BLUE JAZZ

less cautious,

but not entirely in acceleration.

then the warning sign screams:

                                  bawal tumawid, may namatay na dito!

brake pressure.

second tea cup in the middle

of a pedestrian lane;

my daily dose of courage -- its presence expectedly brief.

you in your blue jazz

turning left somewhere

in QC.

I am right

here.

constantly on watch

for the stoplight to blink green;

a possible cue

to maturity.

sheeps and that sheepish look

As much as I don't want to admit it, sleep is magic. Keeps you from becoming a wreck. And looking like one. I remember yesterday when I was exchanging cheesy banters with office mates and being too cheerful for my own sake that I consumed a total of three cups of tea for the whole day.  All because I had a good 7 hours sleep and a 30-minute office nap during my lunch break. 

Sunlight becomes the enemy today. I’m not into summer to begin with but a single sudden beam reminded me of how they can transform into Katana blades.

In a nutshell : Today, not a good day. No regrets for downing 4 redhorse and finishing the Pumpkin Tribute gig in Saguijo last night, but my mind’s keep spacing out with only 3 hours of sleep. I am impressed though that my body clock does set off at the right time. Ah, the wonders of conditioning. 

Back to the issue: It doesn’t help that I have this pending work load that I need to submit before morning ends. A colleague even noticed that I’m kind of practicing to be a wallflower today. She noticed that I’m unnoticeable. Oxy-Moron. It works for the mood. and daze. Dazed. If I can only freeze everything.  Get me Doc Brown.

At least I get to watch Ang Nawawala later just to check what’s the fuss about. That can be a complete turn-around. I’m already guessing though that this will definitely trample Henares’ inconsistent but enjoyable RakenRol. I’m bumping these movies head-to-head in my mind because both are young directors who’s also known in the music industry, uses the music scene as a backdrop for their story and has the same coming-of-age love angle. And who doesn't love some competition?

Which made me wonder: Are we going to have our own version of Almost Famous? I'm sure someone out there is drafting the script right now inspired by the two films mentioned above. I'll even welcome our own Rock of Ages. We need one, just to break the monotony of Star Cinema's offerings. 

 A BIG BUT: Is the masa ready to welcome movies with pop culture references? An insignificant and petty observation but I think it’s worth blurting out. Lots of movies did that already – Pinoy Blonde easily comes to mind but they usually don’t translate well or it is usually classified too high-brow for the box-office taste. Indie ma-gets. Trying to be funny. Not working. Haha.

Looking forward to nap time. I need to be loveable again.

DARK WAS THE KNIGHT

Courtesy of a good friend (Thanks Gladys!), I was able to watch The Dark Knight Rises last Sunday. Albeit the glowing reviews, exceptional marketing strategy that started a year ago (which was really creative btw) and the mass hysteria that even incited a merciless theater shooting, I was not as overwhelmed as everyone after I stepped away from the dark cinema. I never claim to be a movie expert but I try to judge a movie as objectively as I can by considering the whole aspects of production with my untrained eye.

Here are some unwarranted thoughts:

1. THIS IS NOT A SUPERHERO MOVIE – Though Batman can be credited as one of the few heroes that lean to realism (especially for DC Comics --- except that he still dons a cape. And those cool out-of-the-pants underpants. Yes I am being sarcastic.), this movie basically went too far for my taste. It did not bring out enough action, enough punch, enough heroes vs. villains shtick to give avid superhero fans that thrill of being a child again. As my comic book geek friend emphasized, it erased the fantasy part completely, which can’t be a good thing in this genre. And before the debate goes on about this movie breaking the barriers of any possible classifications--- well, we must refresh our minds to one big point : the subject is a superhero, a comic book character. What do you expect?

2. IT’S TOO LONG FOR ITS OWN SAKE – And dragging. It’s not to say it’s a boring film because it is not. The plot do thickens and can grab you by the throat, but it does loosen its grip every once in a while and you’ll find yourself sometimes checking your cell phone for a possible after-movie invitations. There is a lot of “how did that happen?” and “why did he do that?” queries that won’t be answered properly unless you re-watched the two movies before it, or if you can just quit checking your cell phone dammit!

3. BANE SOUNDED SO MUCH LIKE SEAN CONNERY IN A MEGAPHONE – You lose yourself trying to dissect what the guy is trying to say. That is another challenge.

