19th of June (2011)

I remember. That was one of the happiest moments in my mid life. Returning to each other was so swift and easy. No faults that needed forgiveness. No hurt that needed healing. No angst. No regrets. But only pure, innocent feelings, we both probably did not recognize how strong and lasting it have become until we met again online. It felt like there was never 30 years between us. No 7,421 nautical miles that ever separated us. We almost forgot all about the broken relationships and bad marriages we both went through over the years. Suddenly two worlds collided beyond time and space.

We wanted each other so badly ... 3 decades was drought so we went thirsty ... 3 decades was famine we were so hungry to be together ...

You taught me how to cook, and for a short period of time I learned a few dishes. I was hoping, one day, I could serve you your favorite pinakbet :) I dunno if I was able to tell you that I love to learn to bake and design lovely cakes, and I also wish to make ‘em for you, and the boys, and princess.

You said you were coming home this summer. Celebrate my birthday with me. I was hoping you’d surprise me in my office . Or may be you’d call up Ate Weng since you asked for her number so we can hang out in Starbucks, her usual strong, black coffee, my signature hot choc’late, you and your caffe misto. You know, I saved up all my VLs so we can vacation in Tagaytay and run away to Baguio (and fulfill your fantasy of making out in the bus) :). Bring you to Eat Bulaga and have a photo op with your crush, Julia. :)

I promised you, so I got it for you. Weng’s nephew’s buying it from me so he can resell … somebody offered to post it in Ebay. When a friend showed me all your Thanksgiving etc pictures with the woman you married, I thought of sending this to the Brokenship Museum in Zagreb. But this pair was meant for you. For 7 months now, it has been resting quietly inside my ottoman, collecting dusts and webs. But still I can’t give it away.

Didn’t we make big schmaltzy crazy love each time we get the chance. And that one, big, bold dream to have a baby girl of our own, and call her Mikaela J. Didn’t we want to marry each other, retire, and grow old together. You said, I was the best thing that ever happened to you. I said, I’ll always love you.

It’s been a year. There’s always this unrelenting spirit inside of me that has long quit pretending that you really loved me.

But I still stop by and reminisce, all the love we had for each other and all the dreams we shared. Surreal. Fleeting. But still a beautiful dream. I tell that myself over and over again trying to fight back and win over that restless ghost residing in my head.

...memories when disturbed they haunt two people for the rest of their lives

this one’s for the memories. jusz memories. memories do not belong in the present. and certainly will not make it to the future.

***bumping on an old post. "Love breaks ...", 09/06/2011, 4:01PM http://mypixietales.blogspot.com/2011/09/break-heart.html

So,there was us, 30 years later and I was three feet away from you. You could say hello, but you didn't want to disturb the memory. (This was what you should have done, and spared me from all these, and kept our memory in peace. :-( )

Nah, not everyone gets a second chance in this life. Sometimes you have to make the most of your first serving. There’s nothing best left to save for last.

Ashes to ashes, dusts to dusts. Those 30 years was our prep, Those 2 months was our second shot at love and happiness. We suck. And blew it. (God must be very angry at us now.)

my deadly rebellious streak @ 42

This week, last month, 7 months ago, it’s been a year. 32 years. This weekend was culminating. It was out of impulse. It was long overdue.

Saturday. The sun was burning the streets . It got my cheeks roasted red and broken. Freckles crawling on my upper arms. I wish I was vacationing in Bora, getting this tan while wearin’ my fave Esprit bikini tops over my chocolate brown mossimo boy leg … dreammmm on.

It was a huge signage in a sleepy alley. I wasn’t sure what got into me that day. But to know his alive, and awake, contented and happy wasting time on that side of the planet. That made me smile. Soon nuff I was trekking that old lonely street up north tearfully . Softly wishin’ butterflies so I could fly myself there to him and be part of hisworld, but it’s not me that he wants.

You won’t notice I just landed on your shoulders even when it’s never me that you wanted. I was so closed makin’ that kiss for real but you shove away even the gentlest one. :(

Right after egress. Got a little boozed up with VDM pips. The pool was inviting but I don’t like chlorine on my skin these days J . Got up early, packed my little bag … back to the streets of Laoag, rain touching my face. I love early morning peaceful walks, water and breeze. J

I was early. Janer was a little late. I was nervous. He was calm.

I originally wanted daisy chains or anything symbolic and sweet on my ring finger. My high school friend Mary Liza and I were planning about getting inked as soon as we get to our hometown in time for our silver year reunion. That was December last year. Her hubby got sick so she had to postpone her plans of coming home. Many things happened to me between December and today. Between December and the first half of 2011.

But there was something about this weekend. That drove me a bit wild and spontaneous. Bent. This feeling makes you fiercer than physical pain.

I remember my first butterfly. All the wrong and right reasons why I was so serious in getting butchered. That was 6 years ago. Last weekend, I was more driven. For all the wrong and right reasons. I needed that knife again.

One shot for the pain.

Another for anger.

Last one for complete abandon.

Marley.

dirty kitchen

One afternoon, with a cranky internet connection, lovelace™ one of my albums in Facebook, running full with all my artsy fartsy collectibles for the last 3 years. Encompassing 250 plus of “practically anything creative” in diverse media, all associated with this writer’s personal preferences, timeline, people, emotions, memories ...

My hardrive at home and in my work station jam-packed with new artistic assortments so that really prompted me in creating lovelace®. ™’s twin sister LOL. I was trying to find the most suitable play of words , and give my album it’s textual feel. That led me to Sarah’s :) emotional and personal definition of art, and Satu’s aesthetics of sensual desire, sexuality and romantic love.

