It came in a dream.
Okay, so it didn't but if it did it would greatly alter my decision. And that decision is to pack up and move out of this blog. Yes, it's been running for almost three years. It's seen it's share of changes, both good and bad. Hundreds if not billions of eyes have been scarred for even glancing at material here. But as I kick the dirt off my shoes and spray on some cologne, because I'm going somewhere tonight, I finally decided to start a new blog.
Sure, I'm notorious for not being keen on announcements with such finality. But I'm serious this time. This blog will stay, probably its soul will join the many who are now hovering about since it's almost November 1. But there won't be any updates. Don't pretend to be sad, you just got here.
I have put more regrets in this place than anywhere else. And that's the main reason I'm starting a new one. I tried deleting this place once but my sentiments got over me. I won't delete it this time around but it's just going to be empty space. Goodbye, redmargarine, you meaningless URL. Goodbye.
Taking up residence in Room 11.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Yanggaw (2008)
Richard Somes' Yanggaw (English title: Affliction) isn't just another movie full of cheap, fast horror with great special effects and absolutely no plot. The million-Peso indie darling (funded by CinemaOne) doesn't deliver endless screaming nor will it keep you awake at night. No. This film is a well-written, well-directed, and possibly well-acted melodrama which doesn't even necessarily revolve around horror.
[SPOILER WARNING]
The story is set in a barrio and centers around Junior (Ronnie Lazaro, in possibly one of his best acting performances), the patriarch of his family who barely makes a living (compounded by the fact that he used to work for the local government, only to believe that he was cheated). His family's fortune worsens when his daughter, Amor (Aleera Montalla) comes home one day stricken with an unknown illness. This unexplained ailment is actually the titular Yanggaw and this later turns her into a an aswang. Junior keeps her chained in their house since she transforms into a monster at night and attacks random villagers but his love for his daughter overwhelms him. He sets her free and allows her to kill the other villagers but asks her to spare her own family.
His decision leads to resentment from his other children and they, along with their mother Inday (Tetchie Agbayani) leave him, only to come back and try to face the problem at hand. An encounter between barrio tanod (peacekeepers), led by Dulpo (Joel Torre), and Amor leads to her getting shot. Junior runs outside to try and rescue his daughter and kills Dulpo in the process. He returns home to find her eating his baby grandchild. Amor regains her humanity — albeit temporarily — and begs her father to kill her so she could stop killing others. Junior does show and the family mourns their loss.
First of all the film doesn't even center around Amor, former human being turned aswang. She is simply in the background, the reason why Junior's family fell apart, and nothing more. There isn't even heavy costume design on her part; she's simply splattered with a bit of dark-red liquid to simulate blood but nothing more; no sprouting wings, no fangs, all Aleera Montalla screaming and screeching.
The film is more of a sociological one rather than a full-fledged monster flick. It shows how life is in some (actually most) rural areas in the Philippines. It shows that some people still go to witch doctors and mediums instead of trained doctors to cure their sick. And although there will always be a debate on whether the aswang is real or not, it just shows how after all the changes our world has been through, some people are still deeply rooted on traditional beliefs..
It also deals with sudden change and how it could affect family dynamics (pretty hardcore stuff for a horror film isn't it?). The acting is superb, except for Tetchie Agbayani's performance which I still strongly doubt. Well it's not that she can't act — believe me she can — it's just that I'm a native speaker of Hiligaynon and her delivery of the dialect was odd. It felt lifeless, forced even at times. It pales in comparison with Joel Torre (Bacolod pride!!!) and Ronnie Lazaro who deliver stellar performances. Even the aswang is a pretty convincing aswang without all the make-up that makes up almost every other horror movie in the country.
It's a different kind of horror movie. I praise the use of natural lighting to add to the eerie atmosphere of the barrio at night. It really heightens the thrill even though the movie isn't at all that thrilling. But it goes beyond being simply scary by putting a new perspective on the now-cliché genre films about aswang. That's 4 out 5 cheese for me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Getting Lost in the Dark
Will watch the Ilonggo movie "Yanggaw" at around 3 o'clock in the morning because I can't sleep and I'm looking for more reasons not to in the upcoming nights. It's getting rave reviews so I just had to get a copy for myself. Might do a review later on. I am so vain.
Why I'm still awake defies explanation — okay so I really do stay up late for many reasons. There's the issue with timezones and I have some friends who are only online at these hours of the night. There's also the speed of the DSL connection I'm on; for some reason it gets really, really fast at around this time. And at around these hours the neighborhood is so quiet that any slight sound coming from outside reverberates all over (that's just an exaggeration but you get my point). Sometimes, out of boredom, a slight case of insomnia, loneliness, and possibly some sort of minor mental disorder, I have this "urge" to scare myself to within an inch of my sanity: whether it's through doing something risky (which I can't say here) or by watching/reading frightening things. Plus it's almost Halloween.
I'm about to do that.
I was reading Cracked a few hours ago and passed an article entitled "The 6 Creepiest Places on Earth". Mind you I found 5 of the 6 creepy since one of them (Prypiat in Ukraine) is in Call of Duty 4. I like roaming around that city and sniping the ass out of illegal terrorists. Anyways, the said article just passed my mind because I was busy chatting with Ilyana, Woman Forever Lost in North America (sorry sis yihee). Then Facebook — I actually use the thing — comes in my life once again and a friend of mine shares the article. I sense that it's chasing me, especially one of the places on the list.
The Aokigahara Forest. Basing around some of the photographs of the place it seems like a very nice patch of wilderness. It has this inhospitable, "nature only" feel to it, like it's been well kept and the Earth had time to do its wonders in it. And which is probably why it's became a great spot for depressed Japanese men and women to commit suicide.
