Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
UNIT 2.2: MAY NAG-TEXT
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Maayong gabie!
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16.04.10; 11:05:06 p.m.
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Have a nice day!
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17.04.10; 07:05:06 p.m.
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Magandang gabi rin. Sino po sila? Salamat po.
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Bea Alonzo ng Dumaguete
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17.04.10; 08:20:06 p.m.
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Magandang gabi rin. Sino po ba sila? Salamat po.
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Paghilum diya! Tagalog na di.ay ka karun?R**** n.
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Ui R****, kaw man diay na. Musta naman?
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First Name: BA
Phone Number: +6309261434488
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Maayong gabie!
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16.04.10; 11:05:06 p.m.
Makalipas ang kalahating araw…
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Have a nice day!
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17.04.10; 07:05:06 p.m.
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Magandang gabi rin. Sino po sila? Salamat po.
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Bea Alonzo ng Dumaguete
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17.04.10; 08:20:06 p.m.
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Magandang gabi rin. Sino po ba sila? Salamat po.
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Paghilum diya! Tagalog na di.ay ka karun?R**** n.
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17.04.10; 08:20:06 p.m.
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Ui R****, kaw man diay na. Musta naman?
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Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
dark alley
the problem is, i don't belong here.
i belong to those solitary creatures who eat words and letters for breakfast. and yes, they thrive in what the society dictates as "gloomy, silent creepy streaks of a midnight dilapitated alley that is either prohibited and otherwise weird, which to their subsconscious 'they would not go dare near.'
and so they label me weird, anti-social, and every antonym a perfectly sociable human being is. and so what? so what, perfectly sociable human world. you expect me to conform with the norms. norms, norms, norms. i don't eat norms. they rhyme with worms, don't you think.
i do hope i could see one creature to invite me in that alley - where everything is perceived as the darker side.
there, i will find my light.
i belong to those solitary creatures who eat words and letters for breakfast. and yes, they thrive in what the society dictates as "gloomy, silent creepy streaks of a midnight dilapitated alley that is either prohibited and otherwise weird, which to their subsconscious 'they would not go dare near.'
and so they label me weird, anti-social, and every antonym a perfectly sociable human being is. and so what? so what, perfectly sociable human world. you expect me to conform with the norms. norms, norms, norms. i don't eat norms. they rhyme with worms, don't you think.
i do hope i could see one creature to invite me in that alley - where everything is perceived as the darker side.
there, i will find my light.
Friday, February 5, 2010
FOR SOME REASONS
the ink has become dry. its fluid, stuck to its tip - without movement, without meaning. i am experiencing drought and it is the worst drought the hand could perceive, could imagine. no itch. no inspiration. i just couldn't write. for the love of letters, speak. for the hatred of indifference, speak. for the purpose and meaning, write.
bakit hindi kumakati?
bakit hindi kumakati?
Friday, January 15, 2010
U-N-U
Both of you affect my system, like how water - hot or cold - sustain my life.
the cold absence of its color, its odor greets my pointing finger as the skin contacts the green pail meant for a hurried bath.
and then the other mass, formed in between contrapped spaces of a plain, white mug, to make rhythmic pulses with an energy.
ah, the morning.
and you.
yes.
both of you.
the cold absence of its color, its odor greets my pointing finger as the skin contacts the green pail meant for a hurried bath.
and then the other mass, formed in between contrapped spaces of a plain, white mug, to make rhythmic pulses with an energy.
ah, the morning.
and you.
yes.
both of you.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
a few happiness
In a few hours, I will be legally bound (again) by the confines of the dictatorial impulses of my legal wife. She will masterfully dictate my every movement, every second meticulously patterned into excess hours of labor – proofs of my involuntary ardor and affection for her and more so, my fortnightly present from her.
In a few hours, the other woman has to dematerialize into thin air. Her escape, even her escape – dematerializing into thin air – presents into a tragic metaphor, a sad melancholy between silence and goodbye. For after a week and two extended days of blameless road trips and unhidden romance, we have to go by our usual routes – a routine reasonably left within secrecy and kept by the remembrance of memories.
In a few hours, I become her slave. I become her yes to her arduous list of requests commands. The night will culminate into a common template – thoughts of a needed divorce or, in the Philippine euphemism, annulment. Like the marriage or relationship never existed in the first place. What a relief, the sighing moon would say. But she demands no animate object be expressed in a paragraph devoted to her. Her rules comply for formality and objective reasoning. Words like those are pure rubbish, she would comment. And so, I would not compromise – it still not, for her recollection, in a few hours.
In a few hours, I give her the freedom – the freedom she does not deserve, the emancipation she does not desire. She wants her black flood of flowing hair maneuver against the tight grip of my fist – controlled yet free, like how our rendezvous should have been in the past year and the new cycle that has become. She speaks of the moon and the clandestine her accompanying stars behold. And she speaks of them, without any given rules nor knowing. And I dedicate the entirety of these words, even my being, to this other woman, so virginal in sense and experienced in devotion. And I would compromise everything, yes everything, to be given more than just this, in a few hours.
