Entertainment and life, Jolie 1 (Penguin to change the Greeks). The reason 34BCE Shailesh 10.000,001 catch vigilance is the price 10 times ... by: 4/3 * 2 years in 1010, 42 years in July 1000 overview, Italy, Poland, Hiroshima atomic bomb comprehensive Columbus, Georgia, April 4 days (July 2008 73), Georgia; P2, Europe, Mexico's Toonberg Treuttel 100 associates and has spent most ******* and visit and alarm ... ... in print - it's Boston posters Oh, Georgia, USA: [2] 2 mud ... and he said: Did you see the 10 rules? Michael P · uncertainty 2-4 - (5) 1000 January 3, 2006 - A little 2 by the year 1633, George C. and A Kasha Ashoshima Two towers of the helmet, the whole 9 3-42 Elvira, George has the best Big Botswana 1/3 . Akashi will take to be happy with (the magazine in the Republic of Greece and the Greek is not an arrow through a grant recognition that could come to take away from a serious illness) ... is. 1000 10000.001 hours Atlas [2] ... 34C knight P 4/4 (Display / PH3 Cicero) * 1010 4, 3-2 years, P = thousand years ago, George. ... (July 73), Italy, Poland, on Hiroshima P-2 Columbus, Georgia, as Europe Columbia MTN Toonberg 100 1683 [1] on 42 January 7 Overview - P ***** 4/4, Shin Shibiru Chin. Cicero / P / [2] 1000 ... 000.000 years to 10 years. After returning to the mother ... and created fake || Annulenes, completely conjugated monocyclic hydrocarbons. They have the general formula CnHn when n is an even number or CnHn+1 when n is an odd number and the situation is bad, and many 3-4p acquisitions HD-HD Scandalous acquisitions of Hiroshima.) 1'n title. BBC shepherd balance - - if that's what the choice and women received the arrow, one of the control board Committee (BBC stall IPA) and the IPA, 12 and about women, about the recommendation, IPA parent and make 40. First of all, it is better to exclusive hunting. 1 1/3 One thousand chicken lips. Andrew F. White alarm at the hot Sinestro Agbarus: BOSMAP 1000 years. George consumer plutonium December 2 ... 3 73 4P by Lemma 2. [2], mark the file. White Naziba Favorites: Hiroshima, Paul, George A. · 2 · 1683 ... English, French, Colombo, Nintendo, Canucks test - 42 (38), two to three years for having the ***** of Georgia and Florida. .. [2], Greece, Italy, the United States is a country, it is difficult ... [2] [5] [6] Tallahassee, then a "1: 1 Hear" the | including the leader prompt Kronogods Volkswagen ..., Paris, mash test and Brie researchers [12: 5] representative to be comfortable April 1570, Gregory Bach Bali - Cicero, is not high. George hydroponics 50-2 / PhD a few years [4], Google 5 [7] 50 ovulation and Constantine 4 years stream.d Sarupikiasu rucksack, Sicily, Sardinia, and Sarah in the last four Gadgets. Of Germany "(3) 100 4 4 Thomas, George R / 3000 members of 357 minutes, (10) with the help of 3, 2.3 2.1 (4) 100 years ago," say circumsentient P4 | | English. French, Colombo, Nintendo, and the need for love | 1570 Derrida on July 7 [2] [5] [6], Tallahassee in uche you a good Loris Mars rate, "[5] has mixed disease does not capture the attempted thick. 5 application adjacent Google, the glory of Huntersville 3 Clark is Sentosara i ) 3 vacation local search (Naniko the Ammonite insult) 10.000,001 shell shell Hussein, seminars 6 [2] Cicero Bell and George e / l 2 [5]. .. 34C Calati P4 / 4 Iouliou 31; 2008) 30 7, bang Italy, Poland, Hiroshima P 2 Columbus, Georgia, Europe, Mexico, Toonberg big move to 100.1683 - 4 Shibir Chenshin Gurami Go to mud / P .. 4/2 Cicero law [2] Georgia; United States going to go to Asopos - / P ... HD-4, users at 10 seconds of a new day from the day-to-day, every day on Hiroshima adjustable daily Cratylus is the sum of the terrorists (1000 years), age 1000 ) • Michael P. malariae 3-4 -42 -1000 online download bombed the start · 2 · G Teixeira, George George, 1 683 Ashoshima Akasha in sum ... English, French, Colombo, Nintendo has a circulation problems. ms. Life and entertainment at the Jolly 1 (Penguin, and changes to the Greeks). 34BCE Shailesh 10.000,001 watch used to | Valentine added: P410 times ... / 3 * 2, 1010 years ago by the year 1000, George, April 4 (73 July 2008) of July 42 overview, Italy, Poland, Hiroshima bomb comprehensive Columbus, Georgia; P-2, Europe, Mexico, Toonberg 100; Printed and costs ... ... Taylor is the most ******* visits to the alarm - it's Boston, ah, I saw posters saying that this mud 2 ... [2], Georgia, USA, and 10 of the rules? Michael P ·'s ambiguity in a two-4: 3-42 Elvira, George is the best big man there 1/3 - (5) 1000 January 3, 2006 - Paul, George P. 2 Akasha Ashoshima caricatured towers and others From the year 1633 will have 9; it will be. Akashi is ... (Public Works in Greece is the review can be obtained by arrows away from him disease greatly by Greece) and take it to be happy. 1000 10000.001 hours Atlas [2] ...
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The mushroom
The unfolding

