inom. boteng hinog sa kaluluwa mo. naiwang bukas at unti-unting naglalaho. multong malamig sa likod ko. ulan at baha sa daanang madilim. papunta sa palengke ng lumang bituin. lunok, tagay sa ilaw ng lasing... ayaw patumba sa hawak na patalim. kapit ng mahigpit. sa leeg na nangangailangan ng gupit. ikaw ba'y kasama ko sa pag-uwi? bakit hindi?

drink. these spirits remind me of you, naked. i unzip my clothing whenever you run away. a ghost whispers stupid humor. the rain floods my thinking to the size of my ailing prostate. the market sells butchered animals. swallow the sun and its secrets worth of children... i won't fall for your sake. hold the butter knife, hand me your toast. the turtle wants a haircut. will you endure me? why not?

blanko.

these painted nails are in need of a desperate gloss...
the speed of darkness is...
the recorded sound breaks...
staring at textures...
wondering why i said...
alternate alcohol with...

why not?

hard to shun.

balloon prick

i step closer, forwarding honestly
bending every muscle for a reach
hands lifting without assurance
without neglect

i listen further, inside the airwaves
tremolos of mountains and pockets
the heart stretching, clots of deep wine
and the hidden church
that kneads the rain to dancing figures
to lands
to exposed strands
flames and harmonics

i hear through the immediate lost
the failed clue
i step closer

to percussive bursts
the satisfaction of hurts

sessiOnroad's third album will be out anytime...
i'm not sure how the cd sounds once it's pressed.
outside, the rain howls like lennon sings 'it's been a hard day's night...'

i've had my share of distractions and nitwits.
why did i trouble myself dealing with these people?
well, i suffer beautifully.
the uglification of my mind's self-worth wants to be silent.
if only.

i am capable,
odium and love

bakit hindi?

Desire. To lose it is the way, but best to leave few; so that in the end, it gets you and not be astrayed from nurturing a multitude. I’ve so much grease in my hands now a days... it seems the grace of angels are sexier than how I first thought they would be. Even heaven has its law... aren't we all offenders of some sort? I often think of sex...and having the absurd thought of encompassing both genders and how being an asexual, one could formulate and enjoy schemes for pleasure and beyond... perhaps that's how one becomes god... by providing mind candy and something intangible.
I look all around me and I see reproduction... I see procreation, I see procrastination. I can't let go of hate, not now... not when I’ve rediscovered the joys of masturbation. Mental, emotional, and spiritually stroking my most private of privates. I hold in my hand your lost prayers from the wet dreamlands of your sexual role. My heart beats... and flutters across the skies of fleeting heat... of skin and sweat... the ones tucked in the vicinities of your darkest nights. I’m folded in your name and with your wants. I am. And then I fear. I rise to the impersonal claims...

Needed and blue.
I am either fulfilled or broken,
suppressed only through the actions of you.