.::frivolous::.
She's a Leo with seven piercings, three tattoos and astigmatism who studies Nihongo on Saturdays, shuts her brain off on Sundays and for the rest of the week tries to make all her dreams come true.
Earshot 469

So he just looks at her
as if she were a book
he had held
so long, marked
so much, turned to
time and again, and
just now
done with and
closed shut.

Ricardo M. de Ungria, Pidgin Levitations

The Blues

I know someone who arranges his music
chronologically
by heartbreak
by woman
by order of slept-with.

One girl, he says, was a Billie Holiday.
He made it sound like she was a fizzing cocktail,
her voice a long cigarette and her eyes misery.

Being a narcissist
like any normal human being, I asked him what I was.

I haven’t slept with you yet.
He said. So I really couldn’t know.

- RM Urquico

Photo by Michellardi

Forty Degrees Centigrade

Nothing survives this room. Nothing - books, old pictures, records. Not even sadness, not even sin slowly dripping from tubercular faucets like hot saliva. Air convulsive with the fever of a thousand needlepoints. The long acetylene arm of noon reaches in through the broken window to blot everything out. This is not madness. This is Manila. This is the essence of blindness: not black but the sharpest, most inviolate white. The force that stirs everything - music of dead pipes, burning rooftops, droning water tanks, escaping as steam that renders the city phantasmal. God’s contempt made vapor. All things are the same at noon: white and combustible. Words, we fear for their fight, their utter dryness: little moth wings in fammable air. Words, like white, fever, air, music, god . So we stay. Stay still. Fall silent. Endure, all too knowingly. The virtue of blindness. Negation of dimensions. Cessation of all memory. World outside begs for rain and you are not of flesh anymore. Tiny sparks swirl surround your wordless body. So the soul - or whatever you might call it - finally lifts, as smoke leaves behind, with incalculable grace, things burning, things dissipating, things reborn.

- Insectissimo, Lourd de Veyra

“What had begun as casual seduction had turned into something worse; they found themselves in love, which was, of course, going too far.”
Nick Joaquin, The Woman Who Had Two Navels

Be sure to check out my post about the launch over at Annabs of Suburbia too. Congrats to theantithesiscollective and MovFest.

theantithesiscollective:

A few pictures from the .MOV 4th International Film, Music and Literature Festival and UNDER THE STORM Book Launch at the Podium and Ayala Museum

“He remembered her mouth closing and unclosing against his throat as they drove to his hotel and he knew now that she had been praying frantically all the time: those were prayers he had thought were kisses.”
Nick Joaquin, The Woman Who Had Two Navels