I had a dream the other night, and it involved someone of my own past, someone who I dated more than a year ago. Let's call her Leenx.
The dream started in an alley where I and Leenx were walking. She was ranting something about her school report. Four of her friends appear from nowhere and discuss it together. After that, someone suggested that we get dressed up for a party. I go to the bathroom and don a polo and black shoes and Leenx enters our car (which appeared from nowhere) and got dressed too. Her attire, for some reason, appalled me and so I started chastising her for wearing it. She scoffs, walks towards me and puts her arms around my neck, as if we're dancing intimately. She looks up to me, closes her eyes and kisses me. Of course I was surprised and I kissed her back too late. She pulls away her head and loks down, a bit disappointed not with me but with herself. I told her that I was surprised, and she pulls me to another place, at the corner where a bench appeared. nod
We sit and she pulls me closer and again we kissed. This time it's different--it's torrid, like there's no tomorrow, like we're two heroes kissing each other to save the world, we're already fiddling with each other's tongues inside each other's mouths--
I wake up, it's already 7 am.
I don't know why this happened, does it mean something? Am I preoccupied with her? I don't think so. Yes, we kissed the last time we saw each other, after the date, but...
I don't want to think about it.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Unkowledgement II
The success of my memoir, I feel, depends largely on how appealing the author is. To address this, he offers you the following, without any regard on privacy:
1.) that he is a product of an unwanted pregnancy
2.) that ater 6 months, he is still unemployed, and is losing hope about it
3.) that his biological clock has been reversed for months now
4.) that he has been losing weight, hopefully for good
5.) that he also hates milk
6.) that is a bit confused about his feelings, even if he is having fun with it at the moment
7.) that he is currently entertaining the idea of building jealousy plotlines
8.) that he is planning on rekindling something soon, for better or worse
9.) that he is meeting two deadlines, the first one being self-imposed; the second one imposed by a publication he disdains and
10.) that he is again experiencing a taste for travel.
1.) that he is a product of an unwanted pregnancy
2.) that ater 6 months, he is still unemployed, and is losing hope about it
3.) that his biological clock has been reversed for months now
4.) that he has been losing weight, hopefully for good
5.) that he also hates milk
6.) that is a bit confused about his feelings, even if he is having fun with it at the moment
7.) that he is currently entertaining the idea of building jealousy plotlines
8.) that he is planning on rekindling something soon, for better or worse
9.) that he is meeting two deadlines, the first one being self-imposed; the second one imposed by a publication he disdains and
10.) that he is again experiencing a taste for travel.
Friday, September 28, 2007
the "Joyce Dialectic"
Lately I have been reading blogs of people linked to my own. Save from the fact that a considerable number of them hold considerable amounts of statements or stories that implicates ideas I myself disdain, their contents are, in overall, OK. Coincidentally, it's a good thing that most of them write in their blogs as if they're writing in their diaries. These narratives give a view of what they think about what is going on in their environment, and it helps for me to read, if only to know them better, at least triangulation-wise.
Now...
Many of you know that I am currently in progress-- and stalling-- of writing a memoir. This work, if you might want to acknowledge, is not solely about the author (which is what a memoir is essentially about), but also of a person who has preoccupied me during my last days in the university. I would also like to acknowledge that yes, there are perhaps too many memoirs being written by different people so this is not something new, and yes, writing about REAL people and REAL events as opposed to kind-of-made-up ones is shameless and wrong and vile and evil and corrupt. But then again, we could all do worse, like, say American government or that lying bitch in Malacañang.
For all my bluster elsewhere, the memoir is not entirely a work of non-fiction. There are considerable amount of its contents that are being, and has been, fictionalized. Although in the course of the work, I am trying to channel the thoughts that I had during my last days in UST, I have taken certain liberties especially with what I was thinking on certain instances in the narrative. For example, usually, when I am thinking of something while in a certain situation in the memoir, its not that I'm actually thinking of that thought that time. More often than not, those thoughts occurred to me after the situations or events happen, and I only insert such and such for the sake of appearing and sounding articulate because frankly enough, I do not have the skill to write such a work so I have to do such in order for it not to be sooooo boring. Moving on...
The Joyce Dialectic: she being both an inspiration and impediment to the writing of this... this memoir.
