Nag-aanyaya
ang kinagisnang duyan,
sa puso'y kumakatok:
halika, kita'y ipagsasalok
kapeng barako, ika'y lumag’ok
kung kulang ang 'sang tasa'y
mayroon namang mangkok -
Sa Lumang Lipa, ang pakilasa’y
pakiramdam at hindi tam’is
kagaya ng pagsasamahan
o pait na dulot ng kasawian.

Inaapuhap sa aparador na pinagtaguan
ang malukong na tagayan
ng nagkaribok na kabataan;
mula sa sulok ng balintataw,
nilililok, aking natatanaw
ang mga imahen, hindi mga anghel,
nagbabalibol ang kaibigan
kong tagapagtanggol,
habang sa kabilang koponan
nanlilibak ang kalaban -
ako ang bolang pinagpasa-pasahan
binugbog ng mga kahon ng lipunan
kahit alin doon, walang pinagkasyahan

mga kahong nagtatakda ng katangian:
     ang tao ay dapat ganito,
     ang kilos ay dapat ganoon
     ang suot ay dapat ganyan
          ang maganda ay ganito ang kulay
          ang makisig ay ganoon ang taglay
          ang tindig ay hindi malambot na gulay:
“kahon, kahon, kahon,
magkasya sa kahon
kapag nagkataon
lagot ka sa ****”

wari’y multong takot lumingon
ang nagtulug-tulugang kahapon
sa ngayo’y gising na kampon -
pinalaya ng kupas na maong

Sisinsay na laang ako doon
at sa huntahan ay tutugon
kung saan nahapon
ang labuyong
hindi kailanman inilaban sa sabong

panalo ka pa rin at karamay,
kapeng gawa sa gal’pong
     barako sa isip
     matam’is sa puso
     at sa lalamunan ko
     ikaw ang kasuyo.

Ikasampung lagok na
at higit pa
ng mainit **** ala-ala
subalit malapit man
wari kung aking tinitingnan
sa sulok ng napadpad na isipan
sa kabilang ibayo ng mga pananaw
sa malayong dalampasigan ng pagkatao,
hindi ko kayang abutin
ang pinutol kong pusod
na sa puting lampin ay ibinalot,
at ibiniting tila bituin sa mga alapaap.

Maghapon ko mang lakarin
mula sa aking pusong pinabango
ng galapong na bagong giling,
na kung saa’y tiniis ang init ng kahirapan
habang isinasangag ang bawat butil
ng sanlibo’t sandaang ari-muhunan
mula sa masuyong pinagsikapan,
pinagtiyagaang alagaan -
puno ng liberikang kape
ng lupang sinilangan.

Malayo, malayo na ang Lipa
madaling lakbayin sa malawak na kalsada
na dumaraan na ngayon sa kabundukan
ng Malarayat
na noong musmos pa’y
malayo, malayo, malayo . . .
tanging nakakarating lamang ay mga uwak
at sabay-sabay na lumilipad na tagak
sa takip-silim nama’y mga nagsasalimbayang kabag.
Noo’y maliliit pa ang puno ng sintunis
Ngayo’y natabunan na ng palitadang makinis
Hinahanap ko ang lungga ng dagang bulilit
At puno ng bitungol sa unahan ng lumang bahay
na inaakyat ng mga paslit
napawi na rin ang matayog na tahanan
tila binura ng kapalaran
at mistulang iginuhit ng chalk lamang
sa pisara’y kumupas na larawan.

Natabunan na ng bundok
ng mga alikabok ng ala-ala,
wala na tahanan, o ang lumang pisara
tila nawaglit ang apat na dekada

Malayo na ang lumang Lipa
at katulad ng dahong alamat ng ngalan nya
makating-masakit at di makakalimutan
ang mga karanasan at mga aral na dala

Kung wala na ang bigas na kinanda
magtitiis ako sa samyo ng binlid at ipa
Kung wala na ang pinipig at nilupak sa baraka
kahit budbod at lumang latik ay yayamanin na
Lalakbayin ko’y lubhang malayo pa
Ngunit sinisinta
ika’y makakaasa:
     Ang pinanggalingan,
          ang pinagmulan,
               lilingunin tuwina.

