the other half of me - blanca datuin nolledo
Beneath this mound of soil
lies the other half of me,
in wait for this self
still walking the ground
trekked together before,
now dotted with only a pair of footprints.
I lay the roses upon the footstone
in a ritual of love, and pray:
please God let him who loved
you continue to love you
and you who loved him in his life
continue to love him forevermore.
I sit awhile on the grass
to let loose the well of tears that at last
comes unabated, unashamed
as, desolate, I speak to the other half of my soul,
retrieving images of the past
the highs and the lows of our together life:
the poetry we fed on that filled the soul
as our empty pouches laid concealed
in the richness of our dreams,
the hurts we unknowingly meted on each other:
what are aches and pains for that gnawed at layers
and layers of grit if they can not unearth the Phoenix in us?
shared rage against inequity,
shared agony over the cauldron of war,
shared anguish over injustice,
shared dreams and hopes for peace:
such passion and ecstasy, anger and humor
all inextricably bound in the mingling
of life's laughter and tears.
this self must go on through the motions of life
though not quite whole, not quite hale
for the other half of me is gone.
(How strong she is, people say; if only they knew...)
Tasks must be finished, whatever the heavens drop;
but there is an end to every journey, I too well know.
Little drops of rain moisten the soil on my other half;
the cold tomb looks up at the endless blue above
and the earth sucks the tears of the vaulted sky.
I beg the other half of me be patient,
wait for the dispenser to fill the tomb's empty space
and make the we of us complete again.
Summer School Break, 2004. In Memory of Wilfrido D. Nolledo, author of "But for the Lovers" and "Cadena de Amor," March 6, 2004. Distributed in plaridel_papers.
the more the merrier
i actually also have another blog... my loud, scattered personality is highlighted there.
i've blogged in xanga that i keep this blog, but i blog more than once everyday in my xanga that i don't think anyone's noticed... i opened this blogspot account at the same time as others were playing around with other blogs aside from xanga, and in a way i am glad i think by blogspot's lost in the shuffle. i wanted a less crowded blog. (that's not being snobbish - i still blog everyday in my xanga! ahaha.)
around about the time i opened this blog, friendster also raged everywhere. it was just so insane, that people suddenly then flocked to myspace. i don't do too much of either, actually - too much information! i'm sure others feel the same way that's why they stayed with friendster or xanga or myspace or blogspot.
having all these spaces just reminds me that people've taught themselves to be selective in the news they get. there's something to be said about filtering information, because it allows you to shape your own reality. it could be dangerously subjective, but with the way the world works now, i think one will always have some sort of check to balance their views off. there's still real life, for instance. incessant advertising in pop-ups, webspace, billboards, print ads, broadcast commercials, store displays. internal questions that go, "what if?" "why?" and "how?"
:-) can't get enough of l'art de communication.
just a thought about... home (revised)
afterthought to "houses."
revised from original.
home is when you rifle through your clothes
carelessly dumped on a futon
your mind intent on the action
rather the pending purpose.
home is when you're not afraid
to take your time
because you know
no one's rushing you
no one's expecting of you
you've none to answer for
but you, and only you.
home is when you realize
there's no one after you -
not after any of your possessions
you are assailed by distances unimaginable
by disasters figmental
by disquiet unthinkable
but home is when you never mind that -
you are dressing for you.
2contribute 2ur misery w/ this ...
2contribute 2ur misery w/ this blog. its creators decided i can revise the same post sum oth day. hay-it's just as well, @ 3:35a.
this is mainly 1 of ...
this is mainly 1 of the reasons y i disliked blogspot, but of course, it's such a versatile blog that a lot can happen. ...
sometimes blogger is just so ...
sometimes blogger is just so unbelievably slow! i'm pissed! i just wasted 20 mins just waiting 2 post something. unbelievable!
when it's dark and you woke up from a nap. ...
did y'alls know that you can blog from your phone using blogspot? :-D
well... that's exactly what these last several posts were... ahaha. i'm actually embarrased - i wrote all these at around 2 a.m. using my cell phone during a blackout in our neighborhood. it's supposed to be read backwards, the last post being the first. so:
stormchasers: it was a dark and stormy, blackout night. ...
9 come back and banish shower, and thunder return in defense of sky. ...
8 ...we're still blacked out. i can decipher land's secrets now 2 shower, and sky's loyal sister, rain, hears. i believe sky will-
7 still wondered at that strange tug that pulled her 2 earth. she sent showers 2 remind land of the questions she still due him. ...
