I’m not the list-y guy, like Rob in High Fidelity, or even Jack Black’s ‘fave’ guy; I roll on and off, with the punches, like Dicky Fox in Jerry Maguire. So for 2009, I don’t have lists, but memories, of what I can recall or ‘listed’ down.
One good thing is Google Calendar. I used to write my weekly schedule on paper, and then moved over to Excel. Since the file is in the office, when I get home, I forget what’s written, entirely. Since I’m online most of the day, I’ve then used Google Calendar for scheduling things. It’s super. And I get to share the details (If I want to). I can also sync it to BlackBerry; but of course, mine is archaic and I’m not the techie guy either.
I have somebody with me now. Like a deep relationship kind of somebody. Even love is a too broad and misunderstood word (or feeling). We agree on most things (and most would mean about almost everything in human psyche, even those that border parallel realms, dimension, insanity and cute things—like weird laughs). We don’t agree on taste and anything I’m aloof on. What I won’t say would spurn more arguments and angry sentiments.
I still don’t know what my interests are. And I mean f-u-l-l interests. I know what I like, sometimes. But what I would die for, or electrifies my nerves, I don’t. I used to think: cars, art, graphics, words, movement, bodies, dance, music, cinema, and the like. I don’t. Because with my forgetful brain, they escape me all the same. Now I’m not the most forgetful man, but I tend to lose information when I’m nervous, agit, impossible. Imagine I’m at a photo shoot and I keep on forgetting my stuff (batteries, wires, memory cards, poses, lighting, smiles, etc.) I drink to calm myself down.
I’m not exactly a thrifty person too. I can save and not eat lunch. But I pay double on postage and bid excessively when I want something. So part of this year was spent buying things I want and not used that much.
This year would be my decline in music. Imagine the whole day online, with itunes and genius, with a ‘new’ ipod, with last.fm, and more net radios, classical music, I still can’t hear the difference between a Bach and Beethoven (it’s exaggerated). We’ve (band) also started recording, yes, but live playing and influential music coming in—zilch. Although this year, I’ve heard more Jeff Mangun and Kristian Matsson, for personal and romantic reasons.
This is also the year I’ve seriously started to develop my photographic skills, even though it’s still shit. I’ve delve more in the works of contemporary artists, and trying to do more ‘commercial’ skills. Funnily, I can’t seem to pose someone for a ‘nice, commercial, likeable’ portrait of a friend; Artists, they can pose on their own, I don’t have to do anything, just arrange the lights and click. But seriously, looking at my flickr for the past year, I haven’t produced anything substantial (in my sense). I was supposed to submit a portrait portfolio for a workshop, but didn’t push thru because the lack of material.
Actually, that sums up the year. The lack of production—on anything. Two screen-printed shirts! C’mon. *Face Slap!*
---
Now gearing up for more pieces of everything this coming decade.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Pakikinig ng Musika ng 'Lucksmiths' sa Wika
Siguro mga halos kalahating araw naka repeat lang sa mga kanta ng Lucksmiths yung mp3 player. Pero panalo talaga ang bandang iyan, lalo na kapag alam mong minamalas ka. Ika nga ng isang kataga, 'when you're out of luck, your out'. Kung totoo man iyan, hindi ko alam. Malamang ako lang nagsabi niyan. Kaya siguro kumukuha ako ng suwerte mula sa mga kanta. Malas sa lagay ng pagtatanong sa limang piso ang 'oo o hindi'. Parang may panig ang tiyempo at palad sa 'hindi', 'huwag'. Hindi mo alam kung ito ba'y babala, maski mamilit ka na 'eto ang gusto ko'. "Kung gusto, maraming paraan, kung ayaw, maraming dahilan", sabi ng guro ko. Pero pag gusto mo, at ayaw ng mundo, ayaw ng tadhana. Papaano iyun?
Kaya sa hirap ng tanong, magpapalipas muna ng oras. Iba ang maupo sa tabi at makinig lang ng makinig, paulit-ulit. Iba ang karamdaman na nagmumula sa awit at karanasan ng iba. Lalo na kung ang kanta ay parang ikaw, parang katapat ng buhay mo. Siguro ganoon naman talaga ang mga kanta, at ang buhay. Sumasalamin lang sa isa't-isa. Nasa paghahanap lang iyan, at walang tigil na pagtugtog.
---
Kung sa pagsusulat ng pormal o impormal sa wikang ito'y napakahirap sa akin sapagkat maski ako'y nabubulol habang nagtatayp ng mga salita at kung ano pa. Marahil dahil ang panahon ng pagiging pnoyz ngayon ay ang pagiging 'westernized' at ang matagal na nating problema sa paghahanap ng sarili.
Yung Filipino, ay dahil hindi raw maintindihan ang malalim kong ingles (sabi ng mga ibang nagbabasa, at may nagbabasa pa pala nito).
Isa pang 'note'. Parang diretsong pagsasalin lang mula sa Ingles ang pagsusulat ko, may saysay man o wala.
Kaya sa hirap ng tanong, magpapalipas muna ng oras. Iba ang maupo sa tabi at makinig lang ng makinig, paulit-ulit. Iba ang karamdaman na nagmumula sa awit at karanasan ng iba. Lalo na kung ang kanta ay parang ikaw, parang katapat ng buhay mo. Siguro ganoon naman talaga ang mga kanta, at ang buhay. Sumasalamin lang sa isa't-isa. Nasa paghahanap lang iyan, at walang tigil na pagtugtog.
---
Kung sa pagsusulat ng pormal o impormal sa wikang ito'y napakahirap sa akin sapagkat maski ako'y nabubulol habang nagtatayp ng mga salita at kung ano pa. Marahil dahil ang panahon ng pagiging pnoyz ngayon ay ang pagiging 'westernized' at ang matagal na nating problema sa paghahanap ng sarili.
Yung Filipino, ay dahil hindi raw maintindihan ang malalim kong ingles (sabi ng mga ibang nagbabasa, at may nagbabasa pa pala nito).
Isa pang 'note'. Parang diretsong pagsasalin lang mula sa Ingles ang pagsusulat ko, may saysay man o wala.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Disorders
Disorders, Disorders.
I have not yet eaten on time for the past two or three weeks or so. During lunch, I nibble my fingers surfing the web and doing the usual rounds of social networking and the like. There's not much to learn from there but kill time. Kill it like killing yourself--myself.
On mornings, the only taste I get is from my gum protective toothpaste (wow. Happee has gone scientific! and caring). Not that I swallow the residue, but clean teeth and fresh breath just feels awesome. And you do not want to spoil that cleanliness with food, ugggghhhh. I have fought hunger!
I eat skyflakes in the afternoon, getting credit from our officemate's 'sari-sari'.
I take in water most of the day, cup after cup, minute after minute. Hence the almost regular "I've-got-to-go-to-the-bathroom" thing.
At night. Just sleep.
I do wonder how I get by, and how I'm even able to think.
Now what to disorder> hmmmnn..
I have not yet eaten on time for the past two or three weeks or so. During lunch, I nibble my fingers surfing the web and doing the usual rounds of social networking and the like. There's not much to learn from there but kill time. Kill it like killing yourself--myself.
On mornings, the only taste I get is from my gum protective toothpaste (wow. Happee has gone scientific! and caring). Not that I swallow the residue, but clean teeth and fresh breath just feels awesome. And you do not want to spoil that cleanliness with food, ugggghhhh. I have fought hunger!
I eat skyflakes in the afternoon, getting credit from our officemate's 'sari-sari'.
I take in water most of the day, cup after cup, minute after minute. Hence the almost regular "I've-got-to-go-to-the-bathroom" thing.
At night. Just sleep.
I do wonder how I get by, and how I'm even able to think.
Now what to disorder> hmmmnn..
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Elevator
The scene could’ve reminded anybody of horror sequences, or of panic and world destruction. I was in an elevator with 4 others. One was a huge baldy guy. One was stocky, like George stocky from Seinfeld. One was a construction worker kind of guy. And the other one was a construction supervisor. We pinned our hopes on him.
Rewind the sequences a little bit and I was just awakened by 6am, on a small single couch. I had slept most of the night while transferring photos from the memory card on to the laptop. Imagine how sleepy I was to get bored by that. I woke up from that transitory sleep, with daylight bouncing off the walls. I blindly got up, and switched off the lights and hurriedly went to the bed to sleep. By 930am, I woke up again, aghast that I was already late for work. Kept a few moans, but still dressed up and fixed my do. What was I thinking before I closed the door and left the condo unit.
From the 27th floor, the lift was going down, picking people up, opening its doors and smiling for it had new things to eat. It was all mirrors. We could see everything from where we were, even that hidden nose picking. I, on the other hand, just kept on looking on the floor display, going down, lower and lower. I could’ve sworn the car fell and stopped around the ‘13th’ floor. That hidden floor in-between buildings. It was the 11th. I stared at that display for 30 minutes. The fall wasn’t like anything in exaggerated cinema; it was like jumping the last two or three steps on the stairs. I couldn’t even react that fast to panic.
Baldy guy uttered something like, “2nd time this week”, and looked at the construction supervisor. It was a Wednesday. Mr. C-S, wasn’t panicking; we should know, he worked here, worked the elevators. It was always him they called when people get stuck in the elevator. But we were with him, inside. He kept pushing the call button and banging the doors.
