tekstong bopis

Nido, Take 1

2011-10-17T18:38:00.000-07:00

Mommy, what's siksik?
Not your mommy, Bimbi.
Mommy, what's sulit?
Definitely not your daddy.

The Bra

2011-10-14T07:47:00.000-07:00

by Sharon Olds

It happened, with me, on the left side, first,
I would look down, and the soft skin of the
nipple had become like a blister, as if it had been
lifted by slow puffs of breath
from underneath. It took weeks, months,
a year. And those white harnesses,
like contagion masks for conjoined twins
--if you saw a strap showing, on someone
you knew well enough, you could whisper, in her ear,
It's Snowing Up North. There were bowers to walk through
home from school, trellis arches
like aboveground tunnels, froths of leaves--
that spring, no one was in them, except,
sometimes, a glimpse of police. They found
her body in the summer, the girl in our class
missing since winter, in the paper they printed
the word in French, brassiere, I felt a little
glad she had still been wearing it,
as if a covering, of any
kind, could be a hopeless dignity.
But now they are saying that her bra was buried
in the basement of his house--when she was pulled down into
the ground, she was naked. For the moment I am almost half
glad they tore him apart with Actaeon
electric savaging. In the photo,
the shoulder straps seem to be making
wavering O's, and the sorrow's cups
are O's, and the bands around to the hook
and eye in the back make a broken O.
It looks like something taken down
to the bones--God's apron--God eviscerated--
its plain, cotton ribbons rubbed
with earth. When he said, In as much as ye have
done it unto one of the least
of these my brethren, ye have done it unto
me, he meant girls--or if he'd known better
he would have meant girls.

And Friends Just Can't Be Found

2011-10-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

Stop refusing their calls, spamming their messages, blocking their profiles. Stop dismissing those who offer you "a bridge over troubled waters." Ask, rather: Is it a bridge of beef jerky? Stirred tea of strawberry milk?

And: can I just sit here and nibble, or must it always lead to love?

Modest Stipend

2011-09-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

All the modest stipends in the world gathered for a conference, but not one of them would speak. Blessed are the meek, and they would not even look each other in the eye much less exchange salary information. Vulgar Stipend then burst into the room. He wore many pockets but no underwear. He gave it his all.

Fanfiction

2011-09-05T19:40:00.000-07:00

ANDI : Love is the answer, sing it with me.
ALBI : The question being one of power.
ANDI : Powerlessness. Stand corrected.
ALBI : Is that not a baby bruising you from the inside?
ANDI : Will you not sing it with me?

Sa Freedom Park

2011-02-14T00:36:00.000-08:00

May taong lumapit sa amin.

"Happy Valentines! Pag-usapan natin ang Gospel ni Lord?"
"Hindi na, thanks."
"Sandali lang ito–"
"Pasensya na, Katoliko kasi kami. Plus, anak ako ng pari."

Question & Buneneng

2010-11-16T05:44:00.000-08:00

Q : Sino ang sweet pea?
B : Si Buneneng!

Q : Ano si Tita Inday?
B : Sweet potato.

Q : Ano naman si Lola Anti?
B : Sweet apple.

Q : Si Lola Margie, ano si Lola Margie?
B : Um, sweet corn.

Q : E ano naman si Mommy?
B : Sweet flowers!

Q : Ano naman si Daddy?
B : Sweet pork.

Muli, 12 Nob, Pista ng San Diego

2010-10-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

AKO: Dad, nga pala, malamang ho di kami makakapunta sa Quisao sa piyesta.
DAD: Bakit–
AKO: E eto nga, yung grant minamadali, si Pinky mahirap na po, ang Neneng–
DAD: Bakit sinong nagsabing imbitado ka?

Terrible Two

2010-08-05T11:10:00.000-07:00

Child's proving to be a handful. She's beating everybody up with all the giddy force of her happiness. I suppose I should be doing more of the father thing, wield the iron spoon and all that. She's weeks shy of being two anyway. There's always some more discipline to go around, right? Of course. Only, I'm too busy nursing wounds and being proud.

I guess Reagan's got a point, the kid needs peers. People her own weight class should have better chances of keeping up with her. Let's see, an org of 2-year olds. Yes, and the minute they begin to spell, they can call themselves p-a-n-d-e-m-o-n-i-u-m. Why else did my wife name her Lilith?

The sweet dear's still asleep, recharging. I'm counting the hours until she wakes up. She'll launch those fat thighs right at us. Should be ready with the Kevlar.

Assistant Professor Folly

2010-04-12T05:59:00.000-07:00

One must always be grateful to be the occasion of other people's laughter. Earlier today, for example, I played the part of the Turkish astronomer. I mean the one who made the mistake of wearing his native clothes to a scientific conference in The Little Prince.

I am in fact attending a week-long seminar on the large class mode, a strictly mandatory affair. During lunch, a colleague was talking to me about our subject, Humanities 1, when suddenly he asked me how I felt to be dressed like a CAVHO. I hadn't realized it until he asked. I was wearing a yellow polo shirt like the CAVHOs, that is, the score of people running around manning the LCD projectors, testing the microphones, and wheeling the whiteboards wherever we required them.

I think I smiled, or something, until we resumed our discussion. We two had been working on techniques to improve the chances that an average UPLB student might learn something in the large class mode. But levity should be welcome even in such a week as this, a week where they tell you to make possible - in truth, to justify - a policy that you despise.

Based on other, more enlightening interactions, I knew that some of us were intelligently against this sudden move to fully implement the large class mode without as much as one round of votation, without any consultation of parents, students, or rank-and-file teachers. Like some of the opposition, I felt it necessary to absorb what skills I could. This mode will take over next semester, whether we like it or not, and we shall not be caught flat-footed.

Come June, it won't be the Chancellor or the activists who'll face my students. That's my job. So whatever this is (whether this is a bid for UP presidency, an austerity measure wrapped in the bacon of high-minded pedagogy, a move to justify millions of pesos worth of juicy infrastructure, or an ego trip running on pure testosterone) and whatever this turns out to be, I wish to face my students next semester with honesty and say: "I'm accountable to you, so if you learn nothing in the hours of Humanities 1, I am deeply sorry, I did all I could to stop this while also helping it come to fruit, but it's here, it's somebody's large class stomach rubbing over all our little faces, we ought to make the most of a situation, even a situation such as this, because the fact of the situation is no excuse, sadly, though maybe, just maybe, five or ten years from now we might generate an opportunity to make things better and finally put this behind us. In the mean time there's no existential excuse for you or me to slack off, where oh where are your readings, why haven't you read them, just because some people are stupid doesn't mean you have to be."

I'd say something like that, but I'd have to make it funny. Make a ballad or an interpretative dance out of it. Costume, props, trappings. We have been instructed to make sure that our massed students can hear us.

At the workshop, I observed two lecture assistants at the far end of the room who were looking at me with laughter in their faces while I was trying to make a point about checking 170 essays. I made little sense of what those two were about until I got home and read what another well-meaning colleague had to text. She told me to refrain from wearing yellow the next day if I didn't want to look like a CAVHO. She ended it with a smiley, and that must make everything better.

Menial labor is laughable, we must agree, and maybe the point of large class all along was to put people like CAVHOs in lecture halls so they can lighten up our day. Things such as this must be noted so that I won't bore my lecture students. For starters, I must get me one of those CSB vests as well, do a Chaplin for the sake of the town. CSB - menial like the rest of them - were specifically hired for mercenary fun.

On the other hand and up on the stage, we were greeted by the starched collars and tasteful pleats of dignitaries like the Chancellor and the College Secretary.

The College Sec, introducing the Chancellor, said that we must welcome "the latest YouTube sensation." Then, she appeared to expect laughter were none was forthcoming. The Chancellor came and finished his speech. The Sec promptly assured him, told him not to worry, for "we will all look forward to your Showbiz career."

Yes, because perhaps, perhaps, this is a town where we have nothing better to do.

The Chancellor likewise desired mirth, everyone's entitled to a good morning after all, even us, we teachers going wholesale. Therefore, as he offered himself as target practice for the diluted green water balloons of Quezon Hall activists, so too did he stand before the assembly of professors saying things like "I was offered to star in a commercial of Surf" and "don't get eaten by dogs... so you won't end up being dogmatic."

It's Monday, hey. There's a whole week of this on its way. Tomorrow and the day after, I see, are equally valid days for yellow collars. I guess there must have been a wise man who said, "All is humor upon an earth where nothing is misplaced."

Or, since the events call for density as well as watered-down lessons, "Laugh and the world laughs with you, teach and you cry alone."

PTP

2010-03-16T08:20:00.001-07:00

Could've showed you around, you and your son. God knows you've extended your guest room to pieces. And this mountain, it could've returned a favor. This place used to be big enough for time.

Jolene

2010-03-12T14:04:00.000-08:00

The Weepies

It always rained around you
We tried to go inside and it would rain there too
It came pouring through the roof when we traveled underground
Whiskey, water, and tears 'til I thought that we would drown

Jolene, Jolene
Is it still raining everywhere you are?

We didn't hide from it at all
No we just let it fall
In the morning she was gone and everything was dry
The city streets were crowded and I felt like I would die

Now there's sunshine and flowers everywhere
And I don't care

Jolene, Jolene
Is it still raining everywhere you are?

All of these clouds will disappear
Like we were never here
But I swear there was a time I thought that it would never stop
And now I only think about you if it's raining or it's not

Jolene, Jolene
Is it still raining everywhere you are?

PTP

2010-03-09T06:17:00.000-08:00

I had been at that breakfast table, years back, you see. I know how clean they keep it, how the cupboard, though never locked, always invites, and how the talk... well, I have forgotten the talk.

I have not gone back, will never go back there (I remember the slant of sun through the windows).

It's a clear thing to me, that table, weeks or years from now. I see her parents looming over breakfast, tomorrow, talking and not talking about her.

HB

2010-03-05T12:57:00.000-08:00

MHROTDay

Nostalgia

2010-01-30T12:06:00.000-08:00

Millicent's all heart, but the years wear people out. That's what they do, what they're here for. You could hear them years sing Hi-Ho as they chip off your body, your mind. Your heart. Particularly for Millicent, the years set up camp on her eyes. So finally, she had to tell me, "these eyes were duty-bound to see, to look at you; as if tears weren't labor enough." In the singular breath of gratitude and impatience, I told her to stop staring, stop playing Monica to my Augustine. I told her to pack her eyes up, whistle to her years so they could gather the kettles and pickaxes. I whispered, "Millicent, get sorrows of your own; all my sins come with mirrors." I whispered so things would be light for her as she packed. Then I whispered some more so the years would laugh in her wake.

Woman is born

2010-01-29T05:27:00.000-08:00

Many happy returns of the day.

Photo 2

2009-12-14T05:56:00.001-08:00

Hahaha.

Not Even Her

2009-11-27T04:46:00.000-08:00

Did not eat lunch. No one else wanted this day to happen again and again.

E-mail interview by Leah Barona a year or so ago

2009-11-24T06:12:00.001-08:00

1. What do you usually write about, and in what form? What influences your choice of subject?

I tend to be conceptual in my works (and I get my share of flak because of this). An idea will intrigue me. It may come from philosophy, optics, or local history - I find that I can't control these things. In order to "learn" this concept, I need to convert it to verse or story. I tend to deal with the over-all theme of memory and try my best to shy away from love fiction.