6 request in this part of his domain, we must move on. how can rain ignore land's obvious pervascence? he must b listening. rain -
5 i love how the thunder answers the sky's every ginger step, encouraging her 2 turn away, move on, they've answered land's fool -
4 keep this secret, in the way our frndshp stands, the way the thunder peals in the distance, cooing 2 the sky's peaceless shudder.
3 loved rainy days as well, but the storm's subsided n the thunder's resorted 2 whispers i might have heard frm him neways. i'll -
2 it was time to test her imagination out. she retired 2 bed. i retired 2 mine. i wanted 2 share my witchery w/ sum1 else, 1 i knew-
1 ang lakas-lakas ng storm d2, namatay yng kuryente namin. our house blew a fuse, that my sis, who was reading exotic fan fiction...
but the whole piece actually goes:
stormchasers: it was a dark and stormy, blackout night. ...
1 ang lakas-lakas ng storm d2, namatay yng kuryente namin. our house blew a fuse, that my sis, who was reading exotic fan fiction... 2 it was time to test her imagination out. she retired 2 bed. i retired 2 mine. i wanted 2 share my witchery w/ sum1 else, 1 i knew - 3 loved rainy days as well, but the storm's subsided n the thunder's resorted 2 whispers i might have heard frm him neways. i'll - 4 keep this secret, in the way our frndshp stands, the way the thunder peals in the distance, cooing 2 the sky's peaceless shudder. 5 i love how the thunder answers the sky's every ginger step, encouraging her 2 turn away, move on, they've answered land's fool - 6 request in this part of his domain, we must move on. how can rain ignore land's obvious pervascence? he must b listening. rain - 7 still wondered at that strange tug that pulled her 2 earth. she sent showers 2 remind land of the questions she still due him. ... 8 ...we're still blacked out. i can decipher land's secrets now 2 shower, and sky's loyal sister, rain, hears. i believe sky will - 9 come back and banish shower, and thunder return in defense of sky. ...
i'm a lot embarrased coz now that i'm actually lucid i think the whole thing's rubbish ahaha... permit me a chance to reclaim my dignity by presenting a rewrite ;-P -
stormchasers: it was a dark and stormy, blackout night.
one shouldn't be too concerned when suddenly your house lights decide to resign, throw up their hands, and retire for the night, plunging your house and the rest of your neighborhood into darkness. i realize i've folded into the rare chicago blackout.
for a moment i listened to lightning and thunder and their daughter rain, who playfully, persistently knocked on my window to join her outside. for a moment i considered taking a quick bike ride but suddenly lightning emitted a rather emotional flash and thunder pealed in agitated kind, so i stayed indoors. rain can't help but beat harder.
it's in this moment my sister joined light in retirement, so she escaped to her room leaving me pondering in the dark. "storms are best enjoyed curled up between sheets," she intones from her bedroom, and soon she's fast asleep. i decide to listen to the talk outside - i realize it's no family quarrel.
thunder peals in the distance cooing the sky's peaceless shudder. he's ten miles ahead, telling sky to follow, they've completed their obligation to this patch of land. but sky lingers, searching. "he is everywhere," she said. she marveled at the strange tug that kept her rooted above this patch of earth. she sent her servant showers to find land and remind him of the questions still due her.
thunder saw showers sent away and realized why sky first refused to pass over this earth. he looked over their next patch of land, and called sky from there. and kept calling, irritated-calling, jealously calling, angry-calling. sky folded her questions and sent the obligatory final gusts. she's returned after several cycles - earth remained hidden. she called to showers and left her last rains. she flew to thunder, assuring him with lightning.
another gorgeous day! :) i ...
another gorgeous day! :) i am absolutely pleased. always, this happens after a storm. fall is near as well coz it's chillier. :)
stormchasers: it was a dark ...
stormchasers: it was a dark and stormy, blackout night. ...
come back and banish shower, ...
come back and banish shower, and thunder return in defense of sky. ...
. ...we're still blacked out. ...
