Ako ay isang pulis,
Natangal sa Serbisyo dahil sa paniniwala kong mali ang naging paghusga sa aking pagkatao,
Naglingkod sa bayan ngunit nauwi ang aking paghihirap sa hindi tamang pagpataw ng parusa,
Sa aking serbisyo, Sa aking pagkatao, at sa pangalan ko.

Kayat nagawa ko ang desisyong ito,
Wag niyo akong sisihin dahil tao lamang ako,
Nasasaktan at humihingi ng katarungan sa sistemang di makatarungan ang dahilan,
Sino ba naman ang matutuwang mapagbintangan,
sa mga krimeng pinaniniwalaan kong di naman ako ang may kagagawan?

Mga turista ang aking ginawang pananga,
Dahil di naririnig ng binging sistema ang mensahe ng sarili nilang mamamayan,
Kayat sila ang napili ko upang maintindi ako at magawan ng paraan,

Bitbit ko ang aking baril,
Hawak ko ang aking kutsilyo,
Ngunit wala akong balak na gamitin ito upang masimulan ang pagkakagulo,
Isa lang naman ang hiling ko,

ANG MAPANSIN AKO NG BULOK NA SISTEMANG PINANGALINGAN KO.

Sixth grade was the first time I remember feeling out of place in my own body. I tried on a shirt from the year before and realized I wasn't the same size anymore. I felt strange for a moment, then brushed it off. I threw away the shirt the next day. By the end of middle school I knew I was bigger than my friends, but I tried to avoid thinking about it. I just wanted to fit in like the rest of them.

Freshman year I got called fat and decided to make myself invisible. Treated every food as if it an allergy. Lost 30 pounds in 60 days. Told my parents I already ate. Told my friends I was eliminating junk food. Told no one my secret for years.

Gained my weight back then lost it just as quickly. The never ending cycle of starving, binging, purging.
Starving, binging, purging.
Starving, binging, purging.
Nobody notices when I fall off track because disordered eating is only cared about when the victim is skinny enough that you can see the evidence. I have been terrified for four years to speak out for fear nobody would believe me when I told them.
No one expects a bigger girl to not know how to feed herself.
There is something to say about a culture so warped that I get upset by the fact I don't have a stereotypical eating disorder body.

Sometimes I wish it was more obvious, so at least that way they could see how hard I'm trying to be perfect... To fit in.
America, am I not sick enough for you already?

wala naman makapagsasabi, kung kelan matutupad ang tunay na pangarap
    nalalaman mo pa ba kung ano ang binubulong ng puso?
    hinde pa ba ito natatabunan
    ng alaala ng kahapong pinagmulan?

    nais kong umangat mula sa putik na aking minana:
    ambisyon ang umuudyok
    pagkatotoohanin ng kasiyahan, ang bawat layaw ng laman
    na tulak ng mundo
    pabilis nang pabilis ang ikot
    habulin man
    unahan man
    kelangan pagbayarin

    bawat hubog sa atin ng tinaguriang
    collective consciousness
    nang kung sino man matalinong tumawag dyan,
    dyan! mapangahas na pangngalang marangal!

    sino ba ako pag humiwalay ako sa collective consciousness na yan?
    anong napala ko dyan, itinulak ako
    (di kayat, nagpatuak ako?)
    patungo sa isang kanto nyan
    dahil kelangan kong sundin
    ang moralidad
    ang paniniwalang
    gawa-gawa rin lang
    ng aking kapwa

    hinde ko tinatakbuhan
    ang aking
    social responsibility
    na syang dinikta na lipunan
    na dapat akong kumayod at tuparin
    ang oblgasyon ko sa kanya

    no.

    ang tinutukoy ko
    ay ang binubulong
    ng bawat saloobin

    natabunan na ito
    ng sigaw ng damdamin

    sinong makakapagsabi
    kung kelan matutupad ang pangarap?

    ito ba'y aking hahabulin
    pipilitin
    paglalabanan
    sa hilaw na panahon?
    (tulad ng sigaw ng damdamin
    na tumilapon sa akin?)

    ang bulong ng saloobin
    hinuhukay ko pa
    ito'y nasa ilang
    lantang lanta na ako
    binging bingi
    ngunit naririnig ko pa
    sinasakop nya ako
    umaasang bubuhayin ko muli.

