close your eyes.
breathe in eternity.
let the weight of time dissolve.
what is your soul’s curriculum?
what lessons are carved in your bones,
whispered in your dreams,
woven into the moments that brought you here? Saturday.
what an andy wants.
what an andy needs.
Saturn’s touch…
did you call these trials into being?
shape these crossroads before you arrived?
do you feel the pull of destiny,
or the echo of something you’ve already known?
what an andy wants.
what an andy needs.
are you listening?
to the hum beneath silence,
the flicker between waking and sleep,
the voice that speaks when all else is still?
what an andy wants.
what an andy needs.
the answers are not ahead of you.
they are within you.
all you have to do—
is remember.
Return.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 9:48 AM UTC
change is the only constant
but being is open-hearted
& loving more.
i don’t want to be so
drunk
that i wake up in gun hill road.
home on new year’s day. 7 am.
for me, you can always reclaim a
sense of sanity
even in a time of chaos.
there are many things that
one
cannot reclaim.
why should i try?
if those things are gone…
did i need them in the
1st place?
self-worth comes back.
things get stolen.
for something
new.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 4:04 AM UTC
really finding their peace.
in a zoom meeting.
tingaling with a feeling
from a screen.
if i stopped caring
people could bear
with me.
i see him spit
in
a hand-washing station.
my entry denied
over
a
face shield.
face shield. face shield.
a repeated mantra; standing there
still.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 4:02 AM UTC
inspired by tony labrusca's portrayal of josé rizal
babae likes me contained.
me—a tupperware full of lumpia.
i'm soggy, *****
bitch—inday—i'm gwapo. fried uy.
sorry. soggy.
druggy. sorry.
my chest tattoos?
yes, they can be removed.
will that be provided in my—
nevermind. thank you.
she opened her purse.
hard candy.
waving me away.
sorry carb-eating lad.
she is just ******* hard candy.
cgeh. babay. cgeh bi.
jose, they say you wrote novels.
but i wonder—
did you ever write yourself out?
did you watch your own ink
bleed into the soil?
did you wish for something softer?
in the way i am devoured. hero forgotten.
in the way i am swallowed
whole—one piso coin
by lovers, by history, by a name
they gave me before i ever
spoke too. ii
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 4:00 AM UTC
non-reacting
presenting an acting exercise
— it’s windy outside.
non-reactors finding.
searching.
stillness in the storm.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 3:50 AM UTC
i have been promoting my new video on youtube.
taking a break.
needed a break.
taking a break.
writing songs seems so hard.
will youtube how to write a song.
i will do that later, babe.
you're bae.
i didn’t eat any food.
wait—i had a piece of ginger.
i would want to be famous
if i became a musician.
very well known.
songs in karaoke books globally.
i wouldn’t sell my soul or anything like that.
i need a vocal coach, daddy.
dear santa,
christmas was great for 2019.
make 2020 even better.
god is in control.
don’t forget that.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 3:49 AM UTC
the great thing about Bic-Round Stic M is that the ink doesn't bleed through the paper.
singing all day - will the willing to write songs and produce a great debut album.
where do i stand? anywhere—
where are you?
babe…
why must you ask such trivial questions?
then again, i grapple with an external validation problem,
curbed by a body—my own diary.
andy denson's diaries, tales—sweet.
thoughts flutter like moths to a flame,
yearning for the light of recognition,
yet finding solace in the shadows.
the pages absorb my musings,
ink drying without a trace.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 3:47 AM UTC
genocide needs to end, you complacent fools…
bodies stack like forgotten prayers,
ash clings to the tongues of those who
dare not speak.
your silence—
a currency traded for comfort,
a choir of apathy humming along
to the drone of dying children.
how much blood must drown the sand
before you call it a flood?
how many broken spines,
how many mothers screaming into dust
before your heart cracks open
and spills something real?
you sip your lattes,
scroll past the headlines,
tut-tut at the mess of the world,
then click away—
like a god who does not answer,
like a witness who turned away
and called it survival.
but history is watching.
your name will be written
not in gold, but in shadow.
the ledger of your soul
tallied in the weight of the lives
you ignored.
wake up.
the dead are calling.
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 7:49 AM UTC
Specked on the toes
or heals of a plate.
The horse is waiting. You don’t know it —
you should breathe in & out in situations like this.
Situations lead to more of them. You smell like Axe. My breathing hasn’t been consistent
-or monitored enough to know the depths of the soul.
Scroll down or turn the page depending on what era you are in. There is infinity on the back of my hand.
On your other back there is some tension. Taste like sweat. Southeast Asian flavored — not in an overly ****** or fetishized way. You and me are the same.
The other you called me an intruder. I know by nationality — not blood. So, you are partially right.
