Nakita kita kanina. Nadaanan ka lang
ng dyip na sinasakyan ko. Ewan
baka nakita mo rin ako.
Kung napansin mo ko, yun ang hindi ko alam.
Malamang hindi.

Ganun ka pa rin, ganun ka palagi.
Magkasalubong na mga kilay,
nakakunot na noo. Siguro
dahil sa init. Ayun, kahit
mag-isa lang sa dyip, di
ko napiglan, napangiti na lang ako.

Nainis naman ako nung
isang beses, biglang
sinabi ng kaibigan ko, hindi raw
maganda yung ginawa **** artikulo. Ipagtatanggol
sana kita pero anong masasabi ko, eh
wala naman akong alam tungkol sa'yo.

Kaya eto pagdating ng bahay, binuksan
ko agad at binasa. Baka sakali
sa paraang ito maging close tayo.

At sa bawat salita, sinusubukang
intindihan ang ginawa mo. Pero ang totoo,
pinipilit intindihin ka. Baka
kasi dito, makilala kita.

Isang araw dati, lumabas ako
kasama ang isang kaibigan. 'Ah ok' na lang ang
nasabi ko, nang malaman kong
ang ex niya,
ay siya ring ex mo. Anliit
talaga ng mundo, noh?

Naalala ko tuloy nung hindi
mo kami tinulungan, kasi
busy ka, busy ka para sa bayan. Ayan,
lalo tuloy kitang nagustuhan.

Naisip ko nun, kahit
kelan hindi ako magiging bida
sa hawak **** kamera, kasi,
ang bayan mo, ang bayan ko, ang lagi **** inuuna.

Oo kahit ako natatawa, kasi
sobrang layo talaga ng
distansya nating dalawa. Mula
sa paniniwala hanggang sa mga ginagawa, hindi
kayang sukatin kahit ilang
ruler pa gamitin.

Hindi naman ako naghahangad
ng kahit ano. Ang makita ka nang di inaasahan,
sapat na yun. Ang mabasa
ka, okay na para isiping
kilala nga kita.

Makita lang ulit ang mga mata mo, maisip
o maalala lahat ng ito, okay na.
Pero sana alam mo,
may isang tao dito, napapangiti
dahil sa'yo.

Alam n'yo ang love, pag-ibig
o ano bang tawag n'yo d'yan,
kusang 'yang dumarating
di nga lang nagsasabi kasi wala 'tong bibig
(hayyy naku! naman oh!)

Pero ano ba kasi ang true love?
O baka kaya'y throw love na naman?
(tawa muna bago maging seryoso ang usapan)

Ito kasi yun, tama na sana! S'ya na sana!
Eh shunga-shunga ka eh!
Boy Gago! Lady Gaga! Pinakawalan mo pa.
(kaya ayun! iyak iyak na naman ang drama)

At napatanga sabay sabing
"Sayang!"
At wala ka ng magagawa
upang maibalik pa ang naudlot na love story n'yo.
(wag mo nang ipagkaila, tama ako noh?)

Nakakasawa rin naman pakinggan
ang mga hinaing n'yo!

Wala kaming hearing aid,
bespren n'yo lang kami!
(ano ba, tama na kasi! kasalanan mo rin yan!)

Puro pait at pighati na lamang ba?
Kaya ang isa sa inyo
naging PEANUT BITTER na!
(nakakasawa talaga, talagang talagang talaga!)

Kaya eto na nga'ng advice ko sa inyo...

Sabi kasi nila...

Ang love ay parang daw isang itlog...

'Pag hinigpitan mo ang hawak,
mababasag...

Pero 'pag maluwag naman,
mahuhulog lang at mababasag din...
kaya dapat tama lang...

Yung alam n'yong akma lang
sa eksena...

Kaya eto ako ngayon,
malungkot at nanggiginaw ang puso...
(hahahaist...)

Kaya bago matapos 'tong tula ko,
magtatanong muna ako...

Sino bang may gustong humawak ng itlog ko?

A bright light annoys my eyes.    I can’t get away from it- I don’t like it.  
Tired and overwhelmed with obligations and requirements,
I’d rather not complete or even think of-
I’d rather they did not exist.  

What do they prove?  

I am comfortable and lazy.  
I would like to sleep, but the smallest agitations are an unbearable annoyance.  
Obnoxious voices speaking a tongue I don’t know, laughing at my condition-
I’d rather be asleep-
quiet and asleep.  

I want a cigarette.  I hate cigarettes.  
I don’t hate cigarettes; I rather like them, especially with coffee,
but I hate how they manipulate me.  
I want one, but I’d rather sleep.  
I wish I could smoke in bed.  
I should have showered before bed.

Self-confidence comes and goes.  
Sometimes I don’t care what people think; other times it’s all I think about.  
It’s judgmental; it’s worry of acceptance, worry of not belonging, worry of standing out.  
People- including me- want to be individuals, but are not brave enough.  
Society does not accept true individuals, it kills them.  
How can I be unique or allow true self to be and true identity to exist when there is fear?

