Incomplete

I spoke to you, in the smoky room with the windows closed

And we could barely breathe but we were alive.

I looked in the mirror and saw someone that could be me

That I didn’t want to be me.

I’ve lived so long behind smokescreens and walls

They’re cold cocoon has become my comfort, my home.

Symposium

I. "him" (waiter) Expounds on The Absurd

“All we do is wait. In the morning we wait for a ride and in traffic, we wait to arrive. And so we wait for the text message to be sent and we wait for the reply, we wait for the pages to load then they ask us to wait as the photos upload,"

---uploading photos please wait--

"now we study and wait for the sem-break and we wait until we graduate. Then we wait for the newspapers to show us a good job, we wait for our applications to be approved"

--wait for our call/text mr so and so---

and we work and we wait for our salary, or basically we just wait for our salary, then they ask us to we wait for a promotion or a regularization or contractualization, so we wait for a loan, we wait 9 months for our sons and daughters to be born, we wait for a visa or we wait for our retirement, we wait until our children grow old, graduate and work-waiting”

Started the waiter/philosopher as he dropped his thin shoulders and raised his heavy head.

His last coughing sigh: “and then They wait for us to die…waiting“

"they" are his children abroad waiting to let go of the last responsibility they have of their former country-him. "him" is 55 year old waiter turned philosopher waiting in line to withdraw the “padala” .

--please wait in line--

“But, why should we?“ asked a Landlady who was there to encash her tenant’s payments.

II. Manong Guard and the Order of the universe

Out of the order and out of nowhere, Manong guard answered: “Why? because everything is made of lines, you are in a line and only one can pass at a time. So fall in line and wait for your turn“

With the crowd looking at him, Manong guard gripped his belt(proud of his batutas and his belly), looked at his audience from left to right, cleared his throat "ahem" and started as if the crowd was required to listen:

“Lines, like the one you are waiting on are everywhere. This bank is made up of lines- ask an architect, everything is made up of lines- ask a scientist or borrow her microscope, lines are found even in your own faces-look in the mirror-look closer"

He smiled at the landlady, who was wearing make-up, then back to the audience.

III. The Linguistic Turn

“You people are the result of well made lines your father gave your mother(or vice versa) like “Honey, let’s fuck” then and there you are the product of a line called “lust” or “love”, "libog" or "pag-ibig"

The scandalized crowd reacted with a noise. The bank teller’s “excuse me” was not heard.

“but, that’s not a li-“ protested the waiter/philosopher but stopped when one of the batutas (nightsticks) pointed at him.

Manong guard/orator raised his open hand and Order was restored: “Allow me to continue”

“Now you’re alive and will make lines for a living. To teach your child to draw straight lines, to draw curved lines, to understand these lines to make words.”

“and these words will tell him how to be a boy, her how to be a girl, to make them straight and how to fall in line as we have been taught ourselves”

“YES!" his voice resonated throughout the entire bank "lines bring order!”, a 2 second pause ”A line always leads somewhere until it creates a circle- a unity that only God in heaven can comprehend"

"that line, ladies and gents, damas y caballeros, bubulog and babalasang" no one laughed

"That line is the Grand Design! “

His audience showed faces and made sounds - of doubt( ergo sum ). The teller/ninja involuntarily left for the comfort room...unnoticed.

Manong was unfazed,

“If all of you went to the teller at the same time, do you think she will entertain you? “,no one answered "lines.." he answered himself.

“what then, is a deadline?” interpolated the Waiter/Writer as he stepped out of the line.

IV. Zen of the Boarding House

“ah, that is not a line but an empty space” began the Landlady.

“You see, everything comes from empty space and returns to empty space like lines ending in vanishing points-ask an architect”

The landlady raised her eyebrows at the guard/gentleman(?). The nightstick did not move.

