Overlay

Lets go back to the time when waiting was an art and everything in between now and then was the main story and not otherwise. Lets learn the value of spaces and remember its necessity especially in moments desperate for punctuation. Boredom is mold on old toast (once upon a time you set it aside and promised you'd fulfill its purpose). We, naturally flawed and ever the work-in-progress, confusing the words FLOW and FOLLOW believing they're interchangeable, making a big mess whenever we can, utilizing our ignorance. It is because of this that I am generously yearning. Or, my yearning is abundant and it pulls on my hair, my memory, my patience. I say, the moon is to blame. and I know the blame is useless.

I sit and cradle my arms. Mothering in silence.

Afternoon Tea Party

There was jasmine, rosebud, golden osmanthus, almond rooibos, and several other pretty tea selections before me. I've already asked the lady which cake she recommends and she suggested the cake I ordered the last time I came here.


"Whats the next best?"

Magic Realism

Paintings by Rob Gonsalves

How Time Flies

My father decided to go sky-diving with some university students some weeks ago. He did it as a birthday gift for himself. Just a little bit more time and he'll turn 50!

Manifested Manifestos

So I did have a brief ramble about this amazing article (The Generation M Manifesto. do click the link to read more) I discovered through my boss, Anna. For some time now we, the teachers at My Masterpiece, have been developing and redefining what it is exactly that we want to create for the school and the future/world we wish to take part of and contribute to. Some evidence of our exploration and collaboration can be seen through The Splots Project and also in the curriculum the teachers have developed, the expansive approach to teaching through art. Its pretty amazing. =)

Prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of your love, your peace.

Sweetness

Sometimes I think adult life is all about armory and kevlar, the thickening of the skin, the fattening of that layer of lipids, that dam holding the rich red life we hold so dear. Children couldn't care less and so do the elderly among us, well, some of them at least. Now and then in our daily interactions, sometimes violent collisions, our skin breaks and when it leaks, it bleeds. Nothing tragic, really. We've all bled at some point and blood is something so common among bodies. Its just our focused attention to clothing that makes us forget.

Steady Footing

Yarr.. deep breathing. Smoking some of the time just to see evidence of breath. And yes, also for no-brainer purposes. Mental calisthenics has been the activity for the last couple of (time escapes me) days? And all talk about change and the fast changing times always seems to be the case at all times, no - especially during these times, yes. Like I have to be constantly reminded that it is 2009 and that means 3 years to go before the great BIG CHANGE 2012 Hallelujah.

Anticipation blows.

The Splots Project

(reposting from The Splots Project blog)

There is a Whelming

There is a whelming inside that wants to go over. My legs are crossed and a cig is lit, false attemps to keep it under. Pictures of people and sounds of their voices takes me on a bus to places I can only see from a window. When I yell STOP, the music drowns my voice and there I am again, in transit, inevitably back to where I was and always been - until I'm not and I yell STOP.

There is a whelming, here and there. It smokes itself to sleep. It crashes against concrete dams, damns in persistent symmetrical harmony. Who are the friends and who are the strangers? Is black coffee the new grey? What we do with nothing has much to do with all. Blurbs like that paired with pretty ribbons and bells - and dare we say no, only to mean yes?

In the Face of Arrested Development

This is an "Aura" Photograph, also referred to as Kirlian Photography. Discovered by Semyon Kirlian who accidentaly discovered that if an object on a photographic plate is subjected to a strong electric field, an image is created on the plate. More here.

OnTheRadio

Is it the streets? or perhaps its electricity, sophisticated machines and their secret activities.. My proximity to all these things is as close as my own skin. I cry sometimes when I'm not free, until I realize I'm under the sea and all it takes is a trip up the surface for that breath of air. and I'm free to swim again.

Thank you.

Pain and Creativity = Bondage ¿

Photography by Nobuyoshi Araki

Tummy rumbles don't always mean trips to the toilet. Sometimes it means something inside wants to go out, to be born into the world. Does it have to be a baby? No, it could be a fart - for all we know. And thats just fine. Its just release. Liberation. Freedom. The sweet taste of it.

Jellyfishing

in the sea where i came from

Constraint is a State of Mind

Since I've been developing and researching for The Splots Project, I've been hanging/working mostly at Fully-Booked at the Fort, the biggest Mecca of books in Manila. Summoned my rogue stealth skills to capture some footage and take some notes from books, which the store guy referred to as, "not allowed". But how can I not? These are times of constraint and I am left to maximize whats available, which isn't much - but even that can change. ;-)

indecision nation

"is it bad to be indecisive?", he asks with a guilty look on his face.

