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Thursday, October 27, 2011

Illusion no. 4: The Birdman & the Dreamer

I flew! Can you see me roaming around the air?

 Moved my wings to and fro,
 Feeling the breeze of gentle wind around my feathers,
 A heaven indeed!
But as I have said
I flew
 But, is there someone out here seen me on my flight?

 Not a single soul said the old man.
I continue laughing. . .
And started to walk away with a madman’s smile
                                                This trip roams like tiny caterpillars
                Smokes fettering the lungs
                                                ‘Sublimation’
                Then I realize

I am not flying at all…


Thursday, October 20, 2011

Para kay Angel-O


Natagpuan na lang ang abang labi
Sa puntod ng iyong inang agnas
Nakapalupot sa iyong binti
ang tila palos na kasalanan,
 na sa kaluluwa mo’y tumutugnas!

Dala ng hiya, na wala ka naman talaga
Nananangis ka! Kinapos ka pa ng hininga
Sa paghingi ng tawad sa binging bangkay
Na sa ilalim ng lupa matagal ng nakahimlay

Akala mo ba a-ayon sa iyo ang simpatya?
Tanging mga tanga lamang ang magluluksa!
Dahil sa pag-amin mo anghel na walang butsi,
Pinagtatawanan ka ng masa hatol sa’yo guilty!

Bangong puri ba ang iyong ginawa?
Hindi, ngunit isang pag-aadya!
Sa mga tropa mong ayaw mong masangkot
Sa baho ng iyong putok, umaalingasaw—pagkabantot!

Kay sarap nga naming mamumunini
Sa pagod ng marami, sa pamilya mo itinabi
Para sa pagdating ng araw meron silang masayang wakas
Para sa balana, mga bulsa at pitakang butas!

Anghel ka nga ng nasa lupa
Pero gaano ka kasigurado na may paraiso?
Hindi-kamatayan ang magsasalba
Para sa katulad mong mapag-hangad at lilo!

Hinatulan mo ang iyong sarili,
di-porke namatay o nagpakamatay ay bayani
dahil sa gaya mong tiwali
kulang pa ang ikaw ay mabigti!

Nakakatawa ka anghel na may O
Ikaw ang huwaran ng mga duwag
At mga taong walang bayag
Kaya pag may sumunod sa ‘yong yapak, eto ang para sayo: is that SO?

P.S.
kung nasan ka man, dyan ka nalang...


Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Illusion no.3 Murdered Consciousness

                Over the threadlike swarming sunlight, a voice ignite; a wave of morning fright
                Chilling in the shoreline, wiggling sight makes the soul show his fearful dread
                A rusty iron barrel creaks, pointed in cranium covered slimy gelatin of consciousness
                Mark a jolly Sunday in a beach of joy, contradicting as it appear; a vast terror trouble!
                -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                Poignant memoirs reached the dawn of the stereo sounding threat           
                 As a beastly image of bruised and painful life in an afternoon delight
                A feast of comrades in the grave of nothingness, birds did no chirping
                Instead, a requiem of thousand crows starts the agonizing wailing.
                -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Requiescat in Pace! Trigger happy lunatic—a television star!
                Speaking with your own language will stupefy the meek
                A march of band of gypsies will devour media’s reign
                Rot in death! Bastard TV stars! As they will put you some reins!
                -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reality no. 2: The Wounds

Reap the outcome of the acts
As voice reverberates from the past
still it is a wound, a leprosy of life
that cannot be disregard
friends that host the supper
a lover who break the walls
of this tight lock heart
a kindle of the shallow start

evening bliss and the sorrowful luminescence
a still dying vein that neither carries
life into the living, eyes are just a ponderer
of the past that bewitched the enchanted moment
drape me now with a sarcastic love
time and space are not mine
this time, the wounds; bleed
as the eyes renewed its vision
wipe those blurry tears away

Reap the acts again!
there is no other time to regain
the spirit that can always hold the present
for the soul only speaks of the past
when that time and space were on his arms...

Monday, October 10, 2011

Illusion no.2: The Coming

At the threshold,
you are waiting for the sun to rise
to enlighten minds
of those who slumbered
through the day

Open the gates! break those rusty lock
wither those thorns and vines at the doorstep
the scenery revives the pungency of acts
to mold faces at your own image
and capture the light for your own purposes

we used to roam this world alone
the ancients told the sons
'father, who is the man your talking about?'
gazing through the stars while asking
'son he is the one who create every thing'
pondering on the sentence, why is he not around?

a dream reveals the man father said
he cometh with clarity on your volition
while you dreamt he sent a message to you
the old man spoke to the inquisitive child
for you are chosen by the god
still bewildered by the notion
the children walked with awe

serpentine wordings persuade the passive beings
but not the child who never knew the coming.

_________________________________________

to be continued...

