Randelirious

Love is all there is.

2012-02-02T10:10:00.001+08:00

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Hello, Goodbye & Hello
I've met you and I'm going to say goodbye to you now
Hello, Goodbye & Hello
And to this world without you, I'm going to say Hello

Auto-talk

2012-02-01T20:34:00.001+08:00

Pati ang panitik ko, nahihiya:

It has been more than a month nang huli ko siyang makita. Pagod na ang katawan ko sa kaiiisip. I tried praying, "sublimating", trying to let go. Pero masakit pa rin. Hindi ko magalaw-galaw ang thesis ko. May isa akong malaking envelope ng mga papeles na kailangang basahin, para may maisulat. Pero hindi ko magawang magbasa ng kung anumang maaaring ilagay sa Word document na maaaring magsalba ng buhay ko. May mga libro akong hinihiram sa library, pero pagkatapos magbasa ng tatlo hanggang limang pages, walang nangyayari. Naiintindihan ko ang kailangang gawin at kailangang isulat pero hindi ko magawa.

Wala akong pera. Kung may pera man ako, napang-inom ko na. Tatakas ako sa gabi, pupunta sa mga dating lungga at itutungga ang hindi magandang pakiramdam. Tapos susuray pauwi. Hindi ako umaasang makakilala ng ibang tao. Kung may magpapakilala, kakausapin ko naman. Kung may sex, gagawin ko naman. Pero walang 'nangyayari' sa akin.

Unti-unti akong nilalamon ng pag-iisip na gusto ko nang mamatay. Sa nakalipas na buwan, sa pagpalit ng taon, gumigising akong iniisip na gusto ko nang mamatay. Kanina lang paggising ko, natakot pa ako lalo: Sabi ko, gusto kong saniban ng demonyo, at bigla akong napadasal.

Ni hindi ko na mai-transpose sa kung anumang tula ang nararamdaman ko. Sa tingin ko, hindi nagiging tapat sa akin ang mga salita. Sabagay, ginagamit ko lang sila para makaalpas ng isang araw, isang gabi.

Sinubukan kong i-text ang mga malapit na kaibigan. 'Yung tipong sasabihin ko lahat ng gusto kong sabihin, gaya nito. Pero nahihiya na ako sa kanila. Alam kong naiintindihan at maiintindihan nila ako. Pero ayoko na ring makagulo sa kanila. Tulad ko, may mga pinagdadaanan din sila.

Hindi ko alam ang gagawin. Alam ko ang mga payo. Alam ko ang mga paraan para matanggal ang sakit na ito. Pero hindi ko alam kung kaya ko pang gawin; Madalas kong isiping kung mawawala ako, papaano ang pamilya ko. Naging pasanin na nila ako nitong mga nakalipas na taon, tolerant sila akin sa mga katangahan ko sa buhay. Ayaw ko na rin silang gambalain. Kung makahanap man lang ako ng perang pamburol sa akin, iyon minsan iniisip ko rin. Wala naman akong puwedeng iwan sa kanila bukod sa mga aklat at kakaunting gamit na nabili ko para sa sarili ko.

Pinipilit kong matulog at hindi na magising. Iyon sa tingin ko ang pinakatahimik at pinakadisenteng paraan para magpakamatay. Maraming ibang paraan ang pumapasok sa utak ko. At ang mga paraang iyon, ayaw nila ng sadya: Tulad ng masasagaan ako bigla sa gitna ng kalye. O mananakawan at masasaksak sa isang kanto. O biglang lumindol at mahuhulog ang LRT o MRT na sinasakyan ko.

Napakasakit na ganito ang iniisip ko ngayon. Sa utak ko, kakaiba na ang hilatsa ng puso ko. Lapirot na siya, nagpupumilit lang huminga para magtulak ng puso sa mga parte ng aking katawan. Pero lapnos na siya sa mga paso, lalo na ng paso nitong nakalipas lang.

Hindi na rin ako makakain. Kung haharap ako sa kainan, hindi ko maiwasang pigilang maiyak. Nagpapasalamat ako sa sustenance na mayroon ako sa harapan ko. Pero hindi ko na ma-appreciate ang pag-sustain sa katawang ito. Pati ang yosi, siyang katuwang ko palagi kung marami akong kailangan isipin, hindi na rin nakakatulong.

Iniisip ko ang mga kapatid ko. Minsan gusto kong sabihin sa kanilang, Manang, mga Ading, ito ako. Ganito ako. Pasensya na kayo. Hindi ko gustong guluhin ang buhay ninyo at nagpapasalamat ako na tinanggap ninyo ako noong umuwi ako rito sa bahay several years ago. Salamat sa pagpapaintindi kina Mama at Dade kung ano ako.

Blangko ako ngayon habang isinusulat ito. Kahit anong paghuhumiyaw, wala nang mailabas ang bibig ko.

A letter from a slave which made me think about modesty despite of hurt

2012-02-01T00:24:00.000+08:00

I read this letter from this site just a few minutes ago.

The letter - dating from the late 1800's - is formal, witty and endearing. I wish I can write with the same eloquence and restraint. Upon reading the letter, I try to think of some cruel masters of/in my life; I want to learn to still be modest to them as I let go of them.

From the International Slavery Museum in Liverpool.

Dayton, Ohio,

August 7, 1865

To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin's to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy,—the folks call her Mrs. Anderson,—and the children—Milly, Jane, and Grundy—go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, "Them colored people were slaves" down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor's visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams's Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve—and die, if it come to that—than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,

Jourdon Anderson.

DanteManila drafts 2011-2012

2012-01-31T02:30:00.000+08:00

DanteManila is a young Italian cultural organization in the Philippines. Officially known as Società Dante Alighieri (SDA) Comitato di Manila, the organization has a quaint office at a building along Salcedo Street in Makati. SDA, like my former office the French cultural organization Alliance Française, is an international organization for culture and language.

I was invited sometime last October by Laurence, a friend who teaches Italian at UP, to join their organization for designing some of their stuff for marketing.

I designed their collaterals, which bore the modified "DanteManila" logo.

I was really excited to think of a "new" logo for the SDA upon seeing this logo of the Berlin office:

and I just recently found out this (alternate) version of the SDA Berlino logo, bearing the famous Berlin TV Tower as part of the logo:

I was really wanting to dabble into making the SDA Manila logo more unique and more Filipino or Manila despite the fact that it is an Italian org. I had some drafts with colors of blue, red and yellow which could have been indicators of the Philippine flag (and I erased the drafts unfortunately). A draft which I made also had a fleur de lis with a different color and gradient. But during the course of the meetings, I managed to finalize the logo (which is the one above).

