Abruptly, I sat up in bed. “How dare you!” I glared at him.

The expression on his clenched-cheeked face remained as it was- stern, stubbornly unaffected by my outrage. He walked towards me. Each long leg striding smoothly in front of each other, each synchronized to the same rhythm that the other was moving- no, floating to.

I sat frozen in a pool of my cold sweat. I held my throat, which was where I felt my heart beating, forcing the blood in my veins into a gush... all towards my lungs. I was losing air and I was losing it fast. It must've been showing for as he sat at my feet, he took them in his delicate hands and gently kneaded its soles with the ball of his thumbs.

"Lay your head," He said.

No! I shouted in my head. He's not- He can't be- You're just- still, dreaming. I assured my self.

"I'm here and I'm real" He said. "Now, lay your head." He repeated.

I watched him speak, the words seemed to be floating from his lips, which seemed to be moving a pace slower than the words he spoke. They were light and breezey, these words. By a voice that was so rich and deep... and distant that it didn't appear to be his. The maturity and wisdom its confident tone promised was in stark contrast to the youth his face portrayed- An elongated nose, crooked at its bridge misplaced in between sockets that were enough to eat away its sides; His eyes, they were big enough to fool its audience of a wide-eyed inocence, had they been darker, they would've shown the truth of his soul's unknown depths and his mouth- now, that was the prettiest thing. It was small and its lips, thin, outlined with sharp lines that semed to cut at its edges, almost pointed in parts where it took its curves. They were slyly curled upwards to form a doubtful smile.

Lay your head, His voice echoed in my head. My ears rung as they lay victims to this strange voice.

"Are you going to make me say it again?" He asked.

No, I weakly shook my head.

I pulled my feet away from his hands lay my body forward, resting my head on his lap. I brought my knees to my chest and hugged them, held on to them the way I would for dear life on a theme park's crazy ride... For I did not know what was to happen next.

This gesture must've come as a shock to him for I felt him almost immediately go stiff. I felt the muscles in his thighs coil around each other in tension. And as if I had eyes atop my head, I saw the awkward look on his face, clueless of what it was he was to do.

"How dare you," I whispered.

A cold silence fell in between us but left just as fast as it had come.

"How dare YOU!" He snapped back at me.

I turned my head toward him, meeting my eyes with his. They were dark with the shadow of his frown, with the blanket of his thick brows that met each other in fury.

I sat back up, facing him.

"Me! You! you come into MY room, sit on MY bed and as if this intrusion of yours was not enough, you dare tell me what to do--"

"Why you, you... You monster!" This upset him more than I thought it would but that didn't stop me.

"You disrupt my sleep and rob me of my peace and you disrespect me by raising your voice at me! You harass me by forcing what you want- what you want me done! What? Did you think I would just obey you in fear? Ha! You obviously don't know fear! Why, the very sight of you drives fear away!" I went on as he raised from my bed and walked towards the glass doors at the other end of the room. Reaching them he turned his head towards me to watch me in my frenzy. When I stopped yelling, he turned towards the dark of the night.

The silence once again fell, weighing down on everything in the room, everything except him. I watched him sway his weight from one side to the other, his hair catching light in different parts, each time. It was as if he heard music, a song made for him alone.

He's mocking me, I thought to my self. But somehow, I just wasn't quite sure. I sighed heavily and sank back into my covers.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Giving you your peace back" He said.

I turned towards my side, facing the vast blankness of my wall. "Thank you," I whispered. And I fell into the comfort of a coldness I knew so well. They were calm now, my breaths. I took each one with care. And with each, his scent grew stronger. He smelled... clean. Disinfected. I liked that. It was as if he was uncorrupted by the evils of this world. An angel, that's what he is- I thought to my self.

I felt his arm around me now. "Sleep." He commanded in my ear.

This time, I obeyed him.

You don't know Bittersweet 'till you taste it

This is my home. And these are my waters. Carelessly, they crawl on to these shores where my feet are planted; selflessly dying in worship... No, in calling.

We are here and we are there. And we are one.

We are on the shore and we are in the deep, and all else is a failure of imagination.

In this cold, breezy realm, where water sings as it falls from the rippling ocean, as the earth falls from the uneven edges of her mouth, I am the bride, the daughter and the mother.

I have you always! Never never to let you leave me, never never to go away...

intoxicated and wasted. every inch of my body is in something which I have come to known so very well- pain. and yet, my heart, my soul, my mind; every other aspect of my being, remains inexhaustible. restless. in a constant machinery-like motion. thinking of; and feeling, or at least trying to feel... YOU.

I can't.

I, who pride my self in making sense out of the most ridiculously absurd (redundancy intended for emphasis) things: garters of doom, mice in blenders, and pumpkin... juices, can not, for the remaining life of me, seem to make sense of you and of your effect on me. you, to me, remain to be nothing short of an enigma.

