After Stasis #4

There are some you grow to loathe for nothing but the sheer pleasure of loathing itself. There is no conscious or subconscious reason as to why you have acquired a sudden distaste for their existence; your tolerance for their very particular kind just gained the lifespan of a suicidal fruit fly on the very first meeting. It is as though they have no other purpose I life but to vex you without their knowing it. Thus, it would be beyond absurd not to give in to the beckoning hate.

For Old Vincent, it’s the vegan animal rights activists. For Fiona, she told me in between drinks, giggles and gasps, its K-pop boy bands. For you I know it’s the perverts without the balls to hit on anybody except through social networking sites (that’s why you’ve kept me around for so long despite everything). For me it’s just Marcus. Marcus the Dread. Marcus the asshole.

Now I have no illusions of being the better dog to cur him out, nor do I have any pretense of doing so would stoop me down to his level- when I don’t even give a flying hoot what level he is in for that matter. The respect for us being kin that keeps my rancor at bay does not even count. I have merely come to accept that the belief in an imperfect world is for the weak.

I drove away west, trying not to contemplate about your choice of errands boys; fully aware that there is only one Old Vincent. And they don’t call him Old for nothing. I pressed the scan button of my dysfunctional radio and left it hopping from one channel to the next in between the white noise, trying to home in on nothing and everything all at once.

“Baby I was born this-“ ... “She’s all sirens and I am fic-“ ... “Pennies for Jane with their new sing—“ ... “My thoughts are like a static t.v. chan-“ ... “New Selecta Pinoy Sorbetes Litro-" ... “Push you aside and leave you alone, not again, automa-“ ... “Nam nam nam nam Lucky Me..”

I let it was all over me. An invisible cascade gently falling with no rhyme or reason, seeping through to soak and eventually drown the temporal drift that carried me forward with the low rumble of turning gears and rubber scraping asphalt. The world became what unfolded before my windshield. At both my sides, everything else visible were but punctures in the roiling ebony shroud that masked whatever dreams and nightmares ran rampant.

Marcos Highway, or whatever it is they call it these days, was not the hell I expected it to be once I was clear of down town Marikina. Light to moderate was how Kuya Kim would have put it.Ah... the very thought of Kuya Kim and his stupid fedora momentarily cracked a thin smile from the corner of my mouth. If he were in the know, I could almost picture him explain and expound it on the telly:

"In popular culture, there is the misconception that vampires and werewolves are two distinct entities. They have even been depicted as warring supernatural races in movies like the Underworld trilogy, in books such as the Twilight saga, and locally in the soap opera Imortal.But in reality, they are actually one and the same.Here in the Philippines, they are commonly known as Aswang; an amalgamation of Asu or Aso and An or Yan. However, Aswang had also been used to refer to the other creatures of the lower Philippine mythology such as ghouls, witches and the bat-winged, half-bodied viscera sucker also called by the Tagalogs and the Bicolanos as Manananggal.."

The very thought of which got me in stitches. I have not had a good laugh in ages.I dared not to glance up at the rear view, fearing the very sight of me would ruin a moment so rare I might not chance upon it again. Best enjoy the moment while it lasted.