So I did some further reading about the place. Started getting goosebumps about the stories of corpses hanging on the trees, make shit ropes, pills, knives, all sorts of suicide paraphernalia scattered about the forest (it gets worse — there are actual photos). Here's an English translation of the previous link but I must warn you, this is seriously nasty stuff so I'm not really recommending anyone to view it lest they start getting nauseous. There's some speculation that the reason people chose the place was because of the novel Kuroi Jukai (Black Sea of Trees) wherein the lovers of the story commit suicide in that same forest.
Honestly, it seems like the perfect place to just disappear from the world. The forest is thick (it is also known as the "sea of trees") and the place is tranquil. It's nice to just take your time sitting with nature, possibly talking to God and discussing all the pros and cons of suicide before finally ignoring all of it and just going for twisting your neck several angles the wrong direction.
From what I've learned about Japan is that their culture seems to tolerate (though not outright allow) suicide. It used to be honorable to die by one's own hands than from another in cases such as surrendering or an event of great shame. Maybe it still is but who knows. Society up there is relayed back here as both highly progressive and messed up. An example of both would be their innovations in technology and this video. What a way to look at both sides of the coin.
Honestly from everything I've read so far I am drawn to that forest. It'd be a very unpleasant experience to get lost in it (as there are stories of ghosts of the suicidees roaming around) but the thrill is really life-changing. Maybe someday, I could get a group of friends and we'd have a hike to Mt. Fuji and since the forest is just outside of the mountain we can trek through there, possibly find some hanging bodies, and even money.
Now that's a very scary scenario — who knows, I might be there and I find a wallet full of cash and I bring it back home with me to the Philippines and ends up being cursed and it spreads Ju-on style — and just thinking about it is giving me unpleasant visions. These were the sensations I was aiming for tonight. So I hope that didn't creep you out or turn you off forests forever. Be back here in a few hours because I'll be watching the local indie darling "Yanggaw" and posting a write-up about it.
[Advanced] Happy Halloween!
Why I'm still awake defies explanation — okay so I really do stay up late for many reasons. There's the issue with timezones and I have some friends who are only online at these hours of the night. There's also the speed of the DSL connection I'm on; for some reason it gets really, really fast at around this time. And at around these hours the neighborhood is so quiet that any slight sound coming from outside reverberates all over (that's just an exaggeration but you get my point). Sometimes, out of boredom, a slight case of insomnia, loneliness, and possibly some sort of minor mental disorder, I have this "urge" to scare myself to within an inch of my sanity: whether it's through doing something risky (which I can't say here) or by watching/reading frightening things. Plus it's almost Halloween.
I'm about to do that.
I was reading Cracked a few hours ago and passed an article entitled "The 6 Creepiest Places on Earth". Mind you I found 5 of the 6 creepy since one of them (Prypiat in Ukraine) is in Call of Duty 4. I like roaming around that city and sniping the ass out of illegal terrorists. Anyways, the said article just passed my mind because I was busy chatting with Ilyana, Woman Forever Lost in North America (sorry sis yihee). Then Facebook — I actually use the thing — comes in my life once again and a friend of mine shares the article. I sense that it's chasing me, especially one of the places on the list.
The Aokigahara Forest. Basing around some of the photographs of the place it seems like a very nice patch of wilderness. It has this inhospitable, "nature only" feel to it, like it's been well kept and the Earth had time to do its wonders in it. And which is probably why it's became a great spot for depressed Japanese men and women to commit suicide.
So I did some further reading about the place. Started getting goosebumps about the stories of corpses hanging on the trees, make shit ropes, pills, knives, all sorts of suicide paraphernalia scattered about the forest (it gets worse — there are actual photos). Here's an English translation of the previous link but I must warn you, this is seriously nasty stuff so I'm not really recommending anyone to view it lest they start getting nauseous. There's some speculation that the reason people chose the place was because of the novel Kuroi Jukai (Black Sea of Trees) wherein the lovers of the story commit suicide in that same forest.
Honestly, it seems like the perfect place to just disappear from the world. The forest is thick (it is also known as the "sea of trees") and the place is tranquil. It's nice to just take your time sitting with nature, possibly talking to God and discussing all the pros and cons of suicide before finally ignoring all of it and just going for twisting your neck several angles the wrong direction.
From what I've learned about Japan is that their culture seems to tolerate (though not outright allow) suicide. It used to be honorable to die by one's own hands than from another in cases such as surrendering or an event of great shame. Maybe it still is but who knows. Society up there is relayed back here as both highly progressive and messed up. An example of both would be their innovations in technology and this video. What a way to look at both sides of the coin.
Honestly from everything I've read so far I am drawn to that forest. It'd be a very unpleasant experience to get lost in it (as there are stories of ghosts of the suicidees roaming around) but the thrill is really life-changing. Maybe someday, I could get a group of friends and we'd have a hike to Mt. Fuji and since the forest is just outside of the mountain we can trek through there, possibly find some hanging bodies, and even money.
Now that's a very scary scenario — who knows, I might be there and I find a wallet full of cash and I bring it back home with me to the Philippines and ends up being cursed and it spreads Ju-on style — and just thinking about it is giving me unpleasant visions. These were the sensations I was aiming for tonight. So I hope that didn't creep you out or turn you off forests forever. Be back here in a few hours because I'll be watching the local indie darling "Yanggaw" and posting a write-up about it.
