Ibubulong nalang sa hangin,ang bawat pagsumamo
Paano ba maipaparating, ang nadarama ng puso
lagi kitang inaalala malayo ka man sakin
Kelan ba tayo magkikita ang hangad nitong damdamin

Sa panaginip nalang makikita matutupad ang pangarap
Sa panaginip nalang ang pagsinta duun nalang magaganap
Mga pangako at sumpaan paano na matutupad
Walang kasiguraduhan kung saan ba mapapadpad

Tadhanang mapaglaro, magkalayo at di pinagtagpo
Ba't Sadyang mapagbiro kahit may lalim bawat pagsuyo
Dating hawak ang ‘yong kamay, ngayon sa guni guni
Buhat ng ikaw ay mawalay, nasisilayan sa muni muni

Sinagot ma’y marami paring Katanungan
Lahat ba ng tanong? wala pa ring kasagutan
Kung may dulo ang daan, Saan ba ang hantungan
Kung ito’y may hangganan, Ano ba ang pupuntahan

Sa kapalarang magkatugma, kahit na isa kang dayuhan
Ng pagmamahalang mahiwaga , na tayo ay nagkaunawaan
Tunay nga na ang pagibig may isang diwa
Tayo’y Itinadhana, Magkaiba man ang ating pananalita

Andito lang ako, Malayo parin ang distansya,
Naghihintay sayo, Malapit nang mapuno ang Pasensya
Dito sa kaganapang di mapapaliwanag ng sihensya
Kung ba't ikaw, ikaw ang hinahanap ng konsensya

Kahit wala ka.....

Di na makapaghintay sa panahon ng iyong pagbabalik
Pagkakataong tayo’y muling magkita, ako’y nananabik
Minsan pa sanay lumantay ang yakap mo’t mga halik
Nang sana ang sigaw ko’y tuluyan nang matahimik

*Para sa mahal kong si Reina
Ngunit sana maunawaan nya ang tula ko.

I.
Minsan lang ako lumabas ng bahay
Minsan lang ako umupo sa damuhan at tumambay.
At napili ko ang gabi para ako'y damayan
Sa aking nalulumbay na katauhan.

II.
Marami akong naiisip–mga kung ano-anong bagay.
Marami akong gustong sabihin sa mundo,
Ngunit mas pinili ko nalang na itikom ang bibig ko.
Sapagkat alam kong wala namang makikinig sa mga pasaring ko.

III.
Napahiga nalang ako at ang mga bituin binilang ko,
At napagod ako kakabilang sapagkat alam kong imposible ito.
At bigla kang dumapo sa isip ko. At napasabing:
“Isa ako d'yan sa mga bituin, ako ‘yung maliit at 'di mo napapansin.”

IV.
Napabuntong hininga ako,
At kasabay nun ay biglang may isang bituing biglang nagningning.
Naalala kita, naalala ko yung ngiti mo noong una tayong nagkita.
Isa ka rin nga palang bituin, ngunit 'di gaya ko, pagkat ika'y maningning.

V.
Ang sarap sana ng buhay ko kung laging ganito,
Masarap ang hangin at tahimik ang aking mundo.
Ngunit alam kong imposible ang hinihiling ko,
Pagkat mas masarap ang buhay 'pag ikaw ang kapiling ko.

Ang ating tadhana'y sadyang pinagtagpo
Di ko nga malama't ako'y nalilito
Maging hanggang ngayong naging ikaw't ako
Nanatili pa ring tuliro isip ko.

Dati ay pangarap lamang kita mahal
Ngunit 'wag isiping ako'y isang hangal
Libre pong mangarap ng sariling dangal
Lalo pa't ikaw ang ibig kong matambal.

Kay sarap gunitain una nating usap
Di ko man lang pansin bilis niyong oras;
Sa muni-muni ko ikaw ay kaharap
Ibig ko'y magtagal mapahanggang bukas.

Sa bawat minuto't nagdaang segundo
Aking sinusubok perpil mo mahal ko;
Sa tuwing makita iyong litrato mo,
Di ko maiwasang kiligin ng husto.

Nang dahil sa Facebook, nakilala kita
Nang dahil sa Facebook, naging tayong dal'wa;
Ang ibig ko sana'y makatagpo ka na
Nang ikaw'y mayakap at makakasama.

madilim ang kapaligiran
dama ang katahimikan
napatingin sa kalangitan
abot tanaw ang kalawakan

kay gandang pagmasdan
mga tala at buwan
tila nakahiga sa duyan
hinehele ng marahan

mata'y napapikit
diwa'y kumalma ng saglit
nanumbalik mga alaalang di mawaglit
ninanamnam bawat kapit

biglang napagtanto
marami nang nagbago
maraming dinanas na pagkabigo
kaya bang buksan muli ang puso?

mumulat at muling sisilay
sa mga bituing nakalaylay
Hihiling na sana'y pawiin ang lumbay
at mundo'y muling bigyan ng kulay.

sana'y hindi magsasawa
sa paghiling at pagtingala
hanggang sa dumating ang himala
at matanggap ang pagpapala.

Wala nang piglas sa bakal na gapos
Gigil na pangil ‘di pigil pagyapos
Poot ay lubusan kong natatalos

Kahit patuloy paring minumulto
Ng anino ng pumariwarang pagkatao
Huwag pong ikukubli mahabaging puso

Kahit ako’y salat na sa lakas
Dahil sa mga sugat ng nakalipas
Huwag po tutulutan na tuluyang malagas

Ako’y nakikinig sa pagbasa ng sentensiya
Mga tenga’y bukas, piniringan man mga mata
Dustain man sa yamot, sa away Mo’y tiwala

Talim ng ‘yong dila sa puso tusok
Mga aral nito’y pinapapasok
Sa bulwagan ng diwang ‘di pa bulok.

-11/26/2011
(Dumarao)
*sentimental mood

The space in every word of a sentence
The silence between notes of a song
The rest after a hard day's work
Gap and stop makes sense

There is no such thing as nothing.
Even nothing must have something.

Sometimes, a stop is needed
A necessary halt for refueling the engine
A little brake to a steep corner
The travel becomes faster

Dalawang kahoy na upuan
At tatlong libong katanungan
'Yan ang ating distansya.

