Whited-Out

4 May

It’s different today. I don’t know what to think. Probably this is what I experience with this horrific consistency. I cannot turn on the lights, as the electricity has been shut off, and why this has happened– why something like electricity may be shut off– is incomprehensible to me, so I am forced to light candles and place them in tin cans or empty soda bottles, and I sit in my dimly lit room far from whatever I knew downtown, without secure thoughts to comfort me. Disoriented. Beat. Without thoughts at all perhaps. And I am blank, as empty as the proverbial unpainted canvas.

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All About Lovin’ You

29 Apr

Tonight I will gather myself on top of the highest building and all the more you will love me there.

I will surprise you beyond all view with stronger love that collects itself with city things and neon lights which you and I used to fancy in our subsequent years.

Because you long for a man with nests of wild things in his mind, off the edge I’ll take this step with reminiscence and prayers as I come down to you to fit this ring of ageless love.

I hope this won’t freak you out.

Be Careful

16 Apr

When neon lights meet the waking sky
And the birds won’t stop winging
When the stereo of the first jeepney you ride in is playing your song
You will remember him

You will remember the smell of his deoderant mixed with sweat
Which knuckles he torn before he laid down next to you

His peculiar snore and inability to understand sarcasm will escape you
You won’t remember his inferiority complex
How he beat your understanding nature into you
You will focus only on the taste of his skin
The way he fingered the hair out of your eyes
How he left you for Someone Else

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Open Letter to the One who is Forgettable

9 Apr

I take my pen reluctantly, believing as I do in the virtues of acquaintance and world peace and not wanting to stir up a human heart, but when it comes to a friend and what he means to me as a genuine confidant and you – a nitwit pokemon, a sniveling drunk who pukes out an apology so self-serving, I’m afraid I must take a firm stand.

Perhaps serious commitment is not of interest to you and that, you valued my friend less. It’s as if you think relationships can be woven without a hem of loyalty, that you can easily mope around and look for another welcoming outlet into which you can release your salivating fantasies and, when caught, expect my friend (who knows the routes and dangers of homosexual affairs) to forgive such follies.

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The King and the Mysterious Stick

6 Apr

Once there was a faraway kingdom ruled by a king who was privileged to command his subjects as he wanted. But in the entire kingdom, there was only one who could turn wishes to reality, and that was the sorcerer.

On the driest day of the year, when all vegetations became wilted and the air was bitter with dust, the king went to the sorcerer’s house and found the courage to knock. When the sorcerer came, he saw behind her firewood burning on the hearth, brightly covered furniture as soft as newly sheared wool, and a lamp lit. He sat in one, with his boots on the rug and his hands stretched to the fire.

The sorcerer said nothing, and at last the king spoke his visit. “Can you help me? I have three wishes.” The sorcerer asked what they were. When the king gave descriptions of his wishes, she said, though she could brim the river with fresh water and make all trees bear fruit, the first two wishes were unachievable.

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My Grounds for Blogging

31 Mar

1. Worpress has more fun than blogger does. It is even way better than Facebook. On the basis of comment thread, that is. Such plug-in makes the platform very easy to navigate.

2. If you blog in WordPress and don’t comment on other bloggers’ posts, you might consider setting your journal private or deactivate the comment box to earn some reader’s respect on your schemes. Because it takes effort to fish comments.. unless you do have some weird insight- let’s say, tips on a healthy relationship with your goldfish (which others normally freak out to write about)- that will surely provoke one to shit some weird compliment on your page.

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Blue Sunday

29 Mar

We spent so many Sundays together and with your hand clutched onto my arm, I could walk with not even an eye open.

In the dirty market in the early morn. Our pouches filled with citrus delights: oranges, melons, tangerines. Upon the sidewalk, we’d sit on benches to peel their skins, suck the juice, spew the seeds. Often I’d say, “Bitter!” You’d say, “Sweet!”

Lunch at the barbeque stall along the highway. We smiled to each other as cars and jeepneys travelled by. We gave slices to stray cats; some sprinkled on the ground, some served by hand.

The afternoon was for the city park. We liked to roam around the field of much green, streetsides lined with sunflowers.

But on this Sunday, all I can stomach is some cheaply-priced bread. A stiff, tasteless dough, the size of your fist.

At the stall, I only make it to see the cats but nothing to find there except burnt sticks shredding from passersby steps.

And I can’t look at the park. Instead, I find myself sitting in someone’s garden, facing these wilted roses and furling forget-me-nots.