And so, i blame you. Yes, you, for the way I was tonight. The way I still am right now, before this very monitor, both a friend and foe for enabling me to pour unwanted thoughts out unto you but disabling me of anything tangible and palpable with you.

You leave me in tears- baffled, more than pained; In confusion, of which there is no sense and reason; Intoxicated, from salty-rimmed shot glasses of blue alcohol I have been fluffed into downing in to my already-messed-up-system; Restless, from the inorganic content of a nasty vice I have been trying to quit for the part eight years. Non-penetrated by the intimacy which I've, for so long, seek.

Hours ago, the longest ones I've had in my years of existence, I sat on concrete steps that burned my behind, in a stubborn denial of what the only person amongst you who must know me, so insistently argued I was, and probably still am, going through. I sat trying to stop you from unearthing demons of a past that I have long left behind. I denied, I argued my case, I tried... but you won.

You, a cowed, evidently under-estimated being, have managed to ruin that which I have been so laboriously worked on; that which I have kept up in a constant addition of height; that which I have manged to keep up around me and have made my self believe, is strong; that which I have been praying to be unchangeable- a fence of high voltage to keep every body, and every thing, out and to keep my sad self in.

I never should have pursued you nor allowed you to pursue me, I never should've replied to your messges/s nor sent you mine, I never should've gotten to know you nor told you about my self, I never should've looked into your eyes and entered the cursed doors to your soul, nor opened mine to yours. I never should've asked for you to wear your heart out on me nor keep mine whole, I never should've entered your dreams and opened mine to yours...

But, I did.

So now, I, a saintly-masochist, gladly accept the tormenting consequence of having you in my lived existence: choking on your presence; losing the power over my supposedly-most-articulate way of communicating- words; deeming imagined memories more real than silent moments with you; accepting, without choice, that You, and the relationship I have with you, is subordinate to the most insignificant things in life- one of which being, reality.

In the dark, we may meet each other in terms unusual to you and your friends, but when the bright and fiery royalty of the sun awakes and spreads its wings all over this unusualness, i lose you. i lose you to commitment, obligation, and the to the restrictions of the very nature of your being (yes, mine too).

Hence, forgive me... for seeking you. You, who understands my vagueness; you, who pours your self out to me; you, who shares the passion I have of often-overlooked things; you, who eases the nagging loneliness in me; you, who's unable of having small talk and instead, asks me of matters to which my sharing and advices, I so humbly ask for you not to listen to and follow.

Forgive my heart for breaking when I look at you and see a stranger. Forgive my tears from flowing when my emptied-cup is deprived of the over flow of my identifying nature of you. Forgive my soul for hiding it self when I try to touch you and not feel you there. Forgive my thoughts for drifting when I am kept at the shallow shores of your deep, deep, thinking. Forgive my hands for reaching out and finding you at an impossible distance. Forgive me for wanting and needing... that which I constantly lose to the world- You.

blah. blah. blah.

Again,
I write. I write.
__________________________________________
I like writing.
__________________________________________
I like fiction.
__________________________________________
I like writing fiction.
__________________________________________

I like writing fiction because. Reality. the realm of reality. Is strange.
Reality. I've found. is stranger than fiction. too much. there's too much care. for
things, insignificant. who. what. where. when. why. how. strange.
words. words are just words. words go together. to make more words. and. then.
even more. words. they don't. mean anything. not really. yet. they. can mean.
everything. everything. and so. i write. i write of frustration. them words. they
frustrate me. they come at. the most unusual times. and places. places, too. the
toilet. the road. in line. waiting. waiting for the elev. -ator, wherever it is.
impossible. impossible to. stop. stop and. take paper out. the blank sheet. of paper.
white paper. and purple, too. always. supposedly. at hand. but. never. never when
them words. are needed. not when. I, stand. I, sit. I, find. myself. staring. drowning
in eyes, unknown. helpless, they leave. me. and, I. lose my. self. to the crippling.
effect. of eyes, unknown.

To their strangeness,
I am power... LESS.

help. LESS, i am- I am pulled in
to
the DEEP

A
R
K


ABYSS

of the soul. where. there, i find. what. to me, is more REAL.
i find. U. bare. naked. stripped. of reality.
AND ITS PRETENSES
robbed. of rationality.
AND ITS IRRATIONALITY

FREE

of reason. of logic. and of limits. the limits. of being. what we are. and what we are. not.

i find u. as u are: REAL. to me. not with eyes, unknown. not with the feel. of your breathe. on my skin. but.
but.
but. the tangibility. of your memory... from. my imaginings.

drowned. lost. in memory. i watch. the moment. this moment. with u.

p a s s me by

with out having used. that. which. I thought. I under stand. words,

and their power...

LESSness.

