Mitsuru

at dusk, the sun paints brilliant, surreal, dreamy hues through Ann Arbor skies.

in Huron river's calm waters the kayakers at dusk stalk the setting sun, stir the proverbial pot and disturb the gods.

my old acoustic guitar,  the sole witness  during those rare  times where i can  wear  my heart on  my sleeve.

I found a long-sought soft self-comforting freedom a heart-rousing understanding governed not by the common reason but by untamed emotions.

...early Sunday morning, driving on a deserted Southfield Freeway. the sun's rays are trying to break through the grey clouds' spell. Michigan in winter; beautiful and lonely.

Another day, another wasted day. Another rotten day has passed,  spent in this dark old  room, an abyss where not a sliver of light, have penetrated its four corners for ages -- the dominion of the damned, where sanity is slowly eroding inside the battered head. In the Brain; where the never-ending labyrinth of gelatinous gyri and sulci, continues to boggle and rattle, the spirit of the demented mind. Pitter patter-raindrops spatter-eat the matter-in the platter- helpless tapper-leader-follower-naked in the shower- nobody answers... this never-ending childish prattle- taxes the mind,  burns the soul, castrates the emotions and rips off the heart Of everything. In isolation, inside this padded room, the only place for lunatics- lost in space, locked in total darkness- a prisoner condemned into oblivion. This smokey room; where the stale air flew in circles, where the mind somersaults like the high-flyer in a circus. This smelly room; where the s...

bite the bullet, taste the blood feel your heart, beating deep inside count the pulse, shake off your fears ignore the call, calm the nerves check the sight, aim the gun steady the finger, squeeze the trigger sweep the floor, waste them all tune out the cries, ignore the moans you are the greatest of them all # *Circa 1996 photo credit: Takati2012

She sat there in the cubicle,  with eyes closed  trying to  drown out the cries  of tortured souls that still rang in her ears  and  the pungent odor of billows of smoke  that screened the crimson haze  of gray vision that  numbed her senses as she tried to forget the painful reminder  of Dachau,  now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears.  In her mind, where footsteps are stationary  and the labored sound of hoarse breathing echoed  in the silent passageways,  the faded pictures  breezed through her memory.  Their voices were now  silent and the curtains drawn to hide  the reflections  in the mirror  of her eyes that belied  the mourning of her heart.  # photo credit: dachauscrapbook

How can one do something of substance when your mind is in a state of complete disarray? It's an exercise in futility although one now realized that spontaneity is not equal to our sense of judgment and direction. How can one unclutter his mind of impure thoughts, crazy ideas and magical impulses without being punched in the gut in return? One can try as he must but until hell freezes over it will not matter. Why can't we just purge the remnants of the past and just shove them deep in our sorry asses, then? Who really cares whether one is lonely or happy? Who gives a fuck on how and what one feels or thinks? Who cares whether one is right or wrong? How can one pour his soul onto something and regret it in the end? Nobody but the damned themselves but who gives a fuck. ^^Photo @ the ledge of the '103 floors, 1,353 feet in the air' Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) Skydeck .

Another "raw" excerpt from the The Adventures of the Dragonfly Eaters ... TATA BALAS, the resident Wiseman of Basag always had a ready answer for everything and anything- from the inherent wisdom of the kabad-kabad (electric fan) to the winning potential of every fighting cock. Thus, cockfighting aficionados, which are plenty in that community by the sea, sought his advice for free; by merely looking at and counting the scales on the chicken’s legs, he could distinguish a winning breed from a lousy one. His winning percentage, though, is another story for he was always partial to the Manok ni San Pedro. But call it divine intervention or what, the white chosen ones always end up as “burugsukan” - losers, in the hack fight. Still many cock-suckers (no pun intended) came to him for advice. And he did his role of fortune telling with relish and gusto. His expertise, though, is not only confined to the cock at hand. In fact, you can ask him anything and everything under the sun p...

Drifters in the night Flowers under the moonshine Longing for the Sun... And here's my blog post written two years ago today-- For Whom the Bell Tolls

I cannot paint you, my love. Your calm eyes clashed with the storm in your heart. Thoughts wrapped alone in the cold, followed the scene I created; the essence is lost as memories came crashing into the walls of brown earth and hot kisses going up in smoke. The colors are smeared, the canvas remained blank and my eyes burnt.

The air is full of the music of your voice, my soul and body seem no longer mine, but mingled in some exquisite ecstasy with yours. I feel incomplete without you. Powered by Podbean.com Listen to me funeral bed, parched grass, dying love. To a new beginning Listen to me. Powered by Podbean.com Powered by Podbean.com If you were in my eyes for one day You could see the full beauty of the joy I find in your eyes And it isn't magic or loyalty If you were in my heart for a day You would have an idea Of what I feel When you hold m...