Why is literally everything over sexualized except for realistic body types? All women have cellulite. All women have rolls when they sit down or lean one hip to the side. All girls jiggle somewhere when they walk--and I'm not talking about their ******* ****.
I'm talking about feeling your legs and belly jiggle, wishing you didn't care, feeling less and less **** every day. Feeling like a stranger in your own skin like you put on the wrong meat suit one morning and misplaced your old one.
I'm talking about skinny taking over everything, and my own skinny being considered plus-sized. I'm talking about looking in the mirror, utterly disgusted by your own body because the world tells you that you need to change.
I'm talking about feeling guilty after eating anything; not eating, binging, and dressing in layers to hide how you really feel about how you really look. I'm talking about how hard it is to love yourself, when the world tells you the only women deserving of love are sizes 2 and under...and if they are bigger, they can only have curvy hips and a tiny waist, both of which you have to be born with to achieve. Having a wide rib cage and a wider everything else is something I was born into....and I can't change it enough:
My legs rub each other raw when I walk, and I'm too tall for heels. I have bruised hips from hitting doorways and edges because I misjudge how wide I really am.
I'm in denial.
I grab the fat on my back wishing my boyfriend would stop. I stand in front of the mirror, fighting back tears, fighting back the urge to wish for the flu. After all, the skinny girls are always bragging about how much weight they lost while home sick with one thing or another. Unfortunately, losing weight is harder for those with weight to lose.
As I put my arms to my sides and watch how far the fat expands to make my arms look like three times their size than when I was yanking at my hair in panic.
I watch how my belly looks when I slouch, when I stand up straight, and when I lean too far back in an effort to obtain a flat stomach.
Round, curvy, rounder.
It's intoxicating, sickening, but I just can't stop. I stare and I stare some more and I hate every inch. I wake up, and do this routine every morning, and every second of my day thereafter.
I'm talking about waking up every morning and making a point to avoid mirrors throughout the day, tripping over things to avoid looking down at yourself, and the constant feeling of inadequacy knowing that you'll never be someone that can walk outside with confidence knowing how easy life is as opportunities and love fall right into your lap...because you're conventionally attractive, of course.
You're too big to cuddle on a couch, or share a chair, or casually sit on your lover's lap. You'll never be lifted off the ground with ease in a romantic gesture. You'll never be able to joke about how much you eat like the skinny girls can because, unfortunately, your love of comfort in food form shows all too well.
You'll probably never have love as solid as an attractive woman would have, either. No one will ever be jealous over you because, well, who's going to steal you away but the desserts you sneak when you're alone and aching?
Alone and aching are emotions all too familiar to the less than conventional.

Everything is getting so bad.
I am getting so bad.
It really is and I really am.
I have no motovation.
I just can't do anything.
I binge and I purge.
I'm using a cold blade to make myself burn with scars.
Again.
There is no home for me.
I sleep all day.
I've missed a dangerous amount of classes.
I need a job.
I have yet to process
Major things that are happening.
**** has been continuously hitting the fan
For seven years and
I just can't make it stop
And I can't catch a breath,
And the flashbacks are awful.
I just wrecked my thighs.
I don't want to burden anybody.
I know all I do is complain.
But it is literally me screaming for help.
And no one is helping me.
I'm up to my neck in my own mental disorders.
I'm drowning.
I really ******* am.
I walk around late night hope I'll get killed,
I stare at 163 sleeping pills every night.
I'm all late night binging and purging.
This is the ******* life.
I carry a toothbrush in my purse
And tell people I'm just obsessed with my tooth health.
I smoke to hide the smell of *****.
I'm drowning.
I'm desperate.
I'm drowning.
Why are strangers offering more help
Than the people in real life that I'm begging.
I'm an adult now.
It's no longer the fault
Of the people who raised me.
I have waited for this day to come.
The day where all of the sudden
The blame shifts to you.
I'm still drowning.
I'm dying.
I'm drowning.
I know I should stop cryjng for help
And just get it myself.
But I used up all my strength
I really did.
And I will be perfectly fine
With just dying.
I really would be.
I'm drowning anyway.
Might as well make it literal.

