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Showing posts from June, 2012

Eventually, not

My hands feel older now, the other parts pale in comparison to this funny sensation. Stimulating, perhaps not, would the least be the last thing on my mind. There's no time to spare, not even my very own sexual desires. Perhaps it's best I please myself when all of these are made undone, makes it much more easier indeed, or perhaps it's only time for change to step up and rise above the hate. What goes around comes around, what goes up must go down.
When I take my fingers off this keyboard, I best be on my way. Back to a stoic state of discontent.

Cecil II: The biological tree, Cena; the ubiquitous poverty and the monotonous mediocrity, status the discontent

It has been three days now for Cecil. Three days of waiting for something to come out from nothing. A miracle he's been hoping to breathe out from thin air. Cena left him for an hour now; probably due to the fact that therein lies no odorous communication between the two, no chemistry, in fact, to smother the awkward elephant inside the suffocating room. She left him for coffee, she says. I'll be gone not long, she says. We're still poor, she says. Well, no. But we are still poor. So fuck the coffee and fuck this lousy attempt at being civil. Cecil strives in despair, he lives for it. It's probably best for him to spit the keys to the confines of his introversion. Ha, intro-fucking-version. Since laughably when? Since puverty, hah hah. Get it? Puberty and poverty live together in perfect harmony.
So Cecil drowns himself at the irony of the thought, thinking if life was that easy for him to decipher, then why is he less intellectual than he intends to be? Is it part of…

Silencing the critical voices

Now, a week, it's over. None of it matters, well, almost. Next step is breaking boundaries, ask myself how. New things discover, easy and free. Nonchalant, maybe. Nice week, still heartaches. Neither good nor bad, one wonders. Numbers game, arms race, changing horses midstream, no. Not at all. Not by the hairs of my chinny chin chin. No. Narcotic, maybe, but not intrusive, or is it. Nursing the neurotypical senses. Nerves, perhaps even emotions. Nubile little girl, tsk it or task it, or tit for tat that. Narcissistic, not me, okay, maybe a little. Nostalgic, yes! Night whispers in my mind, knocking on the doors of death. Naive, I am, in search for a niche. Not as man but as an artist. Not only even that.

A Priori

Hey. [Squats facing the audience. Clocks at someone.] But I miss you. [Pause.] [Pause.] I love you. You should know. [Pause.] We should act now. Before it's made illegal. [Pause.] You should know. [Gingerly collapses to the ground.] There is no other way. [Pause. Head loose like jelly.] It's everybody's mission, not my own. [Pause.] You should know. [Pause.] Because one day... [Pause.] You will miss me. [Pause.] For the same reason I do now. [Pause.] For nothing at all. [Undulate to sitting position. Head last. Pause. Clocks at the same person earlier, for five seconds. Quickly look away after. Pause. Stay for five seconds. Bring the lights down. Fade out.]

Beauty and Madness

It is rightfully said, by an insufferable genius like me at that, that a man devoid of madness is a man devoid of life.

Magkaliwanagan nga tayo

Kumakain sa aking isipan ang mga malabalahibong salita na gumapo sa dila ng kausap kong kay ganda. Hindi ko lubos maisip kung ako ba ay tunay ninanais o ginagamit lamang upang makamtan niya ang intensyon ng kanyang mga matatamis na pangarap. Habang malalim kong iniisip ito, lalo kong pinapatibay ang pagkumbinsi sa aking sarili na sa kabila ng lahat ng hirap at pagdurusa, masasabi ko sa aking puso na ako'y ganap na masaya.
Tumalikod ang kausap kong dilag at nagpaalam, ang gintong buhok nito'y umuuntol na parang buntot ng kabayo sa dilaw na sikat na araw, kanyang damit ay inaalon ng ginhawa ng mga espiritu. Siya'y ngumiti sa aking direksyon, kanyang bughaw na mga mata tumutusok sa aking pananaw, at ilong na napakatangos at masarap pisilin, at ang matambok nitong bibig na ubod ng senswalidad at karakter. 'Kita kits 'maya,' bulong niya sa akin na may kasamang ngiting nakakabighani.
Hindi ko maintindihan. Hindi. Bakit? Bakit hindi ko maintindihan? Minsan panalo, mi…

