ANOTHER CONCEPT OF WHEEL

By: Iris P. Concepcion

I saw a prototype of this vehicle when I went to a mall and got struck by its hipness.

It was parked beside the Supreme Court building.

The idea is to bring the dispensation of cases faster and speedier to the provinces.

Whoever thought of this is an innovative genius. I transposed the picture from the SC's site but what I saw personally was sleeker (the bus I saw was without without grills: it is all shining glass) given the natural lighting in the area. I do recall its plate number since I adore the idea of travelling justices handing out decisions/resolutions like superheroes, roadies or rock stars------ recall the Almost Famous musicians who brought their melodies all over the land of milk and honey via their trailers) and I thought, I must give it a name using its plate number.

This is dazzling : SJX. This is a Barney-colored bus with the emblem of the Court placed wonderfully on its side like some metro mall.

Cool, I thought. Very cool.

It made an impact on me considering that I was once a law student and thought of how that branch of government can declog its dockets. I had likewise experienced the heat inside the trial courts' cramped places, the well-dressed lawyers perspiring. I thought then, this needs some improvement. They did.

This concept made the whole idea of the justice system seems less of a burden. Like saying: "It is fun to go to court!! Bring it on to that pedophile or something !"

This is what I meant by a sexed-up public service.

It is a work done well and already wheeling.

After this, I saw Japanese anime characters and giant robots battling inside the mall bringing their closets straight from comic books.

During the evening, I attended a mass and cried a little since the priest put a whoopack of a sermon that is not only engaging in content but likewise confessional on beating the odds. Sweeter than sweet, I think. I cried because I am Yoda and the force is within me.

I am sooooooo corny.

And that, my friends, was how I spent my day yesterday, with a godchild I haven't met in five years who is now tall like the clouds' location. She bought a poster of a Korean group that I know nothing about.

The winning robot is the bus, come to think of it. Ha!

TODAY
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Therefore.

(I have always wanted to write a word like this sans any intro without any reason. Therefore my foot).

*A note on the event at the Coliseum. I am a keen watcher. What floored me there were the ads for future musical shows. Woody Allen would not have grasped that satire even if his curly hair gets nipped. It was the brilliant use of so little lines: there's the worldly account of treatise. Did you miss out the banner on floods? That was a totally heartbreaking visage. With the famous singer clapping like a cheshire fur looking at the people below. That totally broke my smugness.. Vis-a-vis the giant (tacky) parody in front with the spa ad (we love our skin---these people wear their sexiness out, not counting paramours in seedy motels), I know who won my heart there. You see the Philippine map and that is precisely what I am talking about. You got size, we got substance. Cost effective.And yes Virginia, I adore the Backstreet Boys.*

I headed straight to this hotel. Was billeted there by a former writing colleague. It was eerie at first. The taxi driver was telling me horrible stories about people being killed along the unlighted roads. You know, where a tourist guide points you at the Eiffel and terms it the greatest edifice on Earth, this happy driver, in faultless cadence, says this instead : "This is the spot where a woman disappeared. Nobody saw her again." I can only say: "Ah, okay."

I arrived at the place and it looked like a scrubbed version of the Amityville Horror flick. I do not know if I got the title right.

The whole structure was really up in smoke like it is going to fall down. It turned out some guys from the outer space were just fumigating it, getting rid of the germs (the kindly lady in the front desk with the sunny smile termed it :"we're getting rid of the pests") swarming inside. I was expecting worms to appear on its windows but none came. A woman came out, with a mask, looking worn-out and ill.

I needed to take a pee and braving the foul smell, I sought the guard for directions to the comfort room. He obliged.

Man, the c.r. of the smoked building looked splendid. I say this with a mind pre-programmed to expect a cubicle with dung ornamenting it like garlands. It was clean. It felt like a hotel, truly. Curiously, there was a guy in front of the building who sat there like a dolled-up Ninoy. He was wearing pink and was talking to himself.

I said to my companion : " This hotel looks like a hospital."

I stayed there alone and whenever I am about to doze off at night----voices are heard discussing the current affairs of the country with so much passion you can almost see their organs and innards blazing like fire. Dicks with super turbo wings. If each expletive costs a boil each, it is like leprosy in full blown mastery. They were vying for attention I guess, the loudest got hushed by one with an impeccable English spiel (I know him---I created a story for him for crying out loud) about himself (sort of, I was watching television and was enjoying the talks).

I decided to while away my time ruminating about catastrophes. And talking toilet sinks.

Therefore.

