Office Bullies

My officemates are hardcore bullies,
They litter inside my workstation,
They loiter inside my workstation,
Deliberately make all sorts of noises,
Have no qualms in disturbing me whilst I’m in deep thought,
Interruptions spark at their whims,
They climb my chair,
Take my pens and notebooks like they own it,
Drink my coffee(!)
Wrestle for mouse control,
Ruin my documents by “ambushing” my keyboard while I’m typing,
Press the power buttons of the AVR and CPU while I’m working,
Piss behind my chair –

It’s really tough being bullied while working from home.

The Curse of the Face Mask Law


This Covid-19 stole
great times ahead
with family
and friends
But it doesn’t really
bother me all that much:
social distancing
avoiding the crowd
things as such.
Been the recluse for
yep, not that long –
only a lifetime
and still going strong.
If at all
this is but
an expansion of
us loners’ Eden

But what I can’t
settle myself with
is the thought of
your comeliness
once overflowing
now mandated to be
partly hidden.

Oh how atrocious
my erring might have been
that my soul warrants
such scourge and torment?!

How am I gonna see
your hair caressing your cheeks
or the smile
that escapes your lips
as the wind embraces you
and carries your sweet scent
on mountain highs
and valley lows
into and beyond the event horizon
and throughout the cosmos

Twas sweet a past
where I have but memories
of your lovely face
in all its immaculate radiance
and that sweet smile,
that despite of
this world right now
painfully going
through a tight rope,
puts in my heart
an ample amount of hope

The legislation
that I loathe and abhor
may still be a friend
though in a way –
if only to hide
the bitterness in my smile.

And this I earnestly pray
that it will come that blessed day
where you can take
your mask away
and so does mine
and our lips would meet
in due time


Photo by Gustavo Fring on

Humanity must have been doomed
its fate sealed:
you fuck nature,
it fucks you back.

Gasp after gasp,
the succeeding more painful
than the ones before,
for life left in the air
if anything’s left there at all
or anywhere.

You may still be alive, yes.
Barely though.
“Never mind” you say.
“There is still a chance.
A small glimmer of hope
and mountains of ashes
to build the new upon.
And being half dead a man
is better than
a dog altogether
dead and damned.”
Or is it?

Practice What You Preach

A lady saw a pastor whose right butt cheek is showing from his worn out jeans. When the pastor saw the disgusted reaction of the lady, he immediately turned his back. Completely appalled, the lady left. The pastor’s companion who is with him, saw it all, turned and asked his friend:

“Hey what’s the big idea?”

“Oh this (points to his exposed butt cheek)? Practicing what I preach.”

“Practicing what?!”

“What I preach. Which is why I willingly turned the other cheek.”

(ctto for the image above)

What If I Meet the Anti-Me?

What if I meet the anti me?
The once I thought
obliterated during Big Bang
long lost then found
the volatile concoction
the catalyst
the critical mass
the same badass

They said he’s me
and I am he
It’s just that we have
opposite charges
What does that even mean?
Is this the Yin and Yang
of Oriental origins?

And from where is he exactly?
How can he
just pop out of nowhere
from nothing?

By who’s authority
is he summoned
into existence?
And in the same way
be gone in an instant
in a fraction of a second?
Can he just leave
and come back no more?
Is he even aware
that when we meet
the borrowed energy
by which we both exist
will return to the Source
and cause us
to cease just being?

Is he my evil twin?
Or am I the evil twin?
Would he embody
the things I envy?
Will he complement
my imperfections?
Will he turn green
of what I already achieved?
Or will I be the one
to flood the Himalayas
and turn the desert green?

Shall I punch him
to break his nose?
or will the anti-me
give me a hug
and a pat in the back?
And end up
releasing energy
and obliterating ourselves
in the process?
Or will it spark
a new cosmos
same as what
we know today?
Or maybe it already did?

The Goddess of Tactical Interrogation and Cross-Examinations

Daddy and son, both cops, talking to each other:

Son: Dad, can you shed me some light on tactical interrogation and cross-examination?

Daddy: (without even looking up from the broadsheet he’s reading) You’re barking at the wrong tree son. There’s someone more skillful at that, better than anyone who wears the badge. Go and ask your mother…

“In God’s name, I command the fires of hell for your soul’s eternal damnation!”

Condemning, in accordance to one’s own biases in the guise of “doing God’s work” is never, not even close to God’s way.

Recall the story of Mary Magdalene and Zacchaeus. Did Jesus slap their faces with the tablets of the ten commandments and ordered the Heavenly Fire to consume their wretched souls because of their sins?

No he didn’t.

Instead, He showed them love and forgiveness which led to their repentance and conversion, finally forsaking their old sinful ways.

Love, genuine love, is what will win souls and not the fear of the fiery lake of brimstone and sulfur. If we ain’t doing that, we should ask ourselves: really, who’s work are we implementing?

Wherever You Are – One OK Rock

Gonna be Japanese someday!

(Nevermind that the intro is with an icky similarity with Aiza Seguerra’s Pagdating ng Panahon. Once you get through that, all will be good I promise.)

I’m telling you
I softly whisper
Tonight, tonight
You are my angel

二人は ひとつに
Tonight, tonight
I just to say

Wherever you are, I’ll always make you smile
Wherever you are, I’m always by your side
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now
I don’t need a reason
I just want you, baby
Alright, alright
Day after day

Stay with me
We carry on

Wherever you are, I’ll always make you smile
Wherever you are, I’m always by your side
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now

Wherever you are, I’ll never make you cry
Wherever you are, I’ll never say goodbye
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now


Wherever you are, I’ll always make you smile
Wherever you are, I’m always by your side
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now

Wherever you are
Wherever you are
Wherever you are

Violence for no one in particular

Do exercise caution
When treading on my shadow
Lest it gobbles you up
And leave no trace
Of your

Never lay a hand
To where I’ve trodden
For they are full of neurotoxins
A quark of which
And you’ll be
Laid waste

And when you whisper
On my back
Never let
Those murmurs
Leave a trail
Let alone
Reach me
And neither
Should your words