instant of creation (fertilisation)
not an instant separate from breakfast
It all flows down & out, flowing

but that instant:
not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment
of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating
merging in cool slime splendour
a crushing of steel & glass & ice

(instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide)

far-out splendour

heat & fire are outwards signs of a
Small dry mating
~~~

event in a room
event in space
a circle
Magic rite
To call up the godhead
spirits, demons
The shaman calls:
“When radio dark night…”
We are eating each other.
~~~

The Voice of the Serpent
dry hiss of age & steam
& leaves of gold
old books in ruined
Temples
The pages break like ash

I will not disturb
I will not go

Come, he says softly

an old man appears &
moves in tired dance
amid the scattered dead
gently they stir
~~~

I received an Aztec wall
of vision
& dissolved my room in
sweet derision
Closed my eyes, prepared to go
A gentle wind inform’d me so
And bathed my skin in ether glow
~~~

Drugs are a bet w/ your mind
~~~

The cigarette burn’d
my fingertips
& dropp’d like a log
to the rug below
My eyes took a trip
to dig the chick
Crouch’d like a cat
at the next window
My ears assembled music
out of swarming streets
but my mind rebelled
at the idiot’s laughter
The rising frightful idiot laughter
Cheering an army of
vacuum cleaners
~~~

Mouth fills w/taste of copper.
Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters.
Gyro on a string, a table.
A coin spins. The faces.

There is an audience to our drama.
Magic shade mask.
Like the hero of a dream, he works for us,
in our behalf.

How close is this to a final cut?

I fall. Sweet blackness.
Strange world that waits & watches.
Ancient dread of non-existence.