We are nothing but Whore of Life

Every single human culture is designed around a complicated network of myths that have developed over the eons through an evolutionary process in which the myths often seem to take on a life of their own, much like genes. Cultural myths control human personal behavior in a myriad different ways ranging from toilet and feeding habits to civic duties. It would be an extraordinarily rare event for any child to grow up without collecting a set of mythical beliefs which he or she will accept throughout his or her lifetime as eternal truths.

_____________________________________________________________________

As gently as he possibly could, he lay his head down on my lap, allowing his hands to fall into a careless criss-cross before me. I turned my gaze from the window to where I imagined his eyes would be... but couldn't feel them there. I listened to his breathing. It was heavier than usual; the intervals, a fraction of a second longer. Palms upturned, I stroked his forehead with folded fingers. That always relaxed him.

I knew better than to ask him what was bothering him. He liked moving at his own pace, opening him self up at his own time. "I think my sinuses are acting up," he tried. "Mm-hmm." A head cold, I told him. "Must be from last night."

"Must be," he said. -- With his head held in my hands, I applied a gradual pressure on the small space between his brows, working my way outwards, to his temples where I kept my calloused fingers in a circular motion.

"But It Isn't." I told him in a voice so stern, I was ashamed to use it on him.

I felt his chin release the weak flesh in my thigh as he slightly lifted his head. I spread my fingers and ran them through his head 'till my palms nested on either side of his skull; I curled my fingers and tugged at his hair. He laid his head back down.

"You don't know that," he spat at me.

"No, but you do." I tugged a bit harder and heard him give off a modest moan.

"Last night was too stale. It couldn't have held any dew in suspension... at all."

"Sometimes, I wish I was more like you." He said in an apologetic tone.

"Ah, child. Everybody always says that but nobody ever really means it." Then, a chuckle. "I told you, I'm going crazy. Any time now and you'll be ordering the loon police on me!"

"You ARE crazy!" He almost shouted. "We won't ever let that happen, Grams. at least I won't."

"That's sweet, Love." -- "Give it a couple of years."

"GRAMS!"

We both laughed. And when I realized that his breathing has lightened a bit, I reached down to give him a peck on his hairline, and catch a whiff of his hair. It gave off the trace of a sleepless night.

"What is it, really, dear?" I whispered in his ear.

"I never should've let her in," He confided to me. "I ought not to have listened to her." He continued, shaking his head.

"One never ought to listen to flowers. One should simply look at them and breathe in their fragrance. Mine perfumed my whole planet... but i didn't know how to take pleasure in all her grace. This tale of claws, which disturbed me so much, should only have filled my heart with tenderness and pity."

And he continued his confidences:

"The fact is that, I did not know how to understand anything! I ought to have judged by deeds and not by words. She cast her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her..."

"Stop." I said, grabbing him by his arms. I felt his eyes widen in surprise. "I can hear it in your voice, you're letting it disrupt your peace."

He looked up at me as if in question, What?

"Regret. You do not recognize it because It isn't of you. You were always taught to see the sweetness in things, not the bitterness."

I held his face in my cupped hands and brought mine to his eyes. "You, my beloved, are a butterfly. Meant to fly, not hover... and she, she is blessed among flowers for you held her in your cradle where she ripened her fruit that she now offers the world. There are meadows of infinite possibility that have been laid before you. Meadows for you to nurture the greatness that flow in your blood. Creatures of beauty such as your self, Love, were not meant to be caught in a jar... or else you die, and with your death, you leave lips parched, without having drank of your absinthe."

"I love you, Grams," He said in a weak voice. "but only you see me the way that you do."

"No, Love. Only you don't." I told him, while combing my fingers through his hair.

He nestled his face into my lap, sobbing. "Sshh..." I told him. "Rest your heart, now. The storm has passed. Your flight awaits."

the Cuppycake song

You're my Honeybunch, Sugarplum, Pumpy-umpy-umpkin, you're my Sweety pie
You're my Cuppycake, Gumdrop, Snoogums, Boogums, you're the Apple of my eye
and I love you so and I want you to know that I'll always be wight here
and I love to sing sweet songs to you because you ah so dear!
____________________________________________________________________

The newspaper the cafeteria had was of two days ago but i had it up to my nose, pretending to read it. out of the corner of my eye, i see him make faces at the kid at the next table. tsk, typical. i thought to myself. he noticed the slight smirk i made and looked to see if i was watching him. i raised the newspaper high enough for it to cover my whole face and the ear-to-ear-grin i had on. i knew he didn't like being watched while he ate. i went on reading my paper, sneaking an occasional glance in his direction.

he had his back to the street. across, was a light post that dimmed every time a car went past... and each time, his features were darkened with shadows; their intensity, illuminated. whether or not he had something on his mind, i can't tell. for probably the first time, i couldn't tell. all done, he said. oh... let's go. i said in what was almost a question.