I always get up early. Early, early, early and it’s Saturday morning. So I scooted over to “Donut Crazy” and got myself 12 sugar donuts (and a selection of treats for my suitemates - I’m NOT suicidal.)

At 8am, I’m in the suite common area, on the couch, binging “Ladybug and Cat Noir” on my iPad and I realize that Leong, one of my suitemates, is sipping her coffee and staring at me like I’m a bad pet. I look around to find myself sitting in a shower of confectioners’ sugar speckles.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.” I disclaim.

Mata: Nakikita nila akong masaya kasi sa tuwing tititigan ako ay nangungusap na. Pero hindi nila alam na sa kasuluksulukan nito ay madilim na ang aking nakikita.

Ilong: Amoy na amoy ko pa ang masasayang alaala ng kaligayahang noon ay aking nadarama. Ngunit, ngayon ay unti-unti nang bumabara ang mga sakit at pighating dulot ng aking pagdurusa.

Tainga: Kay sarap pakinggan ang mga nanari-saring tiyempo, ritmo, at tonong iyong napapakinggan. Ikaw ay napapaindak pa at napapasayaw sa mga natamong kasiyahan. Subalit, binging-bingi ka na sa mga masasakit na salita sa iyo na tila wala ka ng kwenta.

Bibig: Puring-puri mo ang mga nagawa mo para sa kanila at doon ay napagtanto **** may saysay ang bawat **** ginagawa. Ngunit, pilit mo na lamang ikinukubli ang mga masasakit na katagang nais **** ipabatid sa kanila dahil alam **** kapag ikaw ang nagsalita, mali pa rin sa pagkakaunawa nila.

I've been thinking about you baby,
So I'm drinking about you lately
Now I'm dreaming about you baby
& My head's screaming sedate me

I've been tearing out my hair about you baby,
I just simply can not bear it
Prayers come & go without merit,
Maybe only you can save me

I've been chain-smoking about you baby,
Trying to rid myself of your lingering taste
But it's savory & I hate it
Bad habits are hard to break

Now I'm binging about you baby,
& I'm choking about you baby
Feels like hanging from a bridge
[Rope + Throat =
Dangling, here - you baby]

The Frog Prince croaks, alone for you my highness,
Beauty is only skin deep when vanity is all but timeless
It's chipping away my sanity; (your china is the finest)
Your parisitical silhouette (the iris of my crisis)

I've been sniffing glue about you baby,
Now you're stuck on me like paste
With eyes closed, it's almost as if
you & I were face to face
Your touch, my long lost grace
How I long for your forgotten, electric embrace

I've been free-basing about you baby,
& basing my phrases around you lately
Just can't phase you out of my head
I see you in my dreamscape
You're my favorite escape baby

Now I'm hallucinating about you baby,
It feels like I'm losing you baby
Your pallor is opaque, are you okay baby?
I see a ghost; the resemblance is uncanny
It's become unnerving, why can't you just be happy?
Your antics make me frantic
I'm sour & spiraling downward baby

I've been robo-tripping about you baby,
& double-dipping about you lately
My frame of mind is shaky
So scrape away all my brain matter baby

I've been injecting about you baby
Now I have this festering infection,
affliction for your affection, and

My veins collapse about you baby;
Encasing my brain in frost,
You're cold as a glacier;
Read between the lines baby
You call the shots

Maybe I should huff some gas about you baby,
Or smoke some crack about you baby
I dunno what to do about you baby;
I could melt you on a spoon,
My life is drab without you lately
I just want to see color

Inhale *a dab about me baby,
So you can recreate your perception
of times past about me baby;
Mix & match the parts you like best
& Exhale *all the rest baby

Who are you to stare at me?
Who are you to give me such harsh words?
Who are you?
Why do you do these things to me?
Why do you compare me to others?
Why do you insist I am never enough to you?
When did I do something to deserve this?
When did I begin to eat too much?
When did I begin to wrong you?
Why am I getting wider?
Why haven't you stopped me from binging?
Why haven't I been purging?
Who is Mia?

