I genuflect on cold white tile,
arms encircling
the potbellied deity
here enshrined. 

My head falls limp
in silent repentance.
I repeat a hundred resolutions
in my mind. 

Stomach heaving.
Heavy breathing.
Eyes welling up.
Acid burns my throat raw,

as I am purged of
my foolish excesses,
here, in the echoing chamber
where sits the ceramic god. 

I just had dinner with a friend and the guy she’s been seeing recently. Read: I just spent the evening playing the third wheel. Not that I mind. This is just one of those things you do for your friends. Like making sure they get home in one piece when they’ve drunk enough alcohol to be able to ignite flammable material just by exhaling. Or listening to them rant about the asshole they’ve been trying to get over for the past six months. It’s one of those things you do because you care about them. And because they would do the same for you. Read the rest of this entry »

It pops out of the toaster
with an off-key DING,
lift it gingerly with
fingertips scorching,

Deliver and drop
on delicate china,

Scrape idly with a silver knife
making little mounds of
burnt,
black,
bitter
crumbs cling to the white tablecloth.

Fill out its charred pores,
conceal its cooling surface
with a field of sweet yellow margarine
smoothed out evenly.

Drift into a pretense
of languid eating
and check a sigh
for something else
grown cold.

I approach the blank page with one thought in mind: one thousand words. It’s a daunting number to aim for, since it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything beyond three hundred words in one sitting. My rhythm is off as well. I remember the happy tap dance of fingers on the keyboard, and the steady stream of words on the screen. But that was ages ago. Now the best I can manage is a halting two-step, with plenty of pauses in between.   

This reminds me of my father’s guitar-playing. A couple of months ago, he decided to start playing classical guitar again. He brushed all the dust off his old pieces, bought a brand new guitar, and started practicing. He began with the basic scales and arpeggios, until his fingers began to remember. He found a bunch of other guys who like to play classical guitar. And then he sat down and tried to play Recuerdos de la Alhambra.   

Read the rest of this entry »

“Lahat tayo ay may labisturi…therefore lahat tayo ay baduy.” - Jyas

For those who have heard this for the unth time, ignore this post.

This is my entire career as a recording artist:

 Download (right click and download, yes?)

Thanks to ioHann Garcia for the gooeytar accompaniment.

My blog is now two weeks and three days old. After spending two or three nights de-uglifying my blog (and generally slacking off, thesis-wise), my newest obsession is getting more people to visit my blog. I started by telling most of my friends via email and friendster (*tupperware lady impression* “Hi! How’s it going? Hey there’s this url I think you might find interesting…”) Eventually it occurred to me that people were getting tired of the tupperware approach, so, at the suggestion of my cousin, I started a button collection of my own. I’ve lost track of how many blog directories I’ve signed up for, and how many online forms I’ve filled, with ear-drum-rupturing enthusiasm.

Thought for the day, courtesy of mish : “The more interesting your life gets, the less you blog.”

And I’ve been blogging almost every single day. Hmm.

If it hadn’t been for the rain, this story would never have happened. It wouldn’t have mattered that Mariel had forgotten to close the west window. And it wouldn’t have mattered that there was a pile of books neatly stacked under that same window.

But it did rain.
Read the rest of this entry »

Will you let me play?
Was what he asked.
And naively I held out
my heart.

I have learned since then
these two things:

That toys are inevitably broken;
And playthings are soon outgrown.

Having this understood
I grew prudent
with my much-mended heart.

Until I later learned:

That which careless boys
are quick to discard;
a man picks up to cherish.

I was mugged
some weeks ago
while waiting
for a bus.

At knifepoint, he took:
my wallet containing
a quarter-month’s salary,
my credit cards
and two cellular phones.

I was reeling,
and relieved
that he spared me my life.

But before he left,
he turned and said:
“Take care.”

Life’s a bitch that serves up
well-wishing muggers.