god damn you.
i woke up to your scent today.
and your words.
shit, your words.


YOUR SCENT + YOUR WORDS = .

it will be the last greatest equation formulated by man. it is the period that replaces all question marks. it is the song you wake up to one morning and it's suddenly December and you're certain it IS December.

i don't wanna move a muscle today.

let's stay in bed.

or get out of here.

kam on kam on kam on. get thru et!

ang tibay mo.
tanga ka lang.
sinasamantala mo naman.
pasamantala ka rin naman.
ano gusto mo gawin ko.
sabagay.
wag kang kumalabit.
nakakapagod yan.
di ka pa natuto? para kang tanga.
tanga ka lang.
tapos sasabihin mo wag ako mag reak.
... sa bandang huli, tinta lang naman talaga nasayang e. o virtual memory.
....
di ko na alam.
una na ko.
umaga na.

13 june 2005

slowly, the walls are crumbling... the butterflies are leaving. flowers are withering. the air smells of burnt rubber... or it could be burnt skin. black clouds taking over. the wind is suddenly biting cold. there's no one to talk to. no one to share my sweet smoke with. i wonder where everybody has gone to. the whole city is deserted. i can hear a can of Coke (or Pepsi who cares?) rolling on a street somewhere. it will stop when it runs into something. lucky thing... its destination already mapped out. a lot luckier than me, i guess. here i am, smoking my ass off on this bench in the middle of a forgotten city... beautifully mastering the awful art of racking your brains with loose thoughts, hopeless dreams, x's and y's... completely unaware of what the next five seconds will bring. the word 'lucky' must have been coined by Coke (or Pepsi).

a pitiful soul i am, i must say. my smoke is fast burning out. first few drops of rain have touched my skin. the can of Coke has stopped rolling (i'm happy for it... he's finally settled). butterflies are still nowhere in sight. just like everything in their rightful places, i'm still here on this same bench, puffing the last of my smoke and lighting another. i guess i'll stay here for a while and let myself drown in the coming rain. it's been two hours since that stranger i shared my smoke with left and took the bus. and yet it almost feels like it's only been minutes ago. i guess i can stay here and smoke some more. wait for another can of soda to roll by...

august

god-awful itches rotting your skin.
burrowing deep into your flesh.
marking their territories red and gray and black, with pus and blood and god-knows-what-bodily fluids.
popping up from everywhere when you open your eyes at 10 o'clock in the morning when the sun has long been frying your room.
... as if you needed them to colour your life!

aching muscles. swollen. red lump. you run your fingers across. it screams at you. unintelligible but nonetheless clear and bright as your salesman's newly-polished shoes. penetrating and sucking oxygen off your brain.

unexplained dizziness. fucking up with your mind. you think the city is trembling and you look at your cup of coffee to confirm. it's trembling. you look around, but everybody's quiet, unmoving. you question yourself. you eat your thoughts and force them down your throat to remain in the deepest bowels and core of your being.

you swallow your saliva and taste the creaminess of your tongue. four Sundays since, it's still creamy. like a nagging thought that forces itself in your conscious. it wants to say something but plans to stay indecipherable.

how do you live like this?