Where has she been?

What is she known for?

When did she come?

Why did she choose me?

How have I been so blind?

With a gluttonous obesity that devours love,
spits up lust,
and snacks on a
high-carb
pre-cooked
combination of the two,

we're counting calories consumed
with a track record of lovers,
regurgitating with regret and
binging again anyway when hunger pains strike.

Eventually we'll all suffocate
under the weight of the world.

I knew she planned on staying.
When she unpacked her belongings.
Mia told me she wasn't playing.
This time, she would cause the falling.

She woke me up the first night,
After he ran away.
Mia's chapped lips whispered our old times,
She reminded me of tooth decay.

For the next few days, Mia was my shadow.
Her doe-eyes trailed my every course.
Waiting patiently for me to plateau,
Before attacking without remorse.

Mia told me she was mending my cuts,
My battered heart, and my sliced legs.
She was making me whole with every hiccup.
He may have left, but she was here to stay.

We held hands throughout the store.
She helped me buy my favorite treats.
Binging together before locking the door.
Purging never tasted so sweet.

Mia held my hair and my pink tongue.
Her fingernails made my throat bleed.
Convinced me secrecy made this fun.
Our kneeling prayers were a mystery.

She wiped my tears with her acidic hands,
And whispered how much she missed me.
Mia uttered how only she would understand
My longing and misery.

Gising sa pagkahimbing
Ang isip na balimbing
At kahit anong halinghing
Ay binging nakatingin

Sa apoy na pinatay
Bandera'y iwinagayway
Ito nga'y tagumpay
Sa buhay na matamlay?

Kapangyarihang taglay
Hindi na lumalatay
Wala kang binubuhay
Sa matagal nang patay

Habang natutuwa
Sa larong nakakasuya
Ako ang mandaraya
Hindi ko ipagtatatwa

- JGA

Maybe I don't like to admit when I'm wrong
But then again, neither do you
Maybe trying to find each other in foreign places was the worst way to meet
But your heart eludes even you
Maybe I should have shown you honey before stone
But stone walls have always been safer
Maybe I was never good at knowing who to trust
But I thought that I could let you in
Maybe taking shots in the dark is ineffective
But it doesn't matter now that my heart's broke again

1.Sight

Beauty looks like protruding bones
Photoshop, and makeup to cover tired eyes
Girls in magazines who emanate elegance
Even though the perfect girls are only a guise
That's what beauty looks like

2. Hearing

Beauty sounds like that girl you hardly know saying "*** you've lost so much weight!"
You feel happy for a split second even though you don't see it
It's standing up a little straighter when hearing someone call, "You look really great."
But the voices still say "It's not enough."
That's what beauty sounds like

3. Taste

Beauty tastes like diet coke, since it's the only thing you'll drink
Tastes like bile and the salty tears running down your cheeks
After you just puked
It tastes like binging food that you bought really cheap
That's what beauty tastes like

4. Smell

Beauty smells like febreze mixed with *****
In a pathetic attempt to hide what you just did
It smells like a million foods vying for your attention
But keeping self control even though you want to quit
That's what beauty smells like

5. Touch

Beauty feels like running your hands across your collar bone
Because it gives you the illusion you're thin
It feels like your stomach releasing an overdue groan
Because you've been eating as if there is a famine
It feels like grabbing the fat on your body while your mind complains
Beauty is feeling the knife in your back reminding you
"Beauty is pain."

You are beautiful.

Do not roll your eyes at me.
I see you.
You have never been kissed.
Boys treat you like you are contagious
and at night the popular girl's laughter
rings in your mind like an alarm clock—
you do not sleep very much.
You are nebulas and dark holes,
purple and black.
Do you not understand my metaphor?
I know what you do at night.
In the mirror you try to destroy
pieces of you that make people hate you.
That make you hate you.
Pinch and pull and twist
squeeze and squeeze,
squeeze your eyes shut—
bruises do not look better in the dark.

I know you.
So listen to me when I tell you:
Do not let years of your life
become a blur of starving
and binging starving and binging
starving and binging.
Do not form an addiction
to the growl of your stomach.
Do not wear your clothes
like an apology.
When your weight is the classroom guessing game,
when a hug from a boy is the result of a triple-dog dare,
when the girls draw pictures of you on bathroom stalls,
do not think of the peace that never waking up could bring.
Do not give up.