Mahihinang muni-muni
Sa lagas nang espasyo
Kasabay ng maingay kong pagkabasag.

Masidhing pagpindot ng telepono
Dahan-dahang pagtakbo ng luha
Ang bumuo lamang sa ating usapan.

Wala na kong masasabi
Wala kang balak sabihin
Wala nga talaga tayong sinasabi!

Sa patuloy na ingay ng kalsada
Umalis akong walang balak bumitaw
Nagpaiwan ka bagaman matagal nang lumisan.

Matagal na kitang kilala,
Matagal na kitang nakikita
Minsan nakatayo't paligoy-ligoy
Minsan nakaupo't para bang susuko.

Parati kitang naririnig,
Balita ko'y sikat ka
Minsan sa kababaihan,
Minsan sa iyong kababalaghan

Siguro hindi ko maintindihan
Bakit may kislap sa kanilang mata
At ngiting di maalis sa kanilang labi
Tuwing andyan ka

Kasi nga matagal na kitang kilala
Ilang buwan, taon na nga ba kita
Parating nakikitang nagmumuni-muni
Sa iyong sariling pangarap, alaala

Pero bakit hindi ata kita kilala?
Ako yata'y mali
Sa mga hinalang pasubali
At siguro'y nagbabakasakali

Bakit nga ba sila natutuwa sa'yo?
Bakit ka nga ba sikat sa kanila?
Bakit ganito ako ngayon?
At bakit ako nagsusulat ng isang tula,
Tungkol sa'yo?

The best THING
That ever happened to me was
When I was a college freshman.                              
It happened in mid-February of 2009.
Valentine's Day.
A day of celebrating a couple's
Relationship with each other,
A day of romance & companionship,
And a day to say "I love you"
to your significant other.....
While getting SMACKED
In the FACE
By a PILLOW!

I was in San Francisco
at the time.
The City by the Bay.
It was three weeks
before Valentine's Day.
Throughout the entire
San Francisco State Campus,
Hundreds of fliers
Were spread throughout
The college
Describing the big event;
That it's going to be HUGE,
That it's going to be EPIC,
And that it's going to be.....
SUPER, DUPER, FUN!!!!!

I was walking to class
The other day when
I stumbled upon
one of the fliers.
After I read the flier,
I realized that
Since I don't have a
Boyfriend to hang out
With me on that day,
And that my friends
Are too busy
Hanging out with their
Significant others
And that they don't
Have the time to
Hang out with me
On that day,
So I figured
That I MIGHT as well
Go to the event
Just to see what is like
And to pass the time
on the official day of love.

A few weeks have gone by,
I was busy counting down
The days until the big event
While going through
My daily business
as a busy college student.

FINALLY
The day of the big event
Has ARRIVED!
I WAS BEYOND EXCITED!
I CANNOT contain myself.
Instead of studying for my classes,
I did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING
during the day.

Just a couple of hours before
The start of the big event,
I GRABBED my pillow,
DASHED out of the dorms,
RAN through the college campus,
And got on the MUNI Light Rail
That will take me to the location
of the big event.
Was I alone?
Nope.

A bunch of other exciting college students
From the same college
With their own pillows
were going to the big event as well.
Along the way, more and more
Exciting people carrying their
Own pillows came on board the
MUNI Light Rail en route to the
location of the big event.

When we arrived at the location
Of the big event,
The Port of San Francisco
On the Embarcadero,
It.....was.....MADNESS!
There were tons of people
With their own pillows
Crowding the streets
And the piers
Along the Embarcadero;
They were all looking
At the Port of San Francisco
Building's clock;
Patiently waiting for the big event
to actually begin.
The anticipation was filling the air.

Then, the clock rang
Signaling for ten minutes
until the start of the event.
People everywhere were
Waving their pillows
FRANTICALLY in the air;
They were Cheering, hollering, hooting,
Howling, screaming loudly;
Making ALL kinds of sounds
to pass the time.
The clock rang once again
Signaling for five minutes
until the start of the event.
More cheering, hollering, hooting,
Howling and screaming coming
From the vastly large crowd
As well as more frantically-waving
pillows.

Finally
The moment had arrived.
DING. DING. DING.
DING. DING. DING.
The clock slowly rang six times
Signaling for the start of the six o'clock
hour.
And at the same time,
Hundreds upon hundreds
Of pillows were SMACKED
Against each other
And the feathers were
flying all over the place.
THE GREAT SAN FRANCISCO
VALENTINE'S DAY PILLOW
FIGHT HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN!!!!!

Not only was I participating in the big event,
I was too busy snapping pictures of the big
event with my cell phone.
I've captured some of the most
Memorable moments
From different angles
And from different parts
Of the Embarcadero
of the big citywide pillow fight.
All of the pictures that I've taken
During the event
Were stored into my cell phone
So that I will cherish them
And remember/reminisce them
until the end of my cell phone contract.

Then
I decided that
I should get in on the fun.
So I went down to the main scene
Of the big pillow fight,
And started looking for a group of people
To have a nice, friendly game
of pillow fighting.
Luckily, I stumbled across
A small family;
A father and his two children,
And then.....it was love at first SMACK!
We automatically started to hit each other
with our pillows.
It lasted for a good five minutes.
We are having the time of our lives!
I was having so much fun with the family.

Well,
All good things
must come to an end.
I have a great time,
I wish I could stay for a
Little bit longer, but
I need to go back to the dorms.

Overall, I would rate this event
A 10/10,
Or better yet,
A 100/100.
BEST
VALENTINE'S DAY
EVER.
I need to do this event
EVERY
SINGLE
YEAR.

Whether I'm a single lady
Or in a relationship with a boyfriend
Or just hanging out with my friends,
I will go to this event every year
And I will definitely bring my boyfriend
and my friends with me to this event.
IT DOESN'T GET MUCH BETTER THAN
THIS!

In my opinion,
Saying "I love you"
With a box of chocolates,
With flowers,
With a nice dinner and a show or movie,
Or spending quality time doing it in the
bedroom.....
is ordinary.
Saying "I love you"
While getting hit in the face by a pillow
participating in an EPIC citywide pillow
fight.....