i'm tired, he offered as we crossed the street. with my eyes on the road, i attempted a reply, uh-huh. that was all i could muster with my mind overtaken by what was about to happen. the night, our night, was about to come to an end and tomorrow, he, the boy I was side by side with right now, will be gone. I've come to terms with reality, which was about to catch up with my fantasies of a time without end with him.

we had to walk a block more and i was eager to make the best out of it. i watched his hands move in gestures in the still night air that hung before us; watched his lips move in what seemed like a recount of something he did. I couldn't really be sure. I was too busy memorizing each, every detail about the way he looked, about him.

we got to the corner way before i expected. he grabbed my hand and turned towards me. looking up to me, thank you, he said. i wrapped my arms around his small body and buried my face into his flimsy shoulder, making a memory of how he smelled like. eeew... he said after having noticed that I was sniffing his shirt. he wriggled his way out of my clutch. i laughed at his child-like ways. I'll miss that the most, I thought to myself. he got into the car... I got into the driver's seat and drove him home. before letting him out, I glanced at him sleeping in his seat. I love you, I whispered.

He starts pre-school tomorrow.

******************************************

Mga Labi ng Ubas

"Mga labi ng ubas," bulong ko sa kanya. "Ang mga labi mo ay labi ng ubas... sa gabi, tila hinog sa kabilugan ng buwan, natitikman ko ang kanyang katamisan." Ilang niyang inilag ang kanyang mga mata sa ilaw ng lampara. Hinayaang matakpan ng anino ng kanyang mabigat na hininga. "Ngunit sa araw, napaka-asim... na tila hilaw pa ang bunga."

"Di ko sinasadya" sambit ng mga labi ng ubas. "di ko ginugustong makalimutan... ngunit di ko maalala." mahina niyang pinagtanggol ang sarili. "di ko malaman-laman kung bakit."

"Mmmm..." pilit ko'ng pinigilan ang mga luha na silang nagtutulakan sa likod ng aking mga mata. ngunit napansin niya ang ilan sa kanila na sumisilip sa ilalim ng maiitim ko'ng pilik-mata. "Pangako, bukas, maalala ko na."

"Gabi-gabi mo'ng pangako, araw-araw mo'ng kinakalimutan," pilit ko'ng sinabi sa gitna ng matamlay na ngiti.

"Oo," wala na siyang ibang masabi pa. "Oo."

Sabay naming minasid ang mga nagsasayawang dahon sa labas ng bintana. "Naririnig nila ang harana ng mga anghel ni Bathala," sabi ko sa kanya.

"Hindi, wala silang mga kaluluwa. Ang kanta ng mga tala lamang ang dinig nila," sagot niya.

"Wala nga silang kaluluwa... ngunit may puso sila."

Lumapit siya sa 'kin. "Nais na kitang hawakan"

"Di mo pa sa'kin nasabi iyan. Ni isang beses noon, di pa."

"Sinasabi ko na ngayon... at yan ang katotohanan."

"Kung bukas, maalala mo lang sana- 'Mga labi ng ubas,' utang na loob, huwag mo'ng kakalimutan."

"Araw-araw, pilit ko'ng inaalala ang aapat na salitang makakapagpaalala sa 'kin sa iyo ngunit-"

"Hindi. Wag mo'ng sabihin. Wag mo'ng hayaang patayin ng mapagkunwaring katotohanan ang iyong imahinasyon, ang iyong alaala."

"Mga labi ng ubas," pasigaw niyang itinapon sa malamig na hangin ng gabi. Sabay naming inihiling sa mga anito ng kalikasan na hindi pa lumisan ang hangi'ng iyon sa kanyang paggising.

*********************************************

Ilang gabi na kaming nagkikita. Nagtatagpo sa panaginip. Minsan, kapag kami'y magkasama na, may mag bibiyak ng katahimikan sa labas at 'di man namin gustuhin, magigising kami. Dahan-dahan na nami'ng naiintindihan at natatanggap ang kalagayan ng aming pagkakaibigan. Nakasanayan na namin ang pagtatapos ng aming pagsama sabay ng pag biak ng katahimikan sa umaga.

Mataas na ang araw. Iniakyat ko sa noo ang aking kamay upang itago sa init ng araw ang aking mga mata. 'saka ko siya nakita, naglalakad palapit sa 'kin. umupo siya sa bandang kanan ko.

"Kilala kita," sabi ko sa kanya. "Minsan na tayo'ng nagkakilala."

"Di kita maalala," sagot niya. "Di kita kilala."

Hinanap ko siya sa kanyang mga mata... ngunit tila wala itong mga diwa. walang mga laman. kitang-kita ko siya ngunit tama siya, "Di nga kita kilala. Pasensya ka na." ang sabi ko, sabay tayo.