I am you
and I know what I am talking about.
Seven years, one eating disorder, and 50 pounds later,
I will always be in recovery
and you are still who I see in the mirror.
I am sorry I did not love you.

But trust me now,
this body is not your prison,
it is a home.
You are made of stardust
and sea water and of the
earth beneath you.
You are more than a number--
you are not as simple
as they want you to be.

shuffling papers together into a pile,
you look like you’ve run a mile.
in such a hurry of what you’re looking for
that you forget what you’re pushing ashore.
papers strewn across the table
gathered in a fit of labor;
you’re in a hurry to chase the next high
but are you really? or are you really just chasing flies?

i am the paper that slips out of your grip.
i am the paper that hangs off the tip.
the floor beckons my fall,
the drop becomes a call.
a call for help, yet a call ignored
as you left me on the side as though i am nothing more.

(maybe its because i mention death like a prayer.)

i am the paper that idles by.
i am the paper that was hung out to dry.
you’ve purposely left me behind.
you’ve shoved me aside blind.
i trusted in you therefore i am blind.
when you confided in me, i was kind.

(maybe you were hurt by my actions.)

i am the paper sitting silently.
i am the paper binging on anxiety.
pick me up again and i’d be useful.
use me again although it may be cruel.
i don’t like the feeling of being abandoned.
it makes me feel like i’m a loose cannon.

(maybe your dead stares makes me ill.)  

i am the paper that flew with the wind
i am the paper you seem to have skimmed
i am an afterthought, i think to myself a lot.
i am being overlooked like a blind spot.
i am forgotten just as easily.
you’ve gotten rid of me, finally!

(maybe i should scratch until i bleed today.)

i am the paper that is facing down.
i am the paper that is close to breaking down.
i wear a mask that is always cracking.
because i am done pretending.
pretending that everything is okay.
pretending that i am sane when i’m being put on display.

(maybe i should be punished for thinking this way.)

i am the paper that flew into the mud.
i am the paper that is drenched in my own blood.
i am weak but i am not.
i am strong but i think not.
i am tired but i am trying.
i am trying but i am dying.

(maybe my death will prove that i am right.)

i am an afterthought that is being forgotten
and i know its a lot for you
but if you ever think me rotten,
tell me now because i am not willing to be the paper
that was made out of spun cotton:
valuable until deemed unimportant,
helpful until easily forgotten.

(maybe I can finally sleep tonight.)

i am an afterthought that is being forgotten
and i know its a lot for you
but its a lot for me too.

l am the familiar unfamiliar.
I am a house of bones working as your cage of sorrow.
I am the three o’clock suicide hotline call your mom doesn’t know about.
I am your shallow breathing.
On a clear, cold night I am the emerald flash
Of the dying sun on the ocean.
Blink, and I’ll be gone.
I am the lukewarm coffee you force yourself to finish at the cafe.
Bitter, cold, and disappointing,
But you can’t stop drinking.
You once told me that coffee was the only thing keeping you alive,
So I pulled the plug on the machine.
I am the regret you throw up from your weekend binging routines,
Spilling from your mouth and falling off your lips like lava.
You could never keep me down.
I am Van Gogh, cutting my own ear off
In attempts to get your love.
I didn’t realize that giving it to you meant throwing a piece of myself away.
I am the earthquake that shattered the foundation of Los Angeles
just because I could.
After all, you always said you liked disaster.
On the nights that you actually manage to sleep, I am the spider
That crawls into your mouth.
It’s always been my favorite place to go.
I will love you like a mother loves her unborn child,
Cherishing the sight of blood just because it reminds me of you.
I am the two things you hate the most,
Paper cuts and taxes.
I am the two things you love the most,
Smoking and forgetting.
When you go to light your lucky, I am the kiss
Between the flame and the paper:
Something you only want to do once.
But you don’t have a smokers cough for no reason.
I am the desire in a baby’s grip to hold his mothers hand.
But, I am the mother who never cared.
I am not the tropical showers everyone wishes for,
But the devastating monsoons.
I am the reason storms are named after people.
When the winds are howling and your fingers are blistered with frostbite,
You can count on me to not be there.
Your mother always warned you to wear a seatbelt,
For fear of a collision.
I am the windshield your head crashes through when you don’t listen,
Carving the word
“Guilt”
Into your scalp.
I only wanted to see how your brain worked
When you weren’t thinking of me.
I am the look on your best friends face when he catches you
Sleeping with his girlfriend.
I am the teeth you lose from the punch;
Hide me under a pillow and I’ll disappear.
I am your ravenous drug habit,
Breathe me in enough and I’ll give you a high
You could have never imagined.
I am addiction.
I am withdrawal.
I am the lies of God and the hope for redemption
At your AA meetings.
Talk me up enough and I’ll be truer than your fathers gambling habit.
I am the tears that fall from your grandfathers eyes
When you tell him about the last time you tried to **** yourself.
After all, it was just yesterday.
I am the stones you placed in your pockets
And the icy river you plunged yourself into.

