milenyo (international name: xangsane).

storms are sexy (just leave out the deaths). i love the wind. it seldom gets mad, but when it does, it doesn't stop at wind-ing--it waters, it fires, it thunders and lightnings. i've verbed my way to remembering xangsane.

signal #3
[28IX06]

this is the wind that
demands to be heard--
and listen we shall
to banging doors and
naked limbs flung onto streets

this is the wind that
strips the eucalyptus
of its leaves before
dismembering it

this is the wind that
that gutters the flame
before killing it

this is the wind that
recruits all elements to its cause--
its anger is seldom solitary

all in favor, say "aye!" ("i?")

the me-of-two-years-ago thinks like the me-of-the-moment.

[IV04]

names are handles we put on
things, on abstractions,
so we can hurl and smash them
into millions of syllables-
remain anonymous and you cannot
be destroyed, how can you
kill something that doesn’t exist?

stay nameless, love
so i can keep you.

because i love playing, that's why!

this is me, laughing at the me-of-yesterday who didn't want to go. damn good to be playing again, even though they didn't let me qb. manila actually told the girls NOT to talk to me until the third game (which is what, a couple of weeks from now?). well, shit, they just found that hard to do--even manila wound up breaking her rule. that int-TD run was for you, manila (don't i just make you proud?). plus, caisa and i still have that wicked cheering vibe. so much fun.
i love playing, it's the commute from the house to the field that bums me out. it would be so much easier if, on saturdays, i woke up in the middle of the field in playing attire, ready to go (meaning somewhere in lalaland, i get to eat breakfast, take a bath, brush my teeth, and take my all-important crap).
although moved to the tight end position in offense, i was still the designated prayer leader. i find this so funny. god must be laughing, too--probably in stitches knowing that i really want to say something like "dear god or universe or whatever it is that you call yourself" instead of "dear, um, lord/father..."
kudos to the jewels for shutting out the rogues in the first game of the 7-on-7 tourney. WASSSUP!

why? why? why?

it's raining. it's saturday. it's the first game of the 7-on-7 tourney. i don't want to go. it's raining. it's saturday. it's the first game of the 7-on-7 tourney. i have to go. this is me sighing in resignation.

it's only 10, but it feels like forever.

insomnia's accessories include a pink and blue fuzzy-wuzzy bunny-ear headband and black nail polish.

cheap thrills.

here's my guide to getting the biggest adrenaline high, ever:

1. run on fumes. (extra points if you leave your wallet at home. this experience teaches you the meaning of prayer: 'please, god, just let me get to the office, pleasepleasepleaseplease')
2. hold in your piss until you absolutely cannot stand it. (is there such a thing as 'bladder retentive'?)

but the hands-down winner is a combination of both: empty gas tank + a full bladder = a real rush. trust me, i know.

beats sitting in front of a computer pondering The Rule of 72 while leaking blood and mucus. my brain hurts.

"this is my church. this is where i heal my hurts. for tonight, god is a dj" - faithless

was this last night's sky? or the night before last's? i forget when, but i haven't forgotten what.

atmospheric discotheque
[06IX06]

peel away the cloud cover
and reveal her naked pearl
a disco ball moon
hanging in a strobe-lit sky
gyrating to the drum and bass
of rain and thunder

and the cryptic sentence award goes to...

early morning hours should not be wasted on barbie dolls and goodyear tires.