here first. until we are there.

a nicanor abelardo song playing on iTunes, the rain outside my window, the clickety-clack of my keyboard and four dogs in different poses of sprawl around my room —- straight out of some indie film.

I can’t help wondering what it is about my older brother that these dogs love him like anything. It’s so easy to read how these dogs are missing him, they play the part well. They’re all mangy, scraggly, and have garapata hanging on to them. they demand for too much attention.

“MJ, I’m in the bathroom!”
“Betchay, I’m trying to sleep!”

People with pets end up calling this love, unconditional love. those who don’t are liable to sniff disapprovingly.

I tend to see these dogs as small funny concentrates of human relationships. when betchay, my beloved bitch with 9 tits, was in heat i’d have to deal with miong, our miniature german shepherd scratching at the door frantically. his whines were grating and i found myself reassessing my own unrequited emotions for men —- man, i don’t think i want to be some puppy dog.

i’ve always found that people who like cats are most likely to be more lucky in love or at least find it easier to be on the other end of ardent feelings of desire. there is something about the languor of a cat that just seethes power, my puppy dog affection and availability can easily be slapped desperation. the absence of the beloved is too palpable a weight to ignore that one is left just lying there.

but here the dogs are in my room. now listening to violins, another instrument of great longing. lightning, thunder and rain outside.

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