They take no responsibility
They’re just passing
Like the wind
And they’re gone

They will betray you
For they are fleeting
And they’re gone
In an instant
Poof just like that
Yet you will remain
To suffer
The wrath
In my hands

Don’t Talk to Me

Too afraid
To be vulnerable
Laughed at
Viewed with flaws
Reduced to
Something smaller
Than the grand image
We see in the mirror

Who wouldn’t want
To appear awesome
His shit
All figured out
The ultimate idol
The envy of many

Or either we ask
The world
To mind its own
Fucking business
And for it to never
Give a fuck at all
Except to tread
Ever so softly

The façade
We all maintain
We make so great a fuss
With all our might
Futilely wishing
The respect and awe drugs
To perpetually remain
And keep us high and floating

Or that which
We have worked
For so long
Not letting anyone
Or anything
Not even ourselves
Destroy the
Old and familiar comfort

The scars we hide
Too afraid
That the other being
Before us
Will conjure
The ghost of the past
Out of our scars

Aversion of such
Is human
But to face them
Armed with all
The goodness
One’s heart can muster,
Is the virtue
Of the divine
Warrior god
That found
Its home within

The Man on Fire – A Tribute To The Black Mamba

The round leather
on fire
not put off
by any bounce
on the floor
or its sojourn in
or hitting the boards
the rim
and eventually
the ring

One thousand shots missed
meant 10 thousand sinking in

The fire in the leather
borne of a flaming hand
from a heart ablaze
which can only come from
no less than the divine

That fire
might have
succumbed to the sky
but it found its home –

In thousands
Hundreds of thousands
Millions upon millions

Rest in peace brother

Halimuyak sa Madaling Araw

sa kinasasabikang umaga
na tigib ng ligaya
ang bumungad
sa aking diwa

Basa sa hamog
ng madaling araw
mga talulot na nakalukot
sa masidhing dampi
ng haring araw

Ramdam ko ang
init na nagbabaga
na di maikubli
ng mala-nyebeng
ihip ng hangin

Aking hinawakan
ang nagbabagang apoy
mga daliri’y di napaso
ni nasunog ay hindi
Bagkus ay naramdaman
ang mainit na pag-agos

At aking narinig
isang sigaw na
walang tinig
sa kagubatang
makipot, madilim
na aking sinuong
habang nilalagari
ang kableng
sa lahat ng
kamalayan sa mundo
ay nagdurugtong

Ang kalaliman
ay binagtas
upang di malunod
mahigpit ang kapit
ng aking mga kamay
sa matatayog na

At matapos
ang mahabang sandali
muli kong narining
ang sigaw na
walang tinig
habang nasasaksihan
ang pagbulwak
ng kalawakan

A Thousand and One Reasons to Be Thankful For

The Sun woke up
this morning
to see me outta my bed
Took over from the Moon
my sentry
the instance the Darkness
gave way to the Light
I exhaled yesterday
as I breathed in tomorrow
All revved up
my engine
in full chime
Ready to
take possession
of another
historic day

Dream Past The Nightmare

We don’t hold tomorrow
Such a pity
We have plans
grand as the heavens
Funny thing is
tomorrow has got
her own plans as well
which usually
screws us like hell
Which is why at times
I don’t make any plans
to save myself
from disdain
of life as I know
But how will I relish the future
if I can’t savor it today
And how will I know if my wishes are granted
if I don’t dream of it
at this very moment?

Change, Whether It Is A Friend or An Enemy, Is Completely Up To Us


In dealing with changes, we can:

  1. protest all we want, violent or otherwise, day-in and day-out, and
  2. pound the pearly gates ‘til kingdom come, begging for the inexorable change gods currently knocking at our doors to reconsider and be back on a more convenient time.

Or if we know better, we can stay calm instead of going bananas.

It is completely understandable if we are tempted to think we can argue with it and have our way in the end. But we know all too well that in offering resistance, we are only prolonging the agony, unnecessarily.

It is either we welcome change with flying fists up until the last ounce of our blood and die without seeing the dawn break, or, we can make a good friend out of that motherfucker.

Fortunately, we get to choose our battles. Let us then choose wisely, shall we?


Lakay: Apay siasinno mət dayta baru nga nubyu dayta anak mo Ribeyng? Kasla nagdulpət kən nagbuyuk mət ti langlanga na?!

Bakət: Anya kan lakay, baam kadin uray ta Amirikanu mət suna. Ti nagan na kanu kət Tim Macky T. Paul-Teet

Lakay: ‘Su mət lang a!!

(The) Name’s Not At All Relevant


I yanked a string too strong
that made the church bells chime
and the fabric unraveled:

And there she stood
just her and nothing more
nothing between my eyes and
her golden skin and
succulent curves
in all their glory
set free from whatever
covered her
and thrown
onto my outstretched hands

She doesn’t like sopas

You don’t like sopas
and I don’t know why
Puzzles the hell out of me
Who doesn’t want a hot pot
of chicken soup
made creamy with evap
made colorful with
cabbage and carrots and
made gut-heavy
with elbow macaroni?

Detest is a word too strong
least priority maybe
but then, I could be wrong

Yet you made
one for me
just the same

“I still don’t
love sopas.
May never be.
But I’m
to learn
to love
the things
that you love.”

More than the
hot pot of sopas
before me
I thank you
my sweet balm
for all the love
and for keeping
me warm
For a thousandth time
again and again
to the heavens
I implore
good favors
for you
my lovely woman
who cooks sopas
for her man

Screaming Sanctimony

A condescending attitude is often mistaken as piety. Removing that illusion however, will reveal hypocrisy at its finest, the main reason Jesus reproached the Pharisees for being like whitewashed tombs that are beautiful in the outside but filled with dried bones and rotting flesh inside.

Now that paints an ugly picture especially when viewed from the outside. Because in as far as witnessing is concerned, nothing comes off as a surefire “turn off” than a hypocrite pretending to be a saint.

If we as Christians are to convert the gentiles and bring the wayward sheep of Israel back into the fold, we should instead come from a place of love.


