Here now at mudra’s. Will sleep over here to wake up at 2 a.m. to meet another deadline. And my utol took pity enough to pause from his punk songs and electric guitar-playing to allow me to watch this:
(Barbie Almalbis, from Music From The Buffet Table)
Would you be interested in dancing with me?
And maybe tell me all your dreams
Talk to me like you would in your sleep
Don’t censor anything
Cause I wanna hear everything
There’s no innocence left to spoil
You can swear she’s not a little boy
We’ll fly tonight so far away
Where they will never find us
Use your wings and I will run fast
Cause that’s what I do when i’m not afraid
We’ve got it made up in our heads
We don’t have to wait for anyone or anything
Go anywhere we desire
So close your eyes become blind
From the world listen instead to the girl
She’ll tell you why she chose to fly
And you’re left behind
Just like me alone and free
We can smile when we’ve filled the void
And treated the burn
But until then I believe
We’re gonna have to learn
To discard any disguise we’re using
Yes it’s so hard and it’s never amusing
Good old nineties. Good thing I saw it. And good for Barbie for being a mom already.
“Matagal na,” my brother just said. I may have been the last to know then.
My brother agrees that it’s a marvelous song. Did I spell marvelous right?
“Tama,” my mother just said.
Time to rest the weary head.
Separation anxiety? Maybe.
My name actually means ‘white wave’ in Celtic. And ‘Balboa’ was the guy who discovered the Pacific.
I want more of the sea. Maybe I could even live near it.
More white sand, coral-lined, pristine beaches. And I don’t care about not knowing how to swim. I have had enough of Sampaloc floods, anyway.
Not that I despise the floods – though there really is nothing to love about them. I only mean I have more than enough training, in wading.
I was with friends and the Poet Of The Year last night. When left alone with the Poet Of The Year, the talk swayed to the inevitable topic of my poems that lack. I tried to defend the poems, saying, “but I write better now, really”, or something like that. I even cited my lone poem that appears in this blog as a testament to the creative transition. No can do. The Poet Of The Year finds it “chaka”, like all my old stuff from the troubled days.
What I like most about the Poet Of The Year is his frankness. And I respect him too. So I revisited and re-worked the poem a few hours ago. If this be “chaka” still, well, I guess my friend would just have to stomach it. At least for the meantime. Until I find it disgraceful again to give it another sit-down:
I am a bride
who waited for you
from the moment I was wrought in the womb
of another who waited too.
I guess you can say I am not virtuous, refusing to
just wait. I had to do
Does that, then, make this
no more than an excuse?
A faulty proof?
This is mine.
This is a record
You might have caught me here
just swinging my legs, or whistling –
just so you know,
this is a work in progress.
And the song
could be the mood light overhead –
present all along but unseen until
I lie down. For you, I could make it out as
a dedication. And I can make more
until my womb aches of
Here is the link to the previous version:
There you go.
(edited last three lines, again, today – June 8… this is never gonna end, I guess. Maybe this will be my Leaves of Grass. :D)
May I just sing tonight? My heart is just too overwhelmed right now I am afraid it will not be able to make sense right away of the things it has beheld during the last five days and four nights.
Maiden flight. The fact is supposed to be a secret. But how could not my giddiness give me away? I have to let my companions know. They were amazingly understanding. The engineer even said something like he would give me the window seat, just in case, and recalled how he and some friends kissed the plane mat (?) during their own first. Good thing I did not have to trouble him, because my ticket said “A”. Front row show.
I saw blue above and blue below. I saw dew drops racing leftwards on the window pane, looking like, well, an armada of male seeds, ehehehe. I saw geometric patches on both land and water, and marvelled at how artful fishermen and farmers can be. I saw where the sun hides when rain clouds shroud the cities. I saw possibilities.
And I felt the faith in me of those who I love. I felt His faith in me. What else could have brought me up there, if not Him, working His love for me through people?
Alright. Now I have to tighten the heart’s leash a little bit yet again, be professional and savvy and focused, at least in the meantime. There will be more time later for gushings by the devirginized.