The inspiration concept is easy enough, but the impediment... I really can't see a reason reasonable enough for her not to have her name on it. I thought that she liked the idea before, when I let her read the draft. The reason why I let her read it is for APPROVAL, but now that she knows that it might be published this February, she wants none of her real name on it. I thought that it would be OK for her, she extending the meaning of the word generosity and courage by letting her name on it. I am thinking that if that's the case, I would abandon it already. What's the point of writing a memoir if its not based on actual accounts? Oh well... What could be the synthesis of this dialectic?
I cannot write anymore, that's all for now...
Now...
Many of you know that I am currently in progress-- and stalling-- of writing a memoir. This work, if you might want to acknowledge, is not solely about the author (which is what a memoir is essentially about), but also of a person who has preoccupied me during my last days in the university. I would also like to acknowledge that yes, there are perhaps too many memoirs being written by different people so this is not something new, and yes, writing about REAL people and REAL events as opposed to kind-of-made-up ones is shameless and wrong and vile and evil and corrupt. But then again, we could all do worse, like, say American government or that lying bitch in Malacañang.
For all my bluster elsewhere, the memoir is not entirely a work of non-fiction. There are considerable amount of its contents that are being, and has been, fictionalized. Although in the course of the work, I am trying to channel the thoughts that I had during my last days in UST, I have taken certain liberties especially with what I was thinking on certain instances in the narrative. For example, usually, when I am thinking of something while in a certain situation in the memoir, its not that I'm actually thinking of that thought that time. More often than not, those thoughts occurred to me after the situations or events happen, and I only insert such and such for the sake of appearing and sounding articulate because frankly enough, I do not have the skill to write such a work so I have to do such in order for it not to be sooooo boring. Moving on...
The Joyce Dialectic: she being both an inspiration and impediment to the writing of this... this memoir.
The inspiration concept is easy enough, but the impediment... I really can't see a reason reasonable enough for her not to have her name on it. I thought that she liked the idea before, when I let her read the draft. The reason why I let her read it is for APPROVAL, but now that she knows that it might be published this February, she wants none of her real name on it. I thought that it would be OK for her, she extending the meaning of the word generosity and courage by letting her name on it. I am thinking that if that's the case, I would abandon it already. What's the point of writing a memoir if its not based on actual accounts? Oh well... What could be the synthesis of this dialectic?
I cannot write anymore, that's all for now...
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Arbeiten und Lieben
September 18, 2007 2:20 am
I was about to sleep, and I was thinking of what I could do that time to induce sleeping, and it occurred to me that I WAS NOT DOING ANYTHING GOOD LATELY. Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeking, I felt that I was worthless. I began to sob, then cry. I went outside of our house and sat beside my three dogs, still crying.
I was certain that night, or morning, that no one needs me. That I was worthless.
Yes, I always sought for simplicity, but what I found was emptiness, a void that sucks everything. Its that sinking feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, only in intercontinental scale.
Fuck it, am I too old for this?
It all seemed senseless. It seems that all the sacrifice that I made when I was still studying for the knowledge that I have now, it all seems to be for nothing. All the hardships, the stinginess, the skipped meals in exchange for photocopied materials, the almost-spoiled pork adobos and paksiw na galunggong for weeks, it seems that nothing's paying off these days.
What's wrong with this world? What I'm facing now is eerily close to indifference. I really think that if next semester, I'm still unemployed, I'll go crazy. E kung mamundok na lang nga kaya ako tulad ng binibiro ng mga kabarkada ko sa akin?
Sigmund Freud once said that the key to happiness is arbeiten und lieben, work and love-- and I have neither at the present.
What is worse than being able to see what you can in this world is being unable to do something about it, and fuck, its better doing something you might suspect that is wrong, but believing in it anyway. At least there's a chance that history would absolve you if ever you mistook something.
I was about to sleep, and I was thinking of what I could do that time to induce sleeping, and it occurred to me that I WAS NOT DOING ANYTHING GOOD LATELY. Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeking, I felt that I was worthless. I began to sob, then cry. I went outside of our house and sat beside my three dogs, still crying.
I was certain that night, or morning, that no one needs me. That I was worthless.
Yes, I always sought for simplicity, but what I found was emptiness, a void that sucks everything. Its that sinking feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, only in intercontinental scale.
Fuck it, am I too old for this?
It all seemed senseless. It seems that all the sacrifice that I made when I was still studying for the knowledge that I have now, it all seems to be for nothing. All the hardships, the stinginess, the skipped meals in exchange for photocopied materials, the almost-spoiled pork adobos and paksiw na galunggong for weeks, it seems that nothing's paying off these days.
