New Directions

Work I

i know the answers
and yet it is the questions
who share my breath.

and well-wishes and worries
from brothers and sisters
set on foot and fins
over barren mountains and fishless seas
searching, and finding me
here
where i have been abandoned
again.

imagined perhaps, but like a blind man
i grope for the avatars of their absence
and i discern the shape of their sadness,
a sadness of futility when it comes to me,
such were in abundance
even when i was among them.

some attempt to ignite
my cold and silent lips
to flicker with a smile
by reminding me of the scent of the flowers
of what was there
before the petals lost their breath and fell
and went to neverwhere.

it is not as if they are forgotten
of another
fingers discovering my own
of wet lips against my chin
the sound of a smile
and the color of her voice
but they are all
like the twin photographs of twin souls
held by the glass
abandoned
inside the corners of the frame.

it is not as if one
could not endure solitude
but the fangs of abandonment remains
and its poison nourishes
the questions that blossom and wither
like nights and days
with my every breath.



-----------------------------------------------
Work II

the dead masters
whom we all revere
whose words we listen to
between lines and whispers of turned pages
never found themselves like seeds
waiting, enclosed and held
in the shell of poetry
workshops.

even from among the letters
of pablo and rainer
all i could find
were encounters with friends and foes
births and deaths of so many things
whose throes ripple and echo
traces of memory, dream fragments
and so many days and nights,
even between the arms of lovers
solitary
all which became the elements
seeping deep
past their shells of flesh and bone
that nourished the seeds
that bore the fruit of their poetry
from where we feed.

i have been to workshops before
among men whose works i admire
but they told me what i already knew
of the things i know i don’t
that i am groping blind in the light
with more than just open eyes
they were all lost as i am
in deciphering the origins.

they are only
lost and deciphering
longer than i am.

and yet i hunger to be in a workshops again
not because they have or can teach me anything
but only to be with the lost ones
to trade among ourselves stories

of our solitude,

of why we endure seeing and feeling
when we could have chosen to be blind and deaf

of the mystery behind the madness who shape
men into becoming like mothers,
the births of our formed and malformed lines

whom we have to teach and nurture
until they could live and walk on their own
even after we are all gone.

Letter for Somewhere...for someone...

Heya!

It’s been quite a while since we last said our “hi” and “hello”. And yet, no matter how distant and silent, I have not forgotten. Not for a single day. Not for a single waking hour. And if truth be known, not even for a single hour spent clutched in the darkness, between nightmares and dreams.

The months that we have been apart have been a constant strain between us. And it has also been a cause for where we are now in each other’s life, well, for the place that I am in your life that is. And that is nowhere.

And though I have spent so many hours pining and being sad about how things have been, asking questions whose answers I already know, it still doesn’t get any easier now that you are gone. But I should have known. Precisely, I had known of the possibility. But then it’s a whole different story when a possibility becomes a reality, especially this reality of something good and beautiful ending.

But life goes on, and on until it would end. And it would, it’s just a matter of time, or will, or cowardice perhaps in my part.

I know you hated that part in me, the part of me that has not been able to forget the harsh past that has shaped me, the part of me who carried not scars but fresh wounds that I sprinkle everyday with herbs and salt so that I would not forget. But for a time, I wanted to believe, I believed that you were able to accept that in me, and that acceptance of who I am, of where I have been and the possibilities that I could be was the love that I thought I could never know again. But I did. And though your love may not be a phoenix that would rise again from the ashes, my love, though mortal, will always be holding you until it has to let go.

I know you hated that part of me that was dying, little by little. But I want you to know that I never intend for you to feel that your love was hopeless, that your love was useless, that it was not able to do anything to let me forget my painful past, that it was not able to let me live. I hope you realize that it did exactly what love was supposed to do, when you were there, I may not have admitted or said it out loud, but you made me live. You wanted me to be alive for a day more, and another day, and another day.

I know its useless talking about things that have been, things that have ended, that have died. It may be a waste of time talking about memories. But then, please do bear with me, for memories are just a few of the things that I have of you. I may no longer have your love, but I still have your memories, though they are, admittedly, fading everyday, as all things do.

Often, I ask myself if I have a right to ask for some things to remain even after the breaking of things. I have done a lot of mistakes that have caused your anger, and I don’t want to create new reasons for your wrath. And because of that, words are running out for me…

I wonder if you still remember me. Do you regret the love that we discovered, that we shared, that we made and fashioned into the shapes of our desires?

