18 psalms to starletdoom
September 9, 2005 | 12:00am
1. You have been wanting to skin Chicken’s head for quite some time now. He is not an imaginary foe (for you’ve said goodbye to invisible hemlines long ago).
2. Cunty might just as well be one act of fiction; you’re probably mistaking your overactive imagination for his otherwise under-acted performance in this world.
3. "Away!" says the Atsay, and in your f(l)ight others would fall prey. They may not know it but you have taken over much of this universe.
4. You weren’t too sure about those fans for a while – they’re either vapid or hostile, or worse, lovelorn dogs who refuse to leave you alone.
5. Flatulence, like atoms dispersing at the barest contact with matter or laughter, is both protest and relief from the traffic of solids. It’s just another way of phasing through your whole mess.
6. Your pretty face is like a plastic balloon. One can kiss, hold and blow it, and it expands. Your foetus in the womb however, all gooey but not too scandalous, explodes into the world with minimal erotics.
7. "So do you have a jowabelles?"
"Washington Sycip," you reply.
"Truman Capote? There is Cheese Whiz going around that you’re Ella Fitzgerald."
"Noel Coward, its really more like Piolo Pascual and his leading ladies."
"Wella Shampoo, can I be your Lucky Home Partner then?"
"Sharon Cuneta."
"Oprah Winfrey?"
"Zsa Zsa Padilla!"
8. You dress sharp and are very attentive to leather bags and cardboard collars. You even volunteered to fix a stranger’s neckline in church once. It is good to be alert and helpful when it comes to clothing and the faith.
9. You wear wounds like fake jewelry. You can afford real diamonds but why bother when illusion is so much more interesting? And yes, your speech comes from my jaw. Definitely.
10. A lesson in speech, anatomy and vision: your soft name does not indicate a weak identity.
11. If boys have XY chromosomes and girls have XX chromosomes then God must have dropped your other Y chromosome in the dustbin, turning you into a boy instead of a girl. You look at the crucifix, a slightly bent X, and whisper to the Infant Jesus, "that’s very cruel."
12. Collars are a force of mean couture. Standing in half attention, they are vigilant, competitive and weary of infidelities. Your collars can stab your lovers or fly you to more corporate takeovers.
13. You are the Sensuous Man who had met several women knowledgeable enough to broaden your outlook in life, boosting your ego on one hand while illuminating your shortcomings on the other. Under their patient and thorough instruction, you have learned to be in love without inhibition, to receive love without embarrassment, and to give love without restraint. You claim that "I love all women, but there is only one true love."
14. Someone inquired if you were aware of the follies of mixing gender paraphernalia. For a while you got worried and assumed the caution pertained to the mixing of fabrics.
15. The most anticipated revolutions in history have already taken place in your fantasy.
16. Are you a wise man warning them of the evils of this business called show or are you in fact hypnotizing them with the dirty sign and the ultra-shiny suit? The lighting and costume designers can’t seem to agree.
17. Forty-eight years and one day an invitation from the royal palace arrived at your house. "Oh my, finally Prince Dakota Harrison Plaza is going to have a P.B.A.! I’m so Pointer Sisters!
Both of you were invited to come but you knew yourself wouldn’t allow you to go to the grand affair. When the day came, yourself made such a Continental Fusion. You had to rush about in hysteria, alternately combing yourself’s Wig Tysmans, ironing the suit and polishing the Marikina Shoe Expo. Yourself came out of the closet like a Snooky Serna in Blusang Itim and did not look a tad Murriah Carey, Miss Nigeria or Girlie Rodis. Pagoda Cold Wave Lotion by then, you couldn’t do anything else except sit down and Crayola Khomeini when yourself N.P.A.
"Oh no. How I wish I could Robina Gokongwei-Pe to the party."
Everyone cheered and started Cleopatra. You were so happy to have finally found true love and felt like a Triumph Bra. But you were having so much Fun Chum that you forgot that it was almost Toning.
The clock began to strike. One. Two. Three.
You hurried out of the ballroom. Four. Five. Six.
As you ran down the stairs one of your glass slippers fell off. Seven. Eight. Nine.
You hit your head on the palace gate. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Thirteen and poof! Your woke up from your deep slumber, grabbed the invite to the ball and jumped in the Carmen Pateña. The engine whirred, panted and shortly died thereafter. You had no choice but to Walker Briefs to the Opposition Party.
What a Lucita Soriano.
18. Whatever, you’ll just end up as an anecdote in some stupid gossip magazine anyway.
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