Set 'em Balloons and Fish Free

"Nice one!"
- Adie, Bagets

Like boozing like there's no tomorrow and waking up the next morning without a hangover. Like the closing credits of a sitcom you pray won't get cancelled. Because I can't remember the last time Saturday was that much fun, this goes down as a Sunday I don't wanna kill myself. Or other people for that matter. And on a good day this plays automatically in my head:



Australia
The Shins

La la la la
La la la la
Laaaaaaa
La la la la

Born to multiply
Born to gaze into night skies
All you want’s one more Saturday
Well look here until then
They gonna buy your life's time
So keep your wick in the air and your feet in the fetters
'Till the day we come in doing cartwheels
We all crawl out by ourselves
And your shape on the dance floor
Will have me thinking such filth I'll gouge my eyes

You’d be damned to be one of us girl
Faced with a dodo’s conundrum
I felt like I could just fly
But nothing happened every time I tried

Wooo, ooooh!

A duotone on the wall
The selfless fool who hoped he’d save us all
Never dreamt of such sterile hands
You keep them folded in your lap
Or raise them up to beg for scraps
You know he's holding you down
With the tips of his fingers just the same

Will you be pulled from the ocean
But just a minute too late
Or changed by a potion
And find a handsome young mate for you to love

You'll be damned to pining through the windowpanes you know
You'd trade your life for any ordinary Joe's
Well do it now or grow old cause
Your nightmares only need a year or two to unfold

Been alone since you were twenty-one
You haven't laughed since January
You try and make like this is so much fun
But we know it to be quite contrary

La la la la la la la

Dare to be one of us girl
Faced with the android's conundrum
I felt like I should just cry
But nothing happens every time I take one on the chin
Yeah Himmler in your coat you don't know how long I've been
Watching the lantern dim starved of oxygen
So give me your hand and let's jump out the window

(from the album Wincing The Night Away)


* * *



Cats Sing Karaoke
Part I

There is a pond right in the middle of the college I go to. Really. If one were to measure the dimensions of the college grounds with a fork he will find out for sure that, from the pond, it’s 750 forks to the edges of our world in all directions. Believe me, a classmate once did it. Out of whatever it is that compels young people to spread our arms out wide and embrace madness. A lunchtime she was having cake, according to hushed accounts.

Halfway through dessert she jumped from her seat, licked the white icing off her fork – some would claim it was chocolate, although this came about much later than the vanilla version – and started measuring. It was a really hot Monday, near 40 degrees so it must had been the heat. In a matter of weeks she became a legend, her name whispered again and again in breathless bafflement over cheap rumcokes in countless student watering holes surrounding the campus.

We were never in the same class after that term so I rarely saw her and when I did, she would always be eating and the glint of her fork would scare off the curious cat in me. I was afraid of her jumping off her chair and using her fork to measure me. It didn’t matter if she did it figuratively and said Hey, your character’s worth is this or that number of forks, or literally, with her declaration that my bloody heart was, after all, much shorter and softer than a fork after ripping it out of my ribcage. One can never know with these crazy types, I thought. And so she went on with lunch as the rest of our world wondered.

***

One could count on the energy of the bored, and soon the episode was bumped out of our collective consciousness with more news of college kids being their college kid selves. So and so split his lip in a fistfight with so and so, so and so fell in love with so and so who was with another so and so, that senior got the ax for cursing this Philosophy professor who gave him a failing mark in a critical paper on Objectivism. The professor, it turned out, was a firm believer of Ayn Rand. Nothing much exciting happened to me, however. The highlight of the term was my dropping out of Statistics class and joining a music club to kill some free time. I could have completely forgotten about her had it not been for two dreams I had shortly before summer vacation.

I can recall the minutest details even now. In the first one, cats the size of people are boozing around a table and singing karaoke by the pond. On the table are live Koi fish writhing in the absence of water, their orange scales glimmering like wildfire under the full moon. Then one of the cats, the boss cat I assume from his size, grabs a Koi with his snow white paw and shoves it into his mouth. It is dead silent despite the cats’ singing and I try to make sense of the words formed by their mouths. Their throats quiver whenever they swallow. I woke up drenched in sweat I did not know my body could make in a night, until then.

The next day went as usual with the dull drum of classes, breaks, and club meetings. It was not until I was eating lunch by the pond and looking at the fish swimming in the clear water that I remembered. Helplessly, in confusion, I started looking for her in the lunchtime crowd. As I stood up I saw the midday sunlight flashing on her fork. I allowed myself one quick, deep breath and brazed myself for her.

