Tapos na ang eleksyon at siguradong pababa na ang atensyon sa Vice Ganda – Jessica Soho issue kaya balik blogging na.
Ang ikatlong Guest blogger para sa ika 8 anibersayo ng aking blog ay nagwagi ng unang karangalan para sa kategoryang Photoblog noong 2011 Saranggola Blog Awards. Pinamalas nya sa blog na ito ang kanyang angking galing hindi lang sa pagkuha ng larawan kundi maging sa paghabi ng mga salita (wikang Ingles) at pagkalkal sa ating imahinasyon.
Si Carlo Vidamo ay ipinanganak noong 1989. Siya ay kumuha ng kursong B Fine Arts in Painting sa UP Diliman. Siya ay nagpipinta, kumukuha ng larawan, nagsusulat, at umaawit(tuwing naliligo sa banyo). Siya ay isang alagad ng sining kahit na ito ay self-proclaimed lamang. Kasalukuyang manunulat sa ilang lathalain sa iba’t-ibang panig ng mundo bilang isang anonymous writer (pwede na ring struggling writer). Nagpaplano rin siyang lumahok sa LIRA sa takdang panahon, at nais na magtanghal ng isang eksibisyon ng kanyang mga naipinta sa susunod na taon. Mahilig siyang magluto at labis kung uminom ng alak at madali rin siyang yayain(alam na!). At bukod sa pagiging gwapo at lubhang talentado, siya ay mataba at may bali-balikong daliri at dalawang kalawing paa at barubal ang kanyang pananalita. Siya ay isang dalubhasa sa pagiging isang batugan AKA pagpapalaki ng betlog.
Nais ko lang ipaalala na ang blog na ito ay nasa wikang Ingles at Rated PG.
Medyo mahirap ang pagsubok na dinaanan ng guest blogger natin dahil isang kilalang artista ang ipinagamit kong inspirasyon sa kanya – si Piolo Pascual 🙂
Challenging di ba? hehehe
Mula sa larawang iyan nabuo ang blog na ito na sadyang walang pamagat.
In that instantaneous, blissful moment, we were one. Our bodies grooved to the music of the night that was subtle, euphoric, and ethereal. As our bare vessels swayed ebbed to and fro, our lips parried like ice-hot daggers in duel: fueled and riposting with such enormous power graced with lush and lust. So I slithered downhill and gently pushed my rod into your hilt. Warmth embraced my manhood — making it more erect than ever.
I thrusted my hips swiftly while you let out those suppressed yet audible moans — making me more famished for human flesh. I swayed and gyrated as your body twitched with both delight and pain, every single flesh throbbing in each fastidious movement I executed. You buried your nails in my arched back as my tongue wandered inside your lips.
The sound of our skins clasping grew louder, the echoes of pleasure melted completely in that eerie air, and we were breathing hard: muttering prayers and cursing all the angels and saints with the ecstatic pronouncement of the staccato of vowels.
And we just lay there, curled naked on the seashore, enjoying the soft kisses of the fine sand in the spaces between our toes as I track the reflection of the night sky and its constellations in your pupils. The sand is cold and so is your sweaty skin which is, by the way, my favorite piece of fabric ever woven. It just flows gently onto mine like a premature but excellently crafted velvet that is neither too smooth nor too textured.
And I just lay there, listening to the beautiful music that is the howling of the wind and the splattering of the waves and the quite muffled voice you exhibit when you speak. I do not understand everything you say, for I was too busy deciphering the beauty of the moment of that spectacular fornication, of the night, and of your lashes that fan semantically every time you close your eyes to pause.
You just lay there, talking. Your eyes glued to the freckled abyss. Ignoring the sycophantical guffaws I execute every time you look at me for a retort. You said that the sky is beautiful, and I said in my head that you are the most beautiful. No, look at those stars that sit together in a line as though triplets, you say. Ah, that’s the Orion’s Belt, I tell you. And you harked about how those stars seem like puny troublesome dots that meant nothing.
I felt sorry for the stars because I understand them deep down — their sorrows, their secrets, and the stories they all keep. I looked at the Orion’s Belt and realized how disconcerting they really are — and the stars next to it, and suddenly, I was overwhelmed by their laments that scatter and glitter quietly in the long streak of darkness. It reminds me of everything; of all the tittles of those “I…”s that you weren’t brave enough to bark clearly, let alone finish.
We just lay there, silently: you were mute, carefully choosing the words in your head; I was instantly deaf, because it is that long, unbreakable silence that gave birth to the pile of unfinished sentences that pierces me through and through. And just like every night of broken china, the sky was starting to emit blue that becomes paler and paler, vanishing the army of stars. The sun started to shine, and the words never — not even in a million light years away — left you.