July 2011
3 posts
Aftertaste
Maybe it wasn’t the froot loops, is what I was told.
“No, no. You idiot. You don’t understand. It was a dream.”
“Why are you so upset?”
“She died. And I couldn’t help her.”
“But she was a dream. She isn’t real.”
But the tears were real, as was the grief, as was the loss. I would know; upon waking i tried to hang on to...
Lit Crit #2
you and I are (broken) bottles of beer: residues of last night’s affair sit inside (what is left of) us. these last drops left
untouched
are our souls: golden and (almost) transparent— capable of producing body heat. one day, our souls will be poured unto the same glass. and they will become one as our (broken) hearts float atop that glass of leftover beer:...
Lit Crit #1
I am a tiny piece of gravel
on the ground
among others as you walk by.
I could be the piece of gravel
with a size that sits perfectly
on the palm of your hand
before you throw me away
into the sea
or somewhere
you can never see me
be that tiny piece of gravel
that clings
onto the sole of your shoe.
So I could be with you
with every footstep.
So that I am with you,
until the...
June 2011
4 posts
The Selfishness of Mirrors
We don’t own anything.
Our faces aren’t ours to look at. Our names aren’t ours to call. Our bodies weren’t built for us, but for others to touch, feel, live for, live from. Men were made for women, and women were made for men, puzzle pieces that allow themselves to fit once, only once.
And then we made mirrors. People started touching themselves and pleasuring themselves and calling out their...
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Cold Shoulders
At first he was thinking how the walls would be clean, the furniture in their places, her body nowhere on the floor had he, last night, held her back. Had he, last night, ran after her. Had he, last night at the very least, taken her home.
They told him she died hours after he put down the phone, hours after she sputtered to him, “I’m sorry, I—I…” Hours after he said, “Look, I don’t know...
May 2011
4 posts
2 tags
Apini
Deadliest month of Summer prayer wanes in full moon, blasting nets of light glimpsing on the world as a spur of sunlight dews the nightly cold. In April, we live by the rule of painting rural ceilings in sky as the wasps take heed of warmth blessed in their construction of nests. Sky, is a blue one fears to condone, too vast and endless, too beautiful and senseless while the bees work ...
2 tags
A Short History of Murder
I killed the ants out of trust that they will never haunt my dreams unless they were willing to cancel or wait out on all the other nightmares waiting in line— when they go inside that little mound I know the queen waits in hunger to be fed – all my candy wrappers scraped by their little mouths to make royal jelly; something as sweet and potent for the her to reproduce. I killed all the ants out...
2 tags
Time Takes a Day Off
I awoke from chasing tigers to chasing the cold in spaces beneath my pillows, edges of the bed. I kicked off the sheets, my face covered with sweat, sought solace by pressing it against the window. Outside, it is raining. From the corner of my eyes, raindrops against glass looked like a thousand butterflies beating their wings to a rest. I breathe until my head is surrounded with haze, and out of...
2 tags
Dream Log 1
April 23. Fell asleep to Bombay Bicycle Club’s Album, flaw. The following dream look and felt like a supernatural version of “Winter’s bone”, spliced with Spike Jonze’s”Where the wild things are.”
Strange dream. There were was this couple, visiting another couple in a shack in the woods. They’d been having dinner and it was time to go home, and at...
April 2011
2 posts
2 tags
Maybe That's How It Started
When he received their letter, he was ecstatic.
The finest Arts School in the city! And they want an interview! The whole week preceding his interview, he worked hard on his paintings, he practiced what he was going to say in the interview.
He will show them that he was the best they had ever seen, in this lifetime and the next. He will be the Van Gogh of the 20th century, the Michelangelo of...
2 tags
Dial Og For Clearance At 1 In The Morning
“Hello? He He Hello?”
“Stop giggling.”
“This is a work in progress, bitch!” she shrieks; the shadow of her arms across the pavement are misshapen, octopus flailings in the dank waters of yellow street light. “A step to recovery, a toast to the new. Ah but how weak the light flashes! You’re of no use to me anymore. Die in a ditch.”
...
February 2011
1 post
2 tags
From Where It Was
PART ONE: THE WHIRLWIND.
John found himself among the sea of people waiting outside the Mercury Company suite in a building along Ayala Avenue. He was waiting for his name to be called by the HR chief as he was applying for a job as a Marketing Executive. It has been one hour since he came in.
Minutes later, another guy came in. The guy had dark hair, big black eyes, and a charming appearance....
January 2011
4 posts
2 tags
of Trees & Such
The Stradivari once noted: in thin frail hands — perfection is an instrument that cascades belief. In thin frail hands, that dug on steep earth cutting wood each perfect tone, with a knock and a ring to build an instrument so useless and so imperfect that one day the deserving will pulse song into its longing body. The Stradivari once noted an ideal perfection in musicality. To turn years...
2 tags
The sun as center of the universe
“Please,” he said, “let me tell you about rain.”
For a moment I thought he had passed out in his corner, and the silence hung thick over our heads, thicker than the smoke that threatened and succeeded in swallowing us whole.
“What’s that? Did you say yes, man? Did you…say yes?” He said again and I moved my head to the direction of his voice,...
2 tags
2 tags
Plants Everywhere
Once the city took the shape of water and everything else had no choice but to succumb. Every building built that should have stood the test of time lay suspended in between oceans and oceans of sleep while humans scurried around, for higher ground to settle in. Once, the water in the city took the form of cloud, and the remaining world, a city once damp, slowly bloomed into foliage. No one...