2. At what point in your life did you decide that writing is what you wanted/needed/were meant to do?

I've been taking down notes since the day I realized that the pencil is not for sucking. But I pledged to be serious with writing when I began teaching in LB (what was it, five years ago?) because I wanted to impress the people here. By the time I realized that it wasn't working, writing had become too much of a habit to get rid of.

3. How do you 'stay sharp'? Meaning, what do you do to get inspiration or to stay focused?

Drink coffee and listen to passionate people. Caffeine and passion are foreign to my system. But both substances gets me writing. Both will kill me someday.

4. Who checks your work? Do you do peer reviews? Whose critique do you value the most? What award (or feedback) has been most affirming?

Friends like Carlos Piocos, Reagan Maiquez, and Emmanuel Dumlao never shrink from telling me the truth about my work. There are editors. Angels come to me in my dreams sometimes, but I can't understand what they're saying. They just keep pointing to my prose and spitting out holy water until the pages burn. Then there are the editors, the elder writers who assess my poems and stories. But I won't name them. They might withdraw the affirmation if I begin pretending to be "close."

Recently, my students gave me their comments and criticism, and I was surprised that I took it quite well (and they "dished it quite well" also). The most valuable criticism comes from my wife. Only one of my stories gave her goose bumps.

5. Name literary figures whose work you admire or use as a standard.

Nick Joaquin, F. Sionil Jose, and Gregorio Brilliantes.

6. Any trade secrets you can share?

You don't have to write three hours a day like they told you. You just need to get a clean sheet of paper and stare at it for three hours. Every day. It will eventually make a writer out of you. Try it.

7. Do you feel that you get enough support from the University as faculty members? As artists?

I can't speak for the others, they do sterling work. I'd love to see what work they can do with greater support. As for me, I don't feel entitled to support. If I get support, gracias salamat mucho. If not, I'm okay as long as I get my three hours a day with my clean sheet of paper. I'd rather have readers than supporters. But if the university won't give me readers... there's always family.

8. How would you describe the literary scene at UPLB now? How is it different from, like, five or ten years ago? (In terms of the people who write, what they write about, what form the writing takes…)

Oh dear. I wasn't here five to ten years ago. I'd like to believe it's better now, that people have more (and improved?) writing communities, literary visions, techniques, and third drafts in circulation. Still, it's possible that the only reason I want to believe that now is much better than then is because I am in the now.

9. Do you consider yourself old-fashioned, or are you open to new literary forms or genres, in what you consider legit art forms? What are your thoughts on "electronic literature"?

Critics have the luxury of labeling art as "legit" or "not legit". Writers, strictly speaking, should not care about these labels while they're writing whatever they're writing. But in the latter stages of the process, this becomes an important question. It becomes a matter of being read or not, getting published or not, being loved or ignored. But the question is if I'm old-fashioned, and I am, and I think that writers who say they're "experimenting" ought to use the bunsen burner more.

I kept a blog as a regimen back when I was having a hard time writing. You get instant feedback there, and that's good. But it works only if you can separate the chaff from the wheat: Is this good writing or bad writing? Did I just get effective criticism or does somebody just want me to reciprocate and check out her site?

Others probably have that capacity. I don't. I only end up losing a lot of time online. Another problem is if the writer become obsessed by getting the most number of hits. The tendency is to produce more shock than art. Substance suffers. Heart suffers. We get more of less.

10. Do you keep a blog?

I do: tekstongbopis.blogspot.com. It's been running since November 2001, and it's still up because of sentimental value. I used to keep accounts with multiply and friendster, but they weren't helping. Last week, I lit two candles over the CPU at ILC, then I deleted them both. Maybe I'll pull out tekstongbopis as well.

Pearls

2009-11-21T02:54:00.000-08:00

Left eye got worse. Tears 24/7. Pearls are great until you remember how the oysters make them.

Duels

2009-11-20T05:36:00.000-08:00

The monster that I have to kill every day is realism. The monster who attacks me every day is destruction. Out of these duels come transformation. I have to turn destruction into creation over and over again.

Anais Nin
Diary entry
November 1936

At last we have household help. Now to pay the bills. God how exciting. "Alleluia," they sing to the child. "Ayawayaw," comes the responsorial.

Paint

2009-11-19T05:14:00.000-08:00

To Woolwich, where we found my wife not well, and I out of humour began to dislike her painting, the last things not pleasing me so well as the former: but I blame myself from being so complaisant.

Samuel Pepys
Diary entry
November 19, 1665

First time to bathe under the rain under LB sky. When was the last time, really? Was it then, during the Quisao storm, with a friend whose name I have forgotten but seems to me to start with the letter R, that liquid and battered afternoon 14 or 16 years past? Some time since then, the rain became an occasion for nothing other than coffee and paper. Memories cut in this manner serve to stimulate the mind and impoverish the years.

Bird

2009-11-18T07:09:00.000-08:00

Rather rainy. Went into Baldock but failed to get any rose bushes. Bought a peony root which perhaps I can plant at the corner instead of a rose. Clarke’s say the shortage of grains, or the difficulty of sending them to & fro, is actually much greater than the papers make out. Saw a bird which I think must have been a golden plover, though so far as I know they are not found round here. Slightly larger than a snipe (it was certainly not a snipe), redshank type of flight, but its back was brownish. Too far away to see its beak. The only thing that makes me doubtful is that its belly was almost white.

George Orwell
Diary entry
November 18, 1939

Bum day. I have full strength, my wits about me, but I can't go to work because I don't want others to get the virus off me. My wife just discovered an old game in Facebook, Cafe World. I reactivated my account so we could play together. Still no leads on a new yaya. Maybe we've squeezed our network dry. The child, well what can be said of the child? She somehow learned yet another way to amuse herself at my expense. She'd offer me her bottle, say "Mik?" until I move to receive it from her. Then she'd withdraw it, say "ayawayaw" while flashing them mischievous teeth.

Barber One

2009-11-16T05:52:00.000-08:00

Dussel is very put out, none of us knows why. It began by his keeping his mouth closed upstairs, he didn't utter a word to either Mr.or Mrs. Van Daan. Everyone was struck by it, and when it lasted a couple of days, Mummy took the opportunity of warning him about Mrs. Van Daan, who, if he went on like this, could make things very disagreeable for him.

Dussel said that Mr. Van Daan started the silence, so he was not going to be the one to break it.

Anne Frank
Diary entry
November 17, 1943

Gave the child her first hair cut because her grandmother thought the forelocks irritated her eyes. Handed the lock to my wife who wrapped it in plastic and placed it in Fr. Leo English's dictionary. She did not know it, but it's my favorite dictionary in the house. Its pages are loose and brittle. I would have these bound again, but I think the pages would not survive the process. It's the same reason why I don't want it photocopied. My father gave it to me when I became interested in writing poems in Filipino.

The cut was too close. My wife didn't like it. Child looks like Ben Franklin now.

Chairs

2009-11-16T05:37:00.000-08:00

Gonzalo plans to hold a meeting in the houseboat. He and Pablo Neruda are inviting all the Latin Americans to come. Anais, go out and rent chairs for the plotters!

Anais Nin
Diary entry
November 1936

We enjoyed unadulterated Pacquiao yesterday because some mayors and a congressman of Laguna decided to pitch in and buy air time through the community cable company. I watched all the preliminary bouts just to savor the absence of advertisements. Cotto gave good fight, holding out as he did. I heard some of my countrymen died while watching the fight. We, the weak-hearted. Meanwhile, some research has taken my speech to a curious turn. My framework has been effectively challenged by the new data. It seems I have been trying to shield myself from some facts.

Cold Compress

2009-11-15T04:07:00.000-08:00

The son then showed us his works of amateur sculpture and painting (Sivas, Parvatis, Venuses, and apsarases): remarkably good. And on the way home he talked with touching earnestness and feeling of his art. "When I work in clay," he said, "Mother tells me to be careful: I will catch cold from the wet clay. And when I work in stone, Father tells me to be careful, the dust will get in my lungs and I will catch cold."

Joseph Campbell
Diary entry
November 15, 1954

I have been waiting for the day when I would finally wake up to my child's normal face. The red's out of her right eye but it's still a bit smaller than her left eye. So I thought, maybe tomorrow. However, an hour and a half ago she bumped her head against the wall, and though it sounded like her usual contact, half of forehead's quite swollen. Predictably, she rejected the cold compress. My wife brought her to sleep with milk and song. While they both slept, I sneaked in some ice. She was defenseless, and I stopped when the size and color of the swell seemed to me tolerable.

November was not purely cut from misfortune and struggle. A couple of good strokes here and there, and among them the event of my two advisees' first magazine publication. On November 1, Christopher Alonte published his short stories, "A Chase and a Thousand Encounters" as well as "Home." Alonte's a fresh graduate. E- (his critic) and I gave him a proper grade for his thesis, a collection of short stories that included "Home." Alonte thought the grade was a joke.

Angelica Mendoza, Alonte's sparring partner, published her first short story "Lingua Franca (Carmen's Envy)" a week later. Her thesis is still in the works, but I think this story will make the final cut.

Sore House

2009-11-14T05:38:00.000-08:00

We were going to Stuart's performance, but we decided to dye Marci's hair as a prelude, and things went, um, well, slightly wrong.

I'm not sure "wrong" is the right word; depending on your tastes, it could be described as anything from "way cool" to "horrifyingly awful." Marci wanted to dye her hair platinum white, so we hit a local drugstore, realized that dark hair took at least two strong agents to dye white, brought both of them and gave it a try.

Her hair turned bright orange.

I am now dating Ronald McDonald.

We did not go see Stuart perform.

Ken Wilber
Diary entry
November 14, 1997

The circle is closed. No sense dodging now, we've all been shot. The mother also contracted the baby's eyes. What a way to kick off the semester, with all eyes red and swollen. Meanwhile, we're still crippled without household help. I asked E-, the least bourgeois in the faculty, if that's normal or if under the circumstances we ought try to work it out between the three of us. He said an attempt to wing it without help would be ideal but impractical. We were both working and the infant won't quit asking for 24 hours. He's right, I know, we can't risk the child on account of courage or foolhardiness. He's prudent. I'll kiss him on the eyes next week.

Sore Eyes

2009-11-13T05:40:00.000-08:00

Other things, too, made revelry difficult; for, at the gathering of this stupendous harvest, too many of the sowers were not there. Even when you win a war, you cannot forget that you have lost your generation.

Sir Alan 'Tommy' Lascelles
Diary entry
November 13, 1918

My eyes are down as well. I hope I can still squeeze some work out of them.

I'm quite pleased to produce a shorter list of grudges. My students remain safe, of course, as long as I have peers and superiors to take the heat. In that sense I'm glad they crossed me. I'm contagious, and all it takes is a handshake.

This one student. I hope this one student gains entry to the faculty. No obligations or loyalty checks. Just someone decent to have lunch with.

Feast Day

2009-11-11T07:10:00.000-08:00

I lunched with Admiral Kelly who can has come from Ankara. There is a story that he and his brother once had a quarrel and shortly afterwards met in Bond Street. They passed each other silently with their noses in the air but one of them came back, tapped the other on the shoulder and said, 'Excuse me, but am I right in thinking that your Father married my Mother?'

