au naturel

Stuck on a thirsty naked corner

Musings under the pale moonlight

Waiting for the leaves to fall

Time slowly passing me by

Changing scenes right before my eyes

Bleaching the naked thoughts

Filling my inner being with warmth

Enough to break me and free me

Out of the dark cell where my soul was trapped

Drenched in my own tears, bound with my fears

I’m naked

My being exposed to the arena

Numb to shame, numb to man’s judgments

But why am I enjoying my nakedness? I’m stiff now.

Stiff naked body, drenched in humiliating blood.

Humiliation? Judgment? This is mediocrity.

People act as if they’re perfect - treating me dirty.

Is it dirty to devour lust, to express urge, to eat desire?

Eat my dirty naked body, lick me now

Coming out in the open, shouting my release. Ugh!

Heat! Fire engulfing my throbbing desires.

My heart beating to the rhythm of my pulsing manhood

Naked bodies pushing, pulling, ready for the blow.

Everything’s shrinking; senses narrowing to one focal point.

Hitting the spot - deeply… thouroughly…

My moans echoed a I thrusted inside you.

I’m just naked, simply naked, damn!

My softness submitting to the spitfire entering me.

Abandon all worries, forget all fears.

I could close my eyes to savor you, your heat, your sweat.

*Composed under the musings of bums hanging out in Sted’s last 2006July02. The steamy passion of Denver, Verna, Anna, and Dirgy under the insufficient lighting of the vines that canopied on top of our heads. Easter joined in the first few lines, but some guy picked her up for a date - abandoning our proem-making meditation.

"." When you see this, it means it’s the end, and another sentence will begin. Now, you see it again. Another sentence will start to flow. You see it again? This time, no. And yes, you see it again. What? No. Yes, of course you see it. Yes. I understand.

*Marveling on a freaking punctuation called the period ".". See what boredome does to an idiot? Well,you’ll be more than surprised.

my mind runs faster than i thought, my hands can’t keep up with it. words couldn’t be written, since they’ve already vanished when i’m just starting to ink them. let them get lost, they might not want to be known. maybe they value their secrecy too much, that even myself can’t get hold of them. do i own them? yes, but that doesn’t give me full reign to their existence. i let my mind roam to the wilderness that this mind can conceive, and let them get lost to wherever they lead.

sometimes i get frustrated though, since there are moments that i just want to sit and write about all the shits that’s happening around me. it’s just that, the words get lost - the right words get lost. and i’m down writing another cliche that everyone already knows. such a damned existence - living in a blackhole wherein everything spins right in front of you.

everything gets lost, everything is temporary. even love, when it was said to last forever. and people already came up with the reason that love indeed lasts FOREVER, but forever exist only for a few days. how sad. the world revolving in cynicism. everybody laughs about hightened emotions. people mock even the existence of God. who is God? i myself do not know him personally - i haven’t met him. i just found him singing silently in the back of my brain, and i just see him in all the things that surround me.

sigh. didactic, am i? no. just talking with baffled thoughts. with my thoughts wavering again, anything can pop up. the words are running inside my head. things. lots of them. do they have a toilet here somewhere? my seatmate told me no. too bad, nature’s call got to wait.

my celfone beeped, and a friend is already asking my whereabouts. everything indeed ends, and this is the call for this. i’m outta here. thanks for the wild ride. have a nice thought. -fin-

silence reigns.

may it last.

Stability of my thinking
wavering into loops of incoherrent thoughts.

Practicality seems like a million miles away
- unreachable and impossible.

Couldn’t grasp the meaning of reality no longer.
Have my thoughts been mended by some secret mental demon?

‘Tis the demon that erases every bit of common sense in an individual’s consciousness.
‘Tis lurking in the back of my head.

He’s whispering thoughts so comforting,
I’m bound to succumb to his every wish.

Control is now out of the question.
I no longer affirm its existence.

Droopy eyes forced open with toothpick thoughts that ceaselessly weave and unfold right before the messy tray piled up with rubbish. Fighting the call of the warm bed back home; its cozy whispers lingering insing my head, sending ripples of lethargy that is bound to surge and took over my consciousness.

Close your mouth, stop the yawn. Hug yourself tight, and rub your eyes. The sun is bidding its first hellos of the day. A new dawn has come; another obstacle to pass; and new memories to write and treasure. *Yawn*

A bottle of Nestea lemon green tea and a waffle completes my nightly internetescapades. My social life have been reduced to my nightly visits to the nearest internet cafe in our area - Tommy’s, near St. Paul’s Steds - and writing in wads of scratch papers. Tommy’s is probably the only place I’ve been in to the most in the past five days - which is twice.

I haven’t gone to school yet. I just  went out of the hospital last Thursday (Sept.27) evening, and I basically stayed indoors the next day. I just went out for dinner, since our visiting Japanese teacher wants to meet us before she leaves. That was the first time I went out of the dorm since the moment I got out of the hospital. I felt so happy seeing the busy streets after a week of confinement, and the air just felt so good. I couldn’t help but be ecstatic.

These days, with my time usually spent inside the four-corners of the room, I am learning the art of inking pieces of my thought on paper. I was left with bundles of scratch and a pen, and I just did what I have to do with it. I just scribble out impulsive thoughts, senseless proems, and crappy words to fill up my time. The problem is: I couldn’t finish anything I jot down; all of them ends up unfinished.

I’m not really that patient with a pen, and I have never completed anything with it. I just wonder how my hand can cope up with my thoughts that run like a stallion in the wild. (And I’m not talking about a Red stallion.)

I’m actually restless. I’m frustrated, since I can not do the usual things that I used to do. I mean, I still can, but I am more like chained and all my energy is kept bottled up. I am reduced to do what I "can manage", not what I "can".

I’m like an eagle that wants to soar in the wild once again, but the problem he broke his wings, and he can’t do anything but wait for it to heal. I know I’m being melodramatic, but I just can’t help it. The whole thing is semi-depressing me, but I’m trying to get used to my new partner in life - my crutches - and get on with everything - knowing the fact that I’ll be using it for more that eight weeks. I mean some are even in far better worst condition that I am, and they are managing just fine.

Well, the highlight of my day is going to Tommy’s - log-in, blog and bitch about basically anything. Thanks to the Internet, at least I don’t fell exactly alienated. I still feel connected, although how can I call this interaction when all I have is the computer monitor blinking in front of me.

Another night ends…