When I see her, I wonder what might have been.  
There was a connection, or maybe just an attraction.  
We lead different lives.  
She is pure and good in the church sense; I am pure and good in my own way.  
But, these two lifestyles could never intertwine.  
I must admire what she is from a far.  
I should not dwell on it too much because it is unfair to the present.  
We always want to know.  
We want to know the future, but I will get there at my own pace.

Lying in bed, I don’t remember most days.  
I only remember lying in bed the prior night, trying to remember the previous day.  
Sometimes I hate my body- not enough muscle, skinny legs, blah hair.  
Against society's standards I am mediocre.  
They know what a man should look like; I am not him.  
We are all not the portrayed he or she.  
Those people only exist on screens.  

This is the last place I want to be.  
Stuck in a class I couldn’t give a **** about,
listening to a Professor I can’t understand drone on and on in his sing-song,
marbled-mouth accent.  
Occasionally trying my patience with a drawn out, “You noh wah I main?”  
No.
I don’t know what you mean.  
I can’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth.

Apparently, the only way to be a good teacher is to jump through hoops and
dance for the cloudy heads of a department.  
If I play their games, I will have blisters on my lips from having to kiss too much ***.  
I do not need to be validated, approved, passed, accepted, or liked by them to be a good teacher.  
I know I will be a good teacher- they have no influence on that.  
They only have the ability to stall me and help steal my money.

The worst is when the pain sinks into your eyes, dull and deep.  
The pressure tunnels around your temples and tries to bore a whole through your forehead.  
Six Advil cover up the pain- only for an hour.  
Everything within your skull pushes out like a balloon on the brink of bursting.

The worst is the restless anxiety experienced lying in bed right before sleep.  
It is the empty churning of stomach, half shots of adrenaline that tickle your veins,
while the mind races like prey trying to evade predatory jaws.  
Your heart flits, skips, and stops,
as your mind obsesses about the seemingly infinite list of things you have to get done.  
That only adds to the stress- since you’re not sleeping, something could be accomplished.  
The worry heightens, the obsession increases until- sleep.

An instant of eye contact can be rare and intriguing.  
Instants too small to have time, can convey so much.  
Eye line meets eyes, eyes lock- message of vast information conveyed.  
A minute moment, an insignificant second, so monumental.  
This blip exchange ignites an internal fire of emotion or ruins your day.  
The messages that can be exchanged in the smallest,
feasible time frame are vastly unique to each experience.  
Polar and extreme: Love me - I nothing you.  
Eye contact conveys an incredible amount of information, but perhaps to be keen to it-
is to be vulnerable.  

What if it were acceptable to give into every desire or want?  
What would the world be?  
Would it be that much different or would the internal, human morale still enforce invisible boundaries?  
What would we do?  
Would the private become public?  
Would others see our lowest animal drive?  
Humans are the only being capable of acting above or below their nature.  
Rough.
Raw.  
Human animals.

It is ironic when something is built up to high expectations, but turns out anticlimactic.  
Was that it?  
That is what we waited for?  
When something does not meet expectations, it creates hollowness, an emptiness, or unfilled hole.
  
What do you do?  
What can you do?  
You can learn from it or you can let it bring you down.  
It is better to look for the positives
than dwell on and become disheartened by the negatives.  
Learn and Grow.

I am a poor student.  
I have been loaned money I will never be able to pay back.  
I am paying for a degree, to get a job that will never return the favor.  
I am strangling myself financially for a “higher education”, but am I getting it?  
Perhaps it is not the institution’s fault; perhaps, it’s my own?  

so much depends
upon

a green dollar
bill

glazed with American
greed

beside the fabricated
dream

I am poor and will be poor, but I will be happy.  
Everything costs.  Everything has a price.  Life is expensive.  
How can I save?  What can I afford to put away?  
When forty dollars in your bank account is a pleasant surprise-
surprises are cheap.

Ono no Komachi translations

These are my modern English translations of the ancient Japanese poems of Ono no Komachi…

As I slept in isolation
my desired beloved appeared to me;
therefore, dreams have become my reality
and consolation.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Submit to you, is that what you advise?
The way the ripples do
whenever ill winds arise?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Watching wan moonlight flooding tree limbs,
my heart also brims,
overflowing with autumn.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why can't I also frolic here ...
as fearless and as blameless?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

So cruelly severed,
a root-cut reed ...
if the river offered,
why not be freed?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I had thought to pluck
the flower of forgetfulness
only to find it
already blossoming in his heart.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The wildflowers and my love
wilted with the rain
as I idly wondered
where in the past does love remain?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I nodded off thinking about you
only to have you appear in my dreams.
Had I known that I slept,
I'd have never awakened!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:552), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