Managing Obsessions

for most people (if not all) general themes play in their lives based on their obsessions. its like the fragrance of your moments. for a certain period you might be largely goth and less zen, and perhaps intergalactic tree-hugger for the most part of summer and then brooding poet during the rainy seasons. it doesn't matter generally but it does color your life and not everyone remembers how a single thought, the paying attention to it that extends from a second to an hour, to a day, and then suddenly it shows in the way you dress, the way you talk, walk, kiss, shake hands.. its a big thing to entertain thoughts and yet we hardly remember that we choose it. and many times before we know it, its taken over us.

Manila Design Week 09

its Manila Design Week and i was looking forward to seeing what Manila/Philippine design has evolved into. and why should i bother? because design is inescapable. and quite frankly, it rocks.

so given the setup: the culturally diverse halo-halo(mix) archipelago called the Philippines, you'd think that with the plethora of culture/language, the range of ethnicity, the complexity of third-world island living - you'd really think theres more than enough material to work with and perhaps even just a smidgen of that would reflect in today's top of the top Manila/Philippine Design. but no, instead i find something i can easily google or StumbleUpon or buy straight out from a foreign mag stand.

the pathway to recovery

mm.. i look from the side and smile satisfied that the angle didn't just provide an interesting picture but also a nice neck stretch. i'm looking at a picture from the internet, and writing some between reading myself some tarot -between yawns and the impending toothbrush ritual. the treetops are shaking and rustling against each other from the outside, as if in bed, easing for that sweet spot on its leafy pillow. i thank the bus and its driver taking me from strange Paranaque and back to good old Pasig, zigzagging around cars and around road lines, flipping my hair and making it fly like it never has since i got sick and stayed in bed. the wild press of the wooden backseat against the ribbon on my back, making itself known on every traffic light and/or passage of an intercepting vehicle - mmm that awkward pressure, misplaced and refreshing. the wanton display of Edsa "night life" both in sky and in land, parading and batting its eye, flashing its skin. i look halfway and see everything.

and now *yawn* its time to rest and curl into the mother's womb nestling gently into the nice cozy darkness.

Oh so peaceful here

an aching tooth singing

weightless.. whats that? is it like swimming in the pool or floating in the sea? maybe its half-awake in bed right before the alarm rings. misty fog infested outside a log cabin and you don't know the time and it doesn't matter. yeah. all of that maybe. when the moment arrives that i get to fly like a bird and rest in the clouds, then we'll really know. then everything will be different.

"saying you will is just another way of avoiding whats there."

historicity

so ok. memories are irresistible. they exist as evidence of whats possible. so whats this shot of our old toyota corolla doing here? well, its there for melancholic reasons. and also, sitting beside this evidence of possibility is its limits. its tangible and printed out on a photograph. yet staring too long strains the eyes and if your interest is inexhaustible, maybe even crack your skull. limits create the urgency for the infinite. it exists like a code waiting to be broken, such like moses separating the red sea.

the coconut is a giant nut

apart from a singing toe wound going "i am here i am healing myself but your not helping.. lalalaaa", some events have transpired during the day. a pact was made in the morning and broken after lunch. papers flew out of plastic folders and flew back in like it never left. the light of day over my shiny head is telling without end, "what do you know of the world? what? haha". it was a pleasant morning. found some fresh lychees and coconut juice in the middle of some flatland concrete business arcade. it looked like some kind of nevada casino-ish cluster of activity with its chinese seafood restaurants, bars, karaoke, grills, you know. that sort of thing. and then a fruit stand with fresh coconuts just before noon was jutting out of the picture.

i couldn't help but admire the randomness with my toe still there yet singing softly. it appears to be enjoying the trek around old/new manila.

indeed, what do i know of the world? and why would a noon-time sun ask questions like that in the middle of the desert? i mean, nevada. no, old/new manila.

well.. for one, i know coconuts are very tasty.

the moon right now is a ball of cheese

while capturing some old forgotten tapes (part of the clutter-clearing) i couldn't help but witness an audio-visual flashback. i see the kat with the helmet hair, a contrived four-eyed with a guitar in a basketball court. theres also the curly hair phase and the raging vests. a lot of footage of the same thing or scene in different light conditions that no longer mean as much to me as they were when i shot them.

i thought, how soon does something new become old?

flashing on the monitor is a look on my face, astounded.

then i remember how that was a memory.

