i am only half nuts
When I got my pay the other day, or rather, the news that we already have pay, I found myself on a jeepney headed to Harrison Plaza to do the groceries. Knowing the impulsive buyer I really am I visited a few other stores, aside from Shopwise – the only place I initially promised myself to go to. I went to SM Department Store to obtain a can of hairspray (much to my – and everyone’s surprise – it is actually more consuming to maintain a short do. My theory proves true that beauty is innate but it is the upkeep that’s uber expensive). Then of course I went to National Bookstore (Ang Bookstore ng Bayan – or is that a slogan for a different store?!) I was scouring the shelves (or what seemed like the corners of the universe) for a copy of Zafra’s latest book. I am not sure why it took me a while, maybe there is something wrong with my vision, or maybe the brightly colored book covers dealing with self-help and healing got in the way of things. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon this black little book Zafra named Twisted 8 ½.
It has been two years since she last published a collection of her articles so finding something like 8 ½ can pretty much be compared to seeing a jewel in a septic tank.
So this morning, I resolved to read the book even before I cover it with plastic. I started with my ritual. I made a cup of coffee, took the cup to my bedroom, looked at the book. I have never felt this happy in a long while. Then I opened the book, placed my bookplate on the upper right hand corner of the first page just so that it’s clear – that it belongs to me. Eheheh.
I smelled the pages РI have this penchant for smelling paper Рmagazines, newspapers, books most specially. My favorite hangout growing up was the National Library in Kalaw, Manila. My best friend Monette could attest to that. We spent countless hours working on our science project or just musing on our naivet̩ when it came to love. I am drawn to the scent of antiquity, to the scent of learning, to the scent of dust (if there is such a thing eheh). My room is beginning to smell like a library, as a matter of fact. I have more books than clothes.
It has been two years since she last published a collection of her articles so finding something like 8 ½ can pretty much be compared to seeing a jewel in a septic tank.
So this morning, I resolved to read the book even before I cover it with plastic. I started with my ritual. I made a cup of coffee, took the cup to my bedroom, looked at the book. I have never felt this happy in a long while. Then I opened the book, placed my bookplate on the upper right hand corner of the first page just so that it’s clear – that it belongs to me. Eheheh.
I smelled the pages РI have this penchant for smelling paper Рmagazines, newspapers, books most specially. My favorite hangout growing up was the National Library in Kalaw, Manila. My best friend Monette could attest to that. We spent countless hours working on our science project or just musing on our naivet̩ when it came to love. I am drawn to the scent of antiquity, to the scent of learning, to the scent of dust (if there is such a thing eheh). My room is beginning to smell like a library, as a matter of fact. I have more books than clothes.
a stack of zafra books sitting on my study table.
When I started to read, I made sure that I have proper lighting. I want to comprehend everything I’d read and though I have 20-20 vision and I can read with the lights dim, I truly want to enjoy Zafra’s new book. The book is nothing short of surprising – the author’s impeccable humor is there, her wit and intelligence all over, the occasional bashing is there too – all of which have become her trademark.
I was on the edge of my mom’s bed, where the natural light falls delicately on the text that I am reading, it is also a spot that would prevent my neighbors from seeing me looking like I just got out of the bed (which is the case). After 50 or so pages, I had to stop reading, momentarily. I had to empty my bladder. My body was screaming ‘water!!!’ so I had to listen to it and rush to the loo.
Jessica ranted about how technology, machines, advancements has taken our species hostage, how it is almost impossible to do anything now without the aid of a computer, a cellphone, or the world wide web. I could not agree more. I am blogging using my phone, which I named Baroness Lucia. Yes, I am identifying my phone as a female and she’s rich. Well, not all those who are born to or have acquired royalty are rich…maybe that’s a good subject for my next blog.