That which men call "love" ...
is it not merely the chain
preventing our escape
from this world of pain?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Did you appear
only because I was lost in thoughts of love
when I nodded off, day-dreaming of you?
(If I had known that you
couldn't possibly be true,
I'd have never awakened!)
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Sad,
the end that awaits me ...
to think that before autumn yields
I'll be a pale mist
shrouding these rice fields.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

In this dismal world
the living decrease
as the dead increase...
oh, how much longer
must I bear this body of grief?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Once-colorful flowers faded,
while in my drab cell
life's impulse also abated
as the long dismal rains fell.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Now bitterly I watch fall winds
battering the rice stalks,
suspecting I'll never again
find anything to harvest.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

This abandoned mountain shack ...
how many nights
has autumn sheltered there?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Am I to spend the night alone
atop this summit,
cold and lost?
Won't you at least lend me
your robes of moss?
—Ono no Komachi (GSS XVII:1195), loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Two things wilt without warning,
bleeding away their colors:
a flower and a man's heart.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:797), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Alas, the beauty of the flowers came to naught
as I watched the rain, lost in melancholy thought ...
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Watching the long, dismal rains
inundating the earth,
my heart too is washed out, bleeds off
with the colors of the late spring flowers.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Wretched water-**** that I am,
severed from all roots:
if rapids should entice me,
why not welcome their lethal shoots?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Though I visit him
continually in my dreams,
the sum of all such ethereal trysts
is still less than one actual, solid glimpse.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I feel desire so intensely
in the lily-seed darkness
that tonight I'll turn my robe inside-out
before donning it.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:554), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This vain life!
My looks and talents faded
like these cherry blossoms inundated
by endless rains
that I now survey, alone.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Autumn nights are "long"
only in verse and song:
for we had just begun
to gaze into each other's eyes
when dawn immolated the skies!
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I think of you ceaselessly, with love...
and so... come to me at night,
for in the flight
of dreams, no one can disapprove!
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

On nights such as these
when no moon lights your way to me,
I lie awake, my passion blazing,
my breast an inferno wildly raging,
while my heart chars within me.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Since my body
was neglected by the one
who had promised faithfully to come,
I now lie here questioning its existence.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Since there's obviously nothing to catch
in this barren bay,
how can he fail to understand:
the fisherman who persists in coming and going
until his legs collapse in the sand?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

What do I know of villages
where fisherfolk dwell?
Why do you keep demanding
that I show you the seashore,
lead you to some pearly shell?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Yielding to a love
that recognizes no boundaries,
I will approach him by night ...
for the world cannot despise
a wandering dreamer.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Now that I approach
life's inevitable winter
your ardor has faded
like blossoms devastated
by late autumn rains.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Am I to spend another night alone
atop this ice-crag,
cold and lost?
Won't you at least lend me
your robes of moss?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

"It's over!"
Your words drizzle like dismal rains,
bringing tears,
as I wilt with my years.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:782), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I pursue you ceaselessly in my dreams ...
yet we've never met; we're not even acquainted!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Like flowers wilted by drenching rains,
my beauty has faded in the onslaught of my forlorn years.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fiery coals searing my body
hurt me far less than the sorrow of parting.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Love is man's most unbreakable bond.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This moonless night,
with no way to meet him,
I grow restless with longing:
my breast’s an inferno,
my heart chars within me.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How brilliantly
tears rain upon my sleeve
in bright gemlets,
for my despair cannot be withstood,
like a surging flood!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This flower's color
has drained away,
while in idle thoughts
my life drained away
as the long rains fall.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fatal reality!
You must do what you must, I suppose.
But even hidden in my dreams
from all prying eyes,
to watch you still pains me so!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In eye-opening daylight
much stands revealed,
but when I see myself
reflected in hostile eyes
even dreams become nightmares.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I would meet him tonight
but the moon shows no path;
my desire for him,
smoldering in my breast,
burns my heart to ash!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sleepless with loneliness,
I find myself longing for the handsome moon.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sotoba Komachi is a modern Noh play by Yukio Mishima (1925-1970). Mishima's play is based on an ancient work by Kan'ami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384). The first kanji means "stupa" (the dome of a shrine) while the second kanji means "belle" or "beautiful woman." So the title may be interpreted as something like "Beauty's Shrine" or "Shrine to Beauty." Kan'ami was the first playwright to incorporate the Kusemai song and dance style and Dengaku dances into plays. He founded a sarugaku theater group in the Kansai region of Honshu; the troupe later moved to Yamato and formed the Yuzaki theater company, which would become the school of Noh theater.

Excerpts from SOTOBA KOMACHI
by KWANAMI
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Priest of the Koyasan:

We who have built our homes on shallow slopes
now seek solitude in the heart's deep recesses.

Second Priest:

This single thought possessed me:
How I might bring a single seed to flower,
the wisdom of Buddha, the locus of our salvation,
until in despair I donned this dark cassock.