Dinampot ko ang aking mga libro at nilisan ang lugar... ngunit siya, di ko iniwan. Dala-dala ko ang kanyang alaala sa 'king paggunita. Sa aking paglakad, taimtim ko'ng ipinangako ang paghahanap sa kanya sa reyalidad.

Nilapitan ko ang unang-unang puno na aking nakita. Gamit ang aking bolpen, paulit-ulit ko'ng ikinahig sa makapal na kahoy, Mga Labi ng...

Ubas, bulong ng hangin. Naramdaman ko'ng tumayo ang balahibo sa 'king batok. At nang tumalikod ako, ako'y sinalubong ng kanyang mga mata.

"Mga labi ng ubas," bulong niya.

An Exerpt

In response

Once upon a time, when the woods were young, they were home to creatures who were full of magic and wonder. They protected one another and slept in the shade of a colossal fruit tree that grew on a hill. But now, the tree is dying, its branches are dry, its trunk, old and twisted. The creatures who have settled in its roots have gone blind clawing at each other, looking after their own desires, disallowing the tree to thrive... bludgeoned and drenched in pain, it lies in wait for a being small and humble, gentle and meek. For it needs not nourishment, it needs not to be watered, it needs that which only a modest rodent can bear- the power innocence has that evil cannot imagine.

Apologies in the Infinitive

I write this down not out of hate or arrogance or blame or whatever other reason that falls within the narrow-mindedness of your immaturity. I write this down out of honesty and longing. That you have allowed me into your lives, I am grateful for but that I have allowed you into mine, I am now doubting myself for. I am tired. Exhausted. Burnt-out. Bored and just not interested. I am tired of shallowness, I've had too much of it in days past my adolescence; I am exhausted from the responsibilities of my own life, too exhausted, for me to just sit and wait for you to drop yours on me. I am burnt-out by the energy-draining daily routine of mediocrity. I wish for a life beyond that and that is what I am still even in this institution for. I need to believe that that can, and will happen for me. Otherwise, I see no reason for me to be at wit's end on a daily basis. I am bored. Your childish rants and demeaning activities do not interest me. I worry about things beyond even my self. Unlike you, I can not, for the life of me, put those things on hold for mere pleasure and enjoyment. I long for the same faithful companionship that my solitude has given me, for the same comfort and peace of mind that those desolate nights have blessed me with, for the same quiet that I now only experience at that hour after you- the rest of the world, has gone off to rest your weary bodies to get through another day of nothingness. For saying this, accept my apology. Spite me. Hate me. Kill me, if you must. But live in me forever for I love you, I do. I love everything about you that hurts... So if ever you trusted me, be it now, this very moment that I tell you- Damn you. Your pain is mine. You've let me in just as I have let you. What you bear, I suffer twice as much. So you see, I've no choice. I've none... except to cut the cord that sources my life from yours and yours from mine. So, be with me and love me, live for what I live for... or just hand me the godamn cutter!

from the Sheets of a Sleepwalker

The dreams that you remember well began not in the mind but in the heart. These dreams, synthesized with the soul of another person, gave birth to worlds that you also carried in your heart.

In this dream you wanted to stay forever. You wanted to lose all of yourself, and live only by feeling.

With every step I touch, your spirit accumulates; with every step I leave, your dream is finished. The trail of organs spells a fairy tale I once heard. In the glow of the planets your story becomes real.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

All of a sudden, he noticed that his beauty had fallen all apart on him, that it had begun to pain him physically like a tumor or a cancer. He still remembered the weight of the privilege he had borne over his body during recent, earlier days, which he had dropped now-- who knows where? or even more questionable, how?-- with the weariness of resignation, with the final gesture of a declining creature. It was impossible to bear that burden any longer. He had to drop that useless attribute of his personality somewhere; as he turned a corner, somewhere in the outskirts of that chaotic forest. Or left it behind laying at the feet of one of them dead trees like some old, useless toy from his childhood that he had outgrown. He was tired of being the center of attention, of being under siege from both girls' and guys' long looks. At night, when insomnia stuck its pins into his eyes, he would have liked to be an ordinary guy, without any special attraction. Everything was hostile to him within the four walls of his room. Desperate, he could feel his vigil spreading out under his skin, into his head, pushing the temperature further towards the roots of his hair. It was as if his arteries had become peopled with hot, tiny insects who, with the approach of dawn, awoke each day and ran about on their moving feet in a rending subcutaneous adventure in that place of clay made fruit where his anatomical beauty had found its home. In vain, he struggled to chase those horrible creatures away. He couldn't. They were part of his organism. They'd been there, alive, since much before his physical existence. They came from the heart of his father... who had fed them painfully during his nights of desperate solitude. They'd pour into his arteries through the cord that linked him to his mother ever since the beginning of the world. There was no doubt that them insects had not been born spontaneously into his body. But it was necessary, urgent, to put a stop to that heritage. Someone must renounce the eternal transmission of that artificial beauty. It was no longer beauty, It was a sickness that had to be halted, that had to be cut off in some bold and radical way.

