HAYOP KA
...soul is the living-giving daemon who plays his elfin game above and below human existence.
C. Jung
Beef Ribs Longhorn, 1982
indifference
cool imprints on bed
marked denials—
you, next to me
back to back
faces on the walls
young wife hardened
like stale bread
blistered paint kept
secrets hidden
on a monday afternoon,
i got promoted. instead
of takeouts, you cooked
a meal from an old recipe
book. we had sex and
made a family. we kept
things going and going
because we knew it was
coming
cool imprints on bed
marked denials—
you, next to me
in the middle, our kid—
a boundary, a wall
replacing blistered
paint that kept secrets
you liked little chris'
company. kept you busy
from me. but he wanted
his own room, own bed.
kids outgrow parents'
secrets. so we had more
sex, more kids to keep
it going because we knew
it was coming.
it was coming.
---------------------------------------------
parental guidance
he came home late just
like most nights,
highly intoxicated without
his house keys.
he banged on my
brother's window at
2 or 3 in the morning and
aggressively ordered him
to open the front door.
my brother slept through
the loud banging.
nobody wanted to let
him inside.
so he banged harder
and forced his way in.
when he got in, he went
abnormally berserk.
he yelled
and cussed
and threw objects in air
and made freakish expressions
with his already deformed,
ugly, red face.
he took out his leather
belt, leather shoes, and
a heavy workout tension
tube that people use
at gyms.
he hit me with the belt buckle
then hit my brother with
the hard end of the rubber tube.
he did this repetitively
until one of us cries
or bleeds.
i don’t know.
we tried not to cry,
to tremble,
to jerk.
hard beatings became
a game, a competition
between my brother and i.
first one who cried was a sissy.
in an almost masochistic manner,
i imagined being beaten hard
with that heavy rubber tube instead of
the belt buckle so the game
would seem fairer.
i don't remember what followed.
but i do remember mom
staring,
just staring.
doing nothing.
maybe even admiring
him trying to mercilessly
slaughter her own children.
---------------------------------------------
don’t tell lies
he’d always tell us,
“don’t tell lies
don’t tell lies
don’t tell lies.”
but all he ever
did and said
were lies.
---------------------------------------------
Mother
She was absent most times when the beating happened
She'd deny
She'd deny
that she was unable to protect me
that she was imperfect
So I had to take it all in
without her
said, "but mom, i'm only
five
six
ten
twelve"
So I asked, "mom, why
didn't you choose a
better life partner?"
She talked about Alex
"he was perfect
he was kind
he was caring
he was smart
he was Christian
a van ran over him
when he was 25"
So I had to take it all in
without her
said, "but mom, I'm only
five
six
ten
twelve"
She's a feminist
a humanitarian
an activist
an environmentalist
a vegan
a mother?
I had to take it all in
without her
said, "but mom, I'm only
five
six
ten
twelve"
Said she couldn't juggle
her works
her chores
her family
her social life
her personal life
her mind
her spirit
So I had to take it all in
without her
said, "but mom, I'm only
five
six
ten
twelve"
She said, "baby, be tough
I can't do this,
not on my own
baby, you're strong
you can handle this
on your own"
So I had to take it all in
without her
said, "but mom, I'm only
five
six
ten
twelve"
Saw her more often
when I was 14
thought,
"mom, you're an empath
clearly, a strong one
you felt me, but
didn't know what
to do
when i was
five
six
ten
twelve"
---------------------------------------------
old man and old car
he drove our old suv with mom sitting on the front passenger seat. i'd always sit at the back with earphones plugged and volume set to maximum.
my folks were always angry. screams, squabbles, and debates were part
of my typical morning. if my
morning started right, i'd
always have the volume blasted,
if there's dead air, i'd always
have the volume blasted.
when he's feeling extra nice, he'd let my friends sit at the backseat with me. he'd let us talk and laugh a little and he'd let mom fish out any unsettled tension left in the air.
after pulling over, just like any loving parent, the old man would remind me that i was only a hitchhiker and that i shouldn't feel like he dropped me off out of courtesy.
i thought, those were the few good memories i had with him.
