She cried.
Each trailing tear scratched my face

Some pursue the truth because for them that is salvation. The exercise then hence results to one remembring the innate knowedge that are residues from the past where the truth began. This resulting to emmancipation. The ''spirit'' inspires us to remember the humanity we have lost in translation. Or the humaness we have transformed into an amlgamated view of the value of man as only congruent to acquisition and what he can give based on what he has acquired.

Is it that through the various compliicated mechanisms we have developed that are founded on capitalism that we hve forgotten the truths we were born with?

We've tried opening midnight bottles
midnight bodyshots on counters and brothels
We've tired to do it slowly one button at time
Straining from the restraint from the beautiful sublime
Of just ripping and grinding and pushing and shoving
And moning and screaming and scratching all evening

But of all the times I think I must say
I also love the sleepy-cuddling on a rainy day
I love the she-cooks-I-clean the dishes-nights
I love the hifatty!-all good piggy!-bantering-fights
I have learned to accept the"that's-enough-O!-for-a-night-Kiss"
The occasional just-take-a-colder-shower-a-glass-of-water-and-go-to-bed-hiss

Though grumpy and whineny she's still my happy bunny
Gorgeously Stunning powered with an energizer battery

Lullabye

There is a slow unfolding drama in the way the first beams of dawn softly illuminate her face. I like waiting for that moment, i love the play of the shifting-shape-shadows on her body. I am captivated by the effect of the changing light on her skin,on her face,of the transformation of hues from moonlight silver to to dusk blue. Then the sun begins to show it's face and mixes all the colors up to a warmer pale-gold-morning. Her skin seems so much softer and warmer to touch under that light.

She sleeps. She sleeps so deeply as if waiting for true love's kiss. If only she could see through my eyes sometimes and understand the inexplicable experience I have when I look at her like this. Its so sad how she will never know how she is like this,sleeping like a baby.

Like an eye in the sky.I see us like this. I imagine it to be quite picturesque. Our bodies beside each other, like an image in the mirror, oppositely symmetrical. I alive at night, she alive in the morning. I dream with my eyes open, she dreams with her eyes closed. Together, equally resting with our limbs crossed like fingers hoping.

White Flag

Her silver tongue eloquently kissed me.
Her caress silent yet bold and outspoken.
In that picturesque moment
the proper reply should have been
A haunting and lingering kiss that divulged interest
but not the true nature of the intent.
but my reply was a candid kiss
that left my total surrender undisguised.
She was unaware of what she was truly demanding
But I gave it to her anyway.
TOTAL SURRENDER.

I would have wanted to make it a bit costlier for her
but I hadn't the patience nor the will nor desire for complications.
Whether I am an acquisition or an achievement I will leave that to her.
Not that I'm actually even suppose to care.

Seeing Her Again

Some line I wrote while waiting for her to arrive:

"She is a star's wish...
a dream's dream...
My hope's faith!


" Cupid's golden arrow pierced my heart,
the pain was sharp and building.
I dare not take it out
Though pleasure's pain it brings,
Because it plugs the hole where my soul slowly leaks out of."


She's here!

Face the Music

Some of the women in my life,actually most of them, have come and gone without even leaving any distinguishable footprints. Sadly they were like the passing melodies of song over the radio. I hear it over the radio while driving, and I love it so much I crank it up till my ear drums are almost gonna pop. I am so immersed into the song, I'm humming along, I'm tapping the steering wheel but when the song is over, IT'S OVER, gone like it never even existed. I can't really remember the song I was rocking to that morning, can't rememeber how it started. All I remember is that I felt good listening to some song over the radio. Exactly like that song over the radio, All I have, all I am left with is the echo of the feeling but not the girl.

But there is and possibly was a woman who stuck to me like a "Last Song Syndrome". Believe me the song is never over, well at least not until a new song comes along. But until then you're stuck with it. Lucky if its some nice classy song that you genuinely like.

