drowning bismuth on the way

nostalgic dreadfulness

2010-02-18T07:39:00.003+08:00

no. i will not. those crazy thoughts. what are they really? think again. you are a hoarder of memories. stop it.

weak. no, you are a flake. you want it back because someone else has it. what will you do if you get what you think is still yours?

remember that dream? where he got you tickets for a rocket ship across the universe. see those stars in your head now? galactic dust gathering at your wake.

let's talk about beer for a moment, ok? that trappist beer in Belgium. the chimay. sweet and fruity aroma with a hint of pepper. and did you hear about the chimay dorée, a patersbier- meant only to be drunk within the monastery walls.

those memories of yours are patersbiers. it violates a certain code of decorum- ethics even, i think; integrity at least- when you bring them out into the open. there are just things that are meant to be confined. in your case- tucked away in that corner of your brain where ice cream melted under the sun memories are kept, perhaps material for some future literary shit you'd manage to leave trailing at your wake. maybe.

are you ok now? good.

30

2010-02-08T13:09:00.003+08:00

let's see:

move out and live on my own: check
swim in Mt. Pinatubo's crater lake: check
drive and own a car: check
head my own department: check
wish in a temple in angkor wat: check

everything in my tick off list for my 20's seem childish to me now. i was thinking those were the things i needed to do to prove i knew how to truly live an emancipated life. but now, it seems like i've reached the top of something and i'm looking at a whole new geography- an era that will decide where i'd be at the end of my life and who would be there with me. and on the other side of this top view perspective- i see my past. a past i'm glad to leave behind. realities that are hazy at their best that only certain feelings remain. feelings that used to be details and real people, speech, touch, scents, kisses, colors - a different universe.

who was i in the previous decade of my life? and who would i want to be in the next? i could perhaps remember to be anything i want and everything i want to become at this point.

find yourself wondering at the end of things

2009-10-15T15:47:00.000+08:00

the bad end of goodbye finds you sitting in your corner of the world still wondering what has happened. if there ever was any reason to believe it was love to begin with. or if you were a fool to take it and sit there as the world passed you by. do you tell him then you still love him and those other things he doesn't want to hear anymore. do you still believe in kindness at the end of things?

boogie woogie and elves on half skirts

2009-09-16T16:50:00.001+08:00

Coffee. 3^rd cup. Still sleepy. Let’s do the boogie woogie. And turn it all around. Or twirl- if you feel like being a girly girl.

How’s it again?

Boogie woogie. Pointy toes. Pointy hats. Pointy noses. Pointy ears. North. South. East. West.

There’s a point here somewhere.

Somewhere where elves run around in half skirts and full beards.

Now. Not when. Or how. The question begs an answer. Not another question. So I ask, is it someday or soon? You, say, NOW!

And do the boogie woogie and turn things around. Do the woogie boogie and twirl all the girls around.

Around the world. Around the world. What’s that? You ask if it’s true. I say, yes. Yes if it is NOW. Now. Now. Now.

Pick up your skirts little elves. Run and twirl in the wind. Your full beards float after you. Like a cloud of smoke. Like the smokes you’ve quit on a whim. Just like how it begun- on a whim, didn’t it?

Do the boogie woogie. And turn around. Point to yourself. Point to me. Say NOW. The world around. There’s only you and me and the little elves that dance ‘round and ‘round. Boogie woogie. Oh the coffee! The coffee too!

too giddy

2009-08-21T21:12:00.002+08:00

i'm too giddy right now to write anything decent. i don't know but i'm really just like this. when i'm too giddy, i mean. i'm scared maybe i'll just write cheesy stuff that stink worse than blue cheese. which by the way smells like foot- that sweated too much. but still tastes great. the cheese i mean.

taking on the darjeeling dare

2009-03-09T21:59:00.002+08:00

mahal,

Until last week, I did not see myself running after that proverbial train. I simply didn’t care. So many have passed me by already and have left me believing people always leave. That there is no forever. Not for me.

Then you came. I’ve started wondering maybe I have been wrong. Maybe I just didn’t understand how this whole thing- this fate, love, commitment mixture works.

I am unsure about catching the train. I have never committed to anyone. Had no one commit to me. I still can’t see my future because my future is full of curbs and blindspots- the way I want it. I avoid the long straight line- of knowing precisely what comes next. Of being too sure. Of finding the one now. Now when I only know two things to do when made to choose: fight or flight.

My friends say I wear my heart on my sleeve. That I put too much of my heart out there. But I have not really given much to anyone. I have never lost myself. I may have loved freely but I have never let anyone pierce through me so much so that I would fear losing out on things while I go about my ways- of not having kids (because will I really find a man who wouldn’t want to have a child in his likeness?); of dying (what kind of person in love would wish misery on someone who has his life latched unto hers?); of being whimsical (who wouldn’t want consistency in a relationship?). I am a slave to both my ego and id. Even with you now, I am still me.

But unlike you, I am not afraid of the what ifs. What if we grow too comfortable? What if we run out of interesting things to say to each other. What if this is just mere attraction – of finding a kindred soul at this turn in our lives. What if I’m not the one. What if there’s no such thing as the ‘one’. What if there’s no such thing as the ‘one’ for me or you.

I am taking you on your condition: to speak up when this thing gets too much to handle or falls below expectations.

I need to believe first that the train is worth catching.

Because I’m running without any baggage. And I see you still have yours. But like I told you. As long as you hold my hand, I won’t let go.

We can catch the train or we can stop running after it. Plop down on the grass and enjoy the view of the here and the now. and not care if it takes us a hundred years forever wondering what comes next.

Because the future doesn’t matter to me as much as the hand that holds mine now.

I told you I am not simple. I am not low maintenance. I want more from life. I need to feel that you are drowning in me. Overwhelmed by me. Consumed by me. I just can’t have it otherwise.

Your turn. Fight or flight?

everything fades

2009-01-28T19:50:00.002+08:00

i tell them not to worry. everything fades with me.

it comes faster than you think. ask mellon. ask ian. ask pan. ask eli. ask jig. ask moi. ask savvy. ask jan. ask troy.

only one says it's taking forever. and even him can't keep me.

we are only here for a moment.

and even time can't have me.

i'm counting down the days till you are here. i'm counting down the days till i fade for you.

morning after

2008-10-31T12:56:00.002+08:00

i woke up this morning. late again for work. i woke an hour and a half past the time i'm supposed to be already hunched over my laptop, done with checking the email, and already half-way through a new FAQ.

i woke up with a hollow feeling in my chest, as if my lungs got filled up with too much air and the cavities were screaming from overstretch. air that was dead. air that was starting to balloon my brain.

my eyelids were heavy- weak against the morning sun bursting from the tiny open window of my bedroom. i crawled under the comforter although it was damn warm. i crawled as if i was crawling into the dark hole in the ground.

i didn't want to face today. this present where nothing we talked about last night is real. today, we go back to being dumb dumbs.

365 days

2008-10-30T12:59:00.002+08:00

remember how it was last year? three candles atop the chocolate cake. your eyes smiling. amused. surprised. i lighted those candles. afterwards we went down for coffee and smokes. it was only days ago that i saw bismuth's mix- oct 2007 on my desk. a song about a 400-horsepower black mustang exploding on the highway like a slug from a .45

with or without you. it was great this year. the trick or treat fiesta of sorts. remember that kid in a tigger suit? how we thought it would be cooler if he was dressed up like kurt cobain in that mtv unplugged session? did the marks of the face paint go away? the dragon on your forehead.

the other day, Wil wondered about you. commenting that his PSP is already a year older too because he got at this time of the year last year, he remembered. you know how he is. he can copy voices. so he imitated you borrowing the console and getting caught by her while you were deep into the game.

remember the short girl you had more than 2 bottles of beer with? that night you drank cerveza negra because that was what i was drinking someplace else. she misses you too. we had fun before. we were like kids in college running about this place. not trying to fit in at all. we were carving our own niche with our own clique.

oh, i forgot. you'd be sad to know they shut down hot and saucy. and that burger place upstairs. all that's left of our hangout is coffee cal. amusing how much things change for the ones left behind.

so how was yesterday? was there cake?

here's how i'm celebrating your birthday

2008-10-22T21:37:00.005+08:00

i'm flying off to cebu for the weekend. there's a national beer drinking competition and i got invited to watch. have free booze. bum in a nice hotel at the beach front. bikinis. bikinis. beer. beer. and some stray jack daniels.

i'm loving JD these days. learned to drink it a year ago. somebody told me it's the drink of the loser stuck in agony and despair. i don't think i'm a loser. i can deal with stuck. i drink it straight without even ice now. how about that?

there's something in its smoky aroma. the first shot that momentarily burns my lips and leaves with a slight tingly sensation at the back of my tongue. and for a while my mind spaces out, fills up with a heady rush of sadness and longing and contemplation that lasts only seconds. as the whiskey courses down my throat, all my senses dwell on its trail of heat. i become closed to the outside world. there is only me. after the first shot, i watch the remaining amber liquid sit in my glass, like it can keep a secret and drown it forever. life is an illusion in its protracted light.

changed

2008-10-21T22:21:00.002+08:00

my hair was thinning. or was i being paranoid? anyway, i cut my very long hair (that reached down to my waist). and now it's short. very short. just a little below my earlobes now. and i feel a little more free.

i have no money. or am i just too extravagant on my "obligations"? anyway, i retired my xda after 3 years. i loved that phone but it hurt to see it being held together by scotch tape now. it was very good to me. and now i got sucked in to this overly commercialized iPhone 3G. i miss my xda mini. it still calls out to me.

but the past has a way of catching up with me. i told her to let me be. that i won't meet up with ian. that it's not true he's not yet over me. he left me, didn't he? what's the point of her bugging me? see, i've got new hair now. new phone. i've got someone new too (oh wait. i'm in the process of forgetting that someone).

and the other girl who stole my could have been wants to be friends with me. bugging me. what the hell's wrong with people? i've cut them all off already. i'm restraining myself from telling her if she does not leave me alone, she'd lose a husband. because he still loves me. loves me more. or maybe not. i don't believe him. but that's what he tells me. i don't really care. i've moved on.

my friend mussolini loves popping balloons. those girls mentioned above, will lose their happy balloons if they keep bugging me. move on people. i just happened to have long hair, a good career, legs that look good in short skirts; they just happened to like conversing with me. i was just being me. and i'm still me, sans the long hair. but leave me alone.

uh-oh

2008-05-15T21:40:00.004+08:00

no way you are like them. how can it be? i don't even try. drink your beer and let me be.
are you amused by my stories? i've got plenty. walk away while you can.
is it how i look at you from across the room? the side glances and the unabashed smiles. i do that every time. i'm a creep. i'm so fuckin' special. walk away now while you still can.

say what again? you like me and you wish i were there. do you imagine how lightly i stroked your arm with the tips of my nails? don't. stop while i can.

it's the same story over and over and over and over. and it always ends the same. don't ask me what happens. if you get on board this crazy roller coaster ride, you'll find out soon. but go, while you can still feel your legs.

did you spend your weekend staring out into the water? conjuring up mythical islands in the sun. drink your beer. let me be. you won't be different from them.

stuck in a moment

2008-05-05T22:53:00.003+08:00

car crashes into you. gaping faces and flying chinese men flash before your eyes. you know you are just imagining your mother kissing your forehead- the bitch left you when you were four years old. but the little girl who puts her dirty handkerchief over your gushing wound is real. you can smell the sampaguita she carelessly dropped beside your head. you flinch at the thought of contracting a disease from the poor bugger.

you cannot breathe and the crowd of people stupidly pointing out that you were hit, are blocking whatever polluted air from the gutters of manila wafts to you. you utter soft putang ina under heavy breathing. this is your worst fear- death by stupidity of others.

you reach in your pocket for your cellphone and dial a number. you grin- with the little strength left in you- at the thought, why can't emergency numbers be as easy to remember as 8-mcdo? U2 starts singing in your head- you are such a fool/to worry like you do/i know it's tough/ and you can never get enough/ you got to get yourself together/you're stuck in a moment and you can't get out of it.

wiggle your toes. yes, just like your uncle taught you for when you find yourself stiff from a nightmare. wiggle your toes now. wiggle them like the fate of the universe depends on it. you cannot bleed dry on this pavement. you are smarter than this. you cannot die just because of a stupid drunk. what about the rest of your life? what about your best laid out plans? the girl you married at 24? remember her? she used to be enough until that other girl when you were 30. remember the scent of her hair? and her legs. man! live, if only for that one month of bliss.

ok, so it's true everybody dies alone. but whose memory are you taking to the end? fuck! you're too young. not even that amazing one night in boracay can compensate for a short lived existence.