I am not the stranger who saved you.


I will never be the one to save you.

I'm currenty somewhere between
Emotionally void
And too emotional.
It's not just OCD, or depression, or anxiety.
Or what everyone else thinks I have.
Just, you know,
ASPD.
Ha.
It makes me laugh.
**** yourself.
I need therapy again,
And I'm so jealous of those who can afford it.
I need meds,
And I'm so angry at those who can get it.
I know I need help.
But when you act out or ask for help
And all you get is silenced
Because it means your parenting is week
Because you care how it affects someone else instead
Because it is too much for you too handle
Because you'd rather I fix you,
Then I'm not going to get better.
Do you know how I solve it alone?
Razors and safety pins to make it dull,
Nyquil and Tylenol PM to get some rest.
***** and **** to medicate the main problems,
And binging and vomitting to get the physique back.
Maybe I don't need help.
This seems to be working pretty.
Well, only if pretty well means not at all.

I don't feel the way I had imagined
I would feel by the time I had gotten here
Paper scraps littering a lengthy path
An ivory album half filled to the gills
Most pages just blips and blackouts
A garden of blooming disappointments

I hyped up the experience too much
Everything feels so terribly lack luster
Now I'm almost always half asleep
And the days feel like I pressed repeat

I don't feel the way I had imagined
Though times have been much worse
And I'm alright with seeing the sunrise
The boredom is better than binging
Waking in such a painful panic
But I've kept the promise this time

It’s sick
But all I can think about
Is the pain

I think it’s an art
One that I have perfected
The ability
To ignore everything
But the pain

I don’t think
I could make room
for anything else

Because if I’m not cutting
I’m burning
If I’m not burning
I’m starving
If I’m not starving
I’m purging
If I’m not purging
I’m binging
If I’m not binging
I’m probably dead

And thus
All I can fit
In my brain
Are these thoughts
These morbid
Thoughts
Of pain

there may be a time when I'm removed far enough

… but no, not today, today, I ask
new mercies, and
I recall, that's on auto. Hapsthappeneverday kinda thing.
Time after time.
That is a miracle, time.

Really smart
people, that class that feels included in the
we, the
people, politico-intellect-ism trend sect,
they think the math is there to prove

time is
what clocks do, (Royal Institute Youtube watch it)
                                                  
that we,
that ain't me, ye see, I got

removed far enough
to see the blurry
next res
bigger picture more pixels than an eye is said able to see

So for everlasting ideas,
like hell and
heaven,  

the re act
to my act is the power
to act. Eternal motion as perpetual
as can be imagined by mortals, for sure.

Get it together or you leave a huge hole in the fabric of reality JBP

play the role your hand finds dealt,
your special way,
words count inbetween the sayer/hearer
the idle wons are wins not worth the weight, don't fight
the value system that makes life spirial,
swirl of a wand, mathematically
bowing to magi
Fibbo, go viral
with my wind.

this is your life role,
the one in eight billion role.
the star of the show as the hero of hormone wars.
it's all in your head,

how did it *** there, howditgit
this way
this is crazy. No, you never saw crazy, old dude.