...we're still blacked out. i can decipher land's secrets now 2 shower, and sky's loyal sister, rain, hears. i believe sky will-
still wondered at that strange ...
still wondered at that strange tug that pulled her 2 earth. she sent showers 2 remind land of the questions she still due him. ...
request in this part of ...
request in this part of his domain, we must move on. how can rain ignore land's obvious pervascence? he must b listening. rain -
i love how the thunder ...
i love how the thunder answers the sky's every ginger step, encouraging her 2 turn away, move on, they've answered land's fool -
keep this secret, in the ...
keep this secret, in the way our frndshp stands, the way the thunder peals in the distance, cooing 2 the sky's peaceless shudder.
loved rainy days as well, ...
loved rainy days as well, but the storm's subsided n the thunder's resorted 2 whispers i might have heard frm him neways. i'll -
it was time to test ...
it was time to test her imagination out. she retired 2 bed. i retired 2 mine. i wanted 2 share my witchery w/ sum1 else, 1 i knew-
ang lakas-lakas ng storm d2, ...
ang lakas-lakas ng storm d2, namatay yng kuryente namin. our house blew a fuse, that my sis, who was reading exotic fan fiction...
it turns out that my friend is just actually building a house. :whatevah: ahahahaha - he says it will be done by february, when we are all invited to a housewarming party, where he'll also pop the question to his current girlfriend. ahahahaha! i'm just guessing. he says he just might have another suprise waiting for us all, and my guess is that he is going to ask her to marry him. ahahahaha! i said i liked planning things ahead, right? :-P so many suprises. i'm glad it looks like he is doing things the right way now, though.
so many expectations. all i know's i'm glad i took the slower route around things! ahahaha - i can't stand hurtling along to nowhere. at the same time, i don't think i've ever learned to committ to one single thing, except this one job. hmm -
wow... it appears that a lot more people read this blog of mine than i thought! ahahaha... i should be more careful what i write then.
oh, but why stop the juicy details just coz i learned of spies and ghosts lurking. :silly: thanks for reading!!! i'm feeling all spoiled and flattered. hope i keep y'alls entertained and y'alls won't get bored. heehee!
and no, unlike most wretched girlie girls, i don't mind comments. i want 'em all!!! :evil: ahaha. anyways. here's my current story:
an old friend of mine left me eprops at my xanga
site. he's totally not the type to leave any sort of reaction on anything that i've ever said or done. he's another one of 'em supersmart, super popular, trophyesque guys who'll string you along once they learn your weaknesses, but only coz it's fun. they've no ill intentions at all intended.
of course, it only took me half a decade to realize that, ahaha. i've long gotten over any feelings i have for him coz i learned i liked him better as a friend - things are a lot more fun between us and other people around us if i shed my expectations, and i learned i feel freer that way. he's one of those types you know are better for you as a friend than as something else. the "something else" becomes creepy. ahaha. anyways. if you don't know what i mean, forget it. you'll learn soon enough. and i'm here for you, babe. AHAHA.
so on a whim tonight i decide to hop online and check my usual sites, and whoa of all mama miracles, he signs my xanga
. immediately i know something is up, but of course with the way i vented on my xanga
, i like to think that he's only really concerned about me.
he lives in houston. our last IM was the week of my birthday - i asked him if he were also the token filipino in his office, and he said ya, but he won't bring something for his colleagues to eat just coz it's his birthday. of course i had no clue why in the world he preferred selfishness over giving someone else to eat. and since we were both at work, this IM session progressed into broken laughing tirades that ended up open-ended. i knew then that we'd be fine as friends and that it'd be fine for one to give the other a sign of life once in a blue moon while.
like today. in his xanga
he says his baby is due in february. and we're all like
ahahahahahaha! ahahahaha... seriously. because this man confessed something else to me years and years ago... eons ago... lifetimes ago... about another secret that i knew he told only me. and like 2.5 other people. our guarantee was that if someone else knew aside from the very few he told, he'd immediately knew from who that new person knew the story from. ya, it was one of 'em hostage guarantees.
is that a good thing? i don't know. all i know's the secret's one event that turned us into friends. even right now, i can't see how things could have turned out differently, the way our friendship was forged, i mean.
i choose not to give details now, but i think you can imagine this type of friendship i'm talking about - the hostage guarrantee. the checkmate. the friends with conditions, versus unconditional. it could have progressed to the marked moves and revenges and betrayals, but that it didn't is one thing that i truly thank God for.
post just now is more meaningful because he knows that this complex knot of checkmates is the one real story i have with him. i choose there not to have any more stories, with him or most people. i don't know why i'm like that, but at least right now i can see how dangerous that could be. i just want to keep things simple, and because i know the type of person he is and is still capable of becoming, i made sure to distance myself.