4. IS THAT DUBAI WE SEE? – You know what I’m talking about.

5. THERE IS LESS MAN IN BAT SUIT HERE THAT YOU’LL EVER EXPECT – Nolan is a master of mindfucking you to bits and I adore him for that. And loathe him equally. Too much focus on the inner struggle kills the action which is equivalent to killing the fun. And that is from a guy who considers action movies as shallow thrills.

6. EVERYONE IS IN THEIR BEST FORM – Call me gay but Gordon-Levitt’s eyes spark enough reason to root for him. Michael Caine is his usual eloquent self and his delivery can tug your heartstrings in a blink. And Gary Oldman. Yes, no adjectives.

7. ANNE HATHAWAY– And we thought her sweet face denies her of that clawing quality that was needed of the role. I am gladly proven wrong. When she purrs, I secretly wish to get rabies from her.

Did Nolan deliver? Yes he did, and it deserves the hype. That doesn’t make it the best ending of the trilogy though. But close.

P.S.

Though the Amazing Spiderman was fleshed out perfectly (and unexpectedly), hearing about Man of Steel’s reboot for 2013 makes me cringe. Didn’t we hear enough of that kryptonite boy already? But looking at the teaser, it seems they’re doing an emotional take of the character. Let’s just hope they’ll pull it off like what Marc Webb did for the web slinger. And please, enough of Lex Luthor too.

BLANKO

Upon a sudden recollection of a good friends’ journal that contained musings about life, love and everything in between, I again became envious of how she easily collected every trivial pursuit in a nutshell, captured each passing reverie in writing (and doodling) and simply had the patience to be well..patient for each eureka moment to pop out. Funny, that this repressed fascination came out like a faucet leak in this moment in my life where I am somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. That same lass also made me evolve in writing more intimate pieces (without us being intimate -- Filipinos crave showbiz so I have to reiterate that trivia). I still name her as my favorite poet until now (a shout out to Sarah Mediatrix Toraldo!).

Unlike other writers, I never got chummy with old fashioned literature. Though Robert Frost and Edgar Allan Poe’s poems did tickle my fancy once in my life, I never had the audacity to namedrop poets because I simply cannot relate with the greats. Must be the old-fashioned rhythm and wordings. Must be my lack of intellect. Yes, poor me. So meeting Sarah was my LSD – opening my skies to the lucys and diamonds and walruses of the world. She made me took out all the bull and jargons and help me focus on the heart of each word that I want to paint, without really trying to teach me how (Ben Gibbard took it from there though). So wherever you are Sarah, you are a Rico Blanco song back in college and will forever be.

hayup kung tumingin

Last week, I received a status comment from an officemate who has his own poetry site. Being the envious bastard that I am, I took it to myself to treat my poems with a new home. Not just a site window or sub-link (like in FB where you can find all my poems too – sorry I am a sucker for compliments), but a real black hole dedicated to be a cathartic place of some sort for my own well-being --- a somewhere to exorcise my demons when I’m not on stage.

And just posting all my latest poems here seems to give me a release that I didn’t exactly expect. A mental masturbation. Guess I needed this, after all the shit I have been trying to dust and dissect in my head.

On a side note, I realized that blogsite is indeed less complicated than wordpress. my band though remains loyal to the other site. As for me, WELCOME TOURISTS~!

until we tumble, we are faithless.

let us rip each other to lovely shreds

like you, I am paper
inside
made of fiber
be it of moral nature
or some flimsy content
that will not ensure a life span
of adventures
just re-imaginings
between lines kept in margins

we are open invitations
to be bathed with ink
or smeared with blankness
with emotions as punctuations
dreaming to be airplanes,
or sailboats
folded to escape
(to where, remain unseen)
not knowing that we corrode
whenever we kiss the waves
or free-fall weightless
into anonymity

so should we wait?





