Origin of the Beautiful Mind

I have high regards for intellect, but the existing taste for something perceptible as the word incredulous often is now nothing but popularity. Sometimes, in musty sense for palpable profit, it becomes redundant as everyone’s ideas. There’s nothingness for originality because no one wants to be alone in accepting an idea. This is such a lonely world, no matter how one tries to expand it, or reduce it.

I tried not to engage socially because people are intolerant to impoverish nobility. Not that I am noble, rather, I want to share a myriad feelings for when light comes as we appreciate every particulate of darkness. There is a propitious coming of light,without the effort of chasing. Every time I close my eyes, I travel in space, in time, watching solitude faces, characters, frames, pictures, words, voices, events.. the Black woman, whispering that which no one dares to say, while I, in agog for fresh mind. I become a visionary every time, translating that revolutionary window to another truth. I’ve been here before. I’ve been here all the time in the past. The futile addiction to this kind of place has some risks. It unravels another side of you that does not coexist with general reality. The general reality eventually becomes an oppressor, particularly of self. No matter how much you denounce conformity, you’d have to eat it. You could partly describe it as a huge mass being choked down to your throat, or a DNA sequence forced within the depth of your character.

A wise man would not let this get in the way of special function. The notoriety of deprecating indifference has only one pill—speak, hear and accept humility. Humility is a philosophical term for scientific conscious remission. Humility makes you accept the limitation of rationality. You test and support a piece of idea in question.

My two sisters are officiously enthusiastic about the teachings of psychology, Behaviors are symptomatic transcription of mental illness, they say. Such however are inscrutable to gather, or disprove. I only believe in experiences, intentions, intellectual orientation, vision, branching out into several forms of expression. And because we provision our own masterful expression, we are entitled to madness.


Chapter 2

Santa Claus was right. It didn’t take long before we entered a hotel guarded by a man in uniform. He greeted and opened the door for the old man with an obvious animosity. The lobby was generously lavished with sculpted frames and paintings. The woman on the front desk paid the same courtesy, her mouth frigid as she examined my presence.

He continued a proactive discourse of his casual encounters in the Philippines and Thailand, of which, barely interests me. I’ve only found out pretty late that his name is Jorge, a retiree from Pennsylvania.

A small containment coming to life on its own interrupted Jorge while we stood face to face with its reflective mirror. For a first timer, the ride was like a turmoil within my insides, concocting a spiral of excitement and anxiousness. He laughed as I clung on to the wall to maintain balance. The increasing height further the convulsing feeling, almost similar to being succumbed by the ripples of water. Both hands instinctively covered the ears as I fear it will pop.

“Let me help you with that.” He collected a certain astute confidence, one who had walked a dreary road, maybe encompassing mine which is of only few years. Despite the authenticity of his familiarity, I resisted and stepped back as he attempted to meddle with my head.

“Swallowing helps.” I did as he told and once again, he knew of my affliction.

The elevator, as he introduced it, opened again as soon as the 11th digit blinked. The doors copulated by the impinging hallway registered a heedless mystery. His room resides next to the last door in the left wing. It was small but a monarch of comfort and class. I hesitated to enter, in fear that the floors be stained by my tattered slippers.

“Don’t be scared Maria. Come and make yourself comfortable.” His wan complexion garbed with brown freckles became clearer now that we’ve engaged across each other, I remaining stalled in his doorway. “And don’t bother to take off your slippers.” His bemused anticipation granted him the satisfaction while I follow his consequent passive orders.

From the inside, kitchen, bed and bathroom are clumped altogether in miniscule modernized compartment. I turned my head from left to right, awed by the new settlement I presume to be a brief acquaintance. On the left side of the foot of the bed, a camera stood on three metal tubes.

“Do you take pictures of yourself?” I blurted out. He looked surprised and I can only assume for many reasons. It had broken the long unperturbed silence and ignorance.

“Well yes. Sometimes the kids want their pictures taken. My friends would like to have fun and have their pictures taken too.” He explained it simply untainted by the intricate sense of its use. I avoided his eyes crookedly distorted by the old lines as he smirks. His hands reached through the shirt lining from behind showing off his skin whiter than anyone I have seen.