* * *

Why did you do it?

With slow, painful tenderness, she put her fork down and proceeded to stare at me blankly.

The fish should be freed.

I’m sorry?

The fish are in grave danger. They should be freed. Was trying to show them how far. That’s why.

What are you talking about?

If not they’ll die in there. The Cat King and his devious plans…

Cat…king? Just then I felt our world sinking somewhere dark and faraway. A deep breath betrayed my struggle for air. Why? What is he planning?

The Feast of the Paws is fast approaching. Cats, you must know, feast on fish.

You mean you’re worried about the cats? Here? In the campus? I heard myself bursting into laughter. Oh, you have nothing to worry about, those are just normal, everyday cats. Scared to death of water. They won’t go near your Koi. To emphasize my point I laughed again, only louder.

You don’t understand. You don’t hear.

I started writing a letter in my head warning school authorities of how crazy or drugged-up she was and how, accordingly, she should be expelled from the college. Out loud I asked her why, of all things, she used a fork.

It was the only way could show them. How far. They asked. Could have used shoes but didn’t bring an extra pair that day. So told them, this many forks.

When are you planning the escape?

Tonight. Before the full moon.

I sat there wondering whether I should tell her about the dream or not. To tell her would be to join in on her madness, I thought. So I decided, to my later regret, to say something else.

You do know that, uh, freeing the Koi would be considered theft of school property and that you would be suspended in a best case scenario?

She picked up her fork and went back to lunch, effectively ending what would be our first and only conversation. I would never see her again.

Post Break

Raring to go, like a roller coaster after a blackout.
Welcome back world. Bring it.

Houses

We are creatures of habit
and habitat. Meaning

point out four corners to border
my life and I shall have a house,

to confine all the inhabiting
I shall do inside. Meaning

I am wild.
Meaning I am a bear

with hunger and this morning my
merciless mouth opens to greet fish

welcome, after a daily dip in the river.
Then I rise, shake this body dry, all this

fur. Then I walk around the forest for fresh
air, meditation, the occasional human,

circle the area thrice and satisfied
that no fire nor hunter will take me

I head back to the cave and close
my eyes. Then it is dark, usually

but sometimes I see a cage as large
as the world and inside I am happy

prancing under and under a burning sun.
Sometimes I go beyond the forest to places

I will never see, walk around a city
or ride a cab instead, order coffee.

Sometimes I visit another planet, but
now I see fish from this morning visiting

me. They are slipping past my throat
into my belly. They are saying thank you,

we were tired of swimming
in the cold. I am saying

you are welcome. Now rest.
Meaning point out the four corners

of my grave and when I die, I shall
not stretch my limbs out too wide.

A Cleansing

Was it good washing his feet.
Was it like holding cold, dark
heaven. Was it worth soiling
my hands. My hands

were soiled once. A village of hands
held. Threw stones. Was this body
that received the cross.

Was what I felt. Were those men
diseased and dying and walking
after him. Were those my hands
tender and opening.

i wanna learn german so i can sing this to ya

translate that, fucker.

Synchronicity, Baby!

Feel Noli Aurillo strum your pleasure with his fingers Friday nights at mag:net Katipunan. Described by regulars and first-timers alike as "one of the best, most entertaining guitar-players they've ever seen," Noli covers what you miss (or as in the case of his kolehiyala fans, completely missed out on) hearing on the radio -- from Beatles ditties to Neil Young tear-jerkers -- when not playing his own lilting compositions. He even calls karaoke-crazy audience members to sing with him onstage on lucky nights. On luckier nights, hear him talk about "synchronicity" and the universe over beer. All for free!

Here are some photos of him and, uh, three college kids enjoying his music:








Noli Aurillo, Acoustic Hour, 8:00 p.m., Fridays, mag:net Katipunan. Maki-synchronize na!

Hu U?

Click this 'cause a dead man once said "Know thyself" when he was alive and these days, all it takes is five minutes.


Spontaneous Idealists are creative, lively and open-minded persons. They are humorous and dispose of a contagious zest for life. Their enthusiasm and sparkling energy inspires others and sweeps them along. They enjoy being together with other people and often have an uncanny intuition for their motivations and potential. Spontaneous Idealists are masters of communication and very amusing and gifted entertainers. Fun and variety are guaranteed when they are around. However, they are sometimes somewhat too impulsive in dealing with others and can hurt people without really meaning to do so, due to their direct and sometimes critical nature.