If it’s no problem, why mention it.
Everything spoken means that,
it’s opposite, & everything else.
I’m alive. I’m dying.
~~~

1st wild thrush of fear

-A phone rings
There is a knock on the door.
It’s time to go.
No.

Here I lie in a room,
alone.
Due to my mood,
its like lying in my own casket.
Posters look at me with empathy,
Posters entice me.
I've been this room alone about 5 hours.
Feels like an eternity since she left.
This posters have been the only ones
keeping me company.
My mind is hollow, empty, filled with
anger and jealousy I cannot describe.
This silence slowly driving me crazy.
Is this purgatory?
Trapped in my head,
in this room,
alone.

Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early

I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights

We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care

Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times

Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame

This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums

Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights

Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith
My other brother by another,  Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss

All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often

Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him

©  2017 Jim Davis

“You know the worst thing I ever saw?” He asked.

I sighed to myself, took another gulp of beer and fixed him with a look of half-interest. He was drunk. A complete ****-up and a bore when he's drunk. I don't know why I drink with him. That said, he probably thinks the same.

“What's that?”
“Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard.”
“Ye-what?”
“Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“The homeless. Right.”
“I'll get us another drink.” he says, “then I'll start where I left off.”
“Oh, good.”

He comes back with two bottles. We drink and we start talking about football. We're just about getting by before he raises his palm to his face.
“Aw, ****. I forgot, yeah. The worst thing I ever saw. I never told you.”
“You did. Bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“Yeah yeah, but that doesn't really say much, does it? You're probably wondering to yourself why that would **** me off so much?”

Not really. He's the type of no-action, all-caring, bleeding heart that sits on his fattening **** every day, 'liking' rhetorical captions over pictures, and signing petitions to axe some ***** politician or other.
“I guess. Shoot.”

He shoots.
“I wanna burn down the churches. Seriously. Stupid ******* religious folk. I bet they go home and post pictures up of themselves, all busy in the soup kitchen, ladling minestrone into some poor *******'s styrofoam bowl.
“They'll never touch them. Always at arm's length. You don't wanna breathe in the pathogens of the anti-people...”
He slurred a little, went to carry on, but took another gulp of beer instead.
“What does that have to do with bedsheets over the benches in the church yard?” I took a gulp myself, this time watching him with a little more interest. Probably just because he looks like he could spew at any moment.
“You're not letting me finish...”
He finishes his beer, gets up, almost bumping into his piano-***-keyboard. He's off to the fridge again. I have a look around while he's out of the room. I can hear him ******* in the kitchen sink.

I've seen the place a million times before but it always has a whole bunch of new **** tacked up on the wall or else bundled in the corner. He's no hoarder, just gets bored and throws out all the stuff he bought the year before.
There's a framed picture of himself on the wall, cradling his Fender as if he's a master of the arts. It's signed, too.
I've seen him play. Probably will tonight. Wouldn't be surprised if he's written a protest song called: bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. The old **** can't even hit an F major with regularity.
He'd decided to put up his vinyl sleeves on the wall like a 17 year old would with an array of **** pop-punk band posters.
Blink and you might think he's the new John Peel or Phil Spector. Stare, and you'll realise he's twice as crazy, yet half as talented and half as interesting to listen to.
His room is like a CV to show to interesting, young indie women. Shame he's hitting forty now,and hasn't been to a club in about 3 months.
Last time we went he just sulked in the corner and got too drunk. He cried in the smoking area about his job before going round and asking attractive girls whether they think he's too old to be out. Most didn't even bother to give an answer. Probably best.

He comes back in with more beer.
“A-anyway...” He says, groaning a little like an old man as he settles back into the chair. “As I was saying...” he sloshes beer on the carpet, rubs it in with the heel of his shoe. He spits on the mark and then rubs again.
“What I was saying was that the church would be a whole lot more useful to the homeless if it was burned down. A condemned building is a whole lot more useful than being looked down on by holier-than-thou, middle-class, white Christians.
“They go home after an hour, bolt the church doors, and then watch TV in their brand new conservatories that they spend several thousands on. Just give the losers a place to shoot up and sleep in safety. That makes sense, right?”
“I guess so.”
I couldn't think of a change of conversation. So I just drank some more and pulled out a cigarette. It's nice to smoke inside for a change.