The book is composed of 30 (or less) articles and I’ve enjoyed all one hundred something pages of it. I grew up reading Zafra – Jessica, if you’ll ever read this post, know that it is not my intention to make it sound like you are way older than the rest of us. If you’ll ask me, you’re a cougar and there is no need to spark an argument about why I think you are. I will be happy to be your serf and make coffee for you. I first read her book ‘Mananaggal…’ when I was in high school. The copy wasn’t mine, but from then on vowed to secure a copy of all the books she ever published. With the addition of Twisted 8 1/2, all her 16 books now occupy a part of my shelf. Nice.
twisted eight and a half
I encountered her twice – once, at a book fair in Instituto Cervantes where she signed all 3 copies of ‘Womenagerie’ I bought for myself, Nosh and Jerlen. The second encounter was more fleeting – Nosh and I were strolling in Greenbelt 1 and were actually in the midst of an argument when a wormhole cracked open and lodged Jessica in front of me. No, that wasn’t what really happened but the experience felt like that. She walked past me and I was in catatonic shock right after. Nosh and I forgot that we were fighting and spent the next 15 minutes celebrating the fact that we were breathing the same air with Jessica for a nanosecond.
Jessica is the kind of writer who makes me want to aspire for greater, bigger things – publish a book, write prose, live on writing or at least do something I am passionate about for the rest of my life and…pet cats. The last detail cannot be done without a biohazard suit, so until I get one, it probably won’t happen.
faithful
a hymn to the faithful ~
as you tread the path bruising your feet and
scarring your wings, the mystery unfolds while
the daunting dissonance disappears in your flight
into the air, shaken and shackled by your suffering,
warily finding your way through the brambles and brush
the unforeseen and unchanging muse that blossom
within you condemned to the agelessness of
time, this soul caught in the web of your fleeting, agile,
yellow shadow ~ naked, undisguised, unguarded
your hands execute a revolution of galaxies
famished for no reason, my words halted by the delicate
moonglow adoring what used to be mine,
far and low in the twilight, descending into your architecture.
as you tread the path bruising your feet and
scarring your wings, the mystery unfolds while
the daunting dissonance disappears in your flight
into the air, shaken and shackled by your suffering,
warily finding your way through the brambles and brush
the unforeseen and unchanging muse that blossom
within you condemned to the agelessness of
time, this soul caught in the web of your fleeting, agile,
yellow shadow ~ naked, undisguised, unguarded
your hands execute a revolution of galaxies
famished for no reason, my words halted by the delicate
moonglow adoring what used to be mine,
far and low in the twilight, descending into your architecture.
love
awakened by your voice, your touch that resemble
water, this song uttered in lonesomeness, sighed
when all is silent and the echo of your heart beat
battles the unraveling, seductive fire
that belongs to your light, enclosing the sudden and
fragile glance that bends frail reveries,
solemn nights crashing with thoughts of you
chasing the lost, languishing, leaning
scent of this burning under stones and secrets
parting the withering, infallible trace of white
my parched, starved memory keeps
to breathe you in each time i surrender to the clasping grace
of a moonlit banquet ~ your lips, your face, your hands
my body rests in fragments wanting all of you.
water, this song uttered in lonesomeness, sighed
when all is silent and the echo of your heart beat
battles the unraveling, seductive fire
that belongs to your light, enclosing the sudden and
fragile glance that bends frail reveries,
solemn nights crashing with thoughts of you
chasing the lost, languishing, leaning
scent of this burning under stones and secrets
parting the withering, infallible trace of white
my parched, starved memory keeps
to breathe you in each time i surrender to the clasping grace
of a moonlit banquet ~ your lips, your face, your hands
my body rests in fragments wanting all of you.
the heart seeks
often the heart seeks what it cannot fathom,
lamenting over the flesh
it can neither touch nor taste,
reaching for the luminous
color so soon forgotten,
trembling in the memory
of never questioning why
our galaxies collide
or why
my satellite oscillates
around your planet
gathering a new meaning
for a love that travels
faster than the speed of light.
lamenting over the flesh
it can neither touch nor taste,
reaching for the luminous
color so soon forgotten,
trembling in the memory
of never questioning why
our galaxies collide
or why
my satellite oscillates
around your planet
gathering a new meaning
for a love that travels
faster than the speed of light.
defining exactly this
tortured by the
unforgiving language
of your abstruse
ache heaping the
minute, miserable
moments
defining exactly
this
beguiled by the
spectacle of windows
raging above
doors and seasons
that lead to drought
and the denial of
a hunger
too strong to contain
crashing against
the blue light of
your famished
clouds.
for calliope
unforgiving language
of your abstruse
ache heaping the
minute, miserable
moments
defining exactly
this
beguiled by the
spectacle of windows
raging above
doors and seasons
that lead to drought
and the denial of
a hunger
too strong to contain
crashing against
the blue light of
your famished
clouds.