Victorious, Landlady went on : “You need an empty sheet of paper to teach your child to write lines, a blank sheet to pour all the ink heavy with your grief of waiting for your failure to fail and a blank check for your money. You need an empty bed-space for your line-waiting family to live on, an empty lot to build your house, an empty house to put your home, a job vacancy for you to fill in…”

“All that until you become an emptiness yourself, the home becomes just a house, your position becomes vacant, your blank-sheet of paper sundered as bonfire starter while death and decay reduces your own body to empty space…so that somebody will have a home, somebody will have a job and will have his blank sheet and blank check, somebody will have space for life.“

The teller/ninja returned..still unnoticed.

V. Coup D Grace.

“We exist for emptiness, take this bank, it exists only because of its emptiness, do you think it can contain all the money and empty people, I mean people, if it is not empty? Look at the doors, their main function is to be empty so that people could pass. The worth of boarding house and room is measured by how large their empty spaces are. “

It was near 3:00 pm. of Friday and some rays of the sun entered the cold bank.

“Be not afraid of emptiness, do not yearn for lavish mausoleums and imaginary mansions. How ironic that some who are dead have better houses than those who are living, we are already overpopulated with the dead… Others who are always filled with wishes for the mansion (imaginary or not), fail to empty themselves to contain the only beauty containable- the moment… accept without remorse, your return to emptiness only then can you have life and no longer have to wait in line”

“so why wear a make-up?” Manong Guard rebelled.

IV. Closing Remarks

“Excuse me” thundered the teller/ninja who was standing with impatience. They looked at her(also wearing make-up).

And Teller/Ninja/God spoke “We close at 3pm“

“if you would rather talk than transact, then step out of the line and out of this bank. Come back on Monday or don't come back at all”, and to the guard: “You're tired of your job?”

A humbled and humiliated silence pervaded the bank. And for an extended moment, the place sounded empty. Manong Guard went back to his post.

And "They" were in line - waiting once again.

Holy Serpent

Oh that venom that plants the seed
of sweet rotten fruits on the rich

soil of unsuspecting minds.

That serpent intends to live on that
tree of knowledge forever, For knowledge
is power, and power is everything.
It feeds on others' misfortunes and
feasts on their trespasses. It hisses
your sins and seals your fate.

Oh hail the judge of all transgressors.
Holy serpent, creature of God, pray
for us sinners now and at the hour
of our death. Amen!

Coffee

Since you’ve left, coffee tastes just like coffee; however I mask its taste with sugar and creamer.

Starbucks tastes no different, only a million times sadder.

I tried drinking coffee with pan de sal, but it only tasted a lot worse than it used to. It was like drinking coffee that tastes like tears.

I once had coffee with a stranger I met from god knows where and the coffee was as bland as the conversation. It got cold so fast.

Coffee may have lost its essence to me now.

I have been drinking coffee with you in the worst of times but it never tasted bad.

When you left, coffee has turned into cum—it just has to be ejected. That if from another, it’s something you want to taste but never want to swallow.

I still have not given up on brewing the best coffee. Tea is just too tiring and beer is just too, well, I like beer, but you don’t.

So, just please.

Please.

Make my coffee taste good again.

Into A Scar

Tonight, the red sun set on my face

and I sit here still, in the darkness

wondering why my need for light made no difference.

The bed lies smooth, untouched,

my mind is warped from lost slumber

brought by your punctuating absence

I eagerly await the end of this chapter

for the day when I fear twilight no more.

Solving Metamorphosis- Chapter 1 "I Am NOT A Romantic"

Interview (1 of 3)

How does Man transform into Phallus?(Dickhead) or Anus?(Asshole)and how does Woman become Cannis?(Bitch).  Unlocking the mystery of metamorphosis revealed more of the man who dared ask than of the mystery itself.

Rock 'n Roll Soul

I wait in anticipation.They nod at me, signaling they're ready.

I take a deep breath and stand up, knees shaking, my stomach in knots.
I feel hesitation,
Trepidation tries to tell my feet to run away.
They want to listen.

I step up on stage and turn towards the audience. 

The lights burn my eyes, I hear the noise in the room die down a little, anticipation buzzes in the room.

I turn around and nod at my drummer to signal that I'm ready,

he claps his sticks together:"1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4"
The instruments begin to play, a wave of energy envelopes me.

The sound pushes me into the air, I am transported into the sky, no one else is there, I am in my Happy Place.

I begin to sing.