“Why don’t you grab some food in the fridge while I shower. There’s orange, grape juice, pasta if you like.” He offered encouragingly. The sound of it was as good as the last meal I had early today.

As soon as I hear the shower splattering the floors, the room came alive narrating its shredded parts of experience. Flashes of dim faces and voices possessed every inanimate witness. They spoke to me with trepidation despising and admiring my memories. Of course I knew about the camera. There’s one I saw from a constant visitor of Aunt Rina. Carlo proudly confessed his mother is a porn actress.

Amidst the adjoining nerves of thighs and stomach revolting from starvation and exhaustion, the inner resistance won leading my careful strut towards the door. I flee like I once did and in the budding essence of compulsion, I always will.

Chapter 1-The Case of Maria

runaway kid

The first day of darkness came and people anxiously waited for the expanse of how the day would change. For Aunt Rina, business had never been this good. I was expecting, in some confounded premonition the old woman had portended that my life would change—for the better. She was right. Not as I hoped though. It was time for Auntie to capitalize on unprecedented addition to the family.

The street lamps were on 24 hours to encourage continued business. For average households, rechargeable lamps compensated for natural light to cut down power consumption. At 9 in the morning, I would be sent to hang out on the streets where other kids beg for whatever they can. The most profitable spot was alongside the Mercury drug, now flooded by foreign bystanders day and night. My primary function though was to deliver a newspaper bond they call “goods” to a man named Boy.

Boy, a slender man in his fortys carries a faded backpack and would sometimes comes to his assigned post with a plump man who likes to wear a shirt that barely fits him. We never made contact as it seems conspicuous for old men to approach a young girl. Although the black market does not limit the age to prostitution, Aunt Rina maintains a rather more conducive money maker to compromise her business with another line of business. For such, I thank God for the “goods”.

My training before this job was immense. I had to slid a roll through a hidden slit under the backpack for 5 seconds. A work done so well was rewarded with abundant meal and so I did good everytime. Carlo, Aunt Rina’s 14 year old son was the wingman that oversees operation on the street. He keeps a close watch of me, the receiver and unwanted sting lurking as commoner.

On the 6th day, the street lights glimmered like a carnival on its last show run. The kids played here and there, banners hover from corner to corner and the sex union gathered in festivities. It is as if they never want to see the light of the day. Carlo was not his usual self, distracted by almost naked caravan of women calling out for midnight special. After the delivery of goods, Carlo emerged from a crowd of women bargaining with a group of prospective clients. It was the first incident of neglect and never should have been. I should never be able to pinpoint him from a crowd.

“Go home. Tell Rina I’ll be late.” His slim stature became more transparent in a white sando soaked with sweat. He shoved me off as soon as his friends called out. I looked around while the sound of distant chatting grew loud. My heart suddenly throbbed from excitement. I walked and walked, away from familiar shadows. Every step farther lead to liberating from a not-so-long ago past. Every corner and building named were sole witnesses to a future of no-looking-back. I stopped at a bricked driveway where cars are stalled on a wide entrance. Inside is an open architectural hall built with unlit dome of church. Not far from it are restaurants and shops decorated by clusters of men and women clothed for the occasion. This is not a place for me. Not a place for a kid who had just ran away. The benches in the garden offered me a good place for viewing and isolation.

“You alone?” An old foreigner intruded my fancy silent mingling. His belly was so huge I could mistake him for Santa Claus, while I being the lost Little Red Riding Hood. “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked again. I didn’t confirm approval but he did anyway.

“Are you hungry? I have place close to this mall. If you’re hungry or need a place to sleep, you could stay.” I studied his face for the first time. He was indeed Santa Claus except that the beard were tinted unnaturally black. “Don’t be scared. I got little kids like you who stay at my place. They eat whatever they want. Think of me like an uncle.”

He stood up and offered to take my hand. I blindly followed, hoping to end an exhausting day.

