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The art of futility

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  Creation doesn’t save. Art stabilises. That’s why art continues after belief has died. Not because it promises something— But because consciousness cannot stop itself. The will to create isn’t heroic. It’s involuntary. A reflex. The art of futility A spoken monologue I don’t make art because it matters. I make it because consciousness produces excess. And excess demands release. That’s the first lie we’re taught—that art points toward truth. Truth doesn’t need us. It existed before our gestures and will remain after our silence. Art isn’t revelation. It’s a regulation. An overdeveloped mind can’t remain idle. Thought accumulates. Pressure builds. Expression becomes a discharge—not a message. This isn’t noble. It’s biological. Paintings. Texts. Sounds. Images. All variations of the same maneuver. Not transcendence . Containment . Once you see this, ambition collapses. Influence. Legacy . Relevance. These are metaphysical debts art can no longer pay. The work is finished the mome...
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Converging Traffic Manila

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  Converging Traffic in Manila poem I am a passenger entering Manila.  The complexity of the city's carriageways and lanes is both bewildering and fascinating.  I gaze out, trying to make sense. Through the web of intricate pathways.  The traffic is fluid; however, I experience it as chaotic. My driver remains steadfast as vehicles converge and exit.  Intuitively understanding this dynamic system.  Balancing the collective's expectations with our personal needs. I trust him as he orchestrates our safe path through. Converging Traffic and Apparition in Manila I err on the side of detecting threats in ambiguous situations. Crossroads of the past, present and future Convergence of Traffic and Apparition As I sit in traffic, the air in Manila feels thick, with countless engines and people going about their day. I find myself staring out of the windshield, taking in the vibrant scene of city life. Within the chaos, I sought refuge from the uncertain situation....
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