October 9, 2009

It's been eighty-three minutes
since the arrival of the thirty-fifth.
The man in blue looks at the door,
anticipating another arrival.

Walking by the alignment of white
cocoons, he feels motion. No! That is
not possible! It must have been the wind
that made the white blankets respond
to his every weak step. Of course!
It’s the wind. No doubt.

Shattered

Broken due to a complicated mind,
Strong as she appeared, weakness covers her spirit.
Tired of herself, she vowed to accept change.
But resentments keep banging her doors.
"Don't entertain the thougths," she said as she restrained yet "What if's" haunt her in her silence.

53

Women are like roses.
As roses comes with thorns,
So does women with their -
Flaws.

"FIRE"

Hunger...

My Friend and My Foe,
The Muse and Mistress
That controls my Pen,
My Poetry
And Prose...

The Shadow of Alchohol
That fuels My Fire,
That keeps The Embers red
That I may
Continue to survive...

The Binding

Her storm gray eyes glistened in the darkness.

The cavern had the taste of brimstone, as likely it should. Its silence echoed and filled the emptiness. There was no saying what else it held, but a whiff from the air would suggest rotting carcass and bones. It was a sight to behold; if one could get a chance to see it, and survive. The only contradiction within was the lake beyond--serenity it imbued, security; a momentary ecstasy of peace. The only light in the cavern reflected upon it like a beam of truth, as the moonlit sky peered into the crevices.

She too, was a contradiction. Despite the corpses lying about, she smelled of nostalgia--of yellow roses in the summer breeze--enticing and welcoming. Her hooded cloak hid most of her, but her eyes still glistened, matched by her pale face. Pale as ivory. Her thin pinkish lips arched into an impish grin, as her tongue darted playfully around them. For a moment's notice, it seemed she harbored ravenous shark-like teeth. But only for a moment.

plea to you...

a tender voice that made my heart beats fast
a symphony of smiles keep building up
with flare of joy and feelings so steadfast
warms every inch inside like coffee cup
all prying eyes and ears surround us both
ill utterance starts crippling us apart
red venom spins wildly beneath silk cloth
strikes viciously and hurt with blinding darts
but truly actions speak louder than words
defy all odds despite split tongues have made
to fight courageously all deeds and swords
attain serenity that never fades

     oh love for you myself I'll sacrifice
     will never stop 'til everything suffice

Bonkers

Do you wish to visit the edge of insanity
without injesting any illegal substances?
To a point far enough to almost fall in,
yet near enough to return?
I shall tell you how to get there.

Do not sleep for about 48 hours.
Allow yourself to finish that book.
Watch those movies you have been dying to see.
Injest copious amounts of caffeine and sugar,
in increasing increments as the hours go by.

i met spiderman and fell in love with him

i met spiderman and fell in love with him. i tried to resist. i struggled to get rid of this feeling because i know he'd never even notice me, but his flaws just drew me nearer. i felt for a second there that he needed me. i could take care of him, you know. but the thought, as i think it over now, is plainly pathetic. i knew falling in love with him was just another big mistake, not that i did anything right in my life.

Free

After a prolonged time, he finally allowed absolute
beauty to
caress his face
dressing
every
facet of his being.

5 AM (AMR-12)

These human eyes.
Tricked by its own limits
Blurred by its fears
Weakened by use
To close with heavy sighs

Ain't No Thing...

Last night
under the crisp cold
we warmed ourselves with
steaming cups of coffee and hand holding
under the rickety wooden table
we laced secrets in our fingers and
gave squeezes and longing scratches
in front of everyone,but secretly.
Later, we found warmth under covers
,in each other,
in slow moans and delicious aching

we intertwined tongues
and legs and hair and ecstasy
with lips and toes and naughty bits.
Later still,
we lay in divine exhaustion,
a slim layer of shimmer on our nakedness
a satisfied feeling in the pits of our stomachs
a mischevious grin on your face
with whispers of even later still.

