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.

- - -

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.

Bored

Bored bored bored in the office, in life, my life, my ego, my fate.

Slap me.

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

borrowed a camera phone from my next table neighbor and couldn't resist taking narcissistic fotos of Brucey

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Now, what do I do with this?

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/)

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.

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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.

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.