Posts Tagged essay

Hermit Stories

how to get directions.

We must speak of loss first

Let us examine how the ebbing left

You with fermented songs

How one morning you searched

And plundered the widening heaven

With stories of abandoning

Etched clearly when you stretched

Your mouth like a river 

      

-waterborne

I went up at the arrivals lounge full of resentment other than my own, the couple on my right side complained in silence  why the sun is so searing today close to being unforgiving. my left-side lovers are cool about the whole thing perhaps they took the weather as a premonition how their day would end. I am caught in-between, this is exactly the kind of scenario that i dread – finding myself in the middle of two loves. Outside, the sky threatens to pour out it’s long overdue discontent to all the widespread dryness. These are the things i cannot undo.

Oh well come on, hit me hard and low.

I just came from an island and instead of going around and loiter on its beaches, i decided that i will just sit down, take my pen, and started to waste away in a different world where inanimate become animated, and the animated become stiff, sturdy, rigid, and not to mention frigid. Like how i want to proceed these days, i went incognito.

Out of nowhere the phone screen stared at me and shouted ‘travel is the saddest of all pleasures.

Let me argue with myself first, In travel you’ll have to bear with absence, but then again,  you will have to open yourself with a new kind of presence, no matter how you want it, you have the island for yourself. What sort of absence are we articulating ? The long blank trail between people that doesn’t end somewhere?  The peculiar absence of the pushing and pounding of machines against machines, and the frightening bliss of silence traversing your bones? There is only mud on my feet, they’re thick, slippery, and earthy. The water buffaloes behind me rise in agony as the rain came like an infant’s embrace – very unforgiving.

The emptiness of the road and all it’s bareness is a strong metaphor of vulnerability, it is an endless stretch of longing.

However travel allows me to outgrow all of those things that has been bothering me for so long.  Every time i press my ears on unfamiliar walls, every time i turn doorknobs – i open places, i open new, distant, constellations – cobwebs, windows, sheets, and faces.  Every time i pay for bus tickets, i do not just send away money, or coins, i also shooed away nightmares, restlessness, sleeplessness, and all that pushed me deeper in my bed.

Travelling is relative to remembering and forgetting

We have different manners in travelling, we have all sorts of rituals and other beliefs. Some dwell with how they fold their shirts making sure that the scent of their love ones who left before dawn is intact in the cloth. Some chew their food incessantly and in precise rhythm of their lovers laughter. Some take photos, some simple and some as elaborate as metal puzzles.

You shall not forget. Dusk will peer into your
Window, tragic-eyed and still,
And unbidden startle you into remembrance
With its hand upon the sill.

 -Angela Manalang-Gloria

Travelling for me is a pilgrimage, just like writing, it is sacred as it is trivial, it is of both worlds. I set out to darkness waiting for somebody to arrive.  It is also the art of bringing together elements to form civilizations –  guava, chico, pomelo, durian, jackfruit, mixed with milk, breath, and gun powder to make mother wombs as valiantly explosive, bursting in spectacular colors. A race made of rainbows on your wrists, lips, breasts, and hips.

After a long travel, the long haul, the longest sleep, i will fall deeply like a stone, tenants will even moved under me – like millipedes, centipedes, rats, and other creatures of the crevices. They will use my body as a foundation, they will have Ferris wheel,  clowns, food joints, and even governments complete with fascism to strike down dissent of people questioning their exploits over my body.

I came back today – i catapulted myself to the familiar chaos,  of people cheering mistresses and philanderers, while jeering those who profess love in the open, i came back to unknowing. I’m back to all that is familiar.

My hand is that of alloy, with fingertips made of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and thorns. My feet, they’re flightless birds, that only glide in short distances, but i have more elastic frog legs, i can leap higher then glide, they may be wingless, but it will bring me again to travel. My arms are horses they speed up to race with time and hunger, my heart is a kitten it can only purr,  but my mind is hawksbill diving to nothingness.

 

GIYA

 

Bukhara

ang imong palad

aron mobukhad usab

ang ubang palad

 

 

sa panganod sa dagat

ug sa langit

 

 

hangad ug ihapyod kini

sa imong dagway

lakip tanang suok

niini

 

 

aron mapukaw

ang tanan nga

nagpasalipod

sa mga anino

damgo balak

ug sugilanon

 

 

unya inata imong kaugalingon

aron matul-id ang tanan

nga nahiwi u gang tanan

nga nasaag miliko

misimang makatultol

sa karaan nga dalan

ug pamaagi

 

 

sa pagdamgo

sa pagmata

 

 

sa pakighinabi

 

 

Bukhara

Imong mata ug baba

Idungan sa tunglo

Sa subang sa adlaw

Ug mga bituon

 

 

Tawga ang mga bato sapa

Bukid lapok panganod kahoy

Ang yuta ug uban pa

 

 

Dawata ang

lain-laing dagway

sa pulong

 

 

tan-awa ang tabanog

tulin kayo nga mipauli

 

 

padulong

niining

 

 

ritwal.