for calliope
feast
poignant, incisive, penetrating
bitter, wounding, stimulating
all mean the same thing,
the acrid, sour, acidic
grin on your poker face
on your blazing, oscillating
ignorance,
an atmosphere of tastelessness
a feast of tragedy
a slave with no
place, a moon with
no dreams, a sonnet
with no understanding,
an elegy with
no future.
bitter, wounding, stimulating
all mean the same thing,
the acrid, sour, acidic
grin on your poker face
on your blazing, oscillating
ignorance,
an atmosphere of tastelessness
a feast of tragedy
a slave with no
place, a moon with
no dreams, a sonnet
with no understanding,
an elegy with
no future.
beckoned
by the ceaseless, irrepressible
want for you to be
closer to me than
you were before
the clouds shift and
move to cover
your lonesome, captivating
sweetness
struck by your revenge,
and arrested by your
ardent, burning eyes
i am left with the thought,
the strand, the piece
of reverie that describes
you taking me
this time.
for calliope
want for you to be
closer to me than
you were before
the clouds shift and
move to cover
your lonesome, captivating
sweetness
struck by your revenge,
and arrested by your
ardent, burning eyes
i am left with the thought,
the strand, the piece
of reverie that describes
you taking me
this time.
for calliope
exhale
escaping the certainty
of this fall, this
descent, this one particular
moment -
to look, feel, aspire
and desire
your awkward, beautiful
simplicity, the manner
in which your hands
reach for the cigarette
and your lips breathe
the smoke out -
to be ravaged by your
words and linger in
this certain fall, descent,
plunge and exhale.
of this fall, this
descent, this one particular
moment -
to look, feel, aspire
and desire
your awkward, beautiful
simplicity, the manner
in which your hands
reach for the cigarette
and your lips breathe
the smoke out -
to be ravaged by your
words and linger in
this certain fall, descent,
plunge and exhale.
scintilla
a ravenous, listless,
motionless desire
seeps and eats me
alive
the distance sustain
my longing
and the air between
us leeps me
wondering
of the nights i
could finally
hold your face
and touch your
cheeks
allowing for the
scintilla of chance
to take me and
enfold me
one more time,
tasting the sinless
bliss on your
lips.
motionless desire
seeps and eats me
alive
the distance sustain
my longing
and the air between
us leeps me
wondering
of the nights i
could finally
hold your face
and touch your
cheeks
allowing for the
scintilla of chance
to take me and
enfold me
one more time,
tasting the sinless
bliss on your
lips.
signs
absence
blank
spaces
rift
void
elegy
tears
pain
forgiveness
strength
sunlight
peace
blackness
absence.
blank
spaces
rift
void
elegy
tears
pain
forgiveness
strength
sunlight
peace
blackness
absence.
me
spiraling,
spinning,
staggering,
splitting
atoms and
fibers and
seconds and
moments
saving,
resurrecting,
reviving -
the waning,
dying,
falling,
disappearing
me.
spinning,
staggering,
splitting
atoms and
fibers and
seconds and
moments
saving,
resurrecting,
reviving -
the waning,
dying,
falling,
disappearing
me.
alphabet of eroticism
in the light of my thirteen-year friendship with monette, i would like to share this with all of you. i remember us meeting in starbucks in araneta coliseum one fateful day (which was march 26th 2006) to plan for the next tattoo we both will be getting (and that was the psalm 91 tatt). i am unsure if it was the caffeine or the excitement or the lack of sleep, for that matter, that paved way to this...whatever the reason was, we sure did enjoy being in each other's company that day, as we always have, until now.
A - afterglow
B - barenaked, bump
C - cramps, carnal
D - debauchery
E - erotic, exotic
F - fingers, fluids
G - g-spot
H - haywire, hump
I - intimacy
J - jackhammer
K - kama sutra, kinky, kiss
L - lust, lesbians, lingerie
M - marquis de sade, missionary, meat
N - nymphomania
O - orgasm
P - pleasure
Q - quivers
R - ravaging
S - seduction
T - temptation, touch
U - unveil, undress, uncover
V - vagina monologues
W - whisper
X - xerex (?)
Y - yearning
Z - zeal
this post isn't for the faint of heart or for those under 18. skip this post if you are underaged. ahaha.