What's wrong with this world? What I'm facing now is eerily close to indifference. I really think that if next semester, I'm still unemployed, I'll go crazy. E kung mamundok na lang nga kaya ako tulad ng binibiro ng mga kabarkada ko sa akin?
Sigmund Freud once said that the key to happiness is arbeiten und lieben, work and love-- and I have neither at the present.
What is worse than being able to see what you can in this world is being unable to do something about it, and fuck, its better doing something you might suspect that is wrong, but believing in it anyway. At least there's a chance that history would absolve you if ever you mistook something.
And it doubles, triples when you know no one's out there for you. Napakahirap ng walang pag-aalayan ng kung anumang gusto mong gawin. At the moment, I feel like I'm making a fool of myself, and there's nobody who would think I've done a temporary job. To wit: ako na lang ang hindi pa nakakaranas na magkaroon ng romantic relationship sa barkada namin. But then again, trabaho muna hahanapin ko.
Where shall my blood be spilled?
Thursday, September 6, 2007
LSE
It has been 5 months, and still I don't have any work yet. I am beginning to lose my self worth.
For all my bluster elsewhere when I was still in college, I begin to realize its really hard looking for a career nowadays. A lot happened last summer, all of which seemed to be conspiring to prevent me from being employed. I don't know what is wrong, and nobody gives me a worthy advice yet as much as my convictions are concerned.
Oh well, I really hope I'd be getting a job this month.
For all my bluster elsewhere when I was still in college, I begin to realize its really hard looking for a career nowadays. A lot happened last summer, all of which seemed to be conspiring to prevent me from being employed. I don't know what is wrong, and nobody gives me a worthy advice yet as much as my convictions are concerned.
Oh well, I really hope I'd be getting a job this month.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Demistifying Destiny
Those of you who would read this might very well read the whole thing before dismissing it. I DO NOT ask you to believe it. You are, however, hoped to consider it. Here goes...
Many people, those who are not critical in general and mushy in particular, believe in that annoying word that starts in D and ends in Y. I don't like that concept, or its synonyms, and considers it unproductive. The only version of it I believe is this: that all people would die. I only write about it because I need a diversion right now. It is, for me, counterproductive for a number of reasons, which, at this time, are all that I could think of:
~many people use it as an excuse for laziness and to elude from responsibility
~many use it as an excuse for not working their asses off to be better persons
~it hinders progressive and critical thinking
~it leads to unecessary acceptance of one's current situation
~blurs one's perspective on many issues
~the idea of it renders the human faculties useless (why think, if you would become something that's predestined?)
Now, now, I do not seek to erase the said concept for I, with all my bluster everywhere, could not do that at this time given my still considerably limited knowledge. However, this is I would do: DEMISTIFY it.
Everything in the social world (that was meant as a categorization only), even the notion of god, is socially constructed. That is, all of the things we experience cannot be detached to such factors as history, institutions, consciousness, geographical location, etc. Many people do not think this way. These people do not see and think that what is hapenning in their daily lives are determined NOT only by their actions and decisions as individuals but ALSO by the social environment that they are situated in. By the way (as evidently mentioned), it is not to say that people must rely solely in their deeds, because one can only do so much (consider the development phenomenology in this regard, how it has been revised several times). Moving on, it is very advantageous to not only consider, but to really think that all in this world are interrelated as Joey Ayala said: ang lahat ng bagay ay magkaugnay, magkaugnay ang lahat. Let us consider a fictional conversation about a young lad named Niko:
- Niko's a banker now, he's destined to be.
- No. If that is true, how?
- Well, his parents are bankers, so it makes sense.
- Uhm, no. That is merely the socialization of the individual in his own family, which , you might want to observe, is considerably close-knit. He wasn't born as a banker, he was raised and made to be one.
- It's good he's fated to work in Makati huh?
- Again, no. This is a situation of an off-shoot of his mindset in his career when he was still a student, which a lot of young people nowadays share-- the prestige of working in Makati.
- Maybe its destiny that he has a friend like you who does not believe in destiny eh?
- No, no. What the fuck are you saying?!
You see, by the example above, instead of relating a phenomenon in one's life as caused by such an abstract, alien and farfetched concept as destiny or fate, it would be wonderful to instead consider social events, forces and institutions as the determinants of an event or situation. This not, however, to say that individuals are judgemental dopes, solely coerced and manipulated by their environment, as this would also deny one of the fundamental ideas of the humanities: freedom. Instead of blaming one's misfortune to destiny or worse, to the almighty, it would be more responsible if one would think of the events that pieced up his/her shortcoming.