Now THAT'S extraordinary!

Nothing
And I mean NOTHING
Says "Happy Valentine's Day"
Than a good old-fashioned
Pillow fight!

Iligaw ang tukso ni Lusiper
sa diwa na siyang naghari
Magmuni-muni sa ibaba ng mundo
Sampung beses pagtimbangin ang mga gawi

Lampas sa katotohanan ang layon
Anyo ng mundo ay di magkatugma sa panaginip
Ikumpay sa apoy hanggang sa lumaki
Tiwala sa sarili, magtiwalag man sana'y di lumayo

Sa labas ng sanlibutan ay nagmasid
May mga dagim na nagtabon sa buwan
Nang nasilayan ang diklap sa alangaang
na sumambulat sa noo ay sumingaw ang depresyon

Mapagkunwaring uwak na dumausdos sa ere
Simpleng kilos niya'y nakakaaliw
Humapon sa troso para magpahinga
Sa kanyang aparisyon makikita ang
unos na dinadala ang dahilan ng pagdarapa

Naglaon na kuwento ay nagparinig ng alingawngaw
noong unang pag-usbong ay umani ng kahihiyan
Naging balat-sibuyas na tubo
humihikbi nang patago

i

Her Bayanihan entity, maketh me Muni-muni in the dusk
Her Humaling for me is relishing, alleluia for her, wanderlust;
I wilt court her mine soon, so she shalt knoweth all is bona fide
I'll taketh her hand in courtship, pushing all the past hurt aside.

ii

I wilt Siping with her in the sugar, in the bowl she dip's her hand
I'll dip mine finger's as well deep inside, inside her mind of tan;
I'll draweth her name on cardboard, and use black marker to,
Like bairn's in yard's, with relic yarn, I'll connect to mine muse.

iii

And thus to be fused, from ourn electrical sensual Spark's
Naked in the world's view, just as actor's, playing the stage part;
Though tis no script, this page is written by ourn amorous desire
Indigenous bodie's, to light the torches, love HOTT, all sweet fire.

iv

Mango to be viscid, between me and her's succulent tang
Her arm's wrapped around mine neck, not letting go, she hang's;
She is Makisig in perfect perfection, wearing a domino mask
Ballroom style, she driveth me wild, her love tis free, not a task.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん

Nais kong simulan
pagka't di ko matanto
bakit nagiging tuluyan
kang laman ng aking
diwa at isipan.

Sinubukang ibaling
sa ibang bagay,
ngunit bakit tila ikaw
ay kumakaway na halos
di ako mapalagay.

Paniniwalaan kaya kung
malaman mo na tila nakaguhit
ang iyong ngiti, na di ko alam
kung paano wariin sa aking sarili.  

Sa pag-lalim nga
din nitong gabi,
sa apat ng sulok
napapamuni muni.
Wari ko'y may tawag
ang damdamin at tila
may napili.

Hinahamon ko ang
aking puso dahil
pag-kakatanto ko'y
may nakapunlang
butil ng pag-suyo.

Ipag-paumanhin ang
aking panulat,
dahil ang katotohana'y
di ko alam ang wastong
pamamaraan kung ano
o paano ba ang dapat.

Marapatin nga sana
ng kalangitan,
isinusuko sa ilalim
ng sansinukob na
bihagin ng buwan
at mga bituin
ang pag-sinta;
na sa bawat pag-kutitap
nila ay maipamasid
ang kinang at taglay
ng wagas ng aking paghanga

HIMALAY SE GANGASAGAR TAK DEV MUNI GAN KARATE SWAGAT BIN TERE DARSHAN APURN TIRATH VINATI HAI MA MUKH MOD MAT . NIT SNAN DYAN AARATI, SARASAWATI KI VIDA PUKARATI. MANAV SANG JALCHARO KO BHI TARATI              KYO AB SANSE HARATI.

screaming and crying, not on the outside but soon
I found it dad
I found your baggie of ****
the SF muni rolls past Mariposa St
I did not want to believe it
when I saw the make shift bongs
not ****, bongs
how many of the ******* things do you need

I know it’s big in the gay scene to smoke **** before ***
but I thought you could find other ways to enjoy yourself
did your new boyfriend wean you on to it
I’ll ******* **** him
lock me up, I have always wondered if I would like solitary

you brought the make shift glass pieces to thanksgiving
you don’t even live with us anymore
but you brought it anyway
the SF muni scoots past Wawona St
guess you needed your fix
guess your kids, the genetic bits of yourself, were not  entertaining enough

I could always think
naw, I bet he is smoking hash out of those
but then I found the baggie today
in a long rectangular bag I found the shards
I cried in horror
there was room for more than 10 grams of **** in there

so now I’m on the bus headed home
I run from the bus stop all the way home
all out sprint, hoping to run myself docile
It does not work

I get to the house and find a hammer
I decide to unload my anger on an old wooden door laying on the side of the house
I get a few good swings in before the hammer head breaks off, flying across the back yard
I’m not calm yet
I get to our garage door
and I snap

I see red, I scream my throat raw and I kick our garage door
I do not expect it to cave’
but it does
I feel the weight giving out against the sole of my boot
for the first time today, I am winning at something

I kick
I see my father
I kick some more
I see my father’s addiction personified beneath my boot
It’s face miming the expression, ‘Sorry, not sorry’

I give it one final kick and inspect my handiwork
I’ll have to come back out with a different hammer to fix the door before my mom comes back home from work
****
I thought I was a calmer person than this
I go upstairs and pass out
I want you to see my grandkids, dad
you won’t be able to while on that ****
I walk by or open my garage every day
every day I think about how such a beautiful man could come to a place where **** is the answer

have you ever made a spider a Palestinian? i have, today, refreshing the paint-job on the back of my house, a whole family strutting away from fresh paint being applied (poets cure boredom, they simply don't know it), the cardigans erase & rewind, my uncle would be perfect with his age to work out the demographics - my age circuit, 30 and listening to the palette of those in full-throttle of the 1990s - anyway, refreshing the paint on the back of my house, not for dough, but for the sweat of my brow - learning i succumb to acrophobia on the ladder - but i did it anyway... i love phobias, they're not the fear, they're like a box of chocolates... you never know what will make you startle... it's not permanent, phobias shouldn't be considered permanent, they're too reflexive... and we all know that nibbling them in the reflective realm immediately suggests irrationality, not to a reaction, but to a continuum of a reaction: a ladder, a giant spider to boot. but i never watched a spider eat fresh paint... watched the ******* do the nibble on paint... ***** - a getty cardinal spider shooting paint pollutants with its leg, eating the Chernobyl cocktail, the rainbow melt in a puddle of oil spill... junkies everywhere; so that done, a beer and a quick look at the Olympics...