---------------------------------------------
nothingness
i had no sense of time when
i was seven. i didn't look
at the clocks, the sun, nor
the moon. but i knew when
to sleep, eat, and watch
the bear in the big blue house.
my favorite time of the day
was what adults called night.
i liked being alone at night.
i liked strolling along the house
when it's pitch black and when
the dominating sense i used
to navigate my way through
darkness was touch.
i felt everything without the light.
i thrived in dark places like a roach,
a bat, a cat, a blind man trying to
comprehend without a braille.
a stroll in the night was
a stroll in an insomniac's sleep—
consciously awake,
wandering aimlessly through
the void,
awaiting a light,
a murmur,
a voice.
---------------------------------------------
daylight
daylight penetrating
blinds invites more
sleep. good morning.
here comes another day.
daylight kisses my
lids good night. fix
fingers in tendrils
of hair falling on
my face.
daylight penetrating
hair strands invites
more sleep. good morning.
here comes another day.
---------------------------------------------
dark vortex
my point of commencement was exceptional. living day by day calculating the perfect plan to escape mom and dad. never regretting bad choices made, never looking back, always on the run.
when i finally got out of the birdcage, the grip of the past tightened. and the dark vortex started consuming and drawing me back in, reminding me of
my ghosts. but i refused. always refused.
life has a way of adding day to day. no matter how much i wanted to feel everything by
drowning myself in books, poems, paintings, and experiences, i'd always end up getting sucked back into that dark vortex that reminded me of nothing. because when we feel so close to feeling everything, we'd always end up feeling nothing.
---------------------------------------------
existence
when i withdraw from the world,
i sink back inside my mind and
enjoy the meticulousness of existence
i’d like to stay there for some time
i’d like to stay there for a while
retreats are painstaking affairs
it keeps me thinking
and wandering why there
are not enough colors nor
frets to paint a portrait of
what's inside my head
still, i’d stay there for some time
i’d stay there for a while
there, i’d watch the world shrink
into the light coming from the window,
hear a bird sing morning songs,
and feel the summer heat
temporarily melt pains
i like staying there for some time
i like staying there for a while
but the knocking gets louder,
confronting me with all my
failures and regrets, it reels
me back into resistance from
ever leaving the walls of my head
luring me to stay there forever
i don’t want to stay there forever
God, Law, 1981
bureaucracy
i was put through a
wringer. turned gears,
subordinated to big
automatons
rickety cogs grind
other gears. poured
lubricants to keep
wheels turning
small, insignificant
cog in the wheel—
a part of a whole
dysfunctional
machination
decrepit systems,
shaky without lose
bolts forced tight
to keep things going
and going:
they wound us
together. unbolted
they’ll fall apart.
---------------------------------------------
thieves
i wasn’t rich like the other girls. a third-grade friend, trina, knew. she trained me in thievery.
we sneaked in bookfairs and stole glitter pens, gel pens, and expensive books with expensive titles. we tucked items in our uniforms and in empty plastic bags. quickly. we cut and ran off stores without ever getting caught. those who noticed didn’t care. we were kids and they knew we were not so very rich kids.
we didn’t feel guilty. we didn’t know anything about money nor the concept of currency of exchange. but we liked what we did. we liked cheap thrills that money couldn’t buy.
---------------------------------------------
confessions
“snapped at my dog,
wasted lunch,
stole stuff in
the lost and found box,
lied,
cheated,
thought dirty thoughts,
cussed at the old man,
attempted to kill the old man…”
i didn’t like catholic schools.
they made us confess things
we didn’t understand why were bad.
---------------------------------------------
olive-green skirts
pretty, rich girls in
olive-green skirts
pretty, rich girls in
olive-green skirts
i longed to see if,
just like me, they
hide dark purple
bruises underneath
their olive-green skirts
i asked my friend, Beatrice,
what she hides beneath her
olive-green skirt. she blurted
out a nervous titter and said,
“nothing much. sometimes, i
hide yellow pee stains.
but nothing else, nothing much.”
pretty, rich girls in
olive-green skirts
pretty, rich girls in
olive-green skirts
i longed to see if,
just like me, they
hide dark purple
bruises underneath
their olive-green skirts
i asked my friend, Inez,
what she hides beneath her
olive-green skirt. she cracked
a proud gasp and said,
“nothing much. sometimes, i
hide dried red polka-dotted blots.
but nothing else, nothing much.”
pretty, rich girls in
olive-green skirts
pretty, rich girls in
olive-green skirts
i never stopped snooping
around for someone who, just
like me, hides dark purple
bruises underneath
olive-green skirts.
