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3/27/2009
survivor
he is a desert whose ever changing face adapts to the whispers of the wind and the cradles of the earth. the desert answers to no one. he provides no clear opportunity, yet you choose to stay with him like a snake buried in its sea of sand. although his sand of emotions shifts upon each moment, you still decided to grow with him like a cactus.
you know the moment you set your foot to his surface you share your existence with him and many other creatures seeking for alternative comfort, for escape, and for refuge
many have dared to cross him, but only few survived. do you think you can?
you know the moment you set your foot to his surface you share your existence with him and many other creatures seeking for alternative comfort, for escape, and for refuge
many have dared to cross him, but only few survived. do you think you can?
3/26/2009
earlier today
as the not-so-big boss puffs his third cigarette for the day inside the air-conditioned office room,
as the mother of the other sister rings the phone of the common father,
as the fraternity brother prepares his pitch to beg for money,
as the wife drives to work to fix the problems of the world,
as the grandmother wipes the first tear that came from her newly-operated eye,
as the former what-could-have-been-but-not lover experienced her first orgasm from her two year husband,
as the expatriate reads the story of hans van den broek and the murder of chuck ramkissoon down the subway station,
as the birthday celebrant reads his earliest greetings,
as the president surreptitiously snatches a bar of chocolate from the fridge,
as the blogger erases his ninth draft,
as the self wonders why,
a bird feather was trapped in a spider’s web that hangs on a pair of shrubs buried under the concrete marriage of gravel and sand anchored to the soil of the city of angels.
------
happy birthday tay fritz!
as the mother of the other sister rings the phone of the common father,
as the fraternity brother prepares his pitch to beg for money,
as the wife drives to work to fix the problems of the world,
as the grandmother wipes the first tear that came from her newly-operated eye,
as the former what-could-have-been-but-not lover experienced her first orgasm from her two year husband,
as the expatriate reads the story of hans van den broek and the murder of chuck ramkissoon down the subway station,
as the birthday celebrant reads his earliest greetings,
as the president surreptitiously snatches a bar of chocolate from the fridge,
as the blogger erases his ninth draft,
as the self wonders why,
a bird feather was trapped in a spider’s web that hangs on a pair of shrubs buried under the concrete marriage of gravel and sand anchored to the soil of the city of angels.
------
happy birthday tay fritz!
3/25/2009
papa's pet
once upon a time, papa brought home an arowana the size of an adult’s finger. he bought the fish not because he’s a certified pet lover, but because he wanted the arowana’s luck to enter our lives.
the silver arowana’s scales are baptized by the water of the aquarium tank that has long been the abode of goldfishes (whose life spans for a week) and piranha-tilapia look-alike fishes.
everyday papa makes sure to devote at least 5 minutes of conversation with the arowana. he whispers at the tank, he sings to the fish while feeding it with smaller fishes called kataba, he talks to the water creature as if it is the friend that he never had before. there’s nothing wrong with that. sure, the arowana must bring our lives plenty of luck.
as the days pass, the finger-sized arowana soon grows at arm’s length that pushed papa to buy a larger tank the fast growth of papa’s silver best friend soon draws attention from floating air of curiosity among the neighbors. everyday, kids, teens and adults visit our living area to get a glimpse of papa’s silver best friend. like papa, they also like talking and smiling and giggling and whispering at the tank. perhaps they find their reflections that merge with the arowana’s face funny.
everyday they come back, maybe for luck, maybe because of their curiosity, or maybe because of sheer boredom.
when papa was assigned for a mission to africa, another neighbor, from room somewhereoverthere brought home a grown up arowana in a tank. unlike papa’s arowana, his lucky pet is pinkish. every morning he visits papa’s pet, staring, whispering and observing the swimming creature of luck. on each visit, he leaves me with remarks of how lucky our family is, and comments on the fast growth of papa’s pet that could be sold for thousands. i always reply with a generic “yeah, yeah” because i smell something fishy with this neighbor.
one morning, he asked me why his lucky pet is not as silveryshiny as papa’s. i told him he must have got a different breed, simple as that. he said papa is really lucky then followed it up with observations and comments regarding our family. mama’s abroad, me in a university, sister doing fine at school, papa at africa, as if everything in our lives is in perfect position according to him.
