*
full title: If I Leave This Sunday, These Are the Sweet Crap I’d Write About Before Wearing Some
*
the rain has start to fall again)
the ducks run, an old man chases them as if he’s running after
the grandsons that have peed on his pants but are now caregivers in the
wiping the toes of other elderly.
*
(fishball vendor/musikero)
“i would let you know if my mates are here and we’d jam”
“sige nong, astig na.”
his cart shook a bit when he fried
kikiam, tempura and some fish balls
“I hope you can play some from Scorpions”
“I told them but they are so into Bamboo and The Calling.”
the bluntness on his face made me giggle.
*
(cemetary gates by Pantera)
downloaded the tabs,
printed out the lyrics,
gave it away
in exchange of guitar lessons for my
little sister.
free. unlimited sessions.
because she asked me last New Year
to teach her how to kill dinosaurs.
*
(kwentong-barbero)
hala daw indi na
ko kabalo magtagalog.
Hahaha.
*
(sa tunga sang tuba-an)
ila mga harakhak, sa merkado galinog
sa dingding sang merkado, ginpatubod ang pantog
sa hita sang asawa, ginbarina ang otog.
.
*
when ghost writing does not seem ghostly…
full title: The Things I will Avoid Doing When I Miss My Self and You
I.
watching movies in my underwear,
(instead:)
i will turn the tv off and call it an idiot box,
a flash fiction of everything ugly and
i will fold blankets the wrong way, comb my hair
and wear some gel, wear high-heels and
forget what tickles-on-bed are.
II.
walking alone in black sandals,
(instead : )
buy blue ones and wear them, drag
my puppy and walk around smiling to
trisikad drivers sleeping, their faces covered
with their hats. Their calloused soles
above the town and everything awake.
III
staying in the bathroom
Lathering lotion on my shoulders
(because:)
nobody will kiss and lick them.
IV.
closing my eyes
imagining Lao Tzu and Hitler having coffee
or alcohol with
us
(because:)
suddenly, i hate world history and my Guevarra shirt.
V.
Sleeping
(because : )
i hate waking up, without your hands around my waist.
VI.
caging elephants for the circus
*
*
a.
windswept, i faced the morning
like a freed cow, lip-licking.
aa.
“i have a question…”
and her heart grew vibrating lumps, beautifully-suffocated
“hmmmm…”
she presumed it was a “what-is-it?”
“do you also feel that you are important…
uhm to me?”
and there were nests and nets around her lungs
but she was hugging him, he was hugging her
and she did not know if he heard the cymbals
between her arms.
“yes”
though scabs fell
(“I am just making sure”)
some ache do not have wounds, because they are too deep
to surface and to crack. some are too shallow but she does
not live for those types. With him.
b.
there was a grandmother and a grandson
standing hand in hand, they look sad.
there were husbands in the oldest coffee shop
they talked about their wives and the way they
do it when the kids are taking a nap.
bb.
“thank you”, there were calloused thumbs on the eyes.
i did this usual “i am the coolest girl alive” gesture.
perhaps i have developed this defense mechanism
during all those chances when I wanted to burst into
tearful blinks.
“i don’t want to say that i am just bored and sad
and all of a sudden, i don’t miss the world because of you.”
again, i played with my face and melted inside like
icebergs toppled down by a matchstick.
c.
an anonymous number sends me free sms load,
P5
P10
P50
i sent it back to the number twice,
let the third expire.
i fascinate anonymity lesser now,
like how i have become
entirely but the sunset,
cc.
sighs.
.
*
all of them have tried. but none of them, really no one
displaced you out of this submerged corner where memories are giants. their stomps over establishments that have been built by years and sub-categories of love and longing.
all these nights that i swear to meet more and more broken people, the more i mend pieces of me which you unintentionally broke.
the more i talk to some quiet boys and lads and men,
the more i sink. and when i try to soak my head deeper and deeper
that i may drown and die and swell,
the more i learn how to breathe.
.
*
1. Tey,
there would be
more confusion between your tears
and the saltwater.
2. over bottles
you were not looking,
but your heart was staring at her humble cleavage,
“does life really begin at 30?”
you blushed, it was rare, like the sound of your laugh
or the sound of the rain (like thousands of birds wanting to get in)
you had this baseball cap
and hoody, band-aid around your middle finger.
“how many hours did you spend on the shore?”
the tan lines on her shoulder reminds you
of
she sat playing with
the hole of the bottle, squid balls with hot sauce on the table,
emptied bottles and an ashtray.
Her legs, crossed, the wind
blew her floral skirt.
You wanted to fall asleep.
3. Karen,
teach me how to cry on others’ t-shirt.
teach me how to be difficult sometimes.
teach me to wear laces under boxers and walk like a boy.
this year is yours. get drunk on March and watch table napkins burn.
4. 2009,
Fuck you, you’re too fast and I’m damn excited.
I will cut Jimi Hendrix from my shirt
and paste it on my jeans. I will sleep on the bus more and more
and write more and more and more songs.
and observe more and more and more deaf lovers doing sign language
in mall food courts
(sometimes, I think they are the sweetest. Sometimes, they talk dirty)
Hey, I will fall in-love again and again. Yes.
and watch old espionage movies with my reading glasses on. Suckers!
5. over sunset
we galloped like kids, we took off our shirts and threw them into the sea.
The ice cream cones were down on the grasses, we half-ate.
Our palms were sweet, our hearts crying
“ulan ulan ulan yudeputa nga kabuhi!”
The two of you fell on the sand out of breath
and you thanked me for my madness.
I know, I am human masturbation.
6. you,
make life easier. Don’t be hard on others.
Except for hard-ons. They are special. Of course.
7. Dan,
I wore your slippers when I lit
some firecrackers and ran.
8.
there are times when I still feel that I am taking the wrong path,
but every time I look at my toes, I feel hilarious and menstrual.
they’re unfeminine.
but hey, I am cool and our house in under construction.
the rain calms me. i can’t cry.
it does a great job mourning in behalf of my eyes.
*
*
she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
*
---
---
and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
*
*
***
maddening spurt:
----------------------
“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-