to je kraj raja
kada mrtva lipa zamaze stopala, nabubrela od gazenja
nekada mirisni pupoljci
zalepe se za stomak

onda kada se avioni pomesaju sa zvezdama
i leteci mravi grizu ko na udici usecerenu krusku, moja stopala
to je kraj
konacnost spoznaje
tako rano,
previse rano

Sunrise was just a red line in the inky void, as Lisa and I reached the harbor decking stairs,
but at once, the brazen slash began widening, like a silent, slow motion explosion,  
thin, smoky wisps of cloud, like flammable tissue, prismed the stage light ignition.

bee-de-deep my phone chirped. It was Peter (my bf).
“Hey you,” I pronounced, as Lisa took off her left sneaker and shook it, upside-down.  
“How’s the harbor?” Peter asked. I glanced at my watch, it was 5:32 am in New Haven.
Peter must be at lunch (in Geneva) and tracking our morning run with the ‘Find My’ app.
“Beautiful,” I pronounced, “they’re really putting on a show.”
Of course, I meant the universe, the sun, the turns who were already at work, and Long Island Sound.
The gulls, perched on whatever, and grousing at each other, obviously haven’t had their coffee.
I read that AI had decoded bird talk and on a wire, they chittered, “Move over, you’re in my space.”

“Just wanted to say good morning,” Peter confessed, “Good Morning.”
“Good morning,” I wished back, “gotta go,” I replied, Lisa had finished de-pebbling her shoe.
“Yep,” Peter agreed, “Seee ya,” he quipped. “See ya,” I chuckled, smiling.
My watch asked, in my Air Podded ears, “Have you finished your workout?” because I was motionless.
I pressed the crown of my watch and slid the phone back in my pocket, our jogg’s only half done.

We began our harbor exodus, by turning our backs to the haven. It was already beginning to busy with boats.
We slipped on our hats and protective, polarized sunglasses as we began to run directly into the blazing sun.
.
.
Songs for this:
Sail on Sailor by the Beach Boys
Dancing in the moonlight by Toploader
Cold Heart - PNAU Remix by Elton John, Dua Lipa, PNAU

TS Eliot said, “Paris is a strong stimulant.”
It is - but it has nothing on Manhattan.
If Paris is a Café Crème espresso at a café-en-terrasse under the stars.
Manhattan is a ‘Black Tie Bawls’ cocktail at The Crown bar (the skyline!).

We were going to relax - in Manhattan,
instead, keep those seat belts fastened.
Lisa said, one night, “Want to go out for a bit?”
Since then, I’ll admit, our nights have been lit. 

We have ten days, and we’ve decided to try every Michelin-starred restaurant we can (there are 68 in NYC). So far, we’ve been to Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin and Per Se. This was Lisa’s idea.

The food is delicious - if you like a corn-flake with something on it or a steak the size of a bouillon cube ($250 per person with cocktails and dessert). As we left ‘Per Se’ I asked, “Can we get something to eat now? I’m starved.” I was only ½ kidding.

It’s MY idea to visit every beautix rooftop bar in Manhattan (there are exactly10). So far, we’ve been to, ‘The Peninsula,’ ‘230-Fith’’ and ‘NoMad’ - we’ve only been at these tasks for three nights.

We’re doing other things too. We’re going to Broadway shows (& Juliet, the Great Gatsby, Oh Mary!, Wicked) and to see Idina Menzel (Wicked, Frozen) in concert and a John Oliver and Seth Meyers comedy show next Monday. We do these, as in - Dinner, show, rooftop bar.
OH, and we’re dancin’ like we’re sentient - no cap.

Our sordid troup, is Lisa and Dave (her boo), Charles & Ms Charles, Lisa’s folks (Karen and Michael) and Lisa’s little sister Leeza and Meeeee. Luckily, we have one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive secretarial minions (François) booking reservations for us. He’s got ‘contacts.’

