...static...

and silence,

move a step forward

and

a couple of steps

back

to where she lay,

smothered in the sheets...

of someone else's

thought?

head?

sigh,

bed...

does she even think,

does she even know

does she have an idea

what consequences await,

do 1 thing,

and it all comes back

do 1 thing

like circle, things

have a way of coming back

threefold

how do you follow

the 8-fold path

to enlightenment

when all your dreams

regress back to the time

you felt you had him

you felt -- "he was mine..."

the kiss was the drug

i was his,

he was mine

now we both live on

borrowed time

he said i lost it,

i felt i lost it

then again, how can one

lose something that wasn't yours

in the first place?

would he even consider

would he even know

would he even feel

the slightest hint of regret

@ being too shallow

and not willing follow,

in the same manner that she shied away

when he said

she wasn't what he was looking for...

she should have stayed on

and bided her time

but she couldn't

she had been much too proud

for that...

and now everything seems

to be in static

and silence,

move a step forward

and

a couple of steps

back

to where she lay,

smothered in the sheets...

of someone else's

thought?

head?

sigh,

bed...

does she even think,

does she even know

does she have an idea

what consequences await,

do 1 thing,

and it all comes back

do 1 thing

like a circle, things

have a way of coming back

threefold

how do you follow

the 8-fold path

to enlightenment

when all your dreams

regress back to the time

you felt you had him

you felt -- "he was mine..."

*** a free verse done half-asleep, half-awake... waiting for a muse, needing to be amused, and wanting amusement... none found... still waiting...

crave...

how does one become addicted

to fame,

money,

popularity... ?

even physical pleasures,

in the form of

gluttony...

we cannot fathom,

think...

how does the mind really work?

do we always cloak our fears,

and shed crocodile tears...

like one boy

who cried...

WOLF!!!

savages, we all are

victims of fake humility...

do we suffer in silence

because of vanity...?

why do we crave,

why do we crave,

is the hunger as deep

as the need

to be sated... ?

think, dream,

... sleep

we all want an end,

maybe not as grandiose

as some,

while

others seem to be somewhat,

unfinished...

half-baked, half-done, half-full

if you look @ the glass,

what do you see...?

is it filled

with nothing but

alcohol...?

crave...

why do we hunger,

what do we seek...?

is the hunger as deep

as the need

to be sated...

think, dream,

... sleep

we all want an end,

maybe not as grandiose

as some,

that left with the sound of a gun

as big as a...

BANG!!!

while

others seem to be somewhat,

unfinished...

*** a free verse... done half-asleep, half awake... rants & musings... my whatever things... because today was a pleasant goodbye through keys that form words that looked like conversation...

eyes, so silent...

silent eyes,

you watch, still

and spill your secrets,

when friends have long gone,

you watch,

you wait

never sleeping ever awake,

still, but breathing

my beloved internet...

treated more than a girl's best friend

beware of voyeurs,

my sweetest little pet...

secrets are heard,

secrets are read...

whenever you click the keys,

the words form a thread...

late nights spent

with my wishing well,

my newfound lover,

the d.s.l

secrets are poured

like wine on a glass

secrets are scoured,

on pages that pass...

there will aways be

engines that search,

engines that search,

engines that search,

for a hidden past...

***bored and in need of a muse...

...must have been...

the weight of the world,
the feeling of helplessness,
the night wearing
you out, into a thin veil
of a man
i once admired...

the cruelest of times
the hand that was dealt,
the cards gone awry,
it must have been,
you think it's time
to say goodnight...

the last breath escapes
from parted lips,
your son's embrace
have not been missed

a message left
on my phone,
simply said,
that you were gone...

it must have been
that you have known
how much time has
simply thrown
you away...
but i do not think of it
that way,
you live,
you'll live
you will always live
in Bubba's eyes,
my son and daughter,
long after they bear their own...

it must have been,
that you simply need
to rest,
it has been a long journey
and your bones do ache
all we all are dust
in the end,
all we all turn to dust,
in the end...


*** the night turns to day, too much airconditioning must have frozen my brain, this is but half of what i wanted to say... farewell...

waiting, burning cd's and boredome...

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Tchaikovsky was a Russian composer prolific during the Romantic period of music.During his life he wrote many ballets, operas, concerti and other works for orchestra and chamber groups, including some choral work. His music displays the dramatic and lyrical melodies that are characteristic of many pieces of Romantic music, but are distinctive because of their acknowledgment of folk melodies and familiar songs.

***Teehee... answer to "Which Classical Composer Are You?" quiz... sabeko nangaba, my listening to and fascination towards the nutcracker suite means something...

SECRETLY -- Skunk Anansie

I'VE BEEN BIDING MY TIME,
BEEN SO SUBTLY KIND,
I GOT TO THINK SO SELFISHLY,
'COS YOU'RE THE FACE INSIDE OF ME.

I'VE BEEN BIDING MY DAYS,
U SEE EVIDENTLY IT PAYS,
I'VE BEEN A FRIEND,
WITH UNBIASED VIEWS,
THEN SECRETLY LUST AFTER YOU.

SO NOW HE'S GONE RUSTY
YOU'RE BORED AND BEMUSED.

YOU WANNA DO SOMEONE ELSE,
SO YOU SHOULD BE BY YOURSELF,
INSTEAD OF HERE WITH ME,

SECRETLY.

TRYING HARD TO THINK PURE,
BLOODY HARD WHEN I'M RAW,
YOU TALKING OUT SO SEXUALLY,
'BOUT BOYS 'N GIRLS AND YOUR FRIGGIN' DREAMS

SO NOW YOU FEEL LUSTY,
YOU'RE HOT AND CONFUSED,
SO NOW YOU'VE BEEN BUSTED,
YOU'RE CAUGHT FEELING USED.

YOU HAD TO DO SOMEONE ELSE,
YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN BY YOURSELF,
INSTEAD OF HERE WITH ME,

SECRETLY...

*** omgoddess... why am i posting lyrics... i don't know...

... and he said...

"kiss me". She knew in her heart, that it would be the start of a slow, painful and deliberate death. Deliberate, because she learned eons ago what it was like to be within proximity of him. It was like running into a car-crash with the purpose of meeting it half way... And she embraced the idea of rushing headlong into a sea of cars on a crowded highway as she thought to herself, "hmmm, pre-meditated??? hell yes"...

Slow and painful, because after this whole ordeal, she felt like someone terminal with cancer, but the worst part is, she'll never know when this ends. She will definitely feel it somehow, but @ this point, it's indeterminate. She had been caught in a mousetrap of her own making. This was not how it was supposed to be, but somewhere, she made a wrong turn and got lost, again.

Months ago, she wondered, "hmmm, what's he like, now?", and marveled @ the thought, "does he still feel like some demi-god... a sort of gift to women, of sorts...?" Bitter??? Hell no, although, she did strain her memory a little, trying to recall the bits and pieces of him that she had collected over time and felt a twinge of gloom... She has never really experienced "us", not with him. It had always been him & her, she & he, with the "and" always in between, like a bridge trying to bring 2 worlds together, but never-ever coming close. The saddest part of it all was that, she felt, it had always just been her... But no matter, she would be ready, or so, she thought.

Like theives they walked in the shadows, with him leading on, and her straining to follow. In her mind, she wanted him to ask, she wanted him to be the first to ask, to maybe let him think that he picked her up first... In her mind she silently implored of him, "ask me once, and i'll say yes, damn-it!". Something seemed to spark because what followed next was an extraordinary turn of events and she was back where she started, to another life of about 4 years ago. And she wondered later on, was it the alcohol, or just being there with him that made it seem feasible, @ the time...?

She began to hate Erica Jong, for giving her the idea of the zipless fuck... She smiled, melancholic, and thought, "it would have been nice, though, to have everything without having to feel any guilt." Not one drop of remorse. It was everything she read in the book, the mystery, that hedonistic and depraved feeling of wanting nothing more.

But the experience was not zipless. There were no rose petals falling from the air, no incense or scented candles, not even piped-in music... Instead it was some maze of a cab-ride to nowhere in some cheap motel that charged by the hour and smelled musty and stank of other people's sweat... It was purely a "fuck", nothing more. To him, she probably meant nothing... He was like a drill sergeant giving out commands like, "take off your clothes, do this, do that". Until slowly she felt mechanical, like some coin-operated girl... Except she ran on and on, eager to please, waiting for... sunrise??? sunset??? Whatever, a burst of light of sorts that would signal the end of it...

The experience was not zipless, because it rained with complications, and the feeling of a steady and tragic affliction. It was like having your heart carved out in a million different ways, no one ever thought possible. It was the guilt that points its dirty little finger @ the most vile and impossible thing that she did... And the worst part was not having anyone to talk to about it, because no one will understand. So, she lets the shame chisel bits and pieces of her virtue, until she feels that it, too, is lost. No one has to know, the little hells she went through, while trying to draw out poetry out of the emptiness he carved. And like every episode of frailty in her life, it will come to pass, and then the healing comes. No one has to know the abyss that she has fallen into. No one.


***an attempt @ fiction writing, where the hell are my subjects going??? i don't know... heerap pala... will figure this out, eventually...

***The events, characters and emotions described within this blog are somewhat fictional... Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or out of the country is purely unfortunate...

beginning to...

grieve...

When will i start

to believe

again?

Why does it matter

when friends

fall

and falter?

To pitter,

patter

like rain on

the concrete pavement,

fear darkness

of basements,

a hanging,

a death sentence.

She wears black

she wears black.

Everyday,

she wears,

and tears,

rot like pears,

see tupperwares.

Feels like,

shoes run on treadmills

stinking landfills,

losing wills

and wits...

Life is the pits,

he wrote,

she wrote back

him full of mocking

her full of questions.

What happened?

this quilt will not mend

this quilt will not mend

this quilt will not mend.

So she, begins to

grieve.

When will i start

to believe

again?

Why does it matter

when friends

fall

and falter?

To pitter,

patter

like rain on

the concrete pavement...

*** a collage of things that happened some night... it's better not to expect anything @ all, it lessens whatever things...

missing...

2 golden minutes

set with 60 diamond stones

each

last left trickling

like sand on a glass vial

don't bother searching

they will never be recovered

those 2 golden minutes

last felt ticking

when you left.

*** 1994 -- reposting nanaman...