This page is currently under construction, please come back in the Fall/Winter of 2025 or as soon as crows take over the world.
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In distant islands and forests, where there are things still held to be sacred, nothing—and nobody, vanishes forever.
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In Magdalene, I devoted myself to women and skulls.
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Passages.
Santa Clara appeared before him hidden in the belly of a giant cicada
that surfaced from the ground. She said to him,
“I am a wound shrouded in devotion.”
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Rites of May.
It was time to go home.
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Cristina.
The Bayan Gazette, reported by a certain Ronnie Mayari. “...tunnels were reportedly found across the area, linking the Llanes Mansion to the old church and the mass graves… Some bones were dated to four hundred years, and some belonged to people who are estimated to have passed away some twenty years ago… Engr. Laureano Gomez declined to comment.” Susmaryosep, Noni thought.
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The End.
Folktales surrounding the engkanto belonged to women, especially mothers.
That is my wound, my devotion.
That is my wound, my devotion.
Beacons. Acrylic and ink pen on canvas. 8 x 10 inches. Zeny May Recidoro, local woman also unfit for spiritual visions.
Original cover design by Rayji de Guia, fictionist from Maragondon.
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