[Advanced] Happy Halloween!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Joys of Waiting in Line
Yesterday I was in The University (that's how I'm going to refer The University of St. La Salle from now on; it's more classy and italic-y), standing in line at the business office not because I was several humans away from paying my tuition. No, there's a different line for that. I was standing in line to get a number to stand in that other line.
You got to love queues.
So anyways, the guard hands me this small piece of paper with the number 212 on it. I look up and see that the last number the tellers were receiving was 68. So I thought to myself, this is great I can pay my tuition within a few hours. But then the man takes out a pen and my soul began to shrink as he wrote legibly the words "2nd-B", which translates to 2nd Batch. Because the machine can only print numbers from 1 to 999. So that would be 1000 plus 212...I was technically number 1212 on the queue.
Having been slapped on the face by fate, I decided to spend the hours before I finally could pay The University several sheets of a bored Ninoy Aquino by roaming around the city. I had driving lessons in a few hours so I saw that fit to burn enough time before I rush back to The University to pay my dues.
The driving lesson passed. It was almost six in the evening. I head on to the business office. I'm still very, very far in the queue. Tomorrow it is then. So tomorrow comes (which is today) and am back in The University and again in line to get a number to stand in line to pay tuition. After what felt like eons I finally reach the guard who hands out our tickets to salvation. But unlike yesterday he felt chatty. Well, being a security guard is probably a very lonely job with all those students passing you by, ignoring you, the long hours of sitting in the guard house, doing what guards do — guard places — so a little conversation couldn't hurt.
"'to ano imo year?" (what's your year?) he asks.
Was he asking for my year of birth? Or my favorite year? Is it some new street slang that I am not aware of? No, he just asked for what year I was in college. So I say the appropriate year and then he drops this bombshell on me:
"ah. didto ka sa piyak nga cashier." (ah. you go to the other cashier)
Where is that "other cashier" he speaks of? It's somewhere in the distance, a good city block away from where I was standing, still within The University. After the centuries I stood there, sharing my body odor with the droves of students, their hands filled with tuition money and promissory notes, I end up queuing in the wrong place. A little exercise won't hurt so I made my journey through the beautifully tiled floors of The University to get to the other cashier. Again in another queue to get a number to stand in line to pay the tuition. Guard looks tired, hands me a piece of paper — 239 — and I promptly leave because the number on the prompter says 53 (or somewhere close to that).
Went to Jollibee, the classiest restaurant in the whole universe, and had brunch. Time wasn't moving as fast as I wanted it to be so I decided to linger on a bit inside the establishment, breathing all that oily fast food goodness, watching as people would chew their food, stop midway, and notice me staring at them. After a while I decided to go back to The University. En route to The University, I had the hankering for a cigarette but fought the temptation. Then I passed by a bananacue stand and I couldn't resist just buying one.
Banana -1, Lung cancer - 0
Finally got back inside The University and trekked through students and pavement to reach The Other Cashier. Saw that the number was around 180. Yes, I thought, almost there just have to wait near by. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Observed all the passerby who pretty much didn't know I was there, sitting near the corridor, staring at the red digits on the wall change every now and then. And after what felt was enough time for a species to evolve out of extinction, the digits flashed 230. Just eight more human beings and it's me!
But fate has a way of scratching your back, tearing your skin off, and pouring vinegar over the wounds. The lovely teller behind the window saw that it was her lunch break. So she places the closed sign over her window and I had another hour of eternal damnation.
In that hour I crossed one of my old friends and we decided to chat about life in general, which later led to our shared love of movies. So there we were, sitting on a bench, discussing Ronnie Rickets' ascent as head of the OMB (Optical Media Board) and an awesome fantasy film of him (which we called WWW: Ang Laban Sa Internet). It stars him as an old school cop who has to stop a gang of hackers who steal computers from computer cafes, rig them with bombs, and plant them at various computer cafes around the route of a politician's convoy around a city. Wouldn't have it been easier if they just planted bombs on the computers in the cafes around the route rather than stealing computers from other places and placing them there?
The plot had to be long, over-the-top, and explosive enough to qualify as a Ronnie Rickets movie.
After an hour of discussing the prospect of having Ronnie Rickets star in our screenplay of a Filipino version of "Oldboy" (which we appropriately titled "Ang Matandang Bata"), I headed back to The Other Cashier and saw that I was simply four humans away from paying my tuition. And yes, the moment did come as I walked towards the open teller's window, the cool AC sweeping across my face, the angels in the background singing praises to the Lord Almighty, my hand reaching for the Ninoy Aquinos in my wallet — his face brimming with joy, not boredom — it was too beautiful. I think I just shed a tear.
The next step in my long journey to become a registered student of The University for the second semester was to reserve my subjects. So I climbed the steep staircases that impeded my journey towards CSL 32 where computers were waiting for me. I could almost hear their siren calls as I made my way up the last flight of stairs. And it didn't take long before I was reunited with the metal box. I log in and click auto-reserve (which means the database automatically reserves subjects advised for me) only to find out that I wasn't allowed to reserve at the time.
The right time was tomorrow.
So that's right — tomorrow I journey back to the beautiful landscape of The University to finish enrolling. Ah, the joys if waiting in line. Makes you want to sing a happy song...la la la la...standing in line do do do...standing in line to see the show tonight...to see the show tonight and there's a light on, heavy glow! By the way I tried to say I'd be there...waiting for!
[if you must know that last line was a line from the song "By the Way" by Red Hot Chili Peppers off their album By the Way AND the phrase The University was mentioned 12 times in this post]
You got to love queues.