Carabao Power...

it was a cold November evening
a sumptuous meal just satisfied your gastric craving
crickets and fireflies accompany you
while the hammock carefully nurses your wearisome body

the silence of the night was gleefully interrupted
by the rustling sound of the leaves
when a summon from outside caught your attention

thus you glided towards it

W I N G S

E.N.D

looking through the light

everlasting happiness

while death succumbs me...

-------------------------

the demise of joy

have brought bitter sweet glee of

unending sorrow...

The End of The End

    The Inayans predicted it! Three whole days of small meteor showers, small volcanic eruptions, small quakes, endless rains, heat waves, dried rivers, overflowing rivers, then the final river of flame that would sweep the earth and turn it into ice. Sub zero. But before that, before that day, is the Calm,

     According to Inayan scripture, after the chaos of three(days) would be four days of shadow, shrouded by the total eclipse of the... After that, would be the apocalypse, the Armageddon, the vanishing point, the final judgment, the final countdown, the end of the world as we know it, the bitter end, the end of days, Day of reckoning, Ragnarok, Revelation, Amen.

   There was too much evidence to  even seed doubt, everybody, even the skeptics, the hopefuls, the lovers and priests believed! The hermits and the dogs! It was the new religion, the most followed page, most liked status, the talk of town, Amen.

      In this darkness came an enlightenment, what happened next was the orgy of the century, knowing there is no tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, people stopped preaching love and made love, whenever, wherever, virgins opened their vessels, homo-phobics passionately kissed homosexuals, enemies became friends, then in brotherly and sisterly compassion, students graduated, contractuals were regularized, prisoners were pardoned, then in renewed understanding of wealth, property and power, CEOs resigned, Leaders and politicians resigned,

     It was the climax of the zenith of the paragon, borders were erased, shops opened for free, all debts were cleared, banks opened their vaults, guns were fired, were set on fire, bonfires, barbecues and weddings were everywhere, tax certificates were ceremoniously torn! Kalayaan!

     The booze kept on flowing, the kisses kept on flowing, the bonfires kept on burning, burning with desire, people kept on dancing, while the remaining energy left was used to power the party of all parties, the Mardi Gras of all Mardi Gras, the grand celebration for the conclusion, the denouement, the unraveling of the plot, the season finale.

     Then came the fourth day, And while the world was in this euphoria, the faithfuls counted: 5 hours..4 hours..3.4  hours 2  hours, one hr left... in seconds

   3...

   2..

   1.

    Nothing happened! Nil,

   The world sobered  up from the greatest party ever and  realized something was terribly, horribly, horrendously wrong. The  faithfuls locked themselves in silence.

    It was Juan de la Cruz, professor emerituz, protege of Nostradamuz, CPA, Phd in eschatology (study of the end), discoverer of the 78th name of God, Grand Regent of the University of the Universe, linguist extraordinaire ..etc.etc. who took a second look at the Inayan scripture and proclaimed in a voice, sculpted from the thousands of lectures he gave..

     "We have not read the Inayans critically...the end of days is set to come in another 4 centuries not 4 days, the fact starts at tablet 6 line 5 when the Inayans said..."(his voice was no longer heard amid the cries of disbelief, boos, then cheers, then disbelief again as some shut down their TVs and laptops- oh and tablets)

    The sun came back.

   Stoned, stupefied, shamed, naked bodies, destroyed shops, conflagrated contracts, torn taxes, erased borders, companies reduced to groupies, virginities lost, wet lips, islands given away,

     In vain everyone tried to get back what they gave, kisses, jobs, power, control, islands, chains  and just in vain everyone tried to keep what they got, free lunch, memory of an ecstasy,  a climb up the ladder,  vacations,

     No one was willing to let go of what they gained. Everyone was willing to regain what was lost and more, during those short 4 days of giving and receiving..of tasting and letting go.

    Always on schedule, the end came. By fire and by ice.

Even After

In the kingdom of the seminar on sexual harassment, the citizens were bored. The king, the speaker, spoke so slowly (those in power never rush) and paused after almost every word that the topic lost its importance. Many knew, only coffee could save the world from sleeping. But no man was brave enough to risk the journey.