Countess of Ranfurly
Diary entry
November 12, 1943

I am quickly learning the cruelty of the phrase "cutting corners." It's not happy here, standing before the business end of the scissors. Meanwhile, there's a fiesta in the old town. My parents have prepared seven dishes. Can't smell a whiff.

Downers

2009-11-10T06:18:00.000-08:00

And so it was, our unhappy fears were confirmed; when Daddy did the stove the following morning the clip used for fastening was found among the ashes. Not a trace of the gold nib was found. "Must have melted and stuck to some stone or other," Daddy thought.

I have one consolation, although a slender one: my fountain pen was cremated, just what I want later!

Anne Frank
Diary entry
November 11, 1943

Still not out of loserville. Can't deny, can't euphemize. My wife remarked how strange it was that being down was a comfort zone. I've failed so many times. This fact has been a source of anxiety, vanity, and drive. Yet this new experience: to fail as a family. I don't know how to wrap my head around it yet. Even the kid is down! Anyway, I'll meet my classes tomorrow. I'll devote this night to prepping. But if I screw tomorrow up as well, I would not be surprised. That's why it's a comfort zone: when you're down you can humiliate yourself with a straight face. God help my students.

Calling in Sick

2009-11-10T05:39:00.000-08:00

Gonzalo's vision is affecting mine. Before I knew Gonzalo, dinner at Maxim's with wealthy people was an aesthetic experience. The place all in red, sensuous plush, exquisite crystals, candles, crockery, the courtesy of waiters, the elegance and beauty of the dresses. I never really saw the people close up. I saw them as one sees a Viennese waltz in a film or on a stage. Crystal chandeliers, music, animation, rhythm. Lyrical moments. This time my eyes opened and I saw their faces, their gestures, saw expressions I had never noticed. The rich and the noveux riches, the aristocrats and the tycoons. I saw irony, arrogance, greed, malice, mockery, self-satisfaction, shallowness. And when I questioned the value of each person at the table as individuals, I could not find any.

Anais Nin
Diary entry
November 1936

I begin the semester with little unspeakable illnesses as well as fresh set of grudges. How is it mathematically possible that, for three years now, I've been shedding friends at a much faster rate than I gain them and yet I still have this good handful left? I can type their names here, it won't take 2 minutes. But I fear that if I do that, I will - by way of word-magic - lose them.

I, Menial

2009-11-08T09:05:00.000-08:00

Walked to my brother's, where my wife is, calling at many churches, and then to the Temple, hearing a bit there too, and observing that in the streets and churches the Sunday is kept in appearance as well as I have known it at any time.

Samuel Pepys
Diary entry
November 9, 1662

Yesterday, the grandmother contracted sore eyes. My family and in-laws went to St. Therese. I stayed home for the chores. My how they still manage to pile up on you despite all the hours you've already put in. Life is not a fool's errand, I reminded myself. Chores are not without satisfaction though. When you've built up enough momentum, you actually want to find more work - any plate or room that needs cleaning up. Steriliza what? Where's a loose screw? The child was asleep when they got home. They said she sang along with everybody else's Alleluia.

The Old Drum

2009-11-07T08:31:00.000-08:00

There happend this Weeke so thick a Mist and fog; that people lost their way in the streetes, it being so exceedingly intense, as no light of Candle, Torches or Lanterns, yielded any or very little direction: I was my selfe in it, and in that extraordinary danger, robberys were committed betwene the very lights which were fixt between Lond: and K[e]nsington on both sides, and whilst Coaches and passengers were travelling: and that was strange, it beginning about 4 in the afternoone was quite gon by 8, without any wind to dissipate it. At Thames they beate drumms, to direct the Watermen to make the shore, no lights being bright enough to penetrate the fogg.

John Evelyn
Diary entry
November 8, 1699

A message from my sister came in yesterday: "While Neneng's ninang is shuttling from clinic to ayala to PGH... I yearn for weekends with blaring band music waking us up. Simpler times."

She was referring to the Sunday mornings of our youth when my father played marches top volume to wake us up. If them horns were not enough, he'd come stomping up to the bedrooms shouting: What do you think you are, pensionados?

Good times, good times. Incidentally, father was asking about his grandchild and I said that she was diagnosed sore eyes, and even with the meds the virus would have to run its course - a week, at most - before she gets better. I told him the tables have turned. The ophtha said we would have to wash our hands after carrying her. She's contagious.

We were relieved. Because of the allergy and the insect bites that had happened recently to that same eye, we were already imagining her blindness.

We had always been on guard, always expecting she'd pick off some germ or fever from us, but this time she's the bully with the virus. And my father rubbed it in, remarked on the beauty of the situation, how funny it would be to see a dad infected by a baby. Now we could laugh it off. Listen, these are the times.

Matching Type

2009-11-06T11:44:00.000-08:00

Sent off some proofs and corrections to Pantheon at 10 A.M. and joined the von Leydens for a visit to their simming-pool club where Westerners and Indians (the latter, mostly Parsees) were sitting around under parasols. At the table next to the one at which we settled there was a company of Hindus, including the young woman who turned out to be the sister of Rama Mehta. When she heard my name she said, "You are a friend of my sister. I am reading your book. It is inscribed, 'To Rama, with love...'!" Apparently Rama and her husband will be coming to Bombay next week.

Joseph Campbell
Diary entry
November 7, 1954

The family was invited to the birthday party of an elder coleague. We had to miss it. We three passed the front of her house, and we probably would've walked much faster if I hadn't been carrying the child at such a slope. The child was mostly the reason why we had to skip the party. Her eyes were sore again and we wanted to make an appointment with the doctor for the weekend, but before that, I felt we had to close the deal with the new household help. We were off to meet the candidate.

Our house is far from tiptop, the electricity needs to be fixed, the child's room hasn't been cleaned for weeks, bulbs busted here and there. The toilet could use a new faucet. It's not a total mess, but we're not comfortable with it. My wife dressed the child up with an ensemble in mind, but because a shoe was missing here and a sock missing there, we had to resort to violet shoes to go with her orange and yellow outfit. We failed to take the wind into account, so when we noticed it, my wife plucked the nearest pair of baby glasses which was pink. The only hat that the child would tolerate (even this only partially, and with some thorough negotiation) was violet and white with a sunflower sewn in. Her bib was green.

She's a baby I know, she'd get away with motley or worse, but since I was never avant-garde nor a practicing clown, I felt like an irresponsible parent. Anyway we met the candidate. I was not sure if she was forthright, but even if she were I didn't think she's a fit. I don't consider myself too meticulous in these types of choices - and with classes opening next week, we can't afford to be - but even then, the things she presented disturbed me.

The child's asleep in the cleanest room. We'll meet the doctor later.

Mirror

2009-11-05T08:38:00.000-08:00

I spent the whole evening sitting before a mirror to keep myself company.

Cesare Pavese
Diary entry
November 6, 1938

Doses of true nostalgia since the sem break began drawing to a close. There's a buildup like you won't believe. I say "true" because we drones of literature have many ways of faking or provoking nostalgia. And when we do succeed, when we do feel something, some of us hesitate to call it the real thing. I don't know. It's just feels more genuine to dream when you're asleep, to cry when you're suddenly hurt, and to be hit by nostalgia when you're unawares.

Semestral breaks are so notorious for nostalgia that it's been sung. Anyway, in my case this year, it's late in coming. I must have avoided it somehow because of the tasks required by the division, the organization, and the child. It still managed to creep in though, from the cold wet soil as it were and sometimes with such violence that I had to hit my temples.

Before the Soul's Day, the child kept us busy, grossly entertained, and exhausted. I texted my father about this. Good, that's the way things should be, he replied.

Speaking Engagement

2009-11-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

Gonzalo has definitely entered into his activities as an agitator, writer, talker, leader of eighty South American intellectuals. He is close to Pablo Neruda, to Jose Bergamin. I heard Neruda read his own poems. Jose Bergamin, a Catholic philosopher, is trying to balance Catholicism on one hand, and Marxism on the other.

Gonzalo's passion about politics, his vehement speeches, his sincerity are not without effect on me. I was won over to his Marxism.

"Strange," said Gonzalo, "that even though you were so far from all this, it was you who urged me to fulfill myself, and brought on my desire for action."

Anais Nin
Diary entry
November

E was showing off his new website. He had time on his hands, he said, he was convalescing during the sem break. It was his birthday two days ago, by the way. I think he's happy that he got an extension for his grant. On the other hand, I want to be done with my book as soon as possible.

For once, we're up before my aunt. We're all up, in fact, the child, my mother, and my wife. They woke up in that order. Last night, I remember noting tears on my wife's face while she was sleeping. It was about a dream, she said. Then she said some more.

I brought home the work of my three advisees. I wish to use these theses as the subject matter of my speech on the 5th of December. I'm preparing this early because the organizers wrote that they expect a full paper. Also, I have to reacquaint myself with the courses I'll be handling this semester. I should hear at least a whisper of this speech in my head before the end of this week. It just occurred to me: December 5, 2009 will be the 2nd death anniversary of my own thesis adviser.

Patch

2009-11-03T10:38:00.001-08:00

In the morn to our own church, where Mr. Mills did begin to nibble at the Common Prayer by saying 'Glory be to the Father,' &c., after he had read the two psalms: but the people had been so little used to it, that they could not tell what to answer. My wife seemed very pretty today, it being the first time I had given her leave to wear a black patch.

Samuel Pepys
Diary entry
November 4, 1660

The wind has stopped, but the chill will descend upon the day one way or another. It's the season. I have been doing a lot of leisure reading on the computer screen. This drains me, probably even the people around me. The justification exists: no reading is leisure in my line of work, each page is necessary. It's thin, but I subscribe to it. I have no alternative to distraction. The child called for me, my wife had just reported. But I heard it. I shall watch the child deal with the bottle.

Downspout

2009-11-03T04:39:00.000-08:00

To give me something new to begin with as well, Daddy askeed Koophuis for a children's Bible so that I could find out something about the New Testament at last. "Do you want to give Anne a Bible for Chanuka?" asked Margot, somewhat perturbed. "Yes--er, I think St. Nicholas Day is a better occasion," answered Daddy; "Jesus just doesn't go with Chanuka."

Anne Frank
Diary entry
November 3, 1943

Lights are on again after most of the weekend dependent on candles. The semestral break has come to a close. It was much too brief for me, but I got to clean the gutters. Mae and Dad left yesterday. We sent Ate off before lunchtime. The child said her Ninang's name 4 hours after she left.

Comfort

2009-10-19T06:44:00.000-07:00

The Weepies

When everyone has gone to sleep
and you are wide awake
there's no one left to tell your troubles to.
Just an hour ago, you listened to their voices
lilting like a river over underground
and the light from downstairs
came up soft like daybreak
dimly as the heartache of a lonely child.

If you can't remember a better time
you can have mine, little one.
In days to come when your heart feels undone
may you always find an open hand
and take comfort wherever you can.

And oh, it's a strange place.
And oh, everyone with a different face
but just like you thought
when you stopped here to linger
we're only as separate as your little fingers.

So cry, why not? we all do
then turn to one you love
and smile a smile that lights up all the room.
Follow your dreams in through every out-door
it seems that's what we're here for.

And when you can't remember a better time
you can have mine, little one.
In days to come when your heart feels undone
may you always find an open hand
and take comfort, there is comfort.
Take comfort wherever you can, you can, you can.