So anyways, the guard hands me this small piece of paper with the number 212 on it. I look up and see that the last number the tellers were receiving was 68. So I thought to myself, this is great I can pay my tuition within a few hours. But then the man takes out a pen and my soul began to shrink as he wrote legibly the words "2nd-B", which translates to 2nd Batch. Because the machine can only print numbers from 1 to 999. So that would be 1000 plus 212...I was technically number 1212 on the queue.
Having been slapped on the face by fate, I decided to spend the hours before I finally could pay The University several sheets of a bored Ninoy Aquino by roaming around the city. I had driving lessons in a few hours so I saw that fit to burn enough time before I rush back to The University to pay my dues.
The driving lesson passed. It was almost six in the evening. I head on to the business office. I'm still very, very far in the queue. Tomorrow it is then. So tomorrow comes (which is today) and am back in The University and again in line to get a number to stand in line to pay tuition. After what felt like eons I finally reach the guard who hands out our tickets to salvation. But unlike yesterday he felt chatty. Well, being a security guard is probably a very lonely job with all those students passing you by, ignoring you, the long hours of sitting in the guard house, doing what guards do — guard places — so a little conversation couldn't hurt.
"'to ano imo year?" (what's your year?) he asks.
Was he asking for my year of birth? Or my favorite year? Is it some new street slang that I am not aware of? No, he just asked for what year I was in college. So I say the appropriate year and then he drops this bombshell on me:
"ah. didto ka sa piyak nga cashier." (ah. you go to the other cashier)
Where is that "other cashier" he speaks of? It's somewhere in the distance, a good city block away from where I was standing, still within The University. After the centuries I stood there, sharing my body odor with the droves of students, their hands filled with tuition money and promissory notes, I end up queuing in the wrong place. A little exercise won't hurt so I made my journey through the beautifully tiled floors of The University to get to the other cashier. Again in another queue to get a number to stand in line to pay the tuition. Guard looks tired, hands me a piece of paper — 239 — and I promptly leave because the number on the prompter says 53 (or somewhere close to that).
Went to Jollibee, the classiest restaurant in the whole universe, and had brunch. Time wasn't moving as fast as I wanted it to be so I decided to linger on a bit inside the establishment, breathing all that oily fast food goodness, watching as people would chew their food, stop midway, and notice me staring at them. After a while I decided to go back to The University. En route to The University, I had the hankering for a cigarette but fought the temptation. Then I passed by a bananacue stand and I couldn't resist just buying one.
Banana -1, Lung cancer - 0
Finally got back inside The University and trekked through students and pavement to reach The Other Cashier. Saw that the number was around 180. Yes, I thought, almost there just have to wait near by. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Observed all the passerby who pretty much didn't know I was there, sitting near the corridor, staring at the red digits on the wall change every now and then. And after what felt was enough time for a species to evolve out of extinction, the digits flashed 230. Just eight more human beings and it's me!
But fate has a way of scratching your back, tearing your skin off, and pouring vinegar over the wounds. The lovely teller behind the window saw that it was her lunch break. So she places the closed sign over her window and I had another hour of eternal damnation.
In that hour I crossed one of my old friends and we decided to chat about life in general, which later led to our shared love of movies. So there we were, sitting on a bench, discussing Ronnie Rickets' ascent as head of the OMB (Optical Media Board) and an awesome fantasy film of him (which we called WWW: Ang Laban Sa Internet). It stars him as an old school cop who has to stop a gang of hackers who steal computers from computer cafes, rig them with bombs, and plant them at various computer cafes around the route of a politician's convoy around a city. Wouldn't have it been easier if they just planted bombs on the computers in the cafes around the route rather than stealing computers from other places and placing them there?
The plot had to be long, over-the-top, and explosive enough to qualify as a Ronnie Rickets movie.
After an hour of discussing the prospect of having Ronnie Rickets star in our screenplay of a Filipino version of "Oldboy" (which we appropriately titled "Ang Matandang Bata"), I headed back to The Other Cashier and saw that I was simply four humans away from paying my tuition. And yes, the moment did come as I walked towards the open teller's window, the cool AC sweeping across my face, the angels in the background singing praises to the Lord Almighty, my hand reaching for the Ninoy Aquinos in my wallet — his face brimming with joy, not boredom — it was too beautiful. I think I just shed a tear.
The next step in my long journey to become a registered student of The University for the second semester was to reserve my subjects. So I climbed the steep staircases that impeded my journey towards CSL 32 where computers were waiting for me. I could almost hear their siren calls as I made my way up the last flight of stairs. And it didn't take long before I was reunited with the metal box. I log in and click auto-reserve (which means the database automatically reserves subjects advised for me) only to find out that I wasn't allowed to reserve at the time.
The right time was tomorrow.
So that's right — tomorrow I journey back to the beautiful landscape of The University to finish enrolling. Ah, the joys if waiting in line. Makes you want to sing a happy song...la la la la...standing in line do do do...standing in line to see the show tonight...to see the show tonight and there's a light on, heavy glow! By the way I tried to say I'd be there...waiting for!
[if you must know that last line was a line from the song "By the Way" by Red Hot Chili Peppers off their album By the Way AND the phrase The University was mentioned 12 times in this post]
Friday, October 23, 2009
Auditory Orgasm
I'm sorry if any children read that title. But what really defines someone as being "old enough" to read and speak such taboo terms? Heh? Anyways, still in an outburst of creativity. Finished the first two chapters of the draft. Yes, I'm not a professional writing books for money. And only a close circle of friends have read anything I've ever written in my rather still short lifetime. Critics will not laud my work in any conceivable time frame. But I don't care.
I write because I love doing it.
