Archive for July, 2008

Kings are sweet all the time
July 31, 2008

By Pol Arellano

If you could defeat me

You could count on my sweet, splendor-filled promise

That the sun between the moving valleys

Belonging to the lazy giant you’ve stoned

To infinite irritation

Shall be yours to keep

You can count on that, dear friend.

If you could pin me to the ground

And rip my rusted crown

Out of my bulging head

You can be sure to enjoy

The graveyard my people have been nursing

For years plus a thousand

Yours will be the green vastness

That turns into a lovely shade of black and gold

When treaded by the right footsteps

You will have dominion over their

Dead myths and hopes

Their fantasies and dreams

Their weaknesses and lusts


Six to seven feet below the

Sweet, sweet lips of the ground

Yes you can.

If you could slit my throat

And free my screaming crimson

Out of its obedient frame

You may keep the Dancing Swans of Eden

Who will dance unceasingly

Till your eyes vomit salt-trimmed manifestations

Of grief, greed and gusto

You shall listen

And move your bloodied fingers to the rhythm

And swords and bayonets

May not disturb your solace

You may.

If you could puncture my fist-shaped beater

With your indispensable spear

You shall bed my lovely daughters

The princesses of my land and life

All seventy-nine of their milk-like complexions

And strawberry dispositions

They will line up

All in their best gowns and perfumes

To give you their chastity belts

And persuade you to spend

Some saccharine sweat

On their majestic mattresses

But you better watch your back, my lad

Daggers are easily hidden

In maddening whispers and soft light

But all of these

You may have

Yes you may.

If you could cut my thinker off

In one swift motion

With your ambitious sword

Hold me by my golden tresses

And raise me up high and proud

Let my blood flow to the clay-colored earth

But be sure to silence my mouth

For I may just praise you without apparent end

And proclaim your courageous victory

To the uplands and lowlands

So that they could bow

And asphyxiate you with their stares

And you might just feel

Like you would want to sew me back in place

Sew me like a milk-maid would her daughter’s

Beaten-up rag doll

But the deed is done

The deed is done

And you can count on it

Yes you can

And you may

Yes you may

For you shall

Oh you shall

If you behead me

Then the crown is yours to keep

Until another behead-er

Beheads you

Of your glorious state

Or you could always defend your crown

If it fits

If it fits you like your favorite Levi’s.

Perla N. Silangan
July 28, 2008

Ni Pol Arellano


Ako ang mahiwagang bukal na nagbubuga

Ng kayamanang higit pa sa walang-hanggang kabataan.

Pinalakpan ako’t pinapurihan nang

Tagurian akong bukod-tanging apoy sa gitna ng

nagmumurang galit ng

Mapanghusgang yelo ng aking ligid-ligiran.


Ako nga, akong dilag na may ‘di matatawarang kagandahan,

At may alindog na humahabol sa pinakatagong panaginip ng sinoman,

Ay nababalot sa walang dungis na kaputian.

Maputi pa sa yelo? Maputi pa sa abo.


Ako ang nagliliyab na lambak

Kung saan pinaslang ang mga tunay na hari at reyna ng lipunan;

Ang saksing tumatangis sa nakahahabag na paglaya,

Hindi ng tao at kultura,

Kundi’ng paglaya ng sumisirit na buhay

Mula sa mga mapuputla nang mga

Bintana ng mga

Aping anak-lupa.


Ako ang pinagkamalia’t pinagnasaan

Ng mga hayop at animal-asal;

Tinanggalang-puri at binaboy ang

Nakakaakit kong laman;

Nilatigo, itinali’t pinagpasapasahan

Ng malulupit na hayop na nanggigil sa kayumihang puro at dalisay.


Matapos ang panlalaban ng mga mapagmahal na anak-lupa –

Matapos ang pagkapugot ng mga banal na ulo –

At ang walang-kupas na pagsigaw ng mga sanggol –

At ang di-mabilang na mga babaeng gumamit ng kanilang mga luha bilang lampara sa

Bawat nakakatakot na hatinggabi –

Nakalagan ako’t nakalaya mula sa aking masamang panaginip!

Kalayaan! Kalayaan!

O sing-tamis ka ng gintong pulot sa aking labi’t lalamunan!


