Kaputt.

we are all broken...to hundreds of shreds..to thousands of pieces..some of us don't know it yet..but we all are.
and while we try to breathe and sift through life...we equally summon death and his chariot.
the fear grows...

• and the mirage we see among the mist becomes a moist almost felt. and as 

  he comes...bringing gripping terrors...an eerie dirge til we go deaf...
• the velvet swamps, muddied faces, coarse and ripped hands...desperately trying to huddle us for hunger, they become real-faint but surfacing the soils of the ancient ..
  
  
  until no betrothed shall ever sing the song of love...

  no mother shall ever lull an infant... no father shall make a skillful woodwork...no priest shall ever sing worship of god. 

Shhhick.

I lay flat
wearing thin clothes
protecting my thin skin.

Chills through my bones they ring
rickety rickety
like the old telephone dials.

The sound amuses me
a perfect conjunction
to the paint on my walls,

cream...

The sun made them luscious
like melted caramels.

I took three pills today.
one for flu,
one for the head,
and the other for that rickety sound.

My body felt airy
Characterless.
My eyebags were gone.


I didn't do anything,
just lay in bed,
ate when hungry,
drank when thirsty,


got advice from old people
who are more fit than I ought to be
"Don't eat bananas, if you have flu."

Why?

"'Cause it's a cold fruit."

Oh, they love me.
What an arduous day.
Really.

Homage (for Yna de Leon)

Slowly
She dressed herself with that
Floral top.

Softly
The navy ruffles embraced her
Fragile self while she thought of another she.

Then I turned off the telly.

Sea

Speak.

Go on.

I need to hear you say something

Your voice is a wave
Approaching the shores
I move forth.

Shoosh...

Shoosh...

That's how it gets to me. 

Cold at my feet.

I usually  wait...

'Til my toes go bare, shaky,

White and crumpled 

Like paper.

Then i look at you

In crimson

And in scarlet.

You change... 

The way a baby sleeps,

Slowly closing his eyes.

Shoosh...

Still nothing.

Say something.

The breeze

No matter how gentle

Is not enough.

So if you please,

I'm not delicate.

You should not worry.

Be harsh

Like the world as it is.

Food. Nada.

my fridge

is a ramshackle

piece of furniture.

amoeba parties

for decaying goodness.

-rather sophomoric

There's a folly on the curved street in one 

Of your famous villages

It stands...never becoming more archaic

I sauntered and it saw 

I was more obsolete

It saw that I was no longer valid

Its own lifelessness rose above my eyes

Mocking my hackneyed existence

That folly could never be insecure...

Existence not of virtue

Nor of compassion

Not of greatness

But of an indelible stain from a rotting 

And moving flesh of the most undesirable

Word my tongue has ever tasted

//The folly stands still, old and proud.//

Its gaze is riveting

I could not look away

The old fashioned warm lamps from its windows 

Flicker showing off the spectre 

Claiming its transcedental emergence 

To my very soul

Passing in a light exposing my incompleteness

And I remain immovable in the pivot

Of the unsatisfying happenings of my days.

I see now

It feeds...

We Heart Baguio!

I don't know any person in my network who doesn't like/love Baguio. Personally, it's one of the cities that makes me feel I am nowhere near the grid of chaos. I am somewhere else (or that's just me). Anyway, we're here again in Baguio. Yes, we are here again and we're not just here to devour ourselves with overwhelming amount of food and alcohol from our good friends, we're here to share a part of our craft which is our music and to listen and dance and get wild with their music as well. :) 

Shot from our stroll/hiking at Tam-awan Village. Dunno who these guys were looking for. Probably their gypsies. 

The vines and the curls of Domeng's hair blended well with the village's earthly feel. :)

I can't put any words about this photo. All I can say is this suits very well to the music that's playing right now on Sep's computer- Country Disappeared by Wilco.

Hooray! we reached the top! But we didn't plan on how we're going to get back to the village. 

One of Session Road's old buildings. I love the bricks. 

So, this is a photo from our college tour. Haha. Nah, none of the people in this photo are still in college. We are now working class heroes and we needed a breather. Session Road was indeed a good help. 

So much for being a tourist. It's raining and I can't get my ass off to shower. Taking a warm bath is not my style. Party later! It's our Prom Night! (this will probably be a salvation for people who had their worst nightmares of prom when they were in high school).

Bookkeeping without figures

Press withdraw. Choose savings. Take everything (but you can let go of tenths and cents).
Secure the hundreds, the thousands deep into your pocket. Where to now?
A chicken fillet meal and a regular fries and soda won't hurt, eh?


Reward yourself. Pay your rent and your debts. Pay your taxes and get caught in the traffic.
Be imaginative and comely with your fashion. Shop to the nearest thrift stores in your area.
How much is left?
How much is left for the next fifteen days?


Do not forget to buy your groceries. You live communally,
but your smell is  YOU.
And then there are beers to drink. One bottle is useless and so is two.


A day could be a thousand worth of what you have taken from that machine
and you have fourteen days to count. To live. To earn.
To retell this is to relive the cliched cycle of your fifteen days as a worker who works
for (noun here).