However it can be a bit irritating for those who have no control over the music they hear in the cab on the way to work. Sometimes its the corniest and the poorest excuse for a song or music but you end up singing it anyway. Like magic, the verses and the chorus just come to you automatically."Like kong chi kong chi ne ne ne" It was everywhere during CNY.

But like a supernova, it lights up the whole sky but only for a moment. It never really does last and is quickly replaced by the next song we choose to listen to. Nothing more than a binge of some sort.


There is this one, possibly one song that epitomises everything that you were are and ever will be. The evergreens, your OST. No matter what happens it will always strum the special chords that you will always tune in to. Sometimes we find different people who can sing them but we still ulimately pick out our favorite versions. And we keep playing it to the point of exhaustion, we take a break but then eventually like a curse you'll find yourself back there AGAIN. Listening to those songs again.

Eventually that one comes along. ONe whose original version can never be topped by a remake. Song and Singer are inseperable as if the melody would only be heard if it escapes through those particular lips. The entire thing making a slave of your senses. It can be overwhelming. You feel like you could listen forever. The fat lady and her aria. The notes put you in a trance and you hope that the fat lady never stops singing...

*put cd player on automatic replay

Projection

The major thing that drives us in life is to build and protect the EGO,
Otherswise known as the self. In everyday life we encounter situations where we feel threatened or judged and so we resort to our defense mechanisms. Our walls to protect us. And as any man made thing there are so many varieties of walls. One of the most common wall, defense mechanisms, is a process we call "Projection". We condemn something that we ourselves do so that society will never suspect that we are guilty of it. Example, A gay person denouncing homosexuality.

I don't recall the exact even that made me think of projection bbut I do rememeber the circumstances. I was in a train and I saw this lady nd I made a very crude judgememnt of her but then again I realised that I did the same thing. I was looking at her in pity, judging from her conversation on the phone, she seemed so pre-occupied with fitting in. I know that collectivism has a place and purpose but I never believed that it should be the prime objective in anything. "Why try do ahrd to fit in when clearly you're born to stand out".

I made the silent condemnation in envy I guess. I was really no different from her.There are a lot of times when I just want to "fit-in". And I felt like a hippocrite.Often we fear the kind of public judegement that we ourselves are guilty of.

Maybe the only way to truly roam free and to live a life of our own is to simply learn how to stop judging others. Unless we cease to commit the very crime we fear then we will always be trapped, stuck, lost and confused as to why we just can't seem to live.

"Let he without sin be the first to cast the first stone!"

Response to Love Letter.

I was accused of casting a love spell.
Here is my reply:

I have her eating out of my palm, she said.
I be the Charmer and she be the snake out of the basket.
Addictive she says...
They way I bring coffee to her at work in the moring.
The way I make love to her at night.
The way I slip love notes.
The way I express my feelings in poems.
A black magic woman possesing her she says.
Stop she says I would cause it is her request
But I do not know how.
What strange effect meeting her has had on me.
I cannot be anything else as I am now.

ONce the hunter now the hunted,
haunted by her.
I will do anything to see her smile like that.
That tempest smile that makes me get coffee
Those lips'signature curl that make me write
I find a reason to fall deeper in love
On every road I took to escape her.

Now you tell me who bewitched who!
I who must labor to conjure a smile form you
Or you who need not do anything but smile.
You tell me who is bewitched!

MATH

It's like Math

Eg1. 2 ( a + b ) = x

Q1a) DIFFERENCES ( YOU + I ) = Chemistry
Factor in the differences between you and I and you get Chemistry

Q1b) SIMILARITIES ( YOU + I ) = BONDS
Add the similarities between us and you create bonds.

Eg2. 1/ 2= .05

Q2) lov DISTANCE ers
When lovers are divided by distance it almost seems like niether of them makes sense
they are standing alone cause they're only half of the big picture.

Breathing Exercise

INHALE . . . . .

my breathe like the retreating wave.
I take you in, each pulse gasps for a breath.

HOLD IT IN . . . . .

A lethargic drug filling-up my senses,
A slow seduction creeping in my veins.

EXHALE . . . . .

