Showing posts with label Del Manzano. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Del Manzano. Show all posts

Monday, April 14, 2014

Nonsense

Hog wash!
This despondent humanity
Grips the anniversary
Of the earthly
Reverie

The smog muffled
In the moon
And the
Starry night
Is not starry
No more

Poaching
Antelopes
For sinews in
Pollution
The empty earthly
Vase suffers for
Peremptory love

Happiness polluted,
Muddled into
Smithereens
Yet the Earth
Always finds
A way
To make our
Intrepidness 
Affront reality

Revenge

Is earthly

The Roommate

            I had just arrived in my dorm on a rainy August morning, ready a new beginning, otherwise known as a new semester.  I was so happy to be away from home, fleeing from my responsibilities, from my overwhelming family.  I was going to miss my cat the most, I knew.  She was orange and white, and sort of snobbish-looking.  She was the laziest thing I had ever set my eyes on.  I would miss her, but it eased my mind to know that I would see her every other weekend.
            As I walked by the hallway towards my assigned room, a malodor seemed to follow me, as if derailing my thoughts into it.  I could think only of it and how odd it was that this odor remained following me, as I trotted forward towards my new destiny.  It stunk of death and sweat.  I got closer and closer, and suddenly I could hear screams of terror coming from inside my new room!  I swung the door open furiously and to my surprise, instead of a torture chamber, I found a stately-pleasure dome!  I could only see body parts and limbs entangled within each other in a reverie of gusto!  Screaming while throwing their heads back with pleasure, only the man—presumably my new roommate—seemed at all to notice my presence.  He glared up at me as he devoured one of the women’s necks and stuck himself into her with the greatest dominion I had ever seen.  I was shocked and immediately hurried out of the room, slamming the door as I gripped my resounding chest.  What had I just witnessed? 
            I returned a little after nine o’clock to my dorm, fearful that I would again find my roommate grasped within a myriad of women and that so it would be for the rest of the semester.  But as I twisted the doorknob and made my way in, I found the room completely empty.  The suitcases I had left behind in my hurry had been neatly placed on the very top of my cot.  The room had been organized and one could barely tell it was the same room I had beheld in a frenzy of skin and squeals.  My eyes wandered around towards my roommate’s half of the room and what I saw was an organized yet peculiar set of belongings.  I beheld glass cases, in which were preserved butterflies, about twenty, all of different colors—splendid hues that ranged from the deepest blue to the brightest yellow.  Maybe he’s into Biology, I thought, as I scrutinized the rest of his belongings. 
            As I loomed over his leather-bound book collection, the doorknob shook, and my roommate swung the door ajar, revealing his large, imposing stature.  He looked over to where I was standing, realizing that I had been snooping his stuff.  Yet he simply shrugged his shoulders and walked over to his bed, saying not a word. 
            That first night, I had an uneasy feeling in my sleep—I swayed back and forth between the sheets, finding no comfort, no consolation.  I did not know anything about my roommate, the person residing so near me—the thought drove me mad with fear.  Who was he?
  The next few weeks following the beginning of term were similar—we spoke not and I would come into the room in the most inopportune moments.  Once I walked in and he was staring at a trembling dog, just glaring at him.   Confused, I walked out and, upon returning, the dog was gone.  I had the intrepidness of inquiring about it as he lay studying in his desk.  He simply responded with a slouch of his shoulders as he sought out a pen and paper.  He wrote vigorously for about an hour until, presumably getting bored, he rose with a start, lay down on the bed and shut his eyes.  When I woke up that morning, he was in the exact same position I had last seen him—he had not stirred, not even an inch.  I tried not to think of him, but even his ghastly stench followed me.  It was all over me when I woke, as if he had been near me in my sleep.
            One dreadful evening, while I lay in a most harrowing reverie, I felt something trickle down my unwary face.  I sensed the warmth of a being suspended over me, scrutinizing me with a touch.  As I felt the move of a finger reach over my throat, the hairs in the back of my neck stood on end and I wheezed from fear.  The fingers twitched, wrapping themselves over my neck, gripping and squeezing malignantly my every fiber.  I tried to breathe but my breath was lost in a frenzy of exasperation, turning into an animalistic panting that overpowered the room with echoes of dread and horror.  My eyes shot open—there was no one, nothing, staring back at me.  I, in fact, was alone in that cursed room!  My heart was pounding as I examined my surroundings.  In the very darkest corner, next to the unlit floor lamp, it gawked at me.  The whites of its eyes fixed upon my quivering body.  Oh God, you would not believe, my friend, the dread I felt interred within my very bones!   
            The fiend crawled towards me in all four limbs as I staggered back into my bed, hiding under the covers like a child masking itself from el Cuco.  For a moment, as I muttered obscenities in the general direction of the situation, I felt the room grow quite, still.  I’m dreaming, thought I.  Slowly, I lowered the covers inch by inch.  I screeched in terror as my vision revealed the brute over me, salivating, hankering for my blood.  
            He leaped on top of me, driving its fangs into my skin, splintering it from my horrified figure.  I felt the sting as my skin was torn off from me.  I felt him chewing me, savoring me like a delectable dish hardly ever served; I was his delicacy.  My heart raced as I struggled under his grip, under the biting, mastication, relishing of my meat.  But whatever my exertion of force, his was double!  Whenever I writhed under his dominion, he need only smash his fist against my head and I was still.  He devoured me. 
            It lifted itself from my ruined façade that gushed and spewed black torrents of blood; the floors, the mattress—everything was covered in my blood. The fiend admired its achievement—a wreckage of bone, muscle and torn skin.  One of my eyeballs hung low beside my cheek, held on only by a small strand of muscle and tissue. He passed his rouged tongue by the corner of his mouth in order to lick off a string of carnage hanging from it, savoring the last bit of the feast.
            Qui suis-je? A motionless, still, lifeless, cadaver.  He carried me off into the night, burying my few remains in the neighboring wasteland of Río Piedras.  No one ever found out what became of me, my friend.  Except you. 
           

