I burned my diary in which the flame gobbled greedily Twas a delight watching it on fire with a devil’s grin and maniacal desire it’s worth every hurt and every pain watching them die but not in vain Previous desires irreverent thoughts so are bittersweet ones I’ve forgotten most All turned to ashes leaving a scent sweet as incense an offering to the Muse that I frequently abused
I will compose melancholic tunes that’s guaranteed to conjure the gloom and the depression welcomed back home
I’d listen intently with eyes closed and heart and mind open and long for that part of me who left before I was born and wandered in it’s own leisure strutting into the woods in the midst of the storm into the wilderness in the land of nowhere and there laid his head took a nap lived in a different realm and failed to return
I want to write a sad tune that’ll always commemorate the part of my soul that left a void and got replaced with eternal rain flooding my being seeping into the depths the crevices deep within
I will play the sad tunes nonstop so I’ll be able to come back again and again and again to celebrate the day I’ve lost that something but had all the world’s melancholia to obtain with the wine of suffering and a gloomy melody to console the loss and commemorate the gain
Touch not my diary and leave my thoughts alone! For you are not permitted to peer inside my thoughts made tangible through scribbles and notes.
You are not permitted inside my sanctuary and neither are you allowed of the vileness of my world and the sanctity of my core.
You mustn’t see all the blood I spilled all over the floor nor the stains left off my enemies I splattered on the walls.
You are not entitled to see when I bleed my pain and my agony nor the torrential tears I’d shed turned to ink and spilled on paper It’s for me and me alone and as such, when you dare to look a heinous crime is done.
It is where I mourned the thousand deaths of me and where all of the ashes forever betrothed to the sea.
It was also the sole witness together with God himself how from the ashes a new me came forth and was born. Torn to bits and pieces though I was everyday I’m getting fixed, getting built to last.
So touch not my diary you insolent swine! To your pen, go on and roam and leave all my thoughts alone!
Here I am witnessing the day that had been give way to another Trying to see if the hour which was said to be possessed by some kind of magic where it begets poetry and it’s population booms profusely And if at all can it scratch the itch or if it makes it worse such that when I scratch the surface, from the open wound it oozes the universe lets itself out …
There are things worth celebrating with festivity with revelry with company
But rather than these I’d grab a beer or two sit in silence and get lost in the symphony of the rain the wind the pitter-patter on my window Because as for me the best way to be is to celebrate with poetry
It came again That particular time of the year Worth an ice cold beer Reminiscing the highs And lots of fears Met with courage Confronted with tears Armed with sheer will Folded knees in pray’r Still prayin’ I’d have more Of the things I look forward and hope for…
For instead of transcribing my unadulterated thoughts on the blank page I instead browse one post after another up until I wasted an hour an eternity meant for a good story an hour of my time my precious time my life a part of me liking sharing scrolling stupidly mindlessly
There, I finally nailed it my undying commitment to limit and refrain from allowing my mind to be subdued by social media. And to make myself accountable, I’ll post this in Facebook, Mewe, Gab, Tumblr…
If only there’s a vaccine that will render your memories as hilarious punchlines where I’d laugh out loud instead of being moved to tears, a numbed sensation instead of searing pain, and will boost my system with anti-rage bodies everytime I’m on the verge of turning green –
I’d inoculate myself right fucking here, right fucking now…
Poetry doesn’t care about me doesn’t give a fuck not even a shit Plays god on a mere mortal like me a mere instrument it made me be for it to be born and gone gone gone gone having fun far beyond the sun
And just before I started to work she hugged me from behind and whispered in my ear as she clutched me tight I could die of asphyxiation: “I hope you’d be filled to the brim and your entire system drowned today with dopamine, motherfucker!”
And because of that I told myself: well if that ain’t a nice way to say “screw you!” then I don’t know what the fuck that is…
Deep gratitude I have to those who rejected me: those who didn’t want me in their group those who didn’t want me in their company those who labelled me weird, freak, and a dupe.
If not for them, I would’ve settled indefinitely Wouldn’t have been lost, hurt, and known agony Would’ve remained in shackles, wouldn’t have been set free I never would’ve wandered, I never would’ve found me.
You yes you, a being vibrating at a higher frequency: never bow your head nor be ashamed of what you posses.