Yeah, we’re drivin’ full speed towards summer’s end - “fo-shizzle” (to quote Snoop Dogg). We figure we can rest, a few days, in New Haven.
Wasn’t Snoop fire at the Olympics?
.
.
dance club songs, for this one:
One Kiss by Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa
Lipstick by Kungs
Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
Levitating by Dua Lipa
.
.
slang…
café-en-terrasse = terrace cafe
Black Tie Bawls = (cocktail) Blavod black *****, lemon, and Bawls energy drink.
beautix = top drawer, rizz
No cap = no lie
fo-shizzle = for sure
fire = great, a standout
[E] = explicit

taj moj dragi,
što mi nije kao niko na ovome svetu
kada nađem se u snovima prejedem se slatkišima, tovarim čokoladice i bombone i šarene kremove da bih ćutala
ako se ušećeri poješce ga ljubičaste mušice, pomislih
pa se tako bojim još po koje krilatice, kao recimo aviona ili šarene lastavice
a ja kad-kad kratko i nespretno letim
punim se kamenjem i betonom
a praznim groznicom mednom

kada ruke ko dve reke ispoliva, useče oko mojih ko klavir rebara
pa mi se zbunjene pčele sele kroz čelo i telo celo
traži se nešto od kruške slađe
tu na usnama izvor namiguje

pa taj se, putnik čarobnjak
samnom ko lipa njiše
zimu šapatom pretvara u igru pustinjskog vetra
otvori oči i eto ga more

od koje li je on vrste?

za ogolićenu dušu odelo,
što lanenog kroja cvrstinu krije
nabori nemira i divljine
beskraj užarene širine
šavovi boje sunca
broje tugu nedostižnu

sa njim je toplo
sa njim je ritam najsjajnije zvezde

My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun

I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run

Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one

When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed

Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John

Among faded photographs piled up
in this grey-haired archive
your faces still shine like the smiling suns
that used to greet me - that little child
you called bunsô, the dawn’s speck
still in these brown eyes -
in the quiet and cold early mornings,
as I stared to the eastern skies
orange above the dearly missed Malarayat
of blues, and greens, and cones, and salakot
and as the last of the kabag bats
- guts filled with the insects of the night -
go home between our roof and ceiling,
the warmth of your call were tight hugs.

Your old picture comes alive -
like the first gulps of kapeng barako encouragements
that drained down the bullied throat of yesteryears
- the old radio broadcasts loudly the silenced tears
as the dozen hens were cackling the latest from the Beatles
and the lone rooster belts the Only You of the Platters
That time I tossed and threw far
the white grains of tattered notebooks to scatter
for the newly hatched chicks to patiently gather
Everything was an Amorsolo-replica, a summer
of joyful harvesting, harvest time, harvester . . .

Hope was the bottomless well beside the mango tree
The pig pens my palace, the chicken shed my tower of ivory
The rabbits are lords- and ladies-in-waiting
I was their prince in a kingdom that I made free
from hordes of aswang, tikbalang, kapre, dwende . . .
nothing to fear, really
but for the hairy caterpillars
hiding among the yellow confetti
of ******* trees, in the backyard
of distant day-dreaming days of dreams.

You made the noontime suns brightly lit
the roads and crossings the three little pigs
of my inner self have to trot,
for the distant future was a pack of cunning wolves
ready to devour all my mortal miscalculations,
infantile indecisions, and immature decisions,
and loud and strong they huffed, and puffed and blew
my self-esteem, whatever was left, beaten black and blue.
A hero plays mahjong, nothing really new,
as my teen life’s pages fell, no Redeemer ever knew
It was like tiles of dominoes - one after the other - on cue.

And yet at the siesta time of this human life,
your guiding photons allowed
this tired body with a ******* soul, yet beating heart
to rest, picking up each of the pieces
and the jigsaw of experiences
now make sense, a rainbow shows
as the skies emptied their jars
of tempting clouds like cotton candies
into a downpour of doubts, of tempests
of feelings of emptiness, of cyclones
of thoughts of worthlessness –
the suns were shining always
after all
behind the clouds
those clouds

In the sunsets of your lives
the rays still shone far beyond
the twilight time and in these humid tropics
your mem’ries are auroras in the darkest of my nights
even in my sleep, the dreams are video clips
always set inside that old Marauoy home
reminding me, there was that child in there, alone . . .