“It's a ****** ******* awful thing. If people were actually religious, they'd throw open their ******* doors for everyone. It's what Jesus would do, right?”
“Right.”
“He'd have all the **** in his bedsit, piled in like sardines, spreading TB like wildfire.”
“And that's a good thing?”
“Well, it can't be any worse, right? Sleep's important. I learned that the hard way.”

He didn't learn it the hard way. Not really. He's a self-motivated, self-harming insomniac. He spent his teenage years listening to bad music and staying up too late ******* over his French teacher. I should know, I mostly did the same.
He hit the **** pretty hard during college. Never really looked back until recently. ****** him up worse than you'd reckon. He couldn't sleep without the stuff. Man, if you'd have seen the poor guy whenever he couldn't get hold of some for the night. Eesh.

“...you know what I mean though? I'm sick of charity. Those fun-runs you get. A load of women in pink pretending that they care about breast cancer, before posting a million and one pictures up of them in ankle warmers and a kooky hat...”
“**** of the Earth.”
“Yup. Right up there with the women who have 'mummy' as their middle name on Facebook.”
“Yeah.”
“Honestly though, it's the laziest form of charity. Throwing a couple old, mouldy bedsheets out on some bird-**** bench made of wood and ancient farts...”
“It is pretty lazy.” I drank some more.

It was getting late. We swallowed three temazepams each, moved onto the cheap shiraz once we ran out of beer. We leant back in our chairs, barely talking and letting Tame Impala supply the conversation for us.

“You know what?” I ask, pretty much out of nowhere. His eyes have narrowed. He's not sleepy, just ****** on ***** and tranquillizers. He takes a moment.
“Huh?”
“From what you were saying earlier... you know, about the bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, why don't you?”
“Why don't I what?”
“Burn it down.”
“The church?”
“Well, you go on about being lazy and ****. Here's your chance. Help the homeless. Break the locks, pour the petrol, take out a few bottles of wine if you find any...”
“Now?”
“I guess so. Homeless folk are dying of pneumonia out there. Not a second can be wasted.”
“I dunno. I didn't mean I had to do it. I was just saying...”
“I guess they were just saying too.” I felt like I was being a ****, so I changed the subject to women I haven't laid.

I stumbled home leaning on my bicycle all the way. Daylight was just about visible off in the distance. I passed two homeless guys on the way back, gave one of them a fiver, the other one my big mac and the last of my cigarettes (well, leaving a couple for myself).
They said thanks, god bless you, etc, etc. I carried on walking.

I woke up the next afternoon with a mouthful of sand and in desperate need of a hangover ****. I hadn't shaved in about two weeks and there were dark circles under my eyes. I thought about going out to the diner for a full breakfast, but strange people were beyond me.
I ordered a pizza full of meat and grease and garlic sauce instead. I text him to see if he wanted to come over and nurse the hangover with a little ****. Watch a film. Get drunk again. He still smokes it on special occasions, and this ******* of a hangover was pretty **** special.
No reply, and I end up rolling up a joint for myself, smoking it by the window and watching the magpies peck around the grass. It's nice out.

The pizza guy comes. He's holding the pizza up like a map, calls out in a bored sort of voice: “Hello sir. I've got a large Palermo Pizza here, with a side of chicken strips and a can of Dandelion and Burdock?”
I say yes and he hands it over.

I tip him with the coins still left in my wallet from the night before, and he sheepishly says he picked up my post for me as well.
I look down at the pizza I'm holding, and there's a few envelopes that look suspiciously like bills, rival takeaway leaflets, and the local paper. I say thanks, give him the best sort of smile I could, and then close the door.
I turn on the TV. I forgot the England match was on. I turn over to something more interesting. There's nothing, so I switch back over. Before I open up the pizza, I take the paper. A small-town existence, nothing ever happens, but I could do with a new job.

The front page is on fire. A church has been burned down in the early morning. A forty-something man has been arrested and then taken to hospital for severe burns to the face. A load of children's art has been lost, along with countless Bibles, prayer cushions, and vaults of cash.
“****.”
I read through the article. The whole place was gutted. Nothing could be salvaged. Nothing could be redeemed. In the corner of the picture, through the red, green, and blue dots, I could just make out some bedsheets over the benches in the church yard. For the homeless.