The Case of Maria



child in a room-case of maria

The banging thump escalated rhythmically, as if the devil covets release of one’s rage. I, in my dying innocence, effortly pasted half of my face against the wall. The vibration didn’t bother the ears, rather debts more of inquisition towards the unsightly event right next to this room. I was growing more concerned of Aunt Rina. She was howling like a wolf, yet disturbingly seem aroused by her own sound. I slowly crept in my pajama, hoping no sound interrupts their mysterious preoccupation. Tiptoeing through the cold tiles, I finally reached the door next room. The holstering duo of grunt and scream stopped. Within seconds, the door swung open almost catapulting my feet up to the roof. A white hairy man looked down, smirking at a small figure before him.

“Like what you saw?” he said.

I remained stiff. There was an eerie sense of awkward perplexity and disgust over an unfamiliar anatomy. He walked past, the shanty light coming from the bathroom through the end of the hall, showing off his naked behind. Inside the room, Aunt Rina sat at the edge of the bed, breast sagging as she breathe hastily her constant cigarette companion. Throwing a look of penance, her unspoken words linger. You will live as I live.

I scampered back to bed and crouched beneath the sheets. The coldness did not wither.

At 10, I was made aware that people act crazy because they are alone. Although they’ve always been that way since birth, they still fear the thought of it. I became satisfied with the punity of being alone with everyone else. Fourteen days before Christmas in 2014, an astronomical news created frantic all over the world. The sun abandoned earth causing total darkness for 6 days, the first after a massive solar storm in 250 years. The next day, Aunt Rina and I joined the hectic crowd in Razon Supermarket which is 10 minutes jeepney ride from the house. There was little space to squeeze in among shoppers who feared they might not see the light of day again. I fought to find an escape while the old ones savagely brawled at every item they could grab. An old woman in rugged clothes stood outside watching through the walled glass. Unlike the others, her eyes showed no fear. Then she found me. I was obliged to connect, slowly being drawn towards her.

“Be strong little one. Your time is near.” she whispered. For a child mind, such enigmatic blabbering wasn’t much to contemplate on. My retribution lies on a roof to live and food to eat. “Do you have food or water to spare?”she asked.

“I don’t really have money.” My head turned back to the swarming pickers negligent of who does what. I thought I could maybe sneak back for a loaf. “but maybe I could try to–” Before the good intention could be said, she was gone. Gone like I was the only one who knew she existed.

Token To Remember

I haven’t done writing for months now and I’m pretty sure missing work tonight to make time for that is a win-win situation for everyone involved. I’m a major competition when taking in calls; they said my undying hype towards an overused headset and a monitor of statistics is intimidating; and I left work yesterday slowly emerging like a green monster after a heated discussion over unreturned compensation for hard work. And I thought people should start appreciating calculus or statistics because even those that doesn’t matter or doesn’t make sense will turn out to be a significant discovery.

As much as a I fancy behavioral psychology (besides the fact that keeping my cool helps in controlling my ailing insides, physiologically), my eyes are drawn to putting meaning to numbers. Physical attraction is all about the proportionality of elements such as eyes, nose, lips, cheekbone within a 3 planar space visually distinct among common eyes and the probability of a unique facial structure existing relative to population. Attachment has a direct relationship with consumed space and time unless exposed under strained conditions. So I anxiously keep that on the watch.

Ehfficiency at work is undoubtedly about numbers. If you’re in marketing and sales, one must maintain an average number of prospects, keeping contact within a time frame. You must never miss a day without an order line, although that depends on how long you’ve been doing it and how many existing accounts you have. A measurable and variable goal should be set and that daily numbers should get you close to that goal. Establish a routine and the day must be concluded by the amount of accomplished work in numbers.

Vehemently, I’m misdirected by the challenge. I swore not to loop towards the curvature of old life but rather to observe and write. Follow faith and the very purpose of this moment. Apparently, this moment is nothing but a pint of the past, evident even through the stars. The very start is the key to the end. You must be more than human to certainly know the ultimate truth. As Einstein had once remarked, it is thus, “spooky action at a distance.” The unknown force of entanglement impacts even that distanced by time and space, same as the subatomic particles in quantum universe. Physical scientists fail to transcribe the laws of nature philosphically. They think everything is all about the non life properties. This imminent information is a hinting philosophy waiting to be humanized. The laws of nature is fate.