Ono no Komachi:

Lately so severed,
like a root-cut reed,
if the river offered,
why not be freed?

I would gladly go,
but here no wave stirs ...
I was once full of pride
now fled with the years,

gone with dark tresses
and with lustrous locks;
I was lithe as a willow
in my springtime frocks;

I once sang like a nightingale
sipping dew;
I was wild as the rose
when the skies shone blue ...
in those days before fall
when the long shadows grew.

But now I’ve grown loathsome
even to ******;
even urchins abhor me;
men treat me with scorn ...

Now I am nothing
but a poor, withered bough,
and yet there are wildflowers
in my heart, even now.

Only my body lingers, for my heart left this world long ago!

Priests (together):

O, piteous, piteous!
Is this the once-fabled flower-bright Komachi,
Komachi the Beautiful,
whose dark brows bridged eyes like young moons;
her face whitest alabaster forever;
whose many damask robes filled cedar-scented closets?



Ono no Komachi wrote tanka (also known as waka), the most traditional form of Japanese lyric poetry. She is an excellent representative of the Classical, or Heian, period (circa 794-1185 AD) of Japanese literature, and she is one of the best-known poets of the Kokinshu (circa 905), the first in a series of anthologies of Japanese poetry compiled by imperial order. She is also one of the Rokkasen — the six best waka poets of the early Heian period, during which poetry was considered the highest art. Renowned for her unusual beauty, Komachi has become a synonym for feminine beauty in Japan. She is also included among the thirty-six Poetry Immortals. It is believed that she was born sometime between 820-830 and that she wrote most of her poems around the middle of the ninth century. She is best known today for her pensive, melancholic and ****** poems. Keywords/Tags: Ono no Komachi waka tanka translation Japanese love women womanhood feminist feminism

when you are travelers
your conquests are
passages highlighted
in yellow
dog earred pages spoken
in pictographs
but when you are conquests
with velvet letters painted on your back
rooms filled with red thumb tacks
girls with names scrawled all across
their thighs, passport stamps carried
from country to country
milling about with scabby knees and
raw elbows
a noh mask to hide your shame
and not your face
a push pin on an unlisted county
barely within a three mile radius--
he's a photo up on the shelf and
you're just another notch in his belt.

Kapag yung ex mo nakipagbalikan sayo
tatangggapin mo pa ba?
Ako?
oo.
tanga lang eh noh?
oh tapos tatawa tawa ka?
Kung sabagay…
Hindi kita masisissi.
Hindi naman ikaw ang minsang lumigaya
Sa ibabaw ng alapaap
Sa yakap na mahigpit
Sa kamay na minsang nakatagpo ng
Palad
Palad na handang dumamay
Palad na handang umakay sa matarik na bundok
Binuo ng mga daliring handang takpan
Ang minsang mga matang walang humpay na lumuha sa pait na
Dulot ng mapanghusgag tingin ng mundo
hindi.. hindi kita masisisi
dahil hindi naman ikaw nag nakadama
ng matamis na lasa sa pagbigkas ng mga katagang
ikaw.. ikaw lang.. ang mahal ko.
Hindi. Hindi mo narinig ang bawat ngiting
Ipininta ng bawat tawang ibingay
Sa mga simpleng kantang inialay.
hindi.. hindi mo nasaksihan nung araw na ipinaglaban
nya ang pagmamahalang tanging mahalagang bagay na meron ako at sya noon.
Hindi.. hindi mo naramdaman ang lambot ng kasiguraduhang
Matutulog kang nakangiti dahil sya ang katabi mo
At gigising kang may ngiti pa rin dahil panatag ka
Panatag kang sa bisig nya parin nakahimlay.
Hindi.. hind kita masisisi
Dahil hindi mo ramdam
Ang kirot na humiwa dito..
Nung araw na sinabi nyang
“Ayokona”
Ayokona?
Walang eksplenasyon ni walang pasubali
Nabura lahat! Natabunan ng mga tanong hanggang sa naging panghihinayang at poot at
Sinabi kong tama na
Tama ka nga siguro
Ayaw mo na..
Lahat yan tinanggap ko, pilit ipinilit sa isipang
Wala na. tapos na. ending na.

Tapos
Isang araw
Bigla syang kumatok, sabi
“sorry”
Tanginamo. Para san pa?
Ako pa rin daw..
ako parin daw.