If one is in constant contact with an environment that posseses all the determinants and influences, explicit and implicit, to be someone someday, say, a doctor, then chances are he/she would indeed be one. Moreover, it is very arrogant and ignorant to assume that one's decisions are solely his/her own and not influenced by previous events in one's life. To top the cream with a cherry, its really reasonable and sensible to keep in mind that all phenomenon in one's life is in the middle of one's own conception and the social structures that influences his/her lifeworld or lebenswelt.
So, stop assuming that things naturally fall into place because they are destined to be.
My two cents.
Many people, those who are not critical in general and mushy in particular, believe in that annoying word that starts in D and ends in Y. I don't like that concept, or its synonyms, and considers it unproductive. The only version of it I believe is this: that all people would die. I only write about it because I need a diversion right now. It is, for me, counterproductive for a number of reasons, which, at this time, are all that I could think of:
~many people use it as an excuse for laziness and to elude from responsibility
~many use it as an excuse for not working their asses off to be better persons
~it hinders progressive and critical thinking
~it leads to unecessary acceptance of one's current situation
~blurs one's perspective on many issues
~the idea of it renders the human faculties useless (why think, if you would become something that's predestined?)
Now, now, I do not seek to erase the said concept for I, with all my bluster everywhere, could not do that at this time given my still considerably limited knowledge. However, this is I would do: DEMISTIFY it.
Everything in the social world (that was meant as a categorization only), even the notion of god, is socially constructed. That is, all of the things we experience cannot be detached to such factors as history, institutions, consciousness, geographical location, etc. Many people do not think this way. These people do not see and think that what is hapenning in their daily lives are determined NOT only by their actions and decisions as individuals but ALSO by the social environment that they are situated in. By the way (as evidently mentioned), it is not to say that people must rely solely in their deeds, because one can only do so much (consider the development phenomenology in this regard, how it has been revised several times). Moving on, it is very advantageous to not only consider, but to really think that all in this world are interrelated as Joey Ayala said: ang lahat ng bagay ay magkaugnay, magkaugnay ang lahat. Let us consider a fictional conversation about a young lad named Niko:
- Niko's a banker now, he's destined to be.
- No. If that is true, how?
- Well, his parents are bankers, so it makes sense.
- Uhm, no. That is merely the socialization of the individual in his own family, which , you might want to observe, is considerably close-knit. He wasn't born as a banker, he was raised and made to be one.
- It's good he's fated to work in Makati huh?
- Again, no. This is a situation of an off-shoot of his mindset in his career when he was still a student, which a lot of young people nowadays share-- the prestige of working in Makati.
- Maybe its destiny that he has a friend like you who does not believe in destiny eh?
- No, no. What the fuck are you saying?!
You see, by the example above, instead of relating a phenomenon in one's life as caused by such an abstract, alien and farfetched concept as destiny or fate, it would be wonderful to instead consider social events, forces and institutions as the determinants of an event or situation. This not, however, to say that individuals are judgemental dopes, solely coerced and manipulated by their environment, as this would also deny one of the fundamental ideas of the humanities: freedom. Instead of blaming one's misfortune to destiny or worse, to the almighty, it would be more responsible if one would think of the events that pieced up his/her shortcoming.
If one is in constant contact with an environment that posseses all the determinants and influences, explicit and implicit, to be someone someday, say, a doctor, then chances are he/she would indeed be one. Moreover, it is very arrogant and ignorant to assume that one's decisions are solely his/her own and not influenced by previous events in one's life. To top the cream with a cherry, its really reasonable and sensible to keep in mind that all phenomenon in one's life is in the middle of one's own conception and the social structures that influences his/her lifeworld or lebenswelt.
So, stop assuming that things naturally fall into place because they are destined to be.
My two cents.
Monday, August 6, 2007
What Is Your Work?
Saturday night.
*****
Its cool, its cool here inside Tania's cottage. Everybody's drinking beer and that tequila thing. Of all the people there, only three of us do not smoke. And I'm the only one who did not study nursing. Good thing.
Everybody's trying to catch up with everybody, and when it came down to me, there was the inevitable conversation...
"Ano nang trabaho mo?" someone asks.
"Wala pa nga eh." I say.
"Kala ko ba magtuturo ka na sa Sacred Heart?" another asks.
"Hindi nga ako natanggap kasi preferred ngayon ang may LET or MA." I verified.