A - afterglow
B - barenaked, bump
C - cramps, carnal
D - debauchery
E - erotic, exotic
F - fingers, fluids
G - g-spot
H - haywire, hump
I - intimacy
J - jackhammer
K - kama sutra, kinky, kiss
L - lust, lesbians, lingerie
M - marquis de sade, missionary, meat
N - nymphomania
O - orgasm
P - pleasure
Q - quivers
R - ravaging
S - seduction
T - temptation, touch
U - unveil, undress, uncover
V - vagina monologues
W - whisper
X - xerex (?)
Y - yearning
Z - zeal
this post isn't for the faint of heart or for those under 18. skip this post if you are underaged. ahaha.
after
more than a song or a sonnet, more than
a thought or a feeling, your silhouette
devours the calm, impenetrable delight of
this soul, seeking clandestinely shards of
days you intend to give with your hands
shedding the night once forlorn with
envy and loss, you face the sky and the rain
is suddenly haunted by a cadenza
formed by your obscured breath and sigh
this poet left with an elegy that
forbids other languages, the senselessness
of sleep in your wake arouse and amuse
my senses filled with the awkward,
unexpected pandemonium that comes
after loving you.
for calliope
a thought or a feeling, your silhouette
devours the calm, impenetrable delight of
this soul, seeking clandestinely shards of
days you intend to give with your hands
shedding the night once forlorn with
envy and loss, you face the sky and the rain
is suddenly haunted by a cadenza
formed by your obscured breath and sigh
this poet left with an elegy that
forbids other languages, the senselessness
of sleep in your wake arouse and amuse
my senses filled with the awkward,
unexpected pandemonium that comes
after loving you.
for calliope
question and answer portion
for those who really, truly know me...they know how much i love q and a's. i saw this list from a book called 'inspirability' by pash a couple of weeks ago at national bookstore in harrison plaza.
here's my take on it:
NAME: teresa salvador
HOMETOWN: pasay city, philippines
TURN ONS: intelligence and humor
TURN OFFS: body odor and insecurity
FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD: my imagination
FAVORITE TOY NOW: my cellphone
LANGUAGES YOU SPEAK: filipino and
english
3 OF YOUR FAVORITE MOVIES: good will hunting, the silence of the lambs and malena
3 OF YOUR FAVORITE BOOKS: the alchemist by paulo coelho; cien sonetos de amor by pablo neruda; the catcher in the rye by j.d. salinger
IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE: mind reading
IF YOU'RE NOT IN THIS BUSINESS, WHAT WOULD YOU BE DOING: i'd be either a writer or a shrink
MOST INSPIRED STATEMENT, HEARD OR SAID: 'i shut my eyes in order to see' - paul gaugain
here's my take on it:
NAME: teresa salvador
HOMETOWN: pasay city, philippines
TURN ONS: intelligence and humor
TURN OFFS: body odor and insecurity
FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD: my imagination
FAVORITE TOY NOW: my cellphone
LANGUAGES YOU SPEAK: filipino and
english
3 OF YOUR FAVORITE MOVIES: good will hunting, the silence of the lambs and malena
3 OF YOUR FAVORITE BOOKS: the alchemist by paulo coelho; cien sonetos de amor by pablo neruda; the catcher in the rye by j.d. salinger
IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE: mind reading
IF YOU'RE NOT IN THIS BUSINESS, WHAT WOULD YOU BE DOING: i'd be either a writer or a shrink
MOST INSPIRED STATEMENT, HEARD OR SAID: 'i shut my eyes in order to see' - paul gaugain
the joy of pain
last tuesday, december 8th, i finally saw my best friend since time immemorial - monette. nosh and i were supposed to meet her around 8am but my sleeping habits got in the way - i woke up inexcusably late. so we ended up having brunch instead of a decent breakfast. the funny thing about setting up a meet in starbucks paseo de roxas is that there are three starbucks branches in that stretch alone. so you can just guess the confusion and what ended up being a 15-minute wild goose chase.
after brunch, we hailed a cab and went straight to recto, manila. i don't even remember the last time i was in that place. not much has changed - there's still a lot of people, the pollution worsened (i think) and national bookstore in avenida is still alive! i like going to that place because you can really find a lot of good books there - which, for some reason, makes me think not a lot of people in that area likes to read.
