[27VIII09]
my eyes are dry
even if it's raining
inside my body
thoughts have turned to muck
threatening to drown
the rational me
i cough till i can't breathe
and spit blood on the world
my tears refuse to see
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
dishwashing thoughts
[15VIII09]
bathed in a lovely languid melancholy, i teeter on the cusp of an idea. thoughts that i can see only in the periphery, and in shades of shadow grey. my moment of discovery scored by a slow and heavy funereal legato. understanding is here, in the last closing of my eyes, in the final falling into dream.
bathed in a lovely languid melancholy, i teeter on the cusp of an idea. thoughts that i can see only in the periphery, and in shades of shadow grey. my moment of discovery scored by a slow and heavy funereal legato. understanding is here, in the last closing of my eyes, in the final falling into dream.
Friday, August 14, 2009
... ... ...
after the Japan exhibition
[10VII09]
i fill my canvas
with the view from my window
as i lie in bed
unwashed Weltanschauung
nonchalant observation
paint, dirt wed as one
___
a dance from tweet to tumble
[14VII09]
i saw her white hair through a window
and she made me see the paper through the paint
what if, like white watercolorists,
we had to write the spaces in between words and
make silence instead of noise?
___
eclipse
[23VII09]
the moon ate the sun
who blacked out in ecstasy
while we watched in awe
___
hawt, dawg
[25VII09]
hot and humid/ slick and thick/ smother fucker, pillow murderer/
___
[VIII09]
the weather feels like Rilke's Loneliness
and yet we must brave the blitzkrieg rain
that leaves the world wet
under a smiling schizophrenic sky
___
cellist transmogrified
[12VIII09]
i witnessed the transmogrification
of a snaggletoothed man into a demigod
body bending like a bow,
straining under the voice of a stone angel
his cello timed by the inhale
and exhale of his divine breath
[10VII09]
i fill my canvas
with the view from my window
as i lie in bed
unwashed Weltanschauung
nonchalant observation
paint, dirt wed as one
___
a dance from tweet to tumble
[14VII09]
i saw her white hair through a window
and she made me see the paper through the paint
what if, like white watercolorists,
we had to write the spaces in between words and
make silence instead of noise?
___
eclipse
[23VII09]
the moon ate the sun
who blacked out in ecstasy
while we watched in awe
___
hawt, dawg
[25VII09]
hot and humid/ slick and thick/ smother fucker, pillow murderer/
___
[VIII09]
the weather feels like Rilke's Loneliness
and yet we must brave the blitzkrieg rain
that leaves the world wet
under a smiling schizophrenic sky
___
cellist transmogrified
[12VIII09]
i witnessed the transmogrification
of a snaggletoothed man into a demigod
body bending like a bow,
straining under the voice of a stone angel
his cello timed by the inhale
and exhale of his divine breath
Monday, June 29, 2009
puka beach (old boracay thoughts scribbled in a notebook)
[30X08]
i remember tempestuous afternoon delights,
her openness and how she let me slip, sweat-laced, into her embrace
she kissed my feet, lulled me to sleep, then carried me away on the crest of her wave
i remember tempestuous afternoon delights,
her openness and how she let me slip, sweat-laced, into her embrace
she kissed my feet, lulled me to sleep, then carried me away on the crest of her wave
watched a movi, asked sort-of rhyming questions
[21VI09]
do you have eyes on the back of your head,
you with the yoga pants and don't-fuck-with-me walk?
do you have an enlightened mind, a prana-filled behind
that won't take any bullshit from people like me?
in our past lives, did we explode our base chakras
and make love downward-facing doggy style?
did we meditate on the mysteries of the universe,
munch on veggies, and fly on an astral high?
//i don't know what this is. it wrote itself.
do you have eyes on the back of your head,
you with the yoga pants and don't-fuck-with-me walk?
do you have an enlightened mind, a prana-filled behind
that won't take any bullshit from people like me?
in our past lives, did we explode our base chakras
and make love downward-facing doggy style?
did we meditate on the mysteries of the universe,
munch on veggies, and fly on an astral high?
