bae pipol… mao ni ang link sa blog nako…

•January 2, 2008 • Leave a Comment


an epiphany on christmas night… [prayer]

•December 24, 2007 • 2 Comments

You’re 2040 years older, Christ. And in that span of time, where did Humanity go wrong? When did your birthday become one massive party for capitalists?

This season is not about parties; it’s not about buying new things to own; it’s not about receiving stuff; it’s not even about giving. It’s about you and your birthday. It’s about celebrating your day. And what do we do in such an event? We can give nothing that you don’t already have. Unless, of course, the celestial gift of REALIZATION. To realize – no, to be, even once a year, be grateful of the things you have given ALL of us: the gift of life, the gift of friends and family, the gift of talents.

We have been accustomed to the practice of wishing for something when our birthdays come. Therefore, you should have a wish, right? But, you’re the prince, and by the IDEALS we have on running a state, it should be you who listens to the wishes of your people. And that being said, I wish that each and everyone of us, from the starving children of Africa to the ones believing that Christmas is only a holiday of gifts, would realize how blessed we are. For the gift of life, the gift of friends and family, the gift of talents. Call it “best wishes FOR you”.

Happy birthday, Christ…

green field, blue sky, clear river, a breeze…

•December 10, 2007 • 15 Comments

I am the wind blow-

-ing softly, in the meadows

of your memory.

invisible, taking my white dress off…

•December 9, 2007 • 6 Comments

I jump out your lips,

and sway with the wind, for I

left a mark in you.

illumination and all the other mysteries?

•November 28, 2007 • 4 Comments


i call upon the horned one, baphomet
speak to me of riddles of this divine heart
of how thine milk raised the great god zeus
and how his men fought to tear you apart

in darkness’ embrace, in lakes of bitter enchantment
is this mine genesis to the shadow lands enticement?

i invoke thine arrows, bitter cupid
did their tips intoxicate this heart
did they leave this stench so putrid
did they see that we were to part

inside this life’s madness, inside this rotting heart
where is my goddess, pleasuring thineself, worlds apart

gods, lend me the tongue you raped from me
and give me back the reason for my sins
her beguiling stare, alone seduces me
hear me scream the name of my celestine!!!

in a bloodbathe coffin tub, i lie staring blankly
at cobwebs of yesterday, sewn by spiders aplenty

my veins cry out their crimson tears
and medusa knows what stoned hearts hold
my celene, you brought back my fears
and these songs i sing til i grow old

baby girl, are you still awake?
the stakes are burning for the seasoned witch
baby girl, you know im awake
watching and praying for another easy b*tch

the notes from a long forgotten piece
resound in every drop of tear
to the mediteranean seas
the voice of celene i hear

curse this world and its divine comedy
of rippling inertia, my skin to her vulva
the rose blooms blackened in this tragedy
of heaving together the angel’s aroma

the night grew wild with revelation
tauren gods m*sturbating the zodiac
planets aligned and blocked constellations
pisces dances ontop of a silver-back

roses were lain, thier fragrace filled thine room
aphrodite, salivating at the sound of our moans
drowning pleasure, sinking in her bosom
for mine satyric desires, and thine nymphet groans

did the fates know that those be our requiem
the end of a midsummers fantasy
my heaving left you c*mming to the heavens
and so ends our filthy story…

<————end “poem”————>

This is the result of listening to too much Cradle of Filth while still being bitter from one hell of a break-up.

Upon making this poem, I had two things in mind: lust and murderous intent. I wanted to let the whole world know how hurt I was, so to speak. I wanted everyone to know how much I “loved” her. [notice the quotation marks] I wanted to let every single person reading that realize that she’s a whore-type-human. Thing is, what drove me to such emotions was the band Cradle of Filth.

At that moment, I had been playing their songs 16 hours a day for weeks. I admit, I fell in love with the way the lyricist wrote. He had lots of images and all sorts of allusions, most of which are derived from dark mythical creatures. [beautiful creatures, indeed] I WANTED TO WRITE LIKE HIM.

And that’s how this “thing” came out. Just senseless typological acrobatics that lived on measure and rhyme. Basically, it’s a whole damn BLANKET filled with purple patches.

I merely faced the empty notepad on the computer monitor and typed what I wanted to: Imagining the said beautiful creatures and me bleeding [emo] amidst them. I just typed whatever it was that came to my mind, checked whether they fit the rhythm and searched for words that would rhyme and make sense. Though, I admit, some are just too far-flung.

And, after finishing the last line, or rather when I got tired of typing, I published [blog] it and left it in the open.

Don’t get me wrong, I DID reread it. I was just so full of myself that I didn’t bother editing it. I was too busy admiring my work of “art”.