The last time I completed a story (The Unknown Narrative 2, which so-far only has had one reader and two people have read incomplete drafts — Bram I'm looking at you) I was listening to music. I don't know, listening to music has a profound effect on the brain. There should be more in-depth studies on that. So anyways, out of sheer generosity, boredom, and an inflated self-image (haha) I compiled albums for my personal listening pleasure whilst I complete Zoom in and You Can See Through the Heavens. Don't ask why I even bother to post these things. I want to look back at all the stupid shit I've done in my life when I'm suffering an early onset of Alzheimer's.
So here's eight (8) albums that are about to graze my eardrums. I've heard them all multiple times but their combination seems to fit the theme I have for the story — which has something to do with hangovers, brownouts, and Ouija boards.
Hell yes.
The Beatles — The Beatles (a.k.a The White Album)
My favorite Beatles album. Sure, it's a complete mess and it's obvious that the band members weren't in good terms with each other but that's what makes it special and grand. Their individuality enabled them to cover more ground that any album at the time could cover. And there are plenty of awesome songs in the double-album, with only a certain few sub-par songs (and one long sound collage which would probably sound more awesome when tripping hahaha!). You haven't lived until you've heard this album.
[track choices: Back in the U.S.S.R. / Dear Prudence / Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da / While My Guitar Gently Weeps / I Will / Birthday / Mother Nature's Son / Helter Skelter / Revolution 1]
Up Dharma Down — Fragmented
The first Filipino artist in this list for some reason. Up Dharma Down is underrated. Honestly. So far they've released two albums but Fragmented is their first (and what I feel to be superior to their other effort, Bipolar). Millare's subdued vocals hovering over delayed guitars and hypnotic drum and bass lines go beyond "chill" music. Dammit I don't know how to praise this record in a fancier way. It's just good. Listen to it.
[track choices: Maybe / Lazy Daisy / We Give in Sometimes / Oo]
Buena Vista Social Club — Buena Vista Social Club
It's not the oldest of the eight albums in the list (the Beatles are obviously the oldest) but it's the last one I've listened to or even heard about. And I'm fortunate to have heard it. It's a wonderful Latin jazz record. Although there aren't really any stand-out tracks, the album should be taken as a whole. Like an hour of background music only you notice it and actually want to listen to it again kind of background music.
[track choices: Chan Chan / De Camino a La Vereda / Candela]
Led Zeppelin — Mothership
It's the quintessential LedZep compilation album. I don't need to say anything further.
[track choices: Good Times Bad Times / Communication Breakdown / Daze and Confused / Immigration Song / Whole Lotta Love / Heartbreaker / When the Levee Breaks / Stairway to Heaven / Kashmir]
Gnarls Barkley — The Odd Couple
There's something about Gnarls Barkley that I just can't quite get. I like them too much. The beats are catchy to death. Cee-Lo's vocal delivery is out of this world, although his lyrics can be nonsensical. But I don't know. Every time I listen to this record I feel all somewhat euphoric.
[track choices: Charity Case / Who's Gonna Save My Soul / Going On / Run (I'm a Natural Disaster)]
Radiohead — Amnesiac
It's not the best Radiohead album (every other album except Pablo Honey is far more superior) but it's the trippiest. And I mean seriously trippy shit. See, I had to take the language out because I'm running out of ways to describe all this beautiful music. It gets you affixed towards something; it's like my concentration music (I listened to the whole thing in a loop while studying for the Analytical Chemistry exams). And it helps me write too.
[track choices: Packt Like Sardines in a Crushed Tin Can / Pyramid Song / Knives Out / Life in a Glass House]
The Eraserheads — Circus
If you're Filipino then your life is meaningless without an Eraserheads song accompanying any event in it. It doesn't matter if you were born before or after their time. They made timeless music for the Filipino. Though their final albums tended to lean towards more experimental and darker music, it was their first three albums (Fruitcake doesn't make the 4th cut anymore because it was just so damn bad) that soundtracked the lives of millions. Of the three I pick Circus because it's has that "almost there" feeling. It's more mature than the brilliant debut, UltraElectroMagneticPop!, but less brutal than the third album Cutterpillow. But that's how I like it; the debut seems to childish, the third is too advanced. Still in the middle of things but still some of the most enjoyable moments.
[track choices: Sembreak / Alapaap / Hey Jay / Minsan / With A Smile / Alkohol / Magasin]
ABBA — ABBA Gold: Greatest Hits
You're probably wondering: Hey, after all those interesting alternative music albums, you suddenly throw in some ABBA?! And why not? You can't deny the infectiousness of their music as it grinds all your neurons to a halt. And that's what my brain needs at the moment — to get lost in the bliss, in the innocence of it all. And I'm in that personal world where I can be myself and I can write without tiring until completion.
[track choices: Dancing Queen / Knowing Me, Knowing You / Take A Chance on Me / Mamma Mia / S.O.S / Fernando / Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) / Waterloo]
I write because I love doing it.
The last time I completed a story (The Unknown Narrative 2, which so-far only has had one reader and two people have read incomplete drafts — Bram I'm looking at you) I was listening to music. I don't know, listening to music has a profound effect on the brain. There should be more in-depth studies on that. So anyways, out of sheer generosity, boredom, and an inflated self-image (haha) I compiled albums for my personal listening pleasure whilst I complete Zoom in and You Can See Through the Heavens. Don't ask why I even bother to post these things. I want to look back at all the stupid shit I've done in my life when I'm suffering an early onset of Alzheimer's.
So here's eight (8) albums that are about to graze my eardrums. I've heard them all multiple times but their combination seems to fit the theme I have for the story — which has something to do with hangovers, brownouts, and Ouija boards.
Hell yes.