These days, the skies, the winds, remind me
of stormy days in the forgotten simplicity of Lipa,
you tied the windows as the gusts
threatened to grab them,
and then, the warm jackets and blankets
of your reassuring words, “we’ll be alright”
erased the traumas, blew away the fears.
reminding me, there was that child in there,
you dried his tears . . .

That child’s still here inside my decades-old heart,
like a prayerful devotee in an agnostic cathedral,
missing your hugs
longing for your cheers.

bukal na buhay, dalisay, malamig
agos ng pag-ibig
ni Mariang Makiling
mula sa kanyang dibdib

duyan ni Rana
nagpapatulog kay Troides
ipinaghehele si Buot
sa harana nina Balikasyaw at Tariktik
pook-sayawan ng mga bayawak
tuwing konsiyerto ng mga paagang
at mga kuliglig

ninuno ng Lawa
ina ng kapa-kapa
ama ni Strongylodon
kapatid ng tibig at lipa
among tunay ng kawayang-tinik
uway, gugo, saging na pula
Aristolochia

Kagalang-galang kay El Niño
kinakanti-kanti ni La Niña
paliguan ng mamang hubo
labahan ng aling maganda

naglalaro
ang batang takot sa engkanto –
bingwit, tampisaw, lukso
sa mga bato

subalit
ang polusyon –
tahimik na namamaybay
isang almuranin –
mabalasik
ang kamandag
nakalalason, nakamamatay
sapagkat
mga tao’y nagbubulag-bulagan,
bulag.

The milk coffee skies of Paris in May,
make the Seine river look insanely gray.

At sunrise it’s quiet -
the traffic’s mostly bikes
our digs are luxurious and private
my school stress is waning - it’s nice

I want to get up sigh
I don’t want to get up,
We’ll vote on it later -
I think it’s a tossup.

What will today bring?
More thunderstorms and kisses?
grin I hope so.

I pull the covers up.
Peter stretches and asks,
“what are you doing?”

I chuckle, and say,
“Come and find me,”
when he does,
Paris is fun in May
.
.
songs for this:
How Deep is your love - Live at the MGM Grand by Bee Gees
Houdini by Dua Lipa
Disco Boots by Gavin Turik
Not My Fault by Reneé Rapp & Megan Thee Stallion

Ang Lipa ng aking kabataan, tila kumakatawan,
sumasalamin sa mahal nating Inang Bayan

Ilang tampalasan na ang dumaan
Kolera eltor, malaria, pesteng balang
Mga sundalong Hapon, mga sakang
Malulupit na kampon ni Kamatayan
Dumaan pa ang sakit na kalawang
sa dahon ng kapeng inaalagaan
At bukbok sa bungang manibalang,
nanlalaglag, di na pakikinabangan.

Ngunit ibang klase itong ngayo’y salot
Bala ay di nakikita, mala-bola daw ang balot
at tila may mumunting galamay na nakakakilabot
at masusundan ka, sa’n ka man sumuot.

Binago ng COVID ang ating kapalaran,
pananaw, pagkilos, pati kabuhayan
Nakita kung alin at sino ang dapat pahalagahan
at kung sino ang tunay na karamay at kaibigan.

Kung sa nilagang kape pa ang pagtutularan
kitang-kita kung alin ang latak at alin ang matapang.
Nawa’y may masalok na pag-asa sa Silangan,
Nawa’y may malagok tayong kaligtasan.

title: prune
body:
      /ick/
\itch\
|snooze|
szshszsh    a 502 bad gateway bypass

HIM:

Why are we quantum entangled? I'll just walk away

12 hours ago Quantum physics mean nothing. Take your plank hole shove it up your plank hole ***. non locality? get non locally ****** every instant. I drank the essence of a black hole.

12 hours ago Wait, I want to know what you see so I won't walk away.

12 hours ago I live in the US, in Colorado. It ******* ***** here. King George is an *******.

