Yung unang lalaki na sa akin ay nagpatili
Yung unang lalaking nanatili sa aking tabi
Ang unang lalaki na nagpasagot sa aking ng 'oo. '
Ang unang lalaking nagpasabi sa'kin ng 'father, yes I do.'
Kaya bakit naman kita makakalimutan?
Sa aking isip at damdamin, hinding-hindi ka mapapalitan
Sa iyo ko naramdaman ang sensasyong akala ko'y imposible
Sa iyo ko nalaman na merong mga bagay pala na pwedeng mangyari
Kapag tayo'y magkasama
Higit pa ang aking saya
Minsan nga lang ay nalulungkot
Ngunit napapatawa rin naman sa iyong pag-utot
Hanggang sa pagputi ng ating mga buhok
Hanggang sa pagkalbo ng lahat ng bundok
Hanggang sa aking huling salita
Tandaan na ang iyong pangalan pa rin ang isasamba
Ikaw lang ang kinakailangan.
Kinakailangang maglapat ng labi sa akin.
Ang pwedeng sumigaw upang ako'y gisingin.
Ang maaaring yumakap sa mahinang bewang
Kahit na parang nababali na ang noo'y masiglang balakang
Ikaw lang ang aking hahanapin.
Sa aking pagtulog hanggang sa paggising
Sa pagpikit ng mga matang ikaw lamang ang nakikita
Sa pagdilat ng mundong puno ng pagkakasala.
Sa ating pagtanda,
Tayo pa rin ang magsasama
Magkahawak kamay at ngingiti sa isa't isa.
Ako'y iyo at ika'y akin
Mga pangako'y di na dapat bawiin.
Sana, ikaw din ang huli
Na sa akin ay magpapatili
Ikaw din ang huli
Na mananatili sa aking tabi
Pangako, hanggang sa dulo ng aking 'oo'
Hindi maglalaho sa alaala ang iyong mga katagang ako lamang ang iyong gusto.
Sa ating pagtanda,
Alalahanin mo sana
Na ikaw ang mahuhuli sapagkat ikaw din nauna.
Wis and I wrote this for our grandparents. STAY STRONG!
Shark, bait, and coral reefing
Hunting, hiding, gauking
Go, go, go
Foamy human froth
Eddies to and back again
Twill, tweed, leather, denim, skin
Petrol, perfume, sweat, tar, bread
Glass, brick, stone, and steel
Vertical sway Samba style
© 2019 MJL
a knuckled skull
with no where to go
made of mud and blood
took a needle to sew
during a blood moon
her parts for pleasure
some one to spoon
did it in shadows
so angels couldn't see
scraped a dead tree
gave her toes
and a small chin
played a samba
and shaped her thin
after i wove her
from spiritous mist
she called me god
i did insist
i wanted her ****
incantations and ****
made to do the who-la
resurrection did come
in barbarous tongue
enshrined truth on her head
and got out of bed
who am i
she begged to see
my lover always
i said with glee
what is love
she did inquire
its feelings of warmth
that do inspire
where are they, where is it
is it in this room
i have nothing in me
where does it loom
i pulled down my pants
she looked up with shock
oh my god she cried
what a beautiful ****
she came at me
unbridled and mad
grabbed me and broke me
and called me dad
she starved for a stuffing
and ****** like a pig
huffing and puffing
my **** got so big
we lived together
til i dropped dead
she lives forever
still waiting in bed
In Jewish folklore, a golem is an animated anthropomorphic being that is magically created entirely from inanimate matter (specifically clay or mud).
She was red-light flawless:
districts of ephemeral perfection luxuriating on along sensual stretches.
The unmistakable presence of a woman;
some sense of the sublime:
its invisible edge cleaving my being wide open upon its passing.
The glitter of her dark eyes
a secret signal
tempting me toward sensual settings:
situations whose scents pull on plots pushing potent agendas
and explosive endings.
Ancient intersections awash with new blood;
a warm awakening of an almost forgotten biology.
Our contours resolve an oft-imagined samba.