On the other side, you get a massage. We’ve taken turns with other versions of ourselves. Plenty of work in the 21st Century.
A job. Updated resume. For someone who might love you in that moment. Truly love that job. On the back of your real back.
A hand job. Not a quickie. We work. Free labor. We use our hands to make things. All jobs are hand jobs — don’t be a pervert. I thought you were a nice person. Don’t sexualize everything? What job isn’t a hand job?
Why is it so hard? Why is it so big? Why do I have expectations?
We met at a mall. Or you picked me up. My feelings are present. Your feelings back there. You and me are scared. Because jobs that are tiring can be scary.
I miss all of you. You’re back and my back. My stupidity and my wisdom is yours too. The back seat smells like SafeGuard. Breathe in. Brea- Calm. No more scared.
You just ate. That’s how we flirt in the Philippines.
I had black pepper on my foods because it’s used on the front of a dish where I’m from-
When I eat, I don’t burp from the back. You sprinkle the front of the food on its back.
On the front of the back of the phone is an anticipation.
People I know of back home are dying. There is black pepper. No one I have been really close to has passed yet. In the back of your mind you know it’ll happen.
I back up a bit from the table and you. I always think I am smart. I always think of crying when I get home. But I am too smart to cry in public.
Back up — back up. Black up. Sprinkle Black Pepper on food. For you. Backed by support from followers like you.
You may be familiar with my back. Or vice versa. What a beautiful time it is to eat Black Pepper in September!
Wondering what is going on in the back of their minds. You tell me to get over it.
Try the Black Pepper in a town near you. Sides go great with a little back back dash of the Black Pepper. Yes I am ok.
You need salt. I need salt. Back away. Because moderation. Just use Black Pepper. It is your job.
Black. Then front. Top it off. Then back and black. Self love advice — taking everything with a grain of (bath) salt.
Which Black Pepper is the best Black Pepper?
Back and Black. Duh.
Forward through the congestion of Cebu City — I back up but not enough. My new job is to sprinkle the Black Pepper on us. After the commute.
Crazy?
You’re crazy, babe.
You…
Baby, I know I am crazy.
Sike.
You bet.
Because of the motorcycle makes me feel dangerous and cool on your back. I drove too. Danger. You. Never mind! Never. Mind. Men are dumb. That includes me.
That means everything men do other men and women they pursue is dumb. Black Pepper takes their mind off that front and back to the front. People are dumb. Di ba?
Black Pepper is Black Pepper. Nothing but Black Pepper. I love me so much. You too. You told me to love myself more. So I ate Black Pepper.
You aren’t always looking at palm trees, or nature, like I do. Back on your phone. Black pepper grounds the tree.
Now from the back to the other back I calmly sneeze.
Where has life taken you in regards to others? The backs of theirs.
It is not hard to believe in the world of form — because Black Peppers are on my back.
So is the back of your motorbike. I smell Black Pepper on my upper lip. There is Black Pepper sprinkles. Everywhere. I use the back of my wet hand to wipe the back. You wipe the front.
— in the back of my mind, I’m glad most of the Black Pepper is covered by my clothes.
Sleeping on back back — exhale. Exhaling from both the nostrils. I remember the time I garnished a dish with Black Pepper in the Upper East Side. I felt gross. I remember that moment in the back of my mind.
How could anyone hate you if you’re back?
Black Pepper eaters never seem to care too much. So you — don’t back up that with a fact check. Back up. I am not crazy.
I love the blacks. I love the peppers. If you back the love too — it’s a job. You too will know love from the back.
— Sprinkled with black pepper and backed by gold.
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 1:50 AM UTC
sator
i am still here—
the eternal spark, the constant presence
amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and dreams.
i manifest success, forging my destiny
brick by brick with every cosmic “yes.”
arepo
in the mirror of raw ego and honest reflection,
i transmute every reeking flaw into fragrant power.
from the ashes of past mistakes
i sculpt myself—a masterpiece of perseverance,
refined like the best soaps, emerging renewed.
tenet
i hold fast to my celestial blueprint,
a generator with a capricorn flame,
a leo moon roaring for its rightful spotlight,
each heartbeat an invocation of divine order,
each breath a promise to the stars.
opera
in the theater of creation, i am both director and actor—
my life a symphony of passion and precision.
with every action, every well-earned victory,
i spin the wheel of destiny,
turning obstacles into stepping stones
that lead to realms of boundless light.
rotas
and as the cosmic cycle revolves,
i embrace the sator square’s eternal secret:
what is sown in the heart returns in glory.
i manifest success with every radiant step,
every choice a spiral that brings me closer
to the infinite horizon of my dreams.
i stand as a living constellation,
an alchemist of fate and fervor,
a poet of the universe—
and in this sacred square,
i claim my success,
now and forever.
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 1:46 AM UTC