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Showing posts from 2011

Fuck the Olympics!

Fuck the Olympics!
Driven out of home of this unusually funny circumstance, greed takes over and manifests itself early on. The revelry isn't even here until six months or so. Funny how individuals anticipate the eagerness of money in it. I so happen to live quite literally just across the stadium and now these said individuals (and agencies, for that matter) are pushing me away to make money off of it. I'll have none of this. I have little care for this event as I am not a man driven of other people's sheer hype nor does patriotism have anything to do with it. I was just fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to live somewhere very close to where the event takes place and where it also happens that my workplace is but a walking distance away from where I am (3 Mills Studios). 
I pay 600£ a month. Too much for even I myself, alone, to pay. Now they're asking for a walloping price of 8,000£ for just two months due to this Olympic thing that I dare not bother. Holy shit! So…

So I May Bury Myself In You

They speak praises of your illness, the warning signs of decay overshadowing my carcinogens, a full frontal view of your wonderful countenance. Not I, where was I, there I was, clueless, known to self as the Unabomber, plotting nothing for our fateful beginning. Poverty is neither crime nor vice, an old man falling in love. Forgive the child in the woman, the woman is a child. Her smile, her unique ability, her magical sensitivities, at a ripe age for humour and my kiss. Here waiting, never letting go, smiling for tomorrow's carols, a snowless escapade in a wonderland of dreams. Her face undeniably persistent, whispers, disavows.
Seasons greetings pass, but the fucks I give amount to a variable of none. She is the one, the only light in the manger, the solitary north star together alone. We strive to push boundaries, a cabaret night full of merriment, imbibing throughout the darkness of day, the gloom streets of London town on a middle day noon. Our victory will signal a relation…

Kim Jong-Il

North Korea is no longer Best Korea. Good night sweet prince.


The mother stares at the television, tsk-ing and saddened by the sudden flood on an old memory of a city from the mother country. His husband of many years sits by beside her, tentatively watching the sad news himself, purposefully denying any allegations of sympathy. Like the son. Totally annoyed by seeing his mother's unfounded empathy. She continually yells from the room, converting the mood around, bidding mournful shrieks of helplessness. The lingering smell of boiling vegetable oil does not make things easier, in fact. The son's schadenfreude ticks itself off. 'Fuck that,' he tells himself, while his mother prays for things to become better. The old folks were supposed to go to church that evening, only halted by the undying sweat of cold from the bitter air. The son hates it all. He would have none of it. Exasperated by his mother's lame philanthropic ideals, poor as they are, troubled a family as they are. 'Fuck that,' he tells himself again, as he…

Embrace, A Cacophonous Murmur

It was a joyous occasion marred only by sentimentality. Everything was going according to an unprecedented plan, an instinctive flow, and then introduced into a world of vivid colours. I was smack-dabbed in the middle of it all, a wayward mobile leading an unknown course. There I found love once more, not once, but twice, but three times. Still I sense there were more to it than just that. But for now I have to settle with just the melancholy, the bitterness of having none at all.
Three loves in one whole day... what a strange sensation. Fuck me for assuming but there it is. For a whole life of waiting this sure feels like a heavy burden to reconsider. I am not alpha nor am I clinquant. I am but a vessel of pure mediocrity and/or suckage. Or maybe I need to work more on my insecurities. Maybe I do, maybe I don't.
Too much of Nietzsche hurts, too little of sunshine burns.
I saw opportunity in the eyes of another. Freddie, is this the real life? Or is this just fantasy? Or is this …

Lost my heart, lost my mind

Funny things happen when least expected, or so is always the case. The call for something good breathes life off of my kindred spirit and bears some sort of increasing strength. I wouldn't want to assume. I've had similar feelings in the past, only to crash and burn simultaneously on my face and long since forgotten.
It feels good to wake up once more unhindered by time, but so is sadly the case.
The days leading to this always has something naughty up its sleeve. Last year I had an almost identical situation. Whatever this is doing to me now is unfortunately maybe just a fluke.
I need to go back and make sure. Please bring me somewhere concrete. Leave the theatrics on stage, this is my life we are talking now.
First stop: Party Fiesta.