he's one of those capable of engulfing your life people. it's one of those i want my own life things.
and now he's having a baby?! doesn't that seal up all relationships? isn't that some sort of boundary marker, a crystal clear marker that any further complications you both can dream up has to now END?
yes it is. the person capable of swallowing up your life seemingly... finally... as of this blogpost... was finally given a life of his very own to live.
that is, if he indeed is now slated to become a father. :silly: - i like to think and plan things ahead. and if that's true, i am genuinely proud of and happy for him. i hope he is, becomes, for once, selfishly happy. he deserves it as much as anyone. :-)
a story of kites
i just read this amazing play by dean francis alfar
- the kite of stars
. it's something that i envision high school students can pull off expertly. it requires imagination from the prop designers, mainly. not too much acting - 9 people, 6 chorus and three principal. it's typical filipino - beautiful and full of magic and innocence and imagination. if i were to be part of this play, i'd like to be part of the designers needed to put the kite together. :-D it's that pretty.
that kind of sweetness and imagination is locked inside me somehow. the play totally made me smile. the concepts are easy enough to grasp and write about, but i don't think i can ever form them into a play. i used to be able to write about anything and everything - now i believe i am in danger of settling into cold marble and flat stone.
i'm afraid of being woken up. that would require leaving my right here, right now, leaving my comfortable cocoon and letting me experience the full blast of life. i wonder if it's too late at this point.
because the story of kites says so - that there are things you can still accomplish late in life, but it would have been too late for others already. you can still accomplish much - but would it be received as well? is that why you are writing, why you are working toward your goal - for others? is that what quests are for? are there such a thing as quests too late?
in "the kite of stars," the characters grow old and wonder if they've wasted their lives by following this quest to their old age. they accomplish it, but only partly - because they do gather the materials and build the kite and fly it successfully, but the object for whom the project's been launched for in the first place has also aged so cripplingly that he no longer can appreciate their efforts. even the characters themselves - their youth is gone.
their youth is gone, but not their life. someone could tell the astronomist with the cataracts that a woman in love with him had suceeded in ascending the stars he'd admired so much. someone could have told the woman on the kite the butcher's boy's name, the one who'd known her longest and given his life and grown old with her.
but most of all, i think the playwright could have extracted more detail on what else could the woman have been thinking. he could have given her a chance to say something in that moment that she and the butcher's boy locked eyes for a long time. what did she say in that moment? did she ever also think of loosing her life in her quest for the materials?
or she probably already has
said something, in the myriad things she and the butcher's boy had experienced in their 60 years together:
Up and under
Down and over
this way and that way
that task and this test
answer a riddle
win a trade
run in your sleep
walk with the living
rest among the dead
tremble in the rain
breathe in the sunlight
search the islands
cross the mountains
brave the trees
eat on the road
talk to strangers
learn the stories
sing the songs
speak the language
know the people
spend a lifetime
field and mountain
earth and sky
river and stream
low and high
roads and pathways
night and day
seas and byways
every which way
After sixty years
At last they returned to the Ciudad, both stooped and older
Well, here we are at last.
(MARIA ISABELLA nods and makes a sign of the cross.)
Do you feel like you've wasted your life?
(The CHORUS, as a caravan bearing many things, lumbers into the city.)
Nothing is ever wasted.
From: Dean Francis Alfar,
- "The Kite of Stars"
when i've nothing else to do, i travel the half hour train and bus ride to downtown chicago, where the apple store waits along with a host of other retail stores waiting for my purchase. it's extremely entertaining, to while away your moments browsing web sites at the apple store and recharging at almost $10 a sandwhich and 12 oz. frappuccino drink at starbucks. it's entertaining, deciphering authors whose works clamour their way into your ears and vie their way into your mind. it's entertaining, deciding whether wao bao siopao would do for now or your leftover starbucks sandwhich is better.
but most of the time in and out of these stores, i wonder where everyone else is, what they're doing and where they're staying at this afternoon and evening. i imagine a houseparty of music and food, but mostly talking, of whiling away moments and doing nothing. i compare that with the books that i've purchased and the web sites i've visited and the cartaking i've done to get my computer fixed and my library replenished and my mind enriched by a moment alone in a coffeeshop with a book i really want to read. i compare that with a class i took this saturday morning i had to wake up early for, and i wonder which is the better time spent?
evening comes and the stores close, there's the television, the DVD, the ice cream and the internet to keep my busy. there are the books that wait for me. there are the chatbuddies that call for me. and i wonder, i wonder, if my life could have been any richer if i spent it with real people outside my family, real people outside my worklike, real people outside my youth groups. surely real people created these imacs and ibooks and powerbooks. surely real people designed these clothes and wrote these matchless books. surely real people sell these items.