Hopefully, DanteManila will be able to have its "full" marketing team in the near future.

YES.

2012-01-26T23:30:00.000+08:00

Day 37/38: Sementado

2012-01-24T15:06:00.003+08:00

Pagkatapos lamutakin ang Amapola dalawang linggong nakalipas, isinunod ko ang Para Kay B.
"Magagaang" babasahin, "popular", may damdamin.

Sinubukan kong hindi tingnan ang blog mo nang isang buong buwan. Sabi nga nila, "Out of mind, out of sight."

Sinilip ko lang siya kanina.

Tulad ng pagpapalitada ng pampantay ng surface, o sealant sa mga pagitan ng bloke ng semento pagkatapos silang ihanay, ipasok sa mga bakal at itayo bilang isang piraso ng pananggalang o pamagitan ng loob at labas, unti-unti akong gumagawa ng sarili kong pader sa utak ko. At ito ang mga bloke at sealant para sa pader na iyon;

1) Magkatukayo ang laptop mo at ang pangalan ng 'kaibigan' mo.

2) Kung makapag-flashback ka bilang pang-intro sa mga entry mo, it's always with him.

3) Kung babasahin ang mga entry mo (in your blog's mind and as an anonymous user who could have been checking out your blog from time to time), he's that someone sa buhay mo. Hindi ko na kailangan ng art and literary theories para isiping maaaring ganoon nga.

Pagkatapos kong i-click ang X sa upper right corner ng browser, lutang na naman ako. Malamig ang mga kamay at batok.

Ganoon kadali mo na lang bang itinago ang mga bagay na ito sa akin? Ganoon na lang ba ang pagsi-synonym mo ng "withholding" sa "lying"?

Hindi ko inakalang ganito katigas pa rin ang ulo ko sa kakaisip sa iyo.

At dahil hindi ka na muling magpapaliwanag, ang utak ko na lang ang magpapalaman ng mga paliwanag sa mga bloke ng sementong unti-unti kong inilalatag at pinagpapatong-patong. Sana ay walang siwang sa pagitan ng mga bloke. Sana makapal ang linya sa pagitan natin nang masipsip na sa kawalan ang lahat ng kailangan kong kalimutan at ipagpatawad.

May puwersa ang paghawi at pag-angat.
Matatanggal ang dagan.
Tatayo akong muli mula sa kislot na gawa ng mga pagpapatsi-patsi ng totoo, ng hindi totoo at ng sandamakmak na pagpapanggap sa pagitan ng totoo at ng hindi totoo.

"The Year of Held Breath" by Veronica Patterson

2012-01-23T17:10:00.005+08:00

It was the year of tufted grasses. It was the year of questions. It was the year of fog
over the vineyard. The year you started falling. A damaged year. It was the year
of sails in the distance and knots here. It was the year without refuge. It was the
year of bog orchids, early runoff, unaccountable swelling. It was the year of sweet
peppers in August and patience, a year without diagnosis. It was the year of storms
on both sides of the window, of your pain. It was a year without skin. A year of
testing. It came without warning or instructions. It was the year of swallows caked
under the bridge, of difficulty swallowing. It was the year of small foxes, white
pelicans, one brown pelican far from its coast. Outside, the war deepened but we

couldn’t turn our faces to it. It was a year of drought. It was a year without syntax

or punctuation. It was the year of disarray. It was the year of mountains looking away,

seeming to look away.

- The Year of Held Breath, Veronica Patterson (GSU Review, 2007)

I remember having been able to be in front a "street altar" (something like this) somewhere in Binondo a few years ago. Although that particular night was raucous and busy, I felt so calm as I affixed my eyes on a Smiling/Laughing Buddha which seemed to have no eyes at all. I always believe that I can pray in front of any holy/sacred place or item or symbol, regardless of the faith or religion that it represents or advocates. My prayers - I believe and hope - are sent to something catholic (universal) and should not be hindered by religion or ideology.

Make-Believe Diaspora: Outtakes

2012-01-21T02:27:00.003+08:00

Hélas! tout est abîme, — action, désir, rêve,

Parole!

Everything, alas, is an abyss, — actions, desires, dreams,

Words!

- Nouvelles fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire, 1862

The summer morning arrived, and we were late for our flight. Surely, you were the same: Cool, comfortable and quiet as you gallantly walked through the boarding gate. See we got here on time, here are our passes, as you panned from me to the gate attendant. I was still fixing the sock of my left foot and I wasn’t able to respond to your gaze. You hurried down to the tube as your hand quietly assumed its usual position: It was waiting for my hand even though you weren’t looking at me.

I took your hand as I stood up from finally fidgeting that footglove. This was my first time to have this flight, to go to that city where you have spent years of working with that advertising agency. It was the place where – as you told me – you had your first taste of independence. No, not that independence when you went to camp when you were just in high school. Or when you went to the university dormitory for your classes in M.A; Your house was still around five kilometers from the school grounds. The place that we’re going via this flight has been the place– as you told me some nights months ago when you were tucked in my arms – that I think was the place of your first years of adulthood, or maturity… Cooking or buying your own meals, wanting to go back home but couldn’t, walking along familiar roads and meeting random strangers, staying up late and doing nothing just because really, nothing could be done. You've been all over the world. And I envied you for that.

This is my first time to go to that place.

This ‘first time’ needed many preparations from my end, well, financially. You never had ‘real’ problems with money unlike me. I had to miss several parties with friends, and you did understand why I wasn’t able to buy you that scarf which you have been wanting (and which you have bought for yourself. I was surprised that you had it on when we went to Baguio. I have been saving some money to surprise you with that. But you bought it already.) After several months of putting some money on a jar which I sealed and re-sealed with several masking tapes and some big signs of “Invest, invest” and “This is for us”, here I am with you, finally. We are about to take the first trip outside this country, this country that you tell me as your own as much as mine.