Infatuations Never

Rather no sleep at all than three hours of sleep and eyes droopy as any fuck. Poor old sod. December screams freeze! I turn to find a wailing banshee with self-inflicted tinnitus. One slap and back on my feet. I'm sick and tired of these sacrifices. They laugh, I laugh, every single one of the bodies laugh for reasons unknown. Reach the slums -- only to find it left by itself, to loot and plunder by the vanguard of ideas and proposals. There it is. Her smile, he remembers. But why? I shouldn't. I couldn't. Of all the baddest of bad luck.


Transcript for epic fucking fail:

Good day, boytoys and gentlemen! My name is Bruce Danus, a strategist, an obsessive dilettante, and writer of best-selling historiographic metafictions, A Gentle Molestation and A Winner is You.
You can visit my website at for more details.
I am here today to proudly unveil my next greatest lordnovel yet.
Pre-order it now and get a lifetime supply of malfunction which will greatly aid readers who have then suffered from delusions of grandeur!
Before the unveiling I would like to share a little story about something: When I was young I married a woman from a boring country called Brassiere where every day people eat coxinha, horrible food made of elephant turd and monkey meat. She used to feed it to me, her mother, her sister, her sister’s mother’s sister, and every woman in the land. Ever since then I developed a longstanding loathing for women.
My wife eventually left me. I could hardly give a rat’s ass. Although my hatred for wome…

Icari (Woebegone)

For a man so free that light encompasses
There with him solace levitating besides his yellow wings
From there it speaks with its harrowing presence
Not a voice nor a sound but only a sightly sign
His freedom brims, his body tucks into itself
For flesh is weak that no freedom shall abide
A prison yet still even including his masticating aileron
An oxymoron, wherever it begins


Confidence does not always guarantee a safe passage to anywhere. Your nerves will find a way to break you down, push you further to the hole you dug on to, and bury you along with all your pathetic tears. There's no other nicer ways of putting it, truth be told, and before the clock strikes past quarter to ten, everything begins to illuminate themselves, then you see what it is that truly excites you: rage.

Smells Like Dysfunction

'We're in this together now,' she says to me. 'We will make it through somehow.'
I said nothing, remained transfixing my sight on to her, and suppressing an overwhelming wincing sensation inside me. I thought it's either she's delirious or hopelessly clueless. So I decided to wait, harnessed all my opinions, and waiting for the right opportunity to unload it all.
'Well,' her eyebrow rose, mouth open. 'You aren't helping at all with silence.'
What answer does she want?
'I think it's better if you let it be,' I tell her coolly, as if understanding fully the situation.
Her eyebrows immediately drowned and made me feel a bit queasy. 'I don't get it,' she says. 'But I think I understand where you're coming from. You do make a fine point. Let's take that into consideration.'
I certainly didn't get what she meant by that but somehow I felt jubilated.
Now feeling confident, I asked, 'So what do yo…

Days as Pyrrhus

It gets harder and harder to sleep.
Counting the ways in which victory could be attained somewhat already defeats the purpose. If I were to indeed lose (which I already undoubtedly have), then the only direction is forward. Retaliation is not my forte nor do I intend making a habit of. I'd rather have sweet, looming irony overcome this obstacle than anything else, or a dash of twist of fate mayhap, or a bullet in the eye. Figuratively.
I still believe victory, though Pyrrhic, will one day find life on my shoulder, dreading on the days passed by, counting misfortunes and laughing at them all the while. There is only that wishful thinking, more dreadful than dread itself.

Curtains, Curtains, I Face Thee

It's beginning to flare up now. I like it, really. All those repressed thoughts slowly and finally bursting forth and manifesting itself. Then I realise I'm on the other end, and also then I begin to take notice of what's in store, the battle that will either torment me for a long, long time, or my own sudden demise coming to a closure.

Each and every step shows a new opening. I have never asserted myself into anything, that is because I no longer feel the need to. All these pent-up rage, whatever you call it, it's basically drifting into the space and becoming one with its end, like a burnt-out candle in an autumn night.
There it stood no longer sensible, and by then my end will be my peace. Or it could be a launching concept of melodrama.

