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the aim is to be a traveler and not to be a tourist
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Concepcion, Iloilo
Tuesday,
let me mourn for those
in the fields, browned by the sun.
let me cry for those bodies
I let my hands fumble my curiosity with,
let me hold sea urchins and hurt for
those places where I left them
Wednesday,
A school of fish will run around me
in circles, ask me about my legs,
my breasts, my thighs, my pubic hair,
and why I look like those men with cigarettes
throwing dynamites.
Thursday,
Picking dead shells for the most alive person
I have met up there, a soul which held mine
from that very day I listened to the willows
sway, margining the runway.
Friday,
The mermaids will comb my hair and tell me
stories about humans they have
fallen in-love with
but have
all chosen to forget.
Behind the rocks, they hid
as the salt on their cheeks mimicked
the taste of their eyes.
Saturday,
The ghosts from the sunken ship will write
letters for their families, for their mothers waiting by the door,
for their fathers in umba-umbas, sleeping with memories of 1994,
for their children and the paper boats they lick and fold,
for the next years that never came, for the deaths that did not
end with engraved names and carabao grasses.
Sunday,
A hand will pull me up from the ocean,
a wounded palm that smelt gas,
broken oil lamps
and years of waiting
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thanks to Leo for the photos.
thanks to Deviant Art for the second Lit Daily Deviation award for my poem Kwarto.
Singgit Sirkulo is now conducting the K Summer Classes
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When was the last time you have felt non-materially happy? live love and lol.
.
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Currently, biking along country roads, tumbling down to the sea shore, waiting for the sun to sink, for the stars to dangle and the rain to fall into ripples. Forever young. Forever a bus window lover.
She is religious this way: Streetfoodgasm, Aurgasm, Laidbacksm, Quirkgasm, Cheapoism.
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and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
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maddening spurt:
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“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
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she lives:
* to observe MORE: a lot of parallels in this microcosm of society. which is interesting to see, sometimes funny, sometimes sad though.
* to read "dear me" letters from random people and to encourage them to write one.
* to smile at the grumpiest person in a bus/jeepney/foodcourt/line in front of the atm machine/anywhere
* to say something profound or profane when the situation calls for it/when urge pees
* to keep my family and circle of beloveds in defiant strings.
* to love more than the usual/the necessary.
* to swallow every moment of sunset, sunrise, nightsky, gentle rain, spontaneous collisions of beauty and madness.
* to see the world from puddles than from human-sized mirrors.
* to fetch the colors of culture and splash hues whenever i stay for a while, melt for a while and fade for a while.
* to immerse in the poetic corner where souls need not write poetry to be poets.
* to share more because i have much more to give.
* to swim against the tempting current of materialism, titles, the superficial & the boastful.
* to lick every feeling & thought at its rawest-- create art, music or new tiny passions from each
* to beg for Explosions in the Sky to have a picnic concert in front of me ;)
* to throw a big party if our rooster Tagay becomes a Dad.
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