Na nakalaya na sa magagaspang na galamay ng mga

Mapang-api’t hukluban

Ay nangangapa pa rin sa maputla at nakasusukang dilim.

Ang mga anak-lupa

Na nag-alay ng ginto, pilak at ng kanilang dugo

Sa aking mahalimuyak na dambana

Nasaan na sila?


Nasaan na ang matamis na kalayaan?

Ang kalayaang sing-tamis ng pulot?

Tunay nga bang ang tamis ay hindi sa pulot lamang nalalasahan?

At tunay rin bang sing-tamis din ng pulot ang malamig at mapang-akit na serbesa?

Ako’y nalasing sa ‘di katotohanan;

Nalango ang aking diwa sa pamamagitan ng mapulang serbesa

At pininturahan nito ang aking mundo ng kulay ng kahangalan

Hindi ako lumaya

Ako ay pinatakas lang ng panandalian.

Nilinlang ako.


Inalisan ng kadakilaan.

Hinubdan ng kadalisayan.

Upang maging ganap nang puta

Na walang humpay nang pagpapasasaan ng dayuhang

di mapatid-patid ang karnal na uhaw.


Ang dakilang dalaga

Ang lasing na puta.

Remembering Milk.
July 28, 2008

By Pol Arellano

I opened the door to greet the

Bottle of milk the milkman left

I stared at it for a while, looking at how perfectly opaque

Milk is.

Perfectly white and bubbly


I took it inside and turned the TV on.

I watched Seinfeld, a re-run

And stared at the perfectly white and bubbly


I stood up and made toast.

I fried a couple of eggs and five slices of bacon

I made coffee,

Sweet coffee, without cream, just the way I like it.

I ate in silence as I stared at the perfectly white and bubbly


I left the soiled dishes on the sink

And went outside to play with

Rover, a chocolate Labrador

My blind neighbor owns.

While he’s not looking (he’s never looking)

I would play with Rover.

My blind neighbor likes me and I like Rover.

I bid Rover goodbye and promised

To see him tomorrow.

Rover barked.

I waved at his owner too.

But he didn’t wave back.

I know that my neighbor likes me.

And I like Rover.

As I headed home I thought of my dad.

He’s quite a character.

He slaps my mother whenever he comes home and doesn’t find

His favorite slippers at the front door.

He kisses my mother, passionately while were having dinner

Of baked beans and steak.

He slaps her whenever his wine is never cold enough.

He makes love to her noisily during the

Wee hours of the night

Waking me up with their moans and sighs.

My dad

He gave me nothing worth remembering

I opened my door and went to the kitchen.

I stared at the perfectly white and bubbly


I touched it and found out that it wasn’t cold

Neither was it too hot.

It was warm,

The perfectly white and bubbly


I smiled.

I thought of Rover.

I threw the bottle of perfectly white milk on the floor

On the same, exact spot I

Threw the previous bottles of perfectly white


And watched the broken glass glisten once again.

The perfectly white


Painted my red floor with its opaque beauty

Like the others before it.

The perfectly white


Never fails

He gave me nothing worth remembering.

Not even a chocolate Labrador named Rover.

Nothing but perfectly white


When would it fail?

Come on In.
July 28, 2008

This is an interesting assignment for our Cinematography class last semester. We were tasked to photograph vandalism on school premises and create a story out of it. Guess the last visitor in the story. Prize: A brand-new fountain.

Come On In

By Pol Arellano

Life has been sour for the likes of me. Or so people thought. Or maybe a part of me did, too. Or still does. After all, we are the Putrid Pradas of this neon-colored graveyard called world. The creative minds behind Britney Spears’ orgasmic dance steps, this season’s modish couture, the brilliant airline commercials that haunt you even in your middle-class dreams, are the ones whom the Vatican thinks are f**king Sodomites bent backwards.

And because they are the Vatican, what they think is almost immediately considered as a religious relic of some sort, thus I took it upon me to treasure their mindset. We are f**king Sodomites. We are f**king Sodomites. Call Rico the hairdresser and set up an appointment. I want my hair to look like an authentic Sodomite’s. Or maybe I’ll just run around the living room a couple of times, rumple my hair and stay true to the f**king part of the equation.

