When her fingers tore me off from my comrades I knew my purpose was to die. To give pleasure to this human she-beast who was going to eat me alive. It began with an undressing. Strip by strip she tore off my clothes and dropped them around my feet. Next thing I knew, her teeth loomed close, snapped at my neck, and ripped off my head.
Inside her mouth, her tongue harassed me, pushed me around, and turned me into yellow mush. Then I slid down a tight canal of total darkness. The rest of my body followed. I felt my ear on my foot, my elbow on my spine, my mouth on my chest, my skull on my scrotum. I was in shambles. I was confused. But most of all, I was dead. I don't remember much after that. I must've been dead for so long I lost count of days.
Then in one heave, I found myself in bright light, floating in pristine water. This must be heaven, I thought. Then I looked up and saw this puckered up butthole, breathing like the blow hole of a whale. Other dead brown things slid out and fell on top of me. My comrades! I wept but tears didn't fall. I cried but didn't hear my voice. I screamed but couldn't feel my throat. As my dead comrades floated around me, I recited a poem from memory: "You must not shut the night inside you, / But endlessly in light the dark immerse. / A tiny lamp has gone out in my tent-- / I bless the flame that warms the universe."
The hole above blew hot air. The wind rustled. The water rippled. My dead comrades gently rubbed against me. I was moved. Thunder clapped in the sky, and my comrades and I swirled around and around. A pair of buttcheeks spun before my eyes and we were gone. Sucked into a limbo of nothingness. That was the last image that cleaved my memory: the spinning. If that's heaven, it's the only thing I wish to forget. Yet among these dark walls, I remember, I remember. I'm afraid I'm doomed to remember.
// 19 April 2014
This May, I'm out of the artery of this monster, Manila. I'll waste a week ingesting liquor in Dumaguete, and stay in Davao indefinitely. It's about time I cut my unhealthy love affair with this possessive monster, Manila. In 10 years, I've lived in about 25 apartments across four cities. Wedged in between those years was a year in Boracay, which could've ended well if it weren't for the lack of employment. Ten years gone and I haven't found a place to plant myself in just yet. So: it's time to move the hell out and move the hell on.
In Davao, the biggest literary dork I've met in my life will serve as my host. The poet will drive me around the city, and let me stay in his place until I find a rat hole of my own. In no time I would have to establish connection with writers, mountaineers, travel junkies, and other interesting humans. A new place commands me to be outgoing, if not shortly, before I allow myself to spin into another solitary confinement and have obsessive thoughts of kissing death in the mouth.
Death has been stalking me again. I just give him the finger as I wallow in misery. I shall flee and leave everything behind, save for a backpack. But then again, I will runaway to an island rife with death, violence, conflict, and durian. I am hungry to explore Mindanao and all its savage history and mystery. And kidnapping crises. I want to camp on its beaches, revisit its mountains, its volcanoes, and have a glimpse of Tawi-tawi and other lonely islands. I'm desperate to be taken hostage, or something close to that. Feel death and blood in my teeth.
Mindanao doesn't have the soul-suckering poison of Manila, the dust and dryness of Luzon, and the sticky and salty atmosphere of Visayas. Mindanao is a different mofongo all together. Its highlands are chilly and misty, its islands free from tourist retards and commercial junk, its major cities clean and crime-free. It could be a place I would like to be buried in.
// 17 April 2014
A tiny human has infiltrated our family. The tiny human came in naked, shrieking, covered in sticky goo. It blinked and pretended to know nothing. My sister thought it was special, so she gave her breast to it. Tiny human sucked hard and bit my sister's nipple. Sister mouthed a scream. She still does so, after one month of nursing the human. Code name Kaillie Ricci, tiny human has feathery soft skin, tiny eyes, sausage limbs, and total lack of motor skills. Kaillie doesn't cry, no. She screeches. She screeches to send coded signals to adult humans. Seems like she gets away with anything by screeching all the time. And yes she does: she gets a breast nipple. And she sucks all the mighty juices that she can suck out of another human being. What a parasite. Not only that, but she leaves wet, yellow stains everywhere, as well as solid brown. Now she's got a nanny, the manipulative little bugger. She's only one month old.
// 14 April 2014