Similarly

His breathing next to hers, tantamount to her completeness.
She sighs in disbelief: forever after is theirs to devour.
She's lost for words,
lost in their steaming black hole of love and lust.

She seeks for similes;
he reeks for rimes.

Her touching close to his, paramount to his wholeness.
He grunts in relief: morrow, evermore is theirs to scour.
He's lost for words,
lost in their steaming black hole of love and lust.

She seeks.
He reeks.

He doesn't trip.
She doesn't flip.

While he was sleeping, she was dreaming.

Another Romancing Scene

In retrospect:
They're finishing each other's sentences.
They're filling the gaps in each other's hands.
They're both thinking of migrating into outer space.
They're both hearing their heartbeats race.

In retrograde:
They're faking their orgasms like how pornstars do it.
But those beautiful ones are not these scornful ones.
Dissimilarities.
Fuckyou-larities.

"Isn't it ironic that titillating has the word tit in it?"

Merely Merriments

"Oh, you humour me today."

He has always known how to tickle her bones and fancies. His limericks of love until her sight sees grey. His proclamations of lust even when her beauty turns pale. When he makes her laugh, canned laughters of helium and mirth - just burst, burst, and burst. 'Til her mandibles and stomach hurt.

Being enamoured through his quirks and foibles was like luridly touching felt finish for her: emollient and nearly addicting. Or like suddenly receiving a snail mail on a cumulus cloudy day: old-fashioned yet overly gratifying. He has never failed to amuse her. He shall always be her jester-in-disguise.

A dandy seventieth month of love from me to you,
my loverly Der Rosenkavalier.

Metaphors et Ampersands 001

Coffee (iced)
and
Cigarettes (flavoured)

Vice Versa, Almost

Murdered toes with calloused brows
Calloused toes with murdered brows

Threatening dildos
amidst
Hypertonic coitus

A conniving flapper
against
A pleasure seeker

Putrid pills after spoiled syrup
Spoiled days after putrid nights

Coughing, vomiting, with bleeding
Coughing, vomiting, after bleeding
Coughing, vomiting,

and bleeding...

Repeat 'til fade.

Xenophilia

Xenophilia, which literally means 'affinity for strangers,' was a loose sequel to Monochromanila. Similarly, it features 13 random people in their usual bouts, all in high-contrast black and white.

These images were captured mostly around the cities of Pasig and Manila. That was the time when I transitioned from analogue to digital. I was still a student and didn't have much funds for a decent film stash so I mostly took pictures using my Nikon D40.

01. "Rali"

02. "Buko"

03. "Basureros"

04. "Sabung-sabungan"

05. "Tanghaling Tapat"

06. "Boy Limos"

07. "Labandera"

08. "Oberpas"

09. "Sampaguita"

10. "Pinya"

11. "Antanda"

*12. "Bulok"

13. "Kariton"

*Picture #12 is my personal favorite. I was waiting for a bus ride home in Recto, Manila when I took this picture. I was very hesitant to take out my camera especially when a stranger near me freaked me out and said, "Hoy! Bawal 'yan ha!" I'm glad the thrill was worth it because I like the composition (and the message of the photo) very much.

See also: Monochromanila

Color by Technicolor

They are dressed like parody today: her glittered nails in turquoise and white, his ashen shirt in red and plaid. Her lashes bats for his, his mouth waters for hers. Not every bit of their lines is rhyming but their ideas are synchronized, like coffee and cigarettes. They march on gay parade.

Their senses are delighted! Pictures in stereoscope motion come swindling their fancies. The Cheshire feline's ear-to-ear smirk, the pimple-sized cranium of the lady-royale in red, the psychopathy of the hatted madman: everything conglomerated into a feast of the their ficklest fantasies.

Everything is in 3-dimension today: hologram dreams, kaleidoscopic dreams. It seems as if they're in a retro LSD daydream: but without the psychedelic pills swimming in their stomach.

Only their highly polarized adoration for each other, both dancing in their delirium.

Tabula Rasa

The grunt of idle machinery, the neighbors’ alternate voices and local radio gibberish, and bloody scums cantering like telestatics – cacophony!

Paper and pen used to be her avid companions. Rhyme and parallelism, her guiding stars. She used to write in the old-fashioned manner, with her lips pursed and her forehead partly convoluted. Her palms perspiring, she writhed along her cursive handwriting, full of strikethroughs and alterations. Her thoughts, gapped.

Someone once said that her wordings were fit for making songs. Someone made her believe she could. Sometime after she was made to believe, someone became sometime ago.

The thesaurus transmogrified her into a cankerous-cantankerous nymph. She now, after some years of idle hands, speaks of what is lacking – like overlooking the city’s rhinestones lights, like watching the last full reel on a silver screen, like the same old bold-faced lines under the brand new ochre afternoon skies. Her heart, void.

And her insides, coiled.

Ruborish de Luxe

Red-violet sunbeams illuminate the earthly terrarium of cuckoo nests. Twigs of solitary and of heath ravage the dainty asphalt wilds. Telegraph poles and wires perch along the city's skyline - all of these: blinding the already blind.

Here is an imagery to enlighten one's phobia of our deteriorating marble,
our rotting heaven and earth.