I wish I could see you smile at me again.

The Memory of Songs II

Currently playing inside my head..for a change..OPM ruled the day...

Burnout
by Sugarfree

o wag kang tumingin
ng ganyan sa 'kin
wag mo akong kulitin
wag mo akong tanungin

dahil katulad mo
ako rin ay nagbago
di na tayo katulad ng dati
kay bilis ng sandali

o kay tagal kitang minahal

kung iisipin mo
di naman dati ganito
teka muna teka lang
kailan tayo nailang

kung iisipin mo
di naman dati ganito
kay bilis kasi ng buhay
pati tayo natangay

o kay tagal kitang minahal

tinatawag kita
sinusuyo kita
di mo man marinig
di mo man madama

o kay tagal kitang mamahalin

Masaya
by Bamboo

Ako'y malungkot na naman
Amoy chico na ako
Ilang tagay na, hindi pa rin tulog
Tanong ko lang sa langit
Kung bakit umawit

Ang dating masaya
Ngayo'y panay problema
Bumabalot sa buto
O Bakit ganito...

CHORUS 1
Ang pag-ibig, ganyan talaga
'Pag bago pa ang pag-ibig
Ganyan talaga, masaya.....

Pagkagising ko
Nakita ko si Juan
Na siyang adik sa aming lugar
Parang druga daw ang bisa
Na ginamit nya kanina
Sa una lang daw masarap

CHORUS 2
Ang pag-ibig, ganyan talaga
Ako'y nilamon na ng pag-ibig
Ganyan talaga, masaya
[Repeat]

The problem of not having an Erectile Dysfunction...

i dont know if its normal for a guy with no e.d. to go around carrying SILDENAFIL wherever he goes...

SILDENAFIL what? you might ask..well.. E.D. is for erectile dysfunction..and sildenafil is the generic name for what became one the hit drugs over the last years...

...VIAGRA...

dont get me wrong, i actually find it odd and amusing that i am carrying this around. a friend gave it to me when i asked what was an empty packet box of viagra doing lying around serving as an ash tray. a few days later, he got me a sample and said, here one.

of course, male pride and ego compelled me to state out that i do not have any need for it, considering that i do not have any problems regarding an erection. if only it would not be rude, testimonials are available, but that would not be very good, considering im working for an office who shares the same sex with those who are gonna give the testimonials.

but my friend tells me, and i believe him (he is a doctor anyway) that like what happens with drugs these days, a twist is always found in its usage. to put it straight, i could use it even though i have no problems with keeping my pole standing. its usually used these days as an enhancer of sorts.

makes me remember when friends would dish out and receive advices about how to keep that staying power on long hot nights without sleep...from taking redbull or enervon to what else, just to ensure that lady love would have the shag of a lifetime.

said friend even told me why should i not try it with someone i know. im sure he, being a doctor, spoke not only from medical expertise, but from personal experience. right?

now, if only i could find someone i love and who loves me to experience, firsthand, no, both hands, how it feels to be enhanced by sildenafil..ahh..viagra...

expiry date is still june of 2007...mahabang habang paghihintay....

The Memory of Songs...

for a good reason.. these two are the songs that constantly play inside my head...

MATCHBOX 20 - Leave

It's amazing
How you make your face just like a wall
How you take your heart and turn it off
How I turn my head and lose it all

It's unnerving
How just one move puts me by myself
There you go just trusting someone else
Now I know I put us both through hell

I'm not saying there wasn't nothing wrong
I just didn't think you'd ever get tired of me
I'm now saying we ever had the right to hold on
I just didn't wanna let it get away from me

But if that's how it's gonna leave
Straight out from underneath
Then we'll see who's sorry now
If that's how it's gonna stand, when
You know you've been depending on
The one you're leaving now
The one you're leaving out

It's aggravating
How you threw me on and you tore me out
How your good intentions turn to doubt
The way you needed time to sort it out

I'm not saying there wasn't nothing wrong
I just didn't think you'd ever get tired of me
I'm now saying we ever had the right to hold on
I just didn't wanna let it get away from me

But if that's how it's gonna leave
Straight out from underneath
Then we'll see who's sorry now
If that's how it's gonna stand, when
You know you've been depending on
The one you're leaving now
The one you're leaving out
The one you're leaving now
The one you're leaving out