There was a CCTV camera installed above the doors. Mr. C-S kept waving and no one answered until. ‘George’ was getting a bit impatient and was ranting; “Is the CCTV even working? Is there anybody watching us? There should be a guard down there to monitor.” After all, we were just there, waiting. Like henchmen, eager to go out and rob the world. Waiting for the boss for orders. Waiting to be unleased outside.
I didn’t utter anything or even mouthed words of senseless help and cries of despair. I was looking beyond the people and their reactions. We were stuck and I was claustrophobic. We were five and we had air, lights, and sweat. I was amused at these thoughts. Hey, it was my first time stuck. I could’ve imagined being stuck with Twins, the Hollman’s, the Taylor’s, The Barbi’s, the Jaboom’s... We could’ve partied or sipped tea. We could’ve had sex; I could’ve been worshipped.
I smiled some more, and just then, we heard a knock. Someone from the other side said we were halfway between floors and weren’t able to open the doors. They had to go up the roof deck and restart the whole system. He warned Mr. C-S what would happen. And after a few minutes, there was a blackout, and the elevator conked those weird robotic sounds of heavy lifting once it gained power. The voice from the intercom was telling that everything was ok now. We were going down, back to being grounded.
Rewind the sequences a little bit and I was just awakened by 6am, on a small single couch. I had slept most of the night while transferring photos from the memory card on to the laptop. Imagine how sleepy I was to get bored by that. I woke up from that transitory sleep, with daylight bouncing off the walls. I blindly got up, and switched off the lights and hurriedly went to the bed to sleep. By 930am, I woke up again, aghast that I was already late for work. Kept a few moans, but still dressed up and fixed my do. What was I thinking before I closed the door and left the condo unit.
From the 27th floor, the lift was going down, picking people up, opening its doors and smiling for it had new things to eat. It was all mirrors. We could see everything from where we were, even that hidden nose picking. I, on the other hand, just kept on looking on the floor display, going down, lower and lower. I could’ve sworn the car fell and stopped around the ‘13th’ floor. That hidden floor in-between buildings. It was the 11th. I stared at that display for 30 minutes. The fall wasn’t like anything in exaggerated cinema; it was like jumping the last two or three steps on the stairs. I couldn’t even react that fast to panic.
Baldy guy uttered something like, “2nd time this week”, and looked at the construction supervisor. It was a Wednesday. Mr. C-S, wasn’t panicking; we should know, he worked here, worked the elevators. It was always him they called when people get stuck in the elevator. But we were with him, inside. He kept pushing the call button and banging the doors.
There was a CCTV camera installed above the doors. Mr. C-S kept waving and no one answered until. ‘George’ was getting a bit impatient and was ranting; “Is the CCTV even working? Is there anybody watching us? There should be a guard down there to monitor.” After all, we were just there, waiting. Like henchmen, eager to go out and rob the world. Waiting for the boss for orders. Waiting to be unleased outside.
I didn’t utter anything or even mouthed words of senseless help and cries of despair. I was looking beyond the people and their reactions. We were stuck and I was claustrophobic. We were five and we had air, lights, and sweat. I was amused at these thoughts. Hey, it was my first time stuck. I could’ve imagined being stuck with Twins, the Hollman’s, the Taylor’s, The Barbi’s, the Jaboom’s... We could’ve partied or sipped tea. We could’ve had sex; I could’ve been worshipped.
I smiled some more, and just then, we heard a knock. Someone from the other side said we were halfway between floors and weren’t able to open the doors. They had to go up the roof deck and restart the whole system. He warned Mr. C-S what would happen. And after a few minutes, there was a blackout, and the elevator conked those weird robotic sounds of heavy lifting once it gained power. The voice from the intercom was telling that everything was ok now. We were going down, back to being grounded.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Hooky
I was downright bored in the office that I was surfing the waves most of the time. In real life, I couldn’t stand on a board. But on the net, waves were calm and there was no pressure. There was one good wave though (with a silent belch of ‘google wave’); I just realized that I had this Captain Hook impression (long wavy hair with an almost quaint laugh, a Briton in the 19th century, a seafarer of Neverland, a restricted right arm, and has a handlebar).
Funny, but that’s just like me. Almost.
Funny, but that’s just like me. Almost.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
On Long Hair
Another reason I keep my hair long is that it's too damn cold here in the office, and the hair helps warm my neck and ears a bit. A practical thing when it's freezing. I guess that's why Gandalf has his.
Oh, and I noticed that D leaves the guys who just cut their manes. Hmmmnn. (An interesting note).
Oh, and I noticed that D leaves the guys who just cut their manes. Hmmmnn. (An interesting note).
A Day in The Life
I'm so unproductive today; there's only one sent item in the email outbox.
---
In other news, my 'ofzm8', who just came back from leave, looks to have gotten bigger breasts. Like drooling big. Her striped shirt has curved the space-time continuum.
---
In other news, my 'ofzm8', who just came back from leave, looks to have gotten bigger breasts. Like drooling big. Her striped shirt has curved the space-time continuum.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
blank walls and sticky calendar notes
I should just post or use google calendar as blog; but I should write. I need to write.
Monday, November 23, 2009
2009011023
Where should I begin, really? Where does one start to think and acknowledge every thing that has happened accordingly? I say accordingly because I’d believe that despite the free will-ingness of life and people, there is a path and a plan; like how I happened to oversleep an hour and catch the train I’ve waited for an hour for and witness a man, pushing to get inside the cramped train, had his bag sandwiched by the train doors, ran with the train and let go when it started moving. Right at that time, I was thinking of the months passed, and of the wonderful weekend that had me swinging moods most of the time. Because I sometimes am too shy to speak and tell my stories to people, I tell them to myself. I would write for myself, then.
Monday, November 16, 2009
de-mys-ti-fied
So Alex was telling me the other night that I'm a 'different' person when I'm with her, like more relaxed and perky and all. That I'm sort of aloof with others and strangers. I said that I maintain an image, surely because I have a complex.
But in my natural self, since I have so many people in my head, we converse with each other when I'm inside the car and the traffic is nuts.
Perhaps this would be part of the complex. But still, the mystery is still a thrill, and that is why, maybe, at one part, this universe is strangely all too mystified about me, hence; it couldn't quite catch my breath.
and we're not that close, yet.
But in my natural self, since I have so many people in my head, we converse with each other when I'm inside the car and the traffic is nuts.
Perhaps this would be part of the complex. But still, the mystery is still a thrill, and that is why, maybe, at one part, this universe is strangely all too mystified about me, hence; it couldn't quite catch my breath.
and we're not that close, yet.
Friday, October 16, 2009
I think this has been the most productive week this week
I think this has been the most productive week this week. And I hope next week will be too.
And fervently, I also think that although I've slept for like 4 hours a day, I've managed to smile, if even lethargically (if that's even a word--so spank me Orlova). Funny, but that seems onomatopoeic, or something else.
S M T W TH F S S
And fervently, I also think that although I've slept for like 4 hours a day, I've managed to smile, if even lethargically (if that's even a word--so spank me Orlova). Funny, but that seems onomatopoeic, or something else.
S M T W TH F S S
Friday, October 9, 2009
SV: The Final Round!!
Who will it be?
Who will be the champ?!
Savage Chickens
But seriously, S.Dali should've trounced those guys easily (and because Chuck Norris wasn't there); Hands down, Chuck Norris is Chuck Norris.
Sam Elliot? Tom Selleck? C'mon.
Who will be the champ?!
Savage Chickens
But seriously, S.Dali should've trounced those guys easily (and because Chuck Norris wasn't there); Hands down, Chuck Norris is Chuck Norris.
Sam Elliot? Tom Selleck? C'mon.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Assignments and more Yadda Yadda's
Hey, I just realized that I have a pendingHW Projekt which is very much late, and which I haven't done. Yet.
I have two (three) other projekts in mind that are all on hold for some vain reason: these are ------ (re: stairs), f-c--- -a-r (re: facial hair), and the *wins.
Stairs: I've already written most of the text. Now all I need are the places to shoot. Have been too much lazy to look around and send out letters.
FHair: Same thing.
Twins: I've just compiled the list (about 15-20). Nothing written yet. And I haven't asked them. YET.
I'm putting this on my wall so I won't forget. I already put it in my notebook, my BB, my hand. I hope this finally does it.
I have two (three) other projekts in mind that are all on hold for some vain reason: these are ------ (re: stairs), f-c--- -a-r (re: facial hair), and the *wins.
Stairs: I've already written most of the text. Now all I need are the places to shoot. Have been too much lazy to look around and send out letters.
FHair: Same thing.
Twins: I've just compiled the list (about 15-20). Nothing written yet. And I haven't asked them. YET.
I'm putting this on my wall so I won't forget. I already put it in my notebook, my BB, my hand. I hope this finally does it.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
You are but a Symbol
Like you said.
You are not Kinetic.
You are a Potential.
What I say.
You are not D, but an f of x.
On the cusp of the limits approaching infinity, oscillating infinitely.
You are not Kinetic.
You are a Potential.
What I say.
You are not D, but an f of x.
On the cusp of the limits approaching infinity, oscillating infinitely.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Pimped and Pimpled
I found a letter of a guy to some girl, the other day.
Silly.