Recall the story of Mary Magdalene and Zacchaeus. Jesus did not cite the 10 commandments to condemn them right then and there of their sins, nor did He summon heaven’s fury to devour their wretched sinful souls. He instead showed love and mercy through forgiveness, as His standpoint which eventually led to their conversion.

Out of love came forth mercy and actions within the context of love.

But a condescending attitude is begotten from a sanctimonious “holier than thou” mindset. And that, is the exact opposite of our mission as children of God which we claim to be, which is to spread His message of love to a lost world.

Whores are Words, and Words are Whores

Some words
I used sparingly
I abused
But alas
despite of which
complete strangers
their conclusion
have all become

I clothed them
in regal poetry
gave them purpose
through grand prose
which countless I’ve told

I, the maker
accorded them
their place in the cosmos
in the known universe and beyond
ergo, I own them
and they are mine alone

But what a joke
the muse played on me
for the wholeness
I granted them
defined them not
I got mocked.
For the pieces
defined the whole
which the whole
on them do not

As I established my kingdom
with them and their duty
to kiss my feet ever after
The whores were gone
prostituted themselves
in another’s hands

Conversation vs Fishing, There’s a HUGE Difference

When initiating conversation with a friend, avoid dodging reciprocated questions such as ‘how are you’ and ‘what’s keeping you busy’. It is both impolite and downright annoying.

Remember, it’s a conversation you’re trying to have, not a tactical interrogation.

– (The) Name’s Not At All Relevant


Leaves of Autumn

I will whisper it
to the autumn leaves

I will tell them why
the trees slumbered in a lullaby
I will reveal to them
how all tears have gone dry
it was when
you promulgated my verdict:
“good bye”

It was still the sunshine’s reign
as I recall like ‘twas but yesterday
but before I can brace my self
for that mortal dagger
driven to my chest
the chilling sun
and the freezing moon
started to sing a melancholic tune

Nurtured in the soft breeze’s caress
and nourished in dew
brought forth colors
that are changing in hue
for what seemed the start
of a colorful show
marked the end of the summer glow

what else is there to say
but to let the light leave with the day
and this darkness that had befall
be there to stay while bells they toll

I will whisper its dismal moan
to those in twigs still holding on
oblivious to the truth
that it won’t last for long

I will whisper it
to those caught in midair
as they drift farther and farther away
from their beloved they just left bare

I will whisper it
atop the mounded heap
which to earth
did terminally cede

fool’s show it is indeed
for the varied colors that abound
speaks loudly
of the end
without a sound

Reverend Joke

One day came good ole Reverend Father Joke
Grinned as he saw past some bloke
“Say son, I pray, give me some of that toke
For you see, my boy, I’m a bit broke.”

“Heaven have mercy for I almost choked!
Pardon Reverend, is this some kind of joke?”
“That’s my name alright” said ole Reverend Joke
With eyes closed sniffing the smoke.

Let me be the wind

Let me be the wind
that will whisper in your ear
“relax, it’s me my dear”

Let me be the wind
that will pass by your cheeks
to give them a sweet light kiss

Let me be the wind
that will meet head-on your lips
as in love my fingers dip

Let me be the wind
that will sway your hair
and expose your shoulders bare

Let me be the wind
That will caress your thighs
And carry your scent
In the valleys and heights

Dealing with The Embodiments of Pure Evil in the Workplace

I must thank God
and probably
so should you –

that instead of diabolical plots
and rhapsodic images
of your sweet affliction,
He manifested Himself
through reason
before anything
I envisioned
would irreversibly
come to fruition

I must thank God
and probably
so should you –

that instead of regrets
and abysmal sorrow
or that fiendish grin
and gratified puffs
at the sight of
a gasping prey
and the smell of blood,
I uttered a silent
wailing plea
Supplicated for restraint
within my inner sanctuaries
And stabbed my journal
‘til its blood filled the oceans
as it is tossed to and fro
by tempests and billows

The Curse of Blessings

The Curse of Blessings

What good is my art
if instead of
care and
vainglory and
come forth of which?

Is my quest
to be
intellectually extravagant
if my eyes
forsook looking up
and espoused the
delectability of looking down?

Is the by-product of
the disdain for
both ignorance
and the ignorant?

Shouldn’t it instead
beget forgiveness
and understanding
despite that
some people
are unforgiving
of your luminance
that improved
their blur
into shadows?

– (The) Name’s Not At All Relevant

The Ultimate Collision Course

In blinding speeds
and accelerations faster
than the speed of light
I orbit the innards
of a particle collider



Propelled by
the natural order of
who the hell knows
or who

without warning
lo and behold
my quintessence
millions, billions, trillions of them
laid bare
right before mine
very eyes

Then it dawned on me
I got smashed into God!

In the Face of Adversity, Don’t Run Away from God. Run Into God

Adversity and conflict
isn’t always
to opportunity
It will forever be
a thorn
in my soul
Yet, that
has caused me
to not run away but
to run INTO

Sure there is adversity
in daily existence
that you need
to keep slugging with
in spite of
being bored
to death
And while
I am
busy living
I am also
busy getting myself
to make that
daily existence
at least

Nevertheless, there
is always something
to be thankful for:
beautiful family
being fucking alive
and this art
that has become my
saving grace

But there
is something
special about those
nut-cracking moments:
You let loose of
your grasp
off yourself
and your advantages
both tangible and illusory
and find yourself
clinging instead
to the Rock of Ages
Only when you
do so
can you
tap the power
Power that
is greater than
anything earthly
or mortal
The kind of
power that
keeps the galaxies
afloat to light up
the vast depth
of nothingness

Adversity causes
one to
It yells at you
at the top of
it’s lungs
to get the
fuck out
of the ordinary
before you succumb
and watch the
best of you die
without seeing the
dawn break

But I haven’t
totally lost
my sanity
by asking
for my
share of
uphill goings
just to
always experience
God’s grand

With much
I ask that
I would instead meet


from highs and lows
and most especially
the mundane

500 Miles

This reminds me of tatay (God bless his soul) who introduced me to immortal songs. Songs that doesn’t respect any year or age or social class. Still haunting, still has the potency of thousands of onions.