This personality type is a keen and alert observer; they miss nothing which is going on around them. In extreme cases, they tend to be oversensitive and exaggeratedly alert and are inwardly always ready to jump. Life for them is an exciting drama full of emotionality. However, they quickly become bored when things repeat themselves and too much detailed work and care is required. Their creativity, their imaginativeness and their originality become most noticeable when developing new projects and ideas - they then leave the meticulous implementation of the whole to others. On the whole, Spontaneous Idealists attach great value to their inner and outward independence and do not like accepting a subordinate role. They therefore have problems with hierarchies and authorities.

If you have a Spontaneous Idealist as your friend, you will never be bored; with them, you can enjoy life to the full and celebrate the best parties. At the same time, they are warm, sensitive, attentive and always willing to help. If Spontaneous Idealists have just fallen in love, the sky is full of violins and their new partners are showered with attention and affection. This type then bubbles over with charm, tenderness and imagination. But, unfortunately, it soon becomes boring for them once the novelty has worn off. Boring everyday life in a partnership is not for them so that many Spontaneous Idealists slip from one affair into another. However, should the partner manage to keep their curiosity alive and not let routine and familiarity gain the upper hand, Spontaneous Idealists can be inspiring and loving partners.

* * *

On my little planet


a creative grad pic. Can't wait to get far,
far away.

(Thanks to Corin.)

When It Is Over

I am not there.
In a field feeling grass cut
my ankles dancing lightly

alone or not. Or disturbing
quietly clouds' shadows on even
green, spreading out in reflex

as I sleep or distracting
the intent beating of the universe
by being an erratic striking

thing, but not there. I am lost
to you where the soil is expecting
storm, or flowers. I am not telling.

EDSA 22

10th EDSA Revolution Anniversary, nung may Yano pa

Whatever Possessed You

Goodbye my love
Heaven has been wronged
Now our young bent arms
Don't seem quite so strong

November and all the frost bites
Deep as the snow flowers plowed
This bed is colder than blood or bone

Never knock on my door
Whatever possessed you, aaaaahhh
Somewhere there's an emptiness
Hold me tightly, I wouldn't dream of it

Beware my love
This tongue is a dying flame
My lies may fall like an acid rain
Maybe the sleet was in silently above the roads
You loving angel, you're skin and bones

November and all the frost bites
Deeper than the snow flowers plowed
This bed is colder than blood or bone

Never knock on my door
Whatever possessed you, aaaaahhh
Somewhere there's an emptiness
Hold me tightly, I wouldn't dream of it

- The Care

Opening the Animal


There were moments I found true freedom

In sin. To be exact, three: my wife walking

Out of our house and into another, a place I

Only imagine because I have heard nothing

.

From her since; masturbating one morning

To a naked, forgettable girl winking at me,

It seemed, from some magazine; and this man

Butchering a cow another morning, years after.

.

Opening the animal with a soundless, falling

Motion seemed to be a holy act, a blessed

Release: the cow, heavy with more love than

Its body could contain, was freed – how it reached

.

Down towards earth; how it rejoiced in the meals

It would make; how it longed to finally become

Grass. The man learning, with each fall of his

Hand, the weight of death – how he has to give

.

And receive, eventually. Among these, I remember

The girl with the forgettable face the most. I wonder

About her spread-eagled limbs, how they made her

Look like she was falling away from herself. I wonder

.

If she has since moved on to greener pastures: how

She might be home right now, making someone

Supper. I wonder where I put her picture. But mostly

I wonder what it was she was seeing with her one

.

Closed eye, when the camera shutters flickered.

Was it a vision of her own body stretching out

And aiming for the world, and farther, into the future –

a man and a beautiful, blessed house she will never leave?

depressives, rejoice!

and everything after

August and Everything After: a Poetry Reading (and Marian Poetry Society launch)

working 'em imaginary goatees


with Sir Joel Toledo a.k.a. Sensei and Ms. Mookie Katigbak

intermission

soggy Saturday smoking

.
.

(Thanks to Cor and Closa, shooters extraordinaire.)

It's back

shakshigishigishakshigishigiwhoooowaah...

Hullo, dear four or five friends and millions of secret readers. Just got home from a two-month trip through the time-space warp on Shaider's electric blue bike (Mighty thanks, mister space policeman! Had a blast. Don't forget to call! :p).

Now back

to regular programming:

Kraftwerk Zahl Ein

Syntax

Is the thing you first learn, twisting text,

Scrabbling words: A B.A.

