Here, I mix chocolates with unexplained desire, over red-bladed electricfans. Then juggle the leftover text messages with sugar and wind. I dial you swirls of cocoas like petal vortexes. And roses, you thought. While all around us, mindless feet walk through the daily motions of moon sets, the way you unplug the machine, when the room temperature has risen, and my tongue yearns for salt and skin. Read More or Comment

Remember the summer Mays a decade and a half ago when you were too young to contemplate about death, yet too old to be playing in the rain? You were riding your squeaky bicycle while spilling the beans with God because Sir Isaac Newton taught you that it is best to talk with the higher beings while one is in motion. You were asking for divine affirmation after you’ve dropped from college thinking it was a piece of petty bourgeois shit, and sought for His signs: a column of fire descending from the clouds perhaps, or marching angels wearing jeans if not. Yet all you had were flashes of light and thunders. You haven’t heard  of Neruda and never discerned that lightnings could be spoken poetry from heaven and not just charged particles colliding in mid-air. You had severe cold afterwards and wanted to ask the spirit of Marx for some providential intervention but you were barking at the wrong tree, you should have tried Darwin. Read More or Comment

Patience is virtue. We acquire this after so many typhoons and learn it after repeatedly drowning ourselves in cliches of picking-up-the-pieces and waiting-for-the-silver-linings. We get this every time we fall in line on long noodle queues to experience salvation from the wives in boots with jackets bearing the names and faces of their husbands aspiring for the coming election. We pray for this grace, without guarantee of receiving it, because above the clouds, our dead ancestors are concocting the next storm.

By the time you’ve arrived, I would have fallen asleep. The sun was blistering hot so I sought the comfort of this building’s shade. I’ve already earned the daily boundary and have enough money for today. I’ve bought  us 1/4 kilo of pork, recipes for pinakbet, a kilo of rice, dried fish, cooking oil, four packs of Payless instant noodles. I bought the Maxi Peel  you requested, and  four  sticks of Marlboro for my self. Read More or Comment

It is a statement on his head. Bald and bold. His hair, and the absence of it. Perhaps a statement of allegiance to a Scissor of supreme cause wanting to free its kind from slavery to long hair. In pursuit of higher meaning other than grooming these bastards who walk in, take a relaxing seat while scanning the tabloid for the day’s news: of a former president sporting metal braces on her neck because the guilt in her head is too heavy to carry. Read More or Comment