I met Christopher Anthony on the cafeteria one summer afternoon. He smelled like sweat, testosterone and sexual uncertainty. I stared at him as I took a bite out of my sandwich. He looked at me briefly, ate his spaghetti and fifteen minutes later, we were doing the deedinside the Throne, my favorite cubicle. It was hardly satisfying, the hot weather getting on my nerves like a bug that just can’t die, but he did kiss me softly on the lips afterwards, as if he fell in love with me some time during his ejaculation. And for his sweetness he went on my little hall of fame as lover number one.

This guy called me up, saying that he got my number from a friend’s friend and said that I could help him out with something “clandestine” in nature. I could sense that he was a hotshot of some sort, from the way he messaged me to the way he pushed me inside the Throne. He pushed his pants down and mounted me. I couldn’t think straight because his perfume was suffocating me; his smell was murdering the pleasure of the act. I kept imagining his popular girlfriend waiting outside the men’s restroom, wondering what the hell his Student Council President boyfriend is doing inside. But whenever I begin to think that his girlfriend would come wandering inside the restroom and find two thrashing bodies inside the last cubicle, his perfume would pull me back to reality. He finished, shoved a couple thousand pesos in my hand, put on his cap and went out. I called him RL, for his pungent perfume and his snobbishness. I wrote his name on Throne’s door and flushed his money down without an ounce of regret.

November showers are irritating. Especially in Buster_Arouser89’s case, he has to wear white all the damn time, he said. I met him on cyberspace and he expressed his desire to spend some quality time in the Throne. He was clean and robot-like. His movements were almost numbered and I could’ve sworn that he was counting all the way to seventy. When he whisked-off his condom, he seemed to have finished a 15-hour brain surgery. He gave me, of all things, vitamins and told me to take care of myself. For his sterility and health care advice, he was immortalized on my favorite cubicle’s door.

Algebra was the sexiest subject I ever had. There’s something about men and numbers that make me swoon. So when the class’ delightful duo, Nathan Dwight and Ian Nathan followed me to the Throne one cold December evening, I knew that it would be a moment to remember. The cubicle was never that crowded and I was never that satisfied. Only when we heard footsteps outside the restroom did we even think of stopping. The twins fixed their pants, promised to do my algebra homework some time if I promised to agree to a group study next week and went out.

It’s been three months and I’ve been getting mysterious letters. In impeccable handwriting, the sender writes of my perfectly formed anus, my wonderful thrusts. He tells me that he knows what I’ve been doing in the Throne. He says he can change my future. He says that I should kiss him, torridly on the lips as he rips my clothes off. I’m guessing he’s a powerful man. And I’m going to find out soon enough. I’m meeting him tonight in the Throne. Wearing my lucky boxers, I sit and wait. He signs his letters with perfect letter Gs. And so I write the letter G next to Ian Nathan’s initials, just in case I wouldn’t get to do it again.

I am, after all, a f**king Sodomite.

And it didn’t end all to well for the likes of me.

Ang Buwan at ang Magnanakaw.
July 28, 2008

Isang pagpasok sa isip ng ng isang babaero. Sino ang mas karimarimarim?

Ni Pol Arellano

Di-kadakilaang taga kupit-sinag

Ay dambanang abo sa dibdib ng dilag.

Ang huni mo’t titig na sa’kin ay laan

Ay siya ring humalik sa pusod ng kawan.

Aping luha nila’y iyong tinitikman

Upang ipagyabang sa lahat ng kung ‘san.

Inaabangan mo ang bawat pagtangis;

Ang bawat pagdilim ng bintana’t wangis.

Balutin mo nawa ang hubad na diwa

Na nagkukumintang sa itim kong lungga.

Nawa’y ang takbo ko ay iyong samahan;

Ang buntong-hininga’y iyo sanang hagkan.

Yabag ng paa ko’y ni hindi aawit

Tulad ng pagsilang sa anak ng langit.

Aking isisilid ang tagong damdamin

Habang kaaway mo ang hukbo ng dilim.

O aawitan ko ang mabining dilag

Habang humahanga sa t’yaga mo’t sipag.

Ang iyong pagtanglaw sa lambing ko’t tikas

Ang magpapaanod sa puso at katas.