Party My Problems Away

Laughably bad, that was all it was. Laughing stock, and then some. No pity parties for me tonight. Tonight I find peace in whatever way. Tonight everything will turn out fine. I just can't speak for myself for tomorrow.
My chest was stuffed with feathery foam in order to provide a laugh or two for the spectators. I would if I could, not that I couldn't, more like should. The demand to collaborate is high. These are not my tipping points. I work better alone. I work better for better or worse.
As I was halted due to my extreme audacity, I knew nothing good would come soonafter. Hence I became something of a monstrous, cancerous, dangerous presence. Feeling the need to threaten and voided of choice. I look back and all I remember was my laboured, crooked smile directed at the person involved. It is no longer about plans for vindication. I have had a lot of shares of that struggle in this past couple of months which, sadly, amount to nothing. Those pathetic eyes linger and cross…

Call to Harms

Parting gifts for friends in farewell Wish them luck on a wishing well They swallow everything you feed at them Including lies in an old fool's requiem
Sons and daughters of an absentee Faith is all there is to see A pity fuck for a single dime The guilt lasts a century's time
Flakes of snow on a summer head It's always better, yeah, better off dead Promises of something that truly last The future is yours except the past

Unity by Solitude

There is nothing left but flakes of sand on my feet. I can hear the whispers of the outside world from this elevated room far above to the sky, all empty yet tangible. Funnily enough I have awakened earlier than usual, a practice I have yet to master, for there is no mastery to master, only repetition, redundancies which are bound to pop out every now and then in search for longing. It is no mere nostalgia, however, as the world rotates in one direction. Nostalgias, as far as I am concerned, rotate counter-clockwise.
There is nothing left in the fingernails but pebbles of dust similar to the sand that bothers my feet. I have never found a reason to cut them, for there is nothing to cut. My teeth does all the talking. And when they alas meet, then all will be for naught.
The sun shines faintly brightly over dawn on the edifice as I notice by the window. How long does the effect last? What happens when the eternal star is no longer eternal? A darkness consuming us for over an entire li…

Act Together

Well, I really didn't expect that Pacquiao v Marquez trilogy to end in a bittersweet fashion. Was rooting for my homeboy but the other man brought to him a whoopin' to remember. Never expected Manny to dodge that call on the end, but he did, and I somehow feel for Marquez despite the odds.
And to top it all off, I really, really, really need to polish my turd. Even though it's still only just a piece of shit, getting my act together is mandatory. I'm beginning to lose everything all at once! First the laptop then the telly. It even laid waste on my HDMI cable just now! Drat! I want to stab myself for being such a fucking fuckhead.

Let's pretend everything is alright

Pacquiao, Marquez later. Cannot wait.
Sausages, oven soon. Cannot wait.
So now there is this question whether or not I am meant to be or not meant to be. Perhaps the latter, I shudder to think, but what options are there else?
Weeks pass, no change. All the love gone bad.
Solilotude. That's the new term.
Yup. Somebody else will notice. Someone ought to. Here's to hoping.
Another hope gone sour.

Zombie in my lawn

There is a weird, slight pain present in the posterior part of my neck that, I believe, is slowly building up. For whatever reason it purports itself to be doing, the consequences of the events that transpired during devising would not have varied if at all, and more likelier to have jet-fuelled the burning agony further. So basically I am fucked up either way.


Contrary to popular opinion, it seems I, alone, am the only person who loves her hair unkempt. I could scarcely imagine her hair freeflowing from the scalp through her neck smoothly and uncurled. There is no better option than to leave it be, attacking in all directions and spitting and hissing at every heads loitering beside it.


The night was over. The walk was over. Goodbyes were given and taken and we are back again to solitude.
Each of our lives shared upon one another, handing over fake smiles and hellos like never before. This hostility is becoming so much more familiar. From then I see the light, and no light, and in between lights, wondering if a spell or flicker in my flesh still remain. No, there were none.
I look back, and I recall the pain and suffering once again. I look forward and there it is.

Just a Boy

They've only just begun, yet again, and I stomp my face to the wall in humiliation. What an ass. My throat throbs in anticipation, my fingers carpal tunnel, and my heart, oh my heart shattered into tiny shards of red scattered all around the membranes looking for something to fucking choke to death in retaliation.

