letting black ants climb out feet.

We sweat in the ground.

When the time is exhumed.

When the photographs are noticed.

I will be pictured grinning

among lords, ladies,

and neophytes.

In the background of the photographs:

the hazy smoke of cigarettes,

a white painted table-

laden with a black wooden guitar,

yugi-oh cards, bottles of beer,

and empty bowls.

In the photos.

Beautiful girls are held

by their long-haired boyfriends.

My arms are empty, or around

the shoulders of unsuspecting batchmates,

expecting to disown me someday.

Or picture of shirtless boys

who dribble around,

shooting the ball impeccably

to the ring.

My hands are empty

in those photos again.

So empty that would provoke me

to cheer for them instead.

I am always there.

For weekly funds, clean-up drives,

critical emergencies in the

middle of the night.

I am always there.

In the annual photos,

wearing pink long-sleeved polo,

belted black formal pants, and

a pair of newly-bought leather shoes.

I appear out of character.

I smile as I serve my duty.

Not to whine, but it’s not a great time to be unusual. I use the wrong username and wear the whatever-appeals-to-me-right-now stuff, I sleep with whoever turns me on (but mostly online), and sometimes (several times) a night with some nice, empty electronic sex. But there is more in my head than sex anyway. I am in love with somebody who kind looks like mr perfect but kinda looks like mr wrong. what did I do with that? took a deep breath and ran the fuck away!

Easier to freak all alone, at least you’re carrying your own suitcases. When you got someone else with you it’s less lonely but your feelers extend to them now, you get protective and repressive and worried. Like suddenly patting your hair down because now someone’s going to be looking at it.

I never thought I cared what people think, but obviously I do. What a lovely discovery, I guess that’s my own demon hammering on my head. Here’s my chance: deal with a person who has shared almost half of your life (I don’t even respect)………great chance to breathe!

I’m now in my new apartment (lazy grin), just like I wanted. There’s dust over everything, endless knicks and knacks of lives I lived years ago, stuff I keep moving every time I change apartment (boarding house, I mean). But have no longer meaning to me except that they’re mine. I moved here about weeks ago, when things get too weird. There’s bridge here over the river and a huge sign saying “Deep Excavation, Men on work”.

            I’ve eight of a set of nine photos ready to hang in three rows of three, waiting for the last one. I finally got it. which doesn’t fit, of course, not like the other eight: it’s a bit small, not enough to look incredibly tacky. I know, without even trying, that if I were to hang them up now, the last row would go crooked, lazing down the wall in a sly escape from the other two, out of abstinence, apathy.

            Real time sunlight streams in, illuminating all that is dingy. Instead of a happy feeling, it merely points up the pitfalls of the reality. And, I miss him. I wouldn’t have even noticed this crummy room last week. I would have jumped online and talk to my sistah, or gone cyberhunting.

            About him, we had a whole world, but somewhere above the ozone filled with all these people who were all us. They would take over and make sparkling the dinge of my dwelling. Even the bed- where I had fantasized taking and being taken by this creature- this bed is simply a rumple of covers with old socks and unread books and magazines, awaiting now- slaughtered fantasies. But like some cruel jokes, my shaft is thick for something outside myself to provide the liberation of sex, the abandon to messy, gritty desperate fucking. I have to pee let it build, feeding the thin wire of lust strumming inside. I could pee all over this chair and no one would know, and I wouldn’t even notice, until I snapped back, like I always do. Disgusted by my own mess, sheepish at my lust in its aftermath.

            Am I nothing without interacting with another? Me who loves to be alone more than anything? Now that I’m here I don’t truly know who I am. I am Ryousei to my ym friends, Dodong to the woman I buy cigars from, and Loloy to you. to my parents even. And without them I am Arian to myself, whoever the hell he is: stubborn, boring, afraid, unable to stretch, unwilling to make connections fire in my brain, unable to pee without even commenting on it.

            Normally I would clean my place in a frenzy of new resolutions. But if all my stupid theories were tangible I would smash them onto the hardwood floors here, listening to them crack on stupid brittleness. Am I scared of this person? Smoky eyes and a laugh like music even when it was shaking with fears? Am I not willing to walk down the street with a creature whose personality slips like a failing clutch? Me, the one who makes them uncomfortable and the ladies curious? What exactly do I have to protect? What toehold in this life do I actually have that I would fight so hard to retain?

            Or is it that he scares me, that his real score fixes him permanently in time now, and he can only be himself, not the second guessing person I would want him to be. Not the queerboy, not my fantasy of the week.

            Loi, it’s enough! Gotta close the book. After all your prince is too stubborn to ask for the right direction, and I’m afraid he’s not coming.