"memories are perennial", a friend said it as part of a joke. i laughed because it was both funny as a sarcastic joke and for the fact that it was also largely a non-joke. like a boomerang boomerang-ing. a spinning top or a dervish dancer. its all in motion and yet in stillness. no, not any of that zen stuff or philosophies or maybe i just want to be different. or i'm lazy. or confrontation makes me nervous. or my skin feels very warm right now while the air is cool.

whatever really. textures.

pleasant flower blossom in the morning light beside electric light post.

porca vacca.

i will click on a button, shut down the computer, close the lights, and rest completely.

sleep then wake up

ok before the self-editing kicks in, just some things:

yesterday Aljor said, "life comes at you point blank". hm. actually that was the other day. now its 6:39am friday playing 1901 from Phoenix. what happened that year? Siliman University of Dumaguete was erected. That city. The boulevard. tipping towards sugar like an escalator for doughnuts preparing to get drenched in oozing sugary muck. and it still tastes good.

"make your minutes count."

Yay for minutes! and to that movie, Man from Earth, a conversation on immortality and cromagnon representatives in university faculty that went on despite thunder flashes from outside the window, interrupting the deep orange sky (light pollution, by the way).

fast forward and just a couple of steps backward to Cubao on my way to work and in less than a minute, this:

dreamtube

spoken word, spoken thoughts. what is a mouth for apart from another exit?

a charming scene with the perfect light, filtered through perfect curtains by windows.

and outside, the world calls.

roosters with its feathers flying not too far from the ground.

they were made for time-keeping purposes and proclaim it at all the right times.

cock-a-doodle-doo. and the one from the other house replies, cock-a-doodle-doo.

then we hear the chorus.

talking in riddles, icing on a cake. where does the good go when its gone?

a solitary playing solitaire. awake, aware, amazingly still and frozen in a picture that he painted when he was young. while he was dreaming. when the sun took days to show up and the Dark Nights of the Soul came up to him and debated.

"who cares anyway?", moonlessness said with a starrish twinkle in its eye.

"i'm only a channel for whatever wants to be expressed.", he replied.

"whatever.", said moonless.

"forever.", he whispered while writing this:

are reflections but functions of reflex?

lost entry from the genesis

eve looks behind her and calls to adam, "come over here, theres something i want to show you."

the morning sun was beginning to rise behind the valley and already the leaves were shaking for that warm burst of yellow. the blooms were on its tips, ready to be expressed.

he was staring at the ground. inspecting the procession of ants into what seemed to look like, a very tiny version of a hill. "something is happening here.", adam replied without lifting his head.

he bends down to have a closer look. "so this is how mountains are created..."

it was 6:21am and the sun was finally up. with its yellow came the blue and reds and the purples. the trees began to talk amongst themselves while birds delivered their message across the land. eve was still standing, head turned towards a scene with a man bent towards the ground and the valley, oblivious, went on with the daily ritual.

the great contentment exercise

ah energies. its like sitting in a garden and witnessing the seasons pass by. the scent of the air won't ever be quite the same as the last wiff, breath, moment of recognition.

Oxytocin. a friend mentions it in the middle of a digital (chat) discussion about conflictions, snacking, (and on my head) time and having very little of it to spend on pleasurable experiences. say like, sleeping, snuggling or hugging children - and also grown ups. and also pets, thats nice too. and yes touch is so very special. so special that it releases a special hormone called Oxytocin, also known as "legal extacy". once the idea registered in my brain, a mental hand flips through that binder of memories to look for any possible evidence supporting this scientific fact.

this is what i found:
- hugs were and still are very nice
- communication involving less talk is also very nice
- talk can actually get in the way of communication in some cases
- sometimes a gentle touch will suffice
- the best experiences weren't complicated
- the best experiences were the most natural
- complications often explode into humble simplification
- a pillow is a great device to rest your head on

time check

thinking about dates, scheduling, allocating time around the calendar for ideas to be made into reality can be a little overwhelming. the alternative of not thinking about anything to do with the future (in the guise of, "just let it flow" bum mode) also has its repercussions. artists usually go that path. its la vie boheme! freedom the sweetest taste of all. and yet.. broke. bent. almost paralyzed.

with more "in-ten-si-teh"

Lost in Translation, the film, has this unforgettable scene of Bill Murray being shot for this japanese whiskey commercial. of course, the japanese director finds it immensely difficult to relay his vision for the scene so he and this level1 english translator spend some time bantering in japanese. and after a seemingly vigorous discussion, the translator turns to Bill and very plainly says, "do it with more... in-ten-si-teh".