Yeah, so now I’m like: What the fuck is this?

But, in fairness, some lines still do have an effect on me. Although, not as intense as when I typed them. Yeah, so they’re still FAILURE lines.

But, now that I found this, I’m gonna think about this poem every time I take a crap – that’s when my mind is busy thinking of stuff. And when I’d get an idea, I’d write it in a notebook. I’d leave it there until I get that clear picture of my goal and then I’d start writing again. So, yeah, check this blog often, maybe I’d post a revision of this soon.

OK, I’ll restate that: Maybe I’d post a POEM version of this soon.

Whoa, the incubation, illumination, sorrowation, gloriation, tiontion things DO EXIST! I’M FEELING MORE LIKE A WRITER NOW!!! I’M A WRITER!!! You’re pretty, I’m a writer, LOVE ME!!!

Should anyone care to ask who this girl is, well, you prolly don’t know her. She was my girlfriend back then. Oh, and <censored>, if you’re reading this, this was just a phase and, thankfully, it has already passed. We’re friends now. Thank you for reading, I love you.


None of those erotic shit happened, I’m just a sick per-fucking-vert. [char, INFLECTION!]


•November 23, 2007 • Leave a Comment

the city of flowers, eyes of the loam

describe shelter: piece of crap
>weak roof, could be blown off anytime
>cardboard walls, easy to put apart when gov’t wants them out
malnourished child reading book
>lamp source of light
>skips parts with words s/he doesnt understand
>books saved by father from fire, father loved books
>father died trying to save more things, leaving behind: 2 children + wife
>mother died giving birth to a still born
whistles from outside
>sister is back, she shouts at the perverts
child comes out with a stick
>drunkards earn enough to get drunk
>they push him/her, throws a pail of water
>dirty water dripping from body of the child
>”useless aral, you should work, inutil!”
sister helps him/her, shouts at men
>no one bothers to help a “dirty” woman
sister prepares food she bought
>she coughs, months na ang ubo
>angry, “dont turn on lamp unless kailangan, mahal gas”
sister leaves
>not touching the child for fear of infection
>”matulog ka na, tagal pa ako balik”
>puts off the lamp
malnourished child turns on the lamp
>reads book again



“The Moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait
soft winds whisper the bidding of trees
as this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart
and the Midnightmare trampling of dreams
But no, no tears please
Fear and pain may accompany Death
But it is desire that shepherds it’s certainty
as We shall see…”

She was divinity’s creature
That kissed in cold mirrors
A Queen of Snow
Far beyond compare
Lips attuned to symmetry
Sought Her everywhere
Dark liqoured eyes
An Arabian nightmare…

She shone on watercolours
Of my pondlife as pearl
Until those who couldn’t have Her
Cut Her free of this World

That fateful Eve when…
The trees stank of sunset and camphor
Their lanterns chased phantoms and threw
An inquisitive glance, like the shadows they cast
On my love picking rue by the light of the moon

Putting reason to flight
Or to death as their way
They crept through woods mesmerized
By the taffeta Ley
Of Her hips that held sway
Over all they surveyed
Save a mist on the rise
(A deadly blessing to hide)
Her ghost in the fog

They raped and left…
(Five men of God)
…Her ghost in the fog

Dawn discovered Her there
Beneath the Cedar’s stare
Silk dress torn, Her raven hair
Flown to gown Her beauty bared
Was starred with frost, I knew Her lost
I wept ’til tears crept back to prayer

She’d sworn Me vows in fragrant blood
“Never to part
Lest jealous Heaven stole our hearts”

Then this I screamed:
“Come back to Me for
I was born in love with thee
So why should fate stand inbetween?”

And as I drowned Her gentle curves
With dreams unsaid and final words
I espied a gleam trodden to earth
The Church bell tower key…

The village mourned her by the by
For She’d been a witch
their Men had longed to try
And I broke under Christ seeking guilty signs
My tortured soul on ice

A Queen of snow
Far beyond compare
Lips attuned to symmetry
Sought Her everywhere
Trappistine eyes
An Arabian nightmare…

She was Certainly Perfused
Of her milky white skin
My porcelain Yin
A graceful Angel of Sin

And so for Her…
The breeze stank of sunset and camphor
My lantern chased Her phantom and blew
Their Chapel ablaze and all locked in to a pain
Best reserved for judgement that their bible construed…

Putting reason to flight
Or to flame unashamed
I swept form cries
By the taffeta Ley
Or Her hips that held sway
Over all those at bay
Save a mist on the rise
A final blessing to hide
Her ghost in the fog

And I embraced
Where lovers rot…
Her ghost in the fog

Her ghost in the fog

a dog

•November 12, 2007 • Leave a Comment

and forgets
about bones