so what do you do?

in the arms of bliss

2008-04-22T21:05:00.000+08:00

giddy like a kid at the sight of cotton candy and balloons, i am dreaming of going back - seeing you again. perhaps swim in your sea of possibilities or wonder at the blueness of your sky and the quiet of your evenings.

your love has been waiting for vagabonds like me. in a little while, we will be flooding your streets with car races and drowning your stars with our uninhibited conversations. and as your moon will be reveling at how much we've grown yet feel the same, we will be playing with the shadows of your dark curbs and dirt roads and dead ends. your crevices hold their breaths for once more, we shall be whispering new secrets and old hopes.

i'm going back to you. my happiness overflows with my sadness. my frustrations collide with my expectations. i am anticipating better things ahead. but first i must see you and remember who i was when i was with you.

come away with me

2008-04-09T00:36:00.004+08:00

let's go. come away with me. forget about them. them deadlines. them hating you because you're beautiful or young or brilliant, or all of them together.

what are you waiting for? do you really want this life? have you no more dreams or whimsical hopes? what about happiness? yes, what about passion and wasting time and everything in between? what about regrets? they are real, like your pain or sadness now that you know you've made the mistake of forgetting or choosing the other way.

tell me, do you wonder about her? where is she now? your eyes don't look hopeful about the future. you are choosing to forget about the present instead of living it fully. what if you're really just a bug? a tiny one perched on the edge of a windowsill. anytime the wind blows, your flailing wings won't be any good. and what about the sunset? don't bugs die at sunset? stop looking in. dive and take your share. i am yours, am i not?

who do you want now? desire now. kiss now. take to bed and unveil the night of its mysteries. stop thinking it was a mistake. the heart never lies.

come away with me. let's go inside this parallel universe, in the corner of you know where. little bridge , little brook. i'll wait for you , same time?

if you believe in fate and all that crap

2008-02-20T15:23:00.002+08:00

This is getting funny. You and I meeting like this- straight out of a dating manual. Someone told me we were supposed to meet last year. Well, you are two months late. And what’s this about me not seeing you again for another six months?

It’s funny because you are everything they said you’d be. One of them said you have to be intelligent, profound. Another felt you’d be Caucasian- a mixed breed, perhaps of Asian and European descent. A fellow Capricorn said, you’d be younger but wiser, and most importantly- sexy and good looking ( oh yeah!). We’d have to share the same faith too- in divinity and in the healing powers of vanilla ice cream. And most probably, a rasta friend of mine said, I would be drinking beers (we had five different kinds- this I know you won’t forget) on the first meeting. A poet told me- this guy I would meet won’t be able to keep his eyes off me and will hang on to every word spoken and every gesture until finally we touch skin to skin, palm to palm. I only said I wanted you to be taller than me by a few inches. I have pictures. Wanna see how good we look good together?

funny, you could be the one and though you were late than predicted, i still feel i've met you too soon.

looking again

2008-02-14T16:14:00.002+08:00

he just left. i now have to find his replacement. so this is how it feels when someone from your team leaves and you're stuck with work and the possibility of no weekends again. drat! if you speak and write good english, play with human emotions and sensibilities, manipulate graphics/photos, smile against idiosyncrasies; lose your sanity but express your creativity nonetheless, send me an email. i need another bluff extraordinaire.

finders keepers

2008-01-18T23:39:00.000+08:00

i've lost something. i'm not sure what. or why. i just know when.
it was when i saw you again, quite unexpectedly. we didn't even bother to say hello.
it feels like it was too long ago. perhaps i just imagined most of it to be. willed them to being- those crazy hours we kept. and the hilarious surprises that kept us awake.
awake and aware of the tiniest details of our everyday that sprung to life.

too bad i didn't find you first. too bad i couldn't fight against misery and you leaving me.

should you want to know- yes, it was my birthday. and yes, i expected something out of the ordinary. like, perhaps, you coming back. or not. just a word from you?

what is it that i've lost?

scenes of my escape

2007-12-27T22:42:00.000+08:00

found pink floyd in a flea market- wished you were here.

looks like rain in dreamscape.

from my window seat, manila!

morning jogs along the paths into pinewood forests.

still wondering what it would feel like to fly a plane upside down and touch a cloud.

when you're going too fast, you may miss the interesting part of life's mundane curveballs.

escapist

2007-12-17T22:20:00.000+08:00

i just got back from two weeks of rock and rollin' around the country- north to south. if my boss hadn't stopped me, i should have been in tuguegarao by now, scared shit (not really) of rebels kidnapping me. two weeks of barely enough sleep. lots of alcohol. lots of nicotine. and plenty of players.

baguio was fuckin cold. i jogged in the morning- took in the pine-scented early morning air. it numbed my brain. the dude i jogged with talked non-stop about airsoft and war games. so everything was good.

davao was deliciously fun and warm. i liked the sun on my skin. i said to someone about two months ago that i would kiss a total stranger. well, the lead vocals of the band kissed me. i was shocked but what the hell. the kid was cute and he was singing pink floyd stuff. could you really blame me?

on to cebu... cebu was tiring. i got sick in cebu. i got sick remembering the last time i was there. in the same hotel. with the same crowd of people as audience to please. sick to my stomach thinking i should be kicking and screaming. crying, crushing things, throwing insults at anyone, at the wall, at the night. instead- there i was shouting at the band, singing along: It started out with a kiss. How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss!

back in manila, i have to deal with some very nasty truths. and working late again. missing my coffee breaks. making up excuses why my eyes look sad. telling them all i'm ok.

goodbyes suck.

everybody wants to rule the world

2007-11-29T17:40:00.000+08:00

the world, well our world over here, has gone mad (again). 30-50 military officers undergoing trial for failed coup attempts in the last couple of years (yep, one of them has just been elected senator) walked out of court and holed themselves up in one of the most posh hotels in this country's commercial district. they are trying to enjoin everybody else to join their cause- which honestly, is a lost one. even the weather is not cooperating. for most of us corporate slaves it just means work is suspended for most of the afternoon. and some of us now need to contend with possible crisis situation and save at any cost our business operations.

tumultuous times of our lives, dear ian. this is the country you have gone back to and which you will soon leave. but i do not envy you. earlier, as we were discussing contingencies- even when we know on the other side of this city and other parts of luzon, visayas and mindanao people are plotting (reds, black & white, greens, oranges, and the whole fuckin rainbow coalition)- we laughed at this. it seems a military uprising is just another one of them things that make us pinoys. people who can laugh at dead ideals and the lives that have been given us.

would i choose to be someone else? maybe a european perhaps or even japanese, if i had a chance? most probably not. i have done crazy stuff just because i could say "hey, i'm from the third world, what do you care?" or met crazy people like me just because i'm interesting with my stories of pasig river overflowing or eating large snakes cooked in pineapple or thumbing my nose at smelly expats or losing myself into a trance at car taillights during the rush hour.

dear ian, you will not forget me. unlike this mutiny in makati today, i won't be just a passing disturbance in your everyday. i will be like the first EDSA revolution - forever remembered as the one true thing. the nostalgia of it drive people like trillanes to relive it and believe it can't be right to just have one moment of a beautiful thing. but you only do get to have just one. what do you do then if you find yourself in that moment? i would like to believe you will drown yourself in every second, gorge its every detail, and live like you will never be the same again.

for her, if you want to...

2007-11-27T18:34:00.001+08:00

sunflower

missing a smile and a few thousand kisses

my hand warm against your cheek

brown eyes burn with the last of the afternoon sun

a look drilled into memory and a couple of dreams

amused at the small details-

the timbre of your laugh

and how you squint when a thought bothers your mind

but lovely you brighten my day

I have waited before for you- not minding sleep

I wait and wait, and will wait more

till once more you know you’re the only one

wander

2007-11-23T17:08:00.001+08:00

Today, a man washes soot from his face- his house burned to the ground. His children lost. His wife still does not know.

Somewhere in the world a woman puts on a veil to hide from the world. Learning how to forget and be forgotten. Sadness overflows and as if her body is about to tear out of its skin, she bends over and surrender to the tide- drowning herself in a pool of regret.

A child begs for a few coins- dodging this and that car. His big brown eyes burn from the oncoming headlights. His tiny feet tired from walking the length of the boulevard. Back and forth. In an endless cycle of dreamless existence handed down from his bastard father’s father.

Everyday you feel like a beat-up truck stuck in a pothole. You used to be in an all-time favorite champion team. A superstar in an all-star selection. Rockstar. Starter. Captain. Now you pull over to a gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes when you don’t even want to smoke. Just imagining the lit end to be a firefly drowsy with sleep, breaking the dark of your room.

alright, here goes love for the uninitiated

2007-11-20T09:59:00.000+08:00

Does it mean love when his scent lingers in the air for you. You breathe in and smell his skin, the mixture of sweat and the soap used on his shirt.

Is it love that ignites the desire to always have his arms wrapped around you? Missing the way his warm hands rubbing against the length of your legs the moment he leaves for the night? The way he bends and kisses your knee and buries his nose, tantalized with the thought he can suck in your very essence and live off of it.

Is it love when you laugh at the same things- off-color jokes and stupid juvenile pranks? Of fat little kids cussing and tormenting stupid adults? Drinking beer to good times. Coffee in the guise of breaking the monotony of work but in truth, just another excuse to get him alone.

Is it love when there is regret he met you too late? And all that’s left- because you choose to take the high road- is hope that this devastating physical attraction will not put a strain on this deeper connection you both feel. What is it when you cannot be in the same room when he talks to her softly and with a little strain because he misses her so much too?

Where does love reside? In the one he has committed to be with for the rest of friggin forever or in the one who makes him feel alive again? Because we are too young to define life as one strong line, paved with our plans for the future, how can one moment decide what we do with the rest of it?

Or is love really just a fickle bastard, pulling and shoving us whichever way it chooses because there are more than three billion people in the world and it is statistically incredulous that it is one person to one. So which one is it? Destiny or just damn luck- being in the right place at the right time, being the best girl at the moment when he decides you are the one?

Is love about quitting smoking- or at least trying to? Or getting the first drag from her after years of repulsing it? Because she chain smokes like a crazy chimney?

Is it planning for the three-day weekend because you know time flies when you’re together. But that no plans at all is also good enough? It does not matter what movie or where you’re driving to. Because being together is all you need.

Does it mean you love him when you respect his boundaries and decisions? Holding back your 113 reasons why you should be together, or hinder your hands from wandering too far? Because you only have one life to live. And what is it to you if you gain all the happiness in the world with him if you forfeit your soul- and consequently drag him down, down in a spiral of guilt?

Is it love when you choose to just take in these fleeting moments and mine them for every good thing you can take with you in your old age- where not even the snow can dampen the warmth in your chest where she used to lay her head? Or the din of the crowded streets of New York can drown her voice in your ear. Or wherever she finds herself in whatever corner of the world- when she sleeps, she’ll always imagine when her incubus frightens her in her sleep- you’re there to comfort her, stroking her back, enticing her vivid dreams.

coffee breaks

2007-11-16T12:01:00.001+08:00

all the waiting over cups of coffee- black

And the lingering taste of caramel melting

In the heat, and even in the cold of this well-lighted place

The sweet kiss goodnight

Of not knowing when

The next time you will reach for my hand

Over paper table mats

And tiny puddles of ice water

bridging moments

2007-11-05T06:47:00.000+08:00

two people on a bridge- a picture of many metaphors. the girl looks at him intently while he talks of another lifetime or is it a parallel universe? she smiles thinking how easy really it is for her to let people open up to her about their fears and loves and dreams. But how it is only now that she finds herself sharing the same intimate things- thoughts and feelings and yes, fears and loves lost and hopes flowing out to him like the brook under the bridge. sharing not only in words but in gestures and looks and touch and in the moments where some truths are left silent.

he revels at how the hours quickly dissolve into picturesque moments in their heads. nights into early mornings and afternoons into dusks of fireflies and soft light. if life is only a composition of finite moments- from one breath to another- do we live for the future or for the now? and in which little corner in your head do you fit the battle between commitment and regret- and their spawn, guilt?

what if we don’t have any notions of right and wrong? we are only aware of happiness and sadness and the things in between? and we just cross bridges and on some, linger a bit longer than the day allows?

regret is a pestilence

2007-10-30T21:26:00.000+08:00

Outside the world lives. The pavement still wet from the rain. A man leans against a lamppost smoking. The air light and the cloudless sky stares back blankly at the night.

A girl sits by her window. Perhaps struggling with a memory hazy from the lingering effects of alcohol and melancholy. His fingers have left prints on her arm- that and the aching longing in her lips were all that’s left of the hurried kiss.