//i don't know what this is. it wrote itself.
Monday, June 08, 2009
a reconstruction of a hypothetical conversation with no one in particular that was originally written on a rumpled piece of paper that i can't find.
"i miss writing to you. rather, i miss writing you — making you as i write because of you."
"i don't understand. say what you mean for once. stop fucking 'bloviating.'"
"it's a game that you know how to play, too. if i want to say that your ignescence frightens me —"
"'ignescence?' i'm too hot to handle, is that what you're saying?"
"if you want. but doesn't it seem, well, crude when you put it that way?"
"but it's what you want to say, right?"
"in a manner of speaking."
"you could just say 'yes,' you know."
//this was longer. i think our cleaning lady threw the piece of paper i wrote it on *again*. the first time she did it, i managed to fish it out of the garbage. maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.
"i don't understand. say what you mean for once. stop fucking 'bloviating.'"
"it's a game that you know how to play, too. if i want to say that your ignescence frightens me —"
"'ignescence?' i'm too hot to handle, is that what you're saying?"
"if you want. but doesn't it seem, well, crude when you put it that way?"
"but it's what you want to say, right?"
"in a manner of speaking."
"you could just say 'yes,' you know."
//this was longer. i think our cleaning lady threw the piece of paper i wrote it on *again*. the first time she did it, i managed to fish it out of the garbage. maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
worship of the faithless
[28V09]
outside his house,
God blooms for the faithless —
we who kneel in front of flowers,
whispering spontaneous prayers
amen.
outside his house,
God blooms for the faithless —
we who kneel in front of flowers,
whispering spontaneous prayers
amen.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
rut's nest
[21V09]
hiding in my head
is a clandestine rutting nest
for humans in heat
— where thoughts evaporate
before they can become sentences —
rutting, rutting with the force of a decapitating wind
until they are suffocated by a lovely bone-deep feeling
of being so exhausted that they just can't
(a piece cobbled together from fragments)
hiding in my head
is a clandestine rutting nest
for humans in heat
— where thoughts evaporate
before they can become sentences —
rutting, rutting with the force of a decapitating wind
until they are suffocated by a lovely bone-deep feeling
of being so exhausted that they just can't
(a piece cobbled together from fragments)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
i saw some ants at the dining table.
[25III09]
ants crawl up a teacup, lost among painted fruits
faded but unshriveled by the brunt of several summers.
ants crawl up a teacup, lost among painted fruits
faded but unshriveled by the brunt of several summers.
Monday, March 23, 2009
chapi-chapi
[23III09]
dead kites hang from electrical wires:
a row of entangled corpses and
jellyfish tentacles swimming in the wind
in garbage-bag black and polyethylene green
dead kites hang from electrical wires:
a row of entangled corpses and
jellyfish tentacles swimming in the wind
in garbage-bag black and polyethylene green
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
this is me getting rid of the random notes saved on my phone.
"Hallow blocks" : sign in Isabela. Does this mean they're to be used only in the construction of holy buildings?
Libag Norte, Tugegarao: where bathing isn't so popular.
Smart Kapigsaan: it all boils down to...?
IPs (Indigenous People) do not want to be called as such because they read "IPs" as "ip-is" [cockroach].
Ang pagbayad sa jeep ay isang laro ng sungka: Pasa-pasa ng barya, palit-kamay sabay kwenta, hanggang makarating sa palad ng nagmamaneho — ang hinihintuang bahay ng sigay mong piso.
scalding sun, razed face, glimmering asphalt, gas-fume shimmer.
"Kita po sa body formation n'yo na nagjo-jogging kayo tuwing umaga." - Kuya Sherinel the guide (gee, thanks, kuya, I think)
Hand gesture for "diretso": poke your hand out straight, then let it veer to the right reflecting the curve of the road. confusing but funny. by the way, "malapit" is a relative term.
There are swastikas in Santa Fe.
Libag Norte, Tugegarao: where bathing isn't so popular.
Smart Kapigsaan: it all boils down to...?
