Category Archives: reflection
I am Prufrock
Three years of hormonal swings, occasional depression, misanthropy and my body’s break down… I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all I’m on the other side and I don’t know
I am Prufrock
Three years of hormonal swings, occasional depression, misanthropy and my body’s break down… I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all I’m on the other side and I don’t know
without song
I remember that crazy dizzying in love feeling. That was a long time ago. Since then, I’ve kept that shit on the chain. Losing that much of one’s self to another is crazy. Why would you entrust so much of yourself
without song
I remember that crazy dizzying in love feeling. That was a long time ago. Since then, I’ve kept that shit on the chain. Losing that much of one’s self to another is crazy. Why would you entrust so much of yourself
I’ve been here before
Grumblings of conspiracy. Whispered discussions in the hall. Certainty that the end is near. Academia. Or maybe, that’s just anywhere that people clump in groups; where someone has to be in charge and is beholden to someone above and to
I’ve been here before
Grumblings of conspiracy. Whispered discussions in the hall. Certainty that the end is near. Academia. Or maybe, that’s just anywhere that people clump in groups; where someone has to be in charge and is beholden to someone above and to
When I grow up I’m gonna be an old woman
Wondering at what point I turn into a little old woman? Oh, math. 2015 – 1962. Right, 53. I keep forgetting. It keeps sneaking up on me, this time passing. It’s in the sound of my sons’ voices, their stature, their
When I grow up I’m gonna be an old woman
Wondering at what point I turn into a little old woman? Oh, math. 2015 – 1962. Right, 53. I keep forgetting. It keeps sneaking up on me, this time passing. It’s in the sound of my sons’ voices, their stature, their
I don’t need to walk around in
There’s this story in a book about zen teachings. The story goes some dude argued that his appearance and behavior didn’t matter so much because his inner self was good. The other stuff was just surface. The teacher offers him
I don’t need to walk around in
There’s this story in a book about zen teachings. The story goes some dude argued that his appearance and behavior didn’t matter so much because his inner self was good. The other stuff was just surface. The teacher offers him
No. Let’s do that again.
Just start typing. Enough of this thinking. Waking up to a whirring mind is not optimal. It would have been better to do a lazy turn and smile at my lover’s sleeping form. I would have taken being licked awake
No. Let’s do that again.
Just start typing. Enough of this thinking. Waking up to a whirring mind is not optimal. It would have been better to do a lazy turn and smile at my lover’s sleeping form. I would have taken being licked awake
cleaning house
Every once and a while it is time to clean all the things. Part of it is leaving mom and dad’s place and seeing all the memory laden things there. Mom is talking selling the house in time. It’s okay,
cleaning house
Every once and a while it is time to clean all the things. Part of it is leaving mom and dad’s place and seeing all the memory laden things there. Mom is talking selling the house in time. It’s okay,
cleaning house
Right. Tabla rasa. New Year. Figure out the title after I figure out what I’m doing. But then again, that’s a bit of life right there, isn’t it? Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve
cleaning house
Right. Tabla rasa. New Year. Figure out the title after I figure out what I’m doing. But then again, that’s a bit of life right there, isn’t it? Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve
circle of life
What to say? I made longanisa the other day and found myself singing Longanisa…Longanisa…men have named you…(to the tune of Mona Lisa) And I remember dad singing that. He loved Nat King Cole. And it wasn’t sad — a happy
circle of life
What to say? I made longanisa the other day and found myself singing Longanisa…Longanisa…men have named you…(to the tune of Mona Lisa) And I remember dad singing that. He loved Nat King Cole. And it wasn’t sad — a happy
outside
With the changing weather, the hip aches and the leg gives out in unexpected bursts. Holidays approach and I think of dad often. It sneaks up on me in the way I groan in the morning. Geez, just vacuuming the
outside
With the changing weather, the hip aches and the leg gives out in unexpected bursts. Holidays approach and I think of dad often. It sneaks up on me in the way I groan in the morning. Geez, just vacuuming the
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