this neighbor continues to eye papa’s arowana as it grows larger and longer. one day, while i am off to school with my sister, and my lola is the only guardian of the lucky pet left in the house, mister neighbor who owns a pinkish arowana once again visits the tank of papa’s pet. lola says he brought with him a small pail filled with katabas swimming in dark liquid. before lola could ask the purpose of that uncalled gift, mister neighbor who owns a pinkish arowana poured the pail-full of katabas inside the tank of papa’s lucky silver pet.
later at night, the dark tank with swimming katabas greeted me and my sister. immediately, i plunged my hand inside the tank to check if papa’s pet is still there. it’s there all right, there’s a long, slimy fish inside but it does not react to my touch. usually, papa’s pet would jump upon the slightest touch of whatever object. this time, it just floats inside the dark tank.
lola narrated the incident. i called the neighbor who owns the pink arowana and asked him what happened. he said he just brought papa’s pet some food. some katabas he found at the nearby golf course water canal. what an ass. at that moment, i wanted to smack the lifeless body of papa’s lucky pet right into his face but respect for papa’s pet ruled over me.
i called papa and informed him of his lucky pet’s demise. the atmosphere of sadness dominated our house for weeks.
more weeks have passed and we got a call from the soldiers saying papa got himself in an accident.
more weeks have passed and papa went home with broken ribs. their vehicle crashed down a cliff in africa.
we moved on with our lives and papa did not get another pet thereafter.
the silver arowana’s scales are baptized by the water of the aquarium tank that has long been the abode of goldfishes (whose life spans for a week) and piranha-tilapia look-alike fishes.
everyday papa makes sure to devote at least 5 minutes of conversation with the arowana. he whispers at the tank, he sings to the fish while feeding it with smaller fishes called kataba, he talks to the water creature as if it is the friend that he never had before. there’s nothing wrong with that. sure, the arowana must bring our lives plenty of luck.
as the days pass, the finger-sized arowana soon grows at arm’s length that pushed papa to buy a larger tank the fast growth of papa’s silver best friend soon draws attention from floating air of curiosity among the neighbors. everyday, kids, teens and adults visit our living area to get a glimpse of papa’s silver best friend. like papa, they also like talking and smiling and giggling and whispering at the tank. perhaps they find their reflections that merge with the arowana’s face funny.
everyday they come back, maybe for luck, maybe because of their curiosity, or maybe because of sheer boredom.
when papa was assigned for a mission to africa, another neighbor, from room somewhereoverthere brought home a grown up arowana in a tank. unlike papa’s arowana, his lucky pet is pinkish. every morning he visits papa’s pet, staring, whispering and observing the swimming creature of luck. on each visit, he leaves me with remarks of how lucky our family is, and comments on the fast growth of papa’s pet that could be sold for thousands. i always reply with a generic “yeah, yeah” because i smell something fishy with this neighbor.
one morning, he asked me why his lucky pet is not as silveryshiny as papa’s. i told him he must have got a different breed, simple as that. he said papa is really lucky then followed it up with observations and comments regarding our family. mama’s abroad, me in a university, sister doing fine at school, papa at africa, as if everything in our lives is in perfect position according to him.
this neighbor continues to eye papa’s arowana as it grows larger and longer. one day, while i am off to school with my sister, and my lola is the only guardian of the lucky pet left in the house, mister neighbor who owns a pinkish arowana once again visits the tank of papa’s pet. lola says he brought with him a small pail filled with katabas swimming in dark liquid. before lola could ask the purpose of that uncalled gift, mister neighbor who owns a pinkish arowana poured the pail-full of katabas inside the tank of papa’s lucky silver pet.
later at night, the dark tank with swimming katabas greeted me and my sister. immediately, i plunged my hand inside the tank to check if papa’s pet is still there. it’s there all right, there’s a long, slimy fish inside but it does not react to my touch. usually, papa’s pet would jump upon the slightest touch of whatever object. this time, it just floats inside the dark tank.
lola narrated the incident. i called the neighbor who owns the pink arowana and asked him what happened. he said he just brought papa’s pet some food. some katabas he found at the nearby golf course water canal. what an ass. at that moment, i wanted to smack the lifeless body of papa’s lucky pet right into his face but respect for papa’s pet ruled over me.
i called papa and informed him of his lucky pet’s demise. the atmosphere of sadness dominated our house for weeks.
more weeks have passed and we got a call from the soldiers saying papa got himself in an accident.
more weeks have passed and papa went home with broken ribs. their vehicle crashed down a cliff in africa.
we moved on with our lives and papa did not get another pet thereafter.