Her hourglass orbit caresses kisses all over our angular philosophy;
for the existentialists transpiring in all of us.
A distinctly human complexity that’s haphazardly indignant,
and disturbed only by the tediousness of interstellar transmission.
Into a feathery instability the thread digresses,
then back to hormonal flushes it fluxes,
and by its muscled materiality it flexes.
From ingress to egress:
defined by an awkward acceleration
of her truth’s unrefined relativity:
a welcome duplicity.
Pause: a space apropos: somewhere between ellipses and apostrophes.
A much need riposte from a feminine intensity most imperative.
Tomorrow is another day
and also a night:
further discourse in the eternal struggle
of leaving that her,
losing this me,
and living as we.
The de-territorialization of our skin maps out a dystopic equilibrium:
a chaotic futurescape that only the likes of our they can inhabit.
A final monolith reads: The Grand Narrative of Us.
*Filipino uses the gender-neutral "siya" to refer to a human agent-object.
This ambiguity is the space that the implied actors in this scene inhabit.
Organic Simili Samba
Writing TV, Watching Music
Reality Distortion Field
It Becomes Like Another World
Giant Gutter from Outer Space
Open Gates of Ancient Knowledge
Low Resolution Universe
Dark Pineapples & Chocolate
New Operative Perspective
Unbreakable Circuits of Love
Dance the Spiral Never Ending
And the Colours Made the Earth Sing
16/64 Psytrance song titles, sorted in mirror alphabetic (ascending by last letter)
If there is ever a time I can be free
Then that time should be now.
I wanna be a tree in the wild
Surrounded solely by my redolence.
i wanna be like the night bat
Free to roam the ethereal essence.
I wanna drink like a sailor
And read every line like a geek.
Like a breathtakingly borne butterfly,
I'll dance the samba in the zithering zephyr
I wanna be free. Free to be me!
Jump of a cliff and bounce on the cotton clouds
But these are just wishes
For every time I am awake
I'm trapped within these stuccoed walls.
I really wanna be free.
They say get better don't get bitter.
I'm working on switching them letters
They say pain hurts and fear hates...
I say pain strengthens and fear draws faith
When am free I will wash away every doubt
I will take my time...Maybe this time.
Note to self
Dawn casts her long line for spring
Days linger to catch the angel irises bloom
Enveloped by early chirping chitter-chatter
Lightly crusted sleep argues for lids to remain closed
Black perking wake-me oil makes a strong cups case for compromise
A nudge to join the living
- On negotiated terms -
Somewhere between another dream and lavender bubbles
The contract will begin
Foggy feet shuffle onto the wheel
Spying steps creak tattle-tale floorboards alerting all on your way
You beg for silence as the Ra room comes into view
Brightly checkered yellow-brown mustard window patterns
Cut diagonal boxes across maple hardwood
Stained glass dots of emerald, violet, and red raspberry
Dance on lemon washed walls as they turn and wink for a smile
Your morning chair sets at the edge of the warming sun pond inviting you
You listen to the ripples of space
Your cushioned dock perfectly positioned for a loving embrace
And slowly dip legs into the glowing pool
Drenched limbs cocoon in the heavy webbing of golden rays
The chickadees celebration is known
Lids succumb to the orange haze
The Girl from Ipanema sings
Young and lovely
You feel wonderful
No risk of drowning here...
Only in happiness
One radiating breath
Before the Samba plays again
© 2019 MJL
Sunrise. Before the day begins. Time in the window. Like a cat.
Psychic glockenspiels come from western civilization to steely dilation
The sun may rise and the Swede's dreams looking for hindsight and elation
A cinema mon amour, the compensation spreads like their legs on ovulation, it's Ninotchka's dilemma with fornication
Firstborn of the soft-core **** of the thorny copulating, and yonder lying in waiting till you're a ne'er zaftig
First-form soothsayers, and strides of samba spies salivating with charm, you're a tinsel town in the maelstrom
Lick your lips, and lickety-split, you're in the instigation of salacious mating
Of a **** of minor, and crime of a major elemental nature, you'll get sentencing from the abyss of vultures
— The End —