(I love this sudden break of thought).

When you are already at the tip of the iceberg (borrowing metaphor from the Titanic), here comes the worst line uttered in this galaxy, ever. 'Ice-cream'. Delivered by the worst dubber in the universe. By God, it ruined the moment! Damn intruder. I like picking on this guy because he is somewhat confused with his singing range. His butt looks like an overblown pillow. If I were his Mom, I would really disown him. I am not mad at him; he just keeps on turning gaffe after gaffe of outcast materials. You always ponder: what is he doing there?

Obviously, I am not in my little town. I am experiencing fun, feeling very guilty spending for overpriced food, overpriced clothes, terrible racks of clothing apparel and horrendous shoes in this paradoxical environment.

And I have to pay 10 bucks to use the loo (I could buy two kinds of vegetables for this). To maximize the amount, I just used everything that I can see inside the urinal-----handwash, tissues and I engaged in staring events with co-looers who brushed their teeth like they would curl their lashes. I saw a hefty woman here who was so gigantic, huge in the mold of Dolly Parton but distributed evenly all throughout her body---imagine the bulges everywhere, texting like a prim and proper Hilton heiress. I'll buy tummy detectors next time for identification purposes.

On my train ride, someone extracted from Harry Potter's book, Dumbledore, I think, and Frankensteined him. Posed there like a genius lunie in Joycean pose. I wondered why I was the only one looking at him in obvious deliberation.

It sort of looked like there is a cult for gigantic gadgets that everyone's taking to the platform. I want to somersault, get a tape measure to find out what the height of that huge billboard is. I am supposed to be displaced but wondered thereafter what lines I can create out of this. They likewise gave trivias about almost everything: from halitosis to scars and whatnot while the train's running. If you are loud inside, someone is gonna bust you. And he is one-eyed.

On shopping:

You see (another opening line I hate using), during five years of my tending the sick, burying the dead, feeding the children,it is almost ridiculous splurging on clothes more than five hundred pesos. Everytime I take a bite, there is always something playing on my mind i.e. : I can cook this myself for half the price.

I only bought the statement shirts because I could not find the same make in thrift outlets.

Why the transformation, you ask me.

The better other of this writer taught me how NOT to spend. His clone paid something like P250 for a salad that looks like a lettuce sold for 5 bucks in our town. Somehow, I just need to crack a joke. Even the waiters were stifling their inner disillusionment. Haha.

I said then : "You know I can cook this for you."

Here's the thing, he absolutely taught me these things:

1. Shopping in thrift outlets where 100 goes a long way. Whenever you get near all these finds, you can almost hear ear plugs getting live like : "That's joe's."

2. Looking ugly is not a problem. Self-explanatory. He whacks people who tell me off even when I am at my despicable self.

3. Being jologs. I am not too fussy on how I look now. Yes, the leg warmers are lame. But have you ever heard of "sexy lame?" I like wearing this Newtonish leg warmer because I fancy myself as a "suman", wrapped in banana leaf . That's the closest thing I can get to being a food. Just deal with the postcript: I am sexy lame.

4. He bought me a local brand of chocolate and it tastes like Paris. I think it just costs seven pesos or something. You know what I mean? He has an extremely genius gift of LOCATING things that I like.

5. How to really look cool in motorcycles without even trying. Do not ask me. Nobody rides that shit like him. Its sound is so fight. He was aped and they looked like weenies. Hehehehehehe.

6. Not to be spooked even with the world ending because the day after, your pimples will be gone.

7.I finally understand why he loves dirty ice-cream. Totally.

8. He does not like me using stuff given by other men. They simply vanish, I do not know why.

THE LAUNCH
By : Iris P. Concepcion

They came in droves at the Coliseum prepared to have a merry making support for their leaders, a carnival of what they truly felt if and when today is election time.

The original pictures do not have spaces actually. These are filled by people but recent technology can remove that too. Believe my honesty, that was filled. I have seen how these pictures are doctored by panic stricken ladies (they got caught in their demolition rooms fixing things---very professional stilletos gone low) with snowboards atop their genteel resumes.

Anyhow.

These are the faces I often see in the provinces, along the sidewalks, wearing their sentiments in the most creative manner possible---riding in padyaks in streams and streams and streams of newly cemented roads, dwarfing even the newest, shiniest cars on the highway. These faces look like montages of what is to come; a people driven to contribute something to have this country be attuned to the beat of the 20th century.

We need vibrancy and I saw vibrancy there.