11 hours ago My issue I'm having, there's too much to the story inside my mind. There's not enough words or time to tell

11 hours ago It all starts with Unholy Trinity. Cast of characters in “clinical” terms, Borderline Mommy Room 11 who lives completely fragmented and disassociated from her own feelings and emotions and Narcissist Room 7. I’m cast in a role in a control fantasy  between these two psychotic child blood drinking creatures. I have to be the adult. I have to deal with their feelings and emotions. I don’t get to have  happy childhood feelings and emotions.

Now I’m in my 30s. I’m confused about Borderline Mommy Room 11 because “Real” Mommy failed miserably. I don’t understand being born because of this “failure”. I found a new Surrogate Mommy who lives above my head Room 11. She’s “clinically” “borderline”. I think she has a control fantasy. She’s using  me in her control fantasy, really easy and convenient for her. She had been watching me for months before I realized she even lived above my head, apartment above. When she was always making noises, before I even knew who she is, it would give me PTSD symptoms and I’d think my dad’s getting up and he’s coming back to ****** me again.

Now I’m more aware of the situation. I had a control fantasy too but I’m working on breaking down it down, return to source. I know now I just have really really ****** up Mommy issues and I’m using Surrogate Borderline Mommy Room 11 as a mirror, projector to try to understand what the **** happened in my childhood. I have no idea what is going on in her brain, she refuses to communicate with me.

The first time I saw her, I saw her in the rear view mirror of  my car. I did not know how long she had eyes on me. Way longer then I knew about her. Basically she had preyed on me, calculated a whole bunch of stuff about my psychology because she had been spying on me. She approaches me one day under the pretense of a light for a cigarette. We talk. She tells me about her self. Like’s to paint. Has paint all over her hands and arms. I had been avoiding looking at her because the beauty, is just what I want. I want her beauty and I’m scared of wanting that. So simple. She made a move though then I saw her up close, too late. Feelings are there now, no going. She smokes cigarettes, I don’t. I smoke cannabis, ask her if she wants to smoke in my apartment. Show her my computers stuff, tell her about my divorce, pretty much just make a fool of myself. What ended up happening is me inviting her to the apartment was a ******* really really bad idea. I show her more, my paintings and stuff. Tell her I served time in the psychiatric facility. She served time in the same one. They say bipolar mania for me, borderline for her. Nothing happened between us, she decides she wants to leave. I tell her it was nice speaking with you, she says the same. She says she’s happy she came up to me. I tell her I’m happy too Got her number, she says she wants me to text. I tell her I would like to see her paintings before she leaves.

I’m trapped in the spider’s control fantasy at this point and I’m completely oblivious. In her control fantasy, She’s just using me to  recreate conditions in her childhood so she can master them. Nothing personal.

She asked me to text her, I did, basically just repeated myself, would like to see your paintings, let me know what you would like to do. She “ghosted” me. She lives above me and “ghosts” me on the cell phone. I never send her another text or call her. Takes me a month to figure out that she has *** with Narcissist Room 7, who has way too many guns and always has the cops showing up to his room for some reason. He confessed to it, and basically the way he told is is he lured her somewhere and ***** her, used her for purposes of ****** gratification and that was that. I think she saw me talking to him, this is what borderlines are known to do. They triangulate. This man who I was speaking with reminds me a lot of my ex husband, who I recently divorced. He was a very evil man into the Voodoo religion, a super control freak who had me under a Voodoo spell.

Psychologically, Narcissist Room 7 has now become cast in the role of my father, or ex husband Voodoo, who is a very dangerous and abusive man. Now I’m in the middle of this really ****** up situation again, like a repeat in my childhood, between my parents and their inevitable divorce, trying to stave off the impossible. Narcissist Room 7 is obsessed with me. He was working on me, trying to get me to do what he wanted. I was just humoring his manipulating attempts. Honestly, I may have even had a plan. I have plans and keep the plans from myself. But the plan got jammed up by Borderline Room 11. I’m ******* ****** with him now and it completely ruined his plans to manipulate me. He came by later, trying to manipulate me to get over it, bros before hos, blah blah blah. I’m not following that script, I will not be manipulated. I’m angry with that man, for good reason and we will not be ever becoming friends and this just eats him away. He is obsessed with my attention for some reason, so is she. She always puts on a display to make sure to parade her kid around in front of me in some bizarre power play. That’s how she communicates with me. She’s holding me hostage in her control fantasy and I have decided now that I’m just not going to play along anymore. This is a ticking time bomb situation, we’re all ticking time bomb people with very bizarre psychologies. Not sure what’s gonna happen here.