"Dyan kaya sa McDo, naghahanap sila ng manager." someone suggested.
"Alam nyo naman na tinanggihan ko na nga yun. Ayoko ng ganung trabaho." I scoffed.
So on and so forth.
These friends of mine. They should've known better. My work? My type of work? Why ask me, when I am here, drinking so little, chatting, listening, wiping my teary eyes because everybody within two-feet radius of mine smokes? Why ask me if they get the same answers, my theme of not working for companies but FOR people?
Are all of my friends morons?
It even got to the point that I was gesturing extensively and raising my voice. Then some smart aleck in our group told me I was too picky on choosing my job. He did not italicized it but I will do here: picky. And I told them that I REALLY AM. Is this topic too much for the likes of them to figure the fucking thing out? Is it really that hard to understand my alternative views on such matters? I don't think so, given their degree of intelligence and IQ scores (as a lot of you know, above average grades are required for their course). They are just static, they think about things with their dreams, goals and frustrations, not with their already stagnant minds.
Same shit, they always try to equate happiness, fulfillment and success in terms of the sheer amount of material goods that they hopefully are to consume with their money, money earned from jobs and NOT careers. And worse, they try to hit me with their version of liberal or free thinking: "E ganun ang tingin namin e, anong pakialam mo? Bahala kami sa gagawin sa buhay namin."
Fuck. They don't realize that by thinking this way they are not free. That it doesn't mean that freedom is concerned by spending money on ALL things imaginable. The geist is this: by behaving as such, one is ENSLAVED by material goods, not the other way around.
And he smokes. That fool smokes. He's put on the freak suit now. Good fucking god no he does now. Another one about this next time.
*****
Adieu
*****
Its cool, its cool here inside Tania's cottage. Everybody's drinking beer and that tequila thing. Of all the people there, only three of us do not smoke. And I'm the only one who did not study nursing. Good thing.
Everybody's trying to catch up with everybody, and when it came down to me, there was the inevitable conversation...
"Ano nang trabaho mo?" someone asks.
"Wala pa nga eh." I say.
"Kala ko ba magtuturo ka na sa Sacred Heart?" another asks.
"Hindi nga ako natanggap kasi preferred ngayon ang may LET or MA." I verified.
"Dyan kaya sa McDo, naghahanap sila ng manager." someone suggested.
"Alam nyo naman na tinanggihan ko na nga yun. Ayoko ng ganung trabaho." I scoffed.
So on and so forth.
These friends of mine. They should've known better. My work? My type of work? Why ask me, when I am here, drinking so little, chatting, listening, wiping my teary eyes because everybody within two-feet radius of mine smokes? Why ask me if they get the same answers, my theme of not working for companies but FOR people?
Are all of my friends morons?
It even got to the point that I was gesturing extensively and raising my voice. Then some smart aleck in our group told me I was too picky on choosing my job. He did not italicized it but I will do here: picky. And I told them that I REALLY AM. Is this topic too much for the likes of them to figure the fucking thing out? Is it really that hard to understand my alternative views on such matters? I don't think so, given their degree of intelligence and IQ scores (as a lot of you know, above average grades are required for their course). They are just static, they think about things with their dreams, goals and frustrations, not with their already stagnant minds.
Same shit, they always try to equate happiness, fulfillment and success in terms of the sheer amount of material goods that they hopefully are to consume with their money, money earned from jobs and NOT careers. And worse, they try to hit me with their version of liberal or free thinking: "E ganun ang tingin namin e, anong pakialam mo? Bahala kami sa gagawin sa buhay namin."
Fuck. They don't realize that by thinking this way they are not free. That it doesn't mean that freedom is concerned by spending money on ALL things imaginable. The geist is this: by behaving as such, one is ENSLAVED by material goods, not the other way around.
And he smokes. That fool smokes. He's put on the freak suit now. Good fucking god no he does now. Another one about this next time.
*****
Adieu
Saturday, August 4, 2007
awit, awit
Reveal the Remedy
Urbandub
this separation is killing me
you say I should’ve thought that
before I did what I have done
so easier to put the blame on you
I should’ve looked inside of me
But it’s all in vain as I try to explain
She pulls away…
We could’ve been more
Can we ever have these feelings again?
We should’ve been more
Maybe in time we’ll realize that maybe
Fate reveals the remedies
Making it feel like it will be like the first time.