A few times several months ago, I actually had this moment thinking about this country and about you. (I did this even when I was with you, while you were sleeping or when you were talking about the latest clothes from Valli or some couturier who was recently commissioned by some big US department store.) You have been teaching at a sectarian school about how communication – visual, verbal, gestural – could affect not only the growth of your students but also the growth of the society. I have always admired you, much more after discovering that you still continue to teach. I have been wanting to be a teacher ever since. Hi Randel, finish that requisite so you can soon start teaching, a dear teacher once told me. He was also my classmate in an undergraduate course prior becoming my teacher for another course. Hey, Randel, I couldn’t imagine you not becoming a teacher. You have this compassion that I think will make you a good teacher, another drunken teacher friend told me as we and other friends from a writing group drank our souls away until the wee hours of the morning in that corner bar in Timog. Magpapakain ako pagka-graduate mo, that was a dear mother-adviser-now-dean talking to me as we went to an exhibit which I worked for. And those kids at the studio. They never fail me. Every time they create their works in pastel, oil or acrylic with so much innocence, it feels as if I never had back or shoulder aches from arching and stooping as I guided their hands and eyes to paint and draw.


“Two of the things I hold dear, as tenets, are creativity and authenticity. Creativity can be on any level, but authenticity is key, too. If we have a fault, it’s probably over-communication. When I’m cranky, I’m admittedly cranky. When I’m in a hurry and distracted, I can’t act like it’s any other way. And he’s good with that, too. So we talk things out. I don’t want to paint our relationship like we met and it’s been happy family fantastic-ness ever since. What defines a relationship is the work that’s involved to maintain it, and it’s constantly changing. Sometimes I’m deeply in love with David and head-over-heels, and sometimes I question whether it’s going to work out and is meant to be. It’s like a business relationship, as well as a personal one; we have a business together and that’s maintaining our love for one another.”			- Barney Stinson's actor

The cabin crew already sat on their seats as the plane started to turn on the corner of the runway and waiting for take-off. I took the window seat, although you knew that I had some trouble staring over the window as land would become air in a few minutes. So you finished praying? you told me as you held my hand. It was time to fly.

monologue

2012-01-18T06:03:00.001+08:00

It's early in the morning and I was able to finish some drafts for Charity's food shop logo. I stumbled upon this, and it was a nice song:

As I was listening, I never actually "wanted to be young". I (can still) dance to some teeny-bopper songs, but I never actually felt these songs. Several years ago, I was always mistaken for my age, they told me I look older for my age. But during the past few months, medyo nagtatama naman na ang mga guesses ng mga tao sa akin. And I actually like it.

I continue to listen to the song; Wala naman tayong common friends, who would come gather you and I, or who would help us get back together, so this would not be applicable for us.

Ay oo nga. Monologue nga ito as usual. Wala namang us dito.

Mas maganda ang pakiramdam ko ngayong araw na ito.

Sa Kirot

2012-01-16T19:57:00.000+08:00

Sa kipot, may kawalan.
Sa rikit, may karimlan.
Sa pigtas, may sulsing maaaring tangan
ang pagbabalik ng timyas ng nakaraan.

Ang suot na ligalig
ay tadtad ng mantsa ng dalamhati;
Sabaw ang kimi at kiri
dahil ang pagdaraos
ay isang pinilipit na pagpapanggap,
pilit pumipiglas papalayo sa kasawian at sakit.

Can young memories beget nostalgia that feels so old?

2012-01-14T14:24:00.000+08:00

"That is the saddest thing about our relationships: we claim to know them outright, we claim to be the only ones finally capable of analyzing the quirks of friends or lovers newly found. And yet there are pockets of solitude, great gaps in their lives that we can never fathom because of the simple fact that we were not there when they happened."

-Planet Waves, Eric Gamalinda

Hindi symmetrical ang aorta, ang mga chambers of secrets...

2012-01-11T14:18:00.001+08:00

Dahil pag nabiyak siya, hindi siya kyut na <3 na may zigzag at symmetrical ang dalawang hati. Asymptomatic siyang nabibiyak: Walang bibig pero ngumangawa, humihiyaw. May asphyxia, kumukunat ang kabuuan: Isang pagkakakamaong sa halip na lakas ang ipinapamalas ay hina ang ibinubulwak. Ang arrhythmia niya ay hindi dahil sa you-take-my-breath-away at may rainbows. Hindi lang talaga siya makahinga dahil unti-unting naaagnas ang mga kimpal ng laman.

How to define candid shots

2012-01-09T09:09:00.000+08:00

Habang maulan sa MOA, may magkasamang nagpipiktyuran:

Girl: Stolen naman!

Boy does a 3/4 profile to the right, di nakatingin sa camera (naka-shades).

*click*

Girl: Isa pa!

Boy does a 3/4 profile to the left and as usual di nakatingin sa camera.

To photograph is to appropriate the thing photographed. It means putting oneself into a certain relation to the world that feels like knowledge—and, therefore, like power. A now notorious first fall into alienation, habituating people to abstract the world into printed words, is supposed to have engendered that surplus of Faustian energy and psychic damage needed to build modern organic societies. But print seems a less treacherous form of leaching out the world, of turning it into a mental object, than photographic images, which now provide most of the knowledge people have about the look of the past and the reach of the present. What is written about a person or an event is frankly an interpretation, as are handmade visual statements, like paintings and drawings. Photographed images do not seem to be statements about the world so much as pieces of it, miniatures of reality that anyone can make or acquire. - Susan Sontag, "In Plato's Cave," On Photography, Farrar, Straus (1977).

Tubuan ka/ako rin sana nito

2012-01-05T15:52:00.000+08:00

...Pero puwede maging totoo. Maging mabuting balita ka naman, for a change.

Dahil Hindi Mo Ako Kailangan

2011-12-22T19:41:00.001+08:00

Alam kong isang text lang ang layo natin sa isa't isa. Isang sakay sa LRT3 tapos isang 300-meter walk sa magugulong lansangan ng Cubao.

Sinusubukan kong hindi ka na maisip. Sabi nga ng isang sarili ko, "Napagdaanan mo na ito. Hindi nangyari ang mga gusto mong nangyari. Kaya iyan. Ganyan ka uli. Dapat mas matatag ka na, o mas cool, o mas wala lang."

Tulad ng plemang nakabara sa dibdib ko ang panaghoy sa utak ko. Hindi ako makakilos. Dapat nagsusulat ako ng mga kailangang isulat. (Apat, limang taon ko na dapat isinusulat ang dapat isulat, pero nandito pa rin ako sa coordinates na ito. Ganoon pa rin. Buti nga ang version na ito ngayon, may interview na, may collated data, may mga litrato. May nasimulan na sa bawat chapter.

Pero hindi pa rin buo.)

