Went jalan-jalan at the center for the first time since my recovery from intestinal flu. Paid our water bill, then lingered at the Cubao Leaky Cauldron with an iced Americano in one of my favorite corners.
The Cubao Leaky Cauldron is the perfect place to while the afternoon away at Araneta Center. Its glass walls face the Coliseum to the west, and one can sit and watch the sun on the pavement turn from gold to pink to orange like a giant autumn leaf while the shadows gradually stretch across the district.
It is wonderful to be completely well again. I recall the time when I felt that an Alien was inside me. I felt hungry and not hungry, I started eating but did not finish eating, I started drinking but did not finish drinking, I lay in bed to nap but couldn't. In the neighborhood streets I felt that people were making passes at me, including the female hilot who gave me a once-over. After my painting was touch-dry I kept seeing details I needed to retouch, as though my spirit guides wanted me to keep going at it until I had everything right. In the end I locked myself up in my bedroom and had self-sex to flush out all of the sperm cells my fever killed inside my body.
I am still quite weak but can now eat whatever I want, especially ice cream, but, because I fasted over the past few days and lost weight as Cecile predicted, my werewolf senses are unusually heightened. When Dio hugged me this morning I smelled his bath soap and deodorant, mixed with the usual, man's travel-stress sweat that gave me visions of Cebu and Ilocos--a musky, pleasurable scent that only a fellow-werewolf would recognize.
The lesson, I think, was all about waiting--waiting to get well and waiting for whatever follows after one got well. I am being instructed to wait--for what, I do not know, but then again waiting for what one does not know is one of the purest delights in life. Surely, for better things, for I trust that the gods and goddesses of my daily life are always kind to me.
The Cubao Leaky Cauldron is the perfect place to while the afternoon away at Araneta Center. Its glass walls face the Coliseum to the west, and one can sit and watch the sun on the pavement turn from gold to pink to orange like a giant autumn leaf while the shadows gradually stretch across the district.
It is wonderful to be completely well again. I recall the time when I felt that an Alien was inside me. I felt hungry and not hungry, I started eating but did not finish eating, I started drinking but did not finish drinking, I lay in bed to nap but couldn't. In the neighborhood streets I felt that people were making passes at me, including the female hilot who gave me a once-over. After my painting was touch-dry I kept seeing details I needed to retouch, as though my spirit guides wanted me to keep going at it until I had everything right. In the end I locked myself up in my bedroom and had self-sex to flush out all of the sperm cells my fever killed inside my body.
I am still quite weak but can now eat whatever I want, especially ice cream, but, because I fasted over the past few days and lost weight as Cecile predicted, my werewolf senses are unusually heightened. When Dio hugged me this morning I smelled his bath soap and deodorant, mixed with the usual, man's travel-stress sweat that gave me visions of Cebu and Ilocos--a musky, pleasurable scent that only a fellow-werewolf would recognize.
The lesson, I think, was all about waiting--waiting to get well and waiting for whatever follows after one got well. I am being instructed to wait--for what, I do not know, but then again waiting for what one does not know is one of the purest delights in life. Surely, for better things, for I trust that the gods and goddesses of my daily life are always kind to me.
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