Precipitous, Wordplay.

(get your salivary glands working)



prrrk. prrrk.

it's another sneaky breakthrough
sneaky break into
a mold

oh yes, were fluid
we thought we were fluid
'til we broke our bones when we did

fall.

brag about
the drop the flop
it's another brag about

the rollover. sleazy.
dizzy after.
puke.

Let us eat patola
with meatballs in soup
salt in water and

Let us eat banana cue
yes, stabbed from
the crotch up

breakintoooo.

just so that we'll have
a real healthy
vomit later

let us ruuun!
into the washroom!
and wash all that excess

excrement that passed
through our mouths
after the

precipi---

wait,
what made your
parents give you that name

again?

again is a nice name
for a delicacy
or hopia

specifically.

i was told
that always
is the western

brand for whisper.

again now becomes
a much nicer name for
a delicacy or hopia specifically

flavored ube or munggo
in filipino tsonggo
is used to call

a chimpanzee
a gorilla or any primate
primacy of humans primary

however peculiar this may sound
for auxiliary purposes matsing is also
used to describe anyone with clever brain capacity

for sarcasm. also, it is a term to describe someone
who never stops spitting at passersby
though figuratively.

spit.

spit out.

this is another breakinto
breakthroughs
in the

field

filled with
words that rhyme
but never made sense.

or is(n't) it just you?

agh.


-end-

Alinlangan

Isaboy mo sa bumabalot na alinsangan
ang kalokohan na umiikot sa iyong pag-uutak
baka sakaling malimot din: alinlangan
dinaglat lamang ang aking nalalaman

May haharapin pagbangon sa higaan
mga bumabagabag sa aking kalooban ay tila bumangon rin
lumalaking siwang sa sahig ay takpan
bago pa bumangon at magulat sa babagsakan

Ako ay nahintakutan sa mga larawang inukit ng aking isipan
kasabay ng agam-agam na ang lahat; pawang kasinungalingan
kalahating-pag-iisip ko: kalahating katotohanan ba'y tatanggapin;
o bigla na lang iiwan?

At hayaan na lamang itong yakapin ng sapot ng limot
at tuluyang iligaw ang sarili sa tiyak na kawalan
subalit may suliranin sa alinlangan:
maging ang tiyak ay walang katiyakan.


-in progress-

Aug.26/02:35am, Month.Date/??:??/Zyrael Fortes/Jorge Badua

Fear, the unexpected missing act.

Dear God,

I envy Jorge because you gave him a call. A calling, if you prefer that. I know that in one way, you have given him a whisper or a kalabit to tell him how much you want him to write for you.

You did not call me. Jorge did.

In my desperate attempts to be creative, I have been looking at "life" in different perspectives, just as another worldly human being might do likewise. They say that it's one very thick book that you've written for me, I don't buy it. Books, more often than not, are boring.

You see, people try to play God. They want you to stoop down to their level and see you as someone who writes poems, sings songs, perform like you're in for some center-stage mockery. I like that idea. I see you as a playwright and I'm comfortable believing in that.

God, I have been a very, very, happy person lately. This drama that you've thrown me in, I'm enjoying it. I wonder how this scene would end, which characters will appear again, which will leave.



I see myself in movies, but you chose to put me on stage, I'm the actor who's in for mockery. I like that. The audience, they're noisy. The staff, they're nosy.

I thank you for very beautiful lines that make me stupid at times, but in a way or another, eventually make sense. I'm grateful for the stray cats and how they make my otherwise boring role a little more interesting. I thank you for a beautiful leading lady and how she becomes very, very interesting as well. Thanks for putting her ahead of me.

I like the musical score, though my leitmotif could be better. I envy other characters sometimes for that.

You see, you do not know everything. You just become too clever at times, saying that you know what's next when it's you who wrote this thing.

Please change the leitmotif when they're not looking.

Gift me with a new wardrobe, please. These haven't been washed for a long, long, time. It doesn't smell bad, but it doesn't smell good, either. These clothes make me sneeze.

Stop making me behave in the OC kind of way. It makes me blush with embarassment sometimes, though fine, this is my role. You're good at making people not complain.

Sometimes this whole thing makes me sick. But I love it. I like it when it feels just like the movies I see, the cheesy songs I sing, or just another performance that's meant to grab people's attention. I like being papansin. That's my role.

I like how my character grows in the same pace that I grow in, and how I'm always ahead of it. I just get carried away by its youthfullness, or sometimes he gets to excited of his actor's maturity.

I like how you've set up the stage. This mise-en-scene, it makes me look like I blend in the background, the colorful clouds and the rainbows. I feel like I'm stuck in a kindergarten drama and I'm loving it. (Maybe you can make me another kiddie costume just this once. One that would fit me, of course.)

Sometimes you give me props that I don't know what to do with. What the he-- heaven? can you please guide me sometimes? You see, I'm not very good at this, really.

The older actors, the veterans, my mentors, it hurts 'til now, you taking them away. I really miss them that it makes me cry.

I love how you've put me on the center. I love this whole soliloquy, this no one hears me thing. It makes waiting for someone to work with again worth the wait. However this scene ends I rejoice. However this whole thing ends I'm grateful.

Basta God, even though you know that I laugh at some people inside the church for being too cheesy with you, I believe in you, like Jorge, too.

An actor faithful to the role that you gave him,

Zyrael Genesis

Plea for Normalcy

I gasp for air as I ran after her into the end of this road
only to realize that there is none.

She paused and looked back and wiped the sweat
off her face and her neck
and she asked me if I can still keep up.

I can, I told her.

She ran, and she ran with many others,
I, behind a million other backs.

I cannot see anyone clearly behind me,
though I know that there are a few unfortunate others.

and I ran from them, too.

Make me run a little tad faster,
or slow down a bit for me.

Don't you ever get tired?
Don't you ever stop?
Don't you ever pause to see what's around?

Do you ever feel?
Do you ever love?

Do I [?]

Shrunk (I wanted to make this a little more reader-friendly, pero di kinaya e.)

A Little Oblivious of Saturdays (tula-tulaan)

I think I have forgotten a little about you.


I have forgotten what names we gave
the toys that we owned
when out of desperate idleness, we decided to.

Vaguely, though, I still can recall how it felt
when we did.

A short glance at these toys

make me wonder
if you have forgotten about me, too.

It doesn't matter, I suppose,
since it never really mattered
if you ever remembered me
at all.

I, remembering you,
while forgetting all the seemingly
important details
puts into question
the value of
names,
dates,
places.

My sweater that you wore
(It seemed very important before),
yes, you took a picture.
Where is it now?
(It was I who lost it.)

I remember the fun that we had
when I sang a song with you
and looked stupid
without giving a damn

..but when I tried to sing
that same song by myself,
it felt like I must have missed
a line or two.

From a page that we filled with words,
I stare at one mushy phrase
and wonder if it was I who wrote that,
or if it was you.

Who thought what?
Is this another case of a memory gap,
or a credible proof that
we don't need all this fuddle?

I tried to draw your face
and scratched my head in dismay
when I failed in an attempt
to accurately place a mole.



I think I have forgotten a little about you.