While my penchant is rock and alternative music, these are the type of songs that tell me I am one with the universe.

Baby Talk

What others
Can only perceive
As gibberish
Is what glued Orion
In his place
And saved the Pleiades

‘Tis what holds
Neutrons and protons
When they would’ve
Repelled one another
And everything we knew
Disintegrated into molecular dust

What the mind in the dark
Held as prattle
Is responsible for
Nuclear fusion
That fuels the
Ball of fire
In the sky
Which radiates warmth
And illumines
The darkened soul

They cause strings
To vibrate
Where songs emanate
To hush a child
Enrage the oceans
Or bring together
The evil twins of Eta Carinae

It is what makes
The heart skip a beat
On that glorious moment
That two lips meet

‘Tis the language
Of the gods that
The rain
The breeze and
The dewdrops speak
Which Newton
Maxwell and
Failed to uncover

So shut up you stupid ghoul
And ask the heavens
To save your wretched soul
For what you mistook
As needless existence
Is what gives substance
To your very essence


The Piercing of Teresa

I came to execute
The verdict of Teresa
On that appointed eve

Like a soft breeze
Pounding the curtains
I entered unseen
As a pup she laid
Duped that her
Satin and laced sheets
Would get her covered
From the judgement
That would befall her

Then braced myself did I
To enforce her sentence
Cold and swift

Arrow in hand
Steadily aimed
Dug deep in her skin

This I did
Over and over again

Instead of her body
And eerily silent dead
I heard
Her forceful

As the steel bored deeper
I heard a
Slapping sound

Was I amused
Where the blade had been
Not a trickle of blood
Nothing did I see
But it got more crimson
Like ripe tomatoes
Begging to be picked free

I turned to her face
Contorted it was
Her eyes blocked the faint light
Mouth’s an open vessel
Begging for the rain to trickle
In the dead of the night

American Hotdog

American hotdog she has got
It’s what the other ladies have not
Hotdogs of different races
Australian, Hungarian, Italian
Canadian, British, or German
But the most famous of them all
Is the certified all-American

Never mind that these hotdogs are
With large tomatoes in the face
And who the hell knows where else

Even the gramps
Who has trouble getting up
Let alone keeping it up
They are completely irrelevant:
The stench of death reeking in him
Nor that he is 4 decades her senior

Scorn her as much as you like
With much gusto until you relinquish life
I’m warning you though
You’ve been long dead before you make her cry
Whatever drug she took that made her numb
Anesthesia of hardships
Sedated in BS or whatnot
She’ll cling to her hotdog
Until he runs out of fortune
And that, she’ll tell you
Is a valid reason:

“I got an American hotdog
You dirt-poor dicks
Whatever says my kababayans
I don’t give a shit
Aint gonna toil anymore
Gonna buy me an I-Phone
Premium bags, and shoes
Bear the coffin-dodger’s child I will
Gotta be laid in bed of cotton
Gotta let him fuck me
Till he passes out and die
Gotta suck him hard
Till he bleeds dry
Fuck true love
What can you get out of which
If your stomach is empty
And you can’t buy all your impulses
So what if he smells putrefied
So long as I lay in bed of greens”

Thus she clings on
To his horrid face
So long as he gives her
A queen’s privileges


The Old Man And His AM Radio


One old man
When he is around
He’d sit by the porch
A cup of tea in his hand
In an idle afternoon
While the scorching sun
Retires after burning rice paddies
Mountains, dirt roads, and faces
At times it leaves torrential rain
That reminds us of its promise
It’s sure to be back in the morning

But what I remember oh so vividly
That while he sips his bitter tea
He’s all ears on the stereo
Not on music stations
But tuned in on A.M radio

I didn’t understand
His penchant for the agony of twiddling thumbs
With the occasional curses
Murmurs, smirks, and grunts
About politics in all its
Nobility, hypocrisy, and bullshitry

It was a mystery how he could bear
Listening to news
On what transpired from within and without
And listening to the host
And repetitive commercials
Peddling lies and whatnot

But he didn’t mind
Just looked far away
With the all-familiar grin
What he labelled as circus
Worked out fine for him

Almost three decades passed
No longer do I see him
In the rain nor setting sun
Nor his hot cup of bitter tea
That cools him down
But something remained
Which transcended him and his life
As I sit with headsets on
To the AM radio tuned
More generous in my cursing

Lady Bel

Thank God for Lady Bel
When there is none to lend a hand
She is there
A silent assassin
Coldly executing her mission

Her attitude reminds me
Of a lesson I already mastered
Or so I thought I did
But when I saw my current state
Compared to hers now
Damn, I know I already forgot
The grit of a bloodied soldier
To just be there
Present in the moment
Slugging it out
Regardless whether
The going gets uglier or not

She is in the flow
Like an exemplary soldier
Keeping at what she does
Even when it sucks
While I’m here
Engaged in a similar firefight
Albeit engaging two fronts
Banging my head
Trying to cough up a witty line
For this poem and prayer
For Lady Bel

Bless Lady Bel o Lord
Bless her good heart
Via what she is at the moment
A rock, a solid one
I can learn, relearn rather
Lessons long forgotten and gone


Bitch she was
she is
and always will be
In as much as I’d like to say:

“Bitch she may be
but there is a bitch
far better than she
and her name is spelled

But I’d rather invoke her not
for wishing another’s misfortune
is never my lot

But it was only then that I realized
bitches themselves
bitch each other around

Struggles of a minimalist who wishes to write extravagant poetry

The minimalist
Willingly calloused himself
Stripped off his senses
Scarce in words
As much as thoughts
Gets upset not with a
Few clothes
A few jeans
Or zero mobile data
Afraid he’ll be creatively bankrupted
By social media

Despite having revered as god
He has locked horns with minimalism
For poetry’s sake
Unfamiliar feelings he now writes
With inappropriate words
Of a child quivering before a dentist
The motocross rider as he somersaults
A lover whose tears from the raindrops you cannot tell
To be answered “yes” or “I do” by a lady

The things he shuns
To not let his feelings run
Stoicism rivalling that of Marcus Aurelius
A layer of rock
That take eons to wear