Diamond Sea

2009-10-18T07:29:00.000-07:00

Sonic Youth

time takes its crazy toll
and how does your mirror grow
you better watch yourself when you jump into it
'cause the mirror's gonna steal your soul

I wonder how it came to be my friend
that someone just like you has come again
you'll never, never know how close you came
until you fall in love with the diamond rain

throw all his trash away
look out he's here to stay
your mirror's gonna crack when he breaks into it
and you'll never never be the same

look into his eyes and you can see
why all the little kids are dressed in dreams
I wonder how he's gonna make it back
when he sees that you just know it's make-believe

blood crystalized as sand
and now I hope you'll understand
you reflected into his looking glass soul
and now the mirror is your only friend

look into his eyes and you will see
that men are not alone on the diamond sea
sail into the heart of the lonely storm
and tell her that you'll love her eternally

time takes its crazy toll
mirror fallin' off the wall
you better look out for the looking glass girl
'cause she's gonna take you for a fall

look into his eyes and you shall see
why everything is quiet and nothing's free
I wonder how he's gonna make her smile
when love is running wild on the diamond sea

Who's Next?

2009-08-23T19:29:00.000-07:00

You were frank. What a lovely and liberating thing to be. Maybe you were also cruel, but I never stood too close to notice. Candor was the stuff of entertainment, but also of dismay. There's no point in giving gifts to you now, but yes I did love those hands more when they were warm with color. Instead I took a gift in your name, entered you or my approximation of you, tried my darnedest to become you: What would you say if you were in my place?

It seemed to me you would ask a question. One question.

Possibly, you would never come to this question. You would never be in my place. Or, you have ceased coming to questions. But the question is here, before me, whole like a softball or a nut. I'm not certain which of us owns it.

Neveretheless, I understand how I belong to this particular question. Goodbye, you.

Pasyonasyon

2009-05-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

My poem's on a CCP wall as part of Irma Lacorte's installation art. The collective title is Tore : Bangin :: Bahaghari. Go see.

Bulwagang Juan Luna (Main Gallery), Cultural Center of the Philippines. Exhibit runs from May 14 – June 21, 2009. Below, the exhibit notes lifted from the e-mails:

The project "PasyoNasyon" descends from lessons conceived, learned and acquired in a cultural sense from WOMAN as (MYTHICAL) HERO:BABAYE- BABAYLAN- BAGANIHAN, a major KASIBULAN project concluded last July 2008 sponsored by NCCA.

PASYONASYON is an attempt to concretize and materialize concepts and ideas that revolve around the cultural history of the Philippines as seen through oral traditions (such as pasyon, babaylan, rituals, etc.) as such traditions are carried forth by women as primary figures of these rituals.

PASYONASYON will showcase wearable art in various art forms and media. It will serve as the converging point of different art practitioners from diverse art disciplines (dance, music, visual and digital arts, performance art and literature) to come up with provocative images, sounds, performances, and choreography that will be stringed in an exhibit at the CCP Main Gallery from May 14 to June 21.

Participating artists: Aba Lluch Dalena, AJ Tolentino, AK Domingo, Alma Quinto, Amihan Jumalon, Baidy Mendoza, Brenda Fajardo, Cecil De Leon-Laya, Ceej Gomera, Chato Rivero, Christine Sioco, Claire Zapata, Con Cabrera, Cynthia Alexander, Daphne Aguilar, Dina Gadia, Edda Amonoy, Elaine Lopez-Clemente, Esther Garcia, Gigi Javier-Alfonso, Irma Lacorte, Jana Jumalon-Alano, Jane Ebarle, Jen Viola, Katrina Ann Tan, Kiri Lluch Dalena, Lia Torralba, Lita Maderazo, Lorna Fernandez, Lot Arboleda, Maan de Loyola, Maria Villanueva, Mayuko S. Kobayashi, Milk Mendoza, Mimi Tecson, Mona Dela Cruz-Gaston, Nadya Melina David, Nina Libatique, Norma Liongoren, Paz Abad Santos, Pusong Bughaw, Racquel de Loyola, Rona Fernandez, Rosel Valenzuela, Serena Borras, Susan Fetalvero-Roces, Teya Tan, Vivian N. Limpin, Zenaida Xavier.

Sunshower

2009-04-16T21:44:00.000-07:00

Chris Cornell

Dark as roses, fine as sand
Feel your healing and your sting again
I hear you laughing and my soul is saved
On forgotten graves you cry

Crawl like ivy up my spine
Through my nerves and into my eyes
Cuts like anguish
Or recollections of better days gone by

But it's all right
When you're caught in pain
And you feel the rain come down
It's all right
When you find your way
Then you see it disappear
It's all right
Though your gardens grey
I know all your graces
Someday will flower
In the sweet sunshower

Eyes like oceans so far away
A feather trail to a better way
Worried mornings turn into days
Then into worried nights

But it's all right
When you're all in pain
And you feel the rain come down
Oh it's all right
When you find your way
Then you see it disappear
Oh it's all right
Though your gardens grey
I know all your graces
Someday will flower
Oh in the sweet sunshower
Oh in the sweet sunshower
In the sweet sunshower

I know all your graces
Someday will flower
In the sweet sunshower
And it's all right
All you'll be you are today
Are today
It's all right
All you'll be you are today
Are today...

I try to say goodbye

2009-03-05T21:59:00.000-08:00

Macy Gray

Games, changes and fears
when will they go from here
when will they stop
I believe that faith has brought us here
and we should be together but we're not
I play it off but I'm dreaming of you
I'll keep my cool but I'm feeling

I try to say good-bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
though I try to hide it, it's clear
my world crumbles when you are not near

Good-bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
though I try to hide it,
it's clear my world crumbles when you are not near

I may appear to be free but I'm just a prisoner of your love
I may seem all right and smile when you leave
but my smiles are just a front
I play it off but I'm dreaming of you
I'll keep my cool but I'm feeling

I try to say good-bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
though I try to hide it, It's clear
my world crumbles when you are not near

Good-bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
though I try to hide it,
it's clear my world crumbles when you are not near

Here is my confession
and I"ll be your possession
girl I need your touch
your love kisses and such
with all my might I try but this I can't deny

I play it off but I'm dreaming of you
I'll keep my cool but I'm feeling

I try to say good-bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
though I try to hide it, it's clear,
my world crumbles when you are not near

Good-bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
though I try to hide it,
it's clear my world crumbles when you are not near

Dendrite Trinity

2009-03-05T21:35:00.000-08:00

This story came out in two parts via Sunday Times, here then here. That was a tree cut down twice. Another is the matter of Manong Uldo, vol. 11, which I realized had been published by Free Press when word came out here.

Nevertheless, happy birthday.

Song of Iroh

2009-01-21T18:05:00.000-08:00

Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like fragile tiny shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Come marching home

Maturity

2009-01-07T17:35:00.000-08:00

I'm not cut out for guarantees. I can't say "I'll get around to it." And if I do say something that sounds like that, you'd best be advised to disbelieve; disbelieve! Thanks anyway, and a happy new year to you too.

The Childhoods

2009-01-07T17:23:00.000-08:00

This story previously appeared in the Sunday Times. Ordonez and the co-editors included it in Past and Present: a Philippine PEN Anthology. They say the book's available in the regular bookstores.

News

2008-12-04T17:11:00.000-08:00

16 people in Bacolod have AIDS.

Awit ng Talim

2008-11-09T22:06:00.000-08:00

This poem was written as apart of an interstitial project between prose and poetry. It's the type of thing attempted by every cross-genre writer since Poe. Not a lot of them succeed, and those who pull it off (or,let's just say they get results acceptable on some level; for example, read Oz, Joaquin, Joyce) come up with ambiguous results. In this, my shadowed case, I ended up shedding the prose. No regrets. XOXO

Tore : Bangin :: Bahaghari

2008-11-09T21:49:00.000-08:00

This poem takes off from the installation art of Irma Lacorte. It was later stitched in to become a part of her work.

Burgundy

2008-10-27T00:29:00.001-07:00

A story written for Kuya Noy of SUKOB.

Angono Petroglyphs

2008-10-08T00:54:00.000-07:00

A story written for PANTAS.

Sapagkat Hindi Kaning Basta-basta Iluluwa Kapag Halumanis

2008-08-21T19:27:00.000-07:00

EKSENA: Nagluluto ang Tatay kaya si Neneng ang pinasagot sa telepono.

NENENG - Tay, siya ho uli, yung babae. Hinahanap kayo.

TATAY - Ano daw kailangan?

NENENG - Closure daw po.

TATAY - Ay si Mama mo yan. Sabihin mo umuwi na at malapit nang maghain. Lalamig.

NENENG - E paano na ho yung closure?

TATAY - Sige na kamo! Ako na rin ang maghuhugas.

Oras para sa Kumot

2008-08-13T16:21:00.000-07:00

TATAY : Tulog na, anak.
NENENG : Tay, wala ba kayong kwenta?
TATAY : Kwento ba kamo?
NENENG : Kwenta po.
TATAY : May isang bata, babae, pero nanaginip siya na umuulan ng yantok, tsinelas, at sinturon--
NENENG : Panaginip lang ba uli? Gudnayt na lang ho.
TATAY : Gudnayt mahal ko.

Kid Gloves

2008-07-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

EKSENA: Tatay sa kusina, tuloy-tuloy na naghihiwa ng mga sangkap para sa kanyang Bicol Express. Maghihiwa siya sa buong eksena habang ang kanyang anak na si Neneng ay nasa salas, naglalaro, pinahahabol sa mga Bratz ang mas malaki, mas mabuhok, at mas malambot na laruang oso. Sapagkat may pader sa pagitan ng mga tauhan, pasigaw ang buong diyalogong ito:

TATAY - Neneng mahal ko! Ipitas mo ako ng labuyo sa labas.

NENENG - Kayo na lang ho.

TATAY - Mag-gloves ka please. Makati yun.

NENENG - Naglalaro pa ho kasi ako.

TATAY - A, laro bale. Nung bata kami, ang laro namin habulan. Yung taya maghuhugas ng minola. Sa palad. Tas kukuyumos ng labuyo. Pag nahuli ka, lalamukusin niya pisngi at labi mo. Minsan 'nak, maski ilong.

NENENG - (Tumayo) E nasan po ba ang gloves?

TATAY - Mata ang pinanghahanap, hindi bibig.

NENENG - Opo. Nakita ko na ho.

Sa katunayan, hindi pa nahahanap ni Neneng ang guwantes. Nakadungaw siya sa labas ng bintana kung saan naroon ang halamang labuyo at ang mga saluwal ng kanyang ama sa sampayan. Nakabaligtad ang mga shorts at alam ni Neneng na tuyo na ang mga iyon.

Mumbarya

2008-07-16T14:40:00.000-07:00

[A Department Scene]

REAGAN & CALOY - Hahaha haha

DUMLAO - Yan na naman kayo. Bat ba hindi nyo lubayan si Mumbarya? Wala na ngang ginagawa yung tao e!

REAGAN & CALOY - . . .

REAGAN & CALOY & DUMLAO - Hahahahahahahahahahaha hahaha!

[They die. Mumbarya gets all their students, passes GO, collects 200. End of scene.]

Panayam ni Vlad

2008-06-24T17:29:00.000-07:00

Alinsunod sa hindi mahihindiang mga hiling(hing) ni Vlad.