In the empty streets of 2 am, secrets are spilled out into the gutters- to be forgotten in the morning. forbidden lustful gazes and touch unbridled taunt the stars envious of human frailty.

Bourbon bottles emptied into shot glasses sweating into polished bar tables. Deep in the consciousness regret and longing burn against complicity and fate.

long trip to see the falls

2007-09-24T19:33:00.000+08:00

Cruising along highways beyond the 80 kilometer stretch of seasalt washed countryside. Drowning in caffeine, sick with nicotine forgetting you were here.You were just here. i may quit smoking. and the beer and the bong. and the boring details that is you. and the drone that is your voice.

Looking for signs in the pre-occupied faces of strangers that turn to look at the oncoming headlights of this killer bus. this trip is becoming a stupid idea.

Driving, rushing to nowhere no idea of what has been lost.Talk to me again in three years, I might remember then who left who and why. Or where else I could be right this moment. like my hotel room. soft pillows and all. and the drone of the sitcom made more to mock religious beliefs than for laughs.

saw the falls. climbed the slippery slope to the 5th level. got high. got drunk. got chilled to the bones. now cramped in this bus badly needing to pee. the next restroom stop a full two hours away. i hate you.

hailstorms

2007-09-11T08:03:00.000+08:00

it rained hail it manila yesterday. well, more specifically along commonwealth avenue, known to be the deadliest highway in the country, probably the world. it was a phenomenon really. the hailstorm i mean. we only have two seasons here- dry and wet. most of the time the weather can be described as humid and to most of my friends- hellish. the weather bureau said hail is formed after an extreme dry spell. a tornado usually follows. naturally the hail became national news. in a country where kids are brainwashed to be fascinated with snow and everyting american- i think there were tiny sparks of hope lit up yesterday. maybe, just maybe it would snow in september.

i just hope erap goes to jail. that would be another phenomenon.

i wish i were lazy

2007-05-25T20:13:00.000+08:00

under the shade of trees
a few feet away, cars are passing by us
we sit with bottles of beer sweating in the humid air
you hum reggae. i, rock and roll

we’ve been doing this twenty years
waiting all our lives to get on the speedwagon of dreams
pretend-believing we can get there somehow
in the haze of lazy afternoons, amidst the riot of bugs and smoke

unholy hour of discontent- written almost a year ago

2007-03-22T21:45:00.000+08:00

How can I find something
That two can take
Without stumbling as we
Walk into our future's wake
- Gin Blossoms

there i was at 10 pm walking to the parking lot, oblivious to the group of jeepney drivers eating hot noodles at makeshift karinderias that at night, would magically sprout like mushrooms out of nowhere.

there i was thinking, feeling that my life is on automatic mode- where everything passes me by too quickly. i shifted companies over one weekend, learned how to drive, broke hearts all over (for a lot of reasons), and i packed everthing i owned in the trunk of my car and moved in to my own place without ceremony- all in less than one year. so what's next for me? i don't know. it seems that everything is just happening to me. and i am careering downhill, upwards, all over- everywhere but where there is rest.

and then it came to me. next year would be the 10th anniversarry of my highschool batch graduation. most of my classmates are now married with kids. and have grown fat.

i still work until ten to 12 mn in the office. still hung up on certain tragedies. everyting passes me by except these. i have not really moved on.

i was told my father grew up washing jeepneys to earn money. i've never done anything that hard in my life.

and yet i struggle with discontent.

screams from the tracks

2007-03-16T21:00:00.000+08:00

Hands suspended in resignation. Like a life left unlived. Standing too close to the passing train.Thoughts of people lingering. People who change in places out of their contexts. days running to their ends in unison. nighttime calls with grave delight.taillights weeping at the death of the night. the rage of the rain spilling into the gutters to be forgotten. but all things linger for a man with all the time in the world. the whitewashed walls of empires mock you. what can you possibly give that is not there?

memories of my melancholy whores

2007-02-23T12:33:00.000+08:00

"The full moon was climbing to the middle of the sky and the world looked as if it were submerged in green water.”

despite the magical realism and all words enchanting, reading ggm's latest novel made me very scared of growing old. ninety and rickety is just not for me. i'd ask to be dead if i could not take the stairs when i want to. but at par in its effect on my overacting imagination was what Rosa Cabarcas urged the ninety year old love-stricken columnist, whore-crazy in his prime hero- to take the girl, marry her and find out for once how it is to have sex with love.

while the thought of a wrinkly old man "kissing every inch of the girl's body till daylight" makes my skin crawl, it's gabo writing. so maybe, i thought, when we find ourselves that old, it would feel great to feel once again how it is to fall in love and forget that we had been waiting only for death.

“No matter what you do, this year or in the next hundred, you will be dead forever.” - the old man realizing he's got nothing to lose

birthday bashing

2007-01-13T21:39:00.000+08:00

these places feet you take me, i have been before. and with your hurried steps feet, i know you remember. damn the push and pull of futile desires. that bench. the grain on the wood. the graffiti of lost youth. the paint chipping away. that sound of the train missed by a second. that the same moon? low hanging crescent, orange and gloating. mocking me, saying it knows things i'll never ever lay my eyes on.

and sometimes in the morning upon waking, you wonder still where you are. and in those few moments of revelations, you feel more the nausea of the ordinariness of your everyday than the soft glow of the early sun. you used to run across the hallway and down the flight of stone steps to see the gumamela flowers unfold. not once have we seen petals bloom but we believed, didn't we? we used to believe in magic too. or loved the thought of it. of fireflies dying at midnight. of dragonflies in summer living only for your amusement. but since you were 24 dreams have lost their meaning for you.

death by lethargy

2006-12-27T07:36:00.000+08:00

only coffee keeps me going these days. endless reruns of old time favorites flicker in the background of newfound freedom and melancholy. the race against time, against ambitions and the ebb of possibilities- pull and push me towards the underbelly of my created reality. you once said, there was a sadness in my eyes. a sadness that overflows like tears do. and for that shallow simile, i still am amused by you. one year and several lifetime changes later, there are still things that are raw- misplaced details in an assortment of memories. such as, yes, melancholy in freedom. i can do whatever i want now. but i rather curl up and escape to sleep. strange how waking to the early evening glow feels like the beginning of a dream series, where you walk before me in warp speed there is only a haze of you. like my eyes are camera lenses several years behind. you smile when i tell you this- not really hearing me. and like always, you ask about the same thing a few days later. i hold back from moving at my usual speed. i am choosing to wait for you, even when it feels like this lethargy disgusts me so i want to leap out of my skin. choosing coffee to keep me going over the thrill of the chase of you. maybe then some of this could be real.

between the devil and the deep blue sea

2006-12-20T18:06:00.000+08:00

pretty boy quite drunk apologizes. with his dark brown eyes he looks at me and asks if he can be forgiven for not forgetting my pink stringed bikini. he says he does not know how and will forever wonder if i had said yes that other drunken night, would it have been good. i wonder if it’s really worth his wait. he laughs when i say: i’m sure when i’m sixty, i’ll regret saying no to your body. “then are you sleeping with him?”, he nods towards dave by the bar. smiling, i take a sip of my beer. “i guess i’m the devil then,” he holds my hand for a moment and leans down to plant a kiss good night.

dave walks back to my side and links my arm with his. i lean my head on his chest, just below his chin. i know every night he finds it difficult to sleep. he still waits for her. and the aching in my heart stings as the evening grows deep.

pretty boy in the corner smiles. i’ve no answer for him.

everyone's like you

2006-11-22T21:55:00.000+08:00

you believe you know me just because i smile back everytime we meet. or that i touch your arm this way- like you are important. you think i care about your thoughts just because i nod my head and purse my lips as if in deep thought. you imagine i take my promises to be true. you care that i go home too late at night and wonder who i'm with everytime you call. and you email me sometimes when you are drunk and words flow easier and ask if i've listened to the cd you sent. or if i've seen that raw footage of your current movie project. it's still all about you. what you love. what you hate. what you think of me. you think just because we have known each other this long, you really know me. and while you wonder why i still dream about her and while she doesn't think i still hurt from her leaving all these years- i grow tired of wanting you to know me.

in the mornings of every week

2006-10-19T17:08:00.000+08:00

driving to work- away from you
rushing with the impatient and the stupid

see the crescent moon?
you will know me by small details like this

and when it rains
i remember you singing

when you have to fight for the right of way against road bullies
the jeepney- uniquely Filipino

too many intersections
waiting for too long

too much alcohol made this

2006-10-16T13:31:00.000+08:00

thinking life can never get better than this roller coaster, munching on Melancholie as slowly the sugar melts the caramel dream. sadness rules the world. turning to see just as when the axe falls. would it pain you to see love ain't here anymore? hurry and see the tail of routines rounding the bend. careful, it will lash you hard on the back. hold out your hands though they cannot ward off the pain. where have they been? the fingers only mine moments before, a heartbeat gone faint. like a front act out of tune, trying too hard to show the next band is rocking good. wait. wait like it matters still. matters still to me. curled toes and high arches. say words like maybe, i hope. you wanna brush off the few strands of hair that cover her eyes, like you want to for every pretty girl you see. girls in miniskirts, girls drinking more than they can handle. vomit on your shoes. girls you love nonetheless. grown men refusing to leave the 70's. strumming their guitars. hairstyle swept like Lennon. pierced ears & boyish smiles. i, itching to leave while the music plays. bummed out and out of cigarettes. spending someone else's hard earned pay. blowing through the foam of my cappuccino. peeling off the layers. peels like soft, slow sex on a saturday night. and then a slow smile from across the room. where’ve you been stranger?

shameless quickie

2006-09-27T11:35:00.000+08:00

pucha! hayop sa galing!

i'm now obsessed with keane's hopes and fears album. their music matches my own melancholy. and the scraps of that mushy longing to belong with someone- that no amount of caffeine and nicotine can't wash down yet- scratch my skin like paper cuts.

(i was half-way through a thought- the thesis statement of a communication plan i'm crafting when the urge to just share that with you propped up- tingled my spine like how stubbles on a man's chin make me want to kiss deeper.)

hours of discontent

2006-09-20T19:21:00.000+08:00

doomed we who find solace in dark alleys

the lot of us embracing cold stone steps

while passion burns gaping holes in our chests

lucky those who laugh at simple jokes

amusement comes in cents and dimes

dreams are low-flying bubbles of carbonated, sugar-rich

song and dance routines of errant heiresses

passing the night in pretend talk with shadows

hands digging deep into pockets of tattered memories

bits and pieces of hope that sticks on the edges of rueful admissions-

morsels that keep us alive yet for more trivial pursuits

reason and conscience in a free for all fight

in a bidding war for our souls

as the dust settles on weary legs and heavy lids

the sleight of hand wins the world

here we go

2006-09-18T21:04:00.000+08:00

What the hell did you expect to find,
Aphrodite on a barstool by your side?
- Gin Blossoms

lazy days pass by slowly before my hazy eyes. outside, the rain has left the world soft and vulnerable. the automatic crawls on the dark streets a little past 20, slowing down for every pothole. three dj's outtalk each other on the radio. and here we are silent again for the longest time.

underneath the clutter in the backseat is a box, hastily wrapped by a tired salesalady at a gift shop. you throw me a sideways glance and ask for the fourth time tonight if i have really forgotten. i look away, tired of lying to you.

the trees lining the streets glisten from oncoming headlights. and you wonder if they have memories, would they remember you?

even flow

2006-08-16T19:28:00.000+08:00

i took your cap off. i wanted to see your eyes. and my fingers, heavy with the drowsy, dreamlike caresses of nicotine and beer, ached to touch your face. you reached across the table, took the cap and put it on me.

you said you would change. but you didn't. you are still afraid.

but i've never wanted you to change, i said against the din of the thickening crowd and eddie veder's even flow. and you just looked away as you grabbed hold of my hand.

we were always like that. beer and nicotine and all the misery in between.

and i can only think now- maybe we kissed that night at the foyer of my hotel. maybe not.

oh you beautiful fucked up man!

Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies Oh, he dont know, so he chases them away, yeah... Someday yet, hell begin his life again Oh, whispering hands, gently lead, lead him away...him away, him away... Yeah! woo...ah yeah...fuck it up...
- Pearl Jam

poetry reading

2006-07-12T07:57:00.000+08:00

all the men i've ever dated never ordered hot coffee, always the frothy frappe kind for them. why is that?
---------

i remember late one sunday afternoon, at a coffee kiosk in the middle of an orchid garden- you and i fighting off sleep. we were together since the previous night with nowhere to go.

people pass by with their grocery bags and lives to go home to. this is our home- transient afternoons like this one , with money enough for two coffees, one cold and sweet, the other hot and strong.

you listen to me read the poems i wrote for you. the little notebook with scribbles painstakenly penned in handwritng you might be able to read, was a little worn from the countless times we leafed through its pages.

and the afternoon wore on. the barista asked if we wanted more water and a fresh ashtray. he had to ask twice. i was reading you, "there would be times when i would look at you and think the world is you."

and perhaps in some sunday afternoons, you still wonder if that were ever true.

mobile thoughts

2006-07-07T15:58:00.000+08:00

these happen in moments when i fancy a thought. where before i'd write them on random objects, napkin, palm of my hand, back of receipts, armrest of a chair, wall- now, it's my trusty pocket pc i turn to. these are some selected random mumblings. make of it whatever you can.

***
slowly the paper burns by the embers of lasts, like the tomorrows that will never be. the heart which was strong now latches itself on mere dreams. and slowly, as it had before, gives up to the last draw of breath.

***
there it is. the first few nervous glances. strangers sleight of hand in a dimly lit room. then the conversation pregnant with many intentions.

***
staring long and hard at the winding stairs. waiting for you to come. my beer is too deep into the bottle. waiting. waiting for you. now I stare at the empty seat beside me. then I imagine how it would have been like with you here. now. now that i've switched to dark lager and I still wait for you.

and there you are. you with your charms and long sleeved shirt and khaki pants on a friday night. a casual hello and that touch on my elbow that cannot be held back.

now we sit- a few millimeters apart, your knee to my thigh and nearer still your fingers to my shoulders. how many seconds more till we touch?

***

love bought by fear

where will you go

When night steals into your windows

and demands truth

love stolen by shame

will it be found again

when will knocks down your walls

and calls out for you

love where do you go

when no longer you cannot hide

from searching looks

and faint gestures of comprehension

diminished sense

2006-07-05T11:27:00.000+08:00

i miss writing the good stuff- the more elemental things like hate, love and everything in between. ever since May, all i have been wasting my time on are corporate communication plans to hoodwink (mussolini used to say this word a lot when we were in grad school and obsessing about cars- it seems a million years ago now) employees into believing there’s more to work than just earning money. the crap! i’ve never really believed that maslow guy’s hierarchy of needs. do not seek self-actualization in the corporate world. do not expect to see prophetic writings on the walls. according to the wise simon and garfunkel, those words are written on subway walls and tenement halls. you think there’s meaning to waking up early in the morning and slaving away the day to make whatever? i mean, even when you’re manufacturing the latest wonder drug to cure a deadly disease, you’d rather be doing something else. me, that would be hiding out in the jungle, perched on a tree, shooting at clueless illegal loggers. that would be my sport and recreation.

so, i have just been edited by my boss who pretends to be a writer. as i revised my beautifully crafted work to accommodate what transience labeled as “pimping on a parade of peacocks,” i felt every part of my body squirm. i felt how a child, pure and good in the eyes of heaven, would have felt while being molested by a pedophile.

i seriously need to feel a stronger feeling to get out of this rut that is quarter-life crisis. there are only two things i feel strongly about these days: the fifa world cup and coffee. i almost cried this morning when i found out germany lost to italy. my beautiful michael ballack! seriously, i need to see more sun.

when all that's left is waiting for ego boosts

2006-05-16T13:47:00.000+08:00

with one leg propped up, headphones blasting toad the wet sprocket's "all i want" (and the air outisde so soft... confessing everything... all i want is to feel this way...) i do nothing, except write down random thoughts. holy kettle corn (no butter, no preservatives, no artificial flavors, no MSG, but high in fiber!) and san mig coffee extra song (sugarfree) make great combination. who would have thought?

the label on the bag of the holy kettle corn says, ingredients: imported corn that becomes round when popped (as opposed to local corn that becomes otherwise?), natural sugar that is sweet (oh yeah?), natural salt that is not sweet (because other salts are kinda sweet. really.), and oil that does not mix well with water (aha! chem 101). and holy kettle corn is also hand popped fresh everyday (i'm lost here. how is that? hand popped?). but darn it! this popcorn is addictive. in just two paragraphs, i'm halfway through the bag. ugh. atleast it's high in fiber...

i'm going to miss my little corner in this giant of a company. i'm gonna miss how 1980's everything here is. the furniture, my big arm chair, the carpet, the carpeted walls (achoo! sniff. sniff.), how i'm facing a wall- my back to the rest of the office, the clutter of my drawers and cabinets, how decades old files cling to the present, how people here are so backward (bye suckers!).

how i love recieving sms and emails from my account- asking "what the fuck was i thinking- leaving this giant of a company!?" i just tell them i'm crazy. well, actually, they are all happy for me. sad for themselves. in the words of one general manager, "we're losing a jewel," or something to that effect. if every word spoken or sent to me was air, i'd be a super inflated hot air balloon.

so, today i saw this two bedroom condo unit perfect for transience and me. we are planning to move out together. if i only have an extra kidney to sell. the other one is slotted for europe 2007 and the other one is well, of course for me. i can't very well travel europe hooked to a dialysis machine, can i? and i can't also sell a cornea because i need both to drive.

yes, i'm driving! it may come as a shock to most people but here in my country, there are many like me, in mid 20's learning to drive just now. so, yeah. a lot of many firsts happening to me all at the same time. so good luck to me. i don't believe in luck.

swerving

2006-05-03T09:26:00.000+08:00

in two weeks i will be moving to another company. i am sill amazed how fast i made the decision, how it was all my own.

what amazes me more is how it proves my inability to stick to a lifetime commitment. things are really going well for me here but when i fast track to 20 years and see that i would be doing the same things, i drown in fear. i cannot keep going in this one way lane wihout suffering from anuerism. and yeah, we will be the greatest food, beverage and packaging conglomerate in the Asia Pacific Region. but see me waving as i take a 90 degree turn at the curb. exhiliration comes with the thought of throwing away my retirement package.

the hardest to leave are people. when you've been doing internal PR campaigns to advocate things-like sense of family, synergies, and all those mushy crap- you get eaten alive by your own words. i have started to believe my own spins.

time to move on. and how ironic it is how the past four years and a half of me pretending to be a grown up bundle up and create this heaving, mentally taxing separation anxiety.

the decision to leave was easy to make. now comes the reality of it all.

over cappuccino

2006-03-24T17:46:00.000+08:00

waiting for you
alone like it matters
waiting for my cappuccino
to cool a little

many times i have waited
like this for you
how much longer
writing verses on little folded napkins
glancing at people walking past
knowing that time also walks out on people like me

number 8

2006-03-22T18:44:00.000+08:00

this summer of guitar riffs and drum base keeping time heartbeats around us, once again fire burns. taking off my coat, my back is bare to the humid air. as i bide my time with a glass of beer, i drink in your gaze- wondering when we finally kiss.

you gingerly hold my hand and ask me to dance. and to the reggae music we sway, knowing only ourselves in this moment. both of your hands on my hips as i feel your breath on the waves of my short hair. you have never seen me more pretty you said. and you sing to the band.

i cannot remember when i turned around. i remember only full lips on mine. soft and wet. my lower lip grazing the stubbles on your chin. this be my summer love.

and later as i rest my head on your shoulder, you lean and whisper, i left you no choice.

in the water

2006-02-19T01:25:00.000+08:00

shivering from a late night, unholy hour nicotine-alcohol-cannabis sativa-induced, blame it on being young and beautiful spur of the moment craziness, i take your face, your deep voice in my ear, the leg against leg, the long stares as i float in this alter state of awareness. i hear my name called by many people but the rest of them drown easily. under water you pull me and i follow you as we swim into oblivion and bliss. i did not know you before this.

i have kissed you many times. and i smell you on my skin. my hands ache to touch your face, the back of your neck, the base of your spine, both sides of your hips. even now as i look at you from across the room- passed cluttered tables and humming pc's and people milling about, i feel you, hear your breathing, taste you; and know you think and want everything and more.

you promised me good love as we walked back barefoot, before the sun came out. and i believed you to be true that moment. and as i walk pass you now, and all too cordially put on a smile for both of us for them to see, we know that we will always have that- if that is all there is for us.

momma, this surely is a dream - marcy playground, "sex and candy"

when the pieces finally fit

2006-01-17T19:19:00.000+08:00

And I will forget you as I would the details of a passing car that which for a moment caught my eye.

And I will forget you as if you were never here.

And I will forget you as if none of your words or thoughts of you mattered to me.

And I will forget as fast as the passing glint of metal circling the earth at the speed of sound.

And I will forget you as if I never knew you. Or knew me in your hands, in your words, in your lips, in your eyes.

And I will forget you as a memory I fail to recall at a moment’s notice.

And I will forget you as if I will find someone else exactly like you

And I will forget you as you have forgotten me

In a moment
In a spur of will
In the detailed sighs of misery and infinite melancholy

And I will forget you as if I do not know how to forgive.

end year orgy of ugly things

2005-12-21T20:09:00.000+08:00

the year end rush has sapped my energy. now i write not knowing where it will lead me. i am in the process of breaking someone's heart by forcing myself into another's. so it's actually very unchristmassy of me to do. i've never been kind anyway.

maybe it won't amount to anything in the end. but fuck the end. is that all there is to it? all goals and targets and the summary execution of details? what about now?

damn that boy. he is still in my head. like a nagging itch i can't scratch. he leaves everything so bare, so organically dismal. he feeds off my tragedy like a janitor fish hopelessly fascinated by the muck at the bottom of a cheap aquarium. i pry myself off him and swim to the other end- to dirtier waters.

she looks pale, fat and generally uninteresting in the picture- like one of them plump, purple skirted fairy godmothers of that goddamn wimpy cinderella. so i tell him. he says he can't hurt her but he misses me like hell. i tell him, he's lucky i haven't bashed his head in yet.

i can't wait for this year to end. can't wait for the deadlines to be over then i can wickedly snip off some people off my precious life. which reminds me, i need boots so i can do serious ass kicking. off with that head!

our own revolt

2005-11-08T19:27:00.000+08:00

the wash room at the mezzanine is closed so we go down the steep and never ending stairs. we missed the sign at the botom flank that said it was so. her bladder works miracles- transforming a glass of iced tea into gallons of piss. i wait for her outside the wash room for the disabled, holding the door closed. it kind of reminds me how it was back in the university. the state u's budget was too low, there was no money for locks on cubicle doors. we had to pee squatting, with one hand on the door. so much for the ivory tower that is the university of the philippines. the only consolation were the graffitti-blasphemous, subversive, apathetic idealisms and disenchantments. on cubicle doors, philosophies collide and merge and eat each other whole.

a dirty mop catches my eye. i cannot seem to turn away. oh, when will the flush come? then a slight nudge, and i let her out. salvation comes in pockets like this.

at the daquiri where he drinks his bottled water, an unlit zig waits for me. tucked snugly in a crevice on the ashtray. he changed his mind about smoking half of it while he waited for us-it was supposed to be something to do with his hand.

europe 2007. it has become a brand name for us. a goal to mark the end of a chapter in our lives- something to do before we hit our 30's. europe 2007, even if we have to sell our kidneys, portions of our livers, and slave over copies for american and german companies. we'll run around europe brandishing our third world pride. xda's and pradas in tow- all the trappings peso can buy. yes, we are that species of filipinos: overachieving, overtly intelligent, and grossly underpaid corporate slaves- even in the standards of multi million multinationals. and we do work for the industry leaders. such injustice.

we pay for the education, healthcare, and pension of the millions of unemployed countrymen. we dish out 33% of our wages for infrastructures that government officials milk for their election funds. and yes, we are the stubborn bunch who do not want to leave this country, despite and inspite of everything ugly and dirty. we stare at ugly and dirty everyday and we haven't lost our appetite.

europe 2007 will be the proudest thing we'll do. yes, we come from a country with about 60% living below poverty level, 30% struggling to break even, and 10% driving their jaguars and going home to fully airconditioned mansions, whose concept of starvation is culled from bad advises on dieting.

this is a country with two economies. and in this dichotomy we create our own sphere. we down $3 coffees to while away the time, eat a plate of salad costing as much dinner for two families in the nearby slums. and we read nobel prize winners and booker awardees even when somewhere in the country, public schools do not have textbooks.

europe 2007. we only live once and we refuse to be in the underbelly of this lopsided world.

now, who wants a kidney?

aborted bliss

2005-10-30T23:57:00.000+08:00

i come back a different person. even my shadow falls on the wall differently- elongated three degrees obliquely. old scars start to hurt in the cold two am epiphanies where maybe i remember lies to be truths.

