Saturday, October 9, 2010


Ladies and gentlemen! Children of this earth
Listen carefully to the utterances that I will make
That you may hear the inevitable truth,
Today, I, a member of this miserable and piteous society
Announces my denunciation! My isolation! My contempt!
To this evil society that money has put together.
To this evil society who has exploited its own home.
To this evil society who became dead.

Consider me an alien from now on, an outcast!
I will leave my things, I will leave my work, and I will leave isolate myself.
I will bathe under the light of Henry David Thoreau, whom you, children of this earth, have stoned to death long ago.

Like him ladies and gentlemen, I mourn.
Not because of forests slowly flattened, not because of rivers blackened, not because of the thousand crying souls suffering from exploitations of the powerful men in suits.
I mourn to the simple statement “we’re not being human anymore”
“Not being human anymore”
“Not human anymore”
Money causes us to decay, our decrepitude made its way to our pastures. Our own hands block her breathing, GAIA, our mother.

You cannot blame me for this decision ladies and gentlemen, children of this earth; I’m trying to be fundamental, while you, you, you Indulge yourselves with material things that make you dull, make you obese, make you in the trend. Corruption slowly drills into your head like a highly alcoholic drink you spend too much on cosmetics and senseless cell phone load. Money has corrupted us like how the snake corrupted Eve in garden paradise. The reason of poor and reckless mental capabilities of our youth who doesn’t know that burgers they buy on fast-food chains burn down forests to their roots. Massive rain forests for cattle graze land and soybean production for alternative fuels are just one of the main moves of profit-oriented corporations. There is no win-win solution in here ladies and gentlemen only death and murder.

The greedy corporate capitalists not just smile; they rejoice at our discontentment, they rejoice out of our innate discontentment! We buy, then we buy and we buy some more! We upgrade our lives! The latest cell phones, the fastest computers, the hippest bikes, the biggest refrigerator, the most effective slimming tablet, the most potent love inducing drug, the most, the latest, the best, the hippest. What more can you ask more freak!!!
Hear their thundering jubilation from your mindless consumption.

Profit orientation has an incestuous relationship with exploitation.
Someone buys premium consumer items in SM mall, packaged in fancy plastic design with tiny Winnie flower promos in It. then later hurl it into an innocent river!
Someone buys a new cell phone battery from china, disposes the old one, and burns it and poof! Toxic smoke!

This disgrace has been passed on to the youth and their fertile minds, we live not to be humans, we live like machines dictated by a program behind the computer monitor. Like big brother in PBB. The desire for good living is just a mere fantasy for now, in this generation. The culture of death is upon us. It is like a jolt of dominoes crashing together forever. Nature! Natural! Our home! Our habitat is in garbage. We have nothing, no one to blame in this misery, except our insolent selves, unless we become humans again.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Psychic Kiss is Weird

Her Lips, Fresh Rambutan flesh
When i close my eyes the thoughts zoom in
The succulence
Juice run on the crevices of moist pink
Drops into a trench
Deeper than desire
quickly starts a fire
Scattering by the second, in all directions.
Hearts burn, mood switches turn,
Thoughts probe the depths like a mental submarine
Taking data, savoring data, sweet specimens
From the curious abyss of saliva
Her lips,
Is an ocean behind my lips.

Friday, January 15, 2010


A hazy, Lazy daylight grey
Revolves around another black Sunday
Unconsciously enters the part
Where people stand up and shake hands
It does not last long.

When you see faces in the puddles
After a rain
And know they no longer know
The you
That is where I see the beauty of a poem,
The way in nullifies the grime
On unreachable places
Like the moss-laden gutters and a heart mute.

When the birds sing on different voices
And you think of dueling Violins,
That is where you’ll hear the melody of a
Million cheers for a broken ear and knuckle,
Smeared with blood and sweat.

When on a hazy, lazy daylight grey
You felt forsaken
Like Jesus Christ
Who cried?
And fed beggars on the streets,
That is where I see the beauty of a poem.

When in a state of mind
You try to fly
To paradise
To feed a hungry self,
But a mirror always looks at you at the ceiling
When you wake up
And you go back to sleep
To feel the dreams so real but blank
That is how a poem writes itself
On an innocent piece of paper.