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Dreams in Narrative

it's hard to move around when you're stuck being a ceramic.

“Imagine a world in which there is no time. Only images.”

-Alan Lightman, Einstein’s Dreams

Today, i’ve been limping, i envy amphibious living, i mean frogs can go hopping between stones agily, while i can only muster calculated steps, every time i stretched my feet after the other.  you can see pain spelled on my face, like a misplaced stigmata. Unlike frogs,  like other cold blooded animals they can go in and out of water as they please without effort. I also envy water, they can go low when it is necessary. Water also assume shapes, contours, and edges,  it can freeze not as they please but only when temperature tells it to, it can murmur when at it’s boiling point. Today in my mute-land , i can only limp, turtle pacing to where the noise are roosting.

This is my tale, it is meaningless as other tales before this, the good thing about all of these meaninglessness is nobody asks questions, or else they will suffer the same fate as the tales it questioned. It’s utterly useless as well, why would you question something that is meaningless in the first place? For the sake of becoming align with the weight of being non-relevant? Wait – meaningless, useless, and irrelevant all in their glorious affirmative-negative state.

Haha. This is actually nsfw.

Last night, i’ve been with some of the kindred souls i’ve known in the 2 decades of my existence ;p i enjoyed listening to their stories, how most of their lives changed overnight waking up one morning and their hang-over never left, throbbing until today, an echo roaming inside their head that kept them puzzled what happened the night before, the kind of buzz that kept on buzzing long after they abandoned drinking on the same glass of wine.

One friend of mine stopped wearing socks out of guilt, another chose to retreat in corners and wait for random conversations, one decided to wear sleeveless shirts to show how tattoos become more define whenever he flexes,  another one decided to hover above everyone else, becoming light as balloons. another one felt like an out of time wine merchant during the wedding at canaan, most became entertainers performing magic, belting out sonnets, love peddlers,  seeking what ever cause they can make out of nothing, but, come to think of it, they are as disconnected as they are more inclined to talk to their gadgets, passionately.

In this world, artists are joyous. Unpredictability is the life of their paintings, their music, their novels. They delight in events not forecasted, happenings without explanation, retrospective. – Alan Lightman

Unlike most of them, i decided to become an observer participating only among the shadows. A token for everybody else.

Unlike others i don’t have to fake it.

I’m saying all of these because the limp disallowed me to dance and entertain others like those in the circus, i hate it when my pick-up line opens with –

  1. hi, ive got an infection
  2. you know what my psychiatrist said?
  3. Let’s share something aside the moon
  4. So, what’s your favourite chaser?
  5. Do you know there’s a shampoo called gee you hair smells terrific, too bad you don’t know it?
  6. What is the square root of 3,789,987.987?
  7. You wan’t to disappear?
  8. I’m so cheap, you don’t have to bargain
  9. I need to measure the steps from your gate to your bedroom for feng shui
  10. I’ll call your ob gyne

The other day, a girl with an eye-shaped-coming-all-the-way-from-china, prompted me to reconsider writing again – in random. How exactly random is random? Does randomness have a criteria ? Or does a criteria in itself contradicts randomness? I am always at ease with all things that is random.  apparently the concept of tenure is now bigger than the idea of randomness. Don’t you think that the moment we invoke the idea of randomness, we are already limiting the possibilities? The what ifs? Is it dearth instead?

Thank you so much, you made me write again.

In this era of dis-association, in this era of persistent ironies, the need to connect becomes greater, and the necessity to  ignore all misgivings is in no way correct, anyway let me write about this separately.

Limping for me is an excuse, secretly i’ve been praying that the heavens will inflict me with some sort of sickness aside from what i have right now straight in the head.

I would have wanted to become unproductive and see how the world will bid it’s time, in this harsh world where everything is random, everything done on impulse, my adoration will remain the same, sincere and erratic. Haha.

to her who showed me images and words in mixed commotion. salamat!

POEM

Janet Russo

I shall not allure you

With dangling adornments

Nor entice you

With painted face

Nor dazzle you

With natty garments

I shall not please you

With a veneer belying my thoughts

No, i shall not come to you cloaked in false beauty

Only to disillusiones you later

I shall come bald

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