Tag Archive: beat


The sound of the chisel against these iron bars

Is tick-tock-tick-tock

Our meet-cute is a forty-minute cab ride away

Yet I remain imprisoned.

These metal arms that long embraced me

Have gained the warmth that my intent

Could never extract from your arms.

The sound of metal on metal

Keeps bouncing on my head

And sends me rocking forth and back

Like a baby.


This cell of anonymity is the womb that bears

My unborn love for you.

Why must it face the sun?

Why must it let out a cry?

Why must it be severed from the life-giving bosom?


My love is a parasite.

It must latch on.


Destiny contracts.

Stronger and shorter in between.

Flesh and blood are the delicate

Tendrils that root me in imagination.


Time and the tide of my emotion

Will thrust me into reality–




It Could Be NightFall

As we lay on the grass,
your belly was my pillow.
I was reminiscing
as you checked on the news.
The sky was that in-between color of cold pink,
little particles of water vapor vex and touch us randomly-
stirring a wariness of a hesitant drizzle.

Your breath is steady
while mine is drowned in the sound of you,
the feel of every blade of grass,
tasting my skin through my clothes.

Now, I do not care for the filth.
I do not care for the myriad footsteps that trampled our bed.
I do not care for the
waste of pleasures consumed,
of moments stolen
and light beams evaded.

I see the past,
and how blurry it is
through my myopic memory.

The stars themselves could not decide
whether to shine or fade.
They twinkle,
like your eyes and mine.
They zoom,
however steady in the sky.
And they each hold a wish for you and me.
A promise once only
hung upon a tree.

Is the earth exhaling or is the sky breathing down on us?
Is the world turning
or do we drive it around?
Is that not my heart beating in your chest?
Is this not your warmth kindling my breast?

It could be night fall,
the crickets have assured it.
But it is only dawn.

And you are with me.


All but love curls up into a ball
And bounces around you.
Red and light like a slightly heavy balloon
That bursts with deliberateness.

My fingers are restless:
Today, I drew a sad boy
In shades of black and dots of white-
For contrast.

All in the name of being your missus.
Missus my surname hyphen your surname.
Hyphens become demeaning,
Like a prolonged negative sign.

It is the eve of Christmas
And a turkey is roasting
In my imaginary womb,
Stuffing stuffing the turkey stuffing me.

And you, the proud father,
Wait across my virtual vagina
With anticipation
And of course, a carving knife.

I wheeze-wheeze-wheeeeze
As you cheer me on
Simultaneously salivating
And feeling light in the head.

One great push
And my foot skims hell.
I am ripped apart
And bring forth your feast.

The turkey is burnt
With dots of white- for contrast.
Today, you eat a sad boy.
His fingers are bitter.

The red ball bounces around you
And explodes with deliberateness.
Like a slightly heavy balloon,
Love curls up into a ball.

Ang Paraan Patungo sa Aking Puso

Ang paraan patungo sa aking puso
Ay madali.
Nagsisimula ito sa isang hakbang
Hinihila ito ng bigat,
Di gaya ng dinudulot ng mundo
Sa patak ng ulan,
Kundi ng sabaw
Sa kumakalam na tiyan.
Walang hinihintay na atang
Ang aking pag-ibig.
Bagkus, nabubuhay ito
Sa kahungkagan,
Sa iyong waring di-pagpansin,
Sa iyong pagsasawalang-bahala.
Ang damdamin ko’y di rosas
Na malamyos,
Na bumubukadkad
Sa pagtatalik ng hamog at sinag-araw.
Ito’y isang damong-ligaw
Na kusang umuusbong,


Ang paraan patungo sa aking puso
Ay madali.
Ang paraan palayo
Ang may kahirapan.

To Judy

We’re at the point where
I wake up in the
Morn and know
Exactly where you are,
Which turns a great glowing
In my head that says

Judy,credits to:http://rookery.s3.amazonaws.com/864500/864835_2415_625x1000.jpg
You must know that I love you.
No less than I loved you
When I first met you.

The days roll by and every one
Of them is squeezing more
And more of this that
I used to have enough
of for you.
But I can only make so much
Love in one day.

When did your warmth
Turn to heat?
Or when did I start
Craving the cold?
We’re getting old

Is getting old.

Why do you never do
What they do on TV?
Liberate yourself.

Is it not enough to say
That we were happy?
We were happy.
We’re not happy,
It’s enough to say.