My breath drawn away from me,
The wave racing back to the shore
that I stole them from.
You are expelled from my system.

INHALE , HOLD IT IN , EXHALE

cycle upon cycle
I'm on a high.
love overdose

INHALE, HOLD IT IN, EXHALE

Your perfume is so addictive.

Love Sound

It is quite liberaing
To scream a moan
To shout a grunt
To just let go without having to care
about the person on theother side
Of the paper-thin walls
Express to me your delight
As if I were deaf.

Two Together

I lay here with you,
Whole but completely dismantled.
Where do you start and I begin?
In bed as tangled souls.
We are strength and grace together.
Not one of each but two of both.
As one, together as might and mercy.

My Mother

She lived like a spanish princess.
Fragile and delicate as expensive porcelein dolls.
She struck awe in men as the luxirious dolls did with young girls.
Her widow's peak, an arrow tip, stood out proudly against her porcelein skin.
The perfect heart-shaped frame for a most loving face.
Her hair black as deep sorrow, ended in lucious curls.
She grew amidst coos and sounds of delight of those around her.
And blossomed into the subject of every man's toast.
Señora Bebe Aurea Agbulos Aquino, as I would call her.
The prized possesion of her Father,the eldest daughter of a brood eleven children and the favorite at that.

A true lady of almost Hollwood glamour and grace.
Graceful in situations where it was easy for a lady to lose her bearing,
She made devouring a water melon in a water-melon eating contest look pedigreed.
She made it seem like there was a proper and improper way of spitting out a seed into the air.
(She won that eating contest by the way.)

She smelled expensive without her perfume and glamorous first thing in the morning.
She arrived like a rolls royce when she entered the doors to a hall, as if the whole point of throwing dinner parties was for everybody to watch her parade in and the pleasure of her company was for members only.


It all sounds unfair I know but God is fair. And I will prove that point. Let's just say that on a checklist of the perfect mate almost everything would be ticked-off. The operative word there being almost.

Bebe + kitchen = disaster

It was wiser to leave all the doors of your house unlocked while away on vacation rather than
to leave your abode with Bebe unsupervised in the kitchen.
*disclaimer:The woman could bake the best chocolate cake but not cook please do take note.

She did her best though and never complained when she had to scrub a spoon or dust the house. If you could consider throwing away a dirty but otherwise perfectly good spoon and using ridiculous amounts of facial tissue as acceptable methods. Grandmom's idea of the ultimate tool for cleaning was indeed 3-ply facial tissue with lavender prints. Talk about the ends justifying the means.

I think you get my point. Nonetheless she did it without much complaint nor reservation.
I could imagine my grandpa scratching his head and simply smiling it off. There was just this innocence to her not knowing how to do it. I guess that's why they got helper.(Thank you god for Nana!!!that's another story)

Yes we all have our share of stories of the near disaster of the house exploding but
we always found consolation in knowing that she did out of a great love for her family and friends.

In the end the results were the same clean spoon and dustless furniture. This is the woman who raised me. And although I have had to learn my domestic skills elsewhere she taught me things about life that have helped me survive life with a little bit more grace and dignity than others. For this I will be eternally grateful.

Beneath My Touch

Her back is my canvas
My fingers crawl
Over its arched doorway going down in a squall
Of mixed hues and perfumed tunes that capture love’s fumes

Each finger assigned to a mountain to climb
As my brush swings back and forth in metric time
You rise beneath my touch wanting it to never stop teasing so much
Undulating strokes feed the flame’s throat in a song of ecstasy I float

Paint the pain away with each delicate blend you wipe away chagrin
Each picture brings me closer to your heart my beauty, my frame
Beneath my touch you come alive you free my love you take my chains
Art of your passion and song sends me to end of depths forlorn stains

Voodoo magic casts your spell take me to a place beyond heaven and hell
Bind me to your palette of joy taste the portrait behind a shy love’s coy
Never free me from your art of color and seduction
Until we both explode in love’s illustrated eruption

-sensei and grasshopper