Nothing is random. Everyone and everything have motives. I knew, right when i was emptied, watching the big tides of water wondering where i’m heading next. Now the city has come to me, singing the same hypnotic strings of blindness. They blindly follow as it entertains. I brought in few things to make me remember–the crucifix necklace I wear everyday, the untouched hair now hanging longer to the waist, and this illness meaning to keep my raging soul tied. I cannot engage, neither form bonds… But rather observe and write.

Money in the Eyes of Capitalism

I don’t know how it started but my physiological nature had abruptly changed to a killing nuisance when depression and stress strike. My body manifests an allergic reaction to such stimulus, hence emotions must be handled lithurgically. I must not have significant emotions for too long (although that is far from daily repressing). This weekend had been fairly stressful given the demand to come out and further social interaction. I reserve these 2 days of week’s work to serenity. The time to think of the world within the perspective of an outsider.

I had the time to watch a chaotic caricature of capitalism. According to Marxism, it is bound to collapse. I thought any alternative is bound to collapse without reinvention. A new system will thrive, adjust, succeed and then collapse. An economist considers this kind of problem constituting the matters of numbers, sociological and fast forwarding. It is fairly sociological in my opinion given that global future lies in the hands of collective behavioral psychological analysis. We have entirely named an ugly relationship between capitalist and workers. Function and the money we make created a class. Class caused strains. And why is that? Everything is weighed in value through monetary. Everything becomes an exclusive property even those that used to be free. Mathematically, it make sense to assume value in numbers or, things would be vague. However, some people have become greedy to own natural properties as water, land, or food.

To understand the system, one must assume all functions. A capitalist invest with everything he has to produce, market and distribute the products. Workers are paid for their skils, time and energy in return. While both parties are considered consumers, the capitalist must make more profit to create more jobs by expanding the business. A higher demand for pay cuts down the capitalist’ profit, significantly affecting both the quality of product or the financial standing of the business. If the capitalist presumes a low wage cost, and he will if there’s a high demand for jobs, workers’ skills depreciate, also compromising the quality of their lives. Now what kind of relationship are we trying to establish here? A clash between classes resorting to revolution. Workers become thieves and capitalist of their own businesses to gain the same rights capitalists have.

This brings us back to the value of things not money. Money is math. It is mere numbers associated to the value of things. As is the law of supply and demand, monopoly gives you power to assume a higher value on things. If we track the root of domino sequentially driving things, the root goes back to resources and ownership of these resources. Who owns which? This should be discussed with impartiality and reason.

I had a friend back in the university who won a beauty pageant called Miss Earth. Sitting among the anxious spectators, I couldn’t help but bemused by the answer that won her title. “Earth is not ours but everyone’s”. I had wished that statement was implicated with such essentiality than just a moment of staged pageant.

I and Reality

I was daydreaming , hearing nothing but cluttering resonance. While people go about their social gagging habits, (face and mouth involuntarily moving), my mind took me to the fields. Running and playing with the wind. At the end of what seems to be an infinite plane, a dark hole suddenly exists. The ground was engulfing, attractively sucking me in. I got out back to where I started–a table shared with peers, all eyes freakishly staring at my face. “Uhm, what was that again?” I disappear just like that.

I wonder sometimes if I exist. Do my feelings exist? Do they exist? I was only sure of one thing. They trust I exist. They trust I will exist for as long they want and/or need me. It was a pain to see people attach themselves to needs and wants. It was a pain to imagine their recurring memories. We cannot claim anything of this world though because this is a home for vicious humans with passion for owning. Even that they do not own.

I am but a passing traveler. Learning from he, she and them. I have realized their utmost desire for attention and they would do anything to attain that.

For weeks, I have been trying to finish the story of Maria. The dangerous urge to live it so I can fully understand her thinking. It would mean wiping away my existing reality and impersonating a character at a distance not known to anyone I know. Just like any other stories written, the end has precluded and consequences calculated. Sometimes, the character conquers that it’s beginning to eat my insides.