With cat-like grace, our princess (Selma) brought herself to the coffee stand. Male heads turned. Almost without the help of her eyes, nimble hands composed her potion: brewed coffee, 1 teaspoon of sugar done in a matter of seconds with no spill and no sound(of the spoon hitting the cup) . Well toned legs brought her back to her chair, silently but without embarrassment for being the first one to stand. Others followed briefly.

"aany(pause) questionssz?" asked the speaker.

Selma's friend, sidekick, whispered a question "Do you have a valentine tonight?". The princess replied with a confident smile. But  boredom, those words and the speaker, made the stagnant waters of time a breeding ground of mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes of the past. There was something about the speaker's voice that reminded Selma of a prince(number 3), a bard, who had her with  his own "I would have given you all of my heart...baby I'll try to love again..." who tried to hide the other woman in his closet while, on bended knees, begged her not to leave him. Selma left him. They were together for 2 years.

She also left sweetest prince number 4, who gestured much like the Speaker. So sweet and soft-hearted he couldn’t carry the burden of her mother's death...financially. Selma paid and organized both wake and funeral all by herself. She barely slept and the whole damn thing cost her 3 paychecks. On this guy's thank you FB post: "I thank all my family and friends who helped us during this dire time, all the flowers..." on and on, without the smallest thank you for Selma. Nobody from the guy's family thanked her. She left them.

All the valentinos, all the memories and the mosquito bites, how they itch! But she has learned not to scratch them and to prevent further bites- swatting mosquitoes just before they're about to suck. Still, a mosquito of the future would bite her. She would not foresee this, but it will happen.

It will happen.

Later on, at a time when her daughter had grown. Selma, with tears dropping like rain,  would write another prince, number 6, the husband: "Mahirap  tumanda na nagiisa."(It's hard to grow old alone). They will leave each other as they did before.

Mother Nature and Father Time never got married, nor stayed together forever. We are all bastards...even Him. But it's just a story, the events aren't real. Or are they?

Selma's coffee flushes the stagnant time. Back to the present, sitting on a seminar. She takes out her DSLR camera, turns it on to the picture of her daughter, Fia (fire). The image lights another smile on her face.

Valentine's Day, all the lonely vampires will prowl the night to escape the silence, solitude and sobriety of being single- single and escape in the many ways men imagined them. And while they do all that searching and leaving in the shortest possible time,  mother would simply go home to her daughter.

Just your daily fairy tale. Once upon a time, a lady met a gentleman, the two fell in love and had a daughter. As it happens the couple fell out of love. The mother and daughter went together and they lived happily even after.

Reclaiming Satori - 4 Haikus

Looking Looking at the sign I failed to see a BLACK CAT Sitting beside me	Shrum of Hope                        Here on this barren land                        Upon this decaying tree                        Life sprouts anew
The fittest Young bamboo Bows down ...to live	Endless                        In the palm of your hand                        Is a sleeping thought                        One evening dies

RE: Moved Posts

I transferred my scholarly or intellectual and opinionated posts to this location:

Long Distance

Like climbing a mountain's summit just to witness the sunrise, I will bridge all our real and imagined distances just to see your smile.

But...what if after all this camping around and climbing about, the summit offers no sunlight? The sun, in all its light and heat is no more than a fact behind a mass of clouds. You know it's there, but you can't see it. You know it's there but you can't feel it. Met with only the cold and wet gust of wind, you will descend the mountain knowing that all this climbing was...useless.

What if after not meeting you, and you not meeting me, your smile became nothing more than a memory hidden among the many moments?  You know it was there, but you can't see it now. You know it can be there but you can't see it.

30, March 2012, there we were 7 beginners climbing a mountain known for the beauty of the sunrise in its summit and in that day-it was raining.

8:30 AM 31, March 2012, only 4 of us made it to the summit and-it was still raining. The famous sunrise took a break from all the prying eyes of thrill seeking and bored tourists.

9:00 PM 31, March 2012, as agreed, we met, we smiled, and we talked.

2:00 AM 1, April 2012, we went to our homes with a smile and a promise to meet again.

When? The hard worker reaches for a dream. Once there, he becomes a tourist reaching for relaxation and excitement. Once it is over, he would again dream.  Like runners in a long-distance relationship with countless finish lines.