I had been to a lot of political street events like these and this is the first time that I saw people in calm, smooth, spontaneous smiles and laughters. Without fear to life this time (no threats of tanks), the participants looked less stressed out. Even the streamers were so MTV and with spectacular meanings (tarpaulins for upcoming musical shows looming like flying carpets). You normally see this only during launches of new computer gadgets. Inside the mall with posh coffee shops and eating outlets, these yellow shirted people walked and dined and conversed. I haven't seen quite like this before----milling people whose shirts talk more than their mouths can. This is a work of our young,who, for the first time in their life, were taken in and invited to participate in building our society.

I walked along the sidewalks they had helped in envisioning. Millions of feet had been pampered, walking is less strenuous---the horizon catches the eyes in designs so good you can eat them.

These people were not solely up against an individual this time around nor are they itching to depose someone but, finally, (my dream actually), I saw a people bonding by expressing a collective desire to invigorate a system steeped in laggardness. This is no mere lip service. They are out there helping out, lending a hand and contributing---elevate that bayanihan spirit to make this work. This is the most democratic manner they know of in showing this kind of festive participation.

We have to start somewhere in cleansing up this antagonistic way of expressing our disgust and start working on it in a less hostile medium. Most importantly, we need to EXPERIENCE the results. I did and God, was I thankful for those less troubled streets I now tread.

I was truly gladdened that some of my admired men in uniform got hip in expressing what they want. One shirt said : "Malakas ka sa Klase Namin."

I want something like this----less of trash talk that doesn't get anywhere except making you look like a bad robot.

No more bullhorned shouts this time that are hushed once the roar has subsided. I see these people being tapped to work and build and I think they will truly deliver.

I saw a long line of young boys in shaved heads with NOY-MAR shirts flashing to me a Laban sign when they saw me extending my camera phone for them to get captured in the lens. These are not camera-shy wallpapers---they want the cameras to capture what they couldn't possibly express in printed words.

We all had passion before but we were not bouyant, as if, when it comes to fine-tuning a system that should govern us. We shout then return to our homes and watch television. We were good at rattling consciences then but after that, we are lost and we crawl on how we want to be governed.

We get depressed when we do not see any change after all those long marches. That's the problem.

This is the time to turn that around.

I am referring to the launching of one political party's (LP) senatorial line-up. They wanted to use that process of determining their next leader. It was a sight to behold. I hope the pictures spread were not barbarized once again by these genteel people of the favored lot.

One time, I even heard the presidential candidate of the administration party explaining his platform like Steve Jobs would. Why not? I am excited to hear these candidates tearing each other's throats but on issues. I am impressed by that kind of elevated nuance injected into our selection process.

I was whining over the terrible road in my little town before. In less than a year, it was cemented with no blahs; I even saw that the materials used were not substandard. I asked: why was that done? Because these leaders started listening to miniscule people like me.

Nagagawa naman pala pag gugustuhin. By heart, these are the kind of people moving behind some of the candidates aspiring for public offices and this is the current voice that we NEED to hear.

This is already being started. Let us not be too small to derail this one step of Filipino-hood that could be a giant step for our society. We are a modern country or so our malls flaunt. Let us show the world then that we too can conduct our level of political discussions civilly.

Look at what these young people had laid thus far with their laboratory experiments in government offices. Like the makeshift cities of the kids I had blogged. Very effective and speedy.

They promise one thing: our government seems to be foisted on greater heights with the kind of openness and expertise they bring with their resumes. Please then, let us not be hostile to them.

A plus factor: they make public service almost sexed-up.

I mean this as something that is alive, productive, fulfilling and complete and that is a good thing.

We can't afford NOT to seize this opportunity. Let us not harrass these people who are infusing a new lease of greatness to our government.

One bag said it: Only one word to fulfill you:

Happy.

We need these people.

Government need not be morose, come to think of it.

SORT OF A MALL
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I could not be too serious for anything right now?

There was a bun of hair beautifully circled in all one central park of strands down the escalator ahead of me. There is just this head floating, not really tackily coiffed---it is some sort of how statesmen would do if they were hairdressers---but it is all you see, like one huge hairball that went on and on and on and on and on rising above the neck.

Afterwhich I saw its owner haggling for medicine at the corner pharmacy store with her hair burgeoning like an angry sun, rays blinding the mall with its tightly fastened..............strands.

Must be the brain waves sucked in by all that hair root, I went to the............................lingerie corner.

Beautiful undies.

With ribbons and ubiquitous-foreboding messages that made me laugh. Whoever is manning that controlled semi-PBS with some Blue Velvet teleporting ought to get.............coiffed.