Kapag yung ex mo nakipagbalikan sayo
tatanggapin mo pa ba?
Ako?
oo.

pero di gaya ng dati
hindi
na
ako
tanga.

stripes of dawn sift through the grey departing night,
and in my home, behind those rays of dust,
furniture warms.
the freedom i love will soon be claimed by an incessant morning phone.
my heart numbs, longs for the kindness, constant kindness of the night

the music of my pulse already starts to fade,
a weight sets in, invisible grimace of so many trailing thoughts unraveled now,
to bear until the darkness-swilling reach of soul can span again...

would i fly at brightened glass in fractured urges,
bolstered yet adrift in any day's torrential memes?
rage at seeming machination's constant interruption of my highest rarity of living well?
or smile at the herdlike expectation's threat to condescend,
and at least scour remnants of the search undone... throughout the day
insufferable choice of final future origins
the mail arrives,
my forehead stops to wonder at the door,
and at that pang of hunger

running, overrun, the mind churns night in such sweet shadow shifts!
to fall, legless and dissolve into the rising light..
as if a Noh play were being heckled through to end by gaudy ads
to jolt us bridgeless from that subtle world
and wander long on lethe banks of noisome blare.
at times i stroll this nowhere stranding here, pretend, and gaze from hiding,
between a wincing coffee swill
imagined easeful face of signs,
"easy as a gentle summer wind..."
tolerant to all, to blow a "selfless" stillness into me
to wave, and smile --breathe a blanket on acuter truths
with which i meet the day enwrapped.

but quietly  i wait... for Time to die:
an hourglass to shatter in the instant of eternity!
and birthe anew each 3 am, create anew--
those  kisses,  frozen  birds  of  static  bliss  become
a moulded wax to shape the plenum love as roaming peace,
darkness-rest to calm a pointless labor,
abate the drift into an unwalled corner's only inward exit--
as whisper hands can cradle nescience
such, that grains become a world,
in which invented seas are sweeter than the toxic real
whose bitterness a cherishing of death unveils awry,
or right as winter dust.
i yearn in flight and add to fullness,
find fullness once again
to hover equipoised at love's encrusted center,
where pain gives way to peace i cannot have.
if i would have this other 'purest' love,
and for instance find the meaning once again in wartime's bated negligence--
as in a perfect silence wind can brush the lips with all of life's aroma--
and as a gentle fire smouldered long,
at Spring, ignites within the splay of tender leaves--
so archetypal solitude of being beings manifolded one, i may fulfillment find...

i may go find myself alone now,
or swagger to an ancient drinking song,
or fall into those evening arms,
to find abated also, idols of the heart in each
for what the greater heart amends...
all for yearning better worlds
the pain has sent me reeling prone--
curling at complacent murmurs,
coos of love to torment all without
wherein i wallow, fallen from all heights,
absurd escape, removed---surrounded still
by so-called metalove, abject phantasmal swoon
i grit my teeth against,
as heaving sand would send the shore to sea and drown nostalgia evermore,
as only total extrication serves to quell an everpresence such as this,
ringing in the twilit dew,
or starlight whirl--
or inverse in a heedless curse--
horizons cease in this expanse
surging at the birth and death of things

Look up to the sky
                     the challenge
Robes attained flowing pure
edged with the symbol of blood
Clear love and soul singing beyond,
And boredom is forced to dance,
Love's fullness loose-- spreads to a body
An image, a show,
Communal hands efforts ascend a net
correct; "A blanket for your bed",
Life goes from moan to release,
You will see your true form
through the eyes of the world

soft soft softly
he creeps about
the edges of the room

finding his way....
with the precision
of a Noh dancer...

as the blucat watches
with gestapo stare...
the new kitten...
black and white
tuxedo...not quite right
all wrinkles and fuzz
and fffft, ffft fights

the blue cat...
old cantankerous king
looks at this scrap
of a thing...
growls, deep
from his belly rotound
turns his back...
in overstated disgust....

that wrinkly thing,
is not one of us!!!.....

later in the day...
i pass by the same way
to find blucat and tuxedo boy, wrapped up asleep
in sombulant joy...

Andaming nag bago, noh?
Mga bagong mukha
Mga naalala ko na lamang sa mukha
Ano ba ulit ang iyong ngalan?

Marami na rin palang namaalam
Mga namalagi sa ibang lugar
Mga lumisan sa mundong ibabaw
Ikaw, saan ka na nananahan?

At itong mga dating maliliit na bata
Ngayon ay nagsilakihan na
Ang karamihan ay napariwara
At ang iilan ay hindi nawalan ng pag asa

Masyado siguro akong naging abala
Upang hindi mapuna
Kilala pa rin kaya ako
Ng komunidad na kinalakihan ko?

Have some fun.
Presentation of self.
Afterlife functional illusion.

If your memories don't heart attack or cancer out
or from traffic accident
who will effortlessly flush them out?

You must give yourself to man
be more selfless.
Do one thing well. Flute.

History final. F is for fiction.
Nature's philosophical partner
afraid, affectionate, forceful, confused!

Within a tradition, fine to know what you're doing.
Polka dots and moonbeams. I'm old fashioned.
Noh, opera, film.

File with business cards.
What's the offer?
Free marketing. Unusual reflections.