I do have a pimple and perhaps, yes, perhaps, as you’ve suggested, won’t think about you too much. But I wasn’t. Not you. Not what you’re supposedly doing right now. If you’re thinking about cakes, or a night’s movie, or last night’s hugs, or that time when you were running after me inside the moviehouse. No. I was thinking about months from now when there won’t be any more of those. Just letters, vid clips, emails, pictures, webcams and all.
But to be honest, I’m just not doing anything at all at work today. HENCE. I look like I’m typing a very long email to my boss, or to my ardent lover here. I keep on smiling though.
Silly.
Friday, October 2, 2009
World Domination
In a few hours, we'll see how alienated elements visit and blow dust on the yard. This week has been terribly 'disastrous'. Flashfloods in the Philippines, Tsunami in Samoa, Earthquake in Indonesia, Red Dust Storm in Sydney. Right now, we await one super-typhoon heading our way, Pepeng.
While I wait, I am going to watch a movie tonight.
The last time something like this happened, was when I watched a Steven Seagal movie in SM North, and there was ash 'snowing' outside. We drove down the highway, and I was pretty much excited about it. I was a kid and it was the first time anything like that happened. Not until the next day did I realize the enormity of that volcanic eruption, that would pronounce darkness in parts of Asia.
I wonder what would really happen if anything colossal happened here, like in the movies: world domination, alien invasion, seismic catastrophes, super typhoons, and all.
Update; 06 Oct 09
In addition, there is a flood in India, from monsoon rains, just like ours.
While I wait, I am going to watch a movie tonight.
The last time something like this happened, was when I watched a Steven Seagal movie in SM North, and there was ash 'snowing' outside. We drove down the highway, and I was pretty much excited about it. I was a kid and it was the first time anything like that happened. Not until the next day did I realize the enormity of that volcanic eruption, that would pronounce darkness in parts of Asia.
I wonder what would really happen if anything colossal happened here, like in the movies: world domination, alien invasion, seismic catastrophes, super typhoons, and all.
Update; 06 Oct 09
In addition, there is a flood in India, from monsoon rains, just like ours.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
10,000 hours
A friend says that for one to be good at something (like really really good or be god-like good), you have to devote 10,000 hours for it. Or more. 10,000 hours for that dedication to that chosen craft. Be it walking, running, taking pictures, line sketching, sewing, reading, painting, sculpting, throwing trash, recycling, writing, protesting, or whatever. Even breathing. It takes time. It takes practice. It takes heart.
So I'm counting hours now. 1 hour a day for each of anything, really.
So I'm counting hours now. 1 hour a day for each of anything, really.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
TRENTA?? ANAK NG TOKWA!!
Eksena
nakaharap sa kompyuter sa opisina sa isang gusali sa lungsod ng Makati
Oras
ganap na hapon, matapos na mag-abala sa kaumagahan ng pagtatarbaho
Ent. (habang nag-iisip at nagsasalita sa kaniyang sarili..)
Ako: Ano kayang kahalagahan ng tatlompung taon ibinuhay ko? Bakit kaya ako katulad ng itay ko, malambot ang puso sa mga babae? Bakit paminsan, hindi ko matanggap ang mga ito? Ang mga karanasan ko sa buhay, ang aking katayuan? Bakit sila, kung sino man sila, masyadong pinaghihirap ang buhay? Ako, hindi. Bakit ako masuwerte? Bakit ako nakakapag-isip ng ganito? Bakit ako may hinanakit? Bakit sa oras na ito, eto ang aking inda mulat na isipan.
Sal.
- wakas, unang akto –
...
Ikalawang akto
nakaharap sa kompyuter sa opisina sa isang gusali sa lungsod ng Makati
Oras
ganap na hapon, matapos na mag-abala sa kaumagahan ng pagtatarbaho
Ent. (habang nag-iisip at nagsasalita sa kaniyang sarili..)
Ako: Ano kayang kahalagahan ng tatlompung taon ibinuhay ko? Bakit kaya ako katulad ng itay ko, malambot ang puso sa mga babae? Bakit paminsan, hindi ko matanggap ang mga ito? Ang mga karanasan ko sa buhay, ang aking katayuan? Bakit sila, kung sino man sila, masyadong pinaghihirap ang buhay? Ako, hindi. Bakit ako masuwerte? Bakit ako nakakapag-isip ng ganito? Bakit ako may hinanakit? Bakit sa oras na ito, eto ang aking inda mulat na isipan.
Sal.
- wakas, unang akto –
...
Ikalawang akto
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Letters of the Law
Why are the letters of law too much to comprehend?
I am a simple man and I can not and won't read 100 words in one paragraph-long sentence.
Why use passive? Why be passive at all? George Orwell said "Never use the passive when you can use the active".
I guess for all the political brouhahas and people power and all, we are a nation of passive, apathetic people.
And all the loquaciousness of our politicians, the passive voice hides them of corruptness, unspeakable truths,
and cloud their responsibilities for their actions. They say: "It must be admitted that after the investigation was reported, mistakes were made,"
rather than, "I was caught, investigated, and I admit I made a mistake."
If we could just beat around the 'bush', literally.
I am a simple man and I can not and won't read 100 words in one paragraph-long sentence.
Why use passive? Why be passive at all? George Orwell said "Never use the passive when you can use the active".
I guess for all the political brouhahas and people power and all, we are a nation of passive, apathetic people.
And all the loquaciousness of our politicians, the passive voice hides them of corruptness, unspeakable truths,
and cloud their responsibilities for their actions. They say: "It must be admitted that after the investigation was reported, mistakes were made,"
rather than, "I was caught, investigated, and I admit I made a mistake."
If we could just beat around the 'bush', literally.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Soliloquy
Day 001 / 1st Night
I bought two bottles of Gilbey's Premium to celebrate my independencia, my prelude to act two of this life. I've forced myself to live alone, holed up in a condominium high above the transitory avenues, floating in the smokey polluted rafters of Mandaluyong. I will live somewhere far off next year, nearer to the sun. And this prelude will be my wealth.
As I drank my two bottles, I kept on being insistent that I shouldn't buy cheap anymore; that the table I got was too wobbly to eat on. I could even use it as a blender, given the right stir. I was nagging about my towel hooks, for it needed more suction to hold my towel. As such, I was thinking too much of house utilities, which at point, gladdens because of this new realization. I always thought of myself as an independent individual. But this, this was an up-in-my-face slap of an almost all too surreal imagination of what being alone would be.
I leapt for bed moments after and read a book. I could hear the horns and buzz of the streets below. Amidst all the noise of the metro, here high above, tucked in my red sheets, I smiled. And then, slept soundlessly through the night, like I've always had.
I bought two bottles of Gilbey's Premium to celebrate my independencia, my prelude to act two of this life. I've forced myself to live alone, holed up in a condominium high above the transitory avenues, floating in the smokey polluted rafters of Mandaluyong. I will live somewhere far off next year, nearer to the sun. And this prelude will be my wealth.
As I drank my two bottles, I kept on being insistent that I shouldn't buy cheap anymore; that the table I got was too wobbly to eat on. I could even use it as a blender, given the right stir. I was nagging about my towel hooks, for it needed more suction to hold my towel. As such, I was thinking too much of house utilities, which at point, gladdens because of this new realization. I always thought of myself as an independent individual. But this, this was an up-in-my-face slap of an almost all too surreal imagination of what being alone would be.
I leapt for bed moments after and read a book. I could hear the horns and buzz of the streets below. Amidst all the noise of the metro, here high above, tucked in my red sheets, I smiled. And then, slept soundlessly through the night, like I've always had.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
typing with one hand and getting tendonitis
typing with one hand and getting tendonitis
hand in glove in another.
hand in glove in another.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Oh.. My Jaw just dropped.
Another round of god-blessed boys and girls.
Noli Aurillo doing a Michael Jackson Medley with his awesome fingers.
Kseniya Simonova dashes and sprinkles sand on a big light box.
Daniel Tammet has an incredible brain.
Cheers!
Noli Aurillo doing a Michael Jackson Medley with his awesome fingers.
Kseniya Simonova dashes and sprinkles sand on a big light box.
Daniel Tammet has an incredible brain.
Cheers!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Mental Exercises of the Sleepless Kind: Photography and Change
Cross-posting a friend's written work on picturing, and what it means to her, as well as I.
Mental Exercises of the Sleepless Kind: Photography and Change
27 August 2009
FSC Forest Complex
Subic, Pampanga
2:15 a.m.
Since the dawn of civilization, storytelling has been used by man as a means to entertain, educate, instill moral values and record history in aid of cultural preservation. Stories were shared through song and dance, rudimentary drawings scratched into cave walls and even temporary media like sand, leaves and the trunks of living trees. Through technology, man learned to develop more permanent and portable forms of communicating stories by drawing or writing in cloth, textiles, glass, metal and paper. Innovations like the printing press and film photograph paved the way for communicating en masse. Information reached more people in shorter time.
In the advent of the digital age, the speed and ease by which knowledge is transmitted has grown tremendously. Now, stories have the ability to trespass all familial, geographic and cultural boundaries. A plague in an obscure and remote town in Central America, for example once reported by international news agencies, can send a group of Japanese scientists in a flurry to seek a cure for the disease. An amateur video coverage of an endangered species in Antartica being slaughtered by poachers uploaded through the internet may cause a worldwide outrage among concerned groups who would call for stricter policies and sanctions regarding the issue. On a more personal level, a feature story of a young man without any limbs but who manages to be mobile and teach high school in an effective manner can inspire thousands of people with even less debilitating disabilities to lead more proactive lives and be of use to their communities. Stories, when presented truthfully and effectively, especially on a large scale, do facilitate inner and outer change.