I'm not saying there wasn't nothing wrong
I just didn't think you'd ever get tired of me

But if that's how it's gonna leave
Straight out from underneath
Then we'll see who's sorry now
If that's how it's gonna stand, when
You know you've been depending on
The one you're leaving now
The one you're leaving out

Tell me is that how it's going to end
When you know you've been depending on
The one you're leaving now
And the one you're leaving out
The one you're leaving now
The one you're leaving out

---------------- this is the other ---------------

Alice In Chains - Over Now
yeah, it's over now
but i can breathe somehow
when it's all worn out
i'd rather go without

you know it's been on my mind
could you stand right here
look me straight in the eye and say
that it's over now
we pay our debt sometime

well it's over now
yet i can see somehow
when it's all gone wrong
it's hard to be so strong

we pay our debt sometime

guess it's over now
i seem alive somehow
when it's out of sight
just wait and do your time

you know it's been on my mind
could i stand right here
look myself in the eyes, and say
that it's over now

we pay our debt sometime

Dumb Wishes

sometimes, i do have dumb wishes...

like with the recent fiasco of my love, i wish for something that is so unlike who i am.
i wish i could be just like ordinary guys, the kind of guys most women hate.

i wish i could look back at what we had and be happy for the things that i got. it had so many things one could be happy about, the passion, the intimacy, of the so many ways love was made and remade all over again, discovering version after version...

i wish that i could look back and tell my self that i should be happy that even if only for nearly a year, we had love, we discovered love, we renamed love, we made love...

but why cant i?

why is it that what actually kills me is that she is absent in my life?

why does it hurt?

there's a part of me that is telling me that its only a matter of time before i could look back on those memories and accept them as how i did with all the other love affairs that ended. there have been a few, and yes, when i look back at those that came before her, i feel ok.

perhaps im just being so mushy about this recent ending. and yet i feel with a deep certainty that this is something that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

still sometimes, i wish i could be like the rest of my kind. and yet if i were, then she would not have arrived in the first place. still, now that she has left, what else is there to do?

perhaps when the new day arrives, i would be ok.

perhaps.

Moving On and Moving Out

Moving On and Moving Out


I was just informed by my landlady that they could no longer renew my lease on my place. I still have a month left paid in advance, and it seems that would be all that I would ever have until I find myself another suitable place to spend my lonely nights. It’s not that bad actually, nor is it that good either.

It’s not the best place I have lived in. But for the past few months, that little shack has served as my empire. Inside I ruled with impunity. No one to tell me where to put things or when to tidy up, that is until I berate myself for letting my laziness get the hold of me and I would find myself sneezing amidst all the dust laced around, though I have to admit a certain kinship with the house spiders who have claimed their own parts of the house. I don’t mind them, i let them be, a live and let live relationship between us. But all of this would soon be over.

And yet I cannot help but be reminded of the things about this certain house. Of the dreams that were born there, of the love that it was a witness to. There is something about house that makes us chained to it. Like I am, to this certain house that in the course of time, would belong to someone else.

So much like the recent love that I lost. Call me masochistic, but admittedly there is this thought that her kisses, her touches, her love that use to be mine would belong to someone else. Just like how the poem of my long dead father said so. Chained, that is the word, because there is no denying that what we had, and what we lost, will always be tied up to this spot, no matter if the structure goes away.

When I sat on the bamboo sofa that has also served as my bed, I cannot help but be reminded of the times we shared this cramped space together. I remember how she held me close, close to her breast, like a lost child finally welcomed home. Of how she spent moments watching me sleep, or listening to my snores. I cannot help but remember how, mushy as this may be, the two of us locked upon each other’s eyes, trading smiles, exchanging embraces.

It must have been Ellison who said that “romantic angst only last for 12 minutes, the rest is self indulgence.” Perhaps so. And yet I cannot help but think that for the remaining days of the month that I would stay here, I would be constantly haunted by the ghost of our memories, everyday getting more vivid that I could taste and hear and smell the love that was once living here. And more maddening, that I am also sure.

With how recent events have unfolded in my life, I cannot help but wonder if the wheels of the world have began their turn just a few meters from me and I am caught in it. As if her absence in my life is not enough, I would have to move on with my own, and move out of sanctuary.