It was during his hours of wakefulness that he remembered the things disagreeable to his fine sensibility. He remembered the objects that made up the sentimental universe where, as in a chemical stew, those microbes of despair had been cultivated. During those nights, with his blue, round eyes open and frightened, he bore the weight of the darkness that fell upon his temples like molten lead. Everything was asleep around him. And from his corner, in order to bring to sleep, he tried to go back over his memories.

But that remembering always ended with a terror of the unknown. Always, after wandering through the dark corners of the forest, his thought would find themselves face to face with fear. Then, the struggle would begin. The struggle against two unmovable enemies-- his own demons, and those of the cursed wild. The first, he left wrestling with his sleepless sheets, hidden beneath the four legs of his bed. While the latter seemed to be the ones clawing at him the most during the day. And so, He lay there in perplexed anxiety of what was to come in place of the merciless dark. Somehow, he found solace and saw refuge in his dilemma: stuck in the realm after sleep but before dreams, that moment after dark but before the day. In his vertigo, he whispered to the wind and hoped for it to be carried to Divine heights. He prayed for time, to once be on his side. Please, he almost cried, just up and die!

Outside, he felt the earth coming into labor. In a heartbeat, it would have given birth to a new day. He rolled over to his side and folded his head into his pillow wishing to drown out the distant sound of hooves and of hissing and the growing flutter of razor wings that would cut right through his throat and to his spirit. Outside, the early dew gave off a pungent smell- the kind that u could smell not with your nostrils but with your stomach. He held his breath, waiting in dire desperation with the weak flicker of hope that his pray'r be answered. His stomach grew into knots, a clear-cut sign that the night breeze failed to trade his hopes for the night fairies' benediction. He got out of bed and dragged his weak legs across the room, towards the door. He stood in the doorway and tugged his muscles in every direction possible to rid them of their silly exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes and went on his way across the field, to his sole place of comfort and security. Upon reaching it, he smiled in gratitude for its faithfulness. He went around it once before laying beneath its nurturing leaves and attentive branches. He arranged his now-secured limbs into a fetal position in between its great roots and felt its trunk give off a warmth that wrapped him in a soft film.

Only then did he realize the foolishness of his fears.

from a Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when its not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the Fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Death Constant Beyond Love

"Leave your slippers," He told her.

The girl was struck dumb standing on the second step to the doorway to his house: hundreds of books were carelessly stacked against the wall, high enough so that it kept the lower part of his windows blocked. They were on three, kawayan chairs now devoid of the use it were intentionally made for. Beneath the longest one, cassette tapes were thrown in such a habitual manner into two plastic baskets generous of space. Posters, fliers and artwork were sprawled all over his walls. Notes, writings, were floating in the air, flapping like butterflies. But the girl moved and now stood in the doorway, blocking the intrusive afternoon wind and they were left without air and alighted on the objects in the room.

"You see," He said grinning, "even shit fly"

The girl carefully removed her slippers and placed one foot after the other on to his cold, bare floor. She moved languidly into the room, not knowing where to place her self. Her skin was firm and crisp from a slight burn from the sun, for his house was a good ten-block hike from the hi-way. Moving away from the light, her hair turned into the same color and the same solar density of crude oil. She had it in a confused knot high above her head. Her eyes, as testified by one who has seen her before, were indeed sad. The man followed the thread of her look and finally found the undone painting.

"It's of a mother," He said.

"Yes," she said with a trace of mockery. "I learned what they were through mine."

The man attempted a chuckle but choked on his nervous tongue. He shook his head in a bow and disappeared into a room and came out carrying a banig in his arms. He unrolled and lay it on the floor before her. He was kneeling on the end opposite of where she stood, looking up at her as if in worship. He asked her to position her self on the native weave in a way that was of least discomfort to her. She nodded in obedience and knelt down to face him. She caught his eyes with hers and without him moving his lips, she heard him singing to her in a voice as distant as a dream:
You are a goddess
Your feet deserve the worship of humankind
Your tears of anguish
and your solitary laughter
rekindle the blood of the earth
that resembles the fiery horizon of the Nile

You're melting my heart
You tear me apart so sweetly
You make me fear my passion-

You
You give hope
to the damned-
to me

She lay her body down on her side, fixing her head on her cupped palm. This action misplaced her clothing and allowed for her neckline to fall low, revealing her supple breasts. The doubtful light that was able to escape through the door, fell on the most conventional curves and folds of the fertile landscapes that were now before the man. He lay next to her, on his side to face her. She placed a hand on his chest, where she imagined his heart to be. He looked at her hand, as if in offense... He took it in his and he let his gaze follow her skin.

"You're just a child," he said.

"Don't you believe it," she said. "Don't you dare fool yourself."