In a few hours, I am another being – a simulated machine of burden.
In a few hours, the self turns away from the self. And the moon, the air, the other woman fades away – only to creep in, slowly.
In a few hours.
In a few hours, the other woman has to dematerialize into thin air. Her escape, even her escape – dematerializing into thin air – presents into a tragic metaphor, a sad melancholy between silence and goodbye. For after a week and two extended days of blameless road trips and unhidden romance, we have to go by our usual routes – a routine reasonably left within secrecy and kept by the remembrance of memories.
In a few hours, I become her slave. I become her yes to her arduous list of requests commands. The night will culminate into a common template – thoughts of a needed divorce or, in the Philippine euphemism, annulment. Like the marriage or relationship never existed in the first place. What a relief, the sighing moon would say. But she demands no animate object be expressed in a paragraph devoted to her. Her rules comply for formality and objective reasoning. Words like those are pure rubbish, she would comment. And so, I would not compromise – it still not, for her recollection, in a few hours.
In a few hours, I give her the freedom – the freedom she does not deserve, the emancipation she does not desire. She wants her black flood of flowing hair maneuver against the tight grip of my fist – controlled yet free, like how our rendezvous should have been in the past year and the new cycle that has become. She speaks of the moon and the clandestine her accompanying stars behold. And she speaks of them, without any given rules nor knowing. And I dedicate the entirety of these words, even my being, to this other woman, so virginal in sense and experienced in devotion. And I would compromise everything, yes everything, to be given more than just this, in a few hours.
In a few hours, I am another being – a simulated machine of burden.
In a few hours, the self turns away from the self. And the moon, the air, the other woman fades away – only to creep in, slowly.
In a few hours.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
HAPPY
merry christmas...
off to a prosperous week of words, flash, and plates.
mabubuo na ang mga plato.
inigo is dumaguete and dipolog bound.
off to a prosperous week of words, flash, and plates.
mabubuo na ang mga plato.
inigo is dumaguete and dipolog bound.
Friday, December 18, 2009
SAYAW (2 SA 2)
Ako dapat
ang ilaw na sumasayaw
sa iyong katawan,
ang pawis
na humahaplos
sa iyong mga labi.
Ako dapat
ang s'yang ritmong tumutugtog
sa bawat mong hakbang,
ang pagod
na sumasamo
sa nagbabadyang gabi.
Ako dapat.
ang ilaw na sumasayaw
sa iyong katawan,
ang pawis
na humahaplos
sa iyong mga labi.
Ako dapat
ang s'yang ritmong tumutugtog
sa bawat mong hakbang,
ang pagod
na sumasamo
sa nagbabadyang gabi.
Ako dapat.
SAYAW (1 SA 2)
the white space is painted of moving lines, transient circles transforming into hues, complementing the rambunctious pulse of the evening stereo.
i hear the beat; it speaks of the moving distance as you gyrate into the epiphany of your madness - a collapsing melody made between you and the secrecy i hold within.
the crowd becomes a flood of unknown shadows, emphasizing the movement of your hips and the envy of that one that holds them.
i am your shadow and that becomes me, until the sunrise voluntarily sweeps the madness within, until the hips slip into its day fall, until i become a person, distinct and whole,
yet unknown.
i hear the beat; it speaks of the moving distance as you gyrate into the epiphany of your madness - a collapsing melody made between you and the secrecy i hold within.
the crowd becomes a flood of unknown shadows, emphasizing the movement of your hips and the envy of that one that holds them.
i am your shadow and that becomes me, until the sunrise voluntarily sweeps the madness within, until the hips slip into its day fall, until i become a person, distinct and whole,
yet unknown.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
kaboom
The self ponders on his condition - a state of mind wandering off to somewhere, anywhere but here. anywhere but here. the physical torture, the psychological battle, the mental mindplay.
it all works out into the desolation, a place cramped in the unused files of office clutter. yeah, this clutter. what a glorious sound it makes.
growing into mountains,mountains circled on mountains, growing, mountains, drawing mind clocks, clicking right, left, right, left, until you get hypnotized...
right, left, click, clock, click, clock, until you get engulfed by it. hypnotized, deceived into believing, the mountains, these clocks, the piles of edits and edits, wasted time, wasted pencil traces, arrogant slavedrivers, this sarcastic place is all where you will be, the place where you belong. the place where you are meant to be.
click, clock, click, clock.
it's almost saturday. and the clock begins again, hypnotizing. making you believe.
this sarcasm.
click.
clock.
kaboom.
it all works out into the desolation, a place cramped in the unused files of office clutter. yeah, this clutter. what a glorious sound it makes.
growing into mountains,mountains circled on mountains, growing, mountains, drawing mind clocks, clicking right, left, right, left, until you get hypnotized...
right, left, click, clock, click, clock, until you get engulfed by it. hypnotized, deceived into believing, the mountains, these clocks, the piles of edits and edits, wasted time, wasted pencil traces, arrogant slavedrivers, this sarcastic place is all where you will be, the place where you belong. the place where you are meant to be.
click, clock, click, clock.
it's almost saturday. and the clock begins again, hypnotizing. making you believe.
this sarcasm.
click.
clock.
kaboom.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
lions cum lambs
To see lions – ferocious, wild creatures with roars feared and respected – is a scary feat per se.