Your words are all over breakfast
Are all over the kitchen table
Are all over the floor
Like the dust
That’s blowing into
That open door.

It’s stirring the threads
Of steam on the coffee.
Wake up Judy!

“Breakfast was lovely, Judy.”
Now give me a kiss goodbye
And ask me what I want for supper.



Whether the path
Paved and light?
Whether the status quo
With dimmed delight?
Whether the bed
That is warm
But vacant?

To walk,
Where jagged craggs abound?
To be,
Where certainty can’t be found?
To sleep,
Upon a rock
Laid with chance?

The stage is set
Miss Havisham,
The heart has flamed
And dimmed the forge
That blackened my face.

A seed of ambition-
A better than-
My mind was tamed
And so engorged
With want that won’t erase.

Between the difference
Of need and want;
Between the height of ambition
And being arrogant;
Between the distance
Of a dream
From covetousness.

The vanity in possession.
The baseless assumption.
To what is deserved
From wanton excess.

The chain’s been filed
Mr. Marshman,
The mind has cleared
And lit the fire
That led my way.

A tree of hope-
A could become-
The heart that feared
Began to aspire
A better day.

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Jade: …I’d definitely want to see you again soon.

Me: I don’t blame you.

Jade: I forgive you.

So this is the upswing. Finally, things started looking up after I settled my finances. I hate to admit it, as I said to Nikki, but money does make you happy. Well, money helps make being happy easier.

Last week spelled an end to the slump that I have been on for a while now. This makes writing difficult so allow me to detail the events prosaically.

I had just finished doing my Performance Review for the first half of the year and boy, have I been working! The form, which didn’t include my manager’s comments was fourteen pages long!!!

On Thursday, I went shopping for something to wear for an interview I was having on Friday. After several hours of going around the mall, I finally found a store that had shoes my size and not juvenile-looking. I got myself a new pair of dark wash jeans which I have been on the search for forever. Say what you want, but Bench jeans are the only jeans that fit me well. I know getting one from Zara or Topman would appeal better to the finnicky tastes of some people I know, but what the heck, I can wear a shirt that I got from the teens section of a department store and make everyone think it’s designer. (I may be exaggerating here)

I broke in my jeans by heading out to Malate by myself. Yes, it was one of those “date-yourself days” that I have from time to time. For effect, I wore a shirt that said “ALONE” in front, and “AGAIN” at the back. It was a very witty shirt and I got it for the rough equivalent of two US dollars, when I went to Bangkok.

I went to a karaoke place I used to go to with the Hasslas (a group of friends I went to Boracay and Puerto with). Since I come here every time I happen to find myself in Malate, the bartender recognized me and cleared a spot for me at the bar. I ordered a cocktail since it wasn’t a beer day and started deliberating if I should pick a song and sing to a group of over-achieving singers.

There were 14 songs in queue, I figured by my turn, I’d be too drunk to care. I downed my drink, picked three songs and ordered another one.

Meanwhile, a guy with slits for eyes was scoping me from a table close to the bar. He looked like an ex of mine who owed me money. I was almost going to ask for it back when I realized that he was Chinese and not Japanese.

He asked me to join his table (he was out with his sister). And I stayed with them until the bar shut down. He was a little drunk and was starting to get argumentative with the cashier. They helped me hail a cab, and right before I got in, Eize (Chinese guy) asked if I wanted to sleep beside him that night. I got in and shut the door right away.

On Friday, I was on time for the interview. It was for a lower post but with a better package. Plus, I get to work with my two best friends and have time to take for a Master’s degree if I wanted. Since the guy who was interviewing me knew me for a long time, the assessment wasn’t so difficult. His only question was, if I really wanted to get that job because there is hardly any upward movement in that company.

See, I set a goal for myself and my career. I told myself that I will become a Manager by the age of 30. I’m going to be 27 in a month. I’m several steps away from that goal if I stay with this company. At the same time, I could pursue a different goal of becoming a Psychologist if I move to the other one.

I received another offer from one of my old bosses who is looking for a supervisor for the company that she is currently country manager of. It’s very promising and I’d really want to explore that as well.

To continue the theme of exploration, I explored the possibility of flinging myself back into the dating scene again (or at least opening myself to the prospect of meeting other people). So last night, I met a guy from UP.

Jade’s first boyfriend is Joel, who is an estranged friend of mine. They were together five or six years ago. He also had a crush on an ex-boyfriend of mine who I lived with for a week.