---------------------------------------------
teacher
everybody loved the
chummy teacher,
especially the
goody two-shoes
and backscratchers.
chummy teacher always
thought i was bright,
she always assumed
the best in me. she said,
“hey, you’re quiet but
smart. you should
speak up more.”
chummy teacher annoyed
me. she taught selectively.
she enjoyed praises from
stellar kids who grew up
normally.
hey, chummy teacher, why
not for a change, teach
more troubled kids like me?
---------------------------------------------
transitions
everyone was in a hurry
to find love. suddenly,
the school halls reeked
of puberty and hormones.
i didn’t understand what
all the fuss about growing
up and falling in love was
all about.
i liked being alone and it
confused me why i seemed
to be the only one excited
to carve adventures on my own.
---------------------------------------------
elevator music
there was a familiar faint
elevator music playing.
it had the catchy rhythm and
beats without the lyrics.
i couldn’t remember the title
but i hummed the song
in my head all day long.
next day, i woke up and found
myself mouthing the cheap
words to that same song
and thought i’ve hated it
all along.
---------------------------------------------
funhouse oh funhouse
funhouse oh funhouse and arcades after long hours in soul-wrenching conditions, it's best to unwind in colorful and loud places where music and beats are louder than destructive dispositions.
what better accompaniment of six is but nine? nine and six in funhouse oh funhouse and arcades.
we're first in line in an old, small, yellow, karaoke booth, excited to sing our hearts out and temporarily take in small doses of child-like exploits
until…
a kid, a stupid idiotic kid in an orange jersey came and barged in our queue. stupid happy kid mindlessly cuts in line, skipped merrily and started punching song numbers on the machine. i asked nine, "what just happened?" she shrugged her shoulders and waited for the idiot to finish anak ng pasig.
after finishing her first song, she came out and pleaded, "miss, can you not go inside the booth? i'll just go out for a while but i'll come back to finish all songs in my lineup."
i was losing my nerve. i looked at her with intimidating eyes, noticed that she spoke with an accent and had chinese features. i replied, "no. this is a public booth kid. if you wanna sing again, then go back in line. besides, we were next [in line] and you cut us."
she begged and pleaded and blocked the door. we pushed our way inside and closed the booth. she came back in and begged and pleaded some more.
i was about to lose it. i was about to snap off, but nine whispered, "maybe we should leave her alone. she looks autistic and the last thing you wanna do is cause a scene with an autistic kid."
so we left her alone.
i had a hunch that she wasn't autistic. she responded well and looked me straight in the eye. she was probably one of those kids who used bad behavior as an excuse to get what they want, and we just let her get what she wanted.
funhouse oh funhouse and arcades. if nine wasn’t there, i would have jammed that kid's ass with a microphone in that tiny yellow karaoke booth.
---------------------------------------------
wishy washy (by nine)
the only constant thing in this world is change.
fucking cliché, but many a
times in life it hits you when
you least expect it. because
we're only mediocre humans,
thinking we're an exemption
to cruel, cruel things in this
world like pain and death.
i'll be moving away from this
[redacted] apartment in less
than a month from now. a
place i thought was a mark of
freedom and independence,
of becoming a true adult. it
promised me of joy and
forming long-lasting
relationships. and unlimited
booze fest.
how things were different
back then. time has made me
into a worn-out machine radiating
fumes of pessimism and
tiredness from this world. and
i haven't even reached 25 yet.
sigh. can't wait for
self-extinction.
---------------------------------------------
to my best friend, nine
i've been selfish with you lately. always about my needs, my rants, my problems. even i get frustrated with me. and you would just sit there quietly and listen intently. When you speak, what you say always make sense. men should learn a thing or two from you.
you talked about your past life and how you thought that you were once a witch who got burned at stake. you are always quick witted, and you've cursed the 'common man'. maybe you are a witch--a witch most faint-hearted only dreams of but not pursue, keep memories of and prays to, keep pictures of and jerks off to.
most men are pigs, huh? but the worst are the nice ones. always with hidden agendas behind angelic faces. few with pure motives. and a whole lot of chicken shits. i guess we're stuck with lots of men who are just as insecure as the women they pick on.
you've always outsmarted them and if you were to take an advice from a whore like me, i'd say, "hey, take a shot at them. especially the 'dicks-with-lots-a-tricks'. you'd learn a lot from them. they're the easiest to read. their brains are down at their glans."
but you are the purest woman i know. obviously, i meant pure at heart. if there's anything common between a witch and a whore, it'd be that they are afraid of us. the madonnas and the pure, says freud. maybe we're like lionesses in cages to them--gazes near enough to admire us but stays far away to avoid our claws
and for those who attempted to trespass our cages, make sure to stay in there with us. stay in there with us when we scream and scratch, and claw, and cry, and break vases, and go insane because when you talk shit and drink beer and smoke and hit and cry and cheat we. would. always. be. there.
but, hey. this is for you, nine. you're one badass cat.
