for dear ones
yael villafranca
My Worst Habit | Rumi
My worst habit is I get so tired of winter
I become a torture to those I’m with.
If you’re not here, nothing grows.
I lack clarity. My words
tangle and knot up.
How to cure bad water? Send it back to the river.
How to cure bad habits? Send me back to you.
When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools,
dig a way out through the bottom
to the ocean. There is a secret medicine
given only to those who hurt so hard
they can’t hope.
The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.
Look as long as you can at the friend you love,
no matter whether that friend is moving away from you
or coming back to you.
heroines.
lovelovelove:
janelle dropping the cindi mayweather alias and announcing herself as herself—
saddle shoes on display in the background—
JANELLE’S HANDS!—
in the scene where they’re holding teacups, the backup dancer with the hat, type ko yan—
—there’s a moment when she pulls down her dress and another moment when her back is to the camera entirely like she dgaf—
janelle & badoula in front of a wall of clocks!—
the two musicians who clap and teleport out of the glass box—
janelle’s rap at the end really gets me, how she’s looking and speaking out from the side, acknowledging and fucking with the classic james bond walk-on, how she tugs at her lapels, how her last salute carries the force of a demand and a fuck you—
Jose Garcia Villa, New York City, 1993. Photograph by Eric Gamalinda, using 35mm Kodak Ektachrome 100.
doveglion dgaf
recorded for the poetry foundation record-a-poem group
a way of saying thank you: to the author of the poem; and to the best kuya-by-poetry an ading could ask for.
text here, from patrick rosal’s collection of poetry, my american kundiman (persea, 2006)
i still believe
maybe i’ll decide differently this time.
kristel and alona. this keeps happening. i’m so angry. fucking devastated. i want to cry.