So the root error and cause of this ****** up situation is my mommy issues. So what do I do? I call my mother. Tell her to come visit. My plan is to give my mother all the attention. When she gets here, I’m going to ask the Narcissist Room 7 if he wants to have *** with her while I watch. I’ll tell him he can invite surrogate Surrogate Borderline Mommy Room 11. We can even record it and have the memory live forever. I’m going to keep talking to my mother, give all the attention to my mother and drive these ******* stupid *** people crazy. They want my attention, I need to give my real Mom my attention. She’s in a lot of pain and really hurting. I care about her even though she abused the **** out of me. She’s finally learning how to help me out a little, for real this time!

11 hours ago Oh i forgot to mention, last real communication I got from Borderline Room 11. She has a really bizarre sense of timing because of her fragmentation and disassociation. She went out to take her trash, timed it with when I drove back to the apartment. I was looking at the sky, ignoring her. Timing ended up being she walks behind me as I walk up to the do or to unlock. She walks up to me exactly the same way narcissist room 7 ***** her. Asks me how I'm doing? I'm just like, inside, is she ******* kidding me right now? ***? I just reply: "Ill be all right". I havn't made eye contact, this isn't real communication. She's ******* with me and she knows it. She's still behind me, the split occurs and eye contact occur. She says thank you. I tell her, you are welcome and I smile. Now I'm in a fight with Narc Room 7 down the hall I guess, with a little child in the mix.

I now find myself most concerned about the child in this situation.
I am very frightened.
The danger is real.
Violence seems inevitable, can’t see the future.
Caught in the web
No way out

Last communication I got from Narc Room 7 is he told me my room smelled like **** because of the insence I was burning. He told me this from down the hall. I tell him, come up to me and say that **** to my ******* face, say that again because I did not hear you. He said it. He replied: Are you saying I’m ****? He got real mad about being asked this question, so I asked him more. Why the **** do you come up to me and talk to me? What the **** is it about my attention that you need so bad? He just says all I do is cry, makes crying noises. Im just like ***, you literally turn into my father. I ask him if he’s real? He closes the crack of his door and returns to his apartment.

10 hours ago I forgot to mention, I held the door open for her. Total sucker, total fool

10 hours ago Let the self trashing continue. I already know what's coming. I'm indifferent. Okay with anything. Ready for the suffering

10 hours ago This is my last message before it scrolls off the screen. The identity confusion that results from being in the middle of Borderline Women and Narcissistic men is very very very very confusion. I am so confused. I think I'm going to be okay. Writing helps. Getting the story out of my head helps. Will continue the work as long as I can


ME:

