Nocturnes (A Romance)

 nocturnes

1. davao

the nightowls are in their element downtown. not only the drunken party-goers but the nightshifters are alive, starting their day.  from the street i observe traces left by people in the objects that are around. a discarded piece of hamburger. dripping clothes hanging from a clothes line across two sheds. the warmth from a police car engine. i do not want ot be a voyeur, but i cant help being curious, wondering what goes on behind the curtains in the privacy of peoples homes. in tiny cubicles, security gaurds are watching movies ont heir laptops and mobiles.  on a rooftop a burly man is lifting weights. some kids are playing basketball in the alleyways between the buildings. by the convenience store some families have gathere their chairs around to gossip. i was not feeling it tonight, i didnt like the darkness int he city, there was something seedy about it. normally i love being out, walkign home late or before dawn (as i used to), but this time, i felt like i was in someone elses territory. i wouldnt want to live in the downtown area, it is too noisy there, there are too many taxis and tricycles plying the streets. the light from the streetlamps casts an eerie glow on the street. maybe it would be differemt if i were returning home with somebody. but once again it was an unsuccesful night at the bar. have i already glimpsed into my future? it seems like i am going to spend the rest of my adult  life(have i really grown up?) seule, staring longingly at the dancing crowd, waiting to overcome my inhibitions. but even after several beers, the fear of rejection is too strong. yes that old crippling fear. and now at 38 i am too old to be partying, i shuold really close that chapter. my back aches from sitting too long, and the mcdonalds is sitting in my stomach like a rock. after a few mintues i reach roxas where the street vendors are engulfed in smoke from their barbecues. 

2. st andrews

do you remember we used to fall asleep on the phone together? then i would ask you if you were still asleep after about an hour had passed and you would say "yes im still awake". chopin was playing in the background. life was full of naive optiism back then, and there was no concern for tomorrow. we spent our days getting drunk and reciting poetry in our dormrooms until the drizzle of morning rain came pattering on the window. we were always on form when it came to improvisation. i remmebr when i asked you "is venison sheep?" and you answered "no its deer actually" (dear/deer, cheap/sheep). we had a telepathic connection between us, i always assumed you knew what i meant when i said "who's there?" i had guessed you were about to tell a knock knock joke (alhough yuo never did). i often slept over at yours- nothign happened it was striclty platonic- and i remember i had the habit of drooled on yoru pillow. i had already dropped out of uni in my last year by then, and was merely hanging on for the second hand bookstores and the ales. you were still studying so i used to meet you after your lectures to buy a cream donut from the local bakery. i knew my prsoepcts wree dim after failing to graduate, but i couldnt care less. i was never  going to get a job anyway. i was only intersted in literature then, my heroes were joyce, hughes, plath (who i projected on you), beckett, and shakespeare's othello. we would walk along the beach at dusk, with a book of choice in hand, treading the soft sand as the fog rolled in from the sea . from the distance we could see the black cliffs and the twinlking lights of the town. other times we would walk along hills behind the student residence. i was obsessed with tidying up my dormroom at that time, so i asked you if i could borrow the hoover from your dorm. we wheeled the thing along the fields at midnight all the wayt o my residence, and i remmerb it had a automactic retracting cord and you said "i think he's all wound up now." i wrote you an apology letter a ew years later, expalingn that i felt abad for not making a move.i never sent it, i thought it was presumptuous of me. it seemed like i shoudl have made a move, since i loved you for your intellect and your quiet english charm. but for some reason i coudl never muster up the courage.

3. katabasis (append the passage katabasis here).

katabasis. isnt it strange to think that we come back from the dead everyday, only to record messges for ourselves? someone wondered if our waking state wasnt in fact the dream, and our dreaming state our waking consciousness. i rarely remember my dreams nowadays, but i am happy that i expereince deep dreamless sleep. i like to know there is a healthy gulf between the days. there is nothign worse than a shallow sleep, marked by what i call "the rush". what is "the rush?"" its the asymptotic speeding up of time everytime you are jsut about to fall asleep, that jolts you back into wakinfeulness. its a form of isnomnia. but deep sleep is precious. sometimes i wonder if there is anything connecting my days with each other anymore, all i remember is what is the same, the same tired sandals, the same glass of water on my desk, the same green mosquito net over my bed. when i go into the underworld i drink deep from that river of forgetfulness, sometimes it takes me several mintues to re-orient myself once i wake up. then i knwo i have had a good sleep. maybe i will be damned to spend the rest of eternity in that underworld, in the grey zone, like a fish trapped in a murky aquarium.