I’m not crazy. I’m aware of my eccentricity. The propensity of fear overcomes with such intensity to drown in believing I know too much..that I think too much.. that I wander too much.. that I can’t sleep because the mind fashions words as I would have written it.. that I have never let anyone in.

Growing up, I have learned that insatiable appetite for excellence can be a social liability. My interests are complex. I’ve watched faces taunted with what-the-fuck responses. So I had to acquire casual manner for speaking and behaving. I realized that some things need not be heard.

Maybe I’m not alone in thinking this way. They said I am. Alone. In thinking the way I do. But who cares? We are not what we do or say. We are not what we make. We are what we think, most of which we don’t relay.

Everyday, I hear people raise up microphones on their mouths affirming how superior they are. No one really is. It is rather a proof that music is superior. Calculus is or theoretical physics. Chemistry or arts. Vanity or rage. Power or monetary. We are to blame for making it. I don’t have a point in even writing this. This is just me dismembering pieces of my quiet neurons firing away into words.

Let me give you one final piece of advice. Nothing is factual. It is mere faith on your own reality sensibly existing. You will not know now but maybe tomorrow..or later.

The Lying Game

This is the Age of Deception. A time we are accessibly possessed by what we see, hear or feel. A moment the concept of self is slowly collapsing. We started changing when everything outside had become too loud to hear our quiet selves.

I’d like to say we didn’t trust at all but were rather presented a falsified truth no one can escape. More than what we can grasp, the weight of this truth is determined by the extent of its impact–that is, the number of people and period of time this fake truth continues to exist. There is one fact though about the truth people have missed. However means it is buried, truth resurfaces like a seed coming to life. Even when deprived of light, it will be its own light.

Growing up, I’ve witnessed the world change in shape and colors. The herd followed an unknown lead. I tried as much as I can to take their direction but behind the shadows of unseeming eyes, a child’s world was created bounded with nothing but faith. Completely barricaded despite the complications of my flawed personality. I realized, perfection is not an absolute necessity nor a luxury. In greatness or worst state, I appreciate the eccentricity and simplicity of my nature.

The principle of personal pessimism holds that one thing is false or invalid unless proven. What I’m simply saying is, everything is wrapped in a hard bound shell. The way the old folks do it requires suffcicient time to ripen while buried in soil. It is one hard reality we all have to live with everyday. Leaders implement a law and exempt themselves from it. Media has become a tool to hypnotically create mass behavior and perception. The company you work for conditions a mind towards profit whatever it takes. People on the streets beg or steal as an easier resolute. Our friends or blood betray us out of personal interest. Addiction and Vanity kill our identity. So I walk the road among my brothers and sisters. Even so, I knew I wouldn’t have to walk through the same end. I try to cautiously live each day with utter consideration of results and never plan 2 days after, a week after, years after or when my end is nearly close.

The capacity for deception is depicted systematically. You have to understand that everyone is capable of it. After all, everyone has personal interest. An authority, reputation, or popularity counts as an effective character presence often less doubted. They are reasonably equipped and hence become the biggest threat. They have enough resources and power to orchestrate an atmosphere that supports a false truth. Such blinding masquerade can challenge our old perception moreso when majority give their approval to a new one. This is an age where your scope of witnessing can extend to any part of the globe. As far as I’m concerned, everyday, I am witnessing a possessed social structure. The dogma of replacing our physiologicals part and orginal form. The synthetic remedy of human pain, starvation and confusion. Our morality is nevertheless, gone or twisted.

We say an option exists.That freedom to choose was lost when fear of losing has become poignant as cowardice. Resistance to adapt means the kind of life human fears. Isn’t that what human is motivated for? The very reason for unconditional efforts. And when the rut immobilizes you, this is where it all starts and stops. You have nowhere to go but get stuck.

My advice is, live simply as if you don’t know what’s going on. But do not take their drugs. Do not think how they think. Do not say their words. Prevent aphyxiation from universal habits. Until now, I have never taken picture of myself posted in social media nor played applications online. I just couldn’t. I prefer to savor pencil marks on a drawing pad or write random thoughts after weekdays of work.




I am in debt.

You have such confidence to buy my freedom.

