burgundy dream (for y***)

"lay your sleeping head, my love,
human in my faithless arm."--w.h.auden
his head in angel's sleep
was a tilted globe in axis
and as we traveled along,
i saw the changes of season
in his peaceful face.
the solitude of winter
froze the beauty of his brows
one lurch of the bus
and his lips' colored spring bloomed
a turn toward the south
made his summer-kissed cheeks aglow
until a halt by the tollways
brought his ink-like hair to a fall.
what could he have dreamed of
before his eyes fluttered wide?
was it the pinkest of desire
that caused a floral smile?
i wish it were a dream of burgundy
where grapes are plucked for fermenting
and the wine will lose itself in ecstasy.

read classifieds, be doomed

i acquired my first copy of one of pablo neruda's poetry collection yesterday. alas, i'd get to read another latin american literary genius, in which case partyphile would be vindicated in his accusation that i'm really a latina disguised as an oriental. i was all set to meet him (partyphile, not pablo neruda) after getting that book when he updated me of an emergency meeting he had to attend to. having some incandescent artwork (by pablo neruda, not partyphile) to while my time away, i told him i could just wait for him at edsa-taft, but he seemed not really bent on going to the blue bar i invited him to--what with all his pleadings for us to go some other time--so i wandered aimlessly in manila before proceeding home in a cooler temper.
it didn't occur to me that by getting there, i'd be boiling again like a volcano in the brink of eruption. my twisted sister whom i don't want to linger within my five-kilometer danger zone appeared yet again in my place, ignoring my unspoken temporary restraining order for all the shame and pain she had me put up with. upon seeing her, i packed a week's supply of fresh clothes and vanished as quickly as i arrived. it didn't matter to me where i was headed; nomadism is my lot as a person. as i waited for a wee-hour ride going to cubao, i browsed the classified ads to get the addresses of the companies i supposed to land a part-time work in.
busy and still mindful of the scene i just created back home, i never minded the two males who appeared out of nowhere. why would i be started, when i'm accustomed to being cruised even in the most casual of circumstances? they asked me for the time, but in no sooner moment, calmly declared a holdup, asking me to hand them my cellular phone and money. sheer alertness and fear for the shiny fanknife saved my life, for while i parted away with my old phone (sooner than i intend to dispose of it) and some petty cash, i was able to keep my wallet with gorgeous' picture in it (which can rival bill gates' fortune in degrees of importance) and my newly-acquired mms phone. i could sing praises to heavens that i left home my camera phone and that the spare mms phone didn't ring at the most inopportune second, for that would have sent me home and have me deal irresistibly with people i hate, or worse, have me hugging the day's headlines in which i (dis)figure as a blob of blood and mutilated flesh under a waiting shed in marikina. you see, i cannot transform into my krystala alter-ego--i hastily stormed away from my house, forgetting my crystal amulet (and pablo neruda's poetry anthology, for that matter). and the lesson for the day: don't go reading classified ads in a risky place during the day's most ungodly hours.
when i woke up in angel's place in pasay, gorgeous displayed his concern by texting take care and by advising me to seek shelter in my special someone's place, since i can't stay in his, although he could have offered it if it were possible. uh-oh, the home episode elicited the most violent hatred in me, the holdup episode spawned the greatest befuddlement and now, gorgeous' text generated the wildest heart thumping to complete a trio of extreme emotional forms. anyway, i replied that i can't possibly stay in my beloved's place, for my beloved is gorgeous himself, the very spring of my most potent passions, muggers and domestic strifes be damned.

a body to die for

Maggie Helwig’s “A Certain Hunger” illustrates how people harbor negative perspective about the way their bodies look. They perceive that they should always be thinner than they should get in order to match the waif figure of stars. This unflattering body image is largely caused by the ideology working in the society which heaps praises on and venerates fashion models and slim celebrities. In effect, these people become insecure about their current body state and push themselves to the limit if only to achieve the society’s standard of the true, the good and the beautiful. In the process of accomplishing the wished-for thinness, these insecure persons punish themselves by dieting nonstop or toning down in health laboratories, even as they reach abnormal proportions, literally and figuratively. Only when these people start believing that it is all right to be themselves will they realize how helpless it is to flagellate themselves just to become slim. It is ultimately more rewarding to have self-acceptance since this secures people’s body image perception. Likewise, these people will be able to inspire others with image problems before their self-confidence and hope to be beautiful disappear.
Sicknesses like anorexia nervosa and bulimia are inexplicable and irrational states that plague the mind. People afflicted by these are so engrossed in achieving what they deem as the perfect figure. In the process of getting thinner and thinner, anorexic and bulimic persons grow oblivious that they already harm their bodies. To regular people who won’t have to deal with the mentioned sicknesses, the behavior of constantly shedding weight the painful way is considered illogical. However, the anorexic and the bulimic are forever mindful about having to be waif, escaping the realization of creating strict mental conditions. When they face the mirror, they see the extra fat that should be cut down instead of the stick figure that they really are. Their illusion of stoutness has so convinced them that they forget that they have reached the extreme. The anorexic and the bulimic are all unknowing that the perfect weight will never quite arrive.