if table tennis was as relevant as table tennis -
i prefer table tennis,
judo is too cool too - classic Greek wrestling
with feet to match the hands -
i think in terms of the Olympics we're in
the Gobi desert - so many sports are shown only
once every 4 years, the once that don't make the dough...
i'd prefer the Olympics without the pop culture
exponents that keep us hungry for spectacles
during the 4 years apart -
hand-ball, Romania thrashed by Angola -
ladies first, of course,
and weight-lifting, weighs in at 48kg and lifts
80+kg... well Jihad John versus G.I. Jane...
a pretty match up... look, i came from a certain background
i won't be making politically correct statements,
if it weren't for my personal initiative i'd be scooping
grub from an industrial flat surface roof like my father...
i don't mind getting paid... i just love the fact that i will
and if ending up homeless, i have enough heart already
to start a religion, or something.
of course i'll miss my personal library of books and albums,
who wouldn't? i'll join the divorcee crew and it'll be
like it always was supposed to be.
but am i really that ridiculous? think about it,
i use ridiculous words in my vocabulary, after all i went
to a catholic school, it was bound to happen -
not true secular cool, sorry -
but is my usage of certain words completely penniless
more ridiculous in the form of an oligarch buying
a pearl entombed in a custard pie? of a yacht for a month
at Monte Carlo? seriously? if i utilise the words
Paraclete or Antichrist after just skimmed rereading of
a psychiatrist's religious venture in Jung's *answer to Job
am i as ridiculous as those barons?
i don't think so... i read that book like Flaubert instructed
concerning all books: read in order to live it -
a book is a transplant, some leave a heart, come a ****,
some a brain, some a pint of blood with a book...
i hope to leave the worm of hell licking your ear for a sloppy
Jim - read Jung... almost atypical German Christian
intelligentsia byproduct, neutral Swiss just after the second
world war... Freud read Nietzsche and so did Mussolini...
****** was very much Jung... it's a strange book...
we all know that the Greeks hijacked Judaism...
the Romans were like: whatever that meant...
shoved it into a cauldron of the prefix omni-
and attributed to the prefix geographies and geometries
all inclusive (herr deutsche came along though) -
but the Greeks hijacked the oddity of Judea at that
special time because they had scientific inclinations
rather than aesthetic inclinations of the Romans,
and they wanted answers... got **** all...
it's not the Jews that thought the Greek involvement
ridiculous, it was the Romans... hence the omni-
and -presence, -potency, etc. - the Greeks just had
those mythical names for ****... Logos, Sophia...
that's the funny thing with mythology and history -
the book of Revelation by the looks of it simply looks
like a redemption of Oedipus... mythology is a logic
of history where either none was recorded on papyrus
since no one required hush-hush intrigue talk and people
spoke to each other face to face rather than to a profile -
mugs and mustard seeds -
you can always buy the book, C. G. Jung answer to Job,
it's peppered with too much Greek, and very little
Roman care... the theological addition of a globalised world
(under monotheism, failed and thriving, whichever)
is bound to play the montage of omni- and simply add -
God = omnivocab - i have my limitations of words -
i had to censor or rather select a vocabulary in order
to process the interchanges to reach a conclusive churning
without an ultimate goal other than to preserve a continuum,
like Balzac boring everybody with the 19th instalment of
the human comedy. so after reading this book on religious
matters by a psychiatrists i'm sorta bothered...
i'm tripping... obviously not seeing any hyper-geometry
of your choice... i just think the Greeks did the most horrid
hoarding and looting know to man... which reflected
the looting of Byzantium and never reaching the Holy Land...
the barbarians never cared to be honest, they only
started caring when they started to castrate the boys
for the "holy" choir rather than circumcise them...
then they went Berserk... the book of revelation can only
mean the quantum mechanics of history, bound to
mythology - Oedipus was very real... the blackened
heart of Greeks even though Aristotle, Socrates, Plato...
that intellectual import and expression didn't help...
after all Eddie Gein gave birth to the latter part of the 20th
century pop culture... Texas Chainsaw... Haemorrhoid Hannibal,
House of a 1000 Corpses.. history and journalism
dismisses mythology, i dismiss journalism as simply
a hyper-sensitivity that keeps dialectics out of the picture,
a monologue of opinions... mythology just doesn't seem
that insensible given our perspective into history with Darwin
and millions of years ago with the sea-turtles... you know
how gossip works... it sooth the reality of it had happened...
because we prefer oysters and chicken thighs to digest than
the tales of Eddie, oh yeah... Fe Maiden... d'uh!
the Greeks looted the Hebrews to purge themselves of
Oedipus... the weakness came by keeping estranged with
Narcissus and iconoclasm... you want an extract?
bombshell blonde at your bidding -
assumptio mariae: mary as the bride is united with the son
in the heavenly-chamber, and as sophia, with the godhead.
basically Mary is a schizophrenic ****-child of lust
for a Roman centurion who makes the story of a ****** birth
her wish to bed-wet her son (Jesus) into joining **** John
and Toe into her ****** (***** *****, like her already)
in heaven - she thinks her body will **** her "******-birth"
son and her wisdom (Sophia is her alias, or nickname)
will **** god in the head. oh hell this is sacrilege -
i'm not afraid of it... boo! ha! caught you mouth dry with the
boogie man. so this is a psychiatrist reasoning his religion...
as i said, the Greeks had no omni- Roman put the **** back
into his boots before he starts river-dancing...
all these quizzical ultra-mythical words that the Greeks
used starting with the Logos and Hippocrates were attached
to the failed Platonism of the unconverted Damocles principle
and the tyrant succumbing to drink and never bound to
a sober wish for anything more - (i'm guessing his intentions
were laid with Nietzsche as source of discipleship) - in short
let's just say that Platonism failed in practice,
and it needed a populist movement, a redemption from
the curse of Oedipus came from Hebrew with the schizoid-birth,
Joseph bin Adam was: better bite that ****** of the cow-fruit
and remind her of the stoning practices around here -
oh it's all pretty much Eastenders around here, it's
not the ******* Vatican marble corridors, we're talking
Gaza dust sneezing while whipping the donkey's *** to
move along... split-mind: beautiful metaphor... premature
dementia, obviously misunderstood... if premature "dementia"
while so much creativity among the split-minded...
it's like all the zodiac signs became jealous of Gemini,
incorporating Gemini-Solipsism... well, i have a neck like a bull
and a *****-count like a charging bull... but the thinking
behind the 3.a.m. is kinda staggering... oh right, you want
more quirky clues from Jung's book:
- silvia loret
- maritza mendez
- aria giovanni             (get a hybrid and i'll believe in Disneyland) -
****, that ain't what i was going to write, never mind,
you get a chance to see the palette of what's fudge for
fucky-fucky sized 16+ and what the Renaissance men
knew would be better than duck-feathers in pillows;
- meister eckhart: gott ist selig in der seele
- puer aeternus: vultu mutabilis albus et ater
    (of changeful countenance, both white and black)
- pius XII's apostolic constitution (munificentissimus dei)
   words like muni-imus really make you train in
    grammatical arithmetic, don't they? playing doctor with
   them as to where to cut them for a aqua format of rivers
   is quiet like reciting a 5x table up to 30 (sometimes)
- oportebat sponsam, quam pater desponsaverat, in θalmis caelestibus habitare (the bride whom the father had espoused had to abide in the heavenly bridal-chambers): st. john damascene (encomium in dormitionem);