Fast.

A Link
By : Iris P. Concepcion

Worth a read :

http://www.marroxas.com/features/online-campaign/

BUILDING A DREAM (IN STEP-BY-STEP MANUAL)
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Remember the kids I wrote about who argued a lot and ate grilled bread after?

They were bunking near the porch one time, making makeshift cities with houses, pools, hotels, runways, overpasses and roads, even lighting up torches since they were hankering (bordering to emo blackmail even) by simulating grief for me to provide them electricity connection which I sternly expressed I could not provide. They likewise asked for a cement budget. I declined saying, they should earn it.

When I woke up one morning, I noticed that they already built cemented roads without any monetary help from me. And an overpass. They were discussing that they should elect a mayor from among themselves. They named the airport after myself. Clearly, these are kids who could not be dampened by rejections. They would find ways to build even from scratch. I asked them where they got their money. They replied: savings.

In their ruggamuffin clothes and sleepiness, they did build.

What I provided them is shelter and food and internet fees with loads of reprimanding and lessons about life I suppose. Pep talks which oftentimes sent them to tears and tantrums but they got valuable tips from me on how to get education from within their nomadic structure. I think I merited a recognition for my talks since some of my inputs had already been applied quite effectively. That's MY job, if you need to rub it in. I consider it a waste of time defacing other people's progress. Anyhow, the benefit is for the larger communities out there.

It thrilled me likewise that they relished the first food I had prepared for them: my meat tenderloin with soy sauce and onions. One even cleaned my chamber pot (the one used for urination) since he was aghast by my using a pan as urinal inside the room. It was a funny incident. I told him I still could not use it since it has holes in it.

They were playing house obviously, only, they transported the video games they were playing on the net about owning properties and improvised thereafter. I do not give them internet money daily therefore, they MADE their internet games live. In my porch. Everyday they would ask each other: How much is your money? One adopted my answer of not revolving around their life on money. One finds ways for it eventually.

They were camping in abandoned houses.

Once, a daughter requested: " I need ingredients." I parried: "For food?"

"No," she replied. "For my musical lesson. I need lapis (pencil), and musical books."

Ingredients? Who am I to correct her brilliant noun? I felt like a moron beside her.

I bought toy airplanes (two) for them since they had a long runway.

One day, I heard them shouting loudly at each other. When I inquired why, they said one of the houses was razed by fire. I asked the owner what he intends to do about it. He said, he is going to build again and replan the whole structure.

It was sweet of them to think that way: that after the raze, they plan of building bigger structures over junk food. When the swimming pool was gone, the owner said: "Must transfer it somewhere, in huger form."

I do not breed monolithic thinkers. They never agree with me at all times. In fact they merely show the better option by presenting what they are capable of doing vis-a-vis the existing structures.

They are the types without hefty sums of money in the bank but always surprises by building things that are useful, functional and benefitting everyone. I admit it, they provide quality works without gloating. I could not dole them out with fancy cars, resorts, designer clothes and images worth the covers (hahahahaha, what am I, a joke?) but I sustain a desire for them to dream and dream huge.

One of these types, a leader in forming, I once asked along the sidewalk in scorching heat and congested streets : "Where to?"

The answer: "Take a walk, go to that corner. A ride is waiting there." I had noticed that he had dirty cuticles. But he had dignity by pointing at me the horizon I am to tread.

True to word, I simply hopped in and arrived at the destination.

FOOD TRIP
By: Iris P. Concepcion

The above-captured picture is lunch today and in local parlance, is hungrily called "bulalo".

The opening in that bone does look like a lava opening but it is actually a bony, fat container of an oily, softy, innard. A beef delicacy that swims in soupy water.

I have re-acquianted myself with the art of walking: small steps filling the road with flip-flop sound marches--my strides seem to be endless and I genuinely like navigating without riding, pausing in the middle, as if in flight, expecting sometimes to be off the ground, elevating as it seems, my feet and striding mid-air.

Anyhow, this has nothing to do with the food above.

I am expecting some thrift markets swarming in the sidewalk for me to waste my 20 bucks for. Or some socks. From where I came from, I have this kind of a walking surprise.

But then these people with elongated cheeks started appearing, bumped off from The Coneheads (these people have pointy heads who make love the same way---by bumping off their heads together) and went on to merrier S.J.'s animations. I have known their traits already. Their weird and crazy connection has brought me to characters stuck in the moon with lozenges-challenged throats.