He then realized
He has flesh and blood
He can grin
And he can fuckin’ cry!
He’s not a machine gun
That eat bullets
And spew them who the hell knows
How much rpm

Now he aches to write poetry
Vivid and teeming with life
And the feelings he trained himself to abhor
The superfluous often thrown to the dogs
Like a whore
That will make him sore
With a red carpet and open arms
He now welcomes home

Albeit, he writes clumsily
A virgin lover in a quandary
Whether he’ll
Kiss her or fondle
Screws up his words, falters and all
Still he writes some more
For non other than he can fathom
It’s only poetry that will save his soul

Song Writer’s Block

Kalangitang walang bahid ng ulap

Lupang nadurog at nangalikabok sa hirap

Hiling ay inspirasyon

Na ako’y gahasain

Pangarap maging rakrakan

Na naging ungguyan

Kinalabit ang frets

Strum lang ng strum

Mistulang sinto-sinto

Walang kapararakan

Papel na tadtad

Ng hangin at katahimikan

Kamot ulo

Suntok sa pader

Tatayo, di-dyinggel

At balik nanaman

Anong nangyari sa creative time?!

Buti pang kumain

O nagbatil nalang

Tumitingin ng walang tinitignan


Habang hinahaplos ang gitara

At ang kalyo sa daliri

Naging pigsa

Kakakanta ng “Nakarmang Pulis” ng Radiohead

I want to write poetry Lord

I want to write poetry Lord
Poetry that is torn
From the flesh and guts
Poetry that constitutes
The same
As the stars
The rotting bone clenched in a canine’s fangs
Or fart

I want to write poetry Lord
The poetry about whores and saints
Corrupt politicians
Capitalist fiend incarnates
Murderer commies
Rabid “de-most-crazies”
Of Republicans and Democrats
The proletariat and intelligentsia

I want to write poetry Lord
Poetry that will make her heart race to the moon
And back to earth
With an itch she can’t stand
Until I’m finally found

Friday Eve

Float, float in space

Goes my gray matter

In the event horizon

It lingers

Round and round it goes

Hurled with

Great force

Sustained by a child’s ardor

Fueled by

Accretion of man’s

Animosity towards his fellow

Much more violent

Than the fury

Of the deities at Olympus

Or the wrath of a million nukes

Time warped

Like buckling steel

I could dodge a bullet

Fired inches before my temple

Oh for the black hole to suck me in

Before the lead

Find its mark

But then my eyes I’ll shut

And find that rest

While another black hole

Accelerates en route

Towards me

In blinding speed

Scribbling Inside A Moving Bus

Red lights puncture my eyes

Shrill blaring horns

Incapacitate my ears

Mind adrift

Savoring the blank


While I sit

Pen and paper in hand

In unintelligible scribbles

The bogie beside thinks I’m loon

Stares far away

Then bows head

Write a few words

Then looks away once more

Ad infinitum


While I sit

Freezing in the aircon

Steamed in fumes and carbon monoxide

Soulless ghouls

Board and alight


Hell I learned to cherish

The creative me unleashed

The good aspect of traffic

Gazini Ganado Kumain

Your smile transports me in time

To a lunatic asylum

Where I cut my self to bleed words

It bled air instead

Where I grasped them in the air

My hands caught wind


Your touch made me pound the Pearly Gates

Demanded God to let me in


“I thought you sent her to take me in?!”

“No I didn’t. Just driving you nuts that is.”

“Where is her reward then? She did one heck of a job!”


Could’ve said “congratulations”

Or something witty

That’d tattoo me in permanently

Deep in her memory


But I just said “sure”


(Damn it!)

Public Service Announcement: Calling The MIAs To Take a Stand in the Water Concession Fiasco


Where are these so-called social justice warriors when you need them the most?

Where are those who claim to be stalwart advocates of the sanctity of human rights?

Why can’t there be outrage and rallies held with slogans and effigies condemning the Ayalas, Pangilinan, and accomplices in the government in “gang-raping” Filipinos’ basic human right to uninterrupted supply of clean, potable water guaranteed by the constitution? Where are your calls for unity urging citizens to keep an eye on the government and be vigilant to demand protection for the people from the evils of capitalism specifically the recent the Php 7.4 billions that we as taxpayers are doomed to pay because of the onerous contracts? Why can’t the Panday Sining do their art with this theme in mind? Where are the “pro-people” minions of Joma? Did the Reds have their battlecries changed? Whose interests were they brainwashed to protect at all cost to begin with?

Where is the Church who rabidly stands for the people in the name of God as they claim to be? Surely you remember when Pope Francis said that Capitalism is “Terrorism Against All of Humanity”, don’t you?

Are you hesitant to make a stand for the truth just because the man who criticized the unbecoming of the Church is the same old man who made a lone, treacherous, and possibly his last stand alive against the formidable gods of the business world and their malevolent corporate greed?

Where is the Commission on Human Rights and the rest of the human rights groups who are itching to engage the ICC despite that it is a blatant disrespect to our sovereignty? And be that as it may, why can’t they ask the same ICC to pore over the onerous contracts that bleed the people dry especially the poor? Or are they just specializing on EJKs, specifically those allegedly committed under the Duterte administration?

Were you afraid of taking the side of the common people because it’s tantamount to biting the hand that feeds? Is hypocrisy the new definition of working smart?

Where are the saccharine-lipped politicians who promised heaven and earth during election campaigns? Can you abandon your current ease to protect us despite that a lot of you derive your campaign funds from these capitalist demigods? And when you win don’t you become marionettes to big wigs subject to “utang na loob” for your “success”?

Where are the self-proclaimed allies of the president who vowed to serve and protect the welfare of the people alongside him? Is your allegiance a transferable commodity commuting from one profitable place to another?

Have we developed double, triple, quadruple, perhaps even multiple standards on morality just because certain situations favor us?

Is it difficult to take a stand just because we got too comfortable and we benefited tremendously being in the middle and upper echelons of the capitalistic world which we fostered and fomented?

Have we ultimately succumbed to Mammon almighty?