The man felt better. The girl closed her eyes for she didn't know what to do. The man, for his part, didn't know what to do with the girl because he was drowning in her presence. He wasn't used to having them, his muses, turn to lovers. And he wasn't used to his love affairs not having its origin in indignity. Just to have some time to think, he held her in between his legs and undid the knot on her head. He brushed the hair off of her shoulders and let it fall to her back. With his leg still around her thighs, he lay down on his back. Then he realized that she was naked under her clothes for her body gave off the dark fragrance of an animal of the woods, but her heart was frightened and her skin disturbed by a glacial sweat.

"Nobody loves us," he sighed.

The girl tried to say something, but there was only enough air for her to breathe. she laid down on her back. He turned his head towards her and gave her one, last look over before giving the door a kick, turning the room dark in the shadow of the mother. The girl abandoned herself to the mercies of her fate. The man caressed her slowly seeking her with his hand, barely touching her, but where he had hoped to find her, his hand became entangled with hers.

"Wait," the girl had said in a low, surprisingly calm, voice. "Just wait."

After an eternity of minute moments, they started to hear the quiet knocks of the rain on his doorsteps and upon his roof. They both looked up to the ceiling, as if to welcome it in. Its smell; She knew it was coming. The man thought to himself. He allowed for the shudder to past before opening his mouth to speak, "Tell me one thing," he asked then. "What do u know bout me?"

"Do you want the honest-to-God truth?" She asked.

The man entrapped her eyes with his. He pleaded, yes.

"Nothing" The girl ventured, "except that you're worst than the others because you're different."

The man nodded. He remained in silence for a long time with his eyes closed, and when he opened them again he seemed to have returned from his most hidden instincts carrying the burden of their depth with his tears. Then she laid his head on her shoulder with her eyes on the mother. The man held her about the waist, sank his face into woods-animal armpit, and gave in to terror. Twenty one days later, he would lie there in that same position after having killed himself, debased and repudiated because he had allowed her in; weeping with rage at dying without her.

Rendition of a recollection

Then He looked at me. I thought that he was looking at me for the first time. But then, when he turned around behind the tree and I kept feeling his slippery and oily look at the back of me, over my shoulder, I understood that it was I who was looking at him for the first time. I turned away, let the black beads in my eye sockets tag behind the fading breath of the sea... unto the deathbed of its gentle waves. I turned my gaze towards the sky phoenix slowly, heavily tucking its fiery red wings into a cool orange blanket now sprawled over the feet of an otherwise lazy, blue and white canopy. I brought my eyelids low over my eyes and forced into my retired lungs the salty mist of the sea breeze, and the black moist of the dry sand. This, I did if only to make a memory. To freeze into eternity, a moment; the moment; that moment. I dragged my exhalation to a painful sigh before sitting up, spinning to his side and bringing my legs up on the cement to face him. After that, I saw him, as if he'd been sitting there, looking at me since time in memorial. For a few split seconds, that's what we did- look at each other. He turned. With a long and quiet hand on the edge of the cemented bench. It was then that I remembered the additional thing, when I said to him: "The spirit may be willing but the flesh is weak." Without taking his hand off the cement, he said to me: "That. That, we'll never forget." He left the orbit, repeating to himself: "The spirit is willing but the flesh, weak."

I saw him walk over to the mesh hall. I watched him appear in the hazy mirror of the bright, white floor tiles looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched him keep on looking with his great, blue coal eyes: looking at me while his shadow was easily diced by the multitudes of small wooden frames that composed the windows of the hall. I saw him blindly take an overturned glass and fill it with drinking water. When he finished, he turned and started towards me once more. He innocently approached me saying: "I am afraid someone is dreaming about my hidden world and revealing my secrets." And in my direction, he held out his fragile hand holding the glass of water. And he said : "You don't feel the cold." And I said to him: "Sometimes," taking the glass from him. And he said to me: "You must feel it now." I took a drink of the water and I understood why I couldn't have been alone on the bench. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude.

You

You are like a witty,

little child

playing in my mind,

rolling down

the barren hills

of my dream-memory

whilst the sun folds

the seeds of fertility

along with your closed eyes.

Your closed,

selfish eyes...

but

I am such

a saintly masochist.

I love

the idea of blissful torture!

I

wanna hear you giggle

in delight!

until

I faint

in ecstatic agony.

________________

Shall I be dammed, and you were the Buddha. I would be enlightened by now by the amount, the quality of thoughts I have of you. My spontaneous musing... This is not just hard anymore, It is dangerous.

Random Violence

I danced. Almost like i did in a past life- one out of an indefinite number. And it rained, the kind that never stopped and never really will and would always get me wet despite the [already-watered-down] umbrella i hide myself with.