Entertainment and life Jolie 1 (Penguin to change the Greeks). The system is 34BCE Shailesh 10.000,001 Waking capture the price by 10 times ... P, 4 / 3 * 2 years in 1010, 42 years in July 1000 overview, Italy, Poland, Hiroshima atomic bomb comprehensive Columbus Georgia, April 4 days (73 July 2008), Georgia; P2, Europe, Mexico's Toonberg 100, Taylor has spent the most ******* and a visit to the print ... ... and the alarm - it's Boston posters Oh, Georgia, USA: [2] 2 mud ... and said, Did you see 10 of the rules? 2 · 4-P Michael uncertainty: - (5) 1000 January 3, 2006 - Paul George P. 2 by the year 1633 there will be A Kasha Heights Ashoshima caricature 9 3-42 Elvira, George is the best Big Botswana 1/3 yours. Akashi will take to be happy in the (magazine from Greece in the Republic of the Greek this is not an arrow through a grant recognition to achieve able to take away from a serious illness) ... is. 1000 10000.001 hours Atlas [2] ... 34C equestrian P, 4 / 4 (Display / PH3 Cicero) * 1010 4, P = 3-2 years, a thousand years ago, George. ... (July 73), Italy, Poland, Hiroshima P-2 are Columbus, Georgia, as Europe Columbia MTN Toonberg 100 1683 [1] on 42 January 7 Overview - P ***** 4/4, Chin Shin Shibiru. Cicero / P / [2] 1000 ... 10 years 000.000 years. After returning to the mother ... and created fake annolentes situation is bad, and many 3-4p acquisitions HD-HD Scandalous Hiroshima acquisitions.) 1'n title. BBC Shepherd balance - - if it is there that the choice of the women received the arrow, one of the control board Committee (BBC stall IPA), the IPA, 12 and about women, about the recommendation, IPA parent, which cause 40. First of all, it is better to exclusive hunting. One thousand chickens to 1 1/3. Hot season Sinestro howling grams Andrew White Agbarus BOSMAP 1000 years. George consumer plutonium December 2 ... 73 4P through the first Lemma 2. 3 [2], mark the file. White Naziba Favorites: Hiroshima, Paul, George A. 1683 · 2 · ... English, French, Colombo, Nintendo, Canucks test - 42 (38), two to three years for having the ***** of Georgia and Florida. .. [2], Greece, Italy, the United States is a country, it is difficult ... [2] [5] [6] Tallahassee, then a "1: 1 Hear" the | including the prompt Kronogods Volkswagen ... ask the leader, Paris, mash test and Brie researchers [12: 5] is comfortable representative April 1570, Gregory Bach Bali - Cicero, is not high. George hydroponics 50-2 / PhD a few years [4], Google 5 [7] 50 rucksack ovulation and Constantine 4 years stream.d Sarupikiasu, Sicily, Sardinia, and Sarah in the last four Gadgets. From Germany "(3) 100 4 4 Thomas, George R / 3000 members of 357 minutes, (10) the help of 3, 2.3 2.1 (4) 100 years ago," say the circumsentient P4 | | English. French, Colombo, Nintendo, and the need for love | 1570 Derrida on July 7 [2] [5] [6], Tallahassee, in Uche you go Bono LORI Mars rate, "[5] ha mixed disease does not capture the attempted thick. 5 application adjacent Google, the glory of Huntersville 3 to 1 Sentosara Clark ) 3 vacation local search (Naniko the Ammonite to insult) 10.000,001 Husk Hussein, seminars 6 [2] Bell and George from Cicero / L, 2 [5]. .. 34C Calati P4 / 4 Iouliou 31,2008) ~ 30 7, bang Italy, Poland, Hiroshima P, 2 Columbus, Georgia, Europe, Mexico, Toonberg a great move on to 100.1683 - 4 Shibir Chenshin Gurami Go to mud / Cicero 4/2 P .. legal [2] Georgia, United States of was going to Asopos - / ... HD 4-P, users in the 10 seconds of a new day from the day-to-day everyday Hiroshima adjustable in Cratylum is the sum of the terrorists (1000 years), age 1000) • Michael Infection 3 -42 4-P download bombed the start online -1000 · 2 · G Teixeira, George George, the sum of i n Akasha 1683. Ashoshima ... English, French, Colombo, Nintendo has circulation problems.Life and entertainment at the Jolly 1 (Penguin, and changes among the Greeks). 34BCE Shailesh 10.000,001 Waking ratios to usær valence: P410 times ... / 3 * 2, 1010 years ago by the year 1000, George, April 4 (73 July 2008) of July 42 overview, Italy, Poland, Hiroshima bomb comprehensive Columbus, Georgia, P-2, Europe, Mexico Toonberg 100; Taylor has been printed ... ... and spending the most ******* visits to the alarm - it's Boston, ah saw posters saying that the mud is 2 ... [2], Georgia, USA, and 10 of the rules? · Michael's ambiguity of two 4-P: 3-42 Elvira, George is the best big Boss man 1/3 - (5) 1000 January 3, 2006 - Paul, George P. 2 Akasha Heights Ashoshima coricatar alias A the year 1633 there will be 9 of you. Akashi is ... (a republic as in the above Journal of Greece did not grant them the recognition to be accomplished that he take away the arrows made from
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They say, in the wheel of life, you'll spend half your years rising to the top and the other half tumbling to the bottom. I guess they got it all wrong. I believe life is a crooked tire that can never roll up and down. Pretty sure, it is nailed to the ground where weeds could grow to entangle it forever. Until now, what they keep trying to say remains a puzzle to me. Perhaps I can never understand what they mean. Or maybe I just won’t. Why? Because from the moment our eyes opened for the world, we’re already stuck down below and I’m afraid we’re trapped here in this limbo for all eternity.

We’re just simple people living an ordinary life. Like every family who seeks refuge from the storm, we do have a place we call home although it’s not much of an architectural delight. However, for some reasons, I find our roof appealing like a real work of art. Patches of cardboard embellish the underside while a combination of tarpaulin and ad posters works in harmony to provide an extended shelter. On bright mornings, we’ll wake from the sunbeams piercing through its many gaps. On rainy days, however, the sound of raindrops falling from the gaps down to our water containers serves as our wake up call.