summa summarum?
Nietzsche answered Job... this is my answer to Jung as also an answer to Lot - **** your daughters, your wife turns into a pillar of salt... and i equate that as a precursor to the man of sorrows on the ****** crucifix - salt is a metaphor for misery (that's etymology for you); and the Roman phonetic encoding survived over the fates of Egyptian and Babylonian is precisely why the adopted son of Caesar later made his uncle's adopted nephew his successor - as with the four dogma canon gospels, we're replicas of the tetragrammaton... well... i was never confirmed, i'm one short of joining the god-men that came out from catholic school after choosing a name for themselves they could have changed not having wished to be known by the two names given to them by their parents... few did... i just ended up an acronym of Einstein: M C E.

Minsan pakiramdam ko nga
na tila ba nilubayan na ako ng mga salita...
Parang nilisan na ako ng mga tala at tula
Wala na ang dating saya sa bawat katha
Hindi na muling makagawa ang dating makata

The City lights blinked out forever--literally overnight--with a sudden finality that caught even the most nuclear-winter-prepared/Guns N Ammo reading/Campbell's canned soup and distilled-water stocked/backyard-fallout-shelter-owning-survivalists completely off guard. Armageddon had always been there, sleeping just beyond the horizon line of our periphery, but it awoke fully clothed and ready to go to work that day.
It was an ordinary Thursday, just like any other. The MUNI lines were choked as always with angry elderly women clutching plastic shopping bags full of pungent vegetables, poultry, and recyclables as if their lives depended upon the contents of those bags (maybe they did) and the usual gaggle of gibberish-mumbling crazies talking to themselves with cellphones plugged into their brains, some without. 
That day, baristas were 5 minutes, 23 seconds late for work on a city-wide average. Bartenders were making their rent in tips as rowdy soccer fans converged in their local Sunset, Richmond, Mission and SOMA district faux-Irish pubs to watch the latest big championship match between Ireland and...some other country.
By Saturday, less than two days later, the desperate siren-blare of emergency vehicles, the insect hum of DPT tri-bikes carrying cutthroat ninja-sneaky meter maids ready to make their weekly quotas by slipping bogus $55 parking tickets under the windshield-wiper of your best friend's beat-up, barely-working mid-90s Mazda you were borrowing just for the night, and the cloud-cutting rotary-whine of channel 5 news traffic-report helicopters chopping through the sky had been silenced forever.  
As if sensing the absence of gardeners, street sweepers and garbage men, weeds grew out of the cracks of the streets and sidewalks with the newfound urgency of a wildfire. Leaves swirled through glass and concrete skyscraper canyons, settled, and slowly began forming mounds as if attempting to fill the spaces that angry elderly women with plastic shopping bags, cellphone schizophrenics, and drunken soccer fanatics had once occupied.
Speculation about how the End of the World would actually occur had always been a theological reference point for religious zealots hell-bent on giving the Book of Revelations some validity, but had taken on a tone of comical absurdity in the hands of post-Y2K pop culture and disaster movies. A horde of zombies rising from their graves and feeding on the flesh of small bands of living human survivors was one of the more popular, albeit fantastic, apocalyptic theories. Some predicted that robots would enslave us, some thought aliens would invade us, while still others--baring signs reading "THE END DRAWTH NIGH," arms stretched meaninglessly up towards the hollow heavens in the sky above--believed biological or nuclear warfare to be the most likely form of humanity's demise.
But by the following Thursday, speculation had become a moot point; none of it had mattered at all in the end as the power-grid of the City, and then human civilization altogether, had been suddenly switched off for the last time by an alcoholic rent-a-god, leaving the face of the globe devoid of any trace of the spiderweb-night-glow of terrestrial city-lights. 
Only the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea were spared to fill the blank pages of history that were to follow human(kind's) fading footprints.

*

Aeons later...
When those birds learned to read, they would see cryptic symbols inside a crooked heart jaggedly carved into a tree trunk surrounded by a mote of fallen leaves and ragged newspaper pages blowing through the streets like tumbleweeds.
Aeons later...
Those tree-scratched symbols would form the sacred commandments of a secret new religion built upon the ashen, worm-eaten remains of two skeletons holding hands and a ****** trail of broken hearts trailing from their ribcages into the worm-mouths of babes.