I am foremost a social development worker and social researcher by profession. My work with various local non-government organizations (NGOs) brings me to the field where large contentious issues play themselves out in a concrete level. So far my work has been fulfilling. This is the drill: International funder promises aid to a developing country through various NGOs. These local groups create social programs and projects proposals for the funder’s approval. The money is released and the NGOs implement the programs. Throughout this stage, NGO workers, me included, are exposed to the socio-economic, cultural and political challenges that the people in the communities face in the micro level. We are able to pit their stories against the wider landscape of governance and socio-economic, cultural and political trends and see possible points of intervention--whether to troubleshoot existing projects or policies or to create needed ones. We write volumes of reports that the funders need to determine whether to fund another series of projects or not. The cycle continues.
Notice that the glut information has a very limited audience. At best, reports are furnished to government agencies in order to help them do their jobs well. However, these information usually replete with gut-wrenching stories and proposed solutions are only read by the usual people—the NGOs and the funders themselves. It’s like preaching to the converted.
There has been little move to disseminate newfound learning in the field to the common people. This is unfortunate. Time and again, social development has emphasized the need for change to begin from the grassroots. But how can this when people themselves do not have a grasp their issues as part of a wider context? How can this be when they do not know that their issues are similar issues that affect other groups of people even from different locales as well? It is common knowledge that people are debilitated when they feel alone but are empowered when they band together because of shared problems, operative word: shared.
That information is taken from the common people but do not go back to them prevents an active and dynamic participation which can only be borne out of awareness. When the stakes are conveyed to them in a comprehensive and coherent manner, people don’t just wait for solutions to community problems. They are forced to come up with these instead. Only from a well-informed community can participatory and therefore more sustainable development be spurred. To illustrate, a mother who realizes that the stagnant water in her backyard is the kind that caused hundreds of deaths in a town far from her residence due to dengue fever, will clean up her yard and not wait any government program to address the potential problem. Perhaps, especially if she holds some power in her neighborhood, she will also engage others to a collective action that will ensure that no household in their area will tolerate the existence of stagnant water there.
In all this discussion, where does photography, particularly documentary photography factor in?
Knowledge and inspiration are ingredients for change. I doubt that the mother in the above example would have read the World Health Organization’s annual report. She may have read the story from a newspaper or heard it on the radio. The challenge to sow knowledge and inspiration, I believe, is to convert an amalgam of useful information into a popular medium that has the capacity for clear, coherent and concise storytelling. Documentary photography, aside from newspaper articles and radio sound bytes, is one powerful tool.
In various experiments conducted by scientists, it had been discovered that people learn more quickly and retain knowledge by the use of images. A simply truthful yet aesthetically arresting photo can provide knowledge and inspiration to more number of people than inches-thick of academic reading or radio talk show. A photo can move you, figuratively and literally. It is for this reason that I have been dabbling in various sorts of photography for a couple of years now. For me like writing, photography is a means to communicate and knowledge and inspiration. But unlike writing, a photo is universal in that even an unschooled person can instantly recognize truths within just four angles. With photos, there is no language barrier. And in a world where problems can be shared by various groups of people from different lands at digital pace, it is imperative to communicate through universally recognizable means—the photograph—at least initially, in order to facilitate the rapid and collective seeking out of solutions.
Photography is not just showing everybody how beautiful the world is, although it is also that. Photography, when used to tell stories, can make more known to the wider public the problems, victories, best practices, workable solutions and possible points of cooperation as viewed by different stakeholders in society. It is a means to impart knowledge and inspire. It is also an effective tool for change.
-DM
Mental Exercises of the Sleepless Kind: Photography and Change
27 August 2009
FSC Forest Complex
Subic, Pampanga
2:15 a.m.
Since the dawn of civilization, storytelling has been used by man as a means to entertain, educate, instill moral values and record history in aid of cultural preservation. Stories were shared through song and dance, rudimentary drawings scratched into cave walls and even temporary media like sand, leaves and the trunks of living trees. Through technology, man learned to develop more permanent and portable forms of communicating stories by drawing or writing in cloth, textiles, glass, metal and paper. Innovations like the printing press and film photograph paved the way for communicating en masse. Information reached more people in shorter time.
In the advent of the digital age, the speed and ease by which knowledge is transmitted has grown tremendously. Now, stories have the ability to trespass all familial, geographic and cultural boundaries. A plague in an obscure and remote town in Central America, for example once reported by international news agencies, can send a group of Japanese scientists in a flurry to seek a cure for the disease. An amateur video coverage of an endangered species in Antartica being slaughtered by poachers uploaded through the internet may cause a worldwide outrage among concerned groups who would call for stricter policies and sanctions regarding the issue. On a more personal level, a feature story of a young man without any limbs but who manages to be mobile and teach high school in an effective manner can inspire thousands of people with even less debilitating disabilities to lead more proactive lives and be of use to their communities. Stories, when presented truthfully and effectively, especially on a large scale, do facilitate inner and outer change.
I am foremost a social development worker and social researcher by profession. My work with various local non-government organizations (NGOs) brings me to the field where large contentious issues play themselves out in a concrete level. So far my work has been fulfilling. This is the drill: International funder promises aid to a developing country through various NGOs. These local groups create social programs and projects proposals for the funder’s approval. The money is released and the NGOs implement the programs. Throughout this stage, NGO workers, me included, are exposed to the socio-economic, cultural and political challenges that the people in the communities face in the micro level. We are able to pit their stories against the wider landscape of governance and socio-economic, cultural and political trends and see possible points of intervention--whether to troubleshoot existing projects or policies or to create needed ones. We write volumes of reports that the funders need to determine whether to fund another series of projects or not. The cycle continues.
Notice that the glut information has a very limited audience. At best, reports are furnished to government agencies in order to help them do their jobs well. However, these information usually replete with gut-wrenching stories and proposed solutions are only read by the usual people—the NGOs and the funders themselves. It’s like preaching to the converted.
There has been little move to disseminate newfound learning in the field to the common people. This is unfortunate. Time and again, social development has emphasized the need for change to begin from the grassroots. But how can this when people themselves do not have a grasp their issues as part of a wider context? How can this be when they do not know that their issues are similar issues that affect other groups of people even from different locales as well? It is common knowledge that people are debilitated when they feel alone but are empowered when they band together because of shared problems, operative word: shared.
That information is taken from the common people but do not go back to them prevents an active and dynamic participation which can only be borne out of awareness. When the stakes are conveyed to them in a comprehensive and coherent manner, people don’t just wait for solutions to community problems. They are forced to come up with these instead. Only from a well-informed community can participatory and therefore more sustainable development be spurred. To illustrate, a mother who realizes that the stagnant water in her backyard is the kind that caused hundreds of deaths in a town far from her residence due to dengue fever, will clean up her yard and not wait any government program to address the potential problem. Perhaps, especially if she holds some power in her neighborhood, she will also engage others to a collective action that will ensure that no household in their area will tolerate the existence of stagnant water there.
In all this discussion, where does photography, particularly documentary photography factor in?
Knowledge and inspiration are ingredients for change. I doubt that the mother in the above example would have read the World Health Organization’s annual report. She may have read the story from a newspaper or heard it on the radio. The challenge to sow knowledge and inspiration, I believe, is to convert an amalgam of useful information into a popular medium that has the capacity for clear, coherent and concise storytelling. Documentary photography, aside from newspaper articles and radio sound bytes, is one powerful tool.
In various experiments conducted by scientists, it had been discovered that people learn more quickly and retain knowledge by the use of images. A simply truthful yet aesthetically arresting photo can provide knowledge and inspiration to more number of people than inches-thick of academic reading or radio talk show. A photo can move you, figuratively and literally. It is for this reason that I have been dabbling in various sorts of photography for a couple of years now. For me like writing, photography is a means to communicate and knowledge and inspiration. But unlike writing, a photo is universal in that even an unschooled person can instantly recognize truths within just four angles. With photos, there is no language barrier. And in a world where problems can be shared by various groups of people from different lands at digital pace, it is imperative to communicate through universally recognizable means—the photograph—at least initially, in order to facilitate the rapid and collective seeking out of solutions.
Photography is not just showing everybody how beautiful the world is, although it is also that. Photography, when used to tell stories, can make more known to the wider public the problems, victories, best practices, workable solutions and possible points of cooperation as viewed by different stakeholders in society. It is a means to impart knowledge and inspire. It is also an effective tool for change.
-DM
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Like kids, playing pretend
Around midnight, Sunday, we were watching "In the Mood for Love", and we were in that last scene where Mr. Chow was in Cambodia, whispering to a hole in a monument of an edifice his lost secret love affair, and covered it with grass and mud.
I could tell a secret now, like Mr. Chow, of what a weekend that was. But I won't.