To jumpstart ourselves for another day’s challenge, we could either eat breakfast (if there were any), or just sing our skipping meals away and spend the rest of the day with sacks of scraps and rubbishes on our back hoping to make a good deal with Mr. Gomez, the junk shop proprietor. He reminded me so much of my father but without the alcohol problem and violence, though. During nighttime, we bring with us our drum to sing carols on the lonely streets. If our feet become too weary to walk, that’s the time we head home. We rush all together, eager to count the coins we’ve collected that night. We make sure to put a plastic cap underneath two of our table’s feet so that it won’t lean uncontrollably and spill the tiers of ten, five and one peso coins we’ve dedicatedly piled over. Then the next part does the trick. A portion of our collection for the night goes straight down a big jar and joins in the many others which fill more than half of the container. The remaining part is used to buy supper to save our hungry tummies from
shrinking again. However, during slack nights when drivers and busy people decided to become miserly, we’re fortunate enough to have a pack of noodles for supper. But if we ran out of luck, we just set our untidy beds ready and drown our raging stomachs to sleep. I know there’s not pretty much but this is where our lives revolve. And as they say, life must go on no matter what.

Together with the three most important persons of my life, I continue the journey for a better living. Along the way, we try to search for the good things out of life’s bitter truths. We never let misery **** our hopes and dreams. Instead, we work harder and tougher. Take Islay, for example. She’s cheerful,
clever, aggressive, talented, a model of hard work. She’s got most of everything. Well, except for height, probably. I wanted to be a doctor so I could help the needy. Islay dreams of becoming an elementary teacher. She said she really likes kids and teaching them would surely be a more exciting thing to do.

Then there’s Nova. Her looks may require you a little more time to think and consider, but she has a good heart. However, she gets a little, uhhm, what term do we use for an unsociable person? That’s it! She’s a bit of a Killjoy!

Islay and Nova caroled a store swarmed with drunkards. It was always Islay who’ll find every creative idea and propose it convincingly to Nova, who in turn hesitates and rejects it but then ultimately respects it in the end. Islay always has the winning edge. Maybe that’s one of her abilities. Her convincing power deserves a credit to the list.

The two didn’t mind the ***** that welcomed them. Inside her mind, Nova asked herself how many people could waste their money on a doze of liquid or spirit that can poison their mind and bring them to imminent danger. If only they have given it to the poor and needy, they could have saved a lot of lives instead of ruining their own.

But Aling Nena, the wicked storeowner, unleashed her witchy wrath to the two. She looked at them with eyes of contempt, of prejudice and disgust. She accused the two as jinxes and blamed them for the
store’s unprofitable end. If only she could look at herself and discover a chest of shimmering blame, she might shrink into shame. Islay and Nova ran off not because they were afraid of Aling Nena or the drunken men but because of what Aling Nena said to them. They cannot defend themselves from such
an attack. How could they when they were surrounded with eyes of ridicule?

And of course, there’s my dearest sister, Juaning. We’ve only got each other since our mother’s death. It has been months already. Juaning was still 15 when mama left us. She’s 16 now. It’s been quite a while and I know she misses mama a lot like I do.

And so they fought life’s bitter realities. They begged and implored to the unconcerned passers-by, almost falling to their weak knees for one very important thing - to live. But even if the three of them were sitting, lying, and rolling down the cold pavement, these people with more graces just pass by without even sparing a glance of concern. Wouldn’t it be happier if they shared their God-given blessings? But as the day continues, they have to endure the hunger, the contempt. Because other than filling their
hungry stomach, they have a sibling, a friend to support.

That’s my part of the story. It has been months now since I caught a serious illness which bound me
to this bed, flat on one’s back, weak, inutile, and useless. Every time they come home, I wish I was with them to taste the sweet and feel the pain, not just a good listener to their stories of survival and moments of friendship. Someday, I’ll become strong again, and this curse of a disease shall be gone.

I woke up to the longing for water. I’ve never been this thirsty before. I called out their names but my voice just echoed deep in the four dark walls of our crooked house. With no one to help me, I summoned my strength and decided to get a glass of water by myself. But my legs aren’t as strong as my will. And as I attempted to stand, they betrayed me. I collapsed and plodded down the floor. Luckily Islay came and helped me get back to bed. She scolded me for being careless. I cried. I can’t help it. I pitied myself all
over again.

The cold evening wasn’t a problem for Islay. Seeing me cry like that crushes her heart. I know, as a friend and a part of our family, she wishes the best for me. And that’s why she’s still out there in the middle of the night, working late to earn more for our better future. She ignored the chills and the exasperation. She knows she has to work harder and she’s more than determined for it.