V - Sino ka (o, ilarawan ang iyong sarili sa loob ng 100-300 salita)?

A - Mabuhok ako kung sa mabuhok. Huwag mo nang itanong kung saan. Basta kahit saan mo ako hawakan, hindi ka mapapalagay kasi maghahanap ka ng balat at wala ka namang mararamdaman. Huwag mabahala, maging ako hindi ko kilala ang balat ko. Ngunit may alam ako sa sarili ko, isang bagay na hindi ko mapasisinungalingan: ako ay mangingibig. Matagal na akong umiibig at matagal pa akong iibig. May isa pa akong alam: marami akong nakilala at binuo sa aking mga panaginip upang makilala. Karamihan sa kanila, makinis. May ilan pa nga sa kanila na madulas. Ngunit anuman ang gawin kong pagpuwersa sa aking sarili, wala akong mahal sa kanila. Ni isa, wala. Maraming hindi nakaiintindi - sana hindi ka isa sa kanila - ngunit mangingibig ako, alam ko. Bagay ito na hindi ko mapasisinungalingan.

V - Saan o kanino ka nakaugnay o nakikiugnay (o, pagkukuwento ng mga relasyong napasukan sa loob ng 100-300 salita)?

A - Paborito ko sa lahat (bukod sa aking pag-ibig na naipaliwanag ko na) ang araw. Pluto ang ngalan ng kinatatayuan ko, at ipapaliwanag ko mamamaya itong lugar. Sa ngayon, kailangan mong malaman na ang relasyon ko sa araw ang paborito ko. Madalas kung sa madalas ideya lamang ang araw. Konsepto ito, at dahil sa haba ng panahon, hindi ko na mawarian kung saan nanggaling. Bakit may ideya ako ng araw? Bakit minsan, kinikilala ko ito bilang ama. O, mas eksakto, kinikilala ko bilang isang bagay na kumikilala sa akin bilang anak. Hindi ko ito makausap. Kahit sa panaginip, hindi ko ito makausap. Kahit sa ilang pambihirang panaginip na napakatotoo at tila nakikita ko na ang higanteng itlog ng liwanag (na siyang konsepto ko ng "araw"), masyado akong nasisilaw para magsalita. Minsan, lalong pambihira pa kaysa sa panaginip ng araw, ang mismong panahon na nakikita ko ang araw. Naaaninagan ko ito, pinakamabangis na tala. Ngunit saglit lamang. Bago ko pa mawarian kung araw na nga ba ang nakikita ko o isang repleksyon ng araw, wala na ito. Nangyari ito, halimbawa, kagabi (at mahaba ang gabi ng pluto, saglit lamang ang umaga at madaling malimutan). Darating ang panahon na hindi ko na naman alam kung saan ko nakuha ang ideya ng araw.

V - Sa anong mundo ka umiiral (o, paglalarawan ng mga kinalakha at ginagalawang lugar/kaligiran sa loob ng 100-300 salita)?

A - Mabuhok ako sa isang mundong mabuhok. Tawagin na nating "Pluto" ang mundong ito, gaya ng nakagawian ng ilang nakilala ko na napakahilig magpangalan at madaling magsawa sa mga panaginip. Tawagin na rin nating "mundo" ang lugar na ito, at baka ikasaya pa ng Pluto. May isa akong hubo't hubad na nakilala, malinaw ang kanyang mata at dahil sa nipis ng kanyang kilay ay madali siyang paniwalaan. Ayon sa kanya, hindi maituturing na mundo ang Pluto. Sa halip, isa lamang ito sa malalaking obheto sa tinatawag niyang "Sinturon ni Kuiber," isang napakalaking espasyo sa bingit ng solar system. Nais ko sanang ipaliwanag niya ang mga binitawan niyang salita lalo na ang isa na tila solido at tila rin hangin kung kumilos bilang tunog sa utak ko: Solar. Ngunit sinabi niyang hindi siya tutugon, sinabi niyang hindi niya ako ganoon kamahal, at nagawa niyang umalis sa kabila ng kanyang mga halik.

Para sa taong itago na lamang natin sa pangalang "Jovy"

2008-05-12T16:05:00.000-07:00

Darating kaya sa punto - limang taon, sampo, o tatlumpo - na magkikita kayong muli at pagtatawanan lamang ang lahat nito?

Hindi ko alam kung mas mainam sabihin na sana o sana hindi.

Basta totoo na mahusay at nakagradweyt ka na. Dito, at sa napakaraming ibang bagay.

Heard You Were Leaving

2008-05-07T17:42:00.000-07:00

I remember dreams of Spain and the best of oars. I remember and old couch, worthless and diseased if not for our butts. Pages and pages and pages. And lips before daybreak. My dear, dear friend.

Is it sad or is it magic that I call you friend because you are leaving?

May your luck keep you warm.

Labor Day

2008-05-05T22:20:00.000-07:00

Dennis, Manong Jerico's, at Pinky na may Neneng. Sa Jerico's Bakery. Mga alas 9, ganun.

Dennis: Manong, may pandesal ba?

Manong Jerico's: Oo, meron.

Pinky: O? Kahit gabi.

MJ: Oo, para bukas.

D: Magkano po?

MJ: 2.50 isa.

P: So magkano? Kwarenta? Ilan kaya yun.

MJ: Teka...

P: 20?

D: Hindi. Basta mga 16, 18 ganun. 2.50 e, hindi dos.

MJ: 16!

P: Kuya, padagdag naman! Para sa buntis, sige na.

MJ: Ha?

P: Dali na Kuya, para sa buntis na naglilihi sa pandesal!

D: Lupit a.

MJ: O ayan nagpasobra ako ng apat, para bente na!

P&D: Salamat po!

D: Ganun-ganun lang yun e. Pinagtrabaho na agad.

P: Sampung piso rin yun.

D: Neneng, chill ka lang dyan!

P: Nakasampung piso ka na, Neneng!

Bandian, Fonte, Crespo

2008-04-19T19:38:00.000-07:00

Three UPLB students from the BACA program published literary works in magazines of national circulation during the last academic year. This entry is for the twin purpose of filing and gratitude.

(a) Congratulations to Timmi Bandian for her short story, "The Blessing," which was published by The Sunday Times Magazine; (b) to Paul Fonte for three of his poems which were published by Pinoy Weekly and more recently by Philippines Graphic; and (c) to Sarah Crespo for her short story, "Hidden Gods (part 1 and part 2)," published by The Sunday Times Magazine. Fonte and Crespo, congratulations also for the long-awaited and suddenly-incoming graduation.

You three, thanks for allowing me the unnecessary and superfluous grace of accompanying you in your literal maiden voyage.

Solo Passage

2008-04-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

Poem published at Philippine Graphic, the April 21 issue.

Only 6 Out of 300 Songs (or, the soundtrack of our eager domestication)

2008-04-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

Wonderful Tonight
(Eric Clapton)

It's late in the evening
She's wondering what clothes to wear
She puts on her make up
And brushes her long blonde hair
And then she asks me
Do I look alright
And I say yes, you look wonderful tonight--
--WE DINE IN HELL!!!

2 Become 1
(Spice Girls)

Candle light and soul forever
A dream of you and me together
Say you believe it, say you believe it

Free your mind of doubt and danger
Be for real don't be a stranger
We can achieve it, we can achieve it

Come a little bit closer baby
Get it on, get it on
'Cause tonight--
--WE DINE IN HELL!!!

Bluer Than Blue
(Barry Manilow)

After you go
I can catch upon my reading
After you go
I'll have a lot more time for sleeping
And when you're gone
It looks like things are going to be a lot easier
Life will be a breeze you know
I really should be glad
But I'm bluer than blue
Sadder than sad
You're the only life this empty room has ever had
Life without is going to be
Bluer than blue
After you go
I'll have a lot more room in my closet
After you go
I'll stay out all night if I feel like it
And when you're gone
I could run through the house screaming
And no one will ever hear me
I really should be glad
But I'm bluer than blue
Sadder than sad
You're the only life this empty room has ever had
Life without you is going to be
bluer than blue
I don't have to miss no t.v. shows
I can start my whole life over
Change the numbers on my telephone
But--
--TANIGHT WE DINE IN HELL!!!

Tonight, Tonight
(Smashing Pumpkins)

Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change the less you feel

Believe, believe in me, believe
Believe
That life can change
That you.re not stuck in vain
We're not the same, were different tonight
Tonight, so bright
Tonight--
--WE DINE IN HELL!!!

Saving All My Love For You
(Whitney Houston)

A few stolen moments is all that we share
You've got your family, and they need you there
Though I've tried to resist, being last on your list
But no other man's gonna do
So I'm saving all my love for you

It's not very easy, living all alone
My friends try and tell me, find a man of my own
But each time I try, I just break down and cry
Cause I'd rather be home feeling blue
So I'm saving all my love for you

You used to tell me we'd run away together
Love gives you the right to be free
You said be patient, just wait a little longer
But that's just an old fantasy

I've got to get ready, just a few minutes more
Gonna get that old feeling when you walk through that door
Cause tonight
Is the night--
--WE DINE IN HELL!!!

Can You Feel the Love Tonight
(Lion King, OST)

Timon : I can see whats happening-
Pumba : What!
Timon : And they dont have a clue-
Pumba : Who!
Timon : They'll fall in love and here's the bottom line: our trio's down to two.
Pumba : Oh.

Timon : The sweet caress of twilight
There's magic, everywhere
And with all this romantic atmosphere
Disaster's in the air!

(Chorus)
Can you feel, the love tonight--

LEONIDAS : WE DINE IN HELL!!!

Doubleyou

2008-02-29T22:49:00.000-08:00

Poem published at Philippine Graphic, the March 3 issue.

People Power Anniv Coda

2008-02-26T18:24:00.000-08:00

Naglu-loop na naman ang kapit-bahay ng isang track. Ang lakas magpatutog, kala mo sila lang nasa compound. Nakakadamay na sila. Nakakabulahaw. Aba, sa bahay ako nagtatrabaho ano. Sumosobra na sila. Mapapakain ba nila pamilya ko? Makailang beses na ako kumatok sa pinto nila, minsan may dalang bulaklak, tanke, mga santo-santo.

Hindi ako makakilos ngayon. Hindi makapagtrabaho. Hindi rin naman makareklamo.

Paulit-ulit na lang kasi ang Rihanna nila. Nakikiusap: Please don't stop the music. Music. Music.

Sefirot VII

2008-02-09T07:15:00.000-08:00

i. Myopic ang 1/6 ng populasyon ng daigdig.

iv. Sapagkat hindi mapagpasyahan ng taxonomy kung mammal o ibon ang platypus, may proposisyon ang 1 siyentista na “patayin lahat ng platypus!”

vi. Umuusbong na ang fingerprints sa ika-9 na linggo ng tao sa sinapupunan.

v. 8 tumakas mula sa bilangguan sa Cavite.

viii. Bilang kompromiso sa ika-2 Utos na nagbabawal sa pagbuo ng mga imahen ng anumang nasa langit, daigdig, & katawan ng tubig sa ilalim ng daigdig, biniyayaan ng ilang artisanong Hudyo ang mga imahen ng tao ng ulo ng ibon.

iii. Identity ang game show sa Estados Unidos kung saan nanalo ng grand prize na $500,000 ang 1 Filipino.

ix. Noong ika-7 hanggang ika-8 dantaon sa Ireland, ang pagkitil ng buhay ng 1 eskribano ay pinapatawan ng parehas na parusa sa pagpatay ng obispo.

vii. Sortes Vergilianae

ii. Mahina ang kanyang tinig nang tinanggihan ang Jollibee.