"i'm excited," i share with monique, whose eyes narrow and eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. barron later tells me that they do work at a great bookstore, but at $7 per hour, could barely make ends meet. still the few weeks previous, i don't think i deserved monique's contempt - for jarring me lately, after trying to talk to these salesclerks and these librarians and these repair geniuses, i wonder how real their conversations are with me. there is nothing between us beyond business. there is nothing i really want with them outside business.
save for a few. there is entusiastic molly who showed me her favorites from the sale stack at border's. there's sensible andrea who said my sleeves were all right, but the jean jacket's length to my hips is rather over. there's nugat who helped me to a fitting room, there's kim who asked me if everything's all right. you distinguish shallow from deep, even if you're talking about coetzee. you mine the deep and go deeper, and become expert at speed.
"how was everything for you today," daniel asked as i checked my books out. "fabulous," i said, mimicking hollywood and praying i don't fall further into that trap. four hours earlier i drank in the upbeat music and the colorful paperbacks stacked like clothes in a shelf, uncaring whether you read them through or read the first page through. up and down the escalators, looking for the pages and the music and clothes to change me. shopping as entertainment has morphed into expensive education itself. disembodied voices woo me in pages, imagined suitors size me up in clothing racks. you never know when a friend might call for the club.
"hella fun. thank you." daniel then slides my credit card into the cashier slot. my purchase is complete. he stamps a coupon and punches a card. he slides back my card and wishes me a good day. and then he calls out, "next!"
when you take these hands
you stall into infinity our marriage
just like the swirling stars took
infinitude to trade secrets
responsible for concerts of masterpieces
etched the length of forever in our
skies, just like the heavens
manage to pull together a scene
of bloodied sunsets, in time for every
evening, opening splashed across our
visions, minutiae in the grand
scheme of eternity. our lives, a mere heartbeat
bristling to escape. just as our moments
morph into piracy and our chances
fade into oblivion, i discover them
and futilely grasp what last vestiges
in the smoke, rising, guile to me,
so to add to my collection
of fading nostalgia, cold
marble memories fading faster
than our guilt can make them sparkle
you say your hands are tied
even as they wait.
i hate this moment in time.
i had just come from a really good final class
on j.m. coetzee, and of course like all normal middle days of the week, i barely have time to absorb everything that happened in class. i can complain about the one blog i was able to produce on him, in that class, but i should focus instead on the days ahead when i could carve out some time to study him further.
like everyone else, i am at work right now, and i feel my mind peel away from coetzee. it's annoying and painful, ahaha. like burrowing into comfortable bedsheets only to be wrenched suddenly away because of deadlines and appointments you need to keep to keep your life rolling.
isn't that ironic - that for once, you are shown that which you really like and love for a time, but you can't delve into it as much as you want because you have to make a living, so you can invest time later to fully attention to it later? why can't things be lived in real time anymore? like, when you want something, you're given it NOW, and not just for a moment, but for a worthwhile, a good long while, until you
say you tire of it?
ah well. enough of this. i'm spent, ahaha. i should remember, like elizabeth costello, that i shouldn't indulge in great and painful epiphanies - i risk overextending myself to vacuity.
echolalia - paolo manalo
First published in Literary Review, Spring, 2000
Misunderstand the initial
there is no I.
ay tell you, the mispronounced
with the wayward
bus on its last trip: no matter
how you say it, as long as you get their
please, allow me to outtalk the obvious:
an epol is still an apple as long as it's read
speech not centered on the reaten
In Russian that red fruit
be our tongue's devil
in disguise, yabloka, diablo ka,
the root of evil
truth was, the moment
when either epol or fig
or figment of epol was partaken,
the tongue shapened
in the serpent's form.
Food for toot: the tongue knows they serve no apple pie in
It cannot be tricked, servant to substitute, it knows sayote as
The gap where the teeth should be.
And then biting the fruit pit:
the bale borrowing lost meaning.
