i overheard a golfer-addict talking this way. the course talks to you.
maybe it’s because of the open space and the sun whirling above and the lakes waiting for falling leaves. it’s this space that i long for. i remember going to my first golf course for a shoot, and losing my breath over the entirety of the place. you forget the funny-looking golfers and their tired caddies. you walk, and you feel the sun and wind on your arms. and the fire trees. oh man, i had to restrain myself from rushing off and hugging a tree.
a friend told me of a house in batasan with a rent fee of only 500 pesos a month. imagine, the house all to myself. no companions, just my journals, a box of books, few clothes and money. i can write. what’s more, i can write naked. i don’t have to worry about taking a bath or about my hair going limp or people demanding for something or my nails growing uncomfortably long. there’s also a foreign writer who wants to write naked. i want to do that. nothing weighing me down, only the rush and absence of words. a breeze from a half-opened window can lift me slightly off my chair, and that would be a blessing.
a lot of things and moments have been talking to me. sadly, i seem to keep my distance from them. for the meantime. but one hand is already miming for life to come back, and my body is aching for release. i have poems fermenting inside my body. don’t stop talking to me, i am here, and my flesh listens.
(i copied this from another person’s blog… please don’t sue me. all credits revert to their apt owners.)