i stripped naked and swam too far out into the ocean. i remember wishing I never had to go back. let the current take me. the sun burn me. salt tasted good on my lips. let the undertow get a fast grip on my ankles. let no one see i was swimming away, swimming under, swimming far till my limbs stopped their struggle.

and then they-the merrymakers of tequila sunsets and shamans of self-confessed faiths-turned their eyes on me.

reggae baby. dance. kiss. fuck. kill. die.

you are not much different after all. puff? it’s all good man.

don’t ask. bad luck to look back lest you freeze into a pillar of salt. no, no rituals here. see that girl that beats the congo? see her feet? just keep time. it’s a fiesta señorita. la muerta.

he gives you a smile, see? see how coyly he gives it. in a moment, faster than you think, he takes your soul.

go peddle your heart somewhere else. it’s no use to you. it’s no use to me.

slow baby. breathe. just keep time.

you are no different. love it. you must.

weed noodle

2005-10-06T00:56:00.000+08:00

they told me-4 months after- it wasn't the sea salt or the sand between my toes that made me happy that day. there was something in the noodles. a bag of it.

great. just great. my first high and i didn't even realize it was synthetic. might as well. i would have been too chicken to try on my own anyway.

so that makes me wonder- maybe there are things in life that i would have to be forced or tricked into to experience them. wimpy, i suppose but hey, i don't know anyone who's brave all the time.

i wonder if i take that road. shape my life around that and let things happen to me. i think maybe i just miss that hot pot of noodle.

the long and winding road

2005-09-14T20:12:00.000+08:00

and i said, i needed to be drunk to ask. so he indulged me with the answers that spawned many more questions. and it is only now, two days after, that i try to remember what it was he said. i only have memories of two voices in my head.

i was leaning against the cold tiles of his bathroom. the world was spinning and a friend on the phone was telling me to walk away. he was downstairs, in the yard fighting off sleep.

so we counted to ten, my friend and i. and a deep breath. if only my resolve were as mighty as my words. but i blame fate and the night. and the rain that poured too hard.

it did not let up till before six am. and in the few moments before i had to leave, he looked at me- the way people who've known each other too long, too deeply converse with their eyes.

but here i am back to where i should be. and he, too far away. farther than he ever was.

olvidon

2005-08-30T18:42:00.000+08:00

nobody writes anymore

from a dust covered bin

2005-08-19T17:11:00.000+08:00

words register well
against the echo of silence
yet senses grapple for meaning
these verses say too many things
yet reveal nothing

truth sprung up from doubt
lies suspended
where guilt has left it
reclaiming confessions in vain
made aware

that we needed to see angels
to carry on with our faith

better than coffee

2005-08-12T12:59:00.000+08:00

he caught my hand as i passed him at the door. for the briefest of moments, we stood apart- the length of my full-stretched arm. then he drew me close. my eyes were transfixed on his. i scarce heard his faint remark- how soft my hand was. i remember being surprised at the softness of his. i expected calluses, skin bumps that athletes' hands must have.

once, we watched a game together and i asked him if he missed playing. he looked at me and i regretted having to ask. i knew then that no matter how highly they place him in the hall of fame, he would always long for something time cannot give back.

i know him like i know everyone else in the office. he saw me through my worst drunken vomit episodes. we waded through the thickest mobs and he never once lost me. and i'm the only one from our side of the department on his Christmas list.

this morning when i came in, i met him at the lobby. i had no make-up on, my big curls were all over the place, and rubber shoes looked like they could really kick any hoodlum out of shape. but he smiled at me and told me he's glad i was one of the first people he saw today. he's better than caffeine.

the need to list 10

2005-07-29T22:36:00.000+08:00

an inventory of my accumulated experiences in 25 years led to this list of fave things. so i am.

1. short play: uga (the script for this was handwritten on yellow pad, and it took only two days to rehearse. but oh my! was it riveting and eerie just the way i liked it. the milestone of my career as a pseudo writer and involuntary director)

2. plot: ggm's 100 years of solitude. i still dream of macondo. it's sp overrated, i know. but i love the misery in the characters of gabo.

3. shot in a film: maynila sa mga kuko ng liwanag (manila at the talons of light- or something to that effect). night, a mob circles the lead actor, bembol roco to kill him. shot dissolves to silhouettes of people, hands bashing bembol. then cuto to another scene. camera zooms in bembol, soft sunlight on his face. cut to lead actress, hilda koronel- smiling at him, sun behind her. he was remembering more innocent times in their fishing village, before hilda went to Manila in hopes of finding a better life there. she instead landed in a brothel and eventually was forced to marry an old chinese businessman. bembol came for her. but in a series of unfortunate events, he gets mobbed and killed. and then you know how dreams are forged and destroyed.

4. song: cranberries' dreams.
i know i felt like this before
but now i'm feeling it even more
because it came from you

then I open up and see
the person fumbling here is me
a different way to be

i've never fumbled like this. must be nice to find someone who'd make me.

5. scent: freshly cut grass. it just makes me happy.

6. power activity: taekwondo. there's something in punching and doing 45 kicks on pads and unleashing fury just like that.

7. great discoveries of the old world: chocolates. dark chocolates. heaven on earth!

8. to do when sad: drink lots of water. or beer. then take refuge in hootie and the blowfish or the eraserheads. tangnang ely yan, ang galing.

9. when sleeping: dreaming. interesting to find out what the subconscious has to say.

10. being a filipino: that i can make fun of my third world tendencies. that i'm not third world at all.

so, what's your story?

hinayupak

2005-07-28T18:58:00.000+08:00

punyetang hinayupak na income tax na 'yan! ang laki. minsan naiisip ko bakit ako nagpapakandahirap sa pagtatrabaho, e, halos 1/3 naman ng dapat kinikita ko e napupunta sa mga di ko maintindihang pinagkaka-abalahan ng gobyerno. e, pakialam ko ba sa mga squatters? bakit? tulad ko ba nagbabayad sila ng buwis?

ewan ko ba. talaga bang wala na akong choice kundi ang manatili sa pinas at kumayod? napromote nga sa trabaho, anak ng tinapa, ang tinaas sa sahod pambayad lang sa gobyerno at sa lahat ng pabigat sa bansang ito.

sana kasama sa free will ang pagpili ng bayang kapapanganakan. hay, asa pa.

ano naman kaya kase ang dahilan kung bakit sa pinas ako pinanganak. eh kung naging european lang ako, sana kasama na ako sa green peace o kaya kung anumang kachuvahang without borders. dalampu't limang taong gulang na ako, wala pa akong magandang naidudulot sa paligid ko. yun nga, kung hindi bibilangin ang paggraduate ko bilang iskolar ng bayan sa oras para naman hindi na maabala ang mga nagbabayad ng buwis at ang palagiang paggastos ko. oo nga pala, sabi ng propesor ko sa industrial relations, hindi nakakatulong ang sobrang consumer spending sa ekonomiya natin. kung meron ngang maitatawag na ekonomiya ang kawawang bansang ito. ayun, wala rin talaga.

ayoko rin naman mangibang-bansa. para sa akin, ang mga taong maayos naman ang kalagayan dito pero pinipili pa ring umalis ay nakakahiya. ipagsiksikan daw ba ang mga sarili sa mga bansang ubod nga ng yaman, ayaw naman sa kanila. kung sa bagay, nakakabawas din sila sa unemployment rate natin. o sya, hala sige, magsilayas kayo!

pero inaasam-asam ko talaga, mangibang bansa na ang boss ko. putik! sa kabobohan niya, walang aasenso sa amin. anak ng putang ina! sayang ang galing ko dito.

sana naging direktor na lang ako ng mga patalastas. ganun din naman pala. puro kabalbalan din ang PR. buti pa mga direktor mas artistic ang expression ng bullshit. at pwede pang umiwas sa tax!

maka-uwi na nga. baka sabihin pang masipag ako magtrabaho.

on a night like this

2005-07-20T22:11:00.000+08:00

feet, size seven, leave prints on the heavily waxed floor. the arch is high on both. and the pressure is heaviest on the toes. it seems that sleep escapes another too.

tonight, a cool wind blows through the screened windows. white curtains part and dance to sea salt and jasmine. she remembers her. hair, silk strands as black as the heavens outside. her voice, soft like the whisper of a pleasant dream. they all loved her. and they all pierced her with the arrows of their bitterness when they realized they couldn't have her.

she stares at the wave of memories that flood before her eyes. silence fills her. and it's almost as if it would overflow like a sad song into the spaces between her realities.

when she was six, her family left the city to build their lives anew in an island. there she met a boy who taught her how to speak the local dialect. and the only otehr memory she has of him now is the story of his dog. his family lived in a hut by the sea, he said. for months, his father, a security guard for a smelting company didn't come home. food ran low but he couldn't complain to anyone, except to his dog. then one afternoon, the dog came home, a big chunk of pork between its teeth. for a week atleast, the dog brought home enough meat for the family. she remembers how she didn't believe him then. but now she does. in small barrios, life imitates imagination.

she attended public school for two years. her new friends introduced her to the shortcut trails in the woods behind the quadrangle. the trails led to hermits, streams, and cemeteries. the inscriptions on the gravestones fascinated her. what were the stories buried underneath, decaying not with the flesh?

at a corner table she sits and folds her legs. her toes are clean and the thought comforts her.
he used to paint them in innocent pink. he said they were pretty. and he'd make her smile, just like that. his was true love. hers was nonchalant fascination.

there are too many ghosts in this house. even the light refracted by a vase of wild orchids conjures their dreams.

and she, silent audience finds peace in remembering her own buried stories.

how to forget

2005-07-13T18:27:00.000+08:00

and we knew it was time to take a chance here
and time to compromise our lives for awhile
and it was time for all the wrong reasons
but time is often on my side and I give it to you tonight
and we sleep all, sleep all day, sleep all, we sleep all day over again
-jason mraz

so you go about your usual business. the same routine restored to ensure long-term sanity and normalcy. you do not think anymore about that person who just left. who just left without a cause. you take to the comfort of familiarity, the music you've loved since you knew how to break promises or how to be at the recieving end of it. in this case, you listen to gin blossoms. so, headphones blaring, you are cushioned from the noise of the morning rush hour. everything's gonna be alright, you say.

then just before you cross the street, you see this girl in a black shirt. and across it emblazoned, in bold white, the name you've decided to forget. you can take one girl, how about fifteen of them. the whole damn crew for the play and there's just you.

you open your e-mail and a spammer pretends to be that whom should not be mentioned asking if you'd like to join a new friends network. do you dare scream.

then you get a call. hey, your new partner is named guess what?

at home, you try to find meaning in HBO. funny white guy gets into a gunshoot scene with cool black guy. columbian drug lords, expensive cars, all caught in the crossfire. nice, you say. dumbass movie. then cool black guy (damon wyans) calls out to funny white guy (adam sandler), "hey, get over here *****!" screaming tadpoles! that name again.

then you give up. give up trying to forget.

there's no way, you say. even when you sleep you remember.

life on the catwalk

2005-07-07T19:00:00.000+08:00

But you gave away the things you loved
And one of them was me
I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee,
andYou're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
- Carly Simon

you walk and everyone stares at the sway of your hips, the bob of your head. you've got a bored look in your eyes and as you cross the street, cars, buses and trains halt on their tracks. eyes follow you as you disappear. there you go- one foot infront of the other, in successive purposiveness.

big shot holds his frosted beer glass as manly as he can muster. boys' night out at the most happening club right smack in the middle of Babylon city. so far so good. he does not know it yet but at the corner table sits his plaything tonight. another round! on me.

i've got a question, she says. why did he leave me just like that? because. (because that's just the way it is most times). get over it already.

eyes on me. i live. i thrive on your attention. i feed on the hunger in your eyes. does that make you sweat? you can touch, you know. but i do not guarantee your satisfaction. only mine.

yes, she was vain. egomaniacal bitch- i'd spit on her! does that make me wish i was her? absolutely. drinks for all!

the self is the hardest to accept. but why should i surrender to some psychoanalyst babble? this is me as i see fit. (and nobody really knows you).

let's walk away from this. let's make them watch and plea for their own freedom.

transient realities

2005-07-02T02:37:00.000+08:00

so trans asked me the questions below. i've never been interviewed. really. i'm always the one with the questions. except that one time during a job interview at this basketball-crazed company that i now work for. i wasn't aware the head of the department was the manager of the country's most beloved team. he asked which team in the league i liked the most. i could have chosen from the 5 teams the company owned. i mean, that much margin could have saved me, but no. i had to be honest and say it was this one team. the team that happened to be the bitter rival. but that's another story. here now is me at it again.