Victor, 1987
a dance with my reflection
the sight of him sometimes
sends a chill down my spine,
a discombobulated feeling that has
built up over the years we were apart
that i have repressed and bottled up
his looks are so discomforting like
looking at a mirror in the dark without
blinking wondering, “how long has he been
staring? how long have i known him?
how long have i not known him?”
and yet i have dismissed all those
thoughts when i was with him, terrified
of what he may or may not say to me
but enthralled of the sight of
a distant memory looking back at me
we were always so careful when
we were together, afraid that when
our demons come out, we would no longer
like each other but this cautiousness we
practiced may be the reason for our indifference
i see you, you see me
a product of hate, violence, pain,
passion, tears, blood, motherhood,
childhood, youth, pact, time, distance,
love?
i am devoid of that concept, i do not
know anything about it, nothing, none, zero
and yet you to me know so much that
i sometimes wish you'd tell me the secret
but you never spoke and you've always denied
while you remain fixated on people,
i remain disinterested and unconcerned to most
how do you do it? why can't you tell me?
why is it that when i'm about to surrender,
you build your walls higher and higher?
or is it because you don't know anything
about it too? please help me understand
please tell me when you do know
till then, at least you know,
at least we both know,
we can't fall in love with each other.
---------------------------------------------
runners in the night
he knew the night comforts me. he liked how the dark hides my sad eyes and how the moonlight illuminates all emotions. he liked how he can talk deeply about his feelings with me by his side, listening to his breaths, sighs, sobs.
he always looked so strong but his heart was as fragile as glass. he took his time confessing how, despite the indestructible appearance he projects to people, he hides pain, guilt, and envy deep in his heart.
he said he always ran away from his emotions and problems. he ran away from his shitty parents, his rich friends, and himself. he said they called him a 'runner'. he hid in far places where the only people who judged him were just like him, 'runners'.
i didn't know what to tell him. i didn't know what to feel. i'm always shit at giving advice to people. i'm always shit at forgiving. so i let his hand touch mine and i let him kiss me.
it was the night after he fucked someone behind my back. i swore i hated him. i swore i would never forgive him. but i let him kiss me anyway. why did i let him kiss me?
i probably never liked him or maybe i did. just at that moment, just that night. because for the first
time in a long time, he didn't run away.
---------------------------------------------
to catch a wildfire
romance is giving a knife to a man and entrusting him to stab you. most of the men that i've entrusted have blunt edges --
men your friends warned you about, men with souls as dark as their lungs, the pathological ones-- narcissists, egoists, bipolars, depressives, alcoholics,
although their love runs cold as ice and although they are accused of cynicisms and ignorant perceptions of pure love, i'd give a knife freely to them i'd tell them, "hey, take your blunt end and stab me while your penetration doesn't go all the way through, you'd
hurt me thrice than any good lover who'd stifle good women your love, to me, is sardonically immaculate"
just like any blue fire, i left them in places where they can burn me
enough to hurt me but not destroy me…
in Sydney. Barcelona. California.
i guess i'm a coward.
---------------------------------------------
child of lilith
eve is not my mother. my mother was not extracted from a man's rib nor did she deny that she was tempted by a serpent
lilith is my mother. born equal to men and refused to be subjugated by men she was freed from adam and all the torments of gods and angels
released from the chains of eden, she found sexual wanton in the gardens of hell, copulating with demons, all types of demons
and i was born, resembling this magnificent creature--raven-haired and sunken-eyed that burned the purest of the pure
and that crept deep into the skins and bones of dead men
all fury and honesty run deep within our bloodline. there's no denying the imprecations that run in our veins
coagulating like poisoned milk in glasses, i feel the stains of mother's sins hardening inside me as
i suck stiff dry cocks of luci and judas erected in front of
me like crosses in calvary
their shafts beam with concentrated blood rushing within. a steady and
deep pressure from my teeth forces it to shower thick white fluids all over me
i am the daughter of lilith, holy! so holy! purging sins of adam, teaching judas orals, giving satan blow jobs, showing
jesus holy grails
i dare you
stone me
curse me
rejoice in my body!