Why fight fires, floods?
Hurricanes and other acts of the Father. As for man's
fate, what has this to do with the temperamental, fragile self.

Power failure
just as we were fixing dinner.
The white egret ate fish after fish, one then another then another,
      forever . . . .

8th grade was here
8A and 8B
Some have moved very far
Some still very near
But still holding on to our legacy
Ms. Ife then Ms Noh
Ms. Ife then Mr. Brown
Changes were made
Because one let go
Now there's a new guy in town
8th grade was here
Learning together
8th grade was here
Making friends forever
8th grade was growing up
In front of everyone
And just to our luck
We have all had fun
We taught each other
So much this year
But sadly we will split up
At high school but will still be very near
For the ones who made our lives change
We say thank you
For you have given us
So much to gain

i just love the monday gray sky, mixing nicotine phlegm cough-up roughage taking part of my larynx and the oesophagus wall off while drinking coffee and melted hazelnut flavoured ice-cream (baileys).*

european languages tend to stress an atomised syllables,
therefore encouraging a “cheating” mechanisation of the tongue,
don’t get me wrong, due to the lack of diacritic
in english, we have a wide diversity of accents,
no scot would say a posh yes,  but rather say aye
like a pirate to a squire in a top hat...
the asiatic languages tend to twin letters rather than breed them
as unique and segregational, but then come across the problem
of outspoken dyslexia: cat ketchup.
the asiatic countries solved the matter in the rubric:

ni               in
hon            noh
ar               ra
el                le
po              op

hence so much grammatical schrapnel in european languages,
the prepositions and the conjunctions etc.
it’s no wonder the complexity of compounding H or He or O
within CO2 or H2 or EtOH is necessary as is pictographic
representation in mandarin;
but it does make the european languages very musical,
actually that's what defines european languages
their musicology is due to phonetic approximation
of their characters a - z, alas if that were the sole +
on the matter... it's also a strand of languages
that fakes concerns, lies, and sees a quick gain
crafting a breed of ohs and zeros in the millions
for no apparent reason other than self-promotion,
white snail caviar pearl chandeliers ritzy champagne and yachts;
no wonder we have a second alphabet! i.e.
onomatopoeia /ˌɒnəˌmætəˈpiːə/.

of what's a house built,
tatami mats without
figures, ghosts within walls,
haunted by the absence
of anyone of substance who calls,
ozu, can you hear me? in
these rooms of noh occupants,
transients staying only a night,
staging a performance for no audience,
except me, turning slowly to dust,
late spring in tokyo twilight,
floating weeds in an empty house,
by a projector's light.

I always said she had too much coffee and cake ,
her portly shape was due to too much wine ,
and now all she craved was a good time.

I always said the cigars she smoked were like
Tomb stones ,
to blind to notice,
to addicted to care .

I always said ,
I always said .

And her heart only beat to climb the stairs ,
and the chocolate and chips helped her through the day .

Rainbows and demons ,
Chains and weeds ,
and the wind and rain ,
and the rain and the wind found us on our knees .

Spoh koyn nee noh Cheh dorogoy , ( good night my dear ) for
I shall navigate my love under a starry host on my ship of jesters and
Fools .

You’re cigars and cake are the rainbows and demons ,
and chains and weeds to our love ,
For you’re laughter for our foolish freedom came not from God above .

Must I then take the ash and crumbs and the yellow **** you retch ,
and hope what’s left does not choke you .

We shall marry in our Geogian satire of smokin mirrors , gin and Russian roulette ,
I will play the doctor ,
You the patient.
Our babies will smoke cigars from their Georgian prams ,
Wine ,cigars , chocolates and cake I shall spoon feed you ,
.....until you’re dead .


For you’re chains and weeds have killed you ,
and death has taken you away .

And here at our table I shall sit alone ,
thinking of you .
With wine a cigar ,
Chocolate cake and a cigar I shall toast you ,
until this day ,
draw a curtain ,turn off the lights .
Sweet dreams my malen kaya kroshka
( my little crumb )
sweet dreams .

No
[noh]
adverb
def./ a negative used to express dissent, denial, or refusal, as in response to a question, action, or request.


I said it.
Over and over when I saw the drawings and heard their words.
I choked it out.
In a bathroom stall as tears ran down my cheeks
They didn’t hear.

I screamed it.
In my head when he held me against him
I whispered it.
Out loud when he touched me in a way i didn’t want.
He didn’t hear.

I cried it.
In agonizing pain as he stood in my room.
I pushed it out of my lips from the depths of my hurt with my voice shaking yet strong
It wasn’t strong enough
He didn’t understand.

I lied it.
When the doctors asked me if I wanted to die.
I murmured it in the ice cold room pulling my sleeves so my scars didn’t show.
I just wanted to go home but home wasn’t the blue house on 69th terrace
I didn’t understand

I sobbed it.
Into my pillow at 3am when it trapped me in it’s death grip at last.
Her voice had become louder than mine
And I can’t say it anymore.
No one listens.



