i gave up years ago

at chances to settle down.

as day forwards to another day
and night bids farewell into an august morning flight,
your face beckons me
to stay
and frolick in our minds' limitless,
and in my mind's ever resuming longingness
for you.
i gave up years ago but your presence hangs,
i,
in a tightrope balance to languish in forlorn images
of ---
you,
in a deft of illumination,
takes delight in the arms of another.

while the day bids good
night brings moon's favor for the non-waking of this
seemingly lost
candle-light.

cac (7-19-2006)

...

love was always evading. possibilities were like butterflies disappearing in an instant flutter to the wild. somehow he detested being cornered... the possibility of dating, or being trapped inside with a couple who believed albeit, un-subconsciously, that they were made for each other since the heavens hurled them out of kingdom come. he had come to realize that he can never be found, much more, he to find, the life that everyone ideally finds. somehow he too detested realizing himself the truth that, for end's sake, he still denied.

"a?" he imagined she would have said in a low tender voice.

he would have done nothing, and would have waited for her to come over to him and kneel by the bed to say, "what is it? are you sick?"

no answer. her insistence would not have made him say anything until, "are you depressed?" would have struck him and entirely changed the realm of things as things would clock-work in his denying mind.

"are you depressed?" he repeatedly thought over and over in his mind as the woman he started to believe was real slowly collapsed with his sanity, and all else, except himself, lay wasted as each affirmation his lips muttered, in resentful tears, slowly drained the long weeks of accummulated tension from the room.

...

...

he whimpered, and then cursed faintly a few times in his head, not so much because he cared about the paperwork or the money as because he needed to maintain his good nerves. to do this he needed a degree of cooperation from the world around him.

truly he agreed to himself, the problem was money and the humiliation one suffers without it. each new gadget, high-priced durable apparel, and moderately-efficient yet dashing SUV he saw was a torment. he never was covetous, and he didn't feel so much of envy. but without money he felt hardly a man, and felt as if he couldn't find a woman to complete his sense of agency... a woman... the foundation of manhood... apparently, his manhood, having felt the loneliness seep in his being for the longest time and the desperation to feel the intimate warmth of a woman to cup his impetus.

"hey you're not alone. you have friends around you but you keep them at a distance, which is why you feel lonely." a message came to meet him dully through his phone.

he believed, mind over his fate he was fated to live a life of distance and loneliness, haunted by his ghosts of what could have been, being, that he is, incapable of intimacy.

"hey don't worry. my parents went home this noon so i'm alone. my flight is on wednesday afternoon. ah this is what i truly miss about the big city, i can be lost and anonymous in the crowd."

"oh. but you are fortunate you can experience both worlds, and get to compare the good things each has to offer. really, i am happy for you." he realized he sounded neurotic and seriously hoped she did not notice that his depression was starting to hit in. "by the way, where are you eating? and what do you intend to do before your return?"

"i was eating at the bistro. i'm set to meet my buddies for lunch tomorrow then i have to meet my boss on tuesday before i leave for the province. i'm on my way home, don't want to risk the weather."

"i like it when the storm's bad. i always get this fantasy of getting stranded alone someplace far." the idea of being a stranger in someplace unfamiliar, he always lived in the city with short glimpses of the unfamiliar during work travels. the thought pretty much gave him a sincere interest, less of a hard-on.


...

a path that eventually we have to take

after coming of age
to start
life
anew,
i graduate.
i pass.

but

where do
i
go?

i managed to
open the door,
said to lead me to dreams
(and riches and prestige
that any man will ask for)
but,
to find
an open field
that leads to nowhere
i
know.

after coming of age,
i know not where to go.
i heave the door
and find
the road that leads back
to
my home.

a path that eventually we have to take
to mask ourselves in the comfort
that always leads in return
or find
the will
in open fields
to explore.



crac (04-05-06)

daily service record

from the eighth to the eight
morning til night
in between
unglued eyes
six minutes each mark
valued as billing
time
sublime
as per each ringing
the phone sets' mark
dreams cling, tire, die
in between
night til morning drops
stops

i set with the sun

as i gradually prepare for the night that inevitably comes
the sun
in its retreat
amidst heaven's fog of war:

taints the darkness
with spilt blood
born
by the million revolutions of our lives
that inevitably ends;

at sembrano's shoulder
i set
with the sun's waning interest.