3/24/2009
3/21/2009
32009
my initial 10 minutes of peace at the subway train is interrupted by a group of teens speaking to me in japanese. they must have thought i’m awake when i am actually having a power nap.
years ago, my college history professor scolded me for sleeping at her class when i am actually wide awake, listening to her lecture about how the spanish colonizers branded babaylans (female witch-doctors) and other female subversives as aswangs.
4 stations before my train stop, a korean lady probably in her late forties or fifties, who wears tight black leg warmers, breaks the sanctity of the silence of the early morning trip. she occasionally touches the floor of the train, sways left to right and moves in all directions while speaking and chanting korean. the only words i understand are “charchi” (church) and “jiza karayzi” (jesus christ).
despite the increasing volume of her high pitched voice, the silence of the train car engulfed her presence to triviality. she soon leaves all the other passengers in peace on the next station.
up the subway entrance a huge man together with his blonde son sell ballpoint pens and other school supplies to help support his child’s education.
10 minutes more to work and expect another group of black americans to throw random gibberish chinese words on my face.
years ago, my college history professor scolded me for sleeping at her class when i am actually wide awake, listening to her lecture about how the spanish colonizers branded babaylans (female witch-doctors) and other female subversives as aswangs.
4 stations before my train stop, a korean lady probably in her late forties or fifties, who wears tight black leg warmers, breaks the sanctity of the silence of the early morning trip. she occasionally touches the floor of the train, sways left to right and moves in all directions while speaking and chanting korean. the only words i understand are “charchi” (church) and “jiza karayzi” (jesus christ).
despite the increasing volume of her high pitched voice, the silence of the train car engulfed her presence to triviality. she soon leaves all the other passengers in peace on the next station.
up the subway entrance a huge man together with his blonde son sell ballpoint pens and other school supplies to help support his child’s education.
10 minutes more to work and expect another group of black americans to throw random gibberish chinese words on my face.
3/18/2009
nicole
like social issues and politics, encounter with you is like experiencing a vivid dream that drifts away from the memory the moment the mind and the body wakes up and immerse itself to the elements of the universe.
it was as if each step of the foot, each turn of the head, and each blink of an eye, erases a part of the soul of the experience.
but i never mind the disturbance of the universe.
for even though the soul of the experience left me all day, i know, that in one way or another, i will see you again in my sleep as if each meeting, each smile, each kiss is always the first time.
it was as if each step of the foot, each turn of the head, and each blink of an eye, erases a part of the soul of the experience.
but i never mind the disturbance of the universe.
for even though the soul of the experience left me all day, i know, that in one way or another, i will see you again in my sleep as if each meeting, each smile, each kiss is always the first time.
3/17/2009
that gran torino rush
hands down to writer nick schenk for the well written script of gran torino, that even mr clint eastood himself immediately chose the script right after he read it.
this movie pretty much sums up most of the aspects of life and death. the movie juggles many themes such as racism, history, culture, family, love, friendship, change, hope, transformation and redemption, and it handled everything perfectly to provide a compelling story that left me with a sudden rush of mixed feelings about life.
according to news, gran torino is the writer’s first script that made it into the big screen. now he’s my idol.
"he didn't change a single word," "when i met him just before they were going to shoot, i had three tiny changes i wanted to make, but when i mentioned them to clint, he said, 'i dunno, i kind of like the script just the way it is." –schenk on the la times interview by patrick goldstein
this movie pretty much sums up most of the aspects of life and death. the movie juggles many themes such as racism, history, culture, family, love, friendship, change, hope, transformation and redemption, and it handled everything perfectly to provide a compelling story that left me with a sudden rush of mixed feelings about life.
according to news, gran torino is the writer’s first script that made it into the big screen. now he’s my idol.
