So here comes another season for shedding off old skin into this cyberspace coil. This cycle of blogging. This one more leap into yet another corner of the Web. Here, this turning of new leaf and this letting go from the virtual nest of old branches, smack into my favorite time of year.
Ah, Autumn! When trees have colors to tell about changes in its free-fall down to death --and never mind the portents of gray in the forthcoming winter--until the flourishes of rebirth at Springtime. Soon, pretty soon.
Pastilan baya! Stop this somnambulist, please, from sleepwriting what could have been a welcome greeting. You know, this is just to say, "Hello!"
"... In the deserts of the heart/ Let the healing fountains start,/ In the prison of his days/ Teach the free man how to praise..." -- W.H. Auden
PORTRAIT OF A SLEEPWALKER AS POLLYANNA'S STALKER
About MICHAEL U. OBENIETA, or MykeO, here's what they say: A soi-disant study of a work in progress. A true-blue Bisdak green-eyed at the color brown. An insomniac daydreamer. An ash-tasting keeper of the phoenix of poetry. An opinion columnist with "Oops" syndrome. A parrot of the 23rd psalm and Shakespeare's 116th sonnet. A Zorba-wannabe smitten with Scheherazade and Circe. A moonstruck stargazer in the universe of Nora Aunor's eyes. Looks up to lighthouse keepers, filmmakers, librarians, symphony conductors, tenors, guitarists, hammock-humming beach bums, gardeners, chefs, and firefighters. A rainy-day romantic. A copycat and doggone mystic. Fond of speaking in tongues straight from the mouth of an ice-cold San Miguel Pale Pilsen bottle. Devoted to all things weird and wonderful. A trustworthy tour guide for a guilt trip around the continent of the Ten Commandments. A patriotic citizen of Procrastination. A chuckle-prone company for those who sing an ode to solitude. His erogenous zones extend to the hushed spaces of bookstores, libraries and zoos with unicorns.
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