Gumigising ako sa kama ko na ang tanging alam lang ay napanaginipan kita. At hindi maganda ang panaginip na iyon.

Sinasabi ko sa sarili ko na kapag napapanaginipan ko ang isang tao, lalo na ang isang taong gusto ko pa sanang makilala, may nararamdaman ako para sa kanya. At pareho siya ng pakiramdam kapag may kasama akong nananalangin. O kaya man ay kapag nagsasaya nang magkasama, o nag-uusap at kumikilos para iangat ang isa't isa sa kung anumang dinaramdam.

Malikot ang utak ko; Gusto kong kausapin ang taong sabi mo ay "huwag na nating guluhin pa." Gusto kong i-e-mail sa kanya ang mga gusto kong iparating sa iyo. (E kasi naman hindi ko naman alam ang e-mail mo, sa kalahating taong kasama kita, hinayaan mo pang malaman ko ang personal-public space mo sa paraang hindi maganda. Sana sinabi mo na lang sa akin na may mga ganyan ka. Ikaw na mismo ang nag-imply na knowledge is power. Iyan ang mga tinuturo mo sa mga esytudyante mo, di ba?)

Isa ito sa mga malulungkot na Paskong dadanasin ko. Malayo ako sa iyo. Ang mas nakalulungkot, hindi ko na maihakbang ang sarili ko papalapit sa iyo. Pagod ako, sawa. Gusto ko naman na ikaw ang magsimula ng balse. Na ikaw ang umakbay sa balikat ko. Na ikaw ang magsabing ako ang kailangan mo.

Pero ganito lang talaga: HINDI mo ako kailangan. Inisip mong maaaring maging bahagi ako ng buhay mo. Tanggalin lang natin ang mga halik, ang yakap, wala akong pinagkaiba sa mga kakilala mong iba. Hindi ko sinasabing kailangang ko ng pabor o nalig mula sa pamilya at mga kaibigan mo. Ang hindi ko lang matanggap, hindi ko maramdamang ituturing mo akong kapamilya, ni kaibigan.

Sabi nga ng iba kong mga kaibigan, baka raw nagmadali ako. Siguro nga, nagmadali ako.

Lahat ng ito, sana maiwan ko sa taong ito.

Hiling sa Pasko

2011-12-21T00:13:00.000+08:00

Ang bawat linya sa kantang ito ang hiling ko sa Pasko. Nagpapasalamat ako sa tiyaga at pagmamahal ng aking pamilya, sa tiwala at saya kasama ang mga kaibigan. Ang mga regalo'y ipinagpapasalamat ko. Pero, Panginoon, mas kailangan ko ng mas malinaw na pag-iisip at mas malalim na diwa. Marami akong gustong gawin, hindi para sa sarili ko. Ibinabalik ko sa iyo lahat ng kabutihan at kagandahan ng taong ito.

On This Table

2011-12-20T21:24:00.001+08:00

It's a fact; It's neither an excuse

nor a delectable discourse

of/by the deranged, of/by the aggrieved

or of/by the obsessed.

It’s as precise as the squareness

of this piece of lacquered wood

where my elbows right now

are perpendicularly buried onto.

Reconciliation is far away.

A destination unreachable,

a journey untraceable.

On-the-way-there

is flaked into small sojourns

of the relation of another fresh, chilled beer

to its emptied predecessors.

No maps, no guides, no compasses

are here, where acoustic laxatives

inefficiently purge the burning

longing of the soul’s

tender moments as a banshee.

Here, the most rotten lights

astoundingly carve

the sharpest shadows.

Here, distance is measured

by short cigarette butts

puffed by a cold butt

firmly on a stool

with a hot head

that traverses expanses

and reaches of that finite moment

of that other, that now-fleeting

intoxication

Water from the loose ice

meets the precipitate of the bottle.

They form valleys and deltas

as they pass through dunes

of ashes, of crumbs and of menthol candy wrappers

Some of them reach the edge

trickling on the dirty floor -

creating a cartography

of points of view

seen with and without you.

Randel C. Urbano on Monday, January 10, 2011 at 8:18am, and December 20, 2011

Isang Pag-amin

2011-12-19T15:34:00.000+08:00

Because this blog is a bittersweet one. Aaminin ko na.

When will I see you again?

You left with no goodbye,

not a single word was said

No final kiss to seal any seam

I had no idea of the state we were in.

I know I have a fickle heart

and a bitterness

And a wandering eye,

and a heaviness in my head

But don’t you remember,

don’t you remember?

The reason you loved me before,

Baby please remember me once more.

When was the last time

you thought of me?

Or have you completely erased me

from your memories?

Cause I often think about

where I went wrong,

The more I do, the less I know

But I know I have a fickle heart

and a bitterness

And a wandering eye,

and a heaviness in my head.

But don’t you remember,

don’t you remember?

The reason you loved me before,

Baby please remember me once more.

I gave you the space so you could breathe,

I kept my distance so you would be free,

I hope that you find the missing piece

To bring you back to me.

Why don’t you remember,

don’t you remember?

The reason you loved me before,

Baby please remember you used to love me.

When will I see you again?

2011-12-15T04:19:00.003+08:00

Dahil Kaya Mong Maniwala
(latest edit 16:10, December 17, 2011)

I.
Sa pampang, yayakap ng malamig na tubig
ang mga daliri sa paa, at bigla silang pipiglas,
titilamsik kasama ng kanilang pinagbabaran.
Maisasakatawan ang isang igpaw
sa pagitan ng mga nilalang.
Ang puwang ang takda ng pagbabalik.

II.
Mababasa sa mga talampakan
ang nabubuong diwa ng gulang:
Tulad ng sa ating mga noo’t palad,
ang mga kuyukot na nakaumbok
sa balat ng mga paang
makinis o magaspang
ay talaan ng saring antas ng pananalig.
Ang mabisang panlinis
ay bumubulong ng oyayi:
ang bulalakaw ng isang sakali –
Ang pamawi ng uhaw
ay gaya ng likido sa sinapupunang
muli’t muli ang pananabik
sa pag-uwi
sa ating mga sinaunang sarili.
Ang huling daong ay ang tahanang mithi.

III.
Sinasabing ang lahat ay nagmula sa lupa.
Ngunit ang pagdaloy ng hininga
ay sa lawak at gilas ng Sanib nagmumula –
iyong lupa,
iyong hangin,
iyong tubig
at itong apoy sa isang pusong
nangangarap, nananalangin.
Isang ningas ang pagkakabasa ng mga ninanais
dahil ang mga tala’t ang buwan
ay iinog dahil sasahig ang paggawa.