anyway, the very reason we went there is because nosh and i have been itching to get a mandala etched on our back. it has been two years since nosh last had a tattoo and almost six months for me. and i tell you, nothing excites me more than the idea of paying someone to inflict pain on me (i don't care if that particular statement did not come out right. you are all free to take it any which way you want to ahaha).
we met ding fernandez, tattoo artist extraordinaire. he was highly recommended by monette (and has done three of her five tattoos) so i figured this is the best time to try the merchandise (the merchandise being kuya ding ahaha). the studio's squeaky clean. as someone who digs the art of tattooing, the very first thing i check is just how clean the place is. nothing to worry in that department, he's a member of philtag and has won numerous awards in various competitions including the most recent dutdutan festival.
before i sat down to get my tattoo, i had to kill the nerves and went down for a quick smoke - which translates to a cup of coke and three cigarettes. it is an odd and funny thing, to still feel the jitters each and everytime i get inked. i am not sure what that means.
when we went up, he has already prepared the machine and in five minutes time we started the session. the first sixty seconds is always tough. my phone wasn't cooperating with me so i really couldn't listen to my music using my earphones. kuya ding, monette and nosh had to endure listening to the carpenter's 'merry christmas darling' five or six times. after a few minutes, i couldn't feel anything on the right side of my body anymore and wasn't distracted by the humming of the tattoo machine. it meant one thing - i was free. free from nervousness, free from the daunting sound emanating from that machine, free from pain. i suddenly remembered a friend of mine asking me a few weeks back: 'why do you look forward to pain?' my only retort was: 'because it is real.'
my session lasted about an hour and ten or fifteen minutes while nosh' tattoo was done in a mere fourty-five. and that i think is totally unfair. ahaha. but the thing is, once you have started getting the tattoo, no matter how queasy or painful it gets, you don't want to be asking the artist to stop...because that would mean you'll just be prolonging your agony. so more than anything, if you are planning to get inked, the one thing you should have a lot of is courage, or strength of will. because once you are there, there is no going back.
for some twisted, weird reason i always feel 'different' - emerging from the whole ordeal. somehow i feel empowered and i feel like nothing can break me. nosh said i looked like i will break the jaw of the next person who'd mess with me - now that i have tattoos on both my shoulderblades.
aside from the sporadic lashing kuya ding got from me (i think i yelled 'that's my shoulderblade' more than twice at the onset of our session), i feel really happy about the outcome. when you get inked, you somehow surrender a huge part of you to the one who will brand you - there has to be trust, and that factor of the relationship cannot be breached.
kuya ding did a really nice job and though my wound hasn't fully healed, i am already thinking of this backpiece that i would like for him to do. on the other hand, before we left the shop, he quipped that it'd be nice if i'll get a sleeve.
hmmm...let's see about that.
*i will try to post the pictures we took of that day on my blog, if i don't succeed, you can always view them on my facebook.
after brunch, we hailed a cab and went straight to recto, manila. i don't even remember the last time i was in that place. not much has changed - there's still a lot of people, the pollution worsened (i think) and national bookstore in avenida is still alive! i like going to that place because you can really find a lot of good books there - which, for some reason, makes me think not a lot of people in that area likes to read.
anyway, the very reason we went there is because nosh and i have been itching to get a mandala etched on our back. it has been two years since nosh last had a tattoo and almost six months for me. and i tell you, nothing excites me more than the idea of paying someone to inflict pain on me (i don't care if that particular statement did not come out right. you are all free to take it any which way you want to ahaha).
we met ding fernandez, tattoo artist extraordinaire. he was highly recommended by monette (and has done three of her five tattoos) so i figured this is the best time to try the merchandise (the merchandise being kuya ding ahaha). the studio's squeaky clean. as someone who digs the art of tattooing, the very first thing i check is just how clean the place is. nothing to worry in that department, he's a member of philtag and has won numerous awards in various competitions including the most recent dutdutan festival.
before i sat down to get my tattoo, i had to kill the nerves and went down for a quick smoke - which translates to a cup of coke and three cigarettes. it is an odd and funny thing, to still feel the jitters each and everytime i get inked. i am not sure what that means.