Le cri d'Alep ; ce principe   d’égalité dénié entre les Humains qui nous interpelle  

Combien sont-ils réfugiés dans les caves
À tromper provisoirement la mort
en se promettant une vie meilleure, où leur voix soit entendue
ou en songeant au paradis promis aux martyrs ?

Et ce cinéaste kurde qui vivait à Paris et voulait voler des images à l’anonymat de la grande faucheuse.
Il est parti là-bas muni de l'espoir fou que parfois les images savent atteindre le cœur des hommes.
Certains les appellent des «Djihadistes» et tremblent pour leur propre liberté d’opinion, pour les femmes qui sont traitées comme moins que rien par une masculinité égarée et pour leur rêve d’un nouveau «Califat» qui relève plus d’une blessure historique que d’un projet concret et réalisable.

D’autres défendent tout simplement un même « droit des gens» pour tous les êtres sur la Planète
Pourquoi être né Arabe, Juif, Kurde ou noir ou même apatride, devrait-il à jamais vous rendre la vie plus précaire et vous priver du Droit de choisir vos gouvernants ?
Il fut un temps où des évêques catholiques bénissaient les armes des troupes de Franco et appelaient à libérer l’Espagne des «rouges».
Il fut un temps où l’on enfermait dans le camp du Vernet les courageux combattants des «brigades internationales» ; ceux venus de tous les lieux du Monde qui ne croyaient pas en Allah mais avaient bien une forme de foi terrestre.
Durant ce temps Orwell, Hemingway, Malraux, ceux de la brigade Lincoln, les poètes de vingt ans assassinés tels, Sam Levinger, mort à Belchite, et Joseph Seligman, lors de la bataille du Jarama. Ils avaient vingt ans. Et bien d’autres quittèrent leur quiétude pour défendre l’Humanisme et l’Humanité aux prises avec les cris du «Viva la Muerte» des fascistes.

Que l’on m’explique, aujourd’hui pourquoi, la circonstance de naître dans le croissant fertile devrait vous valoir la servitude à vie et supporter un dirigeant criminel qui va qu’à user du gaz «sarin» contre une partie de sa propre Peuple qui le ***** ?
Et de vivre perpétuellement et sans espoir que cela ne change dans le servage de régimes militaires et de tyrans corrompus ?
La question de la Religion et des «communautés» ne masque-t-elle pas une comptabilité inégalitaire et sordide faite entre les hommes qui vivent sur une même planète ?
Là, en terre d’Islam, vous seriez condamnés à courber le dos entre le bâton et les balles du policier ou la vision et les sermons réducteurs des théocrates et de ceux qui osent se nommer : «Le parti de Dieu» ?
Qui ose ainsi trancher dans l’Humain et réduire le besoin et le souffle des Libertés à certains Peuples ; blancs et riches, de préférence ?

Allons mes ami(e)s, n’oublions pas le message universel des Hume, Paine, Voltaire, Hugo, d’Hemingway qui permit à nos anciens de prendre les Bastilles.
Le Droit à la vie et à la liberté n’est pas d’un continent, ni d’une couleur de peau, ni d’une religion ; il est Universel comme le sourire du jeune enfant à sa mère.
Assez de discriminations et d’hypocrisies ; dénonçons l’imposture des tyrans et les veules par trop intéressés qui nous voudraient taisant et tranquilles.
Il est un «Monde nouveau» qui ne demande qu’à grandir et à vivre si bien sûr, on ne le tue pas avant ou si on ne lui met pas le bâillon.
Ami(e)s ne te fait pas dicter ta conduite par ceux qui sont payés pour écrire que l’ordre immuable doit toujours se perpétuer.
Ose ouvrir les yeux même aux spectacles les plus insoutenables et entendre ce long chœur de gémissements qui est l'Humanité souffrante dont tu fais intrinsèquement partie toi-même, avec les mêmes droits et devoirs.
C’est l’Humanité souffrante qui frappe, devant l’écran de ton téléviseur quand ta journée de travail finie tu t’assoupis et il est trop facile et fallacieux de te dire que des spécialistes vont régler les problèmes à ta place.
Hélas si tous raisonnent ainsi ; rien ne bougera et les Tyrans succéderont aux Tyrans comme les malédictions de Job.
Peut-être ta faible voix comme celle du rouge-gorge doit se mêler à la symphonie du Monde pour qu'enfin puissent tomber les préjugés entre les êtres et les murailles de Jéricho ?

Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi (Historien, Homme de Lettres et Poète) - Toulouse, Toulouse (France) le mardi  1er  octobre  2013.

Paul Arrighi, à Toulouse, (Historien, Homme de Lettres et Poète)

A single drop of crimson scarred the collar of Ishmyre's freshly dry-cleaned muni-suit. He eyed it in disbelief, his brow twisted like that of a madman. He knew that if any of The Superiors found out that he had so carelessly ruined the only garment he'd been issued, he would have to go back. “I'm not going back in there,” he mumbled to himself. “I'll cut myself down where I stand before I let them put me back in that hole!”

Ishmyre began to panic, his thoughts sloshed around in his head like water in a pitched fish bowl. An intense, paralyzing, fear gripped his heart causing it to fit and start. He took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. No luck. The terrifying thoughts continued,

'They probably already know! The wash-bots, they've inspected it; they have to know! They've sent the report and The Superiors are on their way! Any minute...' His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the intercom's crackle,

“All Inferiors prepare for mandatory lock down! All deck doors will engage in T-minus 30, 29, 28...”

'****! They've gotten the report; they're coming now!'

The countdown droned on in the background, the monotonous robotic voice ascending and descending in perfect rhythm with Ishmyre's pounding heart. His mouth was as dry as a bone, his cracked lips stung and tasted like iron to his sticky tongue. His almond shaped, hazel eyes darted around the empty concrete room, searching for some hint of salvation. There was nothing to see; a mesh cot and a simple steel folding chair were the only items haunting Ishmyre's humble concrete bunk. His options were few and he needed to act quickly. This was no time to panic.

As he stared blankly at the items available, Ishmyre heard the sound of footsteps on the out-deck. They began as a faint rumble in the distance, growing louder and louder, closer and closer, until his heart began the short journey into his throat. His stomach churned and sunk so low it was as if he could feel it oozing out of his heels.