Perhaps, for some reason, leaving this place would be a good thing. The images would not be so vivid, and though they would always be inside my head, they would not haunt me like they did earlier this morning. And in the process I would applying and actually doing something I have known right from the start but loathe to do when it happens, and that is the biting reality of letting go. Easy to say to one’s self, and yet doing it, every moment doing it is another story that is not really that happy to be told.

Its still gonna be something like four weeks before I say goodbye to my place. And yet I know that wherever I may be, I would always be with this place.

Or better put, this place would always be with me.

The Death of A Dream

The Death of a Dream


Admittedly, it is not easy when dreams have their deaths. And perhaps it would be quite useless to try to analyze, pierce together the pieces that may never be put together. Death has arrived, and it is here to stay. All that remain somehow is what happens after the burial.

Life goes on. Of course, until like dreams, it meets its own demise. And since the death of my life is still to come, there is only one other alternative, and that is to die a little each day while being alive. Funny, that for all of my skills that I have honed through the years, of how I somehow was able to breeze through storms in my life, this current situation holds small and fading hopes of ever being saved. And still, life goes on.

And perhaps just like as how it usually goes with stories of tragedies, or more appropriately with how it happens in life, new things pop out when you least expect it. As if by some twist of fate, or a glimpse of redemption, options started being laid upon me. All I have to do now is choose.

Work brought me to this city where I have no family, none of the blood kind that is. But as the wanderer that I am, it did not take long for me to be able to find company and solace with friends. Still, at that time, there was a certain tragedy in my work that I do love: for though I was working for women, there was no woman for me for whom you could say I could dedicate my works.

Until she came.

And her arrival made me want to stay, made me dream that amidst all that I have lost, I could begin again. I can have life again. But as we all know by now, that dream, and the promise of that life has died. Now, silence has become the language that she wants to talk with me.

Now, the fruits of our labor are nearly bearing fruit, a few more months and we would be officially recognized as a separate and independent department of this city government. From our humble beginnings, to the “squatter” days when we had to look for an available office space to making sure that our budget stays intact, those days are soon to be landmarks, milestones that we have endured in our belief to make women equal and productive partners of men in rebuilding this nation, one barangay at a time, one city at a time.

And when that day finally arrives, when the long struggle for the creation of this office is finally over, I know that the work of making sure that the office endures begins anew. But I don’t think I would be there when that happens. For me, it is enough that I know I did something positive in my war-torn, desolate, abandoned and tortured life. And so, if work is somehow accomplished, in one way or the other, what would still hold me in this city?

And just when these thoughts are in my head, friends are starting to signal again, for me to be there, far away from here and far away from home. It would not be easy, but having friends during harsh times do help. It would prove to be a fresh beginning. It would be a challenge that I know I could find worthwhile.

I remember years ago when I was in my downward spiral of despair, that physical death seemed to be the most logical choice at that time. I know, I know, those were the so called “crazy” times of my life. Later on, I realized that I did not have to cease to exist: I could go away. And now that is what is actually haunting me.

Is it time for me to go away?

It hurts like no other, every breath without hearing from her. It cuts something primal inside of me, I don’t know what part exactly, but I know something about me is being washed away. For some reason, I still hope that somehow, before I am completely gone, she would be back, and she would hold me like she once did. Perhaps she will. And perhaps she never will.

I remember, in the beginning, when I told myself that her age would play a significant part in the changes that I knew that would be coming. And not only was it in my head but I even told her about it, that, if ever, she would change her mind about us, that if finally my sense of mystery and allure has finally faded and she decides to leave me, to abandon me, all she had to do was do it. No hesitation, no excuses, no explanation. Just say the killing and binding words. And though I am waiting for her to come back, a part of me I believe is just waiting for her to exactly do that, to kill me.

Sweet peach of my dream, let it come. Whether you hold inside of you the sweet poison for my demise, or the sweet juice for this thirst that has been drying me up since you left me.

Please.

Work in progress : Dying Afternoon

dying afternoon

its not as if im tired
of you

but you have been standing
there
cast against the dying afternoon
and your shadow
has always been
eclipsing
my own

and your voice
and your words
bumping and flowing
with the coming and fading
of car tires and moaning engines
feels like
the sad voice of church bells
tolling
for a prayer

and i pray
though to no god

p.s.
(finish this later)