to fall once more

deep in thought, he felt he needed to be in love once more. since the day he parted with his first, rounding to a year to the day few days past he crept under his blanket, thinking, that for numerous reasons he can still bear twice to fall. elaborating on it on bed, he must have felt sandman's whisper... and to sacrifice the life of a free spirit and bind himself in an emotional typhoon. for as he knows himself quite well, expressions of the self give him serious rashes and extreme vertigo in vulnerability.

overwhelmed in dreams hearing the harried waves of the sea carry the love away...

heavens wailing

the heavens its mind not made
could not but cry
after a scuttle of tear drops
from forebearing clouded eyes
a shower of pebbled rain
tip-topped
off the rooftop glide
at my window side
to drizzle down the asphalt road

a scurry from tempest tries
totters
as my fx ride headed
to race against

the heavens wail
tempered laments clean
dregs
off
lives
roads
as i
sped
away

crac (8-25-05; 12-03-05)

i'll be gone

i'll be gone and away
as if it really matters
really... truly...
as though someone cares
i'll disappear for a while
it is no wonder
honestly
and be back
before september ends

i'll be sleeping
if tis something new
away from usual schools
there they treat 'em same
as if same equates fairly
there minds
discriminate
and be snoring
before clouds bend

in my dreaming
in my dreaming
i'll be gone
in my dreaming
so someone "wake me up
before september ends"

...eighty

more or less nine hundred pages of jurado to browse through
and thousands of civil code provisions to know by heart before i can move on to the next
thirty-five days from today
four subjects to cram
and on the thirty-sixth, two subject will meet face to face
from eigth a.m. to noon and two p.m to five

then the week after that and the week


after that
up to the fourth



i have less than twenty-four hours of cellphone battery life despite having, in my belief, fully charged iti am twenty-five turning a year
older come march the first of next year
one hundred fourteen first degree contacts in friendster
three brothers and two sisters
three dogs and three cats

a parrot fish




one hundred pesos less each month as i
fall
below
the accepted two thousand minimum

golda's roughly ten minutes online status in y.m.

and my seven pictures
taken in a span of seven days back
luring
myself away and to



my review.


eighty


hyphens
fifteen circles

one tivoli scenic view

five vases


three.



-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----o-----

truly

writing letters with gibran at 1.05

Writing letters with Gibran at 1:05am

Tis the hardship of learning to speak the right words
When the feeling beckons you to follow.
And the ways it breaks the mind to bellow
The sheaves of worry
To thresh you to make you naked
And sift you free from your hardened cover,
To grind you
And knead you to your pliancy.

To yield when its wings surround you
Though hidden among its pinions is a test to wound you,
To believe when it speaks
Of laughter and of tears
Though its voice may shatter your dreams
Like the strong wind withering the bloom.
It tenders you to its sacred fire
That you may be cleansed worthy of its feast.

Tis this privation that you may know the secrets of your heart
And in that knowledge you may partake
As a fragment of love.

That to choose to bare in the vulnerability of nakedness
And to pass out of it’s threshing floor,
That into the wearisome world you may laugh
And laugh all of your laughter,
And you may weep
And weep all of your tears.
To think not to direct its course
For with your worth, it directs yours.

That to desire to fulfill itself in you
And melt like the pouring rain that sings its tireless melody
To the starless night,
And know the pain of too much tenderness
To bleed willingly and joyfully
Of your own understanding however wounding,
And blend with the dawning in the sky
To accept what may freedom to fall.

That in waking, like a bird that learns to fly
When the sky beckons, to follow however high,
That in resting a running brook to flow
In endless fervor to meditate its ecstasy of flowing,
That in returning home with gratitude like the sun
Taking its retirement with a prayer in its heart
And a closing song of praise in its lips,
That it knows.
It is
The fondness in this heart
This pen would release
Its faculty on this manuscript.
The paper piece with its clasping face,
Built to soak up the curving shades
Of the masterpiece
Through unsettled glimpses
Of a troubled mind.
Of regrets, apologies,
Of confirmations
And
Affirmations.
As it
Combines profusely with the ink
Across the vastness of time and space,
Generously giving
And accepting
Of a profundity
Of banality

That word after word debilitate
The prudence of the mind
To decide
What this feeling is
After all.