Awkward landscapes and distant crooked buildings Bathing nudes and aquamarine rivers Calloused eyes and women of style Deadly venomous asps and orange fruitcakes… Eager brushes by the pale trembling hands Pained strokes on moldy canvasses Propped on broken easels in a grey-wallpapered studio Showcasing the best works that I can do… Blue trees on emerald forests Overlooking the impressive blotchy- paintings Inside the soft iodine-colored show room Waiting for the chance for the final slap on the chin! Resplendent smiles from the eyes of a mad man Standing up against the world in soiled ragged clothes Trying to savor the taste of yellowed moments In hushed phantasmagoric silence… I dreamed of Cézanne But the colors and stars are far from anything, And the people are not themselves So, I wept in throbbing shame and heartfelt sorrow... note: 1st published in Two Moon Quarterly c.2002 Voices.Net Anthology c. 2002

It’s the best time of the year, they say. Far different from the tropics where I used to play And it is just a matter of time before I will finally Realize the beauty that will unfold before my eyes. They say that it is the time of year that I will remember forever Where the birds will fly carefree in the azure sky And warm my heart with their haunting lullabies. They say that summer is good but fall is better The weather’s fine and the colors are amazing And my life will be a-ok and I will be happy. Deep in my mind, I almost believed them Had it not been for one lingering question- Why does my heart feel blue In Autumn When the leaves are turning bright red, orange and yellow? # NOTE: If you love the muse, let me take you to: Inks & Verses

Here are "raw" excerpts from The Adventures of the Dragonfly- Eaters. Spirit of the Glass The death of Tay Isko one lonely April night heralds the ascension of Romeda to fame, fortune and notoriety. Tay Isko was the lone Albularyo* in the barrio: He was a real healer, fortune teller and a natural leader rolled into one. He was a respected man of many talents and a genuine Basagan* He walks with a swagger of a proud man while at the same time spewing healing words, chewing on his toothless cud and spiting the juice of his favorite Nganga* to the ground. He can see the future in your palms and tell the significance of every mole in your body at a glance. His eyes is a mirror of your soul and in his hands lie the best cure for every curse imaginable but a day after he healed the cross-eyed Antonio, he was found naked and dead in his bed. Rumors had it that he died of the dreaded Bangungot* after eating a full meal of Adobong Manok and chasing them with several bottles of La...

Since I am still on the recovery mode “mojo-wise” I’ll just post here some old published poems that I have written in the past while I am laboring for my latest post for this blog that I have been neglecting lately. Actually I’ve been working on some stuffs that I have set aside for a long time. Just some old crazy stories from way back. I’ll let you take a peek of some of them here in the near future. But for now bear with me and my 'makata' side. I have written these poems nearly after more than a decade of self- imposed hiatus which lasted from 1991 to 2002 when I finally emerged from my funk and got my groove again and began submitting poems for publication. Come to think of it, I lost more than a decade writing- wise, beat that! Now, I thank the geeks and the Mighty One up above for the internet and computers for without them, I will not be able to write again ‘coz every time I try to put my thoughts on paper, my mind is running so fast that my hand can’t keep up with all ...

Filipino superstar and boxing sensation Manny Pacquiao has once again showed the world the vaunted power of his fists as he bludgeoned his way into an easy 8th round Technical Knockout of the lanky but game and erstwhile unbeaten but untested Jorge Solis of Mexico, thus re-affirming his status as the consensus world’s best boxer pound-for-pound as well as the pugilistic world’s most exciting fighter today. His victory at the historic Alamodome in San Antonio, Texas has once again united our fragmented nation even just for a day as the country grinded to a halt just to watch him defend his World Boxing Council International Super Featherweight belt on the world’s stage. His victory has once again proved that a Filipino can dominate and excel in a particular field because of his natural talent and sheer hard work. His victory has once again proved that we as a nation can be one with the right person at the helm. Thus, I am endorsing his candidacy as Congressman of the First D...

Powered by Podbean.com Valentine’s Day , the day for lovers, for people in love and for those in search of that elusive L-O-V-E, has its origin from Christian and ancient Roman traditions. Actually, there were a lot of claims and counter-claims by the so-called experts, scholars and historians on the purported origin of this celebration and tradition. Nevertheless, it has been celebrated all over the world as the day of hearts and will continue to be so as long as there are romantics and young-at-hearts in our midst. However, in this materialistic world of ours, where for some people, love is measured by the size of the bling-blings, the number of red roses or dark chocolates, or the high price of the gift bought from that high-end store -- Valentine's Day has become one of the biggest commercial successes in business the world has ever seen, and a lot of people in the business industry have literally been laughing their hearts out all the way to the bank. Still, to most people, to...

It will be just hours before New Year’s Day in the Philippines and Filipinos will literally welcome 2007 with a big big Bang ! Yes, we are a riotous lot and very loud revelers at that; just drive by or walk around in every nook and cranny in the 7,107 islands be it low tide or high tide when the clock strikes at midnight and you will know what I mean-- From the loud, energetic dancing in the streets to the boisterous drinking sessions like there is no tomorrow to the never-ending explosions in the air and smoke-filled surroundings, we’re one hell of a nation that really knows how to party come hell or high water. And many of our countrymen will pay the heavy price literally and figuratively in terms of money and limb for we really are a stubborn people and inherent in each one of us is his/ her own set of beliefs/ views on things that would put Rizal’s Filosofong Tasyo to shame and the most glaring one in our character is that we don’t want to be told, period. So, the usual ...