Kick Ass Attributions

In our Christmas party, my former expat boss in my previous company (who happened to be our country manager in my current employment) stopped at the table where I and several officemates are seated and asked me “do they serve Redhorse here?” referring to a local beer.

“No, only Heineken and draft beer” I replied.

Why was he looking for Redhorse? My fellows asked me.

Because that reminds him of me, I said with a little chuckle.

During our night-outs in my previous company, I always prefer Redhorse beer over any other alcoholic beverages. It has a more potent kick than any other brands so it gets you inebriated in no time. And thanks to its macho commercial presentations with local heavy metal bands, you are most often revered as a badass. Back then when my boss would see me drinking Redhorse, he would compliment me of my choice and would eventually get his own. Hence the comment.

Redhorse = Me. Wicked!!! \ml/!!!!!!

A special friend once attributed me to a song which she heard playing on a radio. The song was Killing in the Name by one of my all-time favorite band Rage Against the Machine. The moment she heard it, she told herself ‘Shit, he’s near’ which she eventually related to me when I got there.

I can’t stop grinning after that.

Because of my long and curly hair, I am often mistaken as a member of a rock band. I said no, I am not part of any band even though it is still one of the many items in my bucket list that I pine for. Nonetheless, I sport this rock and roll look like I am a member of a world-famous heavy metal band. I own my looks and I am confident and unapologetic of it.

Which is what, or so I thought, made a stark contrast with the general atmosphere of a corporate world where almost everyone is prim and proper to look more sophisticated. I didn’t care. So long as I am doing what is asked of me, I am donning this personality because it’s the authentic me.

One office-mate in particular commented that I have similarities in style with Ryan Rems. I never really know the man but whatever. Like myself who chose rock and roll, he definitely has chosen well.

The Price of Writing is More Writing

Celebrating your small wins as a writer is not by dwelling on your success but by writing more.

Never get too inebriated by your success. You were celebrated not by people’s praises for your ingenuity but for that piece of your heart and soul which you bled on paper, courageously shared to the world, and consequently touched somebody else’s emotions.”

The Name’s Not At All Relevant

Chicken Feet Adobo


It’s been years since we’ve had this dish of chicken shank and toes (sans the claws and spurs of course!) cooked in soy sauce. And so when we found a stall near our home where they sell fresh chicken and chicken feet, we didn’t hesitate on our indulgence.

There is so much to go through to get so little when savoring this particular dish. But that is where the fun is. And it’s quite funny that you will munch on the fowls’ lower extremities that are sometimes formed into crooked “dirty” little fingers.

To eat it, you must flay them one toe and shank at a time using your teeth to get the cartilage and whatever skin there is, which is really not that much. It’s just like getting only 40 percent of the total weight apiece.

These are oftentimes sold as street food grilled on embers (barbecued) and not as a main course. Initial preparations involve boiling it long enough until its toes are tender enough for it to become chewable before broiling. As such, it isn’t a dish that in itself can satisfy your hunger immediately. You’d have to allot time for you to enjoy it.

This weekend, both my two kids insisted on having chicken feet adobo despite my protests to let them have the meaty fried chicken instead. Two grown boys whose meals weren’t just a spoonful and I have to debone one toe and shank at a time to get the small fruit of my labor of love. My wife left the table leaving an inaudible yet explicit message. Lunch extended for hours, as expected.

Domestic Diplomacy


Three diplomat gentlemen were gathered before the start of a caucus.

Diplomat 1: What kind of relationship do you have with your wife?

Diplomat 2: Ours is bilateral.

Diplomat 1: Damn, you’re lucky. Mine is unilateral.

Diplomat 3: Tough luck. Before we got married it’s bilateral. Right after the wedding it’s unilateral.

Diplomat 2: Did you file a diplomatic protest?

Diplomat 3: How can I? A few years down the line it improved to hegemony!

The Toxicity of Writing About Politics

It’s a bit tiring writing political blog entries.

Tiring in a sense that I get literally hungry and it calls for immediate decompression after writing. Funny that while I turn to writing to decompress, I need to decompress after writing about politics.

It’s a welcome break to get out of the default state of mind by the way. After the everyday blues, the busyness in the workplace and relatively tranquil family life, there’s a place for the socially enraged and disgusted me to let itself loose and get articulated.

In my many moments of silence, my mind is usually focused on fundamentals of life if not totally blank in order to stay in the moment intoxicated with inner peace.

But when I, among the many, start to deal with politics, the state of having a blank mind takes a backseat. The indifferent suddenly becomes a frenzied partisan who would rather die than surrender his views. You inevitably partake with both the divisive and the toxic.

Yes I take sides, if that isn’t already obvious. The politically, morally, and intellectually correct side. Where before I choose to not give a fuck, now I do for the sake of my children who will remain in the system long after I’m gone. My views may not make much of a difference but collectively with other shareholders, it might make the necessary dent which will become the catalyst for the long overdue overhauling of the Philippine society.

So yep, that pretty sums up my motivation. To aid in a collective effort to remove the blinders from Filipinos in order for them to see the elephant in the room and take necessary action. As a nation, we are already light-years behindhand in facing squarely the things that are crippling us as a nation.

Which is why I am an avid reader of Get Real Philippines, a site who earned its reputation for piercing the victim mentality and other justifications on why the Philippines remain a sorry lot (credits to Gogs for his kickass tagline). Behind the occasional glitz and glamour, the fundamentals of the Philippine society still lie in shambles, thanks to Juan’s ever pathetic excuses.

And if you notice that some articles here are the same with what’s published in the site of Get Real Philippines, that’s because the ghost writer and the writer behind this post and the rest of this blog are one and the same.


There are a couple more articles there that are written by me. Yes, me. The voice might not be recognizable but it’s me alright, haha!

How I Found My Flow


Before I was able to discover my flow, work and writing were, well, work. But when I finally learned to enjoy what I was doing, things started to fall into their proper places.

Work when viewed in itself is taxing and enervating considering that you have to present yourself 8 hours or more in a day. But since you have bills to pay and mouths to feed, and the fact that you’d be doing it for more than half of your life alive, you might as well change your frame of mind regarding work. You have to love it, you have to enjoy it. It’s for your own health.