'Here they are, I'm finished!' His mind squeaked to itself in a frenzied, trembling voice.

The footsteps stopped. Ishmyre heard a heavy fist pounding on the door. He sat there naked, staring blankly at the blood stain on his collar. The countdown reached zero. The hiss of the air lock systems engaging snapped Ishmyre back into reality. His thoughts fell away like the dead leaves of autumns latest romance. He waited, paralyzed by fear and anticipation, until he heard an ear-splitting crash. He turned towards his door, expecting to see agents of The Superiors barreling in any second, but there were none.

This poem is for Baby Boomers,
Most of us collecting Social Security
By now, many of us already retired in
Some shape or form, blessed by
Blessed Be, those defined benefit
Schemes we indentured ourselves,
Shackled to for so many years.
Now it's money every month for life,
A pension adjusted to the cost of living,
Inflation-proof as they say.
But who's to judge
When quality of life has its own
Net present value?

But we remain comfortable as they say,
With Social Security and VA benefits,
And the Roth-IRA,
The muni bonds and annuities, quite comfortable,
Thank you very much.
But just how comfortable?
Admittedly, much of my
Wellbeing, drug and/or alcohol-induced.
Prozac in the morning,
Xanax, as needed later,
Medical cannabis--preposterously legal in California,
And that reliable trio: beer, wine & hard liquor--
Scotch & Soda, my oblivion, my River Lethe--
And Ambien,
GENERIC NAME: ZOLPIDEM,
To sleep, perchance to dream.

Yes, of course, I am medicated.
Yes, without doubt,
I am mighty high.
And yes, I feel mighty good.
I deserve to.
I earned it.
Do I dare disturb my universe?
Try ******, just to see
What all the fuss was all about?
65: perhaps a suitable age for
The LSD trip I dared not take at 20.
No, a lifetime of bourgeois caution,
Years of playing it safe,
Mock me, even as they
Serve me in retirement;
Serve me well for the
Miles ahead before I sleep.
Serve me well for the
Miles ahead before I sleep.
Bite me, Robert Frost!
Do you ******* stutter?
Of course, I experience some difficulty
Coming up with a good reason for
Getting out of bed in the morning.
But who doesn’t at my age?

My Hemet porch:  so
Serene this time of year.
I require no western sunset,
No cool Pacific Ocean breeze or
Shoreline vista to soothe me now.
I’ve sailed the seven seas.
I've crossed the lines.
I am a square-knot sailor.
Initiated by Neptune himself,
I am Bluenose & Golden Shellback,
And sundry other salty achievements,
Crisscrossed on Mercator’s grid.
I've been wowed by spectral majesty,
Moonrise at sea, stars streaking,
I’ve rolled toward Tahitian beaches on
Sultry tides and currents,
To Polynesia in late austral summer.
I’ve sailed with Coleridge.
"Eftsoons," I ate the bird that flipped the bird.
Upon a painted sailing ship; upon a
Paint-by-number ocean.
Southward I fled, to
Fire and ice, and finally,
Atonement.
I am forgiven now, for
Having flipped my wig, at the
Bird that brought the
Fog and mist, and all the
Rest pulled from ***, of
Meshuggener, greybeard loon;
Crazy mariner's rhyme,
Perchance, to rime?
I flipped the bird, again.

I have no complaints.
Life owes me nothing.
Of course, I have trouble
Coming up with new excuses for
Getting off my bed each day.
But who doesn't at our age?

Wait!
I wait for a bus.
Never to enter only to wait.
Others mass around the muni stop.
Shoves and pulls are met with shouts and yells when the bus arrives.
It is surreal.
I have no effort on my part to move my way in.
I shall wait again.
With somewhere to go but not the power I wait.
It bothers me the effort others exert to attain a position on the bus.
Old women shout and babies cry but the bus continues on its way.
My perception of time sets me apart from the crowd.
I know that I will eventually reach my destination.
But to force my will upon others like those entering the bus
I dare not think of it but I betray my thoughts
I know in order to progress I need to assert my place.
As others do I compete to make room for myself on the bus.
The trip is in transition.

Un arabe à Marseille autrefois m'a conté
Qu'un pacha turc dans sa patrie
Vint porter certain jour un coffret cacheté
Au plus sage dervis qui fût en Arabie.
Ce coffret, lui dit-il, renferme des rubis,
Des diamants d'un très grand prix :
C'est un présent que je veux faire
À l'homme que tu jugeras
Être le plus fou de la terre.
Cherche bien, tu le trouveras.
Muni de son coffret, notre bon solitaire
S'en va courir le monde. Avait-il donc besoin
D'aller **** ?
L'embarras de choisir était sa grande affaire :
Des fous toujours plus fous venaient de toutes parts
Se présenter à ses regards.
Notre pauvre dépositaire
Pour l'offrir à chacun saisissait le coffret :
Mais un pressentiment secret
Lui conseillait de n'en rien faire,
L'assurait qu'il trouverait mieux.
Errant ainsi de lieux en lieux,
Embarrassé de son message,
Enfin, après un long voyage,
Notre homme et le coffret arrivent un matin
Dans la ville de Constantin.
Il trouve tout le peuple en joie :
Que s'est-il donc passé ? Rien, lui dit un iman ;
C'est notre grand vizir que le sultan envoie,
Au moyen d'un lacet de soie,
Porter au prophète un firman.
Le peuple rit toujours de ces sortes d'affaires ;
Et, comme ce sont des misères,
Notre empereur souvent lui donne ce plaisir.
- Souvent ? - Oui. - C'est fort bien ; votre nouveau vizir
Est-il nommé ? - Sans doute : et le voilà qui passe.
Le dervis, à ces mots, court, traverse la place,
Arrive, et reconnaît le pacha son ami.
Bon ! Te voilà ! Dit celui-ci :
Et le coffret ? - Seigneur, j'ai parcouru l'Asie ;
J'ai vu des fous parfaits, mais sans oser choisir :
Aujourd'hui ma course est finie ;
Daignez l'accepter, grand vizir.