saturday night orgy

last weekend, my universitymate jet texted to inquire about my booking schedule, and seeing my phone-based planner as clean as my boylets' "isipan at kalooban" as i'd like to think, i told him i was free. he replied that first chance i get an orgy invitation, i should inform him so he could join. oh boy, i have certain misgivings about going to group sex parties like having to say "next!" every after orgasm or, as my latest invitation proved true, making "bakod" the hottest guy around.
then, i remembered partyphile inviting me to an orgy of sort: a reunion with my gay friends over at guadalupe, makati. i caution you that i use the word "orgy" here to mean "a bacchanalian feast" regardless of my no-drinking resolve, and not to mean "a wild intercourse with more than one partner." "let's go there," partyphile convinced me, adding that i already missed the english-subtitled shimmering catfight the previous saturday between my friend genesis and an acquaintance milky over the legitimacy of a brewing gay partylist, and cannot afford to miss this saturday's sequel.
since the world cup fever has hardly blown over, i decided to wear my violet soccer shirt and a pair of black shorts for current events relevance. too bad i could'nt slip into my adidas sneakers because they're still wet from the previous night's sudden outpouring, or i could have uttered to the reunion with solid conviction, football in arms akimbo: "sports kung sports ang salpukan." partyphile excused himself from going early since he was still sleep-deprived after lingering at the bar till 3am, but his rest in peace must have gone prolonged when he didn't show up at all at the reunion.

love in the time of bird flu

a guy i took for his own lover--a hottie who cruised me before--asked me to meet him in some place i least expect gorgeous to chance upon in. but there i found him, and i was caught so off-guard that the only choice left for me was approach him, for it was quite a while since i saw him last. he was equally surprised, naturally, for why in the world would i be there except the usual reason he pointed out: to hunt? i tried to bring myself to explain why i was there to begin with although that's rather futile: i'd just sound concocting a silly alibi whereas the truth is, the two of us are not entirely miscasts in such a place as notorious as my colleague hellorafraf and her homophobic court would like to think. half of me indeed decided to want to flee, but in the long run the escape to the bronx might be irrelevant, because he must have made out my smallish profile despite the darkness. it was like college math days when i'm groping for algebraic expressions, with gorgeous for a terrible hunky professor who could lovingly mock me with my "aaa..." supported by his subsequent vowels "...eee, iii, ooo, uuu..." in the face of the person i adore, i fumbled for things to say, but he helpfully excused himself to save me the shame of becoming like a torpedo suitor. it didn't help that someone texted me a well-meaning advice to be careful with cruising lest i incur bird flu, pun intended. i shrugged off that i can always die for someone i love, so much the better if the cause should be my beloved's bird--err, bird flu strain, i mean. before i slept that night, i made sure to send him weblog-long text messages to express what may be accepted as post-mortem reactions of the chance encounter. they're a motley of moronic stuff, from the interest he generated in hotqthunk the moment the latter saw the former's pictures in my wallet, to my persuasion of him to read the book i gave, to my apology for texting a novella of a message just because it's the last opportunity in one month that i can distract him before he proceeds to a work-related training. in the end, i told him things like "i exist in your absence but you are my very being" and "i miss you, i can't get enough of you, you are my personal miracle." finally, tears stood in my eyes upon remembering that right that moment, he was tucked somewhere i ceased visiting in order to avoid getting trapped in the curse of platonic affection.
as a therapy for the romantic anguish, i turned to reading the long-neglected novel by my favorite author, love in the time of cholera. however, having opened the latin american masterpiece into the initial episode wherein an octagenarian guy poisoned himself to escape miserably the torments of unrequited love, i had to drop the book altogether. i forced myself into a dream wherein i found myself in my tiny hometown in nueva ecija, holding on to fizzling hope of catching a last-trip ride back to the city in spite of the crawling dusk. i woke up drenched in sweat, attempting to figure out the archetypes representing the journey, the twilight, the hope for a miraculous ride. time to move along, my barely conscious self egged on, the world's interspersed in a current of revolution, stop being cocooned in the web of oblivion. i took my camera phone and altered my mms wallpaper of a scarlet heart with gorgeous' name for an imprint, my mms screensaver of a superman logo which he sent me, the house/trance/chillout music being played in the blue bar where i met him, everything that may serve as a sharp reminder of gorgeous having ever penetrated my sad, sordid life. i also changed the phonebook entry bearing his name into gabrielgarciamarquez, after my favorite author whom i desire to marry if only he were gay.
the following day, i was with hotqthunk at the beauty shop looking for a burgundy hair color when madonna's upbeat borderline wafted in the air, and it suddenly came to me that this mp3 was now my ringtone. i checked my inbox and wondered for seconds why my favorite latin american author decided to transmit a text of a lifetime. then reality sank in and hotqthunk's face (not his gymbuilt muscles, too bad) contorted in bewilderment why i seemed to have incurred epileptic fits. mr. boyfriend materialistic, your brain may not understand things beyond barbells and 15% body fat, but your heart will when you're under the pangs of that wicked thing called love. for a full minute, i never got to catch on what gorgeous told me in his friendly message, but the world seemed wider unlike his contrary claim, people in it do not succumb to animal illnesses such as mad cow or bird flu, and my solitary planet that's gorgeous is never quite far away.