Sefirot VI

2008-01-31T15:26:00.000-08:00

iv. Kapag tama ang anggulo & sapat ang puwersa ng sapak sa mababang bahagi ng likod, mapapaputok ang kidney & sa gayong paraan malalason ang dugo.

ii. Nasa kalagitnaan siya ng sobrang galit nang biglang napabahing.

viii. Sagrado ang ibon sa Mesopotamia sapagkat tinuturing ang anumang bakas ng kuko at tuka nito sa basang luwad bilang cuneiform ng mga diyos.

iii. May dila na ang tao pagpatak ng ika-8 linggo sa sinapunan.

vi. Aistheeta kai noeeta

ix. Inaresto ang maestro ng 1 kuwadrang sumo, kasama ang 3 senior na manlalaro, dahil sa pagbugbog & pagpatay sa 1 baguhan.

vii. Ang nasirang si Suharto.

i. Sa gabi naninilo ang karamihan ngunit di lahat ng mga kuwago, & bobo ang lahat ng kuwago kumpara sa ibang mga ibong mandaragit.

v. Dahil sa paniniwala na may pang-6 na pandamdam ang tao kapag siya ay pinagmamasdan, nakaugalian ng mga asesino ang pahilis na pagmanman.

Sefirot V

2008-01-25T07:55:00.000-08:00

iv. Hate the game, not the player.

i. Ayon sa leyenda, linggo-linggo isinasaayos nina Hanani & Hoshaiah ang mga titik ng Sefer Yezirah upang makalikha ng 3 taong baka na kakatayin para sa hapunan.

vii. 3 ang kanyang taghiyawat.

viii. Buntis ang tawag sa baterya ng mobile kapag nasobrahan ito sa kuryente, namaga, & nawalan nang silbi bukod sa pagpapaikot nang parang trumpo sa “tiyan” nito.

ii. Sapagkat tinanggap na pambansa ang utang na P3.798-T, nakapanata ang bawat Filipinong sanggol, tinedyer, & matanda sa personal na utang na P42,656.45.

vi. Sa pag-aaral ng mga asesino sa bibig, nagniniig ang pagkilala sa gutom & paghubog sa gutom ng target.

iii. 4 ang naghati sa jackpot ng Super Lotto na P133-M.

ix. “Diplomasyang pingpong” dahil inimbitahan ng Tsina ang Estados Unidos na magpadala ng kupunan sa Table Tennis Tournament noong 1971.

v. Daga ang watawat ng taong 2008.

Opening Rites

2008-01-22T15:02:00.000-08:00

I said no to the Los Banos students who wanted to be excused from classes to attend the Opening Rites of the Centennial in Diliman. They insisted, so I insisted on my No. They said, But it's going to be historic, sir. Their other teachers said so. The papers. The upperclassmen. The religious groups. The frats. The activists. In that progressive order. I said, Historically, the university brought the Philippines to it's current state. They of course protested. That's what students are for. They said, Sir, you can't blame the university! I said, If that's the case, what's the school's excuse to last another hundred years? But they already heard the word "excuse" and took off. In their wake, they left the corridors, SLEX, and EDSA, littered with maroon and green confetti.

Sefirot IV

2008-01-18T17:52:00.000-08:00

iii. Alay ni Richard Wilbur ang mga pariralang “matatas kayong managinip” sa mga makatang Etrusci sapagkat nanatili ang kanilang mga titik hanggang sa panahong wala na, ni 1, ang makahagilap sa malayong wika.

viii. Dinukot ang 5 pinagsusupetsahang nagbabalak ng destabilisasyon ng pamahalaan.

v. Ang kamatayan ng maligalig na henyong si Bobby Fischer sa edad na 64.

i. Kambal ang kanyang tawa & yamot tuwing bumibigay ang kanyang takong.

vii. Ang bibig ng target ang huling hantungan ng mga lasong niluluto ng asesino mula sa mga sangkap gaya ng mga halamang-dagat, puffer fish, almond, sari-saring bulaklak, &bp.

vi. P3,732 kada bariles ng krudo.

ii. 8 crewman ang naligtas sa may Batanes.

ix. Aklat ang uniberso, & ayon sa mga Hudyo susi ang tamang kombinasyon ng mga letra & numero sa pag-intindi sa daigdig & paglikha ng buhay dito.

iv. Nympha vox

Sefirot III

2008-01-10T20:08:00.000-08:00

ix. Palad ang kanyang instrumento sa pagdinig ng puso.

iii. Ginamit ni YHWH ang 22 titik upang buuin ang mga nilalang sa 3 antas ng uniberso - ang daigdig, panahon, at katawan ng tao.

vi. Ayon sa liksyon ng mga mata, ang unang 2 entrada sa taong target, mahalaga para sa mga asesino ang pagmanipula sa mga senyas.

viii. Pesos fuertes, o malakas na piso, ang pangalan ng unang salaping inilimbag ng El Banco Espanol Filipino de Isabel II noong May 1, 1852.

v. Ipinagmisa rin ng mga deboto ang 2 namatay sa pag-abante ng Itim na Nazareno.

vii. Bago ipinamalita ng kumpanya ng kape ang antioxidants bilang bentahe ng produkto, inilahok muna nito sa label ang paalala na "nakadaragdag ang kape sa pang-araw-araw na konsumo ng tubig."

ii. Kinakain na ng munting pating ang kanyang kapatid sa loob ng sinapupunan.

iv. Partie honteuse

i. Tinaguriang penoscrotal transposition ang kondisyon ng sanggol na nasa ibabaw ng titi ang bayag.

On Irma Lacorte's "Rigodon"

2008-01-10T20:01:00.000-08:00

This exhibit of pencil drawings opens at 6pm on January 17, 2008 at Art Informal, 277 Connecticut St., Greenhills, San Juan.

i
rigodon as combinatoria

The series is an invitation to storytelling. All by itself one image – a spoon or an ampersand, for instance – strikes as insight. Taken together, the nine frames form a puzzle. But it is a plural puzzle, informed by all the permutations of arrangement and movement within the eye: moving in line as a row or column, or in the zigzags of pairs, or in circles along the manifold possibilities of jumbling the tiles.

Pieced together every which way, the nine images generate stories. The frames extend the dance between artist and medium to involve the whimsy and memory of the artviewer, the artseeker. In the end – or insofar as such a project allows finality – the viewer becomes co-maker.

ii
rigodon as hydra

The heart as a vessel contains dream, object, sign. Live with the ligaments of memory, the series traces the contours of a moment, the texture of fleeting experience.

The images flash in mid-throb. But one image does recur, the headless runner. Rid of much vertical baggage – vanity among them, we may conjecture – she leaps every which way, freed from direction or the need for intent. Concern being the least of her concerns, we find, in the wake of her sprints, our own narratives told and retold, passed on, and thrown away. Lost. Yet always running: our stories, in all ways, regenerating.

iii
rigodon as wika

Speech, in the form of questions, springs from this decapitation. Which story is expendable? Which reading is least valid? Which emotion is of the least significance? Whose life is least worth living? This device of the nine frames takes in all perspectives. Yet, with grace, it refrains from boxing them in. Instead, with contagious exuberance, the frames multiply and deepen human experience in a single visual gesture.

In a primal way, the series offers us idiom. Arbitrary and framed, it carves a language off our lives. The series is a myriad face. Each cardioglyph is a mouth.

Sefirot II

2008-01-04T16:45:00.000-08:00

iii. Bawal ang mga Overseas Filipino Workers sa 4 na bansa.

ix. Walang mga kneecap ang sanggol & nagkakaroon lamang ng ganitong bayugo ang tao sa pagitan ng 2 hanggang 6 na taong gulang.

ii. Bien je mourrais, plus que vivante, heurese.

vi. Ayon sa mga asesino, may 9 na tarangkahan ang sinumang target na maaari nilang pasukin upang linlangin, manduhan, o patayin ito: ang 7 butas ng mukha, ang ari, & ang puwet.

viii. Ang pagiging ama ni Patrick Garcia.

vi. Kabilang sa 32 lihim na landas ang 10 numero o Sefirot & sa pamamagitan ng mga ito nilalang ng Diyos ang mga abstraktong bagay.

ii. P41.02 : $

v. Sapagkat malamlam ang Christmas lights, hindi muna niya ibinaba ang mga ito mula sa pader.

vii. Ika-16 na sunog ng 2008 ang naganap sa Galleria Baclaran Shopping Mall.

Sefirot I

2007-12-30T06:32:00.000-08:00

vi - Niyanig ang Laguna & Bicol ng lindol na na nasa ika-5 antas ang lakas.

ix - Kaugalian na ang pagsalubong ng 12 uri ng bilugang prutas sa bagong taon, hal: lanzones, tsesas, melong tagalog, tsiko, kalamansi, dalandan, ubas, mansanas, pakwan, peras, naranha, at melong kastila.

ii - Salvandorum paucitas, damnandorum multitudo

viii - Ang pagpaslang kay Bhutto.

v - Ayon kay Bruce Lee, hindi siya natatakot sa taong 1 beses nag-ensayo ng 10,000 uri ng sipa pero natatakot siya sa taong 10,000 nag-ensayo ng 1 uri ng sipa.

iii - Nasa kanyang tinig ang antok.

iv - Ayon sa Sefer Yezirah ng ika-6 na dantaon, binuo ng YHWH ang daigdig sa pamamagitan ng 32 landas tungo sa karunungan.

i - Mas malaki ang mata ng ostrich kesa utak nito.

vii - P982 kada kilo ang hamon.

A Likely Story

2007-12-27T20:30:00.000-08:00

A former friend had this air about him. As if he invented atheism. I would have told him about a couple of atheists I knew who had much fuller voices, but back then I didn't want him to feel doggone down. See, whenever he's doggone down, he realizes that he's not the center of the world and begins to ask endlessly about my opinion, even take them to task. So, no. He was better off thinking himself the very center. Less irritable that way. You see, there was this one time when he was down, and (as authentic as puppies go) he said, "I'm a rebel. Everybody's supposed to love a rebel, right?"

It was too long ago, so I don't recall if this was a beer-inspired answer: "Don't ask for love, man. It's just not fair." But it was an honest answer, and my occasional honesty ranks number three in my list of why I lose friends. Number four is their silence takes up too much space. Number two is my all-time favorite simile: like I care.

Chalk It Up

2007-12-24T07:03:00.000-08:00

My father celebrated his 61st birthday, December 23. I've yet to get him a present. I remember telling him about four years ago that his birthday was earmarked by those pioneers of the calendar, the Mayans. They called their calendar the Tzolkin. It's so accurate as ancient calendars go, and after all these centuries it's still only off by a few odd seconds. According to the Mayans, the world ends with a cataclysm on December 23, 2012. That would be Dad's 65th.

I'm going to buy him a pair of pants and wish him a long life.

Molar revolution

2007-11-15T13:04:00.001-08:00

The dentist called the wisdom tooth he extracted "exotic." Made me feel special. Like I'm supposed to do a dirty dance on the chair or something.

That was a month ago. Last week, he got the other wisdom tooth and said nothing.