• When you've allowed sand dunes to blow over your multitudes of theatrical persona, you cannot really expect a mere Angel's breathe to unearth them dancing ghosts of the past.
• Stupid. Especially for someone whose claim is on being otherwise.
• I am still in so much love with the smell of rain...

i. I swear I caught his gaze sweeping across that dull-silver floor and if I could only believe in it hard enough, It was in the MY direction. Mine.
ii. gahd, those eyes. Those cursed eyes. They seem to purge into unknown depths beneath the windings of my damnation and roast my soul to perfection. Perfection, I say. Anything less is of no worth before his radiant energy.
iii. The flutter of his wings drown out everything. Even the thuds of this blood-pumping organ. Even the song of tears on the pavement.
iv. And I love him. I do. For he, he is a threat. To my thinking and to my whole being. He crushes every ounce of pride in this withered body in the palm of his hands and allows for all care to be thrown to the wind. Death itself shan't have any dominion over him. For I love him... but I am not in love with him.
v. He is my return to innocence and I shall again dance only and only for him.

whispers of Moira

Requiem for a sin

u were a butterfly
venomous, clumsy
in a garden of falling tears
u reflect the Athena
more than her beauty,
her wrath
saturate my senses
indulge me in blissful sorrow
leave me wounded
bite me
kill me

i shall live in u forever
until the magic disappears...
_________________________

Sweet Absinthe

a butterfly, i was.
i give off embers for pixie dusts

between, beneath, beyond
i hover more than i flutter..

the i saw ye
amongst the flower beds,
a dainty myrtle of beauty and cutting wit
i muse. i stutter.
enthralled by yer seering whims.

yer fatal tongue.

i reached to drink yer absinthe,
..and died in sacred bliss.

To ye Whore of Life

Untold is the story of a mislaid girl who found herself in the backseat of a boy's car... Or was it the story of a
boy who found that mislaid girl in his car? Did he know she was there as he bobbed his head along to the scratchy low-down tune on the radio?

The car sped forward. The girl recognised the music, it was the remnant of an on-the-fritz stint. It wasn't playing on his car radio but in her head. So why was his moving? She leaned forward and realised he was laughing at something the girl in the passenger's seat said. The girl rested her hand on his as he drove on. That they were lovers, could easily be seen.

The girl in the back nestled down into a love nest of inanimates- a pair of guitars, plaid button down shirts, rubber flops, a cordbook, pieces of paper with random writings strewn everywhere and a set of tied-together crochet hooks(?!?). These- a shrine to his complexity, and the girl in front, were a draft to the life story he was starting on.

Did the girl know where the car was heading as she watched the world out the window? Probably not. Did she dare dream she would share a ride with the boy for a life time? Most certainly not! Is she glad she went along on that first drive? most def.

The scenery changed, as did the interior. We've learned to hide behind greater things than clutter (go figure). I will drive the miles with you, dear stranger. Will we drive each other crazy? I do hope so, my alienated other.

The Folly that is Eve

To the one who I feel has fallen from the same proverbial branch as I: though we land on separate fields and our colors change to suit that law called evolution, we remain to be the same fruit. We aren't as alone as we often think. It's not that good but the poem made me think of you. Maybe next time, you can teach me how to be truly deep and insightful- orgasmic as you say. I would love that. Then I could make better poems.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I have fallen,

far from the withered limb

that had borne my flesh.

Rushing past

jeweled leaves

and carven bark,

I lie in breathless wait.

Beneath the sun-dappled canopy

between Eden’s flesh and Adam’s kiss

I lie.

I lie.

I lie in wait.

See my puckered flesh,

bruised skin soaked in morning dew,

I am succulent to the core.

See them all,

my silent worshippers

partaking of me like the holy Host.

I lie.

I lie.

I lie in wait;

within the confines of this Universe,

I have taken nature’s course.

Keep me still

while the world flails unbound.

I am a ditch where I have fallen, now.

I am permanence, yet lost.

Wilting, withering, browning the red

as rust fades the vision of spring.

I have cast my innards through the flesh,

sweet meat scavenged and left

for smaller things to feed upon

and then, yet, nothing

I am falling, falling, falling still.

Watch the swirls shift and form

but I remain a single entity

against the old Telon.

Where I land; pain

swelters like heat that,

once upon a different chance

could—was—love;

that I live

despite the ripping

pulls me deeper into no man’s land.

And so I lie

I lie

I lie in wait.

I love you, Otzi.

Tideland

Feb. 20, 2007

There are no strangers

there are only people we don't know yet,

or don't know anymore.
__________________________________________

she met a boy today
that she has known all her life
that may not be possible
but it's true

she can't draw a map for you
or take you back
through their native hands
but

she learned something today
that i could never teach her
she learned that she can
love someone
all her life
in an hour
and that life provides us
with a memory
of places we've never been
and may never go again

for
some people
earn a place in our past
without being there
things like that don't really happen
but they happen
all
the
time