Emily Rose

I don't know what implications might evolve with me writing this, but heck. I am a blessed child of God. Wait a min... so was Emily Rose..

Ever heard of Spawn? And the merchandises? Good. So did my eldest brother, Gab. He loved them, in all their ugliness and monstrosity. Some were alien-like, with a jaw inside a jaw for a face, others were demonic, dark and evil. He began with buying just one, and soon, he seemed to make it a habit to buy one every other day. The room started filling up with these creatures, in the cupboards, on top of the desk, even spilling out onto the floor. Gab seemed.. obssessed with them.

Then one night, my second brother, Raf, who shares the room with him and the collection of fiendish toys, got awoken by loud swearing and cursing just beside his ear. If you've watched the movie, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, he says the voices were just like that.

"I'm gonna fuckin kill you all... fuckin bastard ..c***.. ."

There's more.. I'm scared, trust me. It was vehement and spiteful, a vociferous roll of vulgarities, violent and fierce with hatred. This is not all.

Raf was held down, taken hostage, rendered immobile. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids were clammed shut. A loud wailing, a kind of diabolic siren starting screaming in waves, pulsing loud and louder still. It wasn't a voice, it was more like a kind of energy emitting a dreadful and fearsome sound.

There's really nothing you can do, or Raf or Emily, but to surrender yourself to prayer. Raf started praying the Our Father in his mind.. over and over again, until this force, this spiritual abductor, started fading away.

The toys have since been put away. And after that, no more such experiences. Obsession is also a kind of possession. There are many ways you can render yourself susceptible to the stronghold of the devil, but I shall leave that for another day. In the meantime, pray for me. I've told my story.


The Our Father

Our Father in heaven,
holy be your name
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread,
And forgive us our sins
As we forgive those who sin against us.
Do not bring us to the test,
but deliver us from evil.
Amen.

Somewhere Between the Forgotten and the Unknown

I recieved a HUGE card today, from Charlene and her fiance, Paul. The card wishes me a very Merry Christmas, and attached randomly all over the front of the card that spans the length of my arm, are many metallic gold, industial-looking alphabetic locks that spell the names of all my buddies: JEANE, JOCELYN, ELIZABETH, the list goes on for about 15 names, so you can imagine how heavy the card is. I found my own name and proceeded to hang it on the christmas tree standing too tall on the right side of my computer table in my bedroom, just in front of the window. The tree's top pressed against the ceiling, bending to accomodate its own height. It's at that moment, searching for just the right branch to hang my NICOLETTE-lock when my breath was snatched from me, caught in the sight of utter reverence.

A field of mud stretching farther than the eye can see, in this cold, rainy, tropical monsoon season of an impending Christmas. My entire neighbourhood, gone. Just my block standing in the middle like the fortress of a forlorn kingdom. My thirteenth floor apartment standing on its own with glass windows gaping far out both ways to view its empire. I was both astonished and bewildered. The cold night breeze was forcing its way through the 2-inch gap of the window panels, slowly freezing my lips, nose and neck, tossing my hair about and pouring in this wonder of a trillion blazing stars of emerald, ruby and turquoise.

The sulking sky was lit with them! Clusters of colour burned intensely, like Zeus had spilled his vast collection of gems under the bed and was just too old and brittle to bend over to pick them up. Stars all over were falling fiercely to their deaths, trailing their last bursts of fire. Beneath this spitting blanket lay the centre of time. A single 18th century railway track of thick, black iron cut diagonally across the wet, slippery ground, disappearing into a tunnel of space. Couples in Victorian garments were scurrying across the landscape, hiding their faces under nylon umbrellas of all colours that seem to glow in luminescence. More ancient people were pouring out of an urban light rail transit (LRT) system on the far left side of this abandoned empire in urgency and silence.

In between, where the air rushed about in a hurry, carrying kisses of cold tears, were helicopters and blimps and space mobiles fighting for a place to land, for a dimension to dissolve into, for passengers to deliver, eating into the margins of others, beeping in a fluster against the crowd. They all seemed to be moving in and out of nowhere, travelling between the forgotten and the unknown, oblivious to the eye watching them behind transparent walls.

His Poem

Your poem reminds me of knights and warriors before I fall.
Before me, I see pictures not the same. What are they for?
I've wondered if you ever knew I felt this way.

Let me run forever, with gifts upon flowers,
In the grassy fields where floods don't cover,
Where I walk with you,
Where there's mercy and colour,
Where there's glory and skill.
Then there's love, and the power,
And the infinite few.