But he got my cell number from the records. Texted me once just to prove it. I saved his number and wrote it on the cardboard spine of my calendar.

Maybe he's still looking at the tooth, a thing as nonfunctional sitting before his eyes as it was in my mouth, ranked along with Cadmus and the gums. It's probably something in his pocket right now, in its small plastic tube. A tube transparent enough for his eyes whenever he's commuting and in a jam. Or when he's in between patients or reports or chapters of that favorite book of his that bears infinite rereading. Maybe every night he takes a look, after dinner, before he goes to sleep.

So for me, every night it's tossing and turning. Every morning, for six days now, it's my cell phone alarm and zero messages.

Found Object

2007-10-31T01:06:00.000-07:00

Poem published at Philippine Graphic, the November 5 issue.

maaaring di palaging ganito; kaya ko sinasabi

2007-10-26T06:19:00.000-07:00

(e.e. cummings
aking salin)

maaaring di palaging ganito; kaya ko sinasabi
na kung ang ‘yong mga labi, na aking inibig, ay dadampi
sa iba, at kung ang ‘yong malalakas na daliri’y kakapit
sa kanyang puso, parang akin sa di nalalayong panahon,
at kung hihimlay sa mukha ng iba ang tamis ng ‘yong buhok
sa katahimikang wangis nitong alam ko, o sa katulad
na dakilang salitang kumikiwal, kayraming sinasatsat,
nakatayong walang laban sa tapat ng napipintong diwa.

kung magkakaganito; ang sabi ko kung magkakaganito–
ikaw ng aking puso, magparating ng kaunting pasabi,
nang matungo ko s’ya, at mahawakan ang kanyang mga kamay,
at sabihing, Tanggapin mo lahat ng aking kaligayahan.
At saka ako lilingon, at maririnig ang isang ibon
humuhuni sa sukdulang layo ng mga nawalang lupa.

Enfant Terrible

2007-10-24T20:10:00.000-07:00

It led a siege in my dreams. The bone giant. I had been training the folks of Quisao to protect their homes.(3) The giant rained stones on us so we had weave our way to the army. Our first wave was levelled.(8) I shifted stategies and instead of rallying a second wave, I decided to leave the villagers to man the defenses against the army. I had to prevent the giant from rejoining its horde. I ran, bouncing from one spike to the other.(14) The giant regained its stature and spat at me. "Just one? What is this an insult? Well then, allow me to throw you a pebble." A boulder, of course, but I evaded that so he showered me with stones. I withstood them somehow, gained its back, and severed the leash that held its body together. So it toppled. And the head seemed to me a nipa hut. The very first.(18) It was not much bigger than a dog house. I intended it as a gift to my toddler. I entered its mouth to inspect if it remained a threat. When I was sure it was safe, I motioned for my son to take it. Come, you can carry it, I told him. So my son did. We walked the grove of Los Banos, right along the red tapsilog place and the convenience store and the big chicken place. The people greeted us. But my ears belonged to my boy, with his happy nipa burden, bent and exclaiming all the way: I am a turtle. See? I am a turtle.

Mga sipi:
3—A baranggay of Pililla, Rizal. The birthplace of my parents. The patron saint is San Diego de Alcala and, in fact, before Quisao was reduced to the biggest baranggay of Pililla, it was itself a town called Bayan ng San Diego.
8—Although my memory of this episode was choppy (or it was a choppy dream sequence to begin with and no lucidity would be able to retrieve what never existed in this subtle realm), the first wave was destroyed more or less in the following manner. We had successfully separated the leader from his horde. Yet the leader was only playing along, using our strategy against us to create a ruse. I had no way of knowing if my wave was driving the giant away or being lured by it. The giant rolled, shrinking into itself, until it was a rock. Then it stopped. When the wave had gathered to break it's shell open, bone spikes rose from the ground, impaling every villager groin to brain. It was a sky of white and red spikes.
14—This seemed the most clever way to get to the monster alive. I was confident of heroic success.
18—Yes. I was aware of the hut sprouting as "legend" during the dream.

Clint Eastwood

2007-10-19T20:39:00.000-07:00

(Gorillaz)

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless,but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on

Yeah... Ha Ha!
Finally someone let me out of my cage
Now, time for me is nothing 'cause I'm counting no age
Now I couldn't be there
Now you shouldn't be scared
I'm good at repairs
And I'm under each snare
Intangible
Bet you didn't think so I command you to
Panoramic view
Look I'll make it all manageable
Pick and choose
Sit and lose
All you different crews
Chicks and dudes
Who you think is really kickin' tunes?
Picture you gettin' down in a picture tube
Like you lit the fuse
You think it's fictional
Mystical? Maybe
Spiritual
Hearable
What appears in you is a clearer view cos you're too crazy
Lifeless
To know the definition for what life is
Priceless
For you because I put you on the hype shit
You like it?
Gunsmokin' righteous with one token
Psychic among those
Possess you with one go

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless,but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on

The essence the basics
Without it you make it
Allow me to make this
Childlike in nature
Rhythm
You have it or you don't that's a fallacy
I'm in them
Every sprouting tree
Every child apiece
Every cloud you see
You see with your eyes
I see destruction and demise
Corruption in disguise
From this fuckin' enterprise
Now I'm sucking to your lies
Through Russ, though not his muscles but the percussion he provides
with me as a guide
But y'all can see me now cos you don't see with your eye
You perceive with your mind
That's the inner
So I'm gonna stick around with Russ and be a mentor
Bust a few rhymes so mother fuckers
Remember where the thought is
I brought all this
So you can survive when law is lawless
Feelings, sensations that you thought were dead
No squealing, remember
(That it's all in your head)

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future

"Saan pa magsisimula"

2007-10-13T14:56:00.000-07:00

(Ricky M. De Ungria
salin ko mula sa orihinal sa Ingles)

Saan pa magsisimula

kundi mula sa labi ng sugat
na hindi tumatanda?

Ngunit ano mismong sugat
anong bituin, anong sinapupunan,
ang huhubaran
at iinuman?
Anong ipauusal dito
na hindi pa kailanman nasasabi?

Walang mga salita ang mga salita para rito
ni mga kahulugan ang diyos
na mananaog at dadagundong kasama nito,
o ng katotohanan, o isa nitong bersyon.

Anong yelong espasyo ang naririto
upang ikiskis sa rayos ng mga araw ng tag-init,
anong mga katahimikan ang tatabihan sa pag-upo
dito sa lumagapak na dilim.

Sem-end

2007-10-13T14:26:00.000-07:00

My sister asked me what I had planned for the endsem. I had no answer, and this surprised me. I thought of sem-end of course, and how that word held within it a liquid promise that I caught though most probably will never use, verbal viscosity aside. Punning remains a low-level technique, Finnegan notwithstanding. What I find curious is how I have been playing with the word without my eye on the clock. All this time. I have dog-trained myself away from the awareness of a break. People think they need it. I can't.

Dry Weave Blanket

2007-10-06T08:12:00.000-07:00

I made a blanket out of your pictures
This has been many years in the making
It has been needles and it has been pins
It has been thread across thread across thread
Out of all your photos /See my blanket

Your smile is a thing that’s warm and fluffy
Flat and floating the expanse of your skin
How black the cotton of your scattered eyes
Warm and fluffy how your smile is a thing
Yes I have cornered your face /See how softly

Oh I’m off to the place
Where sands and dreams and salts are framed
And where I’m headed
The moons are square and so are faces
Oh where I’m going
My oceans are always kept in

It has been needles and it has been pins
It has been thread across thread across thread
Warm how your smile is a thing of the past
From all your years I spun out a blanket
It still is needles /Love it still is pins

Oh I’m off to the place
Where sands and dreams and salts are framed
And where I’m headed
The moons are square and so are faces
Oh where I’m going
My oceans are always kept in

Paris, Oktubre 1936

2007-10-05T06:32:00.000-07:00

(Cesar Vallejo
aking salin)

Mula sa lahat ng ito ako ang nag-iisang umaalis.
Mula sa bangko lalayo ako, mula sa aking pantalon,
mula sa aking dakilang kalagayan, mula sa aking mga kilos,
mula sa aking bilang na hinati mula gilid hanggang gilid,
mula sa lahat ng ito ako ang nag-iisang umaalis.

Mula sa Champs Elysees o habang ang katakatakang
eskinita ng Buwan ay kumikilo,
umaalis ang aking kamatayan, lumalayo ang duyan,
at pinapaligiran ng mga tao, nag-iisa, pinawalan,
tumalikod ang aking anyong tao
at isa-isang dinispatsa ang mga anino nito.

At iniiwan ko ang lahat, sapagkat ang lahat
ay nananatili upang lalangin ang aking alibay:
ang aking sapatos, ang mata nito, pati ang putik
at maging ang kurba sa siko
ng aking kamisetang nakabuton.

Diamond Sea

2007-10-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

(Sonic Youth)

time takes its crazy toll
and how does your mirror grow
you better watch yourself when you jump into it
'cause the mirror's gonna steal your soul

I wonder how it came to be my friend
that someone just like you has come again
you'll never, never know how close you came
until you fall in love with the diamond rain

throw all his trash away
look out he's here to stay
your mirror's gonna crack when he breaks into it
and you'll never never be the same

look into his eyes and you can see
why all the little kids are dressed in dreams
I wonder how he's gonna make it back
when he sees that you just know it's make-believe

blood crystalized as sand
and now I hope you'll understand
you reflected into his looking glass soul
and now the mirror is your only friend

look into his eyes and you will see
that men are not alone on the diamond sea
sail into the heart of the lonely storm
and tell her that you'll love her eternally

time takes its crazy toll
mirror fallin' off the wall
you better look out for the looking glass girl
'cause she's gonna take you for a fall

look into his eyes and you shall see
why everything is quiet and nothing's free
I wonder how he's gonna make her smile
when love is running wild on the diamond sea

The How of Music

2007-09-28T05:23:00.001-07:00

This is how it came
How I earned the dance
Someone had to slip
A boy jumping jacks
Never had the chance

I saw how he stepped up

This is how it came
How I learned to kiss
Someone had to lie
A man mouthing love
When he won my lips

I did not hear him sigh

This is how it came
The how of music
How the song arrived
A tear was whistling
A tune down my cheek

I heard how it survived

Bitter Water

2007-09-28T05:13:00.000-07:00

All nightingales are false
Parrots are blasphemers
The true bird of sorrow
It has no throat for song

Hunger, always and always
I shall never taste your name

The lady of the night?
Or the sweetly sick rose?
That loneliest petal
It spits out no perfume

Hunger, always and always
I shall never taste your name

Neither the salt of tears
Nor the bite of syrup
For the saddest water
Is much too pure to flow

Your eye, your skin, your shadow
Your scent, your spirit, your voice
These, what I shall never know
Here, what I shall never know

Hunger, always and only
I shall never eat your name

Veterans

2007-09-25T03:52:00.000-07:00

(Prof Gemini Lozada, 33, Psychology teacher)

must’ve been a storm of swerves
on a hot night
needing no sirens
on dry screech asphalt

only a van to Veterans’
hospital, AM, one
a freshly dead
a body arriving from bodies in hiding

alive
must’ve been a run
of tire and turbine and eye
of night to night to night

heeding no dawn break
just a long black rolling

must’ve been out and away
from a panic of fingers and hair
of so many small wars within the ribs
of the wet butts of cigarettes

away
from the hailstorm of dreams it must’ve been
bludgeoning scalps down to skulls

swerves of
testosterone and sweat tendon muscle
testosterone and pus

must’ve been a conspiracy of boys
a societal envy of menses
with the cigarette smoke that clings to the hair
of slap happy boys hungry boys becoming

smoke
of a van delivering
up and away
a long gone van to Veterans’
where the mothers shall arrive

and many tiny boys

must’ve been

For the Girls and the Boyboys

2007-09-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

(Mr RV Esposa, 38, High School Work Education teacher)

For the girls and boyboys
who love
the sheen of fratmen
like the smell of upholstery
on posh cars
when you get too close

say
boys will be boys
one more time

For the sorority girls
who swoon
and sorrow on cue
campus figurines
fueled by med missions
and girly power

say
he had it coming
but out loud

For the fratmen
who care
enough to assume the wheel
and blow the horn
illuminating us
while touching each other’s
lives

say
you can’t understand
and you’re right

Resignation Letter

2007-09-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

(Prof Anjo Lavinia, 42, Math teacher)

I know it:
If I had been more precise
then I would not call myself teacher.