Bale, all my friends' kwan
begins and ends with bale:
it's more kwan than habit, more
kwan, you know, bale.
Bale, I can get your kwan whole
sale from Kwan, bale.
Bale, but if it's free, it's free:
hindi bale, size doesn't matter
it's the toot that counts.
Anong toot? What do You take me for,
granted? You think I don't know
anything? Now I know everything.
What do You think of me,
thinking of You? I can think
of many things now. Before You toot
of the moon, I invented the moon
buggy, the yoyo. Now you can't look down
on me. I invented the dictionary.
So look me up. I'm somewhere
between agnostic and idiot.
I'm Catholic. Filipino. Ano?
Once more with peelings:
this time, no more filling
no more pakwan,
watermelons out of order.
No more bale,
Hudas not pay. So paano?
Haw haw de karabaw ...
the song following the child's
skip rope, the child following
the bouncing ball. De kodigo,
de kut-sil-yo, the knife blade making
Gash, I'm bleeding.
should be heard at this moment when
an act of stupidity deserves an act of kindness?
When in doubt use the thesaurus.
[ web page
new u.s. poet laureate
Ted Kooser of Nebraska named poet laureate of United States
by Scott Bauer
Associated Press Writer
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
(08-11) 19:59 PDT LINCOLN, Neb. (AP) -- Great Plains poet Ted Kooser of Nebraska will be the next poet laureate of the United States.
Librarian of Congress James H. Billington planned to officially announce the appointment Thursday.
"Ted Kooser is a major poetic voice for rural and small town America and the first poet laureate chosen from the Great Plains," Billington said. "His verse reaches beyond his native region to touch on universal themes in accessible ways." [ more ]
Flying at Night
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
Selecting A Reader
First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.
Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.
A Birthday Poem
Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
and with the others
I walk away into the night,
swinging the little tin bell
of my name.
Only one cell in the frozen hive of night
is lit, or so it seems to us:
this Vietnamese café, with its oily light,
its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers.
Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks.
Beyond the glass, the wintry city
creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.
A great wind rushes under all of us.
The bigger the window, the more it trembles.
[ poemhunter.com ]
english is dying
this subject seems popular nowadays: that english in the philippines is dying. Philippine Literature in English is Dying -- Celso CarununganPhilippine Literature: Perpetually Inchoate -- Miguel A. Bernad, S.J.
and then he takes it back in this interview with the inquirer! Philippine literature is no longer inchoate -- Miguel A. Bernad, S.J.
which i don't think really counts coz like the last time, i think he hasta write a whole essay on why he retracts his previous claims! the inquirer article doesn't completely render why he suddenly changed his mind.
blogs: The Languages of Our Every Day Inchoate No More
circadian rhythms - isabelita orlina reyes
by Isabelita Orlina Reyes
You go to the party for people you don't talk to,
find the structure of a touch and a swivel is hollow,
console yourself with the once in a while--
you're an expert in the intoxication
of the now. Understand how things arrive
and leave--they have to, they want to:
they believe in the perpetual newness
of roses, death and resurrection in flight,
mobility in the metro rail passing
under the arched bridge, against a giant wall
of toothpaste, instant noodles, backpacks,
two radio towers rise. You weren't listening last night,
steeped in Hollywood and household chores--
that morning rush--the day's to dos fell in
with each other until they were lost
like white sugar in mountain strawberries and milk,
so you forgot to throw the dead things away,
smelt the pall lingering about the house.
In this evening's milling, hors d'oeuvres become talk
of distant wars, poetry, the problem with parties,
drinks draw the living from out of hiding places,
a stranger calls you by name, offers a gaze,
some art, a glass of cabernet. Too private
for such disclosures, you wish for sweet dreamless sleep.
That's what you're reduced to in isolation. But look now,
love is on the table and it's time to say grace.
peridots and periwinkle blue medallions pour from the mouth of an aging diva in an ampitheater in the universal city, a place with fake houses, fake fronts and virtual urbanism. in the audience, a woman of imaginary depth offers her thoughts on the praising of false idols to a man of artificial optimism. they meet on the common ground of prejudice and mutual contempt cloaked in the silken illusion of a newfound companionship.
[ xanga ]
[ metroart ]
i had literally just gotten ...
i had literally just gotten back frm LA. waiting 4 my mom 2 pick me up. this will sound cold - but i'm not lking 4ward 2 that much