3/12/2009
erase the dot
a pair of ripe, matured tears escapes the eyes a second after the time hits 7:25. the tears sway in slow motion, tracing the valleys of the cheeks, in synch with the players’ baby come back before they leap down one of the pages of joseph o'neill’s netherland.
the liquid orbs, slightly illuminated by the faint ray of sunlight penetrating the bus window, travel across the paragraphs narrating the disturbance at the cricket field in new york.
as the bus proceeds to the next stop, the tears swallow the letters and the words along their path. both try to meet but continuously missing each other as they bury themselves beneath that particular page blurred from the eyes of the reader.
at exactly 7:35, just a second before the bus driver hit the break, the pair of ripe, matured tears, now reduced to diamond beads, finally meet each other a few centimeters above the edge of the page. at that moment, at that particular second right before the world comes to a halt for it to move forward again, the pair of ripe, matured, beads of tears embrace before they completely dissolve on top of the last paragraph’s period.
the liquid orbs, slightly illuminated by the faint ray of sunlight penetrating the bus window, travel across the paragraphs narrating the disturbance at the cricket field in new york.
as the bus proceeds to the next stop, the tears swallow the letters and the words along their path. both try to meet but continuously missing each other as they bury themselves beneath that particular page blurred from the eyes of the reader.
at exactly 7:35, just a second before the bus driver hit the break, the pair of ripe, matured tears, now reduced to diamond beads, finally meet each other a few centimeters above the edge of the page. at that moment, at that particular second right before the world comes to a halt for it to move forward again, the pair of ripe, matured, beads of tears embrace before they completely dissolve on top of the last paragraph’s period.
3/11/2009
the thermodynamic miracle
dr manhattan: i don’t think your life’s meaningless.
laurie juspeczyk: no, well, obviously that’s what you’re going to say because anything i’m stupid enough to believe is true, and you just disagree with it and...uh...
laurie juspeczyk: you don’t?
dr manhattan: no.
laurie juspeczyk: but...listen, you’ve been saying life is meaningless, so how can...?
dr manhattan: i changed my mind.
laurie juspeczyk: but why?
dr manhattan: thermo dynamic miracles... events with odds against so astronomical they’re effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold. i long to observe such a thing.
and yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son, that exact daughter... until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you that emerged.
to distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood.
the thermodynamic miracle.
laurie juspeczyk: but...if me, my birth, if that’s a thermodynamic miracle...i mean, you could say that about anybody in the world!
dr manhattan: yes. anybody in the world.
but the world is so full of people, so crowded with these miracles that they become commonplace and we forget...
i forget.
we gaze continually in the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. yet seen from another’s vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away.
watchmen, chapter ix: the darkness of mere being. alan moore and dave gibbons.dc comics.1986-1987
laurie juspeczyk: no, well, obviously that’s what you’re going to say because anything i’m stupid enough to believe is true, and you just disagree with it and...uh...
laurie juspeczyk: you don’t?
dr manhattan: no.
laurie juspeczyk: but...listen, you’ve been saying life is meaningless, so how can...?
dr manhattan: i changed my mind.
laurie juspeczyk: but why?
dr manhattan: thermo dynamic miracles... events with odds against so astronomical they’re effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold. i long to observe such a thing.
and yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son, that exact daughter... until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you that emerged.
to distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood.
the thermodynamic miracle.
laurie juspeczyk: but...if me, my birth, if that’s a thermodynamic miracle...i mean, you could say that about anybody in the world!
dr manhattan: yes. anybody in the world.
but the world is so full of people, so crowded with these miracles that they become commonplace and we forget...
i forget.
we gaze continually in the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. yet seen from another’s vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away.
watchmen, chapter ix: the darkness of mere being. alan moore and dave gibbons.dc comics.1986-1987
3/10/2009
simple machine troubleshooting
sometimes when the machine you trust suddenly ceased to function for no apparent reason at all, tame your impulsive nature and do not send it right away to the repair shop or to the trash.
1. check the machine for external and internal factors that could have caused the machine to stop.
2. if anything else fails, restart.
turn off the unit. unplug, replug and start all over.
it works, most of the time.
1. check the machine for external and internal factors that could have caused the machine to stop.
2. if anything else fails, restart.
turn off the unit. unplug, replug and start all over.
it works, most of the time.