(July 11, 2012)

YOU ARE IN THE HEADLINES TONIGHT

but this news is different
Ah, the nudging difference
is your existence,
a Jeff Buckley song
insisting to happen
waiting to soar
from the currents of Wolf River Harbor,
lingers like a disconcerted
’97 editorial rant of a possible suicide

minor chords rang like a homily
the tapping of rain, a revolution
but you don't read the papers
nor mix poetry in your cocktail

my desire to see you dance
in my finger
without the need for assumptions
remains a eulogy
for a future obituary notice

to soar
to happen

the headline tomorrow will read:

      "you seem content to be the ache than the cure"




(June 25, 2012)

I SHOULD STOP VIEWING YOUR PAGE

I find it impressively distracting
how you maintain the proper etiquette
of dodging projectiles
parading your ninja-like prowess
with a series of captioned debauchery

or must you be that charming
that every post deserves collective sighs
and numerous pries
(an open door for catastrophe?)

its decibel getting louder
in this public peephole you set up

with the status box remaining blank





(June 21, 2012)

INSTEAD OF GOING TO THE MOVIES

dabbling in tongues
to translate her mouthed words
sashaying in circular smoke

I fumbled for a sip
caffienating these tired nerves
to chase the geography of her curls

her right hand ran through them
strands of gold mid-air, in stop motion
like kitchen knife to epidermis
painfully luring me with each stroke





(June 16, 2012)

She called three Decembers ago

Or was it early January?

Static breaking my sleep
Exposing quiet uncertainties of a mid-morning dream
Her voice in a sudden rush
Panting out greetings and cautionary tales
As it nests amidst the rumble
Debating with the gasping of an old engine's thrust
Debating the nearing overhaul
And each enthralling word bordering into road bumps
The ones improperly placed and without a warning sign
Catching us
No, me
Just me by surprise
And then there, oceans became wider
Wider than ever
More than gaps and curves in a crumpled map
Life’s a journey, the philosophers preached
And the driver swerved in praise of its point
A bumper sticker, a decorative anecdote
For forced conversations
But you,
Yes, you took it quite literally
Moons after the last beeping of your call

In that cold but sunny day, I peeked at the window
And prayed for fog



(December 9, 2011)

art and orifices

them, who feast on flesh, and ah the frail
are left in a reservoir
                         
                          of inedible stain

from the drunken tryst of sheets and skin
the morning after, indifferent

                          and without a name






(September 28, 2011)

the last dance in Binondo

Chinese merchants hollered their selling pitch
like a morse code invitation
as this Binondo alley became a stage
where our feet would shuffle imperfectly
to the rhythm of the business district's jeers

undecipherable language loomed like algorithmic puzzle
which I drowned with a hum
a Bacharach song on your ears
(their persistence erupting in tiptoeing intonation)

symmetrical slide to the left
her eyes fluttered like butterflies
in the reflection of her glasses,
miniature Buddhas eyed us suspiciously
a commotion in my chest, another sway
and I worry
electricity will surge uncontrollably
for the ground is damp

like an aging, unaxed lumber
I have nothing but splinters and lost hope in my pocket
but we swayed,
ushering a new dawn on your setting sun
and the promise of wet lips when we find home





(September 21, 2011)

DISCOURSE OF THE WALL IN APARTMENT E

the wall speaks no ill

against blasphemies unveiled by tongues

that night

where palm touched cheek

in sheer fascination of friction

that was meant for groins



like cement patching a hole,

the wall tenders no resentment

to a view skewed

by a dichotomy of views

as summer will never house a single snowdrop

even if it keeps it in a cup



the wall though,was mindful of details

such as the impolite passion that opened our wounds

like a perfectly stitched zipper

slithering into a downward trail

each teeth slowly detaching

into jazzy interludes

of doubtful claims and recited movie dialogues



the case was pressed upon us



the wall holds us in contempt

for the construction of barriers was never

for you and I to claim





(February 10, 2011)

the Wednesday evening when she ranted

often enough dear, you
callously retort
with razor-like finesse
how trees are supposed to evoke
a certain sturdiness : a prerequisite
to stand their ground.
“this is what makes the forest grand”, you declared.
you forget I am but a shrub
with words, scarce
content with movement
and subtlety
whose only hope is growth.






(January 24, 2011)

BLUE LIGHT DINNER

mincing the words gently
as I hush rainfall
in your room, with every strum
on this six stringed sanctuary

you welcome the silence
as if it were a long lost friend.

the gaze you're brewing
seems to blend very well
with the peppery scent of our dinner.

fiery.contagious.

inch by inch,
the space becomes defenseless
deflating

in between
breath, the neighbors recite their grace


(sometime in 2001)

INTIMACY

to fill the gap between your thighs
to be cocooned

someday
in the warmth of your unrest

in ache
I tucked you in unscathed

for this wait is a bookmark
pressed on my favorite page






(January 11, 2011)