Reality no. 1: The Monologue

                                

I laughed till the lungs I had collapse
A vessel of jest from a mouthful farce
I used to play this game alone
A monologue of an erected pole
Machismo image should not be forgotten…
As I say I must procure myself again
Carriage of a sleeping beast
Is the phantasm inside his pinkish sleeve?
Or the hem of the torn trousers besieges his hips?

The actress of the act is found!
 Preceded by a traverse in an ocean of lust
Of circumcised dreams that should be erased
From the most decadent side of the temple
Hides the punitive sanction of non-execution
Albeit the consequences does not matter
But its ache will always be remembered.

Traumatic balloons once rested as a guarantor
In the events of disposable hunger and thirst
Of ambivalent actions of excitement in
A fistful thrusting and a passionate grubbing
Aftershock appears after the spurt
Qualms and nausea fill the air
After the balloon’s been prick in excited snare
Alas where is the laughter of the deed?
Is it in the anxious eyes of the innocent kid?

A farce appears as a not to be mistaken scenario
Of a sarcastic laughter from an actor
Being drown to the saliva of that angry director
The beast overwhelms by his instincts
He is not afraid to be beaten—anyway I must laugh again
For crossing lines of being alone, kiss a memory of innocence
Goodbye—rest in peace in the corners of my mind.



Those were the days

I used to be a cool dude/naughty boy when i was in high-school, being scolded is not new for a kid like me. There are some instances that I am always referred as the bad boy of the school cause of my ideas and philosophical inclinations. Not to mention my antics that surely make a nerdy cry, cause there are times that I am bullying someone out of nothing. Because of this personality that I had, school rumbles and grudges are all around; teachers hate me too cause of my inquisitive questions about subjects regarding history, theology, literature and art classes. Those were the days. And as Christmas season is approaching, while I'm doing my daily routine in the comfort room, I remember this experience that suddenly shift my entire focus into reminiscing one of my most unforgettable moments in my High school life.
Being a cool guy somehow is a perk in a high school with so many rules and regulations that you must follow, and being an 'intellectual thug' way back then is somehow a status symbol in my school. I'm not bragging but I am one of those few who's playing in a band, an A student and a Bully. One time in my art and crafts subject, our teacher told us to create a lantern (parol) for the upcoming Christmas season as one of our midterm requirements. As A student, we must abide the teacher's rules in order to pass the subject. So my buddies and my classmates were as fast as lightning to bring their materials needed to make a parol, and as a cool dude, "nah i won't make that crap, its such a waste of time doing that shit, I'll just read a book instead!" that's my scenario. As my teacher noticed that I'm reading instead of making that crappy lantern, he grabbed my book instantly and even threatened me that he'll confiscate it. He ordered me to get out of the room and fix my materials and do the stuff. From shaving those bamboo sticks and tying the parts of it, I really feel the urge of not making it! So instead of assembling, I pretended that I'm doing the stuff when my teacher was doing his round. Days passed by and most of my classmates had their lanterns ready for submission, but me and my buddies doesn't have any. Back then, I don't want to have a flunk subject especially with a bullshit handicraft subject! So I've gathered my buddies and asked them if they are with me with this plan-- to steal those beautifully crafted lanterns around the church.

My buddies were actually nervous with my plan, and at exactly 8pm, were in the churchyard looking if someone is around. I know what your thinking, exactly! Were afraid to get caught and be humiliated in out town so were carefully planing each step. First, me and buddy 1 (to conceal his naughty identity) jumped at the wall beside the fountain wherein all sorts of lanterns were displayed. We carefully picked the lanterns that have resemblance with the ones were making in the school shop, so after choosing the right lanterns, we disappeared so quickly into the night.

We've passed the craft subject, and without any feeling of remorse, I am proud of my score - a prefect one! Thanks to that fucking lantern! But the next day, a shocking news tumbled upon our peaceful hearts when the parish priest announced that there were four lanterns missing! Shocks! me and my buddies were actually trembling and we actually don't know what to do. Friday came, and they announced the who were the lantern thieves, and exactly before mathematics (our first subject) starts, we were summoned in the guidance counselor room. That fucking scenario is humiliating, the teacher, nun sluts and that fucking bald priest with a stinky breath scolded us like there is no tomorrow! But as a fighter student, can't do anything but to stay calm and don't lose my spirit. The meeting ended up with conditions and at the degree of our "sin" they actually put us on probation, but luckily they didn't put anything bad on our records. Except for one fucking condition, the priest said "Mga hijo, hindi na namin kayo ie-expel o lalagyan ng bad records, for the spirit of Christmas. Sa isang kundisyon; kayo ang maglilinis ng buong simbahan sa loob ng iang linggo!" (boys we agreed not to expel and put everyone of you with bad records, for the spirit of Christmas. But you must follow our terms and conditions; you will clean the entire church for the whole week). That is fucking hell for me and my buddies! And after that meeting they actually blamed me for what happened, they didn't even talked to me when we were cleaning the church.