3/08/2009
smile! why watch watchmen?
-it is a visual masterpiece that will never disappoint the eyes. the movie looks great as its posters and trailers.
-although the movie was loyal to allan moore and dave gibbon’s graphic novel, it does not alienate those who haven’t read the book yet.
-despite certain notable differences from the actual book, fans who have read watchmen would agree how the director, zack snyder (director of 300) made it appear as if the comic book has come to life.
-since the movie remained faithful to the original comic book, expect a solid storyline.
-pehaps the pressure caused by allan moore’s disapproval of the movie adaptation of his comic book to director zack snyder has actually made the movie work. hell yeah, it does work; even better than i expected.
"perhaps it's been cursed from afar, from england," moore said last year. "and i can tell you that i will also be spitting venom all over it for months to come."
- watchmen is not an action movie. it is not a spiderman movie. no, it is nothing like superman and his friends fighting bad guys and triumphing over evil at the end. watchmen is a parody, a satire to all superheroes and to all of us who have dreamed of making this world a better place.
-sorry to spoil your expectations kids, but this movie is not as action packed as you think. it is filled with gore, violence, human failures, sex, regrets, childhood fantasies, superhero complex, choices, love and all the other elements that make us human.
-malin akerman as the silk spectre ii looks like a kick-ass natalie portman in latex
-it runs for almost 3hours but the movie never allowed boredom to seep into my system.
-jackie earle haley’s performance as rorschach is as haunting as his voice
-watchmen will not make you feel better like slumdog millionaire. it is a downer. it puts you in retrospection and places you in a position to reflect about you and the human race and that’s what makes it effective and powerful.
3/07/2009
death of a star
pic of the eat bulaga family in la with francis m that i took last year
the effect of the sudden death of an established well known person blessed with a face that can please the eyes of the general public (i.e. rico yan, fernando poe jr, rudy fernandez, francis magalona) is not really the collective feeling of sympathy or remorse for the family and friends of the dead, but could most probably be fear- that dreaded fear of death.
the death of those prominent personas that have touched the lives of the general public in one way or another serves as a reminder that death is just around the corner- below you, above you, beneath you, 10 minutes far from you, 15 seconds away to catch you or could possibly be in front of your face.
when shock comes as an initial reaction to the general public, it appears as if death is a stranger. but in reality, death has been embedded into our psyche from the time we experience life. death and the sudden death of someone you know become scary when all of a sudden it hits you and throws you into an immediate retrospection, considering your life and how you live it. suddenly, you feel vulnerable, as if death is going to fetch you at any second.
no, this is not a post about death for i am neither death nor life expert. this is about fear, the same fear i felt when somebody really close to me died years ago. but the late francis magalona’s death brought no instant fear to my heart. instead, it inspires me to be a stronger person, to live my life at its fullest and to appreciate and thank all the people, all the important people, all the loving people in my life.
my condolences to the family and friends of francis magalona.
3/03/2009
slex
the parade of fireflies going back and forth the cities of saints as the sky is illuminated by the darkest light of the universe entered my thoughts as i board the bus downtown.
the towering infrastructures of downtown’s imperial place is far beyond comparison to the miles long army of grass that bows and dances as you pass by them during the day or night.
i remembered that night, both of us sheltered and carried by one of the fireflies bearing the letters h and m. we were under my reversible benetton jacket. her right hand on my arm, her left on my right hand. eraserhead’s torpedo played on board. she planted her kiss to my lips.
i escaped from the jacket to breathe air. i faced the fog-moistened window. i saw more fireflies rushing outside. after a few minutes, the plantation of illuminated immobile structures of alabang replaced the view of the parade.
the towering infrastructures of downtown’s imperial place is far beyond comparison to the miles long army of grass that bows and dances as you pass by them during the day or night.
i remembered that night, both of us sheltered and carried by one of the fireflies bearing the letters h and m. we were under my reversible benetton jacket. her right hand on my arm, her left on my right hand. eraserhead’s torpedo played on board. she planted her kiss to my lips.
i escaped from the jacket to breathe air. i faced the fog-moistened window. i saw more fireflies rushing outside. after a few minutes, the plantation of illuminated immobile structures of alabang replaced the view of the parade.
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