its not easy trying to keep a regimen that is actually anti-writing, and so some have seeped out...

fragments from "Apologia" by d. steine


they were never spoken
because words are mere stardust

frail like the rising trail of my blue smoke
dissipating, spread thin in empty space

coming home...

for some reason..i am excited about going home.

its been a long time since i have been there, and though i miss it like one who misses a lover, somehow i feel like i have never been absent.

for some reason i have learned to carry what and who my hometown is inside of me, everyday, with every breath.

nah, its not about being a sentimentalist, or melodramatic, or corny. i just really love the city of dying flowers (though when i ask friends how the city is, the most common reply is that it is the "same shit hole")

i have heard of changes all around, and yet for some reason i know i will find what i knew i left behind.

my mothers and my baby sis ja.

my brothers and sisters.

my theater group.

my friends.

my enemies.

my ex lovers, crushes.

the many ghosts who wait for me. my pains awakened and rising.

my hope.

see you soon peeps!

ok..about the workshop...

theres nothing about the workshop.

something is wrong about workshops in mindanao that are not friendly to mindanaoans.

of course, i am not asking for special treatment, just that let writers from mindanao have the slots that are supposedly for them.

even if it means only to witness how "strong" and "superior" are the writers from luzon and visayas.

if its any consolation, i dont know of any dead master who went to a workshop anyway...