Flow by the way, based on my lexicon is where you are neither too bored nor overly stimulated while doing your work or hobby (I didn’t coin the word. Just adopted what flow meant exactly for me.) Just the feeling that you can keep on doing it all day.

My flow started to manifest itself the day I threw the “trivial” and “obvious” labels out the door. Whatever learning that comes is treated like the long lost and found secrets of the universe — with reverence and awe.

That and generously granting myself forgiveness. Where before I immediately berate myself for not knowing something seemingly obvious or simple, I am now quick to forgive myself. And instead of wallowing in self-pity, I immediately take action before any self-sabotaging thought pops up.

Rather than constantly judging my capabilities with other people as archetype, I focused on my improvement instead. I acknowledged my strengths and devised ways to further their enhancement. I also acknowledged and made necessary changes of my shortcomings.

The day I stopped making excuses marked the commencement of my flow.

Real Men Say “Thanks”


Gadgets get obsolete and beliefs inevitably become outmoded. But while we men evolved from savage, bloodthirsty warriors to 21st century gentlemen, some things stay universal.

That includes expressing gratitude. Or should I say must include.

An individual who knows how to say thanks with all sincerity is already at a premium nowadays where self-entitled kids and adults abound. Specifically, us men. Thanks to social media, being a 150 pound slab of beef full of himself is fast becoming the norm.

However, contrary to the misconception that expressing gratitude makes a man soft, it is in fact the opposite. We need to include this to our daily rituals if we want to become the mother-fucker every boy envies.

Saying thank you requires courage to admit that there are things in life that can only be given to you via grace.

Saying “thank you” speaks a lot about your robust emotional health and mental fortitude.

Saying “thank you” means you are secure about yourself.

Saying “thank you” lets you become vulnerable and tough at the same time.

Saying “thank you” makes you a certified badass.

And finally, let me give you my heartfelt thanks for dropping by to read:

Doumo Arigatou Gozaimasu!

Walkathoughts: Intro

photo from

I don’t take the MRT when I commute to work. Instead, I take the bus. This benefited me in two ways: first, I get to rest. Traffic is horrible that’s true but those hours in traffic gets me dozing for a few minutes. Second and more important is, I was able to ditch my subconscious programmed-mind momentarily to meditate and access my creative mind. I don’t access my phone in those instances for fear of snatchers so it was solely my imagination at work penned on paper. By the way, much of my posts in my past and present blogs were written while the bus painstakingly inches forward during the rush hour. 

On a leisure, can I walk from Ayala to Cubao instead of taking a ride? I found the thought appealing. I may not be the sporty guy but I sure do love to walk. And so I thought it would be a good way to burn calories, fats, and to sweat out. Thinking how rigorous it will be and considering that I am already going home late every day exhausted and depleted of strength and will, I didn’t give it a serious thought just yet. 

That is until the April 22nd, 2019 earthquake. The shaking was so severe that we had to evacuate the building. A lot of us have gone home instead of going back inside the building thinking worse is yet to come. So I headed to Ayala MRT bus stop to get a bus ride to Farmers Plaza in Cubao. When I arrived in EDSA-Ayala, a multitude of people are already in the middle of EDSA scurrying to board the already jam-packed city buses. It isn’t always the case that a throng of commuters are waiting for buses but I soon realized that MRT shut down its operations because of the seismic activity earlier. I tried to wait for a few minutes until I realized that the traffic jam almost didn’t budge at all. 

Oh boy, this is it. 

From EDSA Ayala to Farmers Plaza Cubao is 10.0 km according to Google Map. I didn’t even have the necessary warm ups earlier but it was either I wait eons for a bus ride or I start walking to close the distance. At first it was fun, finally fulfilling what I’ve only been thinking of. And besides people of all sorts are walking alongside me in a mass exodus to go home.  

My knees and legs are already shaking as I pissed in Robinsons Pioneer but I continued nonetheless until I reached Crossing (EDSA corner Shaw Blvd in Mandaluyong) to grab some food at Jollibee for me to sustain the remaining 5 kilometers. So near and yet so far! Perspiration was gushing like blood flowing through a cut artery. 

Finally I arrived in Cubao after about 2 hours of walking. My lower extremities were totally numb and my knees are ready to buckle anytime. Thank heavens I was able to make the walk without fainting or getting mugged along the way. It was a hell of a night but strange enough, I felt good after as I conquered one physical challenge that I initially thought I couldn’t make. 

And so from there, I planned to make the walk regular. Not from Ayala though. From Greenfield District in Mandaluyong to Farmers Plaza Cubao is 5.80 km according to Google Map. So halfway should be manageable and it is ever since. 

A lot had been going on in my head while doing the walk. I love it. No distractions, not even a glance at my phone. Just plain walking and meditating in the otherwise hellish traffic. 

Just a word of caution though: if you want to try this yourself, be sure to concentrate on your environment or you might be oblivious to the traffic light that already changed or the fellow next to you who is uncomfortably too close. And of course check your physical condition before doing this one. 

I’ll post the “thoughts” part on the next installment of Walkathoughts. 

Cheers mates! 


In A Parallel Universe

 In there you took notice,
In there you smiled;
In there you said "Yes!"
In there you said "I do…"

If only astrophysicists and cosmologists would uncover,
The wormhole from here to that realm,
Chocolates, red roses, my love so tender,
Care and affection fit for my queen I’d offer:
In there you speak, still mesmerized I'd listen;
With your whims I’d laugh out loud;
While your hormones surge and your feelings become a blur,
Which makes a love quarrel with me so enticing and gratifying,
On such days I’d just lock you in my arms,
And plant a kiss on your forehead,
If your mouth wont shut I’d kiss your lips;
I’ll know when you feel the blues,
No words are needed I’m there with you;
When you no longer heed your tummy’s call,
I’d take its place and remind you to get nourishment,
So you wont faint and I’ll worry not;
When you’re exhausted in chasing your dreams,
That you feel the need to stop and shed a tear,
I’d be the ears that will hear your silent screams,
A shoulder and pillow soaked with your fears
For locked in a quantum entanglement, our hearts and minds entwined;

With me you need not wear a mask prolonged
Need not always be staunch and strong
'Cause it’s the lovely and intelligent lady behind that I love and long
And when I die and be reborn in cosmic karma
I hope I’d wake up to that new era -
Where I am taking care of you
A world where I love you as much as now I do
And there you will love me too...