Cecil I: The ineffable excuse to retain his sanity, although his desires go against the whole point of living and dying, an anti-proverbial rant

For a solitary soul, like Cecil's, the only way out is turn himself in, walk the path of conformity, grab a pint of testosterones, and chug it down his scrotal neck. This world is not designed to accommodate. But perhaps in someone's delusion of grandeur, hidden within their own view of the world is that longing for it to be dominated. To a growing man like Cecil, this was his rightful birthright, a promised complexity for a world that feeds not the weakness of man. He is aware of the processes of what's, but reluctantly admits his wisdom of the how's. This conundrum is universal. Every overachiever knows this is the case.
Cecil embarks on a journey that defies convention. He walks a path from nothingness to everythingness. The world is his stage and he is the one actor to play them all.
For now, his journey is afresh as it had been for quite some time now. Cecil's struggles to find the right timing and dedication is almost always his biggest misstep. He has what …

The Gorgeous Discus

Toxic morning in the aftermath of a shitshower of farewell. Too late, I thought to myself. The deed is done and the morrow is now.
Come back to me, it's always easy, that's what the earblasters rang to my head on the first light. My body barely even there, as if it was forgotten and left to rot somewhere in the rubbish of the studio in Three Mills. Even if things end up a bit too heavy, we'll all float on.
My humble abode is fucked up right now and the desire to retaliate is futile. My inner senses tell me something needs to be done. Not tomorrow, but today. Perhaps it is a dire task to pursue. There is nothing here worth noting except the brine smell of gasoline and radiation. The things behind me are now things of history. Something to ponder perhaps but not necessarily relevant. All that matters to me now is the next five years remaining.
Remaining, such a fragile choice of word.
Dreams, this and that. We speak of it and forget. Dreams, an opportunity to seize everythi…

Lorry of Glove

Tonight it's very clear, The time for us to drown is near, It breaks my heart to see you flying. I will always hate you, I will never leave you alive.

Harlots

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
Time slowly passes by, clock strikes two and my eyes drown to my shoe. The game has yet begun, the girl has already gone. The one that got away. She shot to pay like gangrenous grey on peeling flesh.
Tick tock tick...
One last message, one last more, this whore in high dosage.
... tock tick tock tick...
The chickens have escaped from the orange yellow box and into the abyss. Where does it lead? Where do you piss?
Surprise, surprise. Little sunshine Mae. Aunt Helen is calling and she wants her tongue back. The only way she's going astray is if she meets the gangrenous grey, the girl of prey.
'CONGRATULATIONS!' she said, coiling her face into that vortex of awkward smile of hers. 'Now fuck off.' So I hugged everyone just wishing it all away.
... tick tick tick tick... tick.

The Chaos

Dearest creature in creation, Study English pronunciation. I will teach you in my verse  Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse. I will keep you, Suzy, busy,  Make your head with heat grow dizzy. Tear in eye, your dress will tear. So shall I! Oh hear my prayer. 
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,  Dies and diet, lord and word, Sword and sward, retain and Britain.  (Mind the latter, how it's written.)  Now I surely will not plague you  With such words as plaque and ague. But be careful how you speak: Say break and steak, but bleak and streak; Cloven, oven, how and low,  Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe. 
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,  Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,  Exiles, similes, and reviles;  Scholar, vicar, and cigar,  Solar, mica, war and far;  One, anemone, Balmoral,  Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel; Gertrude, German, wind and mind,  Scene, Melpomene, mankind. 
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,  Bouquet, wallet, mal…

It's summer and the saints are marching out (but not for long)

Another collapsing block and I feel a complete surrender incoming. My confined mind is losing its grip, letting slip the words that I not so long ago echoed to my own self.
'Not again,' I whispered. 'Never again.'
And yet this carousel karma bitches stronger and stronger every single day. Despite my best attempts to sugarcoat the prose I spit, fact is that other people are to blame. Creative differences, my ass.