Still the vision on my mind
Cuz now I realize it’s
so damn hard to give you up
no way out of this hole
can we ever have us back again?
let’s not start and put the blame part away
can you honestly say
you can see me with another one?
Another one, another chance with you
I want more, I want more, I want more.
Regretting it now
Can fate reveal to me?
The questions to why?
Reveal the remedy.
Could’ve been more
Should’ve been more
Maybe in time we’ll realize that maybe
That fate reveals the remedies
making it feel like it will be like the first time
just like the first time.
Urbandub
this separation is killing me
you say I should’ve thought that
before I did what I have done
so easier to put the blame on you
I should’ve looked inside of me
But it’s all in vain as I try to explain
She pulls away…
We could’ve been more
Can we ever have these feelings again?
We should’ve been more
Maybe in time we’ll realize that maybe
Fate reveals the remedies
Making it feel like it will be like the first time.
Still the vision on my mind
Cuz now I realize it’s
so damn hard to give you up
no way out of this hole
can we ever have us back again?
let’s not start and put the blame part away
can you honestly say
you can see me with another one?
Another one, another chance with you
I want more, I want more, I want more.
Regretting it now
Can fate reveal to me?
The questions to why?
Reveal the remedy.
Could’ve been more
Should’ve been more
Maybe in time we’ll realize that maybe
That fate reveals the remedies
making it feel like it will be like the first time
just like the first time.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Wazak
Have been drinking last night until early morning. A friend of mine broke up with someone which in turn released a short chain of events too horrible to even menti--
So he broke up with her. We went at a bar and drank till 4 am. I consumed 4 bottles of Red Horse stallions and a considerable amount of that freakin' Generoso Brandy. I was fine, except for my sandals that lost a strap due to wear and tear. After I got home, I lay in our 16-year old sofa. I dozed off dreaming of persecution.
*****
Then, light. I'm awake, and it's past 8 in the morning. I sit up, asking my sister what's for breakfast and if she would like me to go buy food in the mar--
I am kicked from the inside. Or stabbed. A savate-style front kick with steel-tipped French shoes. Then I feel my tummy go wild, churning caviar inside. My mouth goes sour, and remembering that I'm post-drunk, I went to the bathroom, to the toilet, oh this garbage bin must be cleaned goddammit, and DWAAARRRRFFFFF! Throwing up, as I remember, is meant to make someone feel better. But now, its not working. I went to the kitchen, got iced water from the fridge, drink, and vomit again. Then I feel my limbs going cold. Suddenly I feel that I'm hunched over, weakened, beaten to a fucking pulp. I looked at the sofa. The sofa is my home, the sofa is the answer. If only I can...reach...the...sofa...
No one seems to take notice. Have I been shot? No. Perhaps. Yes. There wasn't any sound. But what if it was one of those techie silenced sniper rifles? No, i haven't been shot. But I am dying. Surely, at last.
I am dying, finally. I knew it, deserved it from the beginning. It's AIDS and I had it coming, with that "One Time When the Condom Broke with the Woman Who Had Been Around." But then I remember: I'm still a virgin.
I'm dying, at last. I get up and go to the bathroom and throw up again. Again. Then again. Everytime I take something, drink or eat, I throw it up. I have been puking at least more than ten times already when I feel a hot sensation in the back of my throat. Then I looked at the toilet bowl and there are drops of a black, mucous-like substance. Now I get it, I'm spitting up bile, pieces of my liver. I think of Cos Zicarelli gagging on spoiled pasta in one of their performances at Box. Maybe this is something more. A performance art! Yes, yes this! It would be beautiful and poetic and it hurts like a motherfucker. I'm not made for this. A human throat is not made to be passed through by such substances.
Fuck! This pain! Am I giving birth?! I am tough, I am ARMY TOUGH. But this is freakin' tearing me apart, acid all over my stomach, acid being kicked into my side by a thousand little French Armada fuckers, all inside my tummy. Can AIDS kill like this? Yes, yes. No, no, no.
*****
I have a resolution: NEVER TO DRINK AGAIN, I WILL HOLD IT FOR AS LONG AS I FUCKING CAN.
So he broke up with her. We went at a bar and drank till 4 am. I consumed 4 bottles of Red Horse stallions and a considerable amount of that freakin' Generoso Brandy. I was fine, except for my sandals that lost a strap due to wear and tear. After I got home, I lay in our 16-year old sofa. I dozed off dreaming of persecution.