---------------------------------------------
painful honest smiles
the worst part of it all was that their smiles, their dubious but honest smiles, are always the most beautiful and painful to see.
their smiles hold so much mysteries, you'd want to take a shovel and dig deep to find answers. curious humans always dig deep to find answers.
when we reached the core of it all, we wished we never dug, we wished we never asked, we wished we only glanced briefly at passing smiles. rare moments when
we thought they were happy but always merely a façade to conceal all unpleasantries.
ironic how we crave for
beautiful smiles on
miserable people.
would you know how hard it is to smile? to force an honest and kind smile?
---------------------------------------------
zero
same old habits, same old people found in different faces like cyclic revelations shown a thousand times but
constantly disregarded
why persist with the old? why find comfort in the known? why sew webs with same patterns? why walk concrete roads and not dirt roads?
it baffles me why people choose the same old paths when people are born creative. how can we call ourselves creators, engineers, artists if we fall for the old?
when it rains, play when it shines, sulk taste colors and flavors taste different lovers
see, i am cursed as the libertines with no permanency, stuck with people with expiration dates on skins: aug, sept, oct 13, 13, 13
the only constant number. the only constant phrase, "it's not that i didn't like you. i just didn't want to feel like i
was a passing inclination. a baito--replaceable to
many ex-lovers.
as you are my favorite exemption my door is no longer open for you."
now you understand my malediction would you still want me?
---------------------------------------------
moans
his moans were
lovely, sad music –-
pleasant, shared music.
---------------------------------------------
transitory
love is patient, love is kind.
it does not envy. it does
not boast…
in a heartbeat, a wind gust
mocked and stole thy love
from me then lulled me into
a deep slumber.
as i awaken on the
morrow, i found that
i no longer love thee.
---------------------------------------------
good fella
good fella tolerated my unexpressed
repulsion towards him. he pushed
himself to me when i pulled away.
he brought me home safely and
offered warm affections. he sang
songs of praise and sent sunrise
photos to enliven me and asked
for my pictures for him to sketch
and daydream about
good fella crammed me with
all the love i didn’t receive
good fella was a meal too
large for me to digest
good fella was a bone, a horn,
a scale, a feather that
i regurgitated years ago
good fella disgusted me.
The Pink Devil, 1984
snake plant
do you know what
killed the Sansevieria?
too much water,
too much sunlight,
too much coldness,
too much warmth,
TOO MUCH.
if you want to
love a Sansevieria,
let it flourish in
the darkness and
on neglect.
---------------------------------------------
kadupul flowers
for who are the most beautiful
of all but the wenches, whores,
scarlet women? women with scarlet-
painted nails, crimson-colored lips,
black panty hoses and fishnet tights,
and pushed-up breasts walking around
with their platforms or six-inch heels
they lurk the dark streets and alleys of cities, shady brothels, and cheap motel rooms. in the city of angels, they hide in closed doors -- spas, ktvs, and bikini bars, all preying on different kinds of lonely men -- rich and poor, dirty old men, men of color, rich bachelors, politicians, drug lords, jeepney and dump truck drivers, even their lonely neighbors and friends and families.
they know their stories. they know their dirty secrets. they know them better than wives and daughters. they keep them in treasure chests, paid to be locked for only 2,000 pesos and 500 pesos only per hand job or happy ending.
behind their sensuality mask deep and lasting scars from men's brutalities. threatened with poisoned words and promises, they keep mouths shut only to be opened when kissed or fed with pungent, chlorine-scented, white opaline-colored semen ejaculating frantically from hard shafts of dirty, lonely men who never looked, who only touched, who only raped, and molested their fragile bones and bodies.
the most dejected, beaten, and damned are the purest and most beautiful of them all. unlike well-groomed, fully clothed women who buys their ticket to life using daddy's credit card, these whores and angels radiate refined souls molded savagely by cruelty.
and we roam at night in a garden of kadupuls where we take no notice of these wildflowers basking under the moonlight.
beautiful and wildflowers that only bloom at night and fade at dawn.