how can i unpack, justly, fairly, what you have left me? i don't think i can... oh: i will have you know that i read all of it, it was a curious read in some parts, but, in other parts? very relatable...  i'm going to try to refocus your attention on something that's been been bugging me before i try to consolidate your troubles, not that i'm going to offer any advice, proper... o.k. o.k.... the song... Your Woman by White Town... was sampled by Dua Lipa - Love Again... which one do you prefer? Me? i recently tried to get together with this woman... i'm 35... she's 39... oh my god... i really fancied her... i was round her house three times... outside of work... brought her homemade wine, forgot my "Gordic Gryffindor Sorting Hat" i left at her house... pom-pom and all... a hat i found at a bus-stop... mind you: i hate Harry Potter...she too has a kid... a lovely 11 year old chap... i told him he should be learning German rather than French because the grammar: the way words are aligned are akin to English... her dog liked me... i had wounds on my knuckles from putting out cigarette buts on them... because? i enjoy pain... being a sadomasochist... i like to inflict pain i might on others on myself first... that's the real test of the threshold... first: me... and if someone gets in the way... at least i could possibly say: 'don't be a *****, i can stomach this... if i can: so you can too...' i even cycled the night prior to Valentine's day and left a card and a bouquet of flowers on her porch... what did she do? ghosted me on WhatsApp... then again... all the talked about was her exes... her abusive exes... one boxed her (beat her)... drank excessively... i drink excessively myself, mind you: but i'm the sort of drunk that tends to wrestle with his shadow and beats himself up... the kid doesn't know his father... she dated this dog-lover type of guy during lockdown... but once lockdown ended... the dog-lover type ended falling back into his old ways... sniffing ******* etc.,  for THREE ******* DAYS i had stomach cramps... i was thinking: ooh! i'm in love! i'm in love! i'm in love! i thought i was... "thought"... this is the same person that... on our first shift together tried to spread a rumour that i was stinking of alcohol / drinking on the job... 2 ******* WEEKS OF DRAMA... between my coworker females... you know... in that sort of scenario... watching a horror movie like Hellraiser is more akin to admiring Buonarroti's Pietà... horror has its moments...it's no longer horrific... it's somewhat beautiful, when people behave in such a petty way... but i told the other girls... listen... don't tell her that i know, i even used the proverb phrase from my native land: liies have short legs... i.e.: liars don't walk on stilts... you need to be a Machiavelli to lie... you need cunning... you can't just expect to be a good liar by watching English soap opera dramas... to be a good liar? you first need to master telling the truth, i.e. to be unashamed of it... like... i tell you i still live with my parents... in the Anglo-Saxon sphere i should be ashamed of this fact, like i'm some would-be Ed Gein ******... but then i tell you... but i'm the custodian of the property itself, i will own it when they're dead... i do all the housework, the DIY and the cooking... my parents are not going to be found in an old people's home... but you know... in order to lie... you need to remember the lies you spin...  you need to be consistent, otherwise there will come a time when glitches... irregularities appear... all liars are bad because they haven't spent enough time in speaking the truth: CONSISTENTLY.... the reason why i'm framing my reply like so... from a shared experience is because: i don't know how to approach your individual case... the similarity is that this "girl of mine" is also damaged goods... she has an 11 year old kid... she has several suitors... she's also very attractive... and i'm as dumb as you in willing to commit to a doomed relationship... rumour has had some sway on me... the other girls told me that her ex didn't actually beat her, but she... beside ploughing him with fists threw knives at him... and... ha ha... she was in her 30s while he was 19.... they met through her son... when this guy was picking up his younger brother from school... why did she ghost me? she can't control me...  in the most recent episode of Billions... don't know if you're familiar... Wendy tries to bribe this Buddhist monk with a tub of vegan, homemade ice-cream... it's different when a man brings a woman his homemade banana loaf and wine... i was peacocking... **** me... if she's not impressed then and there... basically because of that... and from what her past experiences of men should have taught her... then... she ghosting me... i don't think she has anything to learn... Colorado, eh? i'm not English... i have no allegiance to the history of England regarding your country... i'll go as far back as Edward the Confessor, Henry II... but i'm not English... i hope there might be zero animosity between us on this front... i don't care what your take on Englishness is... i just live here... my favourite barber is a Turk, i buy my spices from an Indian merchant... i'm going back to Poland on the 5th to reassurance my grandmother that... Putin will not cross the border... blah blah... man... now that i think about it... you know what i did when this girl ghosted me... on a ******* shift a taste of: voyeurism... she was swiping left, left left left on TINDER... i never used a dating app... but there she is... swiping left left left... it's bad enough that i have a facebook profile... that's ******* embarrassing... but i did set it up when there were restrictions regarding to who could sign up... university students... i have no twitter... why? i write too much... 140 charaters is not going to cut it for me... plus... with this girl... we didn't talk about books, we didn't really talk about movies... well... i mentioned Sunset Boulevard & Bell, Book & Candle... the 1958 movie... my love for vinyl records... our 4th date was supposed to imply i bring a vinyl record and some more of my homemade wine... obviously that didn't happen... mate... it's ****... and from what i read... you're knee deep in some... horror show... i dare say... if H. H. Holmes wanted to build a labyrinth slaughterhouse... he'd base it on your narrative-analysis! i'm not joking! but you know what i did after this rejection? the girl obviously loves her soap opera... her femme-boxers... she just likes to be abused... some people can't help it... it's like that Eurythmics's song: sweet dreams are made of these... who am i to disagree... i travelled the world and the 7 seas... everybody's looking for something: some of them want to use you,
                            some of them want to get used by you,
                              some of them want to abuse you,
                     some of them want to be abused (by you)...
the next big fix on offer? going to a brothel and seeing a *******.. i'm not going to handle rejection like that, not in my 30s, that's simply not going to happen, i was always going to have an auxiliary fall-back to land on, that comes all the more easier with prostitutes, at least they're blatant, obvious, 3-dimensional... at least if you upkeep personal hygiene one might tell you: live dangerously... have *** without a ******... hell... i'm expecting her to bring some marijuana to our next session since... two sessions prior i mentioned that i haven't tried *******... she brought ******* to our last session... tried it... did **** all for me... i prefer coffee... it's like sniffing... a dog-****... with chemical rainbow aftertaste... i was more into her naked body... mate... get out... even if you have to grow a pair of horns or a cranium  thickness of a ram's head... get out... but it's how you opened up... kudos to you... you are most certainly primed for the Beatnilk cut-up technique, oh man, i was a big fan of the Beatniks in my younger years... all that ****-****** literature surrounding William Burroughs... the confused state of "affairs"... i gobbled his books down... Naked Lunch is still one of my all-time favourites... you're on your way, in terms of writing... i will spare you correcting some discrepancies in your messages... although... the grammar-**** in me is tirggered beyond belief...i'm seriously itching at what corrections i see that need to be corrected... but this time... i won't...  i see too miuch of you in me and i hope: not enough of me in you... but at least we can share the similitude of our fates.... to compare... we're not that much mis-aligned... trouble being... i went to the outlet of a *******... to counter her having control...even my neighbour today, who i went going to the shop commented about my **** beard... you need to find other people to please, there are always other people... don't congest yourself with the claustrophobia of this one woman... like my one... oh... she's fit... she's just my type... half Celtic... hair like a sunset...ginger: but not ginger...but she originally wanted to get be sacked for "apparently" drinking alcohol on the job... you can't help them... if she's into being beaten, if she's into soap opera antics... free will is a *****... however much good you want for someone: if they are still adamantly reserved in being receptive to advice... so be it! let go... just let, go... your interest in computers is like my interest in making my own wine... let it go... see a more available third party... you know how much i wish it could be true? but... i just don't feel like being the *******...i don't want to **** myself spiritually in order to win over her heart... sad... i know... i'd like to love her... but if she's only willing to be loved by men that abuse her... Pontius Pilate... i wash my hands clean, of the whole affair... FIAT!