-o.g

Nung nakita kita
‘Di ko’y namalayan
Pupunt arin sakin
Ang iyong pagmamahal

Kahit sandali lang iyon
Iniwan mo na ko
Ikaw parin
‘Kaw parin ang nasa puso’t utak ko

Pero bakit?
Bakit ‘di mo na ko mahal?
Bakit iniwan mo ‘ko na walang paalam?
Bakit mahal parin kita kahit wala ka na?

Nagkulang ba ko sayo?

Oo nga pala...

Iba na mahal mo

Swerte niya noh
Siya yung minahal mo

Habang ako,
Iniwan mo lang mahulog
‘Di naman sinalo

Alam ko balang araw
Sasaya ako

Pero ngayon
Hahayaan ko muna mahulog luha ko

Feeling pathetic.
Can’t get that feeling back.

“Alexa, play Latin music”
“Alexa, play Rhythm and Blues”

“Alexa, find Wait, Wait”
“Alexa, play KNHM”

“JPR News and information
From Tune in”

Not Sabor Latinx
Not The Place

A Noh space
Weird weekend disgrace

A slight of hand
will mystify you
a wave fo the wand
will do too.
But to place in a hat
which has become a habit
his daughter's pet
a disgrunled rabbit.
The pull it out
when the magic word's said
accept the applause
and place the hat on his head.
Is a bit of a disgrace
for the poor pet
look at this pitiful face
that's  as much as you will get.
Noh shock, no suprise met by all
is it magic then one would say
the rabbit does not want to know
s llong as he eats at the end of the day.

A whorl is not a swirl
Although it may seem so.
Allusions as illusions.
A reflection deception?
Yes or know?
Can we ever Noh?

Grey ashes stain the skin of my thighs. I mutter a curse word at Caleb’s direction before dusting it off. He takes another long drag. It reeks of menthol and dead leaves. I ******* hate cigarettes. And most people I knew who smoked were as toxic and temporary as the object of their vice. It seemed everyone I love fancied smoking their lungs out and I had always been treated like another stick burning too close to the filter. Over time I had mastered the art of secretly holding my breath whenever they were all trying to burn their anguish. Now I feel like I’d asphyxiate to death if I try to avoid breathing in his exhaust. Sixteen year old me would have already pushed him to his demise just for the mere act of lighting a cigarette in front of me but three years had passed, and though it might not have happened in a rather drastic way as we retained our nihilism and self-righteousness, we had changed. I have my tamed my repulsion towards what I like to deem as a foible of a majority of people, and he went from being a quiet, well-behaved, clean-cut charmer to this womanizing edgelord ******. We were sitting on the same ledge we often sat on as high schoolers, contemplating whether jumping off would guarantee our death more compared to downing a dozen pads of Panadol but quickly realizing we didn’t want to die in this economy, with this **** administration slowly extinguishing half of our population as how those corrupt fascist rulers from that book he liked basically created the plague that caused mass genocide in third world countries. These days, we rarely talk about dying or fighting the oppressive beliefs we’ve been taught to perpetuate since birth. I find myself mentally counting all the times I’ve said to my father that I loved him as Caleb drones on about the girl I saw leaving his apartment this morning when I came to return a book I borrowed. This punk claims she was cute but kept on contradicting herself, says he met her when he reluctantly went with his guy friend to their church.

      “ She kept on preaching me about hell and mortal sins just last week but I figure that after last night the big guy upstairs wouldn’t be too sure about her salvation either,noh?”I rolled my eyes at him. I miss nice, good-mannered, geeky and gentlemanly Caleb. The emotional barricades and sarcastic comebacks had always been part of his package but he’s always been wary about hurting people unintentionally whether it was direct or passive. I don’t know how someone who still orders the same fruit drink whenever he eats out, who still likes the same bands, who still reads the same genre of manga and weird Russian novels, who still watches the same crime shows and anime could have changed in a way I can’t fully grasp. I comfort myself with the thought that he is just a boy after all, a boy with a tendency to be a ****** *******. “ Cut the bull, Caleb, I know you could care less about the religious ramblings of the poor *****. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? She got you off so let her have the same benefit through preaching . For someone who ****** around, you’re **** at people who are doing your libido a favor.”
       It’s a weak argument. With a face like his, he doesn’t even need to ask anyone to be with him. Girls have always been flocking to him. Weird thing is that women seem to like this downgraded version of him more. Ugh. When you’re as pretty and as interesting as him, life can be **** at times but at least you can pretend to be a lead in an indie coming-of-age movie as The Smiths play in the background.

“Wow. I never took you for a defender of their faith. Are you a believer too? Chill. You know that I was just kidding.”

“I’m just saying, even if we don’t share the same beliefs as them or if we have none, that’s no reason to say mean things about them.”