FIVE QUESTIONS FOR BISMUTH

1. brandy is off your list of consumables. but you need to get rid of one person in your life to make it an absolutely healthy one. if there is one person precious to you whom you would swear off your island, who would it be and why? if that person is me, i won't be hurt. you can answer the question honestly.
it will never be you. you keep me sane. i need you too much.
it will have to be that baby i always dream about. it has gotten insane as the years go. it
would sneak in any scene now. the freaky thing about it is that i think my psyche wants it
there. babies can be creepy and sneaky.

2. fill in the blank: second chances are for people who have no __________.
where to go but back where they ought to be. people with places to go fly away, even if it
has to be on the frayed wings of whimsical dreams.
3. you told me the name transience fits you better. tell me why. be as marxist as you can be.
i only take what's needed (everything fits in a pocket at the least or a backpack at the most). i
leave when i must and i don't go back when i've said my goodbyes.
4. how has your background in industrial relations affected your capability to multitask?
it hasn't. i can't multitask at all, if by multitasking you mean doing all things at once. i could get
too focused on one thing that i couldn't care less about the rest.
5. your toes tell you the most interesting stories. pick which toe is your favorite. what story has it told you that you are so enamored by it?
the pinky toe on my left foot once revealed to me an ecstatic secret. perhaps i'd blog about it.

so there. my beer-influenced thoughts at 3 am on a saturday. glad to amuse me.

misery

2005-06-24T19:47:00.000+08:00

we could build a factory, and make misery
we'll create the cure, we made the disease
frustrated incorporated, frustrated fncorporated
- soul asylum

so, karl mueller is dead.
__________________

the low moan of his guitar
echoes in my head
we are but drifters
burdened by accrued guilt

frustrated
what do you see
tangible things lose their meaning
you don't care

misery loves you
run away
run till your empty
run till there's no turning back

stuck here

2005-06-23T16:33:00.000+08:00

what's the matter toes? yes, that's close to a hundred steps up to the train station. steep, i know.

big, fat raindrops pound on my skull cap. there's no way this staring contest with the concrete flight of stairs' going to last another lungful of carbon monoxide drenched air.

stop the twitching. it'll be over soon.

so sorry toes- cramped there within the embrace of leather, the skin of an unfortunate cow. atleast your numb to the callous stares of strangers-clad in damp clothing. atleast you don't see how dark it is outside- the misery of the city magnified by the muffled sound of the downpour. atleast you are warm there. the little hair on my arms are standing on their ends.

but i am sorry too you are blind to the battle raging outside. so poignant the refraction of lamp lights and tail lights from the sharp sheet of rain. the gibbous moon gathers unto itself the heavy clouds. heaven is retching on this land. the gutters are giving up the dead. the secrets of this city pile up with the muck, the shame of wretched souls jaywalking, caught without umbrellas. and look at the faces of those people behind the wheel. cursing at the red light. but you know how resilient we are. third world romantics.

toes, we'll be home soon. aren't you glad i stowed those three-inch heels under my bed long ago?

how it is

2005-06-21T14:03:00.000+08:00

what if you can do anything in this moment?" "this," she points to the walls of his room populated with post-its, "here, now, your life within these walls. what would you do?" he glances at her sideways. she knows what he's always wanted to do. silence. "i haven't been quiet like this for a long, long time," he says. she reaches out for his hands. they are soft in hers. familiar hands that weaved stories a long time ago in the hall of the college of arts and sciences. "you know, you can ask me anything." "i've always wondered what happened between us. but it's ok you don't have to answer that," he shifts to face her, "that's not why you are here."

"i always run away. i'm a creep-freak like that," she pauses and stares at one of the little yellow notes. "you have to be reminded to either swallow or chew your pills?" she laughs.

"ok, you find that amusing," he says smiling.

"but really, thank you for loving a creep-freak like me," she embraces him "and now i must go leave again."

"i know. i'll walk with you where you can get a ride," and he gives her a faint smile.

waiting in vain

2005-06-10T19:07:00.000+08:00

hungry for every little thing that you say, i wait ignoring the fact it's getting late by the minute. surfing this website and that, glancing at the prompter at the lower left screen.

but it's another senseless forward from another idle person in the other cubicle.

you asked how i was. and i could only say i'm happy for the three-day weekend. that i'm still here. listening to the eraserheads. is it so hard to believe?

the thread of our conversation is fragile. i read two kids dodging certain words, particular meanings.

and i wait. thinking, there are ways to drown anticipation. but it's no different this time. i lose you in a badly transmitted signal.

if i were to beat the rain, i'd better be moving. an eight-minute walk to the train station. perhaps the sky can hold it that long.

but i must go. think of something else.

what2thinkwhat2dowhat2drink

2005-06-06T18:33:00.000+08:00

waiter! your strongest beer. he leaves with a nod.the short, bald man at the corner table dances like an orangutan asking for a banana. his pot belly heavy on his bowed legs. i look at him in disgust.

the beer comes with a glass filled with ice. i drink from the bottle. the steinie feels heavy on my weakened wrist. robert moves aside the thin strap of my white cotton blouse. places a finger on the tattoo on my back. is this real? yeah. and i smile. in the nonchalant way i just discovered i know how.

i sit at the edge of the table. a leg dangles, the other foot firm on the concrete. a cigarette travels back and forth to the lips, to rest on one knee.

in the haze of smoke that rises too quickly and lingers too long over our heads, i see him. i don't wanna wait in vain for your love. i don't wanna wait in vain for your love. cause summer is here and i'm still waiting. winter is here and i have been waiting.

i need to pee. the guard looks at me, wondering perhaps how fast he'd be to catch me if my steps wobble and i fall. but i walk fine. i'm stronger than my beer.

in the cubicle, i thank the patron saint of the janitors. a fat roll of tissue cries out to me from the dispenser. rip me off, use me, discard me. look at me in disgust.

back on my perch on the table. a guy hands me a beer. thanks. and i look away as i take a hit. my eyes water from the smoke. i look with renewed disgust at sub-human at the corner doing another round of orangutan wants a banana number.

ivy

2005-05-24T11:04:00.000+08:00

he tells her he loves her. she turns away. a light breeze blows a wisp of her soft brown hair revealing a slender fair neck . the air smells of ripe pineapples.

he moves closer. the waxed floor creaks. he places a hand on top of hers. she turns slightly to face him. he catches a whiff of the scent of her hair. she looks deep into his brown eyes. "let me love you." he bends his head to kiss her. his soft lips tender on hers. they are perfect together.

she places her head on his chest. smiles to herself at the heightened beating of his heart. his arms are strong around her shoulders. he will not love any other. he will not leave the island if that's what she wants.

but she wants someone else. someone who wants someone else.

the embrace is too quickly over. dreams are too quickly gone.

but not the scent of her hair. not the weight of her head on his chest. not the feel of her lips against his teeth. not the broken promise in her eyes.

her name is ivy. he will not forget.

beached

2005-05-23T16:34:00.000+08:00

"later," he says much wearily. stands up and bends down to kiss her forehead.

she places her hand on that spot beside her. that shallow impression he left on the sand. scoops a little and lets it pour, the fine white sand- some caught in the wind and floats away a few yards. with her palm, she smoothens the sugary powder. a beach crab gingerly walks past, snipet in the air.

she lies in wait for the moon. in her mind she sees the starfish she threw back to the sea. the orange suckers folding at the touch of her fingers, the blue and yellow pattern on its back reminding her of a watercolor experiment another lifetime ago.

the air is too humid. the sheets burn his skin but he is too deep asleep to bother.

she stands up. the high tide has reached her toes. rhum shoots up her brain. "fuck," she says bending her knee a little to keep balanced, a hand in the air- the flicker of the cigarette like a firefly lost in flight.

he dreams of her. he dreams a dragonfly has taken her away and he is running after them- an arm stretched out towards her. but she is smiling, her short curls caught in the wind.

she picks up a piece of dead coral and puts it in the pocket of her denim shorts. exhales a lungfull of nicotine-laced smoke, she looks back at his friends huddled around a bottle of rhum. his wingman rolls a piece and looks at her. she stares back briefly and shifted her gaze to the cottage. he must be asleep.

heavy weights

2005-05-16T14:25:00.000+08:00

his hands are fragile, they can only grasp small things- like my hand or my chin. on high noons, his skin feels hot. oh, how i love to trace patterns with my nails along his smooth arm, chest, from his nape to the small of his back. warm brown eyes drink me in as if he can only live through me. and when he kisses me, there is that tiny second that he refuses to let go.

but his hands are fragile. and in its cusp are my laughter, my good night sleep, my wonderful day, my smile, the mirth in my voice. and they weigh much too heavy for such frail things.

escape artist

2005-05-09T15:45:00.000+08:00

to the beach! to the beach! where the blue water is cool and the fine, sugar-like sand clings to the legs, the toes.

we can lie all day, the sun burning our skin. between us are bottles of cold beer and a pack of cigarettes. so what if we can't hide body fat in skimpy suits? we have beautiful minds to take in the sound of waves as music, the sunset as a van gogh.

come! to forget is possible. see, the breeze is passing through the grove of coconut trees. look! the shadows of leaves on the dune lulling us to sleep.

we can almost swim to the next island. the current pulling us out to open sea. imagine a sailboat has just passed us by. a beautiful stranger smiled at us.

stretch your arms like this, paddles on smooth water. keep your legs still, floating. stare at the sun until you can see only the dark orb. and think of nothing else, just the lazy string of weeds brushing past your legs and the lightness in your head.

we can always swim back to shore. you and i.

double gypsy curse

2005-05-04T17:30:00.000+08:00

oh men! you make me laugh. you craft too many lofty dreams and then swallow your pride for practicality. you make me vomit with your screwed up reasons.

woe to you, i say. you mock truth with your adulterous thoughts. you bargain for freedom with your slavery to obscure passions. you glance sideways when love stares at you. nothing is pure. nothing is real, not even your pain. you've no right to inherit the earth.

oh men! i would weep if death hadn't beaten me to it. there is no joy in corrupting your life.

woe to you. woe to those who learn to love you. or hate you.

take a sad song and make it better

2005-05-03T13:25:00.000+08:00

you've been here before. you know the drill. but why the reluctance in your steps? the ridges on the soles of your shoes leave deep marks on the soft earth. why the heavy heart my love? what has changed?

do you not know the mind is its own place? memories grow there, live the life not given them. truths, by taking other forms, also die there. so don't you worry love, you'll find it is much the same like the last time.

why the weary voice? the air drags along your throat and ends in a sigh. what is happiness anyway? isn't it the same feeling that comes with a fat paycheck? or the laughter with good friends? or with the discovery of soemthing surprisingly wonderful? if you are afraid you are losing a chance at happiness love, catch the next train. look love, i can see a steam engine's nearing this station.

here love, the gods are waiting at their banquet. take a bite and be merry again. what is love anyway? it is just a four letter word, and so are a lot of things.

closer

2005-04-29T14:48:00.000+08:00

her ash brown hair fell to her shoulders, framing her face. her walk, hurried but unapologetic. we knew she'd be late. us already seated in the table for four looked at her as if suddenly the world narrowed and everything else was blurred and she alone was distinct. the color of her hair, her breasts against the soft bronze blouse, that big brown bag slung over a shoulder carelessly, legs moving in a purposeful dance. her closest closest's fingers paused in mid sentence, the phone waiting for the love making of his words. his body leaned towards the table, his lips slightly pouting. i imagined him already consoling her. they have always been like that- their love best expressed in their silence. i imagined they have only begun to discover each other.

to my right sat the constant man in my life, and in so many ways, in hers too. he had a smile, the kind that only good friends can give. he noticed how her breasts seemed more pronounced. that's how he told us no matter what crossroads we find ourselves in, we will always have a good laugh.

she passed by the carousel. for a fraction of a moment the lights burned her soft brown eyes. i waited for her like a child would for the balloon man. there was so much to tell her.

the six year itch

2005-04-19T19:47:00.000+08:00

the morning came so soon. the light filtered through thick curtains - the minstrel of my sadness. he pretended he's asleep. but how could people like us sleep- when there's too little time, too few spaces where we could be.

i peered over his shoulder, kissed his cheek. i knew that that morning, the first and the last we'd have together would soon fade, like ripples- outward, lost like it never was. but i knew too little then of the depth of my tragedy. in my mind's eye i would always see his bare shoulder illumined by filtered light, his eyes shut too tight holding back the morning. over and over i would breathe in the scent of his skin, the scent of goodbye. there is no unlearning the taste on my lips, the scent of his skin.