i did sort of warn him... he didn't believe me...
i guess that's perfect:
learning the hard way, from experience.

Tila namanhid na ang babahaang landas
walang patid ang agos ng luha, habang walang habas
ang malupit na lilik-panggamas -
patuloy ang tila nag-aamok na pagwasiwas.

Kahit mura pa ang uhay
ng nagbubuntis na palay
Namúti na ang katiwala ng mga bunso't panganay:
Walang sinanto ang pakay
ng aninong sumalakay.
Sinimot pati ipa. Ang imbakang burnay
tuyung-tuyô, tila balóng patáy.

Ubos na ang mga ninuno sa Purok
Ang mga inanak at inapo, tila mga but-o ng kapok
nangalat na sa malalayong pook
Hindi na tumalab ang mga erihiyang tampok
Ang lamping ibinalot, balót na ng usok.
Ang binalot na kapirasong pusod, bakas na lamang ng balok.

Karipas na ang binatilyong habol ang mutyang pailaya.
May baon pang pagkain, pagsasaluhan pag nagkita
Ngunit mabilis na napawi ang tanawing kasiya-siya
Ang natapong lomi, natabunan na ng aspalto’t palitada
kasama ng mga bakas nina Utoy at mga kabarkada
sa ilang dekadang araw-araw na pagbagtas, nakasipit at gura
mula sa Baryo Balintawak hanggang Lumang Baraka.
Di na makilala. Wangis ay mistisong pilipit. Ay! Ay! Lipa!