---------------------------------------------
soulbiscuit
tawny cat snake
lived long enough
in captivity. might
have died sooner if
left uncared for in
the jungles.
soulbiscuit our
blind serpent
forest fires too
harsh nearly
devoured you.
we built a makeshift
home from scraps and
twigs and leaves and
vines where you pretended
to live freely and wildly.
in your prison cell,
you sucked chemicals
dry to see and
accustomed your
scales to human touch.
my captors aren’t
so cruel after all.
one day we fed
soulbiscuit an egg
too large. naturally
voracious, he tried
swallowing it whole.
soulbiscuit was a
wild beast at heart.
kept in captivity,
he chocked himself
to death. he would
have preferred
flames over an egg.
soulbiscuit be free.
---------------------------------------------
circle of life
everybody hated the dumb
tortoises. dumb stumped-
footed rocks popping out
of thick grasses led me
out of track in deep
jungles. stray tortoises
had off home ranges.
strayed around and around
random circles. takes
long breaks and eats own
shits. risks life and
sleeps near poachers with
big machetes.
dumb tortoise found
bellied up in flooded
riverbed. accidental
suicide in gutter.
dumb tortoises going
round and round in
circles.
what else is there to
do if you gotta hundred
years or so to waste?
---------------------------------------------
apocalypse
alone in bed. and
all you can think
about is sex. sex.
sex. sex. all to
repopulate the
thousand deaths.
sally's wild hair.
dani's big tits.
charlien's tight hips.
jane's long legs.
alone in bed. and
all you can think
about is sex. sex.
sex. sex. hardened
shaft pumping blood
and cream. no love.
just sex. sex. sex.
feel nature's force
coercing sex. sex.
sex. she's using you
to keep human race
going and going.
---------------------------------------------
rape! in the animal kingdom
I accompanied Clarisse in her early morning tracks. We laid out camera traps and nests to infiltrate the behaviors of the troops.
Next day, we checked out snaps from the camera traps. “Interesting behaviors” said Clarisse. “Most anthropoid primates are gregarious in nature” I added.
Some played with the camera,
took wide-angled selfies.
Some knocked out the fake bird nests.
Some were caught in the act of sexual coercion.
“Look how he dominated her from behind.”
“Looks forced.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’ve heard many tragic news about rape in the animal kingdom.”
“Yes. Our co-worker, Tyler, does it all the time.”
“Maybe we should plant camera traps in his room next time.”
---------------------------------------------
explorer
in the many worlds i've
walked and faces i've
encountered, only a few
remarkable ones excited
my spirit and tingled my
senses the way the taste
of club soda fizzes
the tongue.
it takes trained eyes to
spot rare species. in the
wild, tracking beasts
requires stealth. just
as in the ocean, hunters
blend with the blue and
the white. and night owls
in concrete jungles hover
unseen in alleyways or
paved pedestrian paths --
you don't want to scare them.
in secret gardens and old
motel rooms, rare kinds
shed vulnerabilities to me,
their captor, their explorer.
'tis neither their tinsel nor
glamor that attracts me. when
caught off guard, they are angry,
sad, honest, hysterical, fascinating!
embarrassed, they hide their nakedness
and quietly retreats in the comforts
of my skin.
i take a front row seat,
maybe the only seat reserved
for the explorer, the spectator
admiring a view unspoiled and pure.
Santo 2, 1982
dominatrix
bad boys, good boys,
all ask for one thing –
a good beating, whipping,
hard lashing ‘til
they swing.
good boys, bad boys
cry, “please, i
beg you. don’t stop,
keep going, keep it
coming until i cream.”
good boys, bad boys
who haven’t been weaned
prefer good
disciplining over
petty romancing.
bad boys, good boys,
though i love punishing,
grow up, wouldya? my
hand’s got blisters
from all the flogging.
---------------------------------------------
narcissus
if all life reflects beauty then you are a tragedy
genetic chimerism creates the most dangerous men with the most dangerous eyes --
the bluest, grayest, brownest heterochromia that i have ever seen, the deadliest glassy eyes that reflect
a dead soul a beautiful flower with the acridest scent a nautilus shell without a mollusk a colorful horizon without a sun
who will love a hallow charmer? who will love the eyes of a man a few dared to look at but witches, whores, degenerates, like me?
and although you radiate sublime beauty your love remains concealed to me.