            

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Letter to a Friend

February, 20--

Dear friend,

I will let you in on a cryptic subject that troubles my mind.  It might horrify and abhor you, but I need to reveal this sensation--this anxious manner that troubles me.  I was very shocked to ascertain that I could unwillingly fall in love with him.  I do not want to be brave and daring, and give my heart away so easily, to an unrequited love that will trouble me eternally.  But, alas, he is a sweet gentle soul; he flourishes with the passing of every page and the absorption of every word.

I wander last night--you know where--and I saw him.  He was beautiful.  The night was so full of him; he was everywhere all at once.  He was in the fluttering of the trees above, in the starry night that muttered with deep regret my isolation, and he was in the dark soil I trotted upon. When I reached him, he was a simple black stone with white letter.  I circled him, observing from every angle.

I had never felt such intimacy. My heart trembled with every look, every rush of wind.  He lured me, as if saying, "Come down and kiss me, gently…deeply."  And so I did.  I knelt before him and pressed my lips upon the grave.  He had made love to me many times before, through his immortal word--the holiest of words--that I have drunk plenty of.  And, I tell you, I will never again be sober as long as those words live within me.  

Yours,

M.


Wednesday, February 26, 2014

A Journey

When you believe me static, do not tremble to admit that you are, in your entirety, absolutely and resolutely in the wrong.  I, in fact, march about with the beat of your tender heart, lifting one foot after the other, traversing your sweet, gentle skin to and fro until I, fatigued with greater pleasure, wreak havoc within the tumult of your hair.  I sink into you, past the point of return, and I weep with pleasure at having known you this profoundly. 
My journey does not end here but goes on, into the unknown world of your internal crevasse.  The passage leads downwards, where I fumble through your flesh.  I search for a meaning, for a kind of magnetism not found in this reality, found within the human soul, in fact. I have travelled long and hard through the wilderness of bitter hearts to find what you so desperately conceal within your monstrous hide. It lurks, in fact, in the deep realms of your humanity.

Whence I do find it, I crawl out with my prize in hand, and wander at last towards you.  I regard you in the highest degree, for I have seen what dark and light capacitates your being.  I have discovered that which you dream, that which you fear, and that which you will become.  What I see is beauty, an exquisiteness most divine that lurks not in the façade of an individual but in their midst. I have travelled upon you, through miles of horror and heaven combined and I have found only you.  I am an adventurer, you see, and, upon my last, I came to a region not unlike others, except for one peculiarity.  I read upon you the words that spoke most truly, “Not all who wander are lost.”  I am no longer lost.