“ I didn’t mean it like that naman, eh. Lighten up. You know I am a good old Catholic boy, why, I even got my forehead drawn on during Ash Wednesday.”

“ Yeah, right and I’ve been singing in choir for a decade and collecting alms from the pews. You are a disgrace to your Church.”, I scoffed in reply. He just laughs and gets up to throw his cigarette **** in the silver trash bin he always had in his car. After lifting himself up, he motions for me to join him on the roof. I stand up from the rock I was sitting on and follow him.

“ I think we’re going to hell”, he jokes as he took my left foot to remove my sneaker. He snatches the other pair from my hands and crouches down to reach inside the driver’s seat where he puts both of our shoes.

“ Isn’t it unfair how we could be thrown into the pits of a burning void when there’s not even someone up there to judge us?”

“ Maybe there is but we’re just ******* who’d rather rely on the theories of our favorite philosophers for meaning because it’s terrifying to accept the futility of our existence as it was given to us by the big Guy upstairs.”

“ That’s just you. I don’t know if I believe in Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, nor God Himself. It’s all just bleh.”

“ Well, if you don’t believe in science or nihilism or God, then there must be something you believe in.”

       I almost laughed —not at him, but how pathetic my answer would be. I almost told him that the last thing I believed in threw me away like trash and shattered what little love I had left for myself. I almost answered him, half-crying, half-laughing that even if I didn’t have any of it to keep me on my feet, I used to believe that love could somehow hold all of us together; that a dysfunctional family is still a family as long as a parent loves their child enough, that even a bully can be a friend if you keep forgiving and trying for their sake, that it’s okay to tread through eggshells and landmines as long as the person who’s led you there is holding your hand. And I thought I stopped believing in fairy tales at nine years old. I knew I wouldn’t be able to crawl out of this rabbit hole for months to end if I let myself slip again this time with my emotions. So I keep my pathetic thoughts to myself and avoid his gaze.

       It’s late and I’m pretty sure back in the city, the person I used to believe in, the person who made the thought of smoking more unbearable to I, the person who’s the reason why I’m on this ledge again is probably either sleeping or talking to another girl.  A pretty China doll with delicate features, a shy demeanor, and an eloquence for the things he likes. Maybe he’s kissing her and for the first time, he wouldn’t taste like the last girl he loved. Maybe he’s fumbling for her zipper while I’m here trying to grasp how cold and unbearable was the truth he gave me about my worth as a person. Maybe he’s stalking that girl he always had a crush on since high school. Maybe tonight he’d die. Suddenly. Horribly. Maybe he’d disappear and everything would disappear with him. Maybe I would try smoking too just to spite him or I could stop pricking my throat with my index finger every time I feel I’ve consumed an amount intended for a human when I know I have to be a porcelain toy. Maybe I could stop measuring my wrists because like my thighs, like my stomach, like my heart, it takes too ******* long for them to finally shrink into the size that’s most convenient for everyone to love. I should probably stop cutting too— even if it is only in places they cannot see— no one likes a scarred ****** up excuse of  a girl after all. Maybe I could stop thinking that there is something horribly wrong with myself and I could pray for forgiveness for it to a being I don’t fully believe in. If I could just try, if I could try harder, if I could try to force my worn out spirit to try again, a lot of these possibilities might be achieved instead of just being another list in my head. I tell myself that maybe tomorrow, when I’m not twenty feet above ground and when dying isn’t the only thing on my mind, I could try but for now I’ll do my best not to jump.

        The night sky is so stretched out and I’ve never seen it as bright as it is tonight, because I’ve stopped looking at it for a long time and I’ve forgotten how all- consuming the feeling of so is, I finally concede and cry. I think about God and the universe and all those dead men that tried to explain the void that’s been within all of us ever since we were born. How Kierkegaard died slumped at an alley, probably drunk out of his mind. How Cobain refused to go on. Maybe I don’t entirely believe in the existence of Almighty beings and maybe I also refuse to accept that life is pointless but at the very least, I want to believe that this reality is never still meaning that even if I quit my existence, the world will go on without me. In that context, none of us truly matter all on our own in this world. It helps to know that we’re all part of something so much bigger than our feeble emotions, that the Universe is one big organism that contains us yet at the same time is inside us, that we are nothing but systems that modulate and emulate themselves for themselves. It’s comforting to be small and insignificant as a speck of dust in this world as it suggests this pain that’s been tearing at your soul for what seemed like centuries now is a force that can’t survive in the slow descent of mankind into oblivion. It is a mere pulse in the system. It is fleeting and will one day no longer hold this power over you. Or so I believe.

       It dawns unto me I still haven’t answered his question but I figured he already took my silence for an indefinite answer as he turned his gaze to look ahead instead of at me. I do the same and soldier on.

-W.

What was the first word
uttered by humans ?

"Noh" or  "Goh" ?