I do not know but I think my ring is quite fit with my finger. Really now, if you do that for someone you excrete your words for on a daily basis, why the s*** should that be a bother to a dried up batcave (insider joke---haha, I am explaining).

Thank you too for reading. My clout is spreading. Aha!

I-Team
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Now, you ask, what the heck is this, as you query with the pretentious "I care for the world and I am free of sin because I am a successful person" kind of expression.

If this exists, my favorite Dogma director is essential to be quoted, as a foil to those who genuinely abhor me. Here: "F**k you, media, for not looking any deeper than the sound bite that’ll sell a falsehood."

I do not carry a war with this institution since I love the craft and its little people's thirst for more creativity.

Lately, I have heard the most ludicrous selling of stories that made me rotate my head six hundred times. Is that truly happening? What I know is, journalists MUST, and should carry their craft with conscience crawling in their keyboards and jumping like jumping jacks. Do not get me wrong, I admire plenty of people in this field and whenever I am with them, I make sure, small that my presence may have contributed to their importance, to express my unwritten appreciation.

It, however, broke me to pieces when I have been opened to WHAT they do with the craft in exchange for something. I bleed everytime I watch the clips. The enemy is not me. When did you last write a truly significant article that will show the world you are worthy of THAT trust? And they are going to mime and drug everyone to cover up for their unethical manners? I no longer call myself a journalist because it takes a nation to show you that this profession, above all else, is WHERE ethical processes MUST start.

Whenever you create a mob to stifle what you had been doing backdoor since writing may have lost its lustre already; that writing becomes a chore to further a lavish lifestyle, I directly point my finger at you in hurting tears: you have lost any credibility to accuse in paper or hack any legitimate transmission of information by reason of that same reason. Do not call yourself a journalist if you had aided in some way or the other with THAT stifling. Shameful.

Yes, my favorite hefty man, eat my offering since your quotation WAS precise.

MY OWN
By: Iris P. Concepcion

There is a sullen feeling all over. I am dwelling in my hometown, gaunt, spocked with scars, my armpits have boils and my toes are riddled with uncut cuticles.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Now reverse everything.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The exact opposite is happening. My imaginary kids are all fat. And riding in space shuttles to dodge something of the unknown. Ha. Paste smiley here.

And I think much is given thanks to those who are blessed much.

HILARIOUS FATSO CLONED SOMEONE AND GOT CLONED IN RETURN.
BUT, I'D KNOW, ANYWAY.
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I was supposed to write a Hemingway-an ouvre kind of piece, sullen and punctured since I just exercised my mouth from a verbal match. Not my mood though.

Funny account then.

The deconstruction of a life said to be devoted to women in utmost fidelity got uproarious when all these protruded tummies paraded down the canal like Oliver's lost children (I presume he got married) and it snapped me out from my temporal sleepiness. That was terrible. Especially the cross-eyed son-of-a-bottle looking like a wallflower who kept on saying : "Mom, mom!"

Anyhow, it ain't my crowd but my crowd was there too, dethreading some lyrics. I liked the snooze mode I had felt. You know this fatso with the tacky silver bracelet had two girls, having a great time. I wish I could slap him on the back and say: "You freako!" Anyhoo, his pants was so tight you'd wonder if those legs can still move. It was like weighed down by two Neptunes in hardboil cement.

I could not wait to give a shout-out to that villain with the extending lips : I slept, and so did your Mom when you started singing. You poor boy! Awful voice. My baby's gonna spank you in that arena. Joke. What's with the beard? You look like a shaved monkey.

I was likewise given something to make me smell good and some Burtonish facials that's straight off from Beetleguese. It said : Dead Sea. I can only mutter : Voila.

The boyfriend well captured in my previous blog item won't like me deboning things for people he is not smoochie with so I simply stop now.

I do because he is loved I suppose, and you just follow THAT rule. He is a slob, I tell you. He does that when he is upset. I do not want him looking like a slob, get it?

I am sooooooooo corny. Burrrrrrrrr.

STORY (about, of, on, in) OF LOVE
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I was picking a star the other night explaining that those who can't own expensive toys can point at any twinkling object up THERE and it is his/hers for free. This was rubbed on to me by my imaginary kids who are very confident in speaking their minds, to wit: "I am going to build this park with ponds filled with giraffes (not literally swimming on the ponds but walking---they are tall after all---I need to stress that it is a huge, huge pond---you can then deduce that the park is equally humungous), with water up to their necks, walking as they are like rubber duckies but only, live rubber duckies).