But the scarier thought comes to mind:
These lions – gargantuan and now so becoming – were once little lambs, soft-spoken, innocent lambs, sacrificial yet determined.
And that is how the food chain goes in this jungle.
And that is how these lions will always be.
But the scarier thought comes to mind:
These lions – gargantuan and now so becoming – were once little lambs, soft-spoken, innocent lambs, sacrificial yet determined.
And that is how the food chain goes in this jungle.
And that is how these lions will always be.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
...
DUMAAN
Maswerte ka.
Inaalalayan ka ng tula
Binubuo sa iyo ang kanta.
Sagot ka ng kanyang mga
Panalangin
Hawak mo ang kanyang mga
mata.
Ang kamay na hindi ko maangkin,
Ang mga dasal na hindi matutupad,
Ang kantang kulang sa huni,
Ang tulang hindi makabuo ng saknong.
Maswerte pa rin ako at
KA
...
isinulat nang dumaan ka.
Maswerte ka.
Inaalalayan ka ng tula
Binubuo sa iyo ang kanta.
Sagot ka ng kanyang mga
Panalangin
Hawak mo ang kanyang mga
mata.
Ang kamay na hindi ko maangkin,
Ang mga dasal na hindi matutupad,
Ang kantang kulang sa huni,
Ang tulang hindi makabuo ng saknong.
Maswerte pa rin ako at
KA
...
isinulat nang dumaan ka.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
...and then she hits fifteen past twelve
and then she hits it - confusing the next hour with doldrums, sleep, doldrums, nap, doldrums, weak, doldrums, droopy eyes, dolrums, yawning, doldrums, counting sheeps, doldrums - and the world, his day, is watching her minute exercise, like a coordinated reflex from a yoga session, only in slow-mo.
the day is half-way through, and the day is becoming a long stride of that magnestic quest, that hunger, for some fruitful endeavor - something mentally
edible, digestible, ah, salivating.
but at least the sight here, visually, is the stimulation of those fries, twisted and fat, delectable and yes, forbidden.
too much salt perhaps. or too much cholesterol for my heart to pump.
it's too much to bear, really. my system is about to excrete them in a matter of time - when it finally decides these fries are not worth their momentary bliss, after all. finally.
the good thing about these fries, though is that i consume them mentally, in the figurative confines of my lost digestives - at least for now, until they get excreted.
and they, these fries, the imaginative fiction that they have become - twisted and forbidden - satisfies the hunger that lurks when she hits fifteen past twelve.
the day is half-way through, and the day is becoming a long stride of that magnestic quest, that hunger, for some fruitful endeavor - something mentally
edible, digestible, ah, salivating.
but at least the sight here, visually, is the stimulation of those fries, twisted and fat, delectable and yes, forbidden.
too much salt perhaps. or too much cholesterol for my heart to pump.
it's too much to bear, really. my system is about to excrete them in a matter of time - when it finally decides these fries are not worth their momentary bliss, after all. finally.
the good thing about these fries, though is that i consume them mentally, in the figurative confines of my lost digestives - at least for now, until they get excreted.
and they, these fries, the imaginative fiction that they have become - twisted and forbidden - satisfies the hunger that lurks when she hits fifteen past twelve.
before she hits twelve...
...a lazy thought before the afternoon break - a quiet relaxing stroll in an imaginative town, an indecisive place for the lunch feast, a haunting growl of the digestives.
and that celebrated partner, that chance of the lifetime - a marriage perhaps, more so a romantic ceremony of i do's and you dont's.
and the reality that abrupts everything - the digestives.
it's famished. so are my thoughts.
one bowl of perspective to feed the mind, coming in thirty strikes of the mother hand.
and that celebrated partner, that chance of the lifetime - a marriage perhaps, more so a romantic ceremony of i do's and you dont's.
and the reality that abrupts everything - the digestives.
it's famished. so are my thoughts.
one bowl of perspective to feed the mind, coming in thirty strikes of the mother hand.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
OCTOBER 20
the day marks my first anniversary with my comma.
congratulations batchmates.
more comma cpa anniversaries to come.
congratulations batchmates.
more comma cpa anniversaries to come.
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