SF. or known as the bay.

it's 3:11 am and i am hopelessly reminiscing over the cold mist
constantly over the Golden Gate.
maybe they're just like the rest of us,
trying to cross the bridge
off to somewhere else.
as all of those who had jumped off.
off to somewhere better.

i miss the secret breakfast or dulche de leche
exclusively available at humphry slocombe
nestled between the hoods of the spanish speaking
¿hablas espanol?
roll the tips of your tongue like you mean it
as you feel the bourbon melt off the tip of it
just like any human body would.
and i had always secretly hoped
that the sandy blond hair and green eyed
regular over the counter
would scoop me up just like that ice cream out of the tub.

i miss lee and steiner
who basically are my ride or die's
over the last summer.
who swear to love me
over my insecurities
with theirs.
those 2 am giggling and yelling over spiders or a boy's text.
12 pm groggily teeth and hair brushing or blush and mascara applying.

the struggle remains between shorts tights or jeans,
a thin cardigan will suffice
but you know you're going to regret it
as you shiver so hard
on the side of the open muni station at 6pm when the sky darkens at the blink of an eye
with that hobo next to you bracing it everyday business
tomorrow.
I AM NOT RISKING IT TOMORROW AND HELL YEAH I'M BRINGING MY PARKA.
come tomorrow
vanity always wins in the end
as you decide nobody will see your #ootd underneath those layers.

pride parade had always been a big thing.
as you squeeze through the crowd to the end of the tenderloin
you decide that sometimes,
penises are just not your thing out in the open.
but hey those tutu's and rainbows
and ******* plastered with heart shaped stickers were at least worthwhile.
you do support LGBT after all.
more even when there's a scenery.

not to mention
that occupied corner
always ready to slip a slice of *** over when you need it
fearless of the SFPD.
eyeing the whole trade happening.
viva la vida.
is that stash lasting long enough for you to write the next pop hits?

sipping on the peets you got over at mission
you always wondered why is starbucks always so crowded with writers and chatters alike.
but constantly in the rush
you wished you had the time for that urban outfitters at union square
if and only if,
you'll just probably end up at the ones over at fillmore.
should you give in and just stumble into the mess of the forever 21 instead.
ah decisions.

i will never forget that night where we got back from sf and got stranded in the towns of santa rosa.
waiting for a ride.
journey to remember,
always.

Akala ko dati ay tama ang pinasok ko,
Ngayon sa aking pag munu-muni’y aking napagtanto
Hinyaan kitang pumasok sa puso ko
Di ko alam na ito’y wawasakin mo.

Noon ako ay nagpakatanga sa iyo
Marahil ay mahal kita kahit ika’y gago…
Noong panahon na lumisan ka
Lahat ng pagmamahal ko saiyo ay nawala.

Noon ay nanumpa ka’t nangako
Hindi ko alam na ito pala’y mapapako,
Sabi mo hindi mo ako sasaktan, alam mo bang sa ginawa
Mo ay para mo na rin akong sinasakal?

Para kang kabute na sumulpot sa kong saan
Ngunit bula namang maturingan;
Pinaghirapan mo akong madungkit ang masaklap lang
Ay binitiwan mo’t di na nagbalik.

Sa tuwina ay maririnig ko
Ang malakas na batingaw sa isang sulok
“TangaLang, TangaLang, TangaLang”
Napatawa na lang ako at napatungo, parang tanga lang.

I used to wonder all the time
What people thought of me.
I tried every trick in the book
To make the best first impression.
And I'd refine those tricks
By asking those who became my friends
What their first impressions were of me,
And the favorable things were promoted,
And the non-favorable things promptly culled.

I used to wonder all the time
What people thought of me.
All the hours I spent riding the MUNI
To and from school, crossing paths with strangers,
I'd wonder if they wondered about my story,
What kind of person I am,
What kind of history I have,
What kind of morals I live.

I used to wonder all the time
What people thought of me.
So consumed with making them think
The best of me, my fingers bleed
From receiving all the chewed pent up anxiety
Of "Am I good enough to be their friend?"
Of "Did I just say the wrong thing?"
Of "Did I make the right choice?"
Of "Are they going to hate me now?"
Of "I bet they'll choose to leave me now."
Of "This is all I have; this is all I can be."
Of "Guess it's just me."

I used to wonder all the time
Until I realized people don't really think of me.

Not the "Don't think of me" in a negative way,
But the "Don't think of me" in the exact same way
That I never think about them.

My thinking about them was always in relation to me.
Never "What was my first impression of them?"
Never "What's their story? What's their history?"
Never "What're the morals they're living by today?"
Never "How're they doing with their own anxiety?"
Never "I wonder if they're doing okay."
Never "We should be friends because they're good people."

I used to wonder all the time
What people thought of me.
Now I wonder some of the time
How I should think of them,
And in turn forget a little about me.

On Monday I took a bus to Chinatown,
Wandered the streets like a tourist.

On Tuesday I sat in the Park all day
Watching squirrels dashing to and fro.

On Wednesday I slept in late
Because well...it was Wednesday.

On Thursday I bought a MUNI pass
And rode from North Beach to Daly City.

On Friday I ran Ocean Beach
Not for the exercise but to chase sea gulls.

On Saturday I meandered the empty halls
Of the old academic institution I attended.

And on Sunday, when I had done all the
Things I used to love doing in this place...

*On Sunday, I laid you to rest.

I crawled off the Muni
Gagging from too much liquor
Smeared ash from the ground on my face
Sitting next to the Quick Stop, with a quarter of a Miller
I waited for you, Aimee
Someone like you
Innocence that should surround you
You were painted with hues
The roaring of armed pedestrians
A home made of paper and broken glass
You sat next to me for someone to listen
And I was going nowhere fast
I listened and I heard your pain
Too young to know it's not normal
Sweet thing, don't give up
Resist the inevitable
These people will dye your skin new colors
And time will show no mercy
I've waited a lifetime for you to be here with me today
For someone to listen to this advice that I wished someone would have told me.

Muni bus rides
I swear the sky shines bright
Lost in lustless thoughts
Struggles for a better life
Thoughts of drinks and let downs
Burning earth and deep poverty
Loss of hope and emotion
What does it take to wake up
Kept restless and dormant
I swear everyday
Everything is ******* real
Don't look away
He's got a needle in his ear
The city attacks him
The corporations mask it
The oil leaks out thick