3D echo

2005-04-12T20:02:00.000+08:00

"will i see you on saturday?" my poet asked me. he's throwing a freedom party for himself. he finally quit his job to, in his words "pursue a calling".

he used to call me his muse. the wind that blew inspiration into his ears, the tide that ripped against the jagged rocks, the foam that left him wanting.

he was my very own neruda- isolating my emotions in the cusp of his hands, away from my practicality. and then when his words were done with me, scatter my very essence into a void.

yet as i think of him, it is not him i see. the void in me grows. these hands remember the smoothness of another's skin, the landscape of another's body. face, shoulders, arms, belly, navel, legs stretched the length of my own.

cold water surrounds me. i float. i drift. strong arms pull me, wraps my feeble arms around his waist. "don't let me go."

my fingers run the length of his spine. i shiver, knowing exactly what to do and knowing exactly why not. he pulls me closer.

he is kissing me. nourishing me by this alternate reality. and yet i am weakened by the thought of our parting.

i am lost in the dark pools of his yearning. i wander aimlessly, pursuing a glimmer of false hope. stubborn. arms not feeble embrace him. feeling the smoothness of his skin, dying in his kiss.

my freedom, unlike yours, my dear poet, is drowning in an ocean - crashing against jagged cliffs, breaking and diminishing each time in washed out foam.

kill the girl

2005-04-11T20:23:00.000+08:00

i wanted to wring her neck and stab the upperbase of her spine with my pen. the train, as usual was jam packed at 8:30 am. and as it's summer, no amount of airconditioning could compete with human heat. and i know about human heat, several personality changes ago. but i digress. i knew better than to complain, this being one of the most crowded cities in the world. chickens in a coup have wider spaces.

what irked me was that she was stupid. yes, stupidity inspires the samurai-wielding crazed person out of me. she was infront of me and had she beenn just a little considerate, she could have fit into that wedge in the middle of the train where the vent for the aircon was. she did not budge. worse, she blocked me from ever claiming that wedge. idiot. idiot!

trapped between two burly men, a dwarf behind me (the woman scared the hell out of me) and that idiot infront, i tried to distract myself from my wrath. the world has enough of hate already. a 10 minute train ride with stupid shouldn't be as unbearable.

but it was. argh!

so i thanked good genes for making me a foot taller than most mere mortals. the air was easier to breathe when the nostrils weren't an inch away from some strange men's necks or worse, nipples. disgusting.

i remembered what bro told me. that he would buy an ocean. other rich men have their beaches or islands. he, would have his own ocean. well, i just wanted to be out of that cramped space.

i could have blamed government for not imposing population control. or for not buying enough trains or for not widening highways. but i did not. i could have wished to get out of this third world country. but i did not.

a friend who recently missed a roundabout, presented a very sound counter argument to my proclamation. i said, "my worst fear is to die because of someone else's stupidity. it would be so senseless, because it wasn't even my decision that would do me in. i'd hate myself for eternity." the great il duce said, "but everything is your choice. where you are at the time of your death would be a choice you would make."

aha. too deep for a 10 minute train ride. and in my head, i've already bashed stupid girl's head against the train's glass doors, pulled her hair as i stepped out and held her bent over like that until the doors closed. she of course wouldn't die but would suffer neck cramps for life.

saturday afternoon random thoughts

2005-04-04T18:47:00.000+08:00

a house in the country. that's what they need. the pollution in this city air clogs up their arteries too fast and they become irritably nosy. yes, a house in the country. in the middle of a field. i can leave him to his boulder size sweet potatoes and papayas- green and orange in the midday sun. and she, with the carpentry, the plumbing, the chickens and the pruning. i will leave them both where i wouldn't have to see them everyday and still be guiltless about it.

"aren't you late for class already?" i changed from HBO to CNN. the pope is dead. "what do all those people want? that he'd live forever? the man couldn't speak audibly anymore (makes gurgling, rasping sound- mocking the wrinkly pink pope)." i kept at the channel a while longer than i intended. travel might do them good. they are so closed minded. prejudice, intolerance, bigotry.

yes. ship them off to... nah. too expensive. i should just slave myself to save up for their retirement. darn! they are retired! is it monday already after tomorrow? ugh. i need a vacation. a real one. away from them. away.

sweet potatoes. they make you fat and fart. i gagged myself to stop laughing. perhaps i am a part of the couch. an extension, an alternate ego. yeah. the one with feelings. numb, yes. but aware of things. hey! get your feet off me! dirty non-washer of feeet! shoo cat! i'm not your scratch post. you don't have a scratch post. hehehehehe. duh. your ass is too big. hehehehehe. sweet potatoes.

don't fuck with me

2005-03-31T19:41:00.000+08:00

when you finally see i've moved on, i want your knees to weaken. so weak you have to sit and wonder why your hands start to shake, sweat profusely.
when you see there's not even a trace of recognition in the way i look at you, i want you to hurt like a quiver of arrows pierced your body through and through.
when i no longer love you, i want you to die a thousand deaths. and each resurrection a mockery of your very existence.
when i smile again, i want you to sob like an urchin suffering perpetual pangs of hunger.
when i speak to you with genuine joy in my eyes, i want you to feel abandoned at the bottom of a well- the pit of your sorry life.
when i dance again to faery music, i want you to want me so bad that air cannot fill your lungs fast enough - breath poison curdling in your veins.
when i say goodbye, i want you to never forget. even my slightest touch you'd remember and never again would you sleep without seeing my face, tasting me in your mouth.
you will love me harder than you think, worse than you fear, longer than your life.

a long walk back

2005-03-18T16:06:00.000+08:00

she caught up to me, panting. her cheeks blotched from the sprint.
"i changed my mind," she said, "i'd walk with you."
i smiled.
"want me to carry some of your books?"
"no. it's ok."
the street was quiet. the kids had already been fetched up and the bus just rounded the bend.
"it's gonna rain soon. your dad may not like to see you go home soaked."
"they always treat me like i'm still their baby. i hate it."

we walked, pleated checkered white and green skirts clinging to legs. black shoes, white socks, white shirtjack, dark sky, green grass, white cogon flowers.

thin drops of rain fell. i looked at her. she was looking up at the sky.
"you knew it's gonna rain. why did you want to walk home?"
"i love taking walks. my mind wanders free. besides the air smells cleaner when it rains."
i stretched out my arms. "see? free!" and laughing we ran for the nearest shed.

in those times love came easy- in the tear-shaped drops of rain, in the laughter blown by the wind, in the rustling bamboo leaves.

last summer i went back to that childhood place of ours. many years have passed and too many things have come between us. i stood at the head of the long, winding sidewalk, where she caught me that day. i stared and tried to see
pleated white and green checkered skirt clinging to legs, white socks, black shoes, green grass, white cogon flowers. the bamboo trees across the first bend on the road looked the same, the trees lining the sidewalk, even the sky and the sea smells and the silence of the late afternoon.

i turned back and decided to take the bus.
somethings cannot be brought back.

chakap lah

2005-03-13T22:39:00.000+08:00

the sun lingers a little longer in shah alam, and everything is suspended in their brightest colors. the crescent moons atop each spire of the turquoise mosque shine as if it were their light to give. the naseh goreng is heavy in my belly and the chili is still biting my tongue. i miss the soft sheets and fluffy pillows of Hilton in Petaling Jaya. Concorde fails in comparison but the night is going to be beautiful, i can almost forget i haven't heard from my moi in days.

last night, i fell in love with the Petronas in kuala lumpur. it's amazing how something so familiar can still be surprisingly breathtaking, as if i've had no knowledge of its being before.

i remember a friend once told me that it is moments like this, having a hotel room to yourself, a beautiful city glittering outside your window, that heightens solitude. it's amazing how he is so right.

the night is going to beautiful.

instant playback

2005-03-02T18:03:00.000+08:00

he asked if he could borrow my video cam. i said sure. and taught him how to use it. there were many people in the room, friends, families, his wife. and the way we stood so close together must have told them something about us. but they were quiet, lenient with us.

but still i couldn't look him in the eye. i touched his arm, joked and made him smile, but not look into his eyes. and he was worse. he just stood there looking at my hand pressing the buttons, doing this and that. my words lost in things not said.

we were standing too close. and i felt we recreated a world, a space, a crack in the real here and now where for a split second we could be possible.

i wanted to tell him to take very good care of my Sony. that i lost one toe nail to get it (the toe nail has since grown). that under no circumstance would he let anybody else use it or hold it. but i didn't. trusting that atleast he'd be more careful with my things. if not with me.

but time has not forgotten our trespass. i had to end the demonstration. there are only so much one can teach another. on taking shots, focusing, playback...

we had to move back to our separate worlds. a wife was waiting impatiently at the door. and my moi was somewhere waiting for my reply to his question if i had lunch yet.

rainbow-colored lollipop

2005-02-28T18:46:00.000+08:00

I'm too old for crushes. at my age, i should have outgrown the silent staring from a distance, longing for the beautiful fucked up person tragically not mine to take. but every saturday afternoon, i find myself gushing over a professor at my grad school. it is hard to miss him in the halls when he is about almost 6 feet tall and his gait has that casual, boyish character. he is twice my age and holds a respectable position in government yet, something in the way he pouts his mouth when waiting for a student to answer his question or when poring over a reference tells me a boy is still in there somewhere. not that i'm looking for a boy. a man is what i need. but something in him makes me wonder what if i hold his gaze when we meet in the hall?

i stand just outside his classroom, looking at him through the sliver of glass on the door. i must have been smiling or my eyes might have reflected too much naughtiness that my most practical friend exclaimed, "but you have a boyfriend!" i looked at her and told her to glance at him and see if he's not sexy at all. she looked at him and then at me, smiled like a kid given a rainbow-colored gigantic lollipop. just as i thought.

the class was boring so i wrote a stupid poem about him. it was fun though, thinking i could fashion it after neruda's tonight i write the saddest lines. nah! what i have are plain nasty thoughts. but for kicks, she told me to post it. so here it is, my 2-minute pancake of a poem. this is the end of me. : ) but do not judge, this is just me gushing.

within four inches of space
your face confined
at an oblique angle
your eyes glisten
your lips pout-
an old joke revived in your head.

a hand in your pocket
the other offered up-
inviting validation
you stare, silently begging
for the right answer to come.

she catches your glance
and holds it transfixed,
presenting possibilities
and then like the protracted
late afternoon sun ray,
they change hues
before he understands.

ruins of the day

2005-02-23T13:57:00.000+08:00

pretty girl sat alone on the table adjacent to ours. i said, he can have her. he can have any girl. he turned to his cappucino. his eyes smiling though he said he's not interested. i laughed and so did our poet friend, exhaling nicotine-laced smoke. and then he, as all guys perhaps are bound to do, looked at the pretty stranger at the corner of his eye. the pretty girl asked for a light. i almost whacked him in the head for not standing up and lighting the ziggy for her. oh well.

we laughed it off and huddled once again, the three of us. friends forever inside our own bubble. the burden of the day quickly went away. our laughter, my very own joy joy pill- better than any pot.

the poet and i talked about how it is that the most important love cannot be counted as more than an unclassified, non-categorized memory. a hazy thought that we agreed on. and he, recipient of unsolicited fussing-over by a harem of the most gorgeous women he'd ever have around, looked at us- contemplative one minute and then commanded us to kiss- the poet and i, in one breath.

he is always like that. you pour out your heart to him and end up finding the ridiculous grit in your pain.

but if love can be tasted, it would be for us, the heightened flavor of the biting caffeine and the nicotine rush that night. only with them can a paper cup hold so much comfort and a stick can unlock the universe. living without them would be like living half a life.

hands

2005-02-09T19:34:00.000+08:00

he stroked the palm of my hand like it was the most natural thing to do. and i, reveling at the heightened facts of the little truths that have escaped change, felt it was the most natural thing for him to do. under the table, away from the teasing looks of our common friends who secretly wish we were still together, we rediscovered the contours, the landscapes of our hands. perhaps we were both thinking of the first day we held hands. how, in our youth it was the bravest thing to do. he, driving his pick-up and pushing past 40, held my hand even as he changed gears. he was the love of my youth.

he would send me poetic lines and i would finish the stanza for him. the poems would end with a hanging thought. like everything between us. for him, everything has a profound meaning. a tricylce driver's remark about the full moon is not just a rambling of a suspect lunatic but a revelation of a patch of truth. from across seas, he still holds me captive with his words. he taught me love has to have passion.

the best date i had was with an ex boyfriend. there must be something about teasing each other with subtle hints that there still might be a little left of that devastating attraction before. we talked more than we did before because we were more honest this time. and retrospection builds a friendship better than fumbling through ecstacy, i discovered. he was my first kiss.