Ole!

interesting speech: Elizabeth Gilbert: A new way to think about creativity

Ahh... must it be an uphill battle when its all the joy that is and could be for any creative artist, musician, gardener, scientist, teacher, person TO BE FULLY SELF EXPRESSED? FREE? LIVING and LOVING? the answer is no and also, you knew that despite your cynicsm.

Kamuning

group art show from 2 months ago at the Lunduyan Art Gallery.

Space Samba

"I can't help from looking outside for a guarantee", Jeff Buckley in Witches' Rave.

its a phantastic mental orgasm when people collide, like electrons bumping against each other - random as ever, chemical collisions resulting in who knows what.?? who? what?

art informal

artist and intense gardener - a combination i've only really considered through the meeting of such an individual in the unlikeliest of situations. (or perhaps not too unlikely. synchronicities seem to be the norm these days) i wonder about how random or unusually apt his shirt was -that basically said, "Blessed Man".

pitter patter

its raining more often now. the rhythm of falling water droplets performing the function of gravity. the steady reminder of what IS that IS and will always BE. coffee seems to activate my tendency for resistance. its not a very pleasant feeling but then again, it also makes me perky (despite agitated). i'm awake but asleep. then we have the rain, persisting with the pitter-patter raindrops falling, infinitely crashing into the surface of the earth. its the universe poking you in the head, pushing the mind off the throne, managing to do just that - and more.

what is left but an empty seat. or a seated ghost. its casper, cute and friendly and on the side are his mischievous uncles. its a cartoon reality thats as light or serious as you wish it to be.

genderless

how in this system do they refuse spices that just may incite ideas of lust? spiritualists on the apex of practice. the refusal in itself out of fear of sexuality. others go the other end and bathe in as much as they can, only to drown, lost, oblivious in the oblivion.

where are the fearless? the true rebels? the real revolution is not where the soldiers go and polish their guns, or where men stand behind the pulpit preaching their harvest of "good" ideas. where are the faceless, naked and tall? barefoot walking against the concrete, the sand, the linoleum floor. feeling every crease and grain and sensation left to be felt. roughly scaling the tiny mountains at the foot of the real mountain. only skimming the surface. only washing our hands. only bathing in movie rain while everybody walks past in slow motion. well, cry as you please. scream. fall down on your knees with your head bent, palms facing upward. a surrender focused on cinematography and drama.

the fight is no fight. its the battle lost and won. moving pictures on a wall from a projector. the dancing of light.

nice

elliot smith is playing in my head and singing, "i'm stuck here waiting for a passing feeling". after 2 whole weeks of extreme sun and humid nights the rain finally poured and its pouring still, pouring hard, pounding on the roof, by the window, on the cracked concrete whos been looking quite thirsty. yes. romanticizing.

while with a friend walking the streets to his auntie's house, i thought about the odd shape of the electrical posts and how the sign signifying the entrance to the village beautifully framed 3 concrete buildings jutting out of some low/flat housing area. stared at it for a while, while he and his aunt were in deep discussion and then a plane flew overhead. i remembered my friend ross telling me, "invest in good memories". and that made perfect sense to me. we continued to walk along till we reached the highway. he and his aunt exchanged goodbyes and we went ahead to walk towards the overpass. orange street light hitting us from the side. people walking ahead of us had a glow about them to the right, while a sharp shadow moved about from the left. i guess it looked like a scene from a movie then i thought, "nice."

words. consciousness. thought. things from the void that is not of it. nothing of what is now being writ is resembling anything that is of the void. and yet. the possibility is there. its in the mind.
until its not.

where did the footprint leave its mark? it can only be remembered. but what about the foot? where is it walking to? it doesn't matter. it just walks. like plants grow and winds blow and skies touch other skies touch other skies and spaces too far to reach with my hands go on extending while i wonder about how the length of my arm remains the same.

my arms extend to reach anyway. or perhaps they are flailing from the fall. my eyes keep looking and what is seen looks back. did it matter if it was closed or open when even in the darkness, the darkness is apparent?

how did a voice find its way into my mouth? complete with intention and conviction. images of arrows and sometimes bullets emerge from other mouths, back and forth reverberating sound. what kind of sound does a kiss make?
is that how a voice comes back to where it came from?

traveling. in transit. motion in the ocean from an airplane is simply the color blue. what its like to think of the sea from the sky and from under it are two different worlds.