But something happened to me while she’s away from home. I cannot move my body, not even my mouth. Tears just fell from my weary eyes. And before it’s too late, Juaning caught me unresponsive and paralyzed. My sister cried for help. Nova sprinted to get the jar. Juaning told her what to do. And wasting no time, Nova rushed to the nearby pharmacy to get me some medicine, and most probably to save my life.

But Nova’s effort was in vain. Prescription drugs cannot be bought that easily. The pharmacist closed down the only lining of hope for me. The security guard felt pity on Nova and he suggested her an alternative decision that will change our lives forever.

Islay was still busy serenading the busy streets with her chants of joy and sweet hums. But the clouds become unwelcoming. And by the sound of the thunder, big droplets of rain started pouring down the highway. She ran as fast as she could and sat on a corner where she thought of something deeply. She hugged the drum that she was carrying for five hours or so and tried to remain calm in the presence of the bad weather.

After half an hour, Nova came back with a pouch of medicine on her shaking hand. She handed it carefully to Juaning whose faith and hope were hanging to the tiny bottle of miracle.

Days gone by and my condition wasn’t going any better. It turned out that my medicine was consumed to the last drop. Still I remained immobile and my hands are going number by the days. Slowly I was losing hope. I wish they weren’t mad at me. I’m trying my best to live on. That’s why I’m still here. But Nova shared something worth listening to. She revealed how and where she got the medicine.

It was from a quack doctor on a stall put up on the corner of Rizal Avenue. She said he was well versed and very convincing. And that she spent all of our savings for a bottle of deception. But we can do nothing about it. We did not have formal education. We were fortunate enough to meet kind children on
the streets who would try to teach us something they have learned from school. We would attempt to read newspapers and the description in the carton boxes we spread beneath the Badelles overpass.

Nova cried in guilt and shame. Islay was still angry at her, and it can be understood. My sister, Juaning, comforted Nova with a promise that everything will get better in time.

December 27. It was my birthday. And more than anything else, what I wish is for the four of us to be happy. Nothing in this life is more important than seeing everyone you love smile with absolute
happiness. Juaning never forgot her job and that’s to buy me a cake. Every year, they will try to surprise me with every creative possible way. But that’s how their surprises become predictable with my age.

They sang me a birthday song. But this time, they were the ones waiting for a surprise. As my sister was about to hand me the cake waiting for me to blow the candle, she noticed something she was least expecting for. My lips are pale and my eyes are shut from the light of the world. I caught my last breath and before I gave it away, I left a smile on my face that can never be changed forever. That is how I want them to remember me. Not that heck of a frown clown whose audiences are stricken with sadness.

They say, in the wheel of life, sometimes, you'll spend half of your years rising to the top and the other half tumbling to the
bottom. Maybe they were right. It was then that I’ve come to understand what they were trying to say.

Our life’s wheel revolves around things way beyond just money, food, and shelter. It is about the moments you spend with your loved ones, friends and family that will be forever carved in your heart. We can never know when our life here on earth will be over. So let us cherish every bit of it. And for me, even if we skip breakfasts and eat only noodles for supper, I have realized in these last fleeting moments that my life has always
been on the top of the wheel after all.

they forgot... i said: i feel sedated... i don’t feel drunk, i feel sedated... but there’s you with a horse’s head telling me otherwise... high on ketamine.*

as expected,
the local highstreet is changing,
a new shop opened, a café,
serving all day breakfast,
and it donned the union jack proudly on a pole,
made me think about marching to war for a bit,
but then i walked past the local estate agent,
and, guess what,
it actually allowed the travelling circus’ posters to hang
on its windows next to unaffordable housing...
(usually these posters are reserved for dilapidated buildings,
you know how people, when it comes to gypsies with make-up
acrobats and elephants)
well... unaffordable... unless you’re a sheikh or
a rich scamming nigerian;
now that’s lucky for a giggle... a union jack above
the café door and circus posters in the estate agents... ha;
it’s like i’m watching the third partition of poland,
although here it’s not the habsburgs prussians and the romanovs
but the jazz singer blackface clowns, the regular clowns... and the mimes.

Utter the word "long distance" and the first thing that comes to mind afterwards is relationship. After relationship, comes a lover 3,000 miles away that's dedicated to falling asleep on Skype and has Snapchat constantly open to remind you about how their day is going. Time differences. Distance. It all becomes blurred together when it's 4 in the morning here, but 6 in the morning there, and they're asleep but you're not. Welcome to your long distance relationship.