Therefore, I looked up and said: "That's mine!" addressing a lone blinking star that twinkled exquisitely.

It should have been : "Hey star, you are mine!"

I also spoke with a girl whose boyfriend, on the brink of screaming for having such a swishing partner, ("She is very reliable. You can rely on her NOT to keep her promise") sought my company for advice.

I asked this girl, nay a woman, who had experienced dreamy nights lately with todpoles entering her body like patches of valor ("Look hon, am a toad!") why she keeps the crazy lines upbeat for grape harvesting but goes to the wall after and pastes herself there like a still ornament.

"He does not admit it but he likes it that way I suppose. He copes by farting."

"Huh?" this well-coiffed inquisitor who I am portraying with laughter since I hate being coiffed, queried in a wondering tone.

She went on : "If he hates you, he wouldn't smash your face or balls. He wouldn't even show his d**ck to announce that he's got the longest piss. He will just crawl into your system. When you are hitting your best shots for survival which is your manifestation of insecurity and misplaced arrogance, after everything derogatory, foul, irksome or otherwise had been said, he will give you the privilege of allowing you to hear his one huge fart. That means he doesn't like what he had heard or he doesn't really like you. He wouldn't even touch your food. His friends do the same."

I, the portraying self, just burped and went out, but not after asking the girl "and you still love him?"

"Are you crazy? Of course you dumb s**t!"

I stood there, aghast and luminous and impressed and amazed (if these three combinations are possible in one facial expression). And thats the exact twist of this meeting.

Excerpt

By: Iris P. Concepcion

I got this from an entry written by Manuel Quezon III. Neat encapsulation of how to scribble when some segments accuse you (with misplaced haughtiness) that your mind is already too dimmed for spectacular words.

Good writing, above all else, writes about the truth, I surmised. I do not care if I have seen the butts of these confessors; when they write, I happily read.

Here's the intro :

"THE thrilling thing about the year…was that it was a time when significant segments of population all over the globe refused to be silent about the many things that were wrong with the world….And this gave the world a sense of hope that it has rarely had, a sense that where there is wrong, there are always people who will expose it and try to change it.”

That was Mark Kurlansky writing in his marvelous book 1968: The Year That Rocked the World."

MERRY CHRISTMAS!
By: Happy New Year

ERRRRRRRRR!
In Defense of Tolkien's Growing Hobbits
By: Happy New Year

YES, You Can.

Choose Your Title
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Thus, from the land of fighting marionettes and chambers of the rising middle class, I seek thee your attention to an important celebration of tidings and goodwill as this writer, ever conscious of the fact that a dug well, bloody in rotation inside her stomach that even without a faucet, leaked, as proof that she is indeed a woman with working ovaries, her who had paused for a while, and in a staggering manner, composed this, in fractions, mindful that she had halved her brain often times between stasis and action. In stasis, children admonished: "Write us in your forthcoming children's book!!" Continuing, in between howls and arguments with: "Look," as if they say, "use our gregariousness forever! It is free!"

Hold forth:

Fight to liberty (I sometimes think of myself as a fraternal twin of Napoleon, only prudish). Anyhow.Freedom to dream.

The line to buy rice could be longer than what the forces of nature may have bequeathed upon rows and rows of water split suddenly by some humming, unseen hand. Flowing, running, skipping velocity, possessing unshod feet, streaming freely, faster, speedier, snobbing and slapping the big rocks like NASA-built invisible chutes inside submarines, its current equipped with still to be tailored, spectacular skiing boots, trodding down the liquid alleys which by itself is its own body mass, running, running, running like a marathoner (it will be spectacular, cute even, to place yacking hummingbirds on top of this water gone amuck, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, winking down below the liquid athlete and while we're at it, decorate the whole dramamatized set-up with white flowers intrusively prettifying the almost perfect surroundings----all that motion, imagine---like there is war underneath. So explosive).

A 180 degree turn of events brought me by myself again after crafting this verse:

I see, I see
Words coming out
Of your eye sockets

Forming, filming
Waves, planets
Toes, manifestos

Sharps and notes
Burning your chests
And fists

Pulling down bastardized animals
Behind you
Grinning

Fixing holes
Like Sgt. Pepper's man
Peering, clenching

Haven't you lost your
Minds to stale crabs and
Nature cheated daffodils

No, you spoke
Through your alphabets and G-clefts
Hell, purgatory, Alcatraz:
No.

And thus I remember my imaginary sister calling out to me, who said boldly and bravely: "Here, I'll carry you."