#prose?

dear consumer,

we are pleased to announce that we have completed it and it is ready to beta! the only it you’ll ever need! the final it! the it that will at last fill the greedy hole necrotizing in the center of your putrid, media-hollowed selves! feel free to:

have it/eat it/fuck it/collect it/obey it/love it/resent it/forgive it/choke on it

buy it!

dear consumer,

please update it to the newest version of it. we have improved it, secured it, made it more nutritious, more addictive, now with (up to) ??% less (or more) mercury, carcinogens, asbestos, saturated fats, spam emails, slave labor, blood money, free radicals, etc.

it is now better than ever! it seriously can’t get any better than it is right now!

dear consumer,

forget your old it! try the new it! bigger! better! increased social status! worse environmental impact! more sex appeal! forgiveness! absolution! a misery unending that distorts the mind and pollutes the body! there is no soul, only it! only what you buy to fill you!

so buy it! buy it now! buy them all! an it for all seasons! all occasions! you are nothing without it!

(supplies are limited)

dear consumer,

we are now officially sold out of it. please feel free to scream in mortal terror, shed the flimsy veil of civilization, rend your garments, smear yourselves with filth to mask your scent, and proceed to devour each other whole.

thank you for choosing it for all your needs. it loves you all!

Perhaps he was inspired by him: an orphan who earned the title through grit rather than persuasion.

But one day, while fighting side by side with him in the war, Roy discovered the harsh truth behind that grit—mercilessness disguised as defense and valor.

Dada: oo nga, kulang na lang may mga tumatakbong maliliit sa bahay natin.

Ma: ang tagal, hahaha!

Dada: gusto ko yung maputi, tapos may full bangs. parang si Audrey.

Ma: may bangs talaga? hahahaha!

Dada: oo, yung naka-nguso, tapos sexbomb dancer daw siya.

-------

there’s more to that dream than is worth talking about.

I feel sleepy but coherent. calm. regulated.

I am not ‘half’ anything.

I read a text in English today.

The words were printed letters on the page. They were soulless and unblinking. They were examples of grammar and text and everything at the base of my writing.

I almost cried writing it. It clogged in my throat, shook around my head and pried out some deep-rooted disgust in myself that I think was shame.

Back home, they might have had a word for it. I don’t know it anymore. I’m stuck with the words; inadequacy, nostalgia, reckoning, envy. I’m stuck annotating the connotations, connecting the semantic fields and the rhythmic parallelism of flipping pages; scribbled lines, clicking binders; 

Did tears stain the poet's skin? Did crumbled papers rot in the waste bin nearby? Do their fingers ache from pressing the buttons? Do their pens hurt from writing? Do their eyes sting from studying? Does their heart ache they know they’ll never achieve anything as great as

Beneath Him, I writhe Pressed into the mattress, One Mate, Evermore.