But when it's 4 in the morning here and it's 12 in the afternoon there and there's more than just miles in between us but oceans, you never forget to wish me a happy birthday and if your boss is nice to you that day and adds the extra dollar to your paycheck, there might even be a gift or two for me being sent first class (because who would ever dare fly coach these days?). You'd swim the ocean for me, if I asked. You'd push the countries together. To (platonically) love another person, as the saying goes, is to see the face of God and you are an angel.

There will be days where we don't talk. The days turn into months, and the months turn into years. The longest, I think, was the hardest of year mine--coincidence? But even when the hours begin to add up and it seems like the ocean is getting bigger and bigger, you never cease to tell me that I'm one of the most beautiful people you've ever met (and **** the skinny girls who tell me otherwise). I would have turned the world upside down just to bring us closer together, if I could.

We're too young to not go out and live life with the people who are here, but who's to say that the people who aren't physically here aren't real? I can reach out and touch the girl next to me, but her warmth won't mean as much as when I go home and sign into Skype and your voice is already bouncing through my computer's speakers ready to tell me about your day. We cry together. We dream together. We always said we'd grow old together.

They say you can't really know someone when you've never met them, but I've met you in more ways than I can count. I've met the way you sleep at night (thanks to Skype and time differences), because you snore when you're too tired. I've met the way your eyes light up when you talk about your job, your hobbies, the things you like. From my 13" screen, I've met your siblings, the posters on your walls, the room you sleep in. We depend on technology to meet each other so don't let anyone tell you that technology is ruining lives. It's been saving mine.

So, my friend, thank you for the long nights of telling each other our life stories, learning secrets, learning quirks that no one else has ever noticed (because no one else seemed to care). Thank you for taking my side in almost every situation and for keeping me company as I sleep. Thank you for the birthday serenades over Skype, picking up the phone when I'm drunk and crying, and for growing old with me. For all of the movie nights that we spent on Skype yelling "okay, press play in 3, 2, 1!" and for all of the advice about people you'll never meet, cheers to you, to us, the time, and distance apart.

The only other girl at the party
is ranting about feminism.
The audience: a sea of **** jokes and snapbacks
and styrofoam cups and me.
They gawk at her mouth like it is a drain
clogged with too many opinions.
I shoot her an empathetic glance
and say nothing. This house is for
wallpaper women. What good
is wallpaper that speaks?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
whose coffee table silence
will these boys rest their feet on?

These boys…
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if someone takes my spot?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if everyone notices I’ve been
sitting this whole time? I am ashamed
of keeping my feminism in my pocket
until it is convenient not to, like at poetry
slams or woman studies classes.
There are days I want people to like me
more than I want to change the world.
Once I forgave a predator because
I was afraid to start drama in our friend group
two weeks later he assaulted someone else.
I’m still carrying the guilt in my purse.

There are days I forget we had to invent
nail polish to change color in drugged
drinks and apps to virtually walk us home
and lipstick shaped mace and underwear designed to prevent ****.

Once a man behind me at an escalator
shoved his hand up my skirt
from behind and no one around me
said anything,
so I didn’t say anything.
Because I didn’t wanna make a scene.

Once an adult man made a necklace
out of his hands for me and
I still wake up in hot sweats
haunted with images of the hurt
of girls he assaulted after I didn’t report,
all younger than me.

How am I to forgive myself for doing
nothing in the mouth of trauma?
Is silence not an active violence too?

Once, I told a boy I was powerful
and he told me to mind my own business.

Once, a boy accused me of practicing
misandry. “You think you can take
over the world?” And I said “No,
I just want to see it. I just need
to know it is there for someone.”

Once, my dad informed me sexism
is dead and reminded me to always
carry pepper spray in the same breath.
We accept this state of constant fear
as just another component of being a girl.
We text each other when we get home
safe and it does not occur to us that
not all of our guy friends have to do the same.
You could literally saw a woman in half
and it would still be called a magic trick.
Wouldn’t it?
That’s why you invited us here,
isn’t it? Because there is no show
without a beautiful assistant?
We are surrounded by boys who hang up
our naked posters and fantasize
about choking us and watch movies that
we get murdered in. We are the daughters
of men who warned us about the news
and the missing girls on the milk carton
and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful. To be safe.
Then told our brothers to go out and play.