I am feeling like an avalanche coming. The smallest tremor to set me off. Don’t get me wrong, I am not considering any self-harm, to me or to others. The shadows are coming again, slowly, but steadily. One or two of these are in ‘living color’. Shadows of doubt, panic attacks, like a Tsunami. I hear the roar, waters that creep and fill me, with pains of high and Low Tides.
I have thought of my new name. Do you like it? It was pretty racist to behold. I have shanks of poetry, misplaced grammar and enough hubris to weigh me down. But rather I wish to find a copper coin. I wish to elucidate, on a lily pad called destiny. I want to pick away the burrs. To the Longfellow chaps. I want to find a nuance and let it work for all of us. Not a twenty and definitely not a line for ghouls. I want to make mince meat into pies. Not lines of craters nor lines of white. I wish to find… and destroy it. I wish for them to grow. Not in some rusty hole. I pray that these come to pass.
It is the dawn of anxiety, I see my head floating downstream. Portable Sinkholes, elaborating, roiling downward, and making life ‘like a buoy’, a respite from the darkest downs.
A song, a note, reveries with plumb lines, like spider webs twisted. Sometimes the emotions are overwrought, with their own insanity, glossed over but not forgotten. Let us play harpsichords and twing a violin. Let’s stop the wrong kind of thing. Planting history with falling leaves.
Maging masayá sana ang araw mo!
Ang pangit ng Tagalog ko