The Beatles — The Beatles (a.k.a The White Album)My favorite Beatles album. Sure, it's a complete mess and it's obvious that the band members weren't in good terms with each other but that's what makes it special and grand. Their individuality enabled them to cover more ground that any album at the time could cover. And there are plenty of awesome songs in the double-album, with only a certain few sub-par songs (and one long sound collage which would probably sound more awesome when tripping hahaha!). You haven't lived until you've heard this album.
[track choices: Back in the U.S.S.R. / Dear Prudence / Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da / While My Guitar Gently Weeps / I Will / Birthday / Mother Nature's Son / Helter Skelter / Revolution 1]
Up Dharma Down — FragmentedThe first Filipino artist in this list for some reason. Up Dharma Down is underrated. Honestly. So far they've released two albums but Fragmented is their first (and what I feel to be superior to their other effort, Bipolar). Millare's subdued vocals hovering over delayed guitars and hypnotic drum and bass lines go beyond "chill" music. Dammit I don't know how to praise this record in a fancier way. It's just good. Listen to it.
[track choices: Maybe / Lazy Daisy / We Give in Sometimes / Oo]
Buena Vista Social Club — Buena Vista Social Club
It's not the oldest of the eight albums in the list (the Beatles are obviously the oldest) but it's the last one I've listened to or even heard about. And I'm fortunate to have heard it. It's a wonderful Latin jazz record. Although there aren't really any stand-out tracks, the album should be taken as a whole. Like an hour of background music only you notice it and actually want to listen to it again kind of background music.
[track choices: Chan Chan / De Camino a La Vereda / Candela]
Led Zeppelin — Mothership
It's the quintessential LedZep compilation album. I don't need to say anything further.
[track choices: Good Times Bad Times / Communication Breakdown / Daze and Confused / Immigration Song / Whole Lotta Love / Heartbreaker / When the Levee Breaks / Stairway to Heaven / Kashmir]
Gnarls Barkley — The Odd Couple
There's something about Gnarls Barkley that I just can't quite get. I like them too much. The beats are catchy to death. Cee-Lo's vocal delivery is out of this world, although his lyrics can be nonsensical. But I don't know. Every time I listen to this record I feel all somewhat euphoric.
[track choices: Charity Case / Who's Gonna Save My Soul / Going On / Run (I'm a Natural Disaster)]
Radiohead — Amnesiac
It's not the best Radiohead album (every other album except Pablo Honey is far more superior) but it's the trippiest. And I mean seriously trippy shit. See, I had to take the language out because I'm running out of ways to describe all this beautiful music. It gets you affixed towards something; it's like my concentration music (I listened to the whole thing in a loop while studying for the Analytical Chemistry exams). And it helps me write too.
[track choices: Packt Like Sardines in a Crushed Tin Can / Pyramid Song / Knives Out / Life in a Glass House]
The Eraserheads — Circus
If you're Filipino then your life is meaningless without an Eraserheads song accompanying any event in it. It doesn't matter if you were born before or after their time. They made timeless music for the Filipino. Though their final albums tended to lean towards more experimental and darker music, it was their first three albums (Fruitcake doesn't make the 4th cut anymore because it was just so damn bad) that soundtracked the lives of millions. Of the three I pick Circus because it's has that "almost there" feeling. It's more mature than the brilliant debut, UltraElectroMagneticPop!, but less brutal than the third album Cutterpillow. But that's how I like it; the debut seems to childish, the third is too advanced. Still in the middle of things but still some of the most enjoyable moments.
[track choices: Sembreak / Alapaap / Hey Jay / Minsan / With A Smile / Alkohol / Magasin]
ABBA — ABBA Gold: Greatest HitsYou're probably wondering: Hey, after all those interesting alternative music albums, you suddenly throw in some ABBA?! And why not? You can't deny the infectiousness of their music as it grinds all your neurons to a halt. And that's what my brain needs at the moment — to get lost in the bliss, in the innocence of it all. And I'm in that personal world where I can be myself and I can write without tiring until completion.
[track choices: Dancing Queen / Knowing Me, Knowing You / Take A Chance on Me / Mamma Mia / S.O.S / Fernando / Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) / Waterloo]
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Zoom in and You Can See Through the Heavens
Right there, on that spot, spawned the birth of another mutilated child of boredom. The inspiration nevertheless still came from that one resounding female that is somehow still glued to my soul. And then everything else fell into play — the multiple jeepney rides across the city; queuing for the driver's license; the MassKara Festival Hangover Syndrome — all in one loud crescendo. I've never had this much flush of creativity in years. And not an ounce of legal and/or illegal substance has passed through my bloodstream as it occurred.
Except alcohol and nicotine but they're negligible.
If you're wondering what it is I'm talking about, it's a new story. Well sure Kevin, anyone can write a story; what makes YOU so special? I don't know, fuck you! You should have read The Grass that the Sheep Ate! (exclamation point included). That book was special. That book was mine. Shameless plug-in. I feel deficient.
As the very few people who are aware of my hobby to write shit know, it's been ages since the last output. Give it a month or so and before you know it another small notebook is going to be passed around and hands from all walks of life will be defiling its pages.
Except alcohol and nicotine but they're negligible.
If you're wondering what it is I'm talking about, it's a new story. Well sure Kevin, anyone can write a story; what makes YOU so special? I don't know, fuck you! You should have read The Grass that the Sheep Ate! (exclamation point included). That book was special. That book was mine. Shameless plug-in. I feel deficient.