Cubao Expo at Dusk

He took me to Cubao Expo which is a haven for beatniks, hipsters, hippies, artsy folk and people from UP. In short, this is MY TOWN. I’ve been here before but never with as much people around. People had to queue up before getting in that night because it was “Meiday” and a lot of indie bands were playing.

I bumped into Claren, who I always bump into in very random places (story to follow). And I almost jumped out of my skin seeing that I actually knew someone who was in that sea of people. Claren looked impeccable as usual and was with a guy who looked exactly like him. I introduced him to Jade.

Jade knew a lot of people in Cubao X. So I went around the motions of the “hi’s and hello’s”, “great-to-meet-you’s” and “oh-you-look-familiar-have-we-met-before’s.” He introduced me to one of the finalists from Project Runway Philippines that I had a MAJOR crush on. I didn’t realize it was him at first. I used the third line on him. To be fair, he didn’t mention PRP, I just realized it after Jade brought it up half an hour later.

Now that I think about it, Jade reminded me so much of Jo, my last boyfriend. He was mature, artistic, secure, and not so good looking. I got his jokes and he got mine. We caught each other’s punchlines. He had the same taste in music, the same penchant for judging pretentious people and most glaringly, the same level of touchiness. We would be stopping at several spots around the Cubao X compound and look like a black and white blob. He was all over me. But not in a salacious way.

We were talking about the rain I think when he stole a kiss and walked off to toss his drink down the drain. For a few seconds, I was stunned, caught off-guard. I didn’t know what to make of it. When he came back, I just carried on with the conversation as if nothing happened.

He took me to Future which is the bar below a boutique called the “I Love You Store.” I told him to get me a cocktail and he ordered what would be dubbed as the drink of the week… My Shirota.

My Shirota is a mixture of Korean Soju, Yakult (a fermented milk drink almost every kid I know is addicted to), and Grenadine.

Equals My Shirota

It tasted of every good memory I had as a child. It was very appropriate for the theme of the night. It was sweet and tangy and pink.

After floating around Cubao for several hours we grabbed a bite and decided to sound trip by the curb. It was 3AM and there were blisters the size of nickels on each of my heels (why did I ever not wear socks?) I was so tired but I wanted to float some more. So I decided I’d check into a hotel with Jade.

I asked if he would sleep with me if we slept together. And he told me that he wasn’t sure. I laughed and told him that I didn’t know the answer to that question either.

We slept naked with our arms around each other and we woke up 11 hours later.

We had breakfast and coffee at 4PM and we took the train home after two hours.

I got home and commenced a thirty minute search for my other phone. As I was calling myself and listening intently for the opening verse of Bic Runga’s “Good Morning, Baby,” I pondered on the reasons why the past week was one of the best I had.

Like My Shirota, it was a cocktail blast from the past–a mix of familiar feelings: the satisfaction of a shopping find, the thrill of getting scoped by a stranger, the pride of being sought after by a job instead of the other way around, the excitement of being in the company of beatniks from UP and the tenderness of falling asleep in someone else’s arms.



The clacking of the keys make
The fires of my guilt flare.
I should be working,
I should be doing what the man told me to do.
These letters are for the discontent.
These lines are for the numbers,
For the unpaid hours,
For the useless favors,
The wait,
The suffering,
The dimwit succeeding,
The ass-kissing.

I am talking to you, silly boy.
“What do we do about this?”
Really means
“Do your job, moron.”


The proverbial man
In a leather catsuit
And fur-lined cuffs
Whippit good.

I suckle the sweaty balls
Of the bureaucrat
Jizz is sustenance

I close my eyes,
“It’s a delicacy-

Ball sweat

And bullshit.”

Spread your cheeks

The ashes of my guilt
Bore the phoenix of my wrath

I shouldn’t be scribbling

My pen is

A middle finger

Up your ass.

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I rode a swing
I haven’t been
On such a thing
Since I was little
When sadness
Was brittle
That a short gush
Turned sorrow to mush
As the little seat
Shoved a rush
Of wind upon my face
And set me reeling
Back in place.
Back and forth
On a swing
That’s always moving
But never getting

It will do tonight
To cause a stir
And somehow blur
The rapid whir
Of my racing mind.

When thoughts of you
Came back too,
I rode a swing
To forget you.

I lean back
So the stars are shooting
And catch myself wishing
On each one
That when I get off
With one big hop
You won’t be far behind.