… not to mention that earlier on I have been an anonymous follower of a co-blogger’s “sexually explicit diary of an outwardly ordinary couple” :).

I belong to the most sensual influence in the zodiac, bar none. Ruled by Venus, Taureans live to be pleasurably stimulated. Great food, good wine, fine music, long afternoons spent lounging in lavish comfort — if it involves pleasing sensations, Taurus is there. Under the Astrology of Kink, I am Taurus the Hedonist LOL … that somehow justifies my natural affiliation to anything … everything sensual :)

Read somewhere in the net that sexual love and desire, can be found down through literary history in cultures around the world. These collections include Egyptian love songs, Chinese classics from the Ming Dynasty, Indian love poems, and Goethe's erotic poems.

Oh well, must say, new age brought several variations :), and technology provides more access to these deviations.

Currently, in awe and appreciation, finding an anime addict, game fanatic, daydreamer, food lover and pillow-hugger who loves writing and reading poetry. So pleased to discover a proud professional lawyer, wife and mother. 26 years. Asian. I even believe she’s Filipina. I admire her skills, her honesty, her valor as an erotic poet. “Afterglow.”

Welcome to my latest perversion …. I mean, fascination … EROTIC POETRY.

Posting it @ Loveblender last nyte, and today here. I successfully slightly morphed Satu’s.

My pleasure in my pain … masochistic love … reminiscing, reliving our sexual fantasies... the two of us probably will ne'er get to live to see and (do) :(

Two bulls. Joel and I. Divinely sensual! A strong physical attraction and plenty of sensuality. Deep sexual connection and absolute madness in love. That figures.

I remember … I long for … that late night bus ride to Baguio City, lights out, everyone else quiet in their sleep. Left for ourselves, feeding on each other. And yes, the thought of restlessness of being watched, of getting caught, and that sudden discharge of accumulated sexual tension.

And that contrived hungry sex on the kitchen sink before he threw her onto the bed. We both wanted to re-enact that scene, immortalizing our love and desire for each other. Minus, the fatal side of course :)

As what he used to say, he still loves good food
and great sex.

I must say, the best ones for me, are the ones I make with some I really love.
Sincerely. Faithfully. Exclusively.



makin' love in the kitchen

My pumpkin pie crust has collapsed in the oven,
but my apple streusel tart came out beautifully.
I had to write before beginning to make the pecan squares, and
concord grape pie.

I am guzzling strong coffee to stay awake,
and using laughter to stay just slightly off balance,
but what I really want is to open my robe,
climb onto your lap,
slide onto you ...
and let you rock me to the moon.

I Love You, honey. Still.

Reading is the new seXy

vanity is getting criminally blasphemous LOL …

home therapy as an excuse to shopholism... pimping mah sweet little abode with vintage china from the new thrift shop down town, practical knacks from that japanese store by Aguinaldo highway, and that precious Marilyn Monroe shower curtain from my other love city, Dumaguete.

my personal vendetta ... magnifying waves on my delicious long brown tresses, coloring my eye lids black, painting my toes in nouveau blue, heels in pink, sprinkles of lash serum in my mind, losing sleep over waterfall braids, strawberry blush, new york apple, concealers and palettes, resurrecting my torn and worn jeans, my Melissa jelly wedge in deeper darker cobalt blue, obssess with Cath Kidston, Marilyn Monroe, everything about art ... poetry, mystical pop and purple in-ear beats, painting, watercolor, vector, doodles, photography, cake designs (love fondants!), nail art, Denise Andrade, the late Andrea Burden, frommoontomoon, pinterest (officially addicted to pinning arrgghhh), Joel Benjamin capturing my unguarded moments makin' love with peace and quiet :) ... Maxabella Loves, and my unsatiable hunger for beautiful words ... online reads ... uhmmm yes even erotic poetry ;)

my current oral fixation LOL … ice cream and fresh seedless grapes

i'm sorry not been writing a lot lately been busy reading too much these days

so how was your yesterday?

If we leave ...

Sana when we leave and move away
your brain gets a reset, not brand new,
it's like clearing your cache
empty just ready for new downloads
Sana when we leave and move away

It's like absolute amnesia
There are no memories, good and especially bad
I think that's fair nuff
You don't remember old names, no familiar faces
The past erased, no reason to look back and regret
What you did instead of what you should have done
Things you said, and did not say
What you missed,and found
and threw away again.

when you think youll never be over it, remember you once thought it would last forever :)

This is something from Purvi a friend of someone who is "Poetically incorrect" :) shared and posted on their most favorite places in the world, Blurts.

You want the truth?
Well, here it is.
Eventually, you forget it all.
First, you forget everything you learned – the dates of wars and Pythagorean theorem. You especially forget everything you didn’t really learn, but just memorized the night before.
You forget the names of all but one or two of your favorite teachers; and eventually you forget those, too.
You forget your junior year class schedule and where you used to sit, and your best friend’s home phone number and the lyrics to that song you must have played a million times.
And eventually, but slowly, you forget your humiliations – even the ones that seemed indelible just fade away.
You forget who was cool and who was not, who was pretty, smart, athletic, and not.
Who went to a good college, who threw the best parties, who had the most friends – you forget all of them.
Even the ones you said you loved, and the ones you actually did.
They’re the last to go.
And once you’ve forgotten enough, you love someone else

- ‎Gabrielle Zevin, Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac