Many thanks to editors Mark Cayanan and Marlon Hacla.
The alluring anachronism split into pure atoms, an arrangement you can almost taste, the arsonist asking for absolution;
Belched out ballads badly resonating with bulls in china shops and besieged belladonnas, balustrades broken into bits by blue balls of light;
The chosen moment that spelled perfection and catastrophe, clicking the correct button a centisecond too late, clasping your clammy hands on hers, taking a careless chance;
The damned; demons draped in delight and Double Dutch ice cream donning dragon-shaped diamonds;
Elephants, eggplants, epiphanies evading re-entry into Eden;
In the far future finding the fault lines following a flock of flightless fates; feigning fascination and friendship in funerals; fucking and feeling fervently free; Furies fired up on fairy dust, felt-tip pens, and fireworks;
The giant that gobbled gold and in its gastrointestinal tract generated gods and gentlemen alike;
“Hi, hello, how, and who are you doing?” harked the heart attack hailing from happiness;
Once inside, she felt all of his intent: imminent, impeccable, as if invincible to her ills – inviting;
“Just joking” jested the juvenile juggernaut;
Kicking the knickknack into the Kraken’s kitchen, kneading kings kindly, keeling for kisses and kills;
The lover lying listlessly listening to limericks and lies, licking her lips;
Midway, he made the moon melt mint and mellow, Mercury moping a mile off, mesoderm mistaking marrow for more; maimed and well-meant, maelstrom or minotaur- make your mind up, mother;
Never needing nobody; no names necessary;
Onwards: the only way out;
Pretenses paltry and promising; put it in Promises and Pink; procure these precious perversions, pretty please?
Quietly the quack doctor quickened; qualms, quills, and questions all quarelling;
Resisting respite and reason, she rose and reached for the risk ringed on his ribs
Strung-up strawberries straining for something to see; starlight secured inside sea-stained bottles; seeds speaking of Soon and Somehow;
The taste of trouble; those terrible tricks they trust;
Underwater, they undertook what was undue, unsaid;
“Very well,” voiced the violet violin vying for velvet violence; vicious vapors in vials; valkyries and vanishing points;
Wondering how to wander; waking wayward wights and wishing wells;
XXX seemed to express xenophobia; the sighing xylophone shrouded in xenon;
When yielding meant Yes, your yearning like a yawn or a yellow ball of yarn;
Zeal in a zoo.
When I am hungry and procrastinating, I curl into a useless pile of catalogs & the alphabet. Then I get exhausted & lie down. Real work only gets done some good 2 hours later when I am Super Charged on sugar. *rolls away*
“Say yes,” said the envelope given by a stranger in the coffee shop. I thought of someone I was convinced I loved until each time I see him & my mind begins to churn out questions I know I’ll never have the answer to. Like, what did my grandparents mean when they said to never make friends & consume your heartaches quietly. What did all those stories about the war really amount to? The estranged great-uncle who redeemed himself by killing a horde of men. Enemies. These days I am offered affection & friendship by strangers & my natural response is to shirk it off. Fight & flight only lead to fright. Suspicion is a song stuck on loop in my head. Nicole, who reads Freud across me, tells me to live a little. I say, how, why, so what & stop to look around me. The room is dim & cold & I can’t help but think of him, the one I gave gift after paltry gift, each acceptance something I was sure wasn’t love, & how he held all I offered like a toy, stretching everything into thinner & thinner pieces, wearing it all out with those long fingers & I keep waiting for something to break –
On a scale of one to god, how tired are you of giving yourself away?
On a scale of yellow to vincent van gogh, will this sadness last forever?
Follow your dreams, said sage advice, reblogged over 9,000 times in the stratosphere of human history, consciousness, etc.
But my dreams like staying with me, bound to the very being of me – volatile & prone to change – feet burning bright but safely bound to the ground where I stand, movement soft as the shadow sewn to my spine.
Most people mistake happiness with contentment.
Today was strange in the sense that I read Dean Young and Gertrude Stein one after the other while looping Lorde’s Pure Heroine (Extended) album. Instant mindfuck because All The Images.
Here are some lines I liked from lola Stein’s Objects (I’m going to try to slough through Food and Rooms tonight because tomorrow’s going to be another blah day at OPD):
- There is no gratitude in mercy and in medicine
- What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is no pleasure in not getting tired of it
- Be reckless be reckless and resolved on returning gratitude
- Some increase means a calamity and this is the best preparation for three and more being together
- Out of kindness comes redness and out of rudeness comes rapid same question
- The time to show a message is when too late and later there is no hanging in a blight
- A large box is handily made of what is necessary to replace any substance
- Suppose the rest of the message is mixed with a very long slender needle
- The severest and the most preserved
- Anything suitable is so necessary
- A stubborn bloom is so artificial and even more than that, it is a spectacle, it is a binding accident, it is animosity and accentuation
- It showed that it was open, that is all that it showed
- An elegant use of foliage and grace
- Water astonishing and difficult altogether makes a meadow and a stroke
- The least thing means a little flower and a big delay
- A table means necessary places and a revision
- Go red go red, laugh white
I kind of don’t understand the entire piece but some lines make for good tattoos. Hehe.
I also made a strange poem after. Which I think is a good thing. Strange still. But then, almost all my poems are strange.
…I skipped lunch entirely though (hello, positive loss of appetite and weight loss; we’ll see where you go). I also managed to highlight a few pages on the Upper Limbs chapter of my baby Snell reviewer because even if Boards is a hundred years away it will be the Ultimate Boss Fight once I get there.
The truth was most people tired her. The rhythms of getting acquainted felt like being in a Street Fighter match where her fingers were dipped in butter and couldn’t hit the right buttons to unleash a single chain attack.
“Good morning” marked Round 1. By the end of the day, she felt like she’d been KO’d a hundred lifetimes that none of the phoenix downs available to mankind (or elf-kind) would revive her negative-digit HP.
Laughter and/or pretensions of looking into space, watching Dust Mites conjure colonies, seemed to be a temporary solution.
Speaking of strange things also do well at wearing out the other people’s interest.
“That doesn’t make sense. You’re loud and brimming with color. How can you possibly not like people?” Said friend N.
Her Experience Points gained placed her in the quadrant where Disappointment and Honesty intersected. It wasn’t a convenient place to be in. But she was used to inconvenient situations. Anyway, she had high points for Evasion and Strength. Defenses were weak, but that was another thing she was used to already.
In this version of the universe, there is no Game Over, there is no reset button. The level never ends, regardless of the side quests completed, the treasure chests opened – hordes of secret weapons piled in a corner, gleaming with disuse.
Tomorrow, two of some of the good friends I’ve made in Med School fly back to their homeland a good continent away. We’ve said our non-goodbyes (because they said “It’s always ‘See you later’”) and I don’t feel Very, Very Sad about it. I promised to write a postcard (which I intend to, once I get their address).
I figure these things always happen. I didn’t have many close friends from High School so I never really felt it back then. College, though, was another thing. Some people just naturally drifted away, to the point that it would seem unnatural to initiate contact exceeding the obligatory or random Facebook like. It only half bothers me. Yes, there were those I wish I had been better friends with or still wish to see today. The types I’d think of when I see some film or artist or whatever they might fancy. Some days I imagine what’d it be like to see them on a daily basis again.
I mean, I did try. But my definition of try is mostly a few messages here and there. If they stop replying or things get awkward, I simply stop. Best to move along.
I haven’t written any bit of poetry in about 3-4 months. Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.