O kukupitin ko ang pusong mailap

Hanggang sa makamit, bukal na kay sarap!

Walang kapaguran na kakantahan s’ya

Hanggang sa dumating ang iba pang Eba.

Ako’y nagnanakaw ng tiwala’t ganda

Ng birheng mabango at mura ang tanda.

Ngunit ‘di lang ako ang s’yang nangungupit

Kundi pati ikaw, sa glorya ng init.

Akong magnanakaw ng kadalisayan

Ay katulad mo rin na hayok sa laman.

My mistress lives in my mouth.
July 28, 2008

By Pol Arellano

I was on my way home when I passed a woman sitting on a battered suitcase in the middle of the road. She waved at me. I looked back and checked if there was someone else behind me.
There wasn’t.

I stopped and scratched my head. Twice.

I stared at the woman. She was wearing a red dress shorter than the hideous scar on her right leg. She had bright eyes, almost shining. Her curves were luscious.

My heart began to beat faster. She was staring right back at me.

Hi, mister.
Oh, her voice was so sexy.

I said and twitched uncomfortably, hoping that she didn’t notice my bald spot.

I have nowhere to go.
She said, with pouted lips. She crossed her beautiful legs. I took a good old swig of my own warm saliva.

You could, you know
She slowly uncrossed her legs and bit her lower lip. A man walked by, she followed him with her gaze. The man took a right before Siping road and the woman fixed her gaze right back at me. I shivered.

.. invite me to live with you.
She flipped her hair, just like in the commercials. She smelled like the ocean in springtime.

I can’t, I mean, I can’t ‘cause
I fidgeted and stared at my leather shoes.

.. my wife, she’s,

Well, I have a wife.

She doesn’t have to know about me, Art.
She stood up and placed her hands around my neck.

I could be your little
She touched my belt and my hands were glued to my sides.

.. wonderful
She licked my cheek. I shivered and closed my eyes.

… sexy, little secret.
She whispered on my left ear. I touched her waist.

So I took her with me. Lila. That was her name.
She sang while we walked towards Siping road. Then she stopped singing.

Are we going to your barrio, Art?
She asked me as I tried to carry her battered suitcase in my left hand.

Uh yes. The barrio.
I said.

But what about your wife? Won’t she know about me?
She pouted and asked.

I’m leaving her anyways. She hates me. It’s okay.
I said, nearly stumbling on a protruding tree root.

No! I want to be your sexy little secret! Sexy little secret!
She shouted at my face. I stopped and stared at her in disbelief.

You want to be a secret? I’m planning to make you my new wife!
I said, momentarily dropping her suitcase.

No! I want to be your sexy little secret! Sexy little secret!
She shouted once more.

But where would you stay? Everyone knows everyone in the barrio. There are no secrets in the barrio.
I told her.

I want to live in your cave, Art.
She slowly said while conveniently showing me her cleavage.

My cave? What cave?
I asked, swallowing hard.

Your cave, the cold one. You know, the cave. I can live there. I can be your sexy little secret there. It will be so much fun, Art. Let me stay at your cave.
She pleaded with those cute pouted lips.

I don’t know what cave you’re talking about, Lila.
I said, perplexed.

Your cave! I can’t believe that you don’t know your own cave!
She exclaimed.

Well, I don’t.
I said truthfully.

Come on, I’ll show you where it is. I’m going to have so much fun there! Pick up my suitcase and let’s go.
She said.

I followed.

She went northward, to a path I’ve never seen before. I saw two identical dark caves.

Is that it?
I asked, pointing to one of the caves.

No, don’t be silly. That’s not a cave.
She said, rolling her shining eyes.

I said.

Then we went down an unusual staircase in the middle of a plateau. She jumped down. She wasn’t wearing knickers.

Here we are, Art!
She said, smiling.

I said.

This is my cave?
I asked.

She said.

I’ll stay here. Stay here for the night, Art. I’ll make it worth your while.
She smiled and I thought that for the first time in 17 years, I finally agreed to a woman’s words. It was truly memorable.

And so I stayed.
She made it worth my while. Worth my every little while.

