Monthly Archives: July 2012

wide, medium, zoom

today marked dolphy’s burial. his death saddened me, but i didn’t go all out posting sad words on twitter. it’s enough that i go poser mode when it comes to graphic novels; i don’t wish to lay too strong a claim on a man i admire for portraying gay or cross-dressing characters (although the writers of  these movies would have done well to be more gender sensitive, but i digress).

when he was laid to rest in his niche, i wanted to watch the man tasked to cover his niche with hollow blocks and cement. my brother was itching to watch a UAAP game; i bullied him and got what i wanted: watching the simple task of piling assembled rocks as final salvo to a life lived within a circle of laughter and tumults of grief.

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i settled in the passenger seat of an idle public shuttle. my female seatmate interrogated me about my tattoos and their prices the minute i shut the door. if that moment were a song, it would be hotel california. i was miffed since i was looking forward to shutting out the world with the help of my trusty music player, and there she was eager to listen to my statements AND talk my ears off.

i usually enjoy talking about tattoos. i like having them, i like talking about them, i like bashing lousy designs and exalting the truly brilliant ones in terms of design, execution, gravitas, complexity, the story and conceptualization behind it, and its zip code in flesh. what triggered the first few riffs of the song, hotel california, was her confiding her love problems in me.

see loose transcript of our conversation:
BS (for Bibo Stranger or for the more common one, hehe): Nabobother ako sa boyfriend ko ngayon kasi may tattoo siya ng face ng wife niya na nag pass away na. Pag nakikita ko yon parang ang sama ng feeling ko.
Me: [in a thought bubble] Sige ka, mumultuhin ka non. [Actual] Ah, talaga. May kilala naman akong nagpa tat ng name ng girlfriend niya sa upper arm. I told him, ang tanga-tanga mo eh kaka-balikan niyo lang, di ba? (see, i was trying to center our talk on tattoos alone)
BS: blah blah blah blah blah blah blah (just insert words here that express the idea that her guy’s tattoo will certainly cause more problems in their relationship in the near future)
Me: Actually kung maging trip niya in the future, pwede niya ipa-cover yon ng bagong design… [in a thought bubble] he’s never going to have it covered. it’s his tribute to her.
BS: blah blah blah blah (this one is about her boyfriend dedicating a sweet message to his deceased wife on Facebook on the day of her birthday anniversary and about how BS felt cheated)
Me: Mahirap nga yan…. *voice trails off

at that point, i wanted to leave the vehicle, but i like my spot, and i already handed the driver my fare. i also didn’t want to waste time waiting for another shuttle.

more needling here:
BS: Gusto ko dito (points forearm), papalagay ko name ko.
Me: [in a thought bubble] Are you fucking stupid? [Actual] Haha, what if may crazy friend ka. I’m sure ang sasabihin niya sa yo is, bakit, darating ba ang araw na malilimutan mo pangalan mo?
BS: blah blah blah blah (at this point, i wanted to punch the window to let in air) (i think she was raving about solenn heussaff’s rosary tattoo)
Me: Oh, pag rosary sa wrist or ankle, parang cliché na yon…
BS: Oo nga, maganda nga don!
Me: [in a thought bubble] Oh lord, she doesn’t know what cliché means. [Actual] I meant, parang common na sa mga tao yon…

by this time, the public shuttle was plying the road. my phone rang, and the bitch in me cried out, Alleluia!

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i’ve written about why i don’t like the movie, 500 days of summer, in my journal. that peeve is forever personified by people tending to assign specific events/people/occurrences in some of my so-called literary pieces. in every piece, the author is nowhere (unless it’s creative nonfiction where you are forced to mine the tricky terrain of your life, but i digress again).

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i need to create another twitter account fast. too many nice people over at my twittersphere. i need to go levels down in the circle of evil, snark, to let my inner me breathe.

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“You have to be more careful because sometimes words can demolish.” – Gemino Abad

“Every word is an unnecessary strain on silence.” – Samuel Beckett

“Shake your head and walk away!” – Eraserheads

 

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right back to (in)sanity

I mean after reading several pages of text about Bureau of Customs and about its commissioner, my head is about to burst. I know it’s a light read compared to, say, Einstein’s expanded explanation of the theory of relativity or T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, but current events/politics and I just don’t mix.

So I ran to music for comfort. Today’s highlight (well, since yesterday, actually) is the mistress of punk cabaret art, Amanda Palmer, and her song Want It Back (“it doesn’t matter if you want it back, you’ve given it away”). I mean how bad-ass can she get?  Just when you have contented yourself with her latest amazing gig or act or deed, she goes around and surprises people.

I once had words of poetry written on my body, but it was only for a photo shoot, and it was a shot of my back dripping with words. I just like the thought of how bodies can be used as canvas. In this video, she uses the awesome talent of tattoo artist, Curran James.

Amanda Palmer, stop motion, words… awesomeness.

My mind has righted itself back to insanity, bow.

I don’t own any rights of this song, fyi

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