Ya had yo'own knows sparkin' at the grindstone,

whet the edge,
or put to more labor..

removed
far enough from this world

my bubble
is in it not of it,
… since 1970. No ****. Outathis world…

Crazy was the melding  from the sixties to…

I was thinking, to about the mid-eighties, but
now,
you and I, we travelled to the beat of several
different drums.
Olde dude,

If you put your nose to the grind, ******
you may have missed,
in fifty years,
more
than you imagined, now, is a new day time.

Some seed never sown back when, can be sown and
grown right,
now.
That's good.
I'd say some words I've helped be heard have

made the world some better'nitwas when we stopped.

time to roll.

Sisyphus, right. 'Never missed a trick time
it takes to roll the rock up,
then in between tick time
to roll the rock up,

onus minus the roll down, the unshackled wireless
inbetween shameless blameless
imagine
happy ever after…
How?
Pretend, the end.

Push, happy as hell.
tick, time
to roll the rock up,

Incorrectness of value of value from the gitgo,
like buttoning your shirt wrong from the first button,
as soon as you fix it, it's fixed.

Nothin' you can do?
Do nothin'.

Think, Sisyphus, happy

Happy he's not in that time we are so removed from
now
slow and steady kinda wins the race, she said that,

Ben or me? Where does the thread un-ravel?

Extended time model, Rogan in the back ground,
what myth has the fear factor guy,
a little short power-lifter-kick boxer guy,
some smart, quick of wit, a hunter,

who was asked, in Thailand,
Have you seen the true beauty of the elephant?
I was asked that, in Thailand,
by a saffroned monk at a kickboxing match
in the jungle in 1968.
Synchroni-city or what?

Who could steer it's  hearing
by a clock and fail

to hear the rhythm of the rock rolling down the hill,
inbetween
the tick…

Sisyphus says time is more effective,

if-ity-ish when,
and only then, when ticks hapt to be

at the very point of return
time
the roll back
no rush, no dread no worry, imagine

time ticks at the sharpest point of the story
at the very very very tippy top
point in time

defining you.
Shame, sticks to you like tar.
Marilyn and Monica and Marla and all

Fame to blame, to shame for being  a believer that
there may be a time when I'm removed far enough

to ignor my own ignorance and innocence
of ideas that possessed
fools

A murderous assault on your attention span,
musicals, those people really live near enough my bubble,
that I can find
ripples

from decades I missed, this is 2018, how can it get better?

The grand wizard cat. pop. elephants are so sweet,
dam,
rewound. Really,
cool, I know what he says next, it's funny before it's funny.

Today is a real good day to get away. Binging Rogan,
testing a mystery fruct-ification
of a single seed from
a sack 'shake.

----
As you move forward in time how do you measure

progress
lo-res thinking, 72 dpi 1984 Macintosh. Hello

now there is reality at the speed of thought, imagine

this was once the speed of thought.

===
why are you in pain? Do you know any lies you believe?
Do you
urge others to suspend their un-belief
to hear you think

listen
ridiculously (is that a good word)

listen, people become interesting, from a distance,
thank you,
I'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Ang kape ay buhay

ipinantawid-gutom

kasabay, kaunabay

ng unang subo ng kanin,

sa murà kong isipan -

nilililok ng maalagang haplos

ng katam ng mga pangaral

at talim ng pait ng nakadaupang

mga dospordos ng karanasan,

bawat lagok ay nagbigay

ng iba ibang kulay,

ng alay



Alak ng paglimot ay tinagay

ng kapitbahay

na maingay

sigaw ng inipong luha’y

kakambal,

ngunit ang kape
 -
sa Pilipino'y sawsawan
ng tinapay na inaasam:
paimpit ang napilayang pag-usal

sa binging patron ng pandesal

taimtim ang piping dasal
:
“bigyan mo po kami
ng aming kanin

miski walang ulam

basta may kape
,
pero mas maigi na rin po

pag may bulanglang”

"salamat po sa kape
ngay'ong kami'y buhay
at sa burol
kung kami'y mamatay
na kalul'wa'y pasal,
tirik ang namumuting mata
Inaykupu Nanay!!!"