confessions of a kaladkarin

i got booked last friday by a manly guy from the south. he invited me to join him in watching his transvestite friend's singing set near gorgeous' place. while chancing upon gorgeous thereabouts looked like asking for snowfall in the desert, i still believed that miracles will happen. why not, when my ex-boyfriend sam's friend hovered in sm bicutan just when i least expect some acquaintance to make an abrupt appearance.
i enjoyed the night out with my guy, more because of his singer friend's cute buddy who took notice of me than because my equally cute booker openly displayed his affection for me. it feels like the stars have suddenly heaped me with their brightness in such a manner as blind two cute guys publicly flirting with me. when my booker takes a pee or dances lasciviously with girls onstage or shifts from place to place, i snatch a kiss with the other guy. when my booker takes his turn to kiss me, i held hands with the other guy under the table. hmm, if we incestuous lot did not inspire a scandal amongst the gays on our table, what does it say about the tolerant society we presently live in?

the world may not need superman, but i do

after growing disappointed with the lackluster last installment of x-men (save for the finale when raging phoenix renders wolverine shirtless--i was waiting for the pants getting ripped off by the cataclysm phoenix' power has generated), i knew i had to watch superman returns in my hope to garner a redeeming grace from all these legends of my generation. prior to the night i watched, i had to meet hunk so i might give my birthday gift. of course, with hunk around, can gorgeous be far behind? well, after handing hunk the autographed books by my professors back in the state university, he casually told me that gorgeous won't visit the bar, and it felt like a death sentence was read before me. good thing i saw from afar that the next picture's gonna be superman returns. the smile returned in my face and i just hope gorgeous would text me up first chance he received my gift (well, he did!).
what do i say, the film's fantastic! i have always enjoyed the earlier installments with the wonderful christopher reeve in the title role. some friends found it weird that an action picture such as this will pluck sensitive strings in my heart, but it did. superman's so human, one would feel for him now that the world has moved on without his presence. of course if i associate superman with the superpower that's america, i'd always dismiss that i don't need bush to save the world. however, superman as a hero is a different matter altogether: he is a generational myth that forms a part of my and my fellow youngster's identity.

summer solstice brings on the rain of men in malate

more than a week has to pass before i finally gathered wits to compose this piece on the fantastic street dancing in malate, arguably the gayest hub there is this side of planet asia. the novel tradition is on its fifth year now, and is gay manila's reflection of the monumental stonewall rebellion in the us of a. far from the liberating incident in the stonewall inn where stiletto-armed queens in drag must have stood up against and kept raiding policemen at bay, the white party in malate was uproarious not because of batuta-wielding raiders being beaten up to a pulp by homegrown baklas, but because of a deluge of dropdead gorgeous pamintas with invisible long hairs adorned by cattleyas. feeling like cinderella in pink bodyhugging and cargo pants, i along with a horde of gay friends arrived in nakpil-orosa streets around midnight, and lo, the party was...orgasmic. everywhere i looked, i never saw a guy i didn't like, from the tisoys to the morenos to the gym-goers to the metrosexuals. haha, i laughed to myself, this is life: gay to the hardest core. earlier in the day, devotees of saint john the baptist whisked each other with water; here in malate, it's men that's raining. good portent, i must confess--june 24 is the hottest day on earth, and what a way of dousing our heat-stroked sensibilities with a torrential outpouring of hunks in all shapes and sizes.