You who think is stronger than Samson.

knowing than Pythagoras and theorists.

I have to save you from assuming.


This is not a poem.

Neither a dialogue.

There are no meters, rhythm or syllabication.

I don’t know what this is.

Maybe a warning,  anathema, schadenfreude.


The cold mist explores the volatile atmosphere.

I have no wise thoughts but an urge to prepare.

It may come as gravitational and stellar mishaps.

A universal accident..or by reason of faith.

And just as we humans justify, “it is what it is.”

It is rather a scrape of the surface.


It is a wonder how people speculate on my wandering.

The inability to express at the same wavelength perceived as stupidity.

Doll make up and stature. Date hopping and incapacity to attach.

Radical philosophy and free spirited mingling.

Pessimism and conceptualizing virtue of Now.

Unstable emotions and discrete thoughts. Alienated demeanor towards normal circumstance.

Acceptance of death and my withering strength.


I understand you cannot recover nor forget.

My shoes are not fittingly of comfort and familiarity to others.

Why do you believe I am the blackwidow then?

If you have high hopes of changing fate and me.

I am in debt. Of the years I was trained to do as I am tasked.

My resources are enormously laid free for it is of purpose.

And for that I cannot indulge as I please.


This quiet plea to grow conscience.

Name, title, face, fashion. Monetary value and eloquence of speech.

Recognition. Do you really think it would matter if you realize what this world is made of?

How can you find truth if one is picking out from a dump where parasites hover around.

They tell you one truth to masquerade another truth in hiding.

By gaining, you have lost peace. No mercy even in death.


Consider this mumbling as nothing but some crazy adaptation of reality in my head

When I occasionally break in silence..my eyes hysterically stuck in hypnotic state.

The Woman Without A Future

I was mesmerized by the virility of waves that wet my feet as it kissed the shoreline. That was me. Wondering where I’ll end up in few months. I stopped planning since the time fate took over my guts. Back in the city, the lights never fade. My arm is wrapped around mild shopping spree. So what now?  Oh yeah, I was here to continue the explores of my novel.

I want to share some pointers on living the crazy feat of uncertainty. The key is to have Faith. To live in faith means to fear nothing and no one of this world.  That doesn’t mean you’re headed through an easy going carnival ride. You have to understand that there is no place for familiar routes. The first step is to believe that you were made for a noble purpose. Skills are tools. Experience is a training ground. People are your aid, trainers or accidental travelers needing resources. So do not expect permanency in company among them. Second step is to realize that you are only but a body and soul. Critically distinguish necessity and luxury. Expect 50 percent of necessity as sacrificial when circumstances call. Luxury is a temptress throwing out rationality of humanity to complete obsolete.

Don’t trust anyone. No One is responsible to fulfill your needs, happiness or goals. However, you are responsible for the ramifications of your actions. That’s not fair, isn’t it? It’s who you are. It’s who you’ve always been. Life is a purpose. Death is a done deal. It’s a stairway to home. So you can only care so much to prevent physiological physics–time and what the body does in finite space. Soft skin, stamina, sculptured contour..why would that matter? In the long run, all those vibrant cells will decompose and nourish the soil. In the long run, last breath would remind you of the loss. The loss is not of this world but inside you.

Don’t humor me with justifying irrelevance of philosophy to material world. The world cannot be shaped. The world made you believe that. You are only in control of oneself. So be the best at what is entitled of you.

I was asked more than once about what makes me happy. Ridiculously, it takes time to figure out an answer. I thought there’s something wrong with the question. Why does it have to sound like an ultimate-driven pursuit? Why can’t it be one among the regular bright spots of experience?

For 34 years, fate taught me to elevate subconscious..contemplate an absolute reality with conviction. Brain is as complex as that because you’re going to be knocked out a million times. Your armor is what you believe in. My shot is, I am the woman who has no future.

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

Espen Stenersrød- From Pen To Heart

Jack Kerouac with a scent of Henry Vaughn

The Neighborhood

The Story within the Story

Gotta Find a Home

Conversations with Street People

Girly Dreams

"The hero of my tale, whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful, is Truth." Leo Tolstoy

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