Let's just imagine that I was pretending I was on a beach, somewhere in a city, where the waves were silent, like air, and the shore was littered with dust. There could be a television out in the deep sea and we watched John Lloyd & Bea's "One More Chance" over and over again. We were floating in the deep, lying helplessly, and hugging monotonously. Like the tide, the calmness soon wraps up and the air changes the mood. Our glasses with cute little cocktail umbrellas have been emptied and we set our sights to shore. We tend to be vigorous, moving about. A storm floating above washes away the apprehensions, and we fight an urge.
We sailed all day. We could have sailed 28 times more around the earth and be contented, for we were in the eye of the storm. After which, I would have been dead, from all the rope tying, the mast-heaving, the floor mopping. Out on the bridge, I stick my tongue out to lick the wind. Another storm would pass and brace again for this one.
I was tired, and I slept in hibernation. The morning light awakened me and your nakedness comforted my struggle during the night. I woke with a smile, alive, as well as you. It was too bright and glimmer-y. Perhaps your skin shines when you are happy. Mine, radiates the colour of the earth.
I could tell a secret now, like Mr. Chow, of what a weekend that was. But I won't.
Let's just imagine that I was pretending I was on a beach, somewhere in a city, where the waves were silent, like air, and the shore was littered with dust. There could be a television out in the deep sea and we watched John Lloyd & Bea's "One More Chance" over and over again. We were floating in the deep, lying helplessly, and hugging monotonously. Like the tide, the calmness soon wraps up and the air changes the mood. Our glasses with cute little cocktail umbrellas have been emptied and we set our sights to shore. We tend to be vigorous, moving about. A storm floating above washes away the apprehensions, and we fight an urge.
We sailed all day. We could have sailed 28 times more around the earth and be contented, for we were in the eye of the storm. After which, I would have been dead, from all the rope tying, the mast-heaving, the floor mopping. Out on the bridge, I stick my tongue out to lick the wind. Another storm would pass and brace again for this one.
I was tired, and I slept in hibernation. The morning light awakened me and your nakedness comforted my struggle during the night. I woke with a smile, alive, as well as you. It was too bright and glimmer-y. Perhaps your skin shines when you are happy. Mine, radiates the colour of the earth.
This is a Scheduled Post
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
This is a scheduled post.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Kasi natatawa ako sa usapan namin noong isang araw
Kasi natatawa ako sa usapan namin noong isang araw...
ang setting: usapan sa ym webmessenger pagkatapos kong maglakad-lakad sa mga kalye ng makati habang lunch break.
ang setting: usapan sa ym webmessenger pagkatapos kong maglakad-lakad sa mga kalye ng makati habang lunch break.
her: wow. and you did what while you were out?
me: was a classical conductor under the sun
her: oh gorgeous gorgeous
me: my eyes are now tuned for bright sun
her: you're a cyborg now?
me: not quite
me: robocop can not love
me: i can
her: very much, you can
her: can robocop kiss?
me: no he can not. he can wet his lips though, and be kissed
her: hmmn. don't want that. i like to be kissed kissed kissed until my cheeks are red and sore.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Friday Office Schemes
Yesterday, my laptop was diagnosed with cancer--or some form of it, technologically. It's slow to move; slow to react. It gets frustrating when you're at your most enjoyable moment as a crooning typist extraordinaire. You get to cut and paste reports to the tune of "Under the Sea" while still breathing all the salt water from your most recent vacation. That went away just like that. So I had our chic IT girl operate on it. She updated the new service packs for MS XP, then installed the new IE 8.
While my laptop was being serviced, I was handling a spare one, so I could do some more office chores. It had a temp MS Windows 7, which is supposedly sleeker and comfier than the previous blasted Vista. I could feel my archaic fingers dumb up to this new OS. Mind you, I am not tech-geek at all. Although I know how to do email's, I've developed my own super-efficient work flow system here in my space. And using Windows 7 feels like all the plastered graphic dreams of its creators where put here to defiantly mock people like me. It has a sleek design interface, yes, but all this new sweet sleekness drives my 'system' nuts.
That was yesterday; my brush with the new Windows technology.
For now, it's not that friendly.
---
Today, Friday. My laptop arrives with spruced up with service pack updates that's supposed to make it 'faster' and 'better'. For one thing, it wasn't noticeable. Well except for the part where my wallpaper wouldn't 'wall' up to my extended monitor. And that IE 8 would not run our company website as neat as should be. Bad thing is I couldn't do my work properly. So I had it sent again to IT. And again, the evil cycle of removing/ updating windows stuff ensues.
So what does that do to me? I'm reading a book, walking around table to table, smiling, dawdling, and hawking table items everywhere the whole day. That makes my Friday start my beach-full weekend.
While my laptop was being serviced, I was handling a spare one, so I could do some more office chores. It had a temp MS Windows 7, which is supposedly sleeker and comfier than the previous blasted Vista. I could feel my archaic fingers dumb up to this new OS. Mind you, I am not tech-geek at all. Although I know how to do email's, I've developed my own super-efficient work flow system here in my space. And using Windows 7 feels like all the plastered graphic dreams of its creators where put here to defiantly mock people like me. It has a sleek design interface, yes, but all this new sweet sleekness drives my 'system' nuts.
That was yesterday; my brush with the new Windows technology.
For now, it's not that friendly.
---
Today, Friday. My laptop arrives with spruced up with service pack updates that's supposed to make it 'faster' and 'better'. For one thing, it wasn't noticeable. Well except for the part where my wallpaper wouldn't 'wall' up to my extended monitor. And that IE 8 would not run our company website as neat as should be. Bad thing is I couldn't do my work properly. So I had it sent again to IT. And again, the evil cycle of removing/ updating windows stuff ensues.
So what does that do to me? I'm reading a book, walking around table to table, smiling, dawdling, and hawking table items everywhere the whole day. That makes my Friday start my beach-full weekend.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
My Right Brain is On Vacation
YES, He is.
He doesn't seem to work, or does not want to.
I went to Puerto Princessa, Palawan during the weekend (21 - 24 Aug 09) and RB (right brain) here just swam near the shoreline, and did some snorkeling here and there (snake island, starfish isle, pambato / pamatay reef), went boating to the underground river, did some 'market'-ing, went on a pasalubong spree, and that's it.
NO FRIGGIN PICTURES!!!
Yup. brought 4 kamerameras and rarely lifted them. Oh, my babes are too sensitive now to even think of loosing face.
Sometimes George Eastman just wants to strangle me.
He doesn't seem to work, or does not want to.
I went to Puerto Princessa, Palawan during the weekend (21 - 24 Aug 09) and RB (right brain) here just swam near the shoreline, and did some snorkeling here and there (snake island, starfish isle, pambato / pamatay reef), went boating to the underground river, did some 'market'-ing, went on a pasalubong spree, and that's it.
NO FRIGGIN PICTURES!!!
Yup. brought 4 kamerameras and rarely lifted them. Oh, my babes are too sensitive now to even think of loosing face.
Sometimes George Eastman just wants to strangle me.
Snippets #99382
For somebody who's coaxing me to write stuff, even the most minute words every day, I tell you, knock your socks off. Or just wear them while we MOMOL (make-out, make-out lang she says).
I'm the most-shallowest-person I know. So I have insecurities when it comes to writing, and being deep, and reflective and yadda yadda yadda. I adore you for being yourself, the worry-wart, the reader, the thinker, the clown, the funny face, the girl. I could 'print screen' my workstation and you'll never know the difference between cyborgs and the pirate captain left hook.
Bob the Bob wants to be in a beach hut on the weekend. He says he has music for moods, those from the dub era, where beats were slowed down, and multiplied back. That's enough sonic space for the future.
On the other hand, DeeDee the punker wants to take stills of stairs.
While Brucey, the big Brusko, insists on putting cute tiny umbrellas on slinger shakers, then picturing them ooohhh-la-la.
These are mighty fine senseless thoughts.
Greetings from Aruba.
PS. I left my body at work.
I'm the most-shallowest-person I know. So I have insecurities when it comes to writing, and being deep, and reflective and yadda yadda yadda. I adore you for being yourself, the worry-wart, the reader, the thinker, the clown, the funny face, the girl. I could 'print screen' my workstation and you'll never know the difference between cyborgs and the pirate captain left hook.
Bob the Bob wants to be in a beach hut on the weekend. He says he has music for moods, those from the dub era, where beats were slowed down, and multiplied back. That's enough sonic space for the future.
On the other hand, DeeDee the punker wants to take stills of stairs.
While Brucey, the big Brusko, insists on putting cute tiny umbrellas on slinger shakers, then picturing them ooohhh-la-la.
These are mighty fine senseless thoughts.
Greetings from Aruba.
PS. I left my body at work.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Dear inGlorious Mrs. A
Dear inGlorious Mrs. A,
I shall be blunt and not call you President; or worse, Madame, your honour, excellency, or whatever that builds your ego.
I would not call you MY president because MY president is a leader who emulates his/her maker--Christ. You are a hypocrite. If you were in the sermon on the mount, and Jesus gave 5000 loaves of bread, you would probably have taken the 4999, and leave the last one with Christ, for you are not greedy at all. You would probably do this out of pity, as he has nothing to eat, so you give him a slice. Because I'm sure, you are a God-fearing woman. Perhaps not now, not while you're still in power, not while you are still alive; You will fear death when it is near, but after you have lived your lavish life of entitlement. Perhaps when you're one hundred and seventy-eight. God only takes his children home when they are good. And you dear GM-A, are not. Have you not learned anything from kindergarden?