Then morning came.
As I gathered my tie and shoes and prepared to leave, Lila woke up.
She stretched sexily. Her curves looked so delicious.

Where are you going, mister?
Lila asked as she stood up, not bothering to cover herself up.

I’m going home. You know, to my wife. I need to.
I said.

She said. She started to walk towards the cave exit. She opened her large suitcase and hurled out a green entity of some sort. That’s the best I could come up with – green entity.

I looked at her hands that are now covered in green goo. She held it like a piece of corn and started to take a large bite out of it.

I shuddered.

What, what are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen someone eat before?
She asked, her mouth filled with green and black goo that seemed to be writhing uncontrollably within the boundaries of her quick tongue.

I haven’t seen anyone eat something like that before. What’s that you’re eating?
I queried with a scrunched-up nose.

It’s one of my sexy little secrets.
She said, licking two of her fingers at the same time and winking at me.

I said.

Well, what are you waiting for? Off to the missus you go, then.
She said, turning her back at me.

I told her that I’ll be back.
I left.

That night, I left the barrio. Thinking that Lila couldn’t eat that green garbage for the rest of her life, I went ahead and bought her two loaves of bread, marmalade and some grapes. I walked towards “my” cave. No. I mean my cave. I guess it’s really mine after all.

Walking has never been this exciting.

As I neared, I heard music coming out of the cave. Loud music. It sounded like Hungarian folk music, if there’s ever such a thing.

I saw that there were rocks on the pathway to my cave. Big and small rocks formed an army of the most obedient kind, warding possible trespassers and door-to-door salesmen away. Lila must have been so damn bored.

I peered through the cave, almost positive that I would see Lila facedown on her unbelievably comfortable blanket, talking to herself, or hell, her bloody green garbage.

Of course, I was wrong.

Two nuns sat at the middle of the cave, playing a children’s clapping game. They were smiling from ear to ear and singing the game’s song with apparent glee. Lila looked on with amazement in her black eyes. I stood there for what seemed like half a lifetime before one of the nuns noticed me. She stopped clapping and singing and smiling. She stood up and went to the corner of the cave, like I was some sort of a party pooper. I wanted to climb back to the plateau and die there.

Don’t scare Fatia like that! Come over here and sit down! You’re scaring her! Lila exclaimed, obviously pissed at my ruining the nuns’ game and ending her amazement.

I didn’t know you have guests, I’m sorry. I said, feeling like I’m blushing like a newlywed. I looked down on the ground and wished that I peered inside after the game has been finished. I couldn’t see Lila’s face but I could feel a slight glare puncturing my beet-red nape.

There, there Fatia, don’t worry, he is Lila’s paramour. Don’t fret now, dear. The other nun soothingly caressed Fatia’s back, almost like she was comforting a virgin after her first encounter. She kissed her Fatia’s hands and looked at her face with seemingly immeasurable love. Or was it passion?

Fatia responded with a meek smile and stared back at the other nun’s face. She seemed momentarily unaware of her surroundings. And as if someone shouted loud at her left ear and her facial reaction changed dramatically and she looked at me with a silent fear in her eyes. Needless to say, I felt thoroughly embarrassed.

After a few minutes, the nuns started to curl up and talk in hushed tones, their faces so close to each other I wondered if they were kissing in between sentences.

Lila stayed in her side of the cave humming a made-up song.

What do you have there?
She asked me with a small smile.

Oh, some food. Real food. I thought you might get hungry.
I said.

She heaved a heavy sigh as if she was extremely exasperated. As she was about to comment, three bald men came to the cave. They were so quiet that not one of us noticed them approaching. The three men kept glancing at one another. It’s irritating to look at so I stared at the loaves of bread in my hands.

Ah, more guests! Come on in!
Lila exclaimed, brushing off imaginary dust from her dress.

The three men came in without so much as a smile. They positioned themselves in strategic points in the cave. They stood there like guards and continued to glance at one another. The second bald man stood near the nuns. He looked at them and glanced at the other bald men from time to time.

Lila started to hum again. I felt awkward.

The men started to dance. I felt scared.

The nuns started to kiss. I felt shocked.

I wanted to run.

But where to?
This is, after all, my cave.
My cold, creepy cave.

I sighed and started to reach for Lila’s green goo.