When the church caretaker told me to go to the church cellar, he asked me to wipe the dust on the wine bottles stored underground. So i Ran towards the cellar to finish the job, whe i opened that cellar door, WHOA! wines from Spain aged 76 and below were on the racks! And I asked my buddies to come over the cellar for that surprise that I had for them. I said to them that those wines are good and tastes great! Two of my buddies disagree to do what I'm thinking, TO DRINK THE WINE AND EAT THE HOST! Suddenly my closest buddy agreed and we started a party down the cellar. Oh yeah! those wines taste so very damn good! On the first two days, our two fellas were not doing the Happy Hours that we had, but on the third day, just like Christ, their spirits resurrected from being timid into naughty boys again! So all of us enjoyed the rest of the hell week they've given! Cause the wine cellar is huge, the space is unimaginable for a drunkard to see all of those wines, to be exact we've drank 30 bottles an 15 bags of host as the (pulutan) pica chips of our cellar party. We did that escapade from day two up to the last, five day feats ha ha! And to finish my reminiscing, there is a classic question hitherto unknown to the caretaker after noticing the bottles a month after, (bakit napakaraming bote ng mompo dito sa sa drum na ito?!) "why the hell there are so many wine bottles in this drum?" ha ha mister caretaker hope that you can read this, and it'll answer that question you posited seven years ago! 


                                         From Axle with love.... hahaha!

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Illusion no.1

flew away like a sea gull
eat the flesh of a rotting zebra you vulture
mind to carry messages little pigeon
hunt for a meal persistent eagle

dare to ask little man
just be yourself again
view the world like a Littl'un
and see things again under the sun.

images, portrait - corruption
paint, canvas - murder
knife, blood - life
kiss, love - death

corruption will always at your side
will affect everything within your sight
for it will become a part of your life
will murder thousands of innocent lives

a knife reminds me of your love
sharp razor edged and smooth cut
kiss that'll send blood
resurrection of dying love...

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Short thought over the status quo and its relation to Freud


Reading Herbert Marcuse created a big impact over my understanding about psychoanalysis, social theory and the prevalent condition society’s undergone. Throughout history, certain shifts happened overtime. The victory of capitalism/mercantilism over monarchy, to some extent created the distinction and mainly segregated the subjects who are capable to those who are not. What I mean to say is the capability over the weapon, the capital. To which everything depends on, it is the spirit of the market. And to this extent the views of mine depends on the question why all of this things happened? Especially inequality, I really dwell my intellect on the fact that resources are enough but the execution of division of this certain resources are not equated in the same manner. Same with the social psychoanalysis, those critics of society created. My criticism over the said notion lies on what Freud discussed on his totem and taboo. That there is a primal horde wherein it seeks for the control on the herd; it seeks to maintain its status as the prime! It is the characteristic that holds all throughout by the status quo/capitalists in order to maintain the control on all aspects of the society e.g. media, education etc. and for this fact that they are hoarding this control, inequality are apparent.
            On the other hand, to consider it as a social neurosis that exists only in the status quo, the remedy same as how Freud explain the Oedipus complex, the primal horde will soon to be overthrown by its sons. The sons are the masses, the ones who are controlled. The ones will create a destabilization in order to get rid of the tyrant. And as soon as the son’s revolt, the father will defend its throne for its survival. But the hard fact here to consider is there any ambivalence that will emerge from the sons after the uprising?

In Memory of My First Dance

In memory of my first dance 
We marched!
Kissed each other under the sun
Hugged, bewitched by the heat
Intoxicated with luscious eyes 
That reaped my pained elbow up to my wrist
 Crashed down in a harder manner
Thrust continuous as we roll over
Heat heightens its existence 
As drizzling sensation abduct my crippled knees

Prowess of Magi in terms of pleasure
Granted by my siren – hollowed out from Venus’ tomb!
Appraised by my bewildered notion
Of touching and licking
Crafty premonition of petal explosion
I possess the flower tearing beak of amputation
Sakura blossom in mid April, as she expresses what she feels
I ripped! Those pinkish petals of innocence!

And as I performed again the dance of spear
Her tongue is a bit twisted 
As I chained again an another rampage
A song from a siren that is obscure
Bleating in temperament pitch – again with innocence
Explained what she felt in that pseudo-violence.
A cheerful horror – paradoxically certain!
As she succumb to a sailor with a sharp beak
And a husky voice capable of sending her in organic bliss. 
This is not, a theory of decadence
As we performed the sacred choreography
And will stay in the rest of our memory
That picture of rupture, with intense pierce
Connotes a certain melody. . .
A singing symphony in an unfamiliar tune!
Axle and Tina <3

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