MY president shares this last bread for supper, even if he/she were that hungry, from a whole day of working and preaching under the sun, knowing that another one is hungrier.
Because MY president should be someone who will walk with me and help my carry my cross; not one who would pay someone to carry my cross for me, or worse, have me silenced for wailing too much.
Oh dear president, you, are not that greedy at all.
I shall be blunt and not call you President; or worse, Madame, your honour, excellency, or whatever that builds your ego.
I would not call you MY president because MY president is a leader who emulates his/her maker--Christ. You are a hypocrite. If you were in the sermon on the mount, and Jesus gave 5000 loaves of bread, you would probably have taken the 4999, and leave the last one with Christ, for you are not greedy at all. You would probably do this out of pity, as he has nothing to eat, so you give him a slice. Because I'm sure, you are a God-fearing woman. Perhaps not now, not while you're still in power, not while you are still alive; You will fear death when it is near, but after you have lived your lavish life of entitlement. Perhaps when you're one hundred and seventy-eight. God only takes his children home when they are good. And you dear GM-A, are not. Have you not learned anything from kindergarden?
MY president shares this last bread for supper, even if he/she were that hungry, from a whole day of working and preaching under the sun, knowing that another one is hungrier.
Because MY president should be someone who will walk with me and help my carry my cross; not one who would pay someone to carry my cross for me, or worse, have me silenced for wailing too much.
Oh dear president, you, are not that greedy at all.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Dear Persons In My Head
Dear Persons in My Head,
You are my only friends.
Talk to me. Talk to me.
Talk to me please.
As we please.
You are my only friends.
Talk to me. Talk to me.
Talk to me please.
As we please.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Consciously Unconscious
I don't know, but I feel like I was dropped by my body off the cliff and landed on the foot of the mountain. I'm hovering around my skin in my astral state.
Right now, nobody commands my ship.
I need to get out of this dementia;
Back. Back. Back.
Right now, nobody commands my ship.
I need to get out of this dementia;
Back. Back. Back.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Untitled #09 Alcohol
09.07.25
Mogwai Cinematheque / ASEUM09
---
Perhaps the first thought came when the door was opened and this light just came crashing to this red wallpaper and just shone enough for me to snap my fingers.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Date Setting
I'm setting the dates.
I am already doing my projekts NOW!!!!! PROJEKTS. PROJEKTS! xxxxxx! yyyyyyyyy! zzzzzzzzzz! NOW!!!!!!
I am going to Batanes on February 2010. I am in Batanes on February 2010.
I am going to Iligan on April 2010. I am in Iligan on April 2010.
I am going to Marawi on April 2010. I am in Marawi on April 2010.
I am already doing my projekts NOW!!!!! PROJEKTS. PROJEKTS! xxxxxx! yyyyyyyyy! zzzzzzzzzz! NOW!!!!!!
I am going to Batanes on February 2010. I am in Batanes on February 2010.
I am going to Iligan on April 2010. I am in Iligan on April 2010.
I am going to Marawi on April 2010. I am in Marawi on April 2010.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Faux Tat
IF I had a tattoo, I would be Guy Pearce's Leonard in Memento. And since I'm very forgetful, I forget how to take really really 'awe some' photos, every single time.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Gould-en _Time Leaps
15 Jul 09
Around this time last year, I was in a not-so-packed movie house (or was it), watching an anime, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. I think it was the only anime with a serious theme. And when I say serious, this should be dramatic love stories of Asian sagas, plus more. I would have cried more because of the soundtrack. I couldn't remember if the lead girl, Makoto was the one playing the piano, or as if she was playing Bach's variations, which was oh so moving, and very apt to theme.
Hence, which leads me to post one of the most expressive pianists in history playing, well, JS Bach's Variations.
Glen Gould
Goldberg Variations 1-7
Around this time last year, I was in a not-so-packed movie house (or was it), watching an anime, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. I think it was the only anime with a serious theme. And when I say serious, this should be dramatic love stories of Asian sagas, plus more. I would have cried more because of the soundtrack. I couldn't remember if the lead girl, Makoto was the one playing the piano, or as if she was playing Bach's variations, which was oh so moving, and very apt to theme.
Hence, which leads me to post one of the most expressive pianists in history playing, well, JS Bach's Variations.
Glen Gould
Goldberg Variations 1-7
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Yours for next month
do you remember this?
aye, GFTJ!
(mine for next month:) f you did break up with someone you love, try to be philosophical. Do not attempt to be in touch with that person until July. I know that's a long time, but honestly, it won't help to call now, for you will only be rebuffed.
aye, GFTJ!
Monday, May 18, 2009
7th heaven, my apple-eating heathen.
7th heaven, my apple-eating heathen.
Has it been the 7th?
Has it really been that fast? I still remember that first time I came, and the first time I had my sock snapped and pushed to exaltation in your mouth. When the other night, I've had to rummaged for strength and call for Bravestar's Bear to engulf my sweat-laden body into yours. And after a few minutes of sleep, we were back on our backs. Breathing heavily, and excited, like we're doing everything for the first time. That you can na put out your smile on our face.
That was it. I can na describe the moment. Do I love you too much to render me brain dead and speechless? Do I ache for you that so your thoughts are congruently entrenched in mine?
That was it. Me, lying in bed, smiling dumb-founded. Me, days after, writing this, and smiling still.
Has it been the 7th?
Has it really been that fast? I still remember that first time I came, and the first time I had my sock snapped and pushed to exaltation in your mouth. When the other night, I've had to rummaged for strength and call for Bravestar's Bear to engulf my sweat-laden body into yours. And after a few minutes of sleep, we were back on our backs. Breathing heavily, and excited, like we're doing everything for the first time. That you can na put out your smile on our face.
That was it. I can na describe the moment. Do I love you too much to render me brain dead and speechless? Do I ache for you that so your thoughts are congruently entrenched in mine?
That was it. Me, lying in bed, smiling dumb-founded. Me, days after, writing this, and smiling still.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
train strains
train strains
12 May 09
I hate trains. It's my daily commute, and it has been a part of my life for some 10 odd years already. It was my awakening to the rabid commute to the farthest school I have ever been in, my A to B in the shortest amount of time, on regular hours. We push heavily starting from the steps on towards the ticketing, the balcony, then everywhere. The people, the masses, the multitude. It doesn't stop.
I used to take the bus / FX / jeep in the pre-MRT era. I loved it, and love it still. But the time convenience just affords my reality that I am always in rush; about the perplexities of my uncommon existence, and the rush to stay still.
For about a month now, I've had this strange relationship with trains. I will be there in the morning, waiting for her to arrive, amicably sitting and retaining my last thoughts from the night before. People walk passed; some stare at me. I look back without flinching a smile. Like I let my eyes gorge their silly thoughts, and silly dresses and silly walks. Then she arrives, sometimes on time, and mostly, not. Sometimes she arrives with a full hedge of life in her; those of turmoil, or those of gleam. And sometimes, there, empty, to be devoured by people just like me, to squeeze every inch of themselves and make her full, and let no other man come inside. I am selfish to want to get in right at that moment. I can wait, I know. But I am always in rush.
Inside, there is a mad sea of feelings. The hot and cold air swirl around and meet at some gully. Perhaps on my nose, or my lips where I can taste the foul air in the morning. Sometimes the air brushes my hair, and sometimes the sun glistens in my cheeks, and yours as well. Mornings can be a bit weary sometimes, especially for me, for lack of energy, from the nights I've spent exhausted, on your precious back. I can smile, and smile back at her. Because I know I am safe, inside her heart, where she turns and follows her rails. I notice eyes twitter around and look for others. Their stories, their lives, intertwined without knowing. Our lives. Back and forth. I've set my feet apart to stand still and sway gracefully inside her vessel. We dance, she and I, although she doesn't want to admit it. We enjoy balance amidst her rocky ride.
But just as every good passing moment comes, I arrive at my station; where I get off, and where I head out to graze and ponder my resiliency of un-attachment.
Beyond this, outside, people ruin the moment. We ourselves long for hurt, the urge, the shove, the persuasion, the want to antagonize, and so forth. I love the push. I love the riot. I love the turmoil. Hell, I wrote songs about it.
After that, once you're out, it's all calm, like anything never did happen. Just sweat on your brow, to know that there was that ride.
I used to hate trains sometimes, on what a wreck I can feel, from what can be made from a fleeting mad love affair.
12 May 09
I hate trains. It's my daily commute, and it has been a part of my life for some 10 odd years already. It was my awakening to the rabid commute to the farthest school I have ever been in, my A to B in the shortest amount of time, on regular hours. We push heavily starting from the steps on towards the ticketing, the balcony, then everywhere. The people, the masses, the multitude. It doesn't stop.
I used to take the bus / FX / jeep in the pre-MRT era. I loved it, and love it still. But the time convenience just affords my reality that I am always in rush; about the perplexities of my uncommon existence, and the rush to stay still.