IPs (Indigenous People) do not want to be called as such because they read "IPs" as "ip-is" [cockroach].
Ang pagbayad sa jeep ay isang laro ng sungka: Pasa-pasa ng barya, palit-kamay sabay kwenta, hanggang makarating sa palad ng nagmamaneho — ang hinihintuang bahay ng sigay mong piso.
scalding sun, razed face, glimmering asphalt, gas-fume shimmer.
"Kita po sa body formation n'yo na nagjo-jogging kayo tuwing umaga." - Kuya Sherinel the guide (gee, thanks, kuya, I think)
Hand gesture for "diretso": poke your hand out straight, then let it veer to the right reflecting the curve of the road. confusing but funny. by the way, "malapit" is a relative term.
There are swastikas in Santa Fe.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
God is a Brit
[18II09]
A tea-stained sky
spills over the rusted rooftops
of our neighborhood.
I walk, dreamlike, in a dim sepia photograph
lit by incandescent streetlamps
and the yellow-eyed glare
of passing cars.
A tea-stained sky
spills over the rusted rooftops
of our neighborhood.
I walk, dreamlike, in a dim sepia photograph
lit by incandescent streetlamps
and the yellow-eyed glare
of passing cars.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
the eternal waltz, or, while walking in UP, i look up and see a canopy of leaves.
The arboreal embrace of tangled branches began a hundred years ago when a row of acacias looked at each other from across a boulevard of unbroken dreams. They felt the rising sap dance through their fragile trunks and the breathing wind shake their leaved limbs. Over time, these tentative fingertips reached over asphalt, boughs bowing and pulling close, finally twining together in an eternal waltz.
(original thought as saved in my phone: Branches tangled in an arboreal embrace/ Waltzing eternal to the wind)
(original thought as saved in my phone: Branches tangled in an arboreal embrace/ Waltzing eternal to the wind)
yesterday
[10II09]
yesterday, the clouds ate up
the penumbral eclipse
the same way a thick blanket
swallows your white fetal form
yesterday, the clouds ate up
the penumbral eclipse
the same way a thick blanket
swallows your white fetal form
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I have a sentence that never developed into anything more because it's perfect as it is:
Boracay is as familiar as an ex-lover's fuck.
Monday, January 12, 2009
the moon through a windshield
[11I09]
night's ignescent eye
dilatedly stares
against a background of black
and white noise
night's ignescent eye
dilatedly stares
against a background of black
and white noise
Monday, December 01, 2008
sitting on the roof deck, waiting for breakfast in bora
[02XI08]
I do not want to talk or listen.
I want to sit here and watch
wind-herded clouds,
fat with rain and white,
trek with glacial speed
across the sky.
I do not want to talk or listen.
I want to sit here and watch
wind-herded clouds,
fat with rain and white,
trek with glacial speed
across the sky.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
a jete of the mind.
to speak like a dancer is to speak like someone unused to words; the voice forgotten as an instrument of communication because of the exhortations of the body. excited vocal cords oscillate out of tune. jangling sentences unsure of grammar and syntax grate on the ears and stumble unmodulated through the air — poor graceless cousins to silent pirouettes and pas de poisson.
they have traded speech for the eloquence of flesh. straining sinews beg you to listen with your eyes. a cutting gesture, an exclamation point. a sharp intake of breath, a period. a delicate shrug, a question. each nuanced gesture pregnant with meaning. for hours, dancers poeticize without so much as a stutter — their cursive bodies writing their thoughts without benefit of pause.
they have traded speech for the eloquence of flesh. straining sinews beg you to listen with your eyes. a cutting gesture, an exclamation point. a sharp intake of breath, a period. a delicate shrug, a question. each nuanced gesture pregnant with meaning. for hours, dancers poeticize without so much as a stutter — their cursive bodies writing their thoughts without benefit of pause.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
kalinga
[08X08]
the persistent clang of gongs
reminds me of you
and the shrugging dance
of your bare shoulders
the persistent clang of gongs
reminds me of you
and the shrugging dance
of your bare shoulders
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