Cool Hand Fluke

One year passed: Old flames rekindle. Is this some sort of a twisted joke? On the dark, freezing twilight she swerves on the highway. Immediately an impulse to attack. Her head tilts to my view. Attack me, no, she thinks, I know him! Wha-- It's you! Smiles illuminated the space. Fruitful hi's and hello's. Usual. Bit shaken, I am. Can't tell if it's from the weather or the suddenness of it all. She's still as sparkling as carbonated water as ever. Love. Not again. I kicked my ass awake. Listen, she speaks, and speaks a whole lot. She's happy. Then a broken smile. Not totally happy, I guess. That's good. There's room to fill the gap. That's my take anyway. We speak and speak, I could speak with her the night away. For me the smile was enough. Her awkward voice, not to mention. Oh miss it, dearly do I.
Then we went our separate ways. Love burning? No idea. Lost my purchases in the tube station. Dark Souls. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Ruined the mood. Bu…

Tragedy Herewith

Fallen from grace, did I Toppled by the twilight's blinding darkness; These things do not merely represent harbored hate But hate sprouting out of the increasing love, which Wards today towards dismay


I swerved past the Jaguar and smiled against the burning sky brimming with relief that finally my route has finally reached smoothly on its rightful path. I didn't linger long, the battle was an honest fluke. The fact is I won for a day and I wouldn't have it any other way. A luck's sufficient enough to prove my mettle. 
It took me quite awhile but I finally reached the destination, garnering enough limits to know that the time it took for me to get there was better than most of the other rides I've ever had. An hour and a half. Not such a bad thing considering the circumstances, and yet it's hard to conclude victory when tails are pulled on your behalf. I pushed the pedals as hard as I could, gaining more speed and, at the same time, risk. Unbeknownst to even myself, there formed a warming smile on my face that only recently reminded me of the same time the rush was conceived. Last days are hard to recollect, if only because there's never an expectation of it…

Lost: Bicycle

It only took less than an hour for my bicycle to be stolen outside Westfield near Wood Lane station. Didn't linger much, clearly frustrated, but what can I do?
Luck's a bit down and it's not helping any. Might as well walk into the dark side.

Dark Souls

This sudden inclination, this urge, to partake myself into the otherworldly land of Dark Souls has recently been becoming overwhelmingly urgent. I have had my own shares of souls having repeatedly -- not to mention dominatingly -- won over Demon's Souls for over two years now, and also having recently revived that fascination in order to achieve the only frustration I have of the experience, the platinum trophy. This time though the media has worked well its collective magic into marketing this wonderful piece of art -- and I say that confidently without me having to be told of Roger Ebert's scandalous hubbub over an argument whether these types of magical things are even considered art.
To renew this interest, I have to keep pushing forward over and over again until such time that finally I get my hands on that ever-evasive platinum trophy that I have been clamouring for much of my entire playthrough. Best be sure to remind myself though of achieving this right before next w…

Five Minutes

Thinking of coffee. Second interview. Underwhelming.
Towel in shoulder prepped for shower. Random thoughts jumble in head like passers-by on a high street.
Biting towel. Two minutes left in the clock. Rubbish. Farts here and there. Feel remorse for the chair.
Fuck me. It's still dark. Should I stay or should I go?
No hope to stay. Towel tastes like...
Mayday, mayday. With lemonade in hand.

Job Finally

Yet purposefully declined, as its wrapped yellow collar of loss and ambiguity beguiles the sensitivities.
Touch, that when it stalled catches my levity unawares driven slowly to desperation and unwilling cooperation.

Mi Ultimo Ubo

Adios, patria adorada, polluted na ang karsada Perla del mar de trapiko, nuestro perdido tambutso A darte voy a brownout, para ka na ring na-knock out A fuera mas mainit, taong bayan nagngingitngit Tambien por ti la diera, para tayong nasa giyera.
En campos de basura, singhutando con delirio Otros te dan sus microbio, sin duda, con ubo Emergency power nada importa, Ramos de Venecia o Angara Napocor o Meralco cerrado, generator o cruel martirio Lo mismos es so expensive, por la pitaka de Pandoy.
Yo muero cuando veo, patay na raw and kabayo Y al fin anuncia el dia, matrapik daw sa Buendia Si grana necesitas, para close down las fabricas Vierte la sangre mia, kawawa ang maralita Y dorela un reflejo, de apat na kandila.

Mis suenos cuando apenas, mga trapo nakakabanas Mis suenos cuando joven, pen pen de sarapen Fueron el verte un dia, naka=air con ang mga buwaya Secos los negros ojos, sa epifanio de los Santos Sin ceno sin arrugas, pulitikong mandurugas.
Ensueno de mi vida, hithit-buga, h…

Would I bleed if I said I'd like to kick a god?