IV.
Ang paglutang ay sasalubungin,
kakalingain ng isang paglapag.
Dadantay ang lundoy,
mananahimik-
Dahil sa katuparan ng igpaw
may tiwala sa pagsasatotoo
ang isang mas malayong lukso
tungo sa inaasam na pag-asa.

rcurbano

One lethargy of words

2011-12-07T19:33:00.001+08:00

My touch was my best utterance to you; My actions were my best literature which you could have read without censorship.

Distinctively

2011-12-05T18:03:00.001+08:00

(I wrote this last Christmas 2010 at 1:52pm)

Distinctively
extinction is nonexistent
in my vocabulary of memories
of whos and whoses
in that week-long of woo and woe of ours:

Wounded were we both as we spoke.
Weariness was each other's ally
as we talked about fissions.
As if you and I earned enough credits
valid for the most number of losses.
We did not stutter,
we tongued out
the whips and lashes of defeats.
Our scars were dry badges.
Pride never yet glistened
over those scars;
we already knew that lamentations were humbling
and that perhaps we both want
a fusion of something,
anything.

Should-bes and would-bes
could never be a bother to us.
They're all too close to the familiar,
did we sense
we so told.
Tracks and traces were all there
in front of us, staring starkingly
at us, until we both decided

to retract and to retreat
to wherever just not to that Here that
we were at,
to whenever just away from that night
which could have been a Now.

And here, there's still a still
of a ghostly and quiet ill -
a whisper which will neither blossom
in to a scream nor silence will conceal;
My days shall become empty of your voice
and my nights shall refill themselves
with the fainting scent of your skin.
We told ourselves
as we told one another
the we have had too many cracks
on our surfaces and our cores.
But could we still break,
could we still be weak
for a little more?

As I close my eyes tonight
the contours of your face
refigure Hope or the lack of it.
In the darkness of no-sight
little shadows of you
fade in and out
of a wish which masticates
that dimmest, gasping light.

rcurbano

Of agencies and powers-that-be

2011-12-02T03:58:00.002+08:00

Habang kumikilatis ng mga lighting at editing trip ng 2011 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, nakita ko ang mensaheng ito sa facebook.

Minsan, masarap lang ding magsabi ng "Putangina lang talaga."

----------------------------------------

lifted from facebook like page:

On Plagiarism
by Norman Wilwayco
on Tuesday, November 29, 2011 at 4:30pm

Ilang buwan na ang nakalipas nang gayahin ng ahensyang DDB ang konsepto namin sa Hay!Men! tungkol sa Tunay Na Lalake. Ginamit nila ito nang walang paalam, at pinagkakitaan pa. Natural na maghabol ang TNL. Hindi mo pwedeng gamitin ang konsepto ng iba at ipasa ito bilang orihinal mong gawa. At bayaran ka nang limpak-limpak dito.

Kung gusto mong gamitin ang TNL lines, magpaalam ka man lang, tulad ng ginawa ng Belo Men nang gamitin nila ang TNL shit sa kanilang kampanya.

Ano ba naman ang laban ng isang simpleng blogger sa isang established na ahensya? Ang kaya ko lang gawin, i-discredit sila sa Hay! Men! tulad nito:

http://tunaynalalake.blogspot.com/2011/03/dax-dacanay-di-tunay-na-lalake.html
http://tunaynalalake.blogspot.com/2011/03/ang-inumin-ng-di-tunay-na-lalake.html
http://tunaynalalake.blogspot.com/2011/03/haymen-balita-xyxo-loco-ng-haymen.html

Matagal nang nangyari ito at nakalimutan ko na nga. Tinanggal na rin ng DDB sa ere ang mga plagiarized DDB plugs (ginamit nila sa ad ng Sting Energy Drink).

Kaya ko muling binabalikan kase hanggang ngayon, may mga nagkokomento pa rin (mga alagad ng DDB) na umano'y wala akong binatbat sa ahensya nila, na marami silang pera at kumikita nang limpak-limpak, na isa akong patay-gutom, na tigilan ko na ang pag-ngawa dahil pinapakita ko lang kung gaano ako "ka-pathetic", na astig sila, na sila'y untouchable, at kung ano-ano pang shit. Magdildil na lang daw ako ng asin. At may nag-suggest pang magpa-chupa na lang daw ako sa orangutan.

Hindi ko naman pinagkakaila na mahirap lang ako e. Hindi ko kinakahiya yun. Sa akin, mas mahalaga ang dignidad kesa pera. At di ko kinokopya ang konsepto ng iba. Kaya kong umisip ng sarili kong konsepto.

Ang mga bastos na motherfuckers na ito, sila na nga ang nangopya, sila pa ang nagmamagaling. Hindi ko maintindihan kung bakit sa halip na magwasto sila ng gawain nila, sila pa ang nagtatapang-tapangan. Gusto pa yata akong patayin ng mga motherfuckers. Alam kaya ito ng adboard? Alam kaya ito ng ibang ahensya? Alam kaya ito ng mga ka-kumpetensya ng Sting?

Ang mga plagiarist, walang karapatang magtapang-tapangan. Marami nga kayong pera pero putangina plagiarist pa rin kayo. Napabilib nyo ang mga kapitalistang kliyente nyo pero kami hindi. Tae ang tingin namin sa inyo. Mga tae kayong nakabihis ng magara, mga tae kayong nagmamaneho ng magagarang sasakyan, mga tae kayong umiinom ng latte sa starbucks habang kinakalikot ang mga gadget nyo. Mga tae kayong humihimod sa tumbong ng kapital.

Siya nga pala, sa inyong mga taga-DDB, lalo ka na Dax Dacayan, sabi ni Lourd de Veyra putangina mo raw.

Supreme court lang ang natutuwa sa inyo.

"And What Are Words" by Gémino Abad

2011-12-02T01:06:00.000+08:00

“AND WHAT ARE WORDS”

Gémino Abad

What keeps us together? – Words

And what are words? Initials of my soul

Transmitted through our inhuman air,

But driving root again in your speech,

As finding there hospital dwelling,

Or ample illusion, since in your voice

I am again transformed and again,

Even as the words I speak

I come again upon you and again,

In utricles of the innermost ear,

Singing silences, those pauses that

For itself the imagination requires.

