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.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
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.
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