when we went up, he has already prepared the machine and in five minutes time we started the session. the first sixty seconds is always tough. my phone wasn't cooperating with me so i really couldn't listen to my music using my earphones. kuya ding, monette and nosh had to endure listening to the carpenter's 'merry christmas darling' five or six times. after a few minutes, i couldn't feel anything on the right side of my body anymore and wasn't distracted by the humming of the tattoo machine. it meant one thing - i was free. free from nervousness, free from the daunting sound emanating from that machine, free from pain. i suddenly remembered a friend of mine asking me a few weeks back: 'why do you look forward to pain?' my only retort was: 'because it is real.'
my session lasted about an hour and ten or fifteen minutes while nosh' tattoo was done in a mere fourty-five. and that i think is totally unfair. ahaha. but the thing is, once you have started getting the tattoo, no matter how queasy or painful it gets, you don't want to be asking the artist to stop...because that would mean you'll just be prolonging your agony. so more than anything, if you are planning to get inked, the one thing you should have a lot of is courage, or strength of will. because once you are there, there is no going back.
for some twisted, weird reason i always feel 'different' - emerging from the whole ordeal. somehow i feel empowered and i feel like nothing can break me. nosh said i looked like i will break the jaw of the next person who'd mess with me - now that i have tattoos on both my shoulderblades.
aside from the sporadic lashing kuya ding got from me (i think i yelled 'that's my shoulderblade' more than twice at the onset of our session), i feel really happy about the outcome. when you get inked, you somehow surrender a huge part of you to the one who will brand you - there has to be trust, and that factor of the relationship cannot be breached.
kuya ding did a really nice job and though my wound hasn't fully healed, i am already thinking of this backpiece that i would like for him to do. on the other hand, before we left the shop, he quipped that it'd be nice if i'll get a sleeve.
hmmm...let's see about that.
*i will try to post the pictures we took of that day on my blog, if i don't succeed, you can always view them on my facebook.
overtake
here among the ruins of darkness
my unsteady hands revel the laughter
emerging from your lips and nothing
helps - save the insanity of being lost
in a moment with you - the ache, the thorn,
the dream, the hope and the light
that pursed itself within the naked hours
consumed by you - an unaltered muse
of silence and dust, my heart heaving with
desire to be ravaged and annihilated
over and over again, the night folds onto
a crescendo of tears and unspoken words
my heartbeat entombed, my blood pulsates
as the moon hides the gaze of clouds waving
in the distance - the long, lonely stretch
that covers now and today, you and me.
for calliope
my unsteady hands revel the laughter
emerging from your lips and nothing
helps - save the insanity of being lost
in a moment with you - the ache, the thorn,
the dream, the hope and the light
that pursed itself within the naked hours
consumed by you - an unaltered muse
of silence and dust, my heart heaving with
desire to be ravaged and annihilated
over and over again, the night folds onto
a crescendo of tears and unspoken words
my heartbeat entombed, my blood pulsates
as the moon hides the gaze of clouds waving
in the distance - the long, lonely stretch
that covers now and today, you and me.
for calliope
suns and stars
my soul falls silent, the depth of that
which i cannot fathom swallows me
this story taking its space in the
crowded chambers of remembering
the bittersweet hours i spent lying
in your arms
gazing at a shooting star in this
dense, dark, betraying night
mending the solace so i may find
you in it again
and offer you my heart,
precariously needing to be
the one that breathes for you in
this solitude
the one drenched by the stillness of
chasing your voice
long after you have uttered your
goodbye.
which i cannot fathom swallows me
this story taking its space in the
crowded chambers of remembering
the bittersweet hours i spent lying
in your arms
gazing at a shooting star in this
dense, dark, betraying night
mending the solace so i may find
you in it again
and offer you my heart,
precariously needing to be
the one that breathes for you in
this solitude
the one drenched by the stillness of
chasing your voice
long after you have uttered your
goodbye.
shut
this soul unravelling
the chaos brought by the
distance and the clouds
mystefied by the songs
you hum in the midst of
senselessness, yearning to be
the one you seek when
the night breaks and the
darkness wraps everything
in oblivion, aching to be
the electric blue that tremble
when you shut your eyes
to imagine serendipity.
the chaos brought by the
distance and the clouds
mystefied by the songs
you hum in the midst of
senselessness, yearning to be
the one you seek when
the night breaks and the
darkness wraps everything
in oblivion, aching to be
the electric blue that tremble
when you shut your eyes
to imagine serendipity.
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