For about a month now, I've had this strange relationship with trains. I will be there in the morning, waiting for her to arrive, amicably sitting and retaining my last thoughts from the night before. People walk passed; some stare at me. I look back without flinching a smile. Like I let my eyes gorge their silly thoughts, and silly dresses and silly walks. Then she arrives, sometimes on time, and mostly, not. Sometimes she arrives with a full hedge of life in her; those of turmoil, or those of gleam. And sometimes, there, empty, to be devoured by people just like me, to squeeze every inch of themselves and make her full, and let no other man come inside. I am selfish to want to get in right at that moment. I can wait, I know. But I am always in rush.
Inside, there is a mad sea of feelings. The hot and cold air swirl around and meet at some gully. Perhaps on my nose, or my lips where I can taste the foul air in the morning. Sometimes the air brushes my hair, and sometimes the sun glistens in my cheeks, and yours as well. Mornings can be a bit weary sometimes, especially for me, for lack of energy, from the nights I've spent exhausted, on your precious back. I can smile, and smile back at her. Because I know I am safe, inside her heart, where she turns and follows her rails. I notice eyes twitter around and look for others. Their stories, their lives, intertwined without knowing. Our lives. Back and forth. I've set my feet apart to stand still and sway gracefully inside her vessel. We dance, she and I, although she doesn't want to admit it. We enjoy balance amidst her rocky ride.
But just as every good passing moment comes, I arrive at my station; where I get off, and where I head out to graze and ponder my resiliency of un-attachment.
Beyond this, outside, people ruin the moment. We ourselves long for hurt, the urge, the shove, the persuasion, the want to antagonize, and so forth. I love the push. I love the riot. I love the turmoil. Hell, I wrote songs about it.
After that, once you're out, it's all calm, like anything never did happen. Just sweat on your brow, to know that there was that ride.
I used to hate trains sometimes, on what a wreck I can feel, from what can be made from a fleeting mad love affair.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Accidents
On Accidents.
There I was, alone in the lunch line, checking out the gallery of edibles. From the big 'palayok' of rice, to the trays of 'ulams' spread out, to the bananas hanging sweetly, I took serious thoughts on what to eat. It was my 4th day without 'baon' from home. Our cook took a nice long vacation, and I was left with the city lunches offered nearby our building.
A bright silvery tray, those used by caterers in weddings and other luncheons, called my attention, amongst the dozen of food laid out. Perhaps it was the sweet honey yellow 'something' that was attractive. I asked Mr. Cook what it was. "Isda po ba?" He said yes. There were other fishes in the sea, I thought. But this.. it was something bright, and perky, and smelled of butter. I could not resist butter, and lemon. I could already taste it, while still in line.
I took spoon and fork, and sat down near the big TV flat screen which was showing some slick B-movie action flick.
I sliced the 'fish meat' and noticed the heavy-ness in cutlery exploration. I thought, "Oh well. I'm hungry." That was that. I forked it down, then proceeded in mouthing it. Then, I felt a bit aghast that fishy meaty was a bit too meaty and chewy, in fact. Yes. As I've thought. It was chicken. Chicken meat. The last time I had chicken was when my friends playfully offered me chicken, while on a boat trip in the middle of the sea, in northern Palawan. Supposedly, they forgot the fish and cooked only chicken. You see, I don't eat anything meat.
Here I was, eating chicken, watching a movie with truck and motorcycle chases in tunnels. And I could've not eaten. But I already paid, and I was left with 20 bucks today. And there, the sobriety of economics and the notoriety of accidents.
There I was, alone in the lunch line, checking out the gallery of edibles. From the big 'palayok' of rice, to the trays of 'ulams' spread out, to the bananas hanging sweetly, I took serious thoughts on what to eat. It was my 4th day without 'baon' from home. Our cook took a nice long vacation, and I was left with the city lunches offered nearby our building.
A bright silvery tray, those used by caterers in weddings and other luncheons, called my attention, amongst the dozen of food laid out. Perhaps it was the sweet honey yellow 'something' that was attractive. I asked Mr. Cook what it was. "Isda po ba?" He said yes. There were other fishes in the sea, I thought. But this.. it was something bright, and perky, and smelled of butter. I could not resist butter, and lemon. I could already taste it, while still in line.
I took spoon and fork, and sat down near the big TV flat screen which was showing some slick B-movie action flick.
I sliced the 'fish meat' and noticed the heavy-ness in cutlery exploration. I thought, "Oh well. I'm hungry." That was that. I forked it down, then proceeded in mouthing it. Then, I felt a bit aghast that fishy meaty was a bit too meaty and chewy, in fact. Yes. As I've thought. It was chicken. Chicken meat. The last time I had chicken was when my friends playfully offered me chicken, while on a boat trip in the middle of the sea, in northern Palawan. Supposedly, they forgot the fish and cooked only chicken. You see, I don't eat anything meat.
Here I was, eating chicken, watching a movie with truck and motorcycle chases in tunnels. And I could've not eaten. But I already paid, and I was left with 20 bucks today. And there, the sobriety of economics and the notoriety of accidents.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
- - -
18 Apr 09
This is 6 years from when my lola died. It was the first time, as I recalled, that I cried / sobbed / heavily. I remember that time, how oddly that I forget random things. They randomly knock to remind me of these. We were in the hospital corridor, looking mum. It was a Good Friday on a Catholic calendar. We rushed there straight from the ancestral house in Mexico, P.
My uncle opens the door. There, you can see her sleep. She would've smiled if she knew how to, after years of bearing down pain in bed. After those, stories of numbness and a broken spirit; all those that you've listened to. If I knew how to smile, when I saw her, I would have. Sometimes, death makes you smile, in a short while. Then afterwards, you'll feel your lungs collapse and it's harder to breathe. Her pale skin is glossed by tears. Everyone is looking at her, confined in an unflattering bed, in an unflattering white pale fluorescent light. No wonder hospitals invite gloom. Their feet shuffling around, indecisively.
I headed out, passed the nurses, passed the stairs, looking for somewhere to sit. I am at the lobby, grey and concrete. There I find my uncle, smoking. I did not smoke, but I wondered how it eases the loss.
I haven't cried in a long time, but there.
This is 6 years from when my lola died. It was the first time, as I recalled, that I cried / sobbed / heavily. I remember that time, how oddly that I forget random things. They randomly knock to remind me of these. We were in the hospital corridor, looking mum. It was a Good Friday on a Catholic calendar. We rushed there straight from the ancestral house in Mexico, P.
My uncle opens the door. There, you can see her sleep. She would've smiled if she knew how to, after years of bearing down pain in bed. After those, stories of numbness and a broken spirit; all those that you've listened to. If I knew how to smile, when I saw her, I would have. Sometimes, death makes you smile, in a short while. Then afterwards, you'll feel your lungs collapse and it's harder to breathe. Her pale skin is glossed by tears. Everyone is looking at her, confined in an unflattering bed, in an unflattering white pale fluorescent light. No wonder hospitals invite gloom. Their feet shuffling around, indecisively.
I headed out, passed the nurses, passed the stairs, looking for somewhere to sit. I am at the lobby, grey and concrete. There I find my uncle, smoking. I did not smoke, but I wondered how it eases the loss.
I haven't cried in a long time, but there.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Brucey!
All Mighty! Oh Ye, Bebe!
Just got this big hulking daddy yesternight, and I'm now one happy pappy. After years of dreaming big for big cameras and donning fantasies of being a portraitist, I finally succumbed to my master materialism and took this one home, on weeks of 'checking-forums-if-it's-still-there/already-taken' milieu. I took a few test shots of buildings outside ze offiz and can't wait to have it processed.
Mamiya RB67, with a 90mm 3.8 Sekor C
.jpg)
.jpg)
borrowed a camera phone from my next table neighbor and couldn't resist taking narcissistic fotos of Brucey
---
Now, what do I do with this?
Just got this big hulking daddy yesternight, and I'm now one happy pappy. After years of dreaming big for big cameras and donning fantasies of being a portraitist, I finally succumbed to my master materialism and took this one home, on weeks of 'checking-forums-if-it's-still-there/already-taken' milieu. I took a few test shots of buildings outside ze offiz and can't wait to have it processed.
Mamiya RB67, with a 90mm 3.8 Sekor C
.jpg)
.jpg)
borrowed a camera phone from my next table neighbor and couldn't resist taking narcissistic fotos of Brucey
---
Now, what do I do with this?
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The Beard 1-2-3
Right now, I'm fun-lovin' the beard; growing from stubbly to luvley to accompany the 'stachey.
Week 1. Pictures, later.
In the meantime, here's a nice little girl-bearder (http://imadeyouabeard.blogspot.com/)
Week 1. Pictures, later.
In the meantime, here's a nice little girl-bearder (http://imadeyouabeard.blogspot.com/)
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Conscious ness
Back in the conscious world. Back from oblivion. Back from Baguio. Back to the hard steps of door knocking and window wonderings. Back here in the office.
Back to the every day hopes.
---
When you're up there in plateau, mountains above your valley, the stars are so near, you feel 'heavenly'. I feel at home, where ever it is.
Back to the every day hopes.
---
When you're up there in plateau, mountains above your valley, the stars are so near, you feel 'heavenly'. I feel at home, where ever it is.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It's the timing
tiki tiki tak tiki tiki tak
Sometimes I think 'time' pauses for a while to rest. It's such a heavy burden to count for everyone. Imagine all the care for all beings. Imagine the stress. Imagine the horror.
One way to de-stress, is to slow things down. He breathes heavily, sighs, then moves his second hand, a little slower in a gentle calmness that makes me impatient.
