The Terrible Writings of Quentin Montejo
Serial experiments on a fallen archangel who only wanted to regain just one wing back
Free of the World. Rain worshipper. Hermit. Tormented mind. Caged spirit. Defiant and eternal enemy of Destiny and Fate. Poet. Scientist. Artist. Daydreamer. He who laughs. Slacker. Sleeper. Romancer of wings and clouds. Fiercely independent. He who is ponderous. Games and anime junkie. Four eyes. Caveman. Nature-lover. He who doesn't think that hard. Non-smoker. Music-junkie. Counter of blessings. Guitar-hugger. He who simply wants what everybody else would like to be in this world and the next -- to be happy.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Prose: Let's Pass this Sidewalk
I'm walking on this sidewalk
Patches of soil, overgrowing grass
There's nothing on my mind
But the ten things I had to say
To myself, yeah, just to myself
That I'm here, this is now
And you are there, that was then
The old walls of Intramuros
Felt like a burdened history
And I'm adding to it, my misery
Let's pass by this sidewalk
Maybe someday we can, right?
When you and I have become ghosts
That don't have to say anything
Or feel anything, and be ... just be ...
Let's look at all the people
And gaze at the dying day until ...
Until the night lights become alive
Consume our mortal love and become
An eternal, everlasting pendulum routine ...
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