Here. You are at the beginning of something. At the exact
beginning. Ok. This is awakening
number two in here, in this poem. Then there are
these: me: you: you there. I'm actually staring up at
you, you know, right here, right from the pool of this page.
Don't worry where else I am, I am here. Don't
worry if I'm still alive, you are.

( Read more... )

I couldn't find our house in Bulacan on Google Earth, it all becomes a dark mossy green without detail. Quezon City is fine; Araneta Coliseum looks like a wart and Caloocan is, well, post- modern. Recently, Google launched Google Mars. The images are beautiful but you get to ask what for? The image below is a simulated Mars with color markings as ( Read more... )

Yesterday, I suddenly got the urge to leave Berna a message in Friendster. She was an old friend, before I was in Quill, lost in the College of Engineering. We were members in the regional org of Bulakenos. Berna and I had a lot of fun together and developed a deep friendship. I was still confused with my sexuality back then and I cannot understand ( Read more... )

Must not let him see me this way. What way? With this pimple. I'm sorry but underneath this pensive pose is a very shallow pond, the heart of it. I call it sometimes Shallow Marshmallow, because it is soft, squidgy and wears all the summer pastels. The point is, he must not see me in a screenshot fuglier than the last one. Oh when was the last time ( Read more... )

When Neruda used "foams and shipwrecks" (espuma y naufragios) to substitute Parra's fucking then coming on her face, the world is prettier. The plantain is sweeter. Civil war, exile, stalinism, keep them coming. There is always that Horse in the Night and The Verb to Kill; the chance to win the Elimination Dance in Libertango; and a very funny ( Read more... )

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Herculaneum
by Lucie Brock-Broido

No one is bored, just barbaric
Anymore. Ash admixed with rain, which cooled

The air. How much longer will this beauty
Of yours last?

As if even the idea of the city
Has been lost for twenty centuries.

Don't quail like this; go
Gracefully instead.

Eros enters

The room like a lesser god stopped ( Read more... )

Although a cloud is not merely blue, not merely "cerulean" even, "we must be hasty in describing it", Szymborska writes. But what I want is an empty sky. And my onlooking behind the light, the sun an image, sent to back. Behind, so the landscape (given the city, given your relative's province, a 15 minute tricycle ride to the sea) presents itself ( Read more... )

It was Sunday and I had my mind on a friend who got drunk and refused to be dressed in rags. She's somewhere in Dili, between burning houses and political turmoil. I woke up past noon, and dragged Ade to eat burger for lunch in Morato, Ade groggy from what could be the disease of the season, flu, headache, and joint pains. We went, after eating, to ( Read more... )

Since I was silent for two whole weeks, I have explained to You, I have labored the sites where people should scurry and know why they would want to be there. It could be courage nowadays, but it did woke me up, a certain stun, like a stun gun, his voice on the radio. It was a year ago. Now. Previously, the happiest day of my life, and I was saying ( Read more... )