Hi! Hello! I’m sitting my ass here. Won’t you come and dare ask who I am? Uh, what’s in my name, anyway? Nah, I know you’ll forget it as soon as the spell of vodka twists up your consciousness.
Excuse me? What are you wearing? Yeah, I know its all black. Like, duh, you don’t have earrings to go with it. What’s mine? Are you interested? Okay, I really want to sport Bob Marley dreadlocks but apparently, I can only carry this Natalie Portman’s V for Vendetta haircut. My face isn’t complete without a touch of concealer Liners? Shhh. It’s one of the things inside my handbag. It goes without saying that I am really, really vain. Yeah, that I wear the latest in fashion: Versace high rise jeans, Hollister jacket, Doc Martens footwear, Prada handbag.
Every portion of me stinks of victimized sophistication (it’s obvious, right?), from Malboro Lights I smoke, to the Chanel cologne I put on (I got it from my Aunt Dina) and the shot of Emperador (where miracles usually happen afterwards) I smack down.
I’m the one you regularly see in Netcafes (especially late at night), having virtual escapades, cyberhussing with whoever accepts my flirtatious attempts, and ending up sweating because of, you know.
What? Bitch, that’s me! No other word would make you think, otherwise. I swear, crossing my fingers. Oops! Bottles empty. Another order of rhum coke, please! Thank you. What did y’ say? One night in bed? So you think I’m kinda drunk? Like, hello, I’m not today’s Maria Clara. You have to pass first my physical, uhm emotional, and then intellectual requirements. Okay?!
Stop asking me those questions. Let’s share the night with whatever comes in between. Take it easy, boy! Talk to me and you’ll realize I’m good at everything, verbally.
But let me tell you about this someone who just appeared into my life and played as one of the characters in my fairy tale book (story of my only love among the crowd of gangsters and homophobes).
He’s the Narcissus of modern civilization. A lover of his own choice, the one who looks at you and only to find out just seeking for a reflection of his own interest. He labored to know and understand the abyss of my mystery. I was weak, then, and he’s my reliable knight. And he guided me to the road of pleasure, devotion and esteem.
Only when the water of happiness filled the glass of satisfaction, my knight was gone. In every droplet of my tears mirrored the curse of solitude and despair. My sense of sanity went along with him. The apex of life’s passion suddenly broke up into little pieces of heartaches.
But what I talk of this? Let’s not get into that. Kind of mushy, right? Here, drink up. Oh, please don’t say that. I don’t need your sympathy. Enough this intoxicating topics. I gotta go. Would you mind if I have a lame excuse of curfew? Coz’ my mask has cracked and my defenses have slipped. But if you’re still interested, walking home appeals to me right now. It saves gas, you know, but offering a free ride is another story to tell. Okay, I’m comfortable in here. Goodbye!
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. He drops in the nearest club again, raising another shot of beer. When will he learn? He’s the man who seeks the company of no one but himself and the ghost of his long lost someone. He’s man who hears without listening, talks without the sense of speaking. Whether you hate or love him, you’ll enjoy the façade of his adventure. Transparency isn’t his thing: pretension, maybe.
He’s the pinkest pink ever pinked! And I’m sure he looks like me.

As I walk through the grim rainfall

Every raindrop is piercing my pith

Bliss is ignoring my call

Only a presence of a death wreath

I want to vanish

Just let my emotion cease

All about it is rubbish

All I want is peace

I am a delicate soul

I shatter easily

Do not use your heart of coal

Hear my dispirited plea

Your masochistic love I accepted

My barren soul is toppling

There is nothing from you I opted

All I got was this fatal feeling

I am suffocated

I am grievously drowning

I feel alienated

Inside I am always screaming

Just kill me

If that is your purpose

If I will feel this through infinity

Imagine your meal

without drinks.

Imagine your coffee

without sugar.

Imagine your wallet

without money.

Imagine your computer

without the keyboard.

Imagine theater

without audience.

Imagine war

without soldiers.

Imagine a country

without a president.

Imagine the sea

without the wind.

Imagine a mountain

without rocks to hold it

Loi, imagine yourself

without me.

dugo……

dugo nga napugsit sa ubos sa dingding,

gikan sa akong ulo,

ulo nga nabuak batok sa dingding,

ulo nga naduut sa dingding.

buhok nga nabira,

nawong nga nagtan-aw sa salog,

basa…..

tubig nga napugsit sa ihianan,

nituyok ang pagsipiat sa lalaki,

nakit-an nako sa suuk,

sa akong mga mata,

kalit nga nituyok palayo,

gitaas ang siper,

nibiya,

wala nilingi pagbalik,

paaron-aron nga walay nakit-an,

nikamang padulong sa akong tiil,

nawong- nasagpa

natagak,

nawong- nabuak.

nagbayad,

nilakaw.

Ginatutukan ta sa mga tao,

imong kaunuran, akong babayeng lihok,

mga kamot nga nagkumpayot sa imong hawak,

mga ariyos nga nagbayag ngadto sa kainit sa adlaw.

Sa atong paghunong sa kanunay,

sa pagtan-aw ug paghikap sa mga aping,

ilang pangutok nagyubit-

bayot, ulagan, mahilas, law’ay-

giunsa nila pagsabot

naglimud sa kahilwas sa pihig ug tamay,

mga kamot nga naghatag ug sungog

sa sulod sa ilang kapoot

dugay lang napalong-

ginikanan, magtutuon- nakakita

usa ka adlaw,

ang kainit mosilit-

sa panilap sa kalayo,

ug ang tanan mobati-

higugmaa, buhia

sa dughan nga nagrinda-

ug ang balaod sa pagtuo, katilingban

ug sa mga tigulang.

Hinaot naa.