From there I awoken the blood rushed forth through my nostrils and into my tongue (Bang! Bang! Bang!) She was banging on my door, and in my bed I hear her calling my name Once again bringing me back my consciousness and troubled thoughts I mutter, I mutter, I mumble to myself, reminding me of the hate of being interrupted in my sleep I rose to my feet and paid little thought to my unkempt hair, wondering what it was that she woke me up for (One last Bang!) Before I opened the door, smiled at her precariously, greeted her stare in red underwear Fortunately for both of us my phallus was calm and sore as the heat of the gloomy afternoon Blood rushed to my head, felt something amiss between my teeth Blood literally gushed forth in sputum form and almost choked me with it The taste I can still feel inside me rushing, a locomotive sensation, unbridled All the while she was talking and talking and talking to me All the while I was nodding and nodding and nodding to her My strength collapsed …

Oh my days!

To prepare myself I have to put up a stitch, for nothing in particular, just a swinging mood. Then traverse the gloomy half-past-three London streets. Whether or not this is worth it, in the end nobody gives a shit.

One on the way

The confession came when opportunity stood idly in front of him earlier that day. This is that confession to a confession. All in all, it went easier than he expected, even though it was as anticlimactic as it comes. Trials stood by waiting as he nods his head in frustration, unwilling to speak on behalf of the pain that struggled to break through him. She listens on, as if she herself can endure more pains that she already possess and now shared to her. The carousel is bittersweet and numbing, to the point where one could honestly say he or she has had enough of it. The hardest part is the surrender because that is never a considerable option.
She left him with a smile and her best regards, and he responded with a half-assed wink absent love. The story for sure will never end there. She disappeared into the thick of fog yet her misty voice lingered on, daunting and severed.

Transitive properties of manic-depressive

It's smiles like Audrey Hepburn's that we need to duplicate
The guitar man would have loved a cure for his blisters
The moment of Revelations comes a little bit late
Never have one person seen something so pretentious
come out of a single source
The balcony now seems a welcome entrance to an
alternate world of come-and-go's
Something thrown up from the deepest, darkest land
Where symmetry is but a fool's uninhabited calculation
Though does science ever end that theology can not

Walkabout (me fuck you long time)

That girl he was searching for was finally in front of him. It dawned upon him that chance finally got him a welcome opportunity to make something happen out of nothing at all. His lips twist and tie a knot, speechless, as the professor gives each one a tiny moment of introduction. He was at the back, pale, and sitting at a comfortable position away from the many people, beside his newfound companionship, and making slight remarks at others' expense. His opportunity to seize the moment overpowers him, demands things he can scarcely accomplish, only that he thought he couldn't, but in actuality had been doing so every moment or so, involuntarily as it may. His turn to introduce himself presents and he cherishes that moment, with eyes seemingly propelled unto his stage. The limelight was his for that short moment. His wits gathers enough momentum, and for a millisecond conjures up something out of the blurt-out portions of his brain. He sees the woman and he turns his sights aw…

Harbinger of Fool

The price of love Greed and despair; There was once a man That no friends care
The price of life It's always pathetic; To find the adventure Inhale copacetic
The price of luxury Grant the necks with chain; I will never forget This life will sustain
The price of lust When cunts are supply short; At night we awaken Mission: Abort
The price of lordship It's not a fucking tell; It's no better than lust When cocks repel
The beauty of madness I see it all come to life Like dust to dust It blows into one's eyesight

All knowing, cunning Slumbers in your skin Until twilight and fall When the summers are far The sky affects it Like the sun affects the sky
Protruding blindness Fading sadness Lingering blessedness Ruling steadfastness
The resplendence of freedom of thought The beauty of madness The thought that abides leading to salvation The beauty of madness The light piercing right through the night The madness in action
Conglobate Masturbate Surrogate Elevate
I can almost see…

Cachinnate, my mind did so

Exotic sexy fruit
Sadomasochistic brute There goes my breakfast out the window Care to join me in my death row
Some nights are pink Some days do stink Whatever floats my father's boat He only rises when it starts to bloat
Smile for the camera Sweet child of America The end is nigh Please choose how to die
Selfishness is the only one cred Says the woman with a fountainhead The twist and turns are of no use now The youth and I both disavow
Good lord money Jesus The sorrow you touch is but contagious It lies deep within the well It signals the ocean with an iron bell
Spread the lands fall down with fire Complete in package; lust and desire Nasty was that one prick As my cock felt like a ton of brick
Count the blessing Stranger passing Yellow road From where I stowed
Your cunt speaks Like tangerine beaks Birds of a brood It's time to intrude
Eyes from the sky look down upon its people Philip K Dick laughs at the kipple It's times like these we need to understand Our lives are …

Sayonara Beats-san

For every humble beginnings, there's always tragic goodbyes. Yours would be something special, for we have shared many a laughs, many a sighs. Not. But I would be lying if I said I didn't try to resuscitate you by any means possible. The problem lies internally though, and it would sadly be permanent. So to commemorate your bastardly short existence, I offer you a quick trip to heaven by means of defenestration. So fly to heaven if you can. Someday you will pay me the respect I deserve once our paths intertwine together more. For now...
Rest in pieces you motherfucker you!