As the very few people who are aware of my hobby to write shit know, it's been ages since the last output. Give it a month or so and before you know it another small notebook is going to be passed around and hands from all walks of life will be defiling its pages.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Lightyears
And so ended this year's MassKara Festival — I could personally say it was the best MassKara I've ever been to. Well maybe because it was the only one in which I was out doing God-knows-what with the people of Bacolod on Lacson street. But seriously, I had a blast. Not only did I go out with my friends but for the first time in a almost year(?) my family was complete. Brother came home from Manila (and brought his wife along and some fairly enthusiastic friends) and sister came back from Cebu. In what hole will I be coming home from in the future? Batanes? The Spratley Islands? Neptune?
You should have been there. You really should have been. If you were then I'm sure we've brushed skin once or twice wandering around the crowded street. And the crime rate during the festival seemed to have been very low, or they just don't report the stabbings in the plaza. But thankfully no one I know was harmed by the festivities — well, discounting those who got drunk or high or anything.
It was also the only time in several months when I got together with some long lost friends. Christmas break naman? Yeah!
I LOVE BACOLOD! :D
You should have been there. You really should have been. If you were then I'm sure we've brushed skin once or twice wandering around the crowded street. And the crime rate during the festival seemed to have been very low, or they just don't report the stabbings in the plaza. But thankfully no one I know was harmed by the festivities — well, discounting those who got drunk or high or anything.
It was also the only time in several months when I got together with some long lost friends. Christmas break naman? Yeah!
I LOVE BACOLOD! :D
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Satellite of Love
"Where are you?"
"Going to Lacson street tonight."
"Wish you were here."
"Miss you."
The cool night breeze sweeps the street. Excessive partying pours out of hiding and into plain view. Intoxicated men and women walk zigzags on the pavement as their more sober friends guide them towards their journey to the nearest canal to vomit upon. The haze of Marlboro smoke and charcoal from the furnaces of the street vendors mask the street. Tagalogs bewildered by it all — they never expected Bacolod could hold such street festivals, simply because it's in the province. All these didn't distract me from a message on my pocket, vibrating silently to the furious beat of the drums as the fire dancers carried on.
Finally home. I didn't know how much I missed my bed. I also didn't know how much I missed listening to some of the oldies I had in my computer. Lou Reed played and I re-read the message like a child wanting to make sure santa's present was real. It was real as it could get. No reply came from me. Only a silent sigh as Lou whispered one of the greatest love songs ever released.
I love the MassKara Festival. :-)
"Going to Lacson street tonight."
"Wish you were here."
"Miss you."
The cool night breeze sweeps the street. Excessive partying pours out of hiding and into plain view. Intoxicated men and women walk zigzags on the pavement as their more sober friends guide them towards their journey to the nearest canal to vomit upon. The haze of Marlboro smoke and charcoal from the furnaces of the street vendors mask the street. Tagalogs bewildered by it all — they never expected Bacolod could hold such street festivals, simply because it's in the province. All these didn't distract me from a message on my pocket, vibrating silently to the furious beat of the drums as the fire dancers carried on.
Finally home. I didn't know how much I missed my bed. I also didn't know how much I missed listening to some of the oldies I had in my computer. Lou Reed played and I re-read the message like a child wanting to make sure santa's present was real. It was real as it could get. No reply came from me. Only a silent sigh as Lou whispered one of the greatest love songs ever released.
I love the MassKara Festival. :-)
Friday, October 16, 2009
Backseat
MassKara Queen 2009—an event marred with power trouble. I was never really interested to attend in the first place. That kind of beauty pageant was never my thing, unless it was one of those other low-key beauty pageants. Honestly, there weren't really any exceptionally attractive women on stage. None drove my gonads to produce enough testosterone to fuel the entire Tour de France.
After the second time the power went out, I left the event without letting it finish. I could have used the hours spent waiting for the lights to come back on, only to be put out again, studying for my Physics and Calculus exams tomorrow. Those two subjects always go together, hands clasped and mouths locked, their tongues in an eternal embrace of punishment aimed at students.
Ate pizza at some desolate place in Goldenfields, the city's very own red light district. There was a ska band playing a block away from the pizzeria. They played a wonderful, trumpet-trombone driven version of Pitbull's "Calle Ocho (I Know You Want Me)". It was fun even as I walked towards the pizzeria's entrance. A ragged man approached me and nonchalantly offered me a prostitute.
It didn't matter to him that I was in the company of women already. It didn't occur to him that I did not require a prostitute. Could he have pondered on about his decision to come to me and believe that I was interested in any of his walking STD-filled corpses he could have been doing better in his life. He could have been selling me cigarettes and I could have said yes. He could have been offering discounted beer at some shady resto bar occupied by Koreans and I might have accepted. But no, he went straight to the point: women.
The pizza was mediocre. The ladies were looking out the window and observing as how the various pimps were talking business with their whores. Out in the open. That was how real it could get. They complained about many things—the power failures during the pageant, the infamous Bacolod traffic, stabbings at the Plaza—and I joined in some of their discussions.
Bacolod was no longer the peaceful place it used be, especially now that the MassKara festival is nearing it's (usually) epic climax. It is not recommended to walk around downtown at night anymore, lest risk being hacked by some stranger high on industrial glue. The jeepneys have gotten worse at what they were doing as they disobey one rule after another, constantly making excuses to the LTO officer who withholds their license, and paying the droves of barkers.
Barkers are those people who shout at pedestrians that a certain jeepney is still able to fit more passengers (that is never the case) and then they collect money from the drivers. They believe deep in their hearts that the citizens of this fine city need to be guided on what jeepney to occupy, much like guiding sheep to their pen. Their belief is so strong that they get angry at the driver when given too little commission.