Language and Literature

Student with a sure hand turning

The world quickly over, over

That semester I was inspecting the fallen

Cracked face and all

The while insisting on order

On the page.

Later you are in a cold room

Watching, world-wary sophomore,

Your country’s history dismantling on TV,

A documentary, how it was arranged

Into tricky poetry: Aguinaldo is not the hero

We were made to believe and keep

In our pockets, the precious face on five-peso bills

And they were not

Benevolent, only themselves: an empire

Expanding, but surely noble in trying

To glue back the world together

How they wanted.

At the turn of the last century,

An assembly of twenty houses.

Kafagway was discovered on a mountain

To be ten degrees cooler, igniting

In the heat-hating settlers’ heads

An idea: smooth the slopes with systems of streets,

Train trees to grow in grids, carve a city

On the mountain’s plain face, build a lake.

Commemorate the drowned. Name the creation

After the old village word for moss:

Begyiw. Open its arms to benefactors

And later, to summer

Vacationers who would take it, slowly

Apart again, like so many bachelors

Of arts. Later you leave,

Graduate, the room, mountain.

Later you are looking at the structures

Across an office window and the random

Punctuations of trees in between

So that the city is rambling on and on and on and on and on and

I still do not get it. You are ordering

The words. Be still.

Relax. What you are doing is usually starting: sorting your life through

The page. Later you will let yourself out and in

The world. For now, write

History. Make it

Scrambled and twisted like your country's. Feel free.

Only now there is a kid tearing open

A book way after classes and dreaming.

He might be yours in the future,

Which should be good. But this is getting ahead

Of yourself.


(Thanks to Sir Joel, Waps and Arkaye)

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand
Oh my little girl
.
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
.
Vows are spoken
To be broken
Feelings are intense
Words are trivial
Pleasures remain
So does the pain
Words are meaningless
And forgettable
.
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
.
Enjoy the silence

- Depeche Mode

Reception

He would watch television soon after waking, catching up on the world lightly spinning
.
and headily, with the latest news soon forgotten and washed over wars and stars brutally
.
fighting for air time beauty soap commercials breakfast shows morning mass broadcasts
.
take all tragedy cruelty comedy beauty barrage garbage god in without blinking perhaps
.
only seeing static, both cataracts were growing worse, into a translucent screen showing
.
only shadows, blurred pain. Out of nowhere he would chuckle out of cue, missing punch
.
lines, while someone got left behind by the love of her life, a politician danced and sang
.
in a campaign ad, another typhoon drowned another poor province, ending credits rolled
.
and every time I would bite the ache back and laugh with him. I remember getting asked
.
how I saw death. Someone turning the TV off, I said and it seemed so witty at that time.
.
I would watch him as snow slowly came into the picture and ask to hear one more story
.
about him, the war, grand old films, the ground orchids he kept, wanting to stay tuned in
.
but he would only look at me and absently smile. During the funeral rain fell right on cue
.
and messed up the reception so badly I saw almost nothing, only people planting flowers
.
deeply in the grass. Yet whenever I rewound, replayed the episode I would always hear
.
a light laughter, on particular scenes, like when they opened his box for a last screening
.
of sorts, then the rain of flowers. Like I am hearing it now, soft and scratchy and surely
.
not of this world, this electric wound, as I switch to a station-less channel and patiently
.
search among the static, stars and planets for him staring at the screen as I am, waving.

for Lolo Kanor

Sci-Fi

It was about how each time we turned
the aircon on, or drank soda cold
from the ref to quench this heat
or, prepping up for a party in the ‘80s,
sprayed our hair stiff, we punched
holes through the ozone and let a bit
more sunshine in. Just how much
Robert Smith contributed to this
I don’t know. Luckily, the scientists,
saviors of the day, found out before
we turned toast. They banned CFCs.
I remember how as I kid I almost
flunked a final because I couldn’t
spell Chloro Flouro Carbons. It also
showed people being sorry in the whole
wide First World. They took the invention
back, siphoned it from car engines
and other machines using these metal
digital leaches, safely stored it somewhere
else, the postmodern shamans, sucking
the poisonous substance from this
throbbing urban heart. I remember God,
the universe and here we are at its center
warring with ourselves, both the virus
and the cure. I was counting
on shamans and their newfound magic,
science before we all self-combusted
but who was I kidding – who prepared
the potion in the first place? I fetched
another plastic bottle of iced cola,
flicked a burnt cigarette butt out the
apartment window, flipped channels
and, knowing exactly what I was,
raised my arms up high like an antenna
calling for aliens to blast me quick,
welcoming the heat.