That you and I, again identified,

May continue to send rarest signals

Across our inhuman air,

Continue to conjecture in that void,

And conjure images of ourselves

To inhabit that inhabitable air,

Or images of the world,

Swinging comet-like through fiery speech,

Or notions of the sun, once worshipped

When his orbit strayed through the heart,

Or ideas of the moon, cold, august,

Lying hid in our youthful loves,

Toward that possibility of the imagination,

Casting fictive nets for mind’s heraldry.

(Prism, 345-346)---

Some "hegemony", a song and what-you/I-say-and-what-you/I-feel-are-actually-well-almost-online/everywhere

2011-12-02T00:51:00.003+08:00

If you are moving into detachment, love will grow, joy will grow, only attachments will drop -- because attachments bring misery, because attachments bring bondage, because attachments destroy your freedom." - OSHO: Love, Freedom, Aloneness

We think when songs catch what we feel, they are universal. Like this music video. This song strikes my every bone and shingle. Each strum of the guitars, each beat of the drum, every single 'arpeggiating' shrill made by Christina Perri narrates how my insides feel about something, about you. In the song's contemporaneous shuffle of 4/4 climaxing at times via the18th-centuryesque blow of a(/n digitized) orchestra, with the usual somber and languid melody which some people collectively call as emo (but is actually an apo/cousin/hybrid of what we call as kundiman), there is something unique in it. Not because it was a Eureka! which could win several awards. But because I was listening to it this song this early morning, in this quiet space.

Is it not so amazing nowadays still - despite all of the things that we think are 'hegemonic' and 'universal' and 'global' - that what we think and feel sometimes are being struck erratically (and are made conscious, made to surface) because a particular item (a music video, a part of the road, a time of the day) reminds us of another item, idea or memory?

--------------------

One music professor (a respected teacher) told me years ago that we - as a species - might have had lost our quality not only in making music, but actually in appreciating music. Several years ago (actually a decade ago), music-listening through the radio is more diverse, than it is today i.e. (as my professor told me) most of what we hear are just the same. Let me put it this way, it so much simpler to mash up tunes today bearing in mind the components of the music (tonality, meter, timbre, arrangement etc.). Moreover, as the MTV generation surged for a more hyperreal experience in/through music, music nowadays is much appreciated in terms of "interconnectivity" to other media/forms such as dance, film, flash advertorials, tweets.

And I am not saying that it's all bad. Creativity through the internet made Biebers and Charices. We now understand more than ever how the Chinese Opera of the past might have sounded, as much as how the peoples in the farthest regions in the mountains of Africa or in some remote island in the Philippines crafted their particular musical theories and practices.

But my professor (who is not just a philosopher but also an artist and a scientist) reminds us that the quality of music that we here today may just be a small portion of what music (or sound) can be for us. As it is in this video of the Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I think there is more to than just simplistically appreciating music...

---------------------

I liked how this MTV was done, because it spoke what I (already) told you. It precisely uttered this emotion and thought that I am having right now. We can blame it on serendipity, but I think it's just that well, almost everything's online nowadays

except for that touch and the words that keep that touch more real.

Crave

2011-12-01T04:04:00.002+08:00

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;nbsp;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

Because this is one of the human conditions that I think I must have patience and discipline over. This human condition is like how your head surrenders to my shoulder. Or how my fingers run through your hair.

It's when I think and feel that I can always keep a part of you in my pocket, wherever you may be.

Like when you went to Japan to make someone happy. How can it be not right to ask you to go to my space, my time, when all of what I think, feel and do are geared towards being in the same coordinates with you? And I don't talk about space and time as they were just space and time; I talk and act and feel about space and time as they were also like breathing. A breath is not full without inhaling, exhaling, and that thin slice of death in between that manner of living.

I never wished to change you, nor did I question your You-ness. I just want to know how much of your You is here with me now. I too don't know how much of Me is there in your life. I know that these requests may take more years to know. I do feel that sometimes, perhaps, to question is the goal/end of this kind of connection, of togetherness.

But were both first-timers in this tandem.

Sometimes I feel I become too nostalgic of things that really don't exist. As my dear friend Tupe calls it, I might have some sort of saudade in this body of mine.

Tell me that you crave as much as I do for this us, for this me+you.

Because I know you'll enjoy this mash-up

2011-11-19T05:34:00.001+08:00

And this sleepwalk should be over now.
Sometimes good-sounding songs are really those sad songs.
And sad songs usually are happy.
So is it the metaphor, is the flip
kaya ako nag-e-enjoy sa ganitong trip?

Magandang Sabado ng umaga.

un musée philippin et moi: Vargas Museum

2011-11-19T02:10:00.003+08:00

http://vargasmuseum.wordpress.com/

This is where I spend free time as an unpaid intern, i.e. tsimoy. Hehehe. Most of what I do for Vargas Museum is its print collaterals. I haven't memorized still the museum's permanent collection. I always like it when the programs at this institution break some limits (politically and artistically) in curation, design or theme. As a museum inside a university with ample budget for the arts, the museum team is nonetheless resourceful in delivering critical events and exhibits which do not only cater to the university's students, but to the metropolitan art world in the Philippines.

when in doubt, paint! @ Young Artists Studio

2011-11-19T02:10:00.001+08:00

Pero actually, mas masarap magpinta kung alam mong masaya ka at hindi lito, o nalulungkot, o nangangailangang magpinta. Masarap magpinta, kasi iyon na ang puno't dulo noon. Na biglang magte-tessallate na lang sa mga kaibigan, kapamilya at mga kakilala ang energy na maganda.

www. youngartistsstudio,ph

I was not formally trained as a teacher. But I am able to share my ideas and practices to the kids at this arts center from time to time.

From the website page:

We are a network of contemporary Filipino artists and art educators doing collaborative workshops under the banner Young Artists Studio (YAS). YAS is a service-oriented group composed of contemporary Filipino artists and art educators doing collaborative art production trainings year-round. YAS wishes to give a venue for potential artists across age groups to learn techniques and styles of art production while instilling essential life values, creativity, social awareness and cultural interest.

YAS believes that art is a powerful tool to influence communities, improve lives, and transform society. Aside from conducting art trainings, YAS regularly holds art-based outreach programs in coordination with CreatingSpace Inc., a non-government organization dedicated to sustainable arts and culture.

YAS students are a mix of different age groups with majority coming from toddlers to young kids (4-10 y/o), teens and adults. On a larger scale, YAS’ objective is to promote art as a major component in holistic human development, a sustainable profession and a catalyst for social transformation.