And already, an incompetent statement!
I said, I would not call myself teacher,
but see, see, that certainly I should not
for I cannot. I can never split myself
to become my own teacher
to my selfsame pupil.

Rather this:
If had been more precise
then I would not permit people
to call me teacher.
Then, if anybody addressed me thus,
I would not answer.
If that somebody insisted,
touched my shoulder, I would say,
Hey, why didn’t you tell me
you were in the area?
If that somebody called me teacher
once more, I would say,
You’re confusing me with someone else
less accurate.

Yet I am the one less
so I accept that calling of teacher,
likewise Mencken’s postulate:
He who can, does.
He who cannot, teaches.
Let this personal imperfection be known.
Let this imperfection stand
but not preclude my possession
of some lessons,
though most certainly
not all.
These said, I posit questions:

Should I say: I lost
a boy to the twenty-first
of August, the 2007th Lordyear?

Should I say – Yes,
it was the day that cost me
a boy –
or the boy?

Or rather: No,
it was they –
or is it ‘them’?

Or another: No,
what cost (one) boy’s life
was the way they chose to stretch their sun
upon the composure of hours that they
eventually lifted to the night sky –
was there a moon – saying This is the life!
with bloodied sleeves?

Or should I say: Yes,
it was the boy
who made a purpose of strength
that day, and wanted it so much –
for civic ends I’m certain –
so that we later-day elders,
we of the twenty-second,
twenty-third, -fourth, and -fifth, and -ninth,
we of further Septembers and Lordyears,
we have been obliged to be strong for him?

Rather this, exactly:
This September the sixteenth oh seven,
a Sunday, nonworking,
nonholiday, this nonday
is the choice, the life
formula, the day I spend –
like all my coins
clattering on the glass counter
of a liquor store – for the boy

whether he likes it or not.
Whether this is me
or the day itself
speaking – split – precisely.

The Rhoan Will

2007-08-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

(Prof Kimmi Javel, 31, teacher of Speculative Thought)

The Rhoan will ascend and sigma
summing up to his diploma
invitation : excellence

–end up marrying a sis
or not marrying a sister
invitation : honor

or not having the courage to confess
his love
tradition : strength

–some-day have connections leading
jobs leading to leader connections
tradition : excellence

–attend reunions at hotels
alumni homecomings
tradition : a heart

at the mothering university
and brotherhood at cafes
initiation : kidneys

–bother to speak of Mendez
or not bother to speak of Cris
tradition : a liver

a some-thing that happened way back
when he was seriously being young
initiation : a brain

or leading to leader connections
or not proving courage to confess
tradition : a penis

any-way the Rhoan will
one-day father
invitation.

Beautiful Girl

2007-08-28T23:09:00.000-07:00

(Sean Kingston)

Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do you dirt
They'll have you suicidal, suicidal
When they say it's over

JR! Sean Kingston!

You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it will never work
You had me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it's over
Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do you dirt
They'll have you suicidal suicidal
When they say it's over

See it started at the park, used to chill after dark
Oh, when you took my heart, that's when we fell apart
Cuz we both thought, that love last forever
They say we're too young, to get ourselves sprung
Oh we didn't care, we made it very clear
And they also said, that we couldn't last together
See it's very define, you're one of a kind
But you're much on my mind, you often get decline
Oh lord my baby you're driving me crazy

You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it will never work
You had me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it's over
Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do you dirt
They'll have you suicidal, suicidal
When they say it's over

It was back in 99, watching movies all the time
Oh when I went away for doing my first crime
And I never thought, that we was gonna see each other
And then I came out, mommy move me down south
Oh I with my girl who I thought was my world
It came out to be, that she wasn't the girl for me
See it's very define, you're one of a kind
But you're much on my mind, you often get decline
Oh lord my baby you're driving me crazy

You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it will never work
You had me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it's over
Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do you dirt
They'll have you suicidal suicidal
When they say it's over

Now we are fussing and now we are fighting
Please tell me why, I'm feeling slighted
And I don't know, how to make it better
You're dating other guys, you're telling me lies
Oh I can't believe what I'm seeing with my eyes
I'm losing my mind, and I don't think it's clever

You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it will never work
You had me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it's over
Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do you dirt
They'll have you suicidal suicidal

Half a Theory

2007-08-28T22:48:00.000-07:00

That things aren't free, loader. That some names are just too common like Mark and Mica and Dennis. How's your black prop going?

God Bless the Child

2007-08-26T08:19:00.000-07:00

(Billie Holiday and Arthur Herzog Jr.)

Them that's got shall get,
Them that's not shall lose,
So the Bible says, and it still is news.
Mama may have,
Papa may have,
But God bless the the child that's got his own!
That's got his own.

Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade.
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade.
Mama may have,
Papa may have,
But God bless the the child that's got his own!
That's got his own.

Money, you got lots o'friends
Crowdin' round the door.
When you're gone and spendin' ends,
They don't come no more.

Rich relations give,
crust of bread and such,
You can help yourself, but don't take too much!
Mama may have,
Papa may have,
But God bless the the child that's got his own!
That's got his own.

Office Against Sexual Harassment

2007-08-24T20:39:00.000-07:00

One thing to wish to understand better, another to work hard for the knowledge. Hard enough, that is, so that no time remains for wishing. It was noontime at the school when I was guilty of taking a break, one of those absent-minded instants when the sudden sight of an empty bench steals you from the plans of the day. It looked like such a fine solid as the shade of the leaves compressed its lowly entirety into a cool dullness to the eye. Impossible for noon to tolerate such a presence. It was a bench that the sun forgot. I took a seat. I arranged my bag and books beside me. These could share the bench. It was an impervious moment. It must have been a minute. Maybe it was three or five. Maybe more. Nobody cared. Then I noticed one of my students sitting on the far end, reading something in a violet folder. I had no idea how long she had been sitting there. The folder had some glitter, but what annoyed me about it was the fact that it was plastic. The student herself was diligent and handsome and enough to ruin a perfect bench. A plastic folder was overkill. I opened my bag and tried to fit the books in. Each of my books whispered to me in terms of page quotas and schedules, the student’s papers groaned their need for criticism, and the empty notebooks hissed what must have been accusations in a dead language. My phone had zero messages. My student initiated small talk. She was already talking about her family and her plans to teach at the university when I said “oh hello.” She said, “you know, sir, I usually recite a lot in my classes. But you’re intimidating. We’re afraid of you. When you ask your questions, we all just wait for the activists to answer.” I said, “when you say we, don’t you really mean I?” She nodded. It was a series of nods that trailed off into defeat country. There was no activist to the rescue. “Do lighten up,” I said, “hey, here’s what you can do: next time you find me intimidating, think that all I am is someone insecure – I need to eat your fear to gain a sense of worth – okay?” She did not nod. Despite professorial enmity against redundancy, I asked again “will you please think that? For me?” She stared into her folder. Her body had fallen silent. There was no touching her. “Please?” There was no activist around. I kicked that folder off her hands, grabbed my things, and ran the whole way up to the Department of Humanities where I kept pages under lock and key.

By Rote

2007-08-10T21:12:00.000-07:00

Visit to Jane Austen’s house... I put my hand down on Jane’s desk and bring it up covered with dust. Oh that some of her genius might rub off on me! One would have imagined the devoted female custodian going round with her duster at least every other day.

Barbara Pym
August 11, 2007
Diary entry

This is the method. I read the diary entry. I imagine how your voice would have wrapped itself around each word.

How would your tongue carry ‘desk’? Would it hiss out ‘genius’, would it settle with ‘female’? In a flash, I see how your tongue clicks up female, and this sets off a crystal bell where I never thought I kept any.

I read the entry again and again, trying to get your tone right, hoping to catch the rise and fall of your breath. It disappoints me that I cannot recall you ever saying the word ‘rub’ or ‘custodian’. I have not heard enough from you. I console myself with the clarity of your pronunciation of ‘imagine’, for I hear it as if you were whispering it to the back of my ear, a place which is mine and I cannot see.

You have that chewing mannerism. Have you noticed? I do not know if anyone called it to your attention. It is not a knowledge that would save the world. This is just something I recall, a digression from the method of course, yet excusably, something in the same province. Anyway, it is just a manner of yours that I am glad to remark before my death. One thing – like a peculiar burp or the accident of a dimple – a quick thing, for which one requires neither dream nor logic to push up and again into the light of memory.

Do you care if I pull myself up from the digression? Do you hear me? Do you hear me listening to you? Do you hear how I tried to eat your voice so I could write my words on the strength of your tongue? But then, I find some difficulty. A common enough phrase – ‘at least every other day,’ ‘at least every other day’ – a slow phrase, yes, but one with which I shall never allow you to help me.

Raintaker

2007-08-10T04:30:00.000-07:00

A fat wind out, and I began by noting how dryly it budged me, how my hair rose along the contours of its skin. Wind: what’s left of a week pockmarked with rain. I know little of the weather except that we’ve got us some distorted climate. It’s not all nature’s fault either, I’ve been told. Myself, I’ve been spoiling for rains two months going. My family knows it, my editors know it, and my friends know it. Only people around me who’ve not heard my wet wish were my students. The week’s blessed rain ended with them. Last week, when they defeated me with malice or neglect, my retaliatory sermons ventured toward the climate: how the distension of the Russian novels may be due to the searing cold of their country, how the English concept of “gentleman” may have sprouted from a wet calendar, and how Filipino disposition may be as famously sunny as it is exactly because of tropical displacement. I asked if the shock of the cold triggered their chemical melancholia and, through some convoluted reasoning or other, the winds caused them to forget the one sheet of paper I asked them to bring. A light object. Malice or neglect? So I marked them absent, told them they’re better off home writing novels. Then the rains stopped. Wind or no wind, I’d be happy a bit more rain. Rain to go with the coffee. Rain to raise the dam levels. Rain, maybe to splash, hopefully to reveal the invisibles – those who were taken, perhaps forever. Our dear disappeared, youth too principled for their own good, too damned diligent. How should I ask them to come home? Or how to court skywater to mourn for them? The wind that ended the week was still too small to have a voice.

The Web of Rung

2007-08-06T01:51:00.002-07:00

A story out a week ago. Hope you get to read it.