I carry your heart

I carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
not fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e. e. cummings you are amazing.

the best love stories

There's one book that's truly special to me, just because.

Clicking on the image takes you to the video, but reading it really is much better. Go on, even National Bookstore has it.

Yesterday, I found another one that's just as sweet.

It made me miss someone. And now I'm trying my best not to think about it (and yeah, I know, writing a blog entry about it must help hahah). But really, I just wanted to share these titles. These books show you that sometimes, the simplest words tell the best stories.

three wishes

If I had all the resources in the world, I would turn this -

into something like this -

(C'mon, click on the photo, CLICK!)

or even better!

The Luneta Hotel building has always been one of those structures I'd love to get my hands on.

I guess my only consolation now is this, the promise of "restoration, not demolition", though I have to ask myself if it's really happening anytime soon. Get your fingers crossed for me! Pretty please?

---

Last night I dreamt I went shopping. I bought 4 dresses, and they were priced at 50% less. I haven't gone shopping in months. As Disney would say, a dream is a wish your heart makes. Nik, I'm missing you and our shopping trips big time!

I'm craving for Yoshinoya's Gyudon Rice Bowl. I used to have it for lunch every Sunday. Yumyumyum.

Oh my, I really do miss Manila now. (Any chance Yoshinoya's opening a branch in Iloilo? Now would be the right time for that genie, Sir Walt Disney Sir.)

what poetry can do

Poem For People Who Are Understandably Too Busy To Read Poetry
Stephen Dunn

Relax. This won't last long.
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there's a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he'll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you're busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it's sex you've always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party's unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don't think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don't know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it's needed. For it's apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I'll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don't give anything for this poem.
It doesn't expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case
or in your house. And if you're not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:

Good. Now here's what poetry can do.

Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There's an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You're beautiful for as long as you live.

dreams

No stories today, just a poem.

A Dream Deferred

Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?