Leia (second from left) was one of our students last June 2010. She was really, really into putting loads of watercolor on her canvas or paper. Maya and Teachers Avie and Crown laughed whenever Leia shrilled because she didn't want to stop painting.

Teacher RG and I explained basics of light and shade to children of Landbank employees in summer 2010.

cultivating this home: Creating SPACE Inc.

2011-11-19T02:10:00.000+08:00

http://creatingspaceinc.wordpress.com/

We created Creating SPACE Inc. in February 2011 in the hopes of furthering our abilities in cultural work and to formalize our means of assisting artists, indigenous peoples and communities with regards to their art practice. This non-government organization has been a dream which we hope can be turned into a reality. Should you wish to participate in our endeavors, do not hesitate to contact me through here or direct your inquiries at the site.

Not so loving the Unhate? On Benetton's 'makeout' campaign

2011-11-17T05:58:00.008+08:00

"Commodities and meanings. things and ideas about things, have therefore come to seem hopelessly confounded. [...] As a consequence advertisers have become less inclined to focus only on the achievement of specific meaning/commodity linkages."

- Nick Perry's "Post-Pictures and Ec(h)o Effects" in Hyperreality and Global Culture

I was always 'fond' of the United Colors of Benetton. Childhood memories of Benetton would be related to hand-me-down shirts from uncles here in Manila (my family was living in Bataan then). Although they were already used and might have had stains, I remember that I managed to keep wearing some plain Benetton polo shirts during my elementary and high school days because I think, Benetton shirts, like Polo shirts (and perhaps their fake counterparts) were cooler (as in mas malamig) than other cotton shirts mixed with polyester. And plain colored-shirts are easier to get dirty. I like how so much colors and color blends Benetton shirts have.

United Colors of Benetton as a brand consciously distinguished itself in the race of advertising with the nomenclature itself: It features multiculturalism and diversity in a snap by using two big words and then a specificity, the place/owner called Benetton which owns those two big words. Unlike hitting the poetry by putting up a dashing irony of words, or by instilling a sense of regality and exclusivity by just being a first-and-last-name-of-(just-one)-designer, UCB gained favor perhaps because it operated on the "Tayo" ("We") mode of thinking. I am unsure where the UCB was founded, as it sounds it must have been/is English. English-born or not, the UCB portfolio of multiculturality has permeated into our everyday living - an intrinsic property of UCB as one of the first big multinational garments brands to 'own' the variety of skins from different parts of the globe as the main fabric for their visual emissions:

As Nick Perry tells us (in U. Eco-aided, Pollock-esque or even Cyborg Manifesto-esque tone) in his book that these blurring of ideas and meanings - driven by the desire to advertise and thus the desire to earn (and keep) - make United Colors of Benetton a template (and conversely, "an original") hyperreal merchant of clothes which capitalizes on the difference and the individual(istic) but by still keeping its capitalism intact through its logo and styles of advertising.

To further this blurring of ideas, United Colors of Benetton (like any other contemporary brand perhaps such as Filipino/local brand Bench which has rendered superfluously the awareness of the 'Pan-Asian' look in their visual materials for consumers as a glocal mark), UCB has extended their choice of target audience, by extending their choice of subjects (and when I say 'extend' I mean it like it's the beef extender on your canned corned beef):

May it be 'cause' or 'social responsibilty' or 'integration', the business of advertising that UCB has is not solely of its own volition; As technology, media, education and actually human urban experience evolve into a megamachine of interchanges, substitutes and excesses, we are desensitized by these visual-graphic emissions thereby actually losing tempo and temper on the topic-theme of the message because the message and the medium are also intermingling and inter(re)acting regardless if its 'complementing' or 'polar' - which is the main point of the emergence of discussion and debate.

The recent UnHate campaign may be situated with contemporary expositions in Film and TV, whether they'd be 15-seconders or a series or a full-feature film. But the UnHate photo with manipulated visages of two of the most prominent religious leaders in the world (doing 'something' that for both religions is 'normatively' taboo) makes the photo a viable piece of/for 'static controversy' since the image/photo doesn't rely on time displacement (i.e. Unlike film or TV which uses moving images, the image in the Benetton campaign material is stuck, well unless it can be redrafted as a moving picture file - .gif, flash, or other similar file/form).

Sometimes, I just can't help but think that I hope I could just think like a kid and think of a Benetton shirt as something 'cool' or 'comfortable'.

Sounds Familiar

2011-11-17T00:25:00.002+08:00

<br><br><br>ees

This Florence+The Machine song sounds familiar. Hindi lang talaga ma-pinpoint ng utak ko kung anong kanta iyon. Parang lasang Cranberries na hindi e. It's with the aria/wail motif after each chorus.

Repetitions - wherever and however they're created - I think are crucial and vital to memory and action.

*phone rings, 30-minute conversation*

-------------------------

Sinubukan kong tandaan ang pangalan mo. You're voice was calm and neat. And it was as if a "sorry" was staccatoed on every single rest that your breath exhaled. I tried to be modest and courteous. I even told you that unfortunately my phone has been recently having problems with its directory. Names would have been saved on the phone, but numbers just appear on the screen. The tones made by your oral cavity traversed to an old mobile phone's earpiece, which made it harder for me to familiarize that person on the other end of the line.

Numbers and Names: Nang sinabi mo ang pangalan mo, I tried to recall what happened a year ago. So many months already passed and I just saw you once this year. Eventually, as you let me remember, the images of those nights came into my mind. Our friend Harry was there to bear witness to what I felt, to how you acted. I remembered as well - eventually - how it felt, how I felt for you. But the remembrance was not stringent. It was like a fresh, sun-dried handkerchief that just glossed over my face and not some warm, moist "Good Morning" towel. I never thought that I could be okay, and that I was actually thankful tonight that we decided to stop that night, a year ago. It was actually 'nice' to have had that promise a year ago - a promise that I almost forgot until tonight.

Nagkumustahan tayo: I tell you that I'm seeing someone, you tell me that you're busy with work, with surgeries to have, bills to pay...

Your call made me realize that the end was so far away already. That - amazingly - one year passed and I am fortunately better and stronger. And perhaps wiser.

I wish you good cheer.