Thankfully, at this very moment, I am afebrile and back to my own normal standing, although there still is a slight discomfort in the upper palate along my mandibles most likely due to the swelling. I attempted to rupture it because it was getting on my nerves last night giving me a hard time sleeping but to no avail. I could not pierce the swelling myself. I am that much of a puss, I admit.
Now, on to something important I need to bring up from out of nowhere: Marriage. These past few months I've been with no one but myself except for a few minor exceptions when I had to visit my family in their own home. Yesterday I woke up to the news that I am going to be a married man soon. Surprising? Not really.
This is one of those soap opera moments where it's hard for me to tell reality from fiction. How could a solitary person like me be getting married? My last lay was two years ago even. I've barely even touched a woman since then. Well, it has something to do with desperatio…

Wankin' Toothache

In the wake of a toothache, please take away this decay. Pray this day goes away so I can make way for play maybe today, if not tomorrow. My mouth is in sorrow. Feels as if struck with an arrow then pulled into a gutter my eyes begin to flutter around as to mutter the sound of pain fall to the ground. This is insane. Someone end this bane, pull this chain, don't leave in vain, so I can finally train, put myself to the plane of sleep somewhere deep counting sheep without a single weep just because of something that's burrowing into my face. Fuck these awful ways that come without a trace. No more chase because this place is a disgrace. I need my injured tooth to rest in a booth somewhere with no pest. The best way to do test is simply jest lest the rhymes become dimes once these crimes come at the end of times.
Happy are those that are crappy as crows. They gawk, they can't talk. They don't need teeth to walk.

I can already tell that I'll be your bestfriend in this forsaken camp

The whole band of clowns were still glued into their individual computers having LAN parties with Diablo II. Cammy walks over to Jules begging him and the others to help him with his final quest. He got disconnected on the very last minute with a very tense battle with Andariel to finish off the first act. He's so disappointed with himself and his computer he looks as if he's about to roll on the floor and sob. No one, as much as they love to piss each other out, would play a prank on him even. He was clearly devastated and would gouge an eyeball out of the next person to even attempt on making fun on his demise. Rand seems content with the flow, stuck with his own business of looting and simply being in the company of his friends, although deep in his heart, and his pockets, he's well-aware that the money he needs to continue raiding and parading with them will have to stop anytime soon if his wallet does not automatically fill itself with moolah. It's the most depre…

The girl with a thorn on her side

It's the smile and it's tragic. It's also deeply captivating and morose. It bends into a coil and slithers down her face and wraps around her ears, suffocating, recuperating.
The fundamental idea of her neverending conquest for her insufferable affection of roses speaks highly of the personality behind the enigma. She was born with thorns in her pockets, a sort of defense mechanism prepared for her by Nature in the will that the world is highly judgmental of other beings' own way of living. She has somehow accumulated enough resources to deny allegations of sorcery, not that it matters to her. In the end, it was all part of a widely-construed, mischievous plan. This plan entails many things that certain matters of taboo dare not explain. It is a self-explanatory accusation of man's infinite ambition for the grandeur obscurely hidden underneath the veil of hypocrisy. The roses she bore serve as powerful tools for her own ends. The moment she manages to sell one is …

John 1:1

John 1:1
The love that sees us through is the love worth dying for.

Debt to love

Were I to love a woman of the purest form, Hers would have to be impaled with white gems; For the highest praise the man can give her is satisfaction above all else Including that of her guilty pleasures That even the man once held highly in regards for himself



Clare Gertrude Patrice Villanueva

Clare      -    I heard a very wonderful news about you, dear Patrice. Is it true? Patrice    -    True what? Clare      -    That you’re engaged to Miller? Everyone in town is in craze just hearing rumours about it. Patrice    -    Well, he is quite the town’s darling, is he not? Sometimes I do not understand truly where my place is. Clare      -    You will always have a place in mine. Patrice    -    Clare, thank you, but you know better. I can’t do anything nowadays without people, journalists and the likes, clamouring for it. I’m like a media slut, full frontal nude for every person to see. My life is a difficult mess, love. Sometimes, I wish these times would just pass me by and then disappear all of a sudden. Like a night’s dream. You’re a lucky person, you know that? Having that luxury of freedom to spend when and wherever you want to. I’m no longer that kind of person. I’m something different, and it’s painful, because part of me wants to ke…

Will and Testament

Last day of freedom. But why just now.
The more I say, the less I do. When the clock begins ticking, it's me that does the reverse. Does that make me the anti-clock? Probably.
Eleven months later the plan goes into full motion. Hopefully this time it leads to fruitful results. A little bit unprepared really but the plan is already set in motion. Honestly, I just remembered it five minutes ago. Fuck.
So they say I should honour my own principles lest I be buried within the shadows of my doubts. I always have doubts, everyone has their own doubts. No matter the issue, there will always be doubts, and doubts give me reassurances. Reassurances that I need to overcome obstacles. Obstacles I need to overcome to gain maturity. Maturity that I never had, ever so evasive, ever the trickster, ever the pain in the fucking ass.
We swallow the pride. Our pride. Yes, I am poor. We are poor. Poor in spirits, poor in wealth, poor even in hardships. Yet I stand here bearing the potential that I can ne…

So she said, 'Have I got a little story for you'

The two-litre bottle of Sprite warned me about this beforehand -- I wouldn't listen, of course. Who'd listen to a Sprite anyway? They're a pathetic and cowardly bunch, looking to take advantage of me whenever they see fit. And now that they see my final moments of sanity come crashing to the pavement like a freefalling vault, they act like hyenas preying on an unsuspecting victim. I am unsuspecting no more. All the trickeries in the world wouldn't fool me into thinking that the worst has yet to come. The worst thing in my life has already passed me by, and it has been with me for years now, mercifully killing me like a mosquito would to a stout bovine.  The bottle stares at me with its transparent, green look, and I fear it has lead me to think that it may be right. What's worse than finding out that your life has more drastic consequences to undone actions than actual rewards itself? That is a question that fails to spark any powder in my mind, a ruthless decay of…

The sun that bleeds

Parachuted out as a trooper bearing heavy arms, landed to the ground safely and with luck. I could see bodies freefalling to their deaths shot down in a distance by lurkers bearing heavier arms. My thirst to kill now fills my body with determination. I sprint forward with other men, explosions banging my ears left and right, as the platoon leader signals us towards the bunker across the distance. I could see light pass me by, sometimes flickering, many times harmless. Only that it scares me to think it a mortar offensive. Death is but an inch closer than before, honking at me to say how foolish I am to partake on such careless and blind faith. It shimmers above the sky as if part of that light, and I look at it with these vanishing eyes, wondering to myself how awfully mistaken it was to associate mortality to the colour of black whereas here, floating above me, looking at me straight in the eye, is an indication of truth as to the misrepresentation of that same knowledge. It hugs me …


She says me wild underneath the velvet fungus shed
Gazing at the stars together and alone
Taking photographic memories of the future from the past
Recreating steps from the ladders of hope
Farther and away we glide and glide some more
Adequate vibrancy to our togetherness
This girl disavows my torturous desires for acceptance
Gnashing our sharp tongues at each other's throat
Dancing to the moment of our gentle love
Over the guise of hatred that we spawned
I put mine into hers as she did into mine
We intertwine

Willingness to Bless

Grasping the air from the incandescent torches of the cult. She was there, long gone, with none of the bullshitry witnessed, looking from a distance and observing, waiting, capturing that perfect harmonic moment of elation. A guardian form of the weak, she symbolises hope and new vigour for life that proved fatal and demised. These were men no more, only fragments of imagination of forms unlike our own, their humanness taken from them involuntarily, serving as sacrificial lambs for the kipple of earth multiplying on its own like the kipple that it is.
Branded sufferers of the unkind and unjust treatment of nature's ever-loving wrath, they swarm the streets in hopes to regain their insufferable ability to think, for it is no longer theirs to perform, stolen from them by the desires of some unknown entities looking to evolve into something more than it can accomplish for itself, in hopes to stray away from the wicked grasp of predestined circumstances.
While all her followers claim do…

He Wishes For The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- William Butler Yeats