*****
Then, light. I'm awake, and it's past 8 in the morning. I sit up, asking my sister what's for breakfast and if she would like me to go buy food in the mar--
I am kicked from the inside. Or stabbed. A savate-style front kick with steel-tipped French shoes. Then I feel my tummy go wild, churning caviar inside. My mouth goes sour, and remembering that I'm post-drunk, I went to the bathroom, to the toilet, oh this garbage bin must be cleaned goddammit, and DWAAARRRRFFFFF! Throwing up, as I remember, is meant to make someone feel better. But now, its not working. I went to the kitchen, got iced water from the fridge, drink, and vomit again. Then I feel my limbs going cold. Suddenly I feel that I'm hunched over, weakened, beaten to a fucking pulp. I looked at the sofa. The sofa is my home, the sofa is the answer. If only I can...reach...the...sofa...
No one seems to take notice. Have I been shot? No. Perhaps. Yes. There wasn't any sound. But what if it was one of those techie silenced sniper rifles? No, i haven't been shot. But I am dying. Surely, at last.
I am dying, finally. I knew it, deserved it from the beginning. It's AIDS and I had it coming, with that "One Time When the Condom Broke with the Woman Who Had Been Around." But then I remember: I'm still a virgin.
I'm dying, at last. I get up and go to the bathroom and throw up again. Again. Then again. Everytime I take something, drink or eat, I throw it up. I have been puking at least more than ten times already when I feel a hot sensation in the back of my throat. Then I looked at the toilet bowl and there are drops of a black, mucous-like substance. Now I get it, I'm spitting up bile, pieces of my liver. I think of Cos Zicarelli gagging on spoiled pasta in one of their performances at Box. Maybe this is something more. A performance art! Yes, yes this! It would be beautiful and poetic and it hurts like a motherfucker. I'm not made for this. A human throat is not made to be passed through by such substances.
Fuck! This pain! Am I giving birth?! I am tough, I am ARMY TOUGH. But this is freakin' tearing me apart, acid all over my stomach, acid being kicked into my side by a thousand little French Armada fuckers, all inside my tummy. Can AIDS kill like this? Yes, yes. No, no, no.
*****
I have a resolution: NEVER TO DRINK AGAIN, I WILL HOLD IT FOR AS LONG AS I FUCKING CAN.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Transcribe...
Transcribe....
Isang araw, sa klase ng FIL2, may dalawang bored na estudyante ang nagpalipas ng oras.Nagpalitan ng mga saloobin, repleksyon, at iba't ibang reyalisasyon sa pamamagitan ng mga walang kapararakang tula. Isinulat ito sa piraso ng papel.
Oras: Sa pagitan ng 8-9:00pm
Lugar: Rm 105. St Raymund's Bldg. Faculty of Arts and Letters.
Mga tauhan: Pattot, Zaldy, boses ng Propesor sa background
Sa papel...
Zaldy: Malinaw ang bolpen ko. Ayos ba? Mini-stop yan, fooohl...
Pattot: (gumuhit ng zigzag na linya) Malinaw din tong akin. Arbor lang yan, dawg...
Zaldy: Oo nga. Mas maayos yung iyo tuminta. Akin na lang yan...geit..
Pattot: Ayoko. #!*%$@
Zaldy: Eh $%#@^!& ka pala boy...burger...
Pattot: (nagdrowing ng hugis 'pitutuy')
Zaldy:
May bakla sa may talipapa.
Nanghiram ng sandok sa tindera.
Bungangera, bungangera, bungangera.
Alin sa tingin mo?Alin ang mas malubha?
Pattot:
Ang bakla ay nakatulog sa talipapa.
Nagising sa kandungan ng isa pang bakla.
Nalito. Nagtinginan. Ngumanga.
"Pabili ng itlog na pula"
Zaldy:
Ang itlog na binili ay namumula.
May nilagay, sibuyas na nangangamatis,tadtad.
Kinamatis na iniulam sa malaswang tinapa.
Pattot:
Ang tahong ay nagpapahinga,nakalapat sa buhangin at nakatingala.
May alon na naligaw, humihiyaw.
Tinangay ang tahong na nauuhaw.
Sa dagat ay nauntog, nakabanggaang pusit.
Gumiling si pusit.
Na-arouse na!"Feel the heat"
Zaldy:
Dumaan na si Calamares,galing daw sa Marivelez.
Niyakap ng galamay ang tahong na kumerengkeng habang bumubulong.
Dinuduyan ng sunday ng along naging
saksi sa pagpasok sa kabibe ng saging
na dila ng malagkit na pusit.
