we are targets for light, for the precision of its
unknown aim, yet we insist in blackening the world
as a self-described pyromaniac, I practice daily rituals with your presence. I tell your name to the wind, to the sheets, to the cup of tea,  to the orchids. then I tell to myself who I am, who you are.
outside the world is drowning in its own guts. your name is incomprehensible, but not to the rituals of the heart, they defy gravity, brevity and bribery. Diffracted on the psychic field your trajectory is eerie, the amplitude of some waves enormous, as I watch them wash the horizon away. dreams are the only shadowless creatures, and still I dream only your shadow. we still don't know why beauty is truth and truth is beauty. oh, happy rituals of the hands: inventing love, writing poetry.

I Write

I write it down.
Somewhat poetically.
Spill my guts.
Somewhat poetically.
And then I read it later and I’m promptly ashamed
to read the truth of it all
so then I delete it and
go about my day
And then night comes and I look for it but I got rid of it so I write it again.
And the cycle continues.
Emote
Delete
So I don’t have to absorb it
and live the truth
or deal with the  things
that are eating me
from the inside out.
I guess that’s just the way it is.
I guess
that’s  poetry, baby.

"The mother's heart is the child's playground."

i have one story to tell  to me again and maybe again, i caught myself dreaming the boundary between the energetic darkness and the travelling light. this vital story  when the mornings were pure the nights full of unknown beings, the rib cage the only space i knew rippled by the vital waves, by dread, incomprehensible vibrations, the beat of my heart unprotected, the horizon had not yet been invented, nor the sisterhood and brotherhood.  pain was an incessant falling into the void, the desire infinite, my body shattered into vital fragments, a misattuned orchestra of delight and terror (body-mind-reality continuum forever broken). at the crossroad of deadness and aliveness i was stamped with fire and water, i was an imaginary being without limits. even now i use a strange language and visions of the infinite haunt me, i taste life when i confuse myself with you and her and him and them, so that death is not incomprehensible. i was once a pool of vibrant nothingness, this terrible pain of life crushing itself inside the flesh, of reality and imagination, longing and despair annihilating each other.
my body carries patiently the invisible tattoos of vibrant scars, she waits for me to learn how to love the simplicity and the serene fullness of life. all i need is more words, new vessels for the infinite desire, more "i" in this i from the imperfect, impermanent and incomplete.

the walls have ears, they used to say
these walls are full of screams of declamation
of a burning stream of bodies with parfumed names
love confused diffused in this internal flight
being chased while chasing unrecognizable the face of truth for now
the warmness the softness of bodies so promising so alluring
the illusion, a fleeting connection so powerful that there is no one
to guard the depth of this edge, me and the anti-me
this disconnection sings lullabies to my zest for life
the right vision comes to those who wait
it is unbearable at first, cause you are not used to your
eyes seeing through the water, let alone the abyssal depth of blood

this could be a poem I could have written if I were you but
the most strange of it all is that I am this you and the other you
luckily the light is untraslatable and you can see it too

sometimes love is like a superficial vein full of varicose,
swollen, twisted,
stretched to unsightly, non-existent,
unbearable
sometimes love is a venous collapse that leads to the reduction of veins
cold-blooded, skilled surgeons, we'll remove it like the longest vein
without the leg being affected,
only the blood that has passed through it will slowly change its course
and the saphena, available, will patch a coronary bypass,
pointing at her with our fingers, we'll shout: look at her, she wears a crown,
she became queen too

*dear, who will turn the blood from your sole to your thigh again
when our love will be only a second-degree relative,