--------------------------

Gusto kong ikuwento ang mga ganitong pangyayari sa buhay ko. Na habang isinusulat ko ang blog na ito, bigla na lang may susulpot na kung ano. Marahil kasama na talaga sa wiring ko ang mga ganitong scenario. Gusto kong ikuwento sa iyo ang mga ganito, hindi dahil sa pagmamataas na mas marami akong karanasan, o dahil may mga posibilidad na maaarin tumawag, bumalik o magparamdam.

Gusto kong ikuwento sa iyo ang mga bagay na ito dahil ito ang mga piraso ng aking pagkakabuo. Dahil ano pa nga ba ang ginagawa natin, kundi ang magkaroon ng bagong anyong buo na magkasama tayo?

Idinadasal kong sana, kahit man lang dito, maintindihan mo ang mga bagay na gustong-gustong sabihin ng puso ko, na/dahil ikaw at ikaw lang ang gustong tanging tagapakinig nito-

Pakikipag-usap sa Pader

2011-11-16T02:47:00.001+08:00

Gusto ko sanang pumunta tayo rito minsan at kumain nito:

Marami akong gustong puntahan na kasama ka. Alam kong marami ka nang napuntahan. Nakakabit na sa pagkatao mo ang paglalayag. Minsan naiinggit ako. Pero natataob ng inggit ang pag-asang makagagawa ako ng paraan para makasama sa biyahe mo.

Naalala ko tuloy dati ang sabi ko sa isa sa Kanila, "Thanks for the ride."

Because I can say this too, when it's about me and you

2011-11-16T01:47:00.001+08:00

Thankfully, persistence is a great substitute for talent. - Steve Martin

Let's get ready to ramble!

2011-11-16T00:44:00.002+08:00

We all know they're both rich and they have peculiar English. Sana si Marquez naman ang mag-interbyu kay Pacquiao. Sana nga rin, linggo-linggo na lang lumaban si Pacquiao. Tahimik ang mga lansangan pag siya ang nasa telebisyon.

a crack and a dawn

2011-11-15T15:25:00.002+08:00

a crack and a dawn

Over head

rudders

and dreams

flip the pages

of this scene.

Crickets sing

A/head

gives way, gives in

to thoughts

never told, never wished

To be realized.

The sting from sanitized

borders and frames

outside these unplanned

exchanges

made us

viscous

of a compromise, an idea

(that some people

call treacherous names)

Heads over shoulders,

feet on top of another

sheets of nothing

and an instant everything -

They fill the gaps

of doubts

The moon whispers a reminder,

a caution

that we have

someones

other elses

who should have been

here

instead of this

sometime

of you and me.

rcu 14nov2011

Pikachu week!

2011-11-15T13:36:00.003+08:00

"Weekend, where were you?"

Ay, di naman pala ako kailangang magreklamo nang ganoon, kasi wala naman akong konsepto ng workweek at weekday. Hehehe. :D

It's a good, sunny November day.

2011-11-13T05:11:00.002+08:00

I woke up and I smiled. The sunshine was brilliant and the street was upbeat with life. I slept late this morning and woke up early and I knew that tasks are to be done today.

(Unfortunately,) I smiled not because of you.Your blandness just rolled over and faded out as I read through your usual texts. (And I guess you would not have texted if I didn't text you first.) You tell me people tell you that you're boring.

Baka tama nga silang boring ka. At nafa-500 Days of Summer lang ako sa iyo.

It's a good Sunday.

Contemporary Artist from the Netherlands gives “The Spill” Art Talk at Chef’s Bistro, Quezon City

2011-11-11T02:12:00.002+08:00

Creating SPACE Inc. invites everyone to attend another edition of The Spill on November 19, Saturday, 7:00PM at Chef’s Bistro. The Spill is a series of artists’ talks to encourage critical discussions on various art forms, styles and contexts. This installment features Sonja van Kerkhoff, a New Zealand artist based in the Netherlands. Van Kekhoff will share her experiences in contemporary art practice across media, spaces, and trans-localities. Van Kerkhoff works with a range of media in installations, performance, video, animation, interactive art works on the net, and more. The artist’s talk will touch on the ways that different media affect how art is experienced, along with the discourses surrounding several projects she initiated in the international scene. An extensive list of the artist’s past and current projects can be found at http://www.sonjavank.com.

For more information about this intimate event, you may contact Creating SPACE at 0916-2121129, or send an e-mail to creatingspace.inc.ph@gmail.com. Chef’s Bistro is located at 94 Scout Gandia, Tomas Morato, Quezon City.

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2011-11-10T18:58:00.001+08:00

Randelirious v.6 - (2008-2009 ?)

2011-11-08T17:57:00.003+08:00

This used to be my header years ago.

Ilang Hitback

2011-11-08T09:00:00.001+08:00

"After all, your family should always be your friend, and your friends are also your family." - Ang sabi mo sa blog mo. Sa tingin ko, limitado pa rin talaga ang kapit ng buhay ko sa buhay mo. Hindi maintindihan ng wiring ko kung tama lang bang mag-demand akong mas makilala sa pamamagitan ng mga kaibigan mo, o kung tama lang ang ganito, na alam ko ang kuwento ng buhay ng pamilya at mga kaibigan mo sa mga salita mo. Ako rin naman kasi, hindi pa kita naipapakilala sa pamilya ko.

May bagong aso ang Lola ko, si Eisenhower. Ikinuwento ni Lola kahapon na meron siyang aso noong bata siya na ganoon din ang pangalan. Ang maliit na Eisenhower ngayon ang kasa-kasama ni Darwin sa pagbabantay ng bahay dito sa Santiago.

May bagong-tatag na click ng mga 80's Pinoy singers. Hindi ko alam kung dahil baka kasi magko-concert lang sila. Ayon sa alingawngaw ng TV habang naghuhugas ako ng pinagkainan kani-kanina lang, kasama sina Lou Bonnevie, Gino Padilla at Ella Mae Saison sa grupo. Naalala ko tuloy nung rumaraket ako sa production outfit ni Lou Bonnevie, mga pitong taong nakalipas. Masiglang babae si Lou Bonnevie, akala mong parang hindi tumanda. Pero kita na sa kanya (at sa pakikipag-usap niya sa asawa) kung gaano na siya katagal sa business ng pagko-(commericial) concert. Ngarag lang minsan ang mga taong nakapaligid sa kanya, (o sadyang aliping sagigilid lang kasi ang drama ko noong mga panahong iyon.) Dahil sa isa sa mga pa-raket under Dimitri Productions ko rin yata unang nasubukang magyosi.