3:00 PM 1, April 2012, hand in hand we walked and listened under and to the sea of trees. We found silence in each other.

2:00 AM 2, April, 2012, inside the long and tight hug of goodbye, there and then I knew...that I was climbing another mountain...our hearts running ahead of us.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. There are no straight lines to where you're at and to where I am. Only winding roads, stacked lines of traffic, amidst a journey where my mountain homes end and your plains begin. And the line is far from being straight. Just like the mountain the 7 beginners climbed on a rainy afternoon the 30th of March, 2012.

Each day that you are not with me and I not with you is but a step, heavy as it is, drawing me and you nearer and nearer to that summit where we will meet again.

But not all of the seven made it to the summit, even the sun wasn't there.

Each step taken, carrying all the weight, enduring all the hunger and pain, draws some climbers nearer and nearer to...giving up. The dreamer wakes to another dream.

30, March 2012, it was raining that day, but we, I,  climbed anyway.

             

31, March 2012, the seven, who slept in a tent meant for five, finally made it back home. Wet, sick, tired, bruised, they regretted nothing.  All they have is a T-shirt that says "I survived Mt. Pulag" and the hope to one day meet that elusive sunrise.

Lunch, 14, April 2012...

Written on FB 01 by Various authors

...there was no text message for him that day...                                                                                      1

the emptiness of words numbed her warm body...                                                                                 2

her words drifted with the moist..no message for him that day..                                                              3

indeed, ambivalence's cloak clouds over him.. never before has anticipation been so sweet;

yet only to be stained by waiting's vain bitterness..                                                                                 4

his gadget failed to provide him the noise he needed(or thought he needed) .Still,almost immediately he sat hmself on his father's chair of forgetfulness- in front of the TV. "press ON"                                             5

If the World is Without Books(2 Reasons Why I Teach Literature, Entry 1)

           
After a whole month of  battering my students in round table discussions, I decided to give them a break and asked a simple single question for their seatwork. Or perhaps I was giving myself a break. "How would the world be if we don't have books?", I asked. They were instructed to answer in any of the three languages we have been using for Philippine literature or they could also illustrate their answers.

Amazingly, from a class of non-book readers, most answered that the world would be boring, that the world would lack life, imagination, knowledge etc. Quite an irony for a class whose majority believe that "reading is boring, we'd rather watch a movie."

               

A lot of dystopian stories, or those stories that picture a chaotic mirror of our society often depict a world that is without color, without books, without art. Maybe my students had it in them to write dystopian narratives. Their drawings spoke the same, no books thus no color.

               

Would a world without color be so bad? On the positive side, a student wrote that if the world is without books, everyone would be equal, it would be peaceful. In its simplest form the argument is this:

               

Books bring color to the world, we differentiate ourselves from each other from the color of our skin and our thinking, discrimination and difference bring about conflicts of interest.  Books bring color,  colors bring difference and discrimination, discrimination and difference bring conflict. No books, no conflict.

               

And I am lead to imagine what if the bible, the torah, famous philosophical treatises, the Koran, the Tripitaka  etc... what if all of those did not exist?  Could we have been safe from all of the wars? Stretch this argument to the idea of telling stories to include societies that although did not have books have rich Oral Traditions, epics that is. Would their wars sprung from their different stories on who did this, did that, owned this, owned that?

           

One of the goals I hold for each literature class is that at the end of the semester, after we wish each other farewell - see you around - good luck - they exit the classroom as readers. And If they already were, they become more passionate with reading. But not just reading. Reading Literature, reading on their own. With that I can provide an epic list of benefits of reading on education, entertainment and engagement. (an epic list)

       

But what if my student is right about the whole ordeal about books and reading?         

                    
Kudos to her for this brilliant spark of imagination and that question. That is still and also one of my goals in teaching Literature.

The Third

An enclave of buildings…at its center is a rectangular courtyard floored with crimson bricks…lining each of the courtyard’s lengths are lanes of  black-beautiful benches made of cold steel…at the last bench of one lane I sought to bask under the sun- a solitary refuge…Or so I thought.