or maybe when they were children. I’d like to meet her. I’d like to meet her. I’m sorry my dear one, but you may rest now, and be taken by the earth. There is this woman i would like to meet in my lifetime, and i need to make room for her light.







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