I can howl  in words but
I say it gently instead, no, fiercely,
first to myself and to him and to her
to you if necessary and to them
for as long as it takes
why and how and what
 how come and when and what for
how is my mind, I ask even the wind
this is what I usually play on repeat
why these thoughts images feelings
sensations movements words and deeds
everything is together but not always apparent
cause we are trapped inside the curvature of  mind
evolving in tunnels unexcavated trenches
breaking loose on wider routes only when there is time
our thought trapped on certain orbits of habit
on the available energetic level at one time
the same way as our well behaved atoms spin their wonder
the same way as everything is evolving into its waterfall

imagination is the way I play with myself,
with you and them and the world
for destroying the habit of seeing hearing interpreting
we play language games everytime
we don't use the right thoughts for emerging bulshit
straightforward bullets deepening confusions
deceptions limitations judging&comparing
seduction of half truths and easy routes
or inventing enemies
so ask questions get answers
ask the same questions get other answers
I allow my mind to flow in unknown spaces
only because I learn from those
who attempt true learning
I am really forced to listen rather carefully
to the music of thinking
but about this in another poem
for now I'm listening to these feelings
and it might get unbearable
to recognize the disintegration of the night
information everywhere you look
you can wear your thoughts as your shoelace
or you can envision perhaps this poliphony of meaning
cause thought is no other than a form of relating everything to everything else
there are crystals of meaning cause we need more facets
they need to be smashed and reinvented
don't be afraid the riverbed will stay pretty much the same
it's fine to know what you know and there
is so much that we don't
we are not innocent creatures in not knowing
only sometimes perhaps
we need to listen to our deeper thoughts
who is the dancer who is the dance

what about this pain, always this pain
I don't know if you know
that turns the marriage of body&mind into
the marriage of heaven&hell,
as Blake put it

some don't believe in the Gulag of the mind
so the fate of the unconscious is to repeat itself
when it is just the psychoanalytic bulshit
they don't need they don't care they protest against
you see there is also this sweet sweet desire for not knowing

perhaps I am waiting for my mind
your mind/the collective mind
to embrace me
to embrace you
to embrace itself

“their mental state contains something lethal:
past, nothing but past” Nikolay Y Ossipov

you measured your height
with the mountains
your fists with the howl
of lonely wolves
to avoid helplessness stupidity confusion:
the all too encompassing human nature

I no longer want to keep you
in the alternative dimension
guarding your wholeness
I'll let you fall into pieces
I'll let you die the death destined
to you
instead of crushing him
or imploding myself
for him to rearrange his fragments
for me to hope for all the levels
of coherence
I/we are capable of

bodies afraid or in love are the most intense
I want my body back
from your battlefield of delusions
your pain is not my pain
your despair is not mine
your manic refusal of touch
is still my manic capacity
to love wounds tragedies
aborted laughter
some words are mirrors
I'll keep writing to you
till there is no escape
from the clarity
of dawn:
all my love is of
no real use
to you

010120

Let me not forget where I indeed came from —
That even the blood that runs within me
Was a choice of my Father in Heaven
Who answers my cry and filters even my deepest thoughts.

Let me not forget how my parents worked hard for us to move forward,
That I may be grateful to my ancestors (elders in the family)
For paving the way for us to believe
In Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

For as I ponder throughout my days,
It’s like God revealing to me,
“Anak, be faithful in your days
For your generation will benefit
From both your actions and choices”
And so, what can I do away from the Lord?

Let me not forget how the good Lord
Has brought my parents from Romblon to Palawan by His purpose and will.
Their step of faith was a domino-effect
For us to see the glory of God in the time of our encounter —
The revealing of His power and His identity in us.

Let me value even the days that are still unknown to me
The past where they grind for a living —
How they enjoyed walkin’ going to school
And bartering products for school supplies.

God heard their desire not to simply graduate
But granted them land jobs
To which I believe God is glorified.
They tasted being the first generation Christians
For us to experience breakthroughs
Together with the Lord while being patient in His time.

Never did they allow poverty to hold them back
From what the Lord has openly bestowed for us.
We are never rich in material things
But they have instilled in us
The greatest thing we must possess in life
And that is our relationship with Jesus.

Let me not forget how He has lifted my generation (my clan)
To succeed while relying on His Word & sovereignty.
And so during these past few days,
I’ve witnessed how His favor showered
Every member of our clan —
All I can say is praise be to our God!
That wherever we are led,
We’d keep in mind that He is watching over us
And He is always after saving our entire generation.

Let me always rejoice in the Lord
Even in tests & trials of life.
That everything is in His hands
And we are safe in Him.
All the glory and honor of Jesus Christ,
You are the beginning and the end!
In 2020, do reign in our hearts!