---------------------------------------------
narcissus’ mother
narcissus had an alcoholic
mother who always beat
him to a pulp when
he was younger
she claimed she did
this out of love.
but the more he tried and tried
to please her, the more and
more she ignored him
as narcissus grew older,
he started to resemble
his beautiful mother.
and so the story goes…
---------------------------------------------
love bombs
love bombs, love bombs followed fits of anger he threw at me. love bombs, love bombs, sweet talks that distracted me when i was unhappy. love bombs, love bombs, dead flowers that made me giddy after he slept with somebody. love bombs, love bombs, fast drives in the highway that made me forget how badly he hurt me. love bombs, love bombs, faux tears i kissed away after confessing he was guilty. love bombs, love bombs, but he said he was sorry. love bombs, love bombs, atomic lies that felt good occasionally. love bombs, love bombs, my tormenter showered cyanide all over me. love bombs, love bombs, cheap gifts that kept me coming back to the monster that incapacitated me.
---------------------------------------------
lone wolf and alpha wolf
in the highways of
the evergreen, lone
wolf reunited with
her alpha.
he gave out an
affectionate howl that
echoed the sentiments of
his lonely heart
“my paramour, you have
returned to me. for this,
we shall make merry under
the moonlight and murder
a meal for our tryst”
he cried out.
lone wolf neither howled
nor whimpered. she watched
the moon unveil what
became of her lover
“a beast! a beautiful
savage beast!” she thought.
he hunted anything that
slithered, crawled, breathed,
anything below him to show
off to lone wolf.
he hoped to catch a deer,
a snake, a bear – false
tokens of loyalty to
lone wolf
she gazed at him,
unmoved and unimpressed
by his affectations.
she remembered why
she left…
she belonged to him
as the sun belonged
to the moon, or
so he thought.
---------------------------------------------
sol y luna
you possess the
love given by the
sun to the moon
although it is clear
both the sun and the
moon loves each other,
it is but the sun
illuminating the
moon in the darkness
---------------------------------------------
resurrection
i’ve tried burying
you in the abyss of
the ocean, but your
carcass would
always resurface
to haunt me
how can the
wretched sea
parade around
anthems about
a dead esprit?
---------------------------------------------
beautiful
i get so sad when
people call me beautiful
i get so sad when
people call me beautiful
la di da dum la di da dum
i long for self-decay.
---------------------------------------------
schizoid
when i want
to go,
i stay.
when i want
to stay,
i go.
life didn’t
make choosing
easy.
---------------------------------------------
truths
prosy sentences
long pauses fill-
ing gaps of small
talks
unspoken excitements
at dinner tables
stolen longing
glances
shaking bodies
sweaty palms
cool kisses from
behind
sighs
eye to eye
hand to hand
pulse to pulse
lips to lips
a colon
semicolon
em dashes
periods
three dots to
the right…
i’ve misinterpreted
again and again.
ten years have
passed. finally,
spoken confessions
pieced puzzled
emotions. another
year approaching
its end – truths,
racing time. deaths,
erasing truths
sparsely spaced in
a continuum.
Tenor, 1985
impulse
a billowing surge of
adrenaline comes in
quick as it fizzles
out like smoke. what
comes after i’d forget,
shrunken in my own
wilderness –
there, a tree. walls
of identical trees and
crawling vines building
dark canopies.
wandering
aimlessly, i hit another
tree. same tree. same
vine. wrapping endlessly
around and around the
labyrinth of my own
wilderness to deny.
to confuse. to forget.
to run. stop. i’d
lose if i race my mind.
ballast water drains
gently with exhales.
here, a calm, a light
to guide me back to a
reality prodding for
confrontations.
---------------------------------------------
ocean swells
emotions in me dissipate like chemical disintegration in the limbic system it wears and tears like a bad headache a bad breakup temporary lovers temporary cures passing waves passing cars
untimely fixations of bad memories are imprinted like scars hot glued on skin, wounds without bandages, scars shown off like war medals; triggering repressions thought
long gone but resurfaced
in ten years, who is to blame when he is far gone? and when the wrong becomes not wrong?
and all hatred has subsided? and all old habits has died? when he becomes a phantom? when bad memories become bad dreams?