Mortality Thoughts

Me and ex-girlfriend had been to the wake of the old man whom we bought flower pots from. He adeptly crafted flower pots out of old tires which we patronized. He was a good fella, quiet, soft-spoken and artistic as evident in his handiwork.

Our recollections were on how he touched lives in his own simple ways, ours included.

This made me pore on the certain, inevitable future when my life reaches its conclusion: will I be remembered as a good old man? (I hope He would grant me a total of 70 years to live.) I seldom ponder on thoughts as morbid as death but this is the inexorable truth so whether we admit it or we admit it, might as well consider it while alive because we can’t do so in death, eh? This led me to the following questions:

  • Have I touched anyone else’s life enough for them to remember me?
  • Will I be able to see myself in the people I’ve been with as I watch them in my spirit form?
  • Will I be leaving enough traces of myself that added value to someone else’s life?

Only God knows 4W+H. I can only do the work and try. I don’t believe in wasted efforts in doing worthwhile stuff anyway because no energy is destroyed as per thermodynamics. It can only be converted from one form to another. Give something affirmative just for the heck and love of it. The universe will eventually channel them back to you in unimaginable ways.

When it’s finally lights out for me (hopefully 4 more decades from now,) in my wake, I want heavy metal music playing. It would be the best sendoff, rocking my way to the pearly gates and knocking on heaven’s doors.

And when I’ll be buried six feet under, I hope I would be worthy of the epitaph:

Here lies the man who rocked, who looked like Kirk Hammett, badass lover boy, badass husband, badass dad, good friend, rock and roll man, unapologetic, did what he said he would do, did worthwhile things instead of pondering on them, and a writer who touched hearts and minds of many.

Here lies the man who lived while alive. And is now knocking on heaven’s doors waiting to be opened.

I Lost, The Day I Won the Jackpot

If there was a time I wish I didn’t win in a raffle draw, it was when I won a TV during our 2011 Christmas party.

Displayed in a conspicuous area in our venue were the raffle prizes: oven, blender, single gas stove burner, and a TV which happened to be the first prize.

Of course my officemates were all hyped about winning the TV, all except me. How can I? It was a 30-inch cathode ray tube TV weighing a gargantuan 25 kilograms! My initial thoughts were one, how will I be able to bring it home in case I win (I have no car) and second, no thanks. I’d be happy to win anything there was but THAT television.

The party went on as usual. I could care less if I won’t be able to take home anything so long as my tummy’s happy. So I’ve had my fill, drank a couple of bottles or so of booze, and got pretty much contented having small talk. I paid little to zero attention while others were playing games and while winners of the raffle draw were announced occasionally.

I was still talking with an office mate when I suddenly realized that excited eyes were on me. It was then that I understood what happened: the “grand prize” winner was just announced.

Oh shit.

My face glowered letting off a “what the f… REALLY?!” look. I couldn’t believe that my potential problem of taking home a dead weight is actualized. I tried to trade with the other raffle draw winners in a desperate attempt and even offered to give it to anyone for free (Letting go just like that of a three thousand pesos CRT TV is, uhmm sort of a no-brainer. You know what I mean…)

Nobody accepted the offer. I thought I heard each of them say I’m not stupid.

Or it’s either they deemed my offer too good to be true or they are just too polite to laugh loud in my face for my “good fortune”.

Unfortunately, the story didn’t stop there.

Due to the TV’s enormous size, I was compelled to pay one additional seat beside me. Towards the end of my commute about a kilometer from Ortigas Avenue to our apartment, traffic jam is so severe that everything was on a standstill. Which leads to the vexatious realization that I cannot have a ride home. And also, the sky was gloomy which added to the mockery. Thankfully my brother in law was there to share the required muscle and inconvenience.

A few days after the ordeal, Rex an officemate, offered to buy the TV for 2000 pesos. He almost took a fist to his face. Seriously? 2K in exchange of the dead weight and all the hassle? No freakin’ way!

Separate Lives – by Stephen Bishop

One of the most underrated love songs of all time hauntingly sang by Phil Collins and Marilyn Martin.

While I don’t have a first hand experience of how Stephen Bishop might have felt when he wrote the song (I never wanted to know how it felt first hand anyway!) I can’t help but sing along with the melancholic melody.

I hope I also have the talent to write gut-wrenching songs such as this one aside from writing prose and poetry. So little time, so much that I want to do…

Separate Lives
Stephen Bishop

You called me from the room in your hotel
All full of romance for someone that you met
And telling me how sorry you were, leaving so soon
And that you miss me sometimes when you’re alone in your room
Do I feel lonely too?

You have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind
I can’t go on just holding on to time
Now that we’re living (living) separate lives

Well I held on to let you go
And if you lost your love for me, well you never let it show (never let it show)
There was no way to compromise
So now we’re living (living)
Separate lives

Ooh, it’s so typical, love leads to isolation
So you build that wall (build that wall)
Yes, you build that wall (build that wall)
And you make it stronger

Well you have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind
Some day I might (I might) find myself looking in your eyes

But for now, we’ll go on living separate lives
Yes for now, we’ll go on living separate lives
Ah, separate lives


Baket 1: Ayna! Umay kayun kaarruba darsən yu ti rumwar!

Baket 2: Apay aya Shana anya la unay ti pukkawəm?! 

Baket 1: Kət addadtan sumungsungadən ni Bunggaw!

Baket 2: Siaasinnot kunam dayta um-umay? 

Baket 1: Ayna kət ni Bunggaww daytay iksikyutib asistant ni Dutirte idey nga sinadur itan! Addadtoyen ni saərr Bunggaw ayna apu! Bunggaw! Bunggaw! Bunggaw!…