I'm bored at work.. So I'm back to blogging again.
Well, I visited my old old old friend a few weeks ago. We just pigged out and watched movies. After the second movie, Gen told me that her boyfriend was coming over with his dog. She told me that there was nothing to worry about since Luis just bathed the dog and there won't be any funky wet dog smell. The only thing to worry about is that the dog humps girls. And sure thing, as soon as the dog entered the room, he immediately humped Gen. I've never seen a really small dog hump that fast before.
Anyway, after Luis pried the dog off of his girlfriend, it stared at me. It just stared and sniffed me. Fuck. I guess that proves I'm not a girl in the eyes of the animal kingdom anymore. Well, at least, I will never get humped.
This is another shot of him in his superman mode. We don't know why he extends his forearms every time he is carried around.. but he does. Heeee.. He never fails to make me giggle. Stupid dog.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
stories
This one is from Russ Ligtas - a gay schoolmate of mine. He's a pretty good poet.
Story
I’ve rewritten our letters
on my back
where I can’t read them,
anymore
your poetry
is everywhere in me
hidden from you
under skin, under flesh
in secret, your secrets
our secrets, in code
and I remain
the only cipher
If you come back
If you decide to decode me
we, forever, will be lost
in translation
our language is dead, my love
I have stopped sitting on its grave
Our scholars have given up
The story we told is forgotten
If you come back
if you decide to look for me
You will find
no painted heart on my back,
no tattooed poem
on my skin
no song to cocoon us
back into embrace
Unlike the letters
that spelled our love
or the forest of poems
we planted
our story cannot be
rewritten
our love cannot grow
in a garden of ash
Relic, I am
of our history
and when I disappear
when finally
finally, I crumble
into dust
you can scatter
the powder of me
knowing
and not knowing
which part is our story
and which part is me.
Story
I’ve rewritten our letters
on my back
where I can’t read them,
anymore
your poetry
is everywhere in me
hidden from you
under skin, under flesh
in secret, your secrets
our secrets, in code
and I remain
the only cipher
If you come back
If you decide to decode me
we, forever, will be lost
in translation
our language is dead, my love
I have stopped sitting on its grave
Our scholars have given up
The story we told is forgotten
If you come back
if you decide to look for me
You will find
no painted heart on my back,
no tattooed poem
on my skin
no song to cocoon us
back into embrace
Unlike the letters
that spelled our love
or the forest of poems
we planted
our story cannot be
rewritten
our love cannot grow
in a garden of ash
Relic, I am
of our history
and when I disappear
when finally
finally, I crumble
into dust
you can scatter
the powder of me
knowing
and not knowing
which part is our story
and which part is me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
no decisions
For someone I know..
I have not been as confused in my entire life as I am now.
And I pace around the shadows where the light of the burning questions touch my skin in equal pleasure and in pain - of knowing I can touch you and be turned to ashes in an instant.
Or maybe it is just as simple as that.. I could put you out of existence, you unforgiving Indecision, light enticing like a sin with the wings of salvation.
-------------------------------------
I don't have to be your whole life..
But maybe I could be one of your favorite parts.
I have not been as confused in my entire life as I am now.
And I pace around the shadows where the light of the burning questions touch my skin in equal pleasure and in pain - of knowing I can touch you and be turned to ashes in an instant.
Or maybe it is just as simple as that.. I could put you out of existence, you unforgiving Indecision, light enticing like a sin with the wings of salvation.
-------------------------------------
I don't have to be your whole life..
But maybe I could be one of your favorite parts.
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