I know the pain it caused you, how it alienated you from the very crowd with vibrations that you wanted to be a part of. But instead of suffering with what you perceive as a disability and limitation, embrace it and wave it like a flag. Because it signifies your sovereignty and your freedom.
It isn’t a status that says you are better or inferior to everyone else. It is far more remarkable than that:
For this unequivocal truth my faith doth rest: my once unintelligible soul’s commune with the universe, in a different language in my true native tongue will be bared unraveled made known to me and then, I shall be set free…
Until I end up loathing every bit of my here and now.
Until it hurts.
Until I bleed.
Until my bed is soaked like a wet sponge.
Until the entire floor turns crimson.
Until my slippers are taken by the current and they find their way out of the door.
Until I come back to my senses and realize that something hurts.
Until I realize that that something that hurts, is me thinking of what should be while lying on my bed doing nothing.
Until I realize that nothing will suffice to kindle my inner fire to get it back to life but to get the fuck off my bed and get something done to inch closer to my prize. What is that fucking something, exactly? Anything. Because anything’s better than nothing. It is said that when I start looking for it, it will start looking for me as well. I need to believe in that something.
Until I see that dream with my very own eyes. Tangible, and already in the present instead of being confined only within the bounds of my skull. Until I lay my hands on it. And take possession of which. But until then, I’ll take that first step forward and will keep on moving.
Until it hurts to move. Until I’ve reached my limit for the day. Until every muscle is sore. Until my brain starts to yell ‘enough!’ I’ll keep pushing through until it hurts. Fuck that hurt anyway. It hurts more just staring at my dreams and doing nothing to achieve them. I bet it will hurt less when I am mobile than when I’m static.
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.
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
Humanity must have been doomed its fate sealed: you fuck nature, it fucks you back. Harder.
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?
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 face-to-face?
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 drooling 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 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
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?
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 revealed in all their glory set free from whatever covered her and thrown onto my outstretched hands
I prayed for sunshine The wind brought rain Like pesky little kids Sliding from my crown To my sole and further down Rinsing with it My remaining Patience and optimism “Wonderful” saith the thunder As the sun grew dim And the tree died laughing Of the gag show before him
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 saying:
“I still don’t love sopas. May never be. But I’m trying 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
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
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
Adversity and conflict isn’t always synonymous to opportunity It will forever be a thorn in my soul Yet, that bastard has caused me to not run away but to run INTO God
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 distracted to make that daily existence bearable at least
Nevertheless, there is always something to be thankful for: sex food work 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 improvise 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 yet my sanity by asking fervently for my share of perennial uphill goings just to always experience God’s grand deliverance
With much supplication I ask that I would instead meet His presence
from highs and lows and most especially the mundane
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 Freckled Speckled 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
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 Murmuring Grunting More generous in my cursing
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
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 shun 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
I want to write poetry Lord Poetry that is torn From the flesh and guts Poetry that constitutes The same Protons Electrons Neutrons 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
(April 1st 2019 update: thank goodness someone pondered on the possibility of multiverses (multiple universe, extended topic of quantum physics) where infinite unique versions of ourselves other than what we know of, exist in other universes.
If that’s so, then yes I might’ve indeed fucked you elsewhere…)
Do what you must today
Ignore me just as much it’s ok
You’ll end up in my bed anyway
The tip of your hair you forbade that I touch
You’ll eventually let me have the whole of you just as much
And your voice that I barely heard before
In my room it’ll ring from midnight ’til four
As your scent, taste and crevices I explore…
What else can I say…
When everyone already sing your praises?
When you are already at the pinnacle of what you can be?
What else can I still extend my hands for…
When you already have the world at your bidding?
When you already have your perfect crowd behind you?
What words do I have to offer…
When you say them better than I ever will?
When you spell them out loud for me before I can even find them?
I’ll just sit here in silence
And be the man that listens without judgment
– I’ll be your home where you don’t need to be anyone at all except yourself
– I’ll be your pillow that will hear your silent screams and get soaked with your tears that no one should ever see
– I’ll be your teddy when you need a friend who will hug you back and feel your heart beat with fear and uncertainty
– I’ll be your mirror who cherishes every moment seeing you everyday just as you are, devoid of makeups nor any mask that you need to wear, but being just yourself which is just as lovely beyond comparison
I’m not here to love only the super you or your perfect projection,
Because I will love you just the same for being just you in all its grandeur and rock bottom…