we looked at each other from across the room. a perpetual sadness in his eyes. for a fleeting moment, our gaze would say, we'll be ok. that love sometimes is tragic. but this time, i held out my hand to him and caught him by surprise. i smiled but did not look into his eyes. not this close. and though i believe he has always been mine from the beginning of time when fates were forged, i cannot for the life of me stake what is mine. he has chosen duty over me. and everyday hope fades, though love i find, refuses to lose its sting.

she held my hand and at times when the needle bit too painfully, she dug her soft nails into my palms. the tattoo artist gently blew on the spot on my back. she said pain can make another pain go away. the whimsical dragon fly shall remind me that.

warning! BREACHED PROTOCOL

2005-01-25T09:00:00.002+08:00

when love comes knocking, you unbolt the door, let it in and then run away, as fast as you can.

this is the most convenient way of dealing with realities like love. realities that inconvenience other realities. well, at least, my friend ennui would say (as i imagine), that love is real for me.

i woke up early yesterday to so many signs of an impending knocking on the door. for seven months now, i've known the other side of the door was not empty. someone, with a closed fist would rap so softly, making a raptitapritap sound, almost like a heart beating-constricted by a lack of air.

and then last night, the knocking came.
and to my surprise and horror, i breached protocol. i opened the door. am now lingering, entertaining with a cup of brewed strong coffee.

this time around

2005-01-14T19:57:00.000+08:00

got a call from an old friend last night. and for the first time in the six or so years that i've known him, i actually enjoyed our conversation. the last time we talked was more than a year ago and although i can still sum up the whole talk in the same way it has always been, last night was quite different.

we'd always begin with "how are you?", glad to hear your voice again. and then i'd ask, so how's the novel going? and he'd start talking about how fickle the mind is, how the littlest detail of the afternoon can conjure stories and thus ruin a carefully-laid out story line. and then onto movies and actors and directors with weird foreign names.

he used to read me pages off a book he happened to think would inspire me or send me e-mail of articles on films and art. i used to think that he only liked to talk about himself, what he liked, what he dreamed of.

the conversation was the same but somehow, without the pre-conceived notion that he should be interested in the litttlest i do or say, or that he should be inspired by me, i see his intentions clearly. he wants me to explore his life and see for myself what is there to like or love.

we are good friends now. and sometimes he'd just send me lines and i'd respond and we'd create a poem with contrasting emotions but one thought. is he my soulmate? i don't think so. i believe though that we were meant to meet. and i'm glad that in the bends of our separate roads, we sit and think that we have each other to finish each other's lines.

and in the beginning was a choice...

2005-01-12T19:33:00.000+08:00

we can always choose to be who we want to be or should be. even choose how we remember ourselves to be. it's all about choices. ketchup or mustard. with onions or without. and although we can believe and live a life adhering to the principle that we are never without a choice we find that it's not just about choosing one over the other. or not choosing at all. life is tricky. the mind is tricky. it can believe whatever it wants. want whatever is there to want or want what is lacking.
sometimes it's about changing perspectives to be given a new set of choices. yes, choices are given. circumstances, chances, fate, whatever you may prefer, all happen to us. it's deciding which to take or leave or ignore that happens inwardly- we have control over.
we always have a choice. and only the brave embrace this truth. and truth of course is relative. or you can choose to believe otherwise and embark on a journey to search for the absolute.

what now?!

2005-01-04T08:37:00.000+08:00

it's a new year and i'm soon celebrating my birthday. the earth is getting older and so am i. i'm thinking that maybe it's time for some major turns in my life. i have a knack for melodrama so don't be surprised that major here may not necessarily be as expected. nonetheless, i'll call them major changes. so here are the major changes effective new year's eve:

1. will wake up at dawn. except on weekends when i can still sleep till almost noon.
2. the above prerequisite makes it possible for me to get to work atleast an hour early. this means of course, when i walk from the train station to my building, the air is still cool and the sun is kinder. i can still have my coffee without being frantic.
3. i will consciously remind myself not to frown.
4. and eat more fish. omega3 present in fish oil is good for the heart. i have a feeling i'm in for some major heartbreaks.

(as i write this, i'm wishing with all my might that i could actually survive the first few weeks. the old self is hard to drown out.)

afraid of the long straight line part II

2004-12-29T10:00:00.000+08:00

Here behind the coarse walls of skyscrapers
Where the earth’s humid breath flows in an unending cycle of misery
A cloud of doubt mushrooms in my head.

Imagination is the only player in this profound sadness
And the night stretches on forever
Without hope of a breathing space – a bend in the road.

wallow wallow wallow wallow - say it over and over until it feels good

2004-12-13T20:37:00.000+08:00

drowning in bliss one moment and dying from exasperation the next, i dropped everything i had to finish this morning and stared at my pc confused.

i keep seeing her face. after six years of forgetting, i find that it is not possible to not remember.

she wasn't the friend i envisioned i could share everything with. there will always be something about me that she wouldn't understand. i never convinced myself that she would always need me. though in my heart i wished she would. i knew she was stronger.

i think there has never been a day when i do not think about her.

i like to believe that she still loves to dance. and cry at sappy movies. that we'd still have fights over candy music she loves and i hate. that she'd still bring nme a box doughnuts to ease a heartbreak. that someday, we'd still sit on a swing with a pint of ice cream each and imagine our toes could touch the clouds.

i tell myself it must be because i feel old these days and i desperately hang on to the faint traces of my childhood. i am not happy with the person i'm turning out to be.

too practical. too hung up with the trappings of the corporate world. i am not kind to people who ask questions. i look down on people. i have become the scheming, apolitical brat i hate.

unforgetful lucy

2004-11-27T20:07:00.000+08:00

going to grad school without my fellow marxist on mondays is not fun at all. i hate not having my sparring partner. the prof throws a question and it falls dead on the floor. it shouldn't have been that way. because had we been there together, we could have educated the class about IMF Worldbank's origins, the menace that lurks in our countrymen's obsessive compulsion to amass all glittery things, etc., etc.

in the guise and belief that they could pass off as knowledgeable, the classmates resort to sharing personal accounts in an attempt to show the prof that they feel those global truths . it was as if the rest of us are part of a grievance committee willing to listen to their inconveniences. i roll my eyes and freeze to death (from the crazy cold airconditioning) and think, these people try too hard.

i went home knowing that i could have learned more had there been others who knew their world history and current events.

then i browsed through friendster.

i came across the account of a former bestfriend, my first hearbreak. we are both members of a group but when i clicked on her account, the violator said, "only 1st degree friends of _____ can access her account." i am not even a friend anymore.

it is dismal (sometimes in the sick humor that i've got, funny) how certain memories reappear and the heart throbs sadly with the pain that comes with them.

gettin' high on joy joy pills

2004-11-24T18:09:00.000+08:00

bluffing my way through a hosting stint, regaling safety engineers with words that sound funny to me but charming and brilliant to them, parading in my skirt and flowery dangling earings in front of a roomfull of male stategists (whose job it is to be paranoid about whole amonia tanks leaking or men falling into ventilators and large meat grinders), are the joy joy pills i popped today.

i had to sit through technical presentations and freeze to near death from the overly-cold airconditioning, yes, but looking back, after losing count of the grey matter lost by my brain, and thinking with the still active parts, i safely deduce that i had fun.

one of the sis sent me an sms yesterday and recounted the joys of going to a spa. ah! to feel those muscles flex and loosened. i wanted to leave my pc and follow suit. but of course i was shackled to my hunched-over-the pc position for the rest of the day yesterday. so the next best thing to do was plan a spa get-away. she asked if it would be alright for her to have her boyfriend of eight years tag along. so i said ok. another lightbulb moment.

perhaps the illuminati has been shooing away the bf's too much. might be ok to have an illum meet with them. those single like moi would just have to content ourselves with the thought that life is still beautiful. yeah, really it is! just pop those joy joy pills and everything's alright baby. wink* wink*

making like a frog about to vomit a sack full of flies

2004-11-17T20:33:00.000+08:00

i didn't know marriage can cause me headache even if it's not me going into it. a childhood friend has just decided to marry this guy she's been with for only 6 months, in a long distance relationship.

the guy said, they won't have a church wedding yet because he still has a lot to prove to her parents. so they'd do it in secret, without her parents' blessings. what is marriage in secret anyway? nice reasoning bozo!

i mean, why get married when you don't have yet a house of your own, a salary that can actually decently feed a family: own a life where dependability on parents can totally be severed. why would you like to marry when you can't even choose to use your cellphone for an hour's talk? or buy shoes without sacrificing lunch money? or even dream a European trip without having the shakes? why? why? why? you bozo?!

why can't she wait until they can actually figure things out?

but growing old has made me realize that i should let other people figure out what's best for them. that i should keep my mouth shut if i don't agree. so all this pent up thrashing is causing me serious migraine. my temples are throbbing like a nebula about to implode. count the ways bismuth can drown.

so i tell her, if you're happy, then i guess you'd be fine. gulp!

well, i guess, i don't know true love even if it clubs my head to pulp.

am i too sedated for romance? am i too practical for love? or am i just damn right?

laughing at the bastards

2004-11-12T11:12:00.000+08:00

to convince myself that there's something else in this city other than work and traffic and smog, i resolved to notice peculiar details of my day. i find that by doing so, my sense of humor is elevated.

walking home one late afternoon, i almost bumped into a buddhist monk (shaven head and orange gown and beads and all). now, that was three years ago and i couldn't still reconcile his presence in our neighborhood. i didn't see him again either. i am becoming more convinced everyday that i willed him into being, to humor myself. he afterall had that sheepish, shit, i feel like everything about me calls for weird stares, i might as well have dressed up like mother theresa, trasvestite style look in his eyes. and help! i'm lost! gasp!

and this morning, a band of policemen with convicts in hadcuffs boarded the public bus i was on. they moved in the aisle, like a sea of orange and blue misfits to sit at the back. the other passengers were gawk-eyeing them, turning their heads, their mouths not moving but i could hear their protests, their horrified gasps. the convicts themselves looked sheepish and ashamed that the government's bus had to break down on them and thus cause undue fear on the good taxpayers commuting quietly, back to the tall buildings that house and suppress dreams. their closed mouths were saying, "puta madre! why can't they just bring us quietly to where they would treat us worse than animals without dreams?"

i found myself thinking that if i were one of the bald, orange-clad, with a big P screaming on my back, handcuffed doomed soul, wouldn't i stare at that 35-ish woman in cheap make-up, tight-fitting jeans and high-heels and take a fourth of a second longer walking past her and whisper, "would you like to be my 5th?" and chuckle.

three dreadful things

2004-11-10T17:16:00.000+08:00

i haven't had a deep sleep since last week. always, at about 3 am, my consciousness elevates to near-wakedness before diving back to a dream-filled slumber. the dreams are always about people talking without their mouths moving. but for about a minute of this near-wakedness state, i scare myself by thinking of things i'm afraid of. not about the black gob of hovering incubi that fester me (i have managed to exorcise them long time ago), but about the monsters i keep beneath my skin.

a thorough analysis of my past, present and projected relationships and behavior has made me conclude that i am afraid of three things:

1. defined existence

i am afraid of the long, sure line to living my life. i hate

having to follow some concrete plan although i love to

scheme. i want bends in my path, potholes where rain water

may gather and when the sun dries them up, cracks to grow;

this got me to understand why i don't really feel guilty

coming late to a casual lunch or some boring grad school

lecture, or work even. i tried punctuality on a day to day

but i found that losing my nonchalance about the mundane of

the world is not worth a few more minutes in

bed.

2. compromises

i am mostly angered than afraid when i have to compromise.

i believe that i am never without a choice. to compromise is

a sign of weakness or stupidity. only the stupid or the

weak do compromise. and i sometimes fall under either of the

two. and it scares me that adulthood is teaching me that to

compromise is essential and all the world is all for it. i

can never understand the concept of the win-win scenario.

dude, when you lose some and gain

some, you haven't really tasted victory at all.

3. long-term contracts

somebody would have to tie me naked on a tree first

and threaten me with a slow painful death from ant bites

and sulfuric acid to get me to do things over and over. but

even then, i'd prefer brain death over compromise. thus, while

i can conceptualize, launch and stage something, i cannot

do sustaining with as much enthusiasm. in this, i may have

have found that shining bulb that illumines the real truth

about the lack of long-term romantic relationships in my

life. i get bored too easily. i do have some great loves and

they would forever be engraved in my being but romance fades

for me.

and for these three reasons, i am convinced that i am doomed to a single, chaotic, near-crazy existence. not too bad really.