I don't know when he actually does it. Perhaps when I'm idle, such as now. When, at 9:45am, I'm at work and I want to get home badly. That I want to start my film developments already. That I want to count the minutes a developer 'develops' the films. That I want to wait in excitement and see the travesties and tragedies I made. And that I want to regret not having taking a better shot at it / off it.
Perhaps he's such a cod fodder that he loves BDSM. He knows what I want and what's going to happen and he persecutes your waiting. Perhaps he finds that cute. Out of the boredom of counting all life and the growth and death of every species, maybe it's time's little way of fun.
It's time's time.
Oh, it's his alright.
We just wait, and wait. And savor the chicken, while at it.
It's 10:01am.
Sometimes I think 'time' pauses for a while to rest. It's such a heavy burden to count for everyone. Imagine all the care for all beings. Imagine the stress. Imagine the horror.
One way to de-stress, is to slow things down. He breathes heavily, sighs, then moves his second hand, a little slower in a gentle calmness that makes me impatient.
I don't know when he actually does it. Perhaps when I'm idle, such as now. When, at 9:45am, I'm at work and I want to get home badly. That I want to start my film developments already. That I want to count the minutes a developer 'develops' the films. That I want to wait in excitement and see the travesties and tragedies I made. And that I want to regret not having taking a better shot at it / off it.
Perhaps he's such a cod fodder that he loves BDSM. He knows what I want and what's going to happen and he persecutes your waiting. Perhaps he finds that cute. Out of the boredom of counting all life and the growth and death of every species, maybe it's time's little way of fun.
It's time's time.
Oh, it's his alright.
We just wait, and wait. And savor the chicken, while at it.
It's 10:01am.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Spilled Milk
off-post.
Let's define this picture objectively; this is a friendly cat's dinner: spilt on the floor. In the coldness of December, friends and I were drinking, and Miss Kitty here, was a little bit jumpy (perhaps on the subject of 'lala love'), spills it, and so on and so forth.
I admit, it's terribly complex and frighteningly simple all at the same time. No wonder nobody really gets it.
Just like liquid milk.
It's squishy
tasty
creamy
soft
syrupy
sweet
fatty
sexy
lusty (subjective point of view--see picture)
steamy
non-fat
premium
cheesy (yes!)
thick
whipped up
bubbly
frothy
thin
dense
spoilt
...
And we all love and hate it.
got milk? I sure do would like to have some and try to wet my 'stache.
Let's define this picture objectively; this is a friendly cat's dinner: spilt on the floor. In the coldness of December, friends and I were drinking, and Miss Kitty here, was a little bit jumpy (perhaps on the subject of 'lala love'), spills it, and so on and so forth.
I admit, it's terribly complex and frighteningly simple all at the same time. No wonder nobody really gets it.
Just like liquid milk.
It's squishy
tasty
creamy
soft
syrupy
sweet
fatty
sexy
lusty (subjective point of view--see picture)
steamy
non-fat
premium
cheesy (yes!)
thick
whipped up
bubbly
frothy
thin
dense
spoilt
...
And we all love and hate it.
got milk? I sure do would like to have some and try to wet my 'stache.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Bull Runing
I'm being bullish this year; and why not, it's one helluva year coming. With crisis after crisis and stupid shenanigans roaming the daily headlines, it sure is going to be FUN. So I went with my friends and ran (well, jog, more like it) for PSE's Annual Bull Run. This is an Oxen year and we're ramming it up with ferociousness (a personal best of 34min for 5k this year). It seemed quite short, and heavy due to the down and uphill climbs. And it's quite straining for knees and limbs that aren't stretched that much. One thing that's good about running with a lot of people is you feel more determined to pursue, that you can finish it, no matter what. Walk. Run. Walk. Banter. Jog. Walk. Don't Walk. Run. Yes. Look up. Look Straight. That's it. I can see light. I can feel the sun's heat in my eyes, in my skin. I feel warmth, I feel love. I feel control. I feel Masterful.
Hello, World. I've done it. After crossing the line, it definitely feels good. If it's healthy to drink wine to congralute, I'm all in.
more clicks in the photo (hover up, will ya)
Hopefully, I have more lines to cross this year. Bully Boy!
Hello, World. I've done it. After crossing the line, it definitely feels good. If it's healthy to drink wine to congralute, I'm all in.
more clicks in the photo (hover up, will ya)
Hopefully, I have more lines to cross this year. Bully Boy!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Visual Language
Photo journalism is a visual language; is communication; is art; is the world; is life.
And this year, I'm sinking my teeth in all forms of 'Communication', which is my Achilles's he(a)l. Part of which, I want to put more sense in what I make, photos, for example. And from there, I can express better (that is the plan). Now if you understand what I'm saying, I've communicated something, effectively.
So lately, I've been bogging my brain with a poster from newsu.org's online courses and reading Nancy Drew books (it's what I found in the house, and I'm enjoying them; it's quite amusing to read out loud silly words like 'tempestuous' which you don't hear often).
There are about 14 single elements (in a photo; be it informational, passive, active) that evoke some sort of absorbed anxiety from the viewer. These are forms that quickly grab your attention by the gut or those quaint images that's with mystery that draws your more and more the longer you look. And these elements help you convey that message (whatever it is). I think HCB once said that photography is seeing things geometrically, and aligning them in your head. By aligning these elements, you'll have a very clear statement floating in air and easily breathed in.
Cheers to our new ABC's.
And this year, I'm sinking my teeth in all forms of 'Communication', which is my Achilles's he(a)l. Part of which, I want to put more sense in what I make, photos, for example. And from there, I can express better (that is the plan). Now if you understand what I'm saying, I've communicated something, effectively.
So lately, I've been bogging my brain with a poster from newsu.org's online courses and reading Nancy Drew books (it's what I found in the house, and I'm enjoying them; it's quite amusing to read out loud silly words like 'tempestuous' which you don't hear often).
There are about 14 single elements (in a photo; be it informational, passive, active) that evoke some sort of absorbed anxiety from the viewer. These are forms that quickly grab your attention by the gut or those quaint images that's with mystery that draws your more and more the longer you look. And these elements help you convey that message (whatever it is). I think HCB once said that photography is seeing things geometrically, and aligning them in your head. By aligning these elements, you'll have a very clear statement floating in air and easily breathed in.
Cheers to our new ABC's.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Old Luncheons
Some dinner nights ago, my brother thought of having a luncheon with the 'old'er employees of our pop's tailoring shop. They were those loyal employees from my grandpop's RTW botique in what used to be a quaint street in a bustling city that is Tarlac. That was perhaps ages ago, in the 60's. All I can remember of them when we rarely visited the province were Halo-halo and pancit and that famous chicken. Those were wonderful days; those were like family.
It's sometimes funny to hear their stories and experiences with the other side of 'the family'.
Until next time.
It's sometimes funny to hear their stories and experiences with the other side of 'the family'.
Until next time.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Weather Report:
MORE BOMBINGS IN THE NEW YEAR THAN FIREWORKS
It's been a blast-full year ending 2008 as there have been bombings in Israel-Palestine, India, Afghanistan, Philippines, (and more) in the last few weeks, ushering 2009 with bangs and bombs. In a very 'surprising' time between Israel and Palestine, the Hamas rocket-firing into Israel towns triggered retaliation attacks to air-strike numerous buildings in Gaza.
This morning, I was reading the paper (and www.philstar.com); and there was this picture of the bombed Palestinian Parliament building. And it looked like the Roman Coliseum today.
Perhaps a century ago, this territorial/racial conflict escalated to war which brought the western world to realize that there were other people who had to be considered. If the Germans were ingrained with Nazi philosophies about Aryan supremacy, the Arabs and Jews had it in their blood; much like Christians had their 'original sin' once they were born. And until today, we are still in a deep trench.
Much like in any relationship, there really needs to be a compromise. But with the world becoming more and more chaotic with the economic downturns and hearing more explosions in the middle east (and some parts of the world) to welcome 2009, this sure holds a lot of 'signs' in the coming year.
---
The good thing about this is that there are less New Year's Day accidents in the Philippines (perhaps it was overshadowed? Or spending constrictions?).
It's been a blast-full year ending 2008 as there have been bombings in Israel-Palestine, India, Afghanistan, Philippines, (and more) in the last few weeks, ushering 2009 with bangs and bombs. In a very 'surprising' time between Israel and Palestine, the Hamas rocket-firing into Israel towns triggered retaliation attacks to air-strike numerous buildings in Gaza.
This morning, I was reading the paper (and www.philstar.com); and there was this picture of the bombed Palestinian Parliament building. And it looked like the Roman Coliseum today.
Perhaps a century ago, this territorial/racial conflict escalated to war which brought the western world to realize that there were other people who had to be considered. If the Germans were ingrained with Nazi philosophies about Aryan supremacy, the Arabs and Jews had it in their blood; much like Christians had their 'original sin' once they were born. And until today, we are still in a deep trench.
Much like in any relationship, there really needs to be a compromise. But with the world becoming more and more chaotic with the economic downturns and hearing more explosions in the middle east (and some parts of the world) to welcome 2009, this sure holds a lot of 'signs' in the coming year.
---
The good thing about this is that there are less New Year's Day accidents in the Philippines (perhaps it was overshadowed? Or spending constrictions?).
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