Di mapigilan ang pagpuslit
ng kalandiang may kaalatan
sa gitna ng karagatan.
Kiskis, pawis, kiskis, pawis.
Pattot:
Kulang-kulang dalawang minuto
na ang nakaraan nang siya'y kumagat.
Ngayon ako'y nagaabang ng masasakyan.
Mausok. Maganda siguro kung haluan
ko pa ng usok ang usok nila.
Dalawang pilak, kapalit ay ginto.
Lugi ka pa?Babasain ang labi, kukurap.
Yan ang nagsilbing libangan.
Walapa ring humihinto.
Abang!Kasabay ng pagkalam ang aking
pagdighay. Nakakalito. Gutom
ako pero nakukuhang dumighay.
Ngunit, nagisip ako... Nagtanong.
"Busog lang ba ang may karapatang dumighay?"
At iyon na nga ang nangyari. Ilang minuto lamang ang lumipas ay nagdismiss na ang Propesor. Naging matagumpay ang dalawang damuho sa kanilang palipas oras. Nagkatotoo ang huling tula ni Pattot.
Isang araw, sa klase ng FIL2, may dalawang bored na estudyante ang nagpalipas ng oras.Nagpalitan ng mga saloobin, repleksyon, at iba't ibang reyalisasyon sa pamamagitan ng mga walang kapararakang tula. Isinulat ito sa piraso ng papel.
Oras: Sa pagitan ng 8-9:00pm
Lugar: Rm 105. St Raymund's Bldg. Faculty of Arts and Letters.
Mga tauhan: Pattot, Zaldy, boses ng Propesor sa background
Sa papel...
Zaldy: Malinaw ang bolpen ko. Ayos ba? Mini-stop yan, fooohl...
Pattot: (gumuhit ng zigzag na linya) Malinaw din tong akin. Arbor lang yan, dawg...
Zaldy: Oo nga. Mas maayos yung iyo tuminta. Akin na lang yan...geit..
Pattot: Ayoko. #!*%$@
Zaldy: Eh $%#@^!& ka pala boy...burger...
Pattot: (nagdrowing ng hugis 'pitutuy')
Zaldy:
May bakla sa may talipapa.
Nanghiram ng sandok sa tindera.
Bungangera, bungangera, bungangera.
Alin sa tingin mo?Alin ang mas malubha?
Pattot:
Ang bakla ay nakatulog sa talipapa.
Nagising sa kandungan ng isa pang bakla.
Nalito. Nagtinginan. Ngumanga.
"Pabili ng itlog na pula"
Zaldy:
Ang itlog na binili ay namumula.
May nilagay, sibuyas na nangangamatis,tadtad.
Kinamatis na iniulam sa malaswang tinapa.
Pattot:
Ang tahong ay nagpapahinga,nakalapat sa buhangin at nakatingala.
May alon na naligaw, humihiyaw.
Tinangay ang tahong na nauuhaw.
Sa dagat ay nauntog, nakabanggaang pusit.
Gumiling si pusit.
Na-arouse na!"Feel the heat"
Zaldy:
Dumaan na si Calamares,galing daw sa Marivelez.
Niyakap ng galamay ang tahong na kumerengkeng habang bumubulong.
Dinuduyan ng sunday ng along naging
saksi sa pagpasok sa kabibe ng saging
na dila ng malagkit na pusit.
Di mapigilan ang pagpuslit
ng kalandiang may kaalatan
sa gitna ng karagatan.
Kiskis, pawis, kiskis, pawis.
Pattot:
Kulang-kulang dalawang minuto
na ang nakaraan nang siya'y kumagat.
Ngayon ako'y nagaabang ng masasakyan.
Mausok. Maganda siguro kung haluan
ko pa ng usok ang usok nila.
Dalawang pilak, kapalit ay ginto.
Lugi ka pa?Babasain ang labi, kukurap.
Yan ang nagsilbing libangan.
Walapa ring humihinto.
Abang!Kasabay ng pagkalam ang aking
pagdighay. Nakakalito. Gutom
ako pero nakukuhang dumighay.
Ngunit, nagisip ako... Nagtanong.
"Busog lang ba ang may karapatang dumighay?"
At iyon na nga ang nangyari. Ilang minuto lamang ang lumipas ay nagdismiss na ang Propesor. Naging matagumpay ang dalawang damuho sa kanilang palipas oras. Nagkatotoo ang huling tula ni Pattot.
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