what is left to do but beat the floors and break bottles on walls relentlessly no self-reflections no consciousness uninhibited
not like yesterday's rip currents but like tiny ocean swells that move on surfaces
---------------------------------------------
bad grass
bad grass infesting the cracks of sidewalks, swarming on lawns, digging deep in bad soil surviving hostile weather storms hails heat waves humid conditions pest covered turfs shit covered earth
bad grass roots everywhere drilling heavily inside me like orbitoclasts piercing quick inside the prefrontal cortex, supplying me with enough lethargic bliss, extending its potent effects slowly and inconspicuously until i've reached a vegetative state, causing irreversible damage that wreak havoc to all those who dare to cross me
---------------------------------------------
kundalini's a bitch
"contract expand contract expand fill in the lungs with as much air then fill it a little more
add in a little rhythm to your breathing, move with the diaphragm chest, ribs, lungs, everything moving synchronously. move in with your deep breaths of fire, pump like bellows, freely, deeply, until you reach steady breath patterns, your pranayam to be sustained until it becomes natural, cyclical when the breaths become in sync with your movements, chants, and thoughts until it charges your entire nervous system and glandular centers to purify the blood"
and the blood charged with seminal, sexual fluids running
throughout my body, reaching an orgasmic state, adding pressure and energy permeating within, firing up the root, sacral, solar plexus, heart, throat, third eye, crown. building up like tiny, stacked blocks until it polarized my entirety leaving me feeling radiant, and this radiance spreads throughout until all that was left was the ball of light or dark matter,
it's hard to tell, but it engulfed me destroying all traces of me. reaching my highest sattvic state, sattvic state, it felt so familiar it felt exactly tamasic, deep, dark, wrathful, painful, vengeful, hot, so hot like hell, pains of hell, lashes so many lashes and blows and blood, and fire. although it was meant to purify, it brought out the worst like a soiree of all angels and devils inside me
when all has dissipated what was left was equanimity and although you get a taste of this divine euphoria this state, this fragile, dissolving state,
was so psychologically unsustainable
kundalini's a bitch.
---------------------------------------------
lose yourself
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you when you wake up in the morning at the same waking hour,
looking at the same ceiling, walls, window, lying on the same bed, same sheets
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you when you're taking a shower, wondering "why do i need to take a fucking shower every day, buttoning the
same uniform i packed from the cleaners yesterday, eating leftovers from yesterday?"
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you when you're walking to the metro station at five in the morning, getting in line along with hundreds of people hoping you'd get to work early only to arrive an hour late
it takes time to lose yourself.it hits you when you're working, typing the whole day, getting coffee, pretending to be busy, waiting for the next payday, waiting for friday to get wasted with the same people
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you at meetings, arguing with the same people, listening to them babble and gossip, thinking, "where did my degree take me? the same path as everybody?
and i am to follow invisible guidelines that control me?"
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you at family gatherings, celebrating the same holidays, eating the same meals, talking about the same issues, thinking about driving back home before they start talking to you
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you when you're at the same bar, ordering the same drink, watching strangers dance wildly, thinking, "i could hook up with her, i'll leave her in the morning or maybe i'll fuck her right now in that corner"
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you when you're rehearsing with the same faces, convincing yourself "these guys are pretty cool, they smoke grass, drink beer, fuck hard as much as i do", pretending to feel like you belong
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you at the beach, watching the sunset, reminiscing dead memories, holding onto them like prayer beads, repeating to yourself, "it was the only life i knew how to live. why should i let it go?"
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you at funerals of ex-lovers, thinking, "maybe if i loved her more, i could've saved her, we could've started a family, i could've been a better person, i could've told her i loved her."
it takes time to lose yourself. it hits you when you're 60, telling yourself, "i thought at this age i'd have a family, or i'd be in my house up the mountains. instead, i'm alone. too tired to climb mountains, too dry to find new lovers, too late to quit that job. too late."
it takes time to lose yourself. so why don't you lose yourself?
---------------------------------------------
constants
there will be a
point in time when
your only friends are
cigarettes, alcohol,
and solitude.
---------------------------------------------
diary
a diary – without it
i wouldn’t have
remembered i was
going through so
much pain.
---------------------------------------------
leo
the lioness always runs
wildly inside me. she
forages for blood and
anything breathing,
beating.
untamed lioness taught
me to be free! free!
to explore the
everglades of my
own nature.
nothing tastes sweeter
than freedom, freedom
from my animals within.
i am afraid of nothing.
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