I look at the pimps outside selling their women. They're not doing any of the work yet they get the higher percentage of pay. That's why Philippine society is in a decline. People doing less work demand they get more. Politicians, in a sense, are just like that. Instead of working hard for the welfare of the nation, they instead splurge our taxes on their own wants and needs. I look at the refugees all crammed in ULTRA and a hint of hate grows in me. Yes, they are victims and, yes, they deserve all the help they can get, but it's getting absurd. They need to rebuild their lives on their own. They cannot constantly rely on a government that they are well aware of is unreliable. Some of the refugees aren't even refugees.
The last slice of pizza disappears from the tray and my mind wanders off to some distant place where people abide the law and shut their mouths. We've been there almost thirty years ago.
We don't want to go back.
After the second time the power went out, I left the event without letting it finish. I could have used the hours spent waiting for the lights to come back on, only to be put out again, studying for my Physics and Calculus exams tomorrow. Those two subjects always go together, hands clasped and mouths locked, their tongues in an eternal embrace of punishment aimed at students.
Ate pizza at some desolate place in Goldenfields, the city's very own red light district. There was a ska band playing a block away from the pizzeria. They played a wonderful, trumpet-trombone driven version of Pitbull's "Calle Ocho (I Know You Want Me)". It was fun even as I walked towards the pizzeria's entrance. A ragged man approached me and nonchalantly offered me a prostitute.
It didn't matter to him that I was in the company of women already. It didn't occur to him that I did not require a prostitute. Could he have pondered on about his decision to come to me and believe that I was interested in any of his walking STD-filled corpses he could have been doing better in his life. He could have been selling me cigarettes and I could have said yes. He could have been offering discounted beer at some shady resto bar occupied by Koreans and I might have accepted. But no, he went straight to the point: women.
The pizza was mediocre. The ladies were looking out the window and observing as how the various pimps were talking business with their whores. Out in the open. That was how real it could get. They complained about many things—the power failures during the pageant, the infamous Bacolod traffic, stabbings at the Plaza—and I joined in some of their discussions.
Bacolod was no longer the peaceful place it used be, especially now that the MassKara festival is nearing it's (usually) epic climax. It is not recommended to walk around downtown at night anymore, lest risk being hacked by some stranger high on industrial glue. The jeepneys have gotten worse at what they were doing as they disobey one rule after another, constantly making excuses to the LTO officer who withholds their license, and paying the droves of barkers.
Barkers are those people who shout at pedestrians that a certain jeepney is still able to fit more passengers (that is never the case) and then they collect money from the drivers. They believe deep in their hearts that the citizens of this fine city need to be guided on what jeepney to occupy, much like guiding sheep to their pen. Their belief is so strong that they get angry at the driver when given too little commission.
I look at the pimps outside selling their women. They're not doing any of the work yet they get the higher percentage of pay. That's why Philippine society is in a decline. People doing less work demand they get more. Politicians, in a sense, are just like that. Instead of working hard for the welfare of the nation, they instead splurge our taxes on their own wants and needs. I look at the refugees all crammed in ULTRA and a hint of hate grows in me. Yes, they are victims and, yes, they deserve all the help they can get, but it's getting absurd. They need to rebuild their lives on their own. They cannot constantly rely on a government that they are well aware of is unreliable. Some of the refugees aren't even refugees.
The last slice of pizza disappears from the tray and my mind wanders off to some distant place where people abide the law and shut their mouths. We've been there almost thirty years ago.
We don't want to go back.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Turn Up the Sun, October!
Let's not discuss my personal life (for once). There was this new girl but after a few weeks it's starting to deteriorate. Oh, well, as a friend used (and still continues) to say, "Life is like Algebra...trial and error lang"
The USLS U-Week (University Week) was plagued by rain but it didn't stop any of the festivities. I know I'll sound cliché but the only way you could ever feel the bliss I felt during that entire week is that you should have been there. Or you and I can invent a time machine, travel back to the U-Week, we switch bodies, you be me, and you waste away one week's worth of my youth.
Typhoon Ondoy didn't devastate the city as much as it did those cities in Manila. There was the occasional strong rain here but nothing to the proportions those in Marikina and Rizal experienced. There were relief drives in the university so if anyone living in Bacolod or is a student of the USLS then I encourage you to donate goods to our less fortunate brothers and sisters afflicted by the flooding.
I'm not hearing anything about Pepeng so I'm assuming all is well.
On a lighter note: only two more weeks of classes left til the semestral break! And the highlight of the Masskara festival falls right on the break! YEAH! Anyways that's all I'm going to post now. There's a benefit party I have to go to (T.G.I.F: Thank God I'm Filipino). So God bless everyone!
The USLS U-Week (University Week) was plagued by rain but it didn't stop any of the festivities. I know I'll sound cliché but the only way you could ever feel the bliss I felt during that entire week is that you should have been there. Or you and I can invent a time machine, travel back to the U-Week, we switch bodies, you be me, and you waste away one week's worth of my youth.
Typhoon Ondoy didn't devastate the city as much as it did those cities in Manila. There was the occasional strong rain here but nothing to the proportions those in Marikina and Rizal experienced. There were relief drives in the university so if anyone living in Bacolod or is a student of the USLS then I encourage you to donate goods to our less fortunate brothers and sisters afflicted by the flooding.
I'm not hearing anything about Pepeng so I'm assuming all is well.
On a lighter note: only two more weeks of classes left til the semestral break! And the highlight of the Masskara festival falls right on the break! YEAH! Anyways that's all I'm going to post now. There's a benefit party I have to go to (T.G.I.F: Thank God I'm Filipino). So God bless everyone!
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