I've just finished listening to Iron Maiden's Killers album the other day when a string of vicious facts hit me hard: I was (A) not dating any woman, (B) I'm ugly (which is greatly correlated to fact letter A) and (C) I'm terribly broke (which in itself greatly affects the previous two reasons).
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Broken Thoughts
Busrides
Riding buses in Metro Manila is an interesting experience. It keeps you grounded. You get to ride with people that's extremely different from each other, from bank tellers to hard labor workers, to call-center agents to bored 9-to-5ers, a busride somehow acts as some sort of an equalizer to a palpably unequal society.
The weirdest shit I've seen during a busride happend early this year, around late January. There was this female call-center agent who got punched in the head by the female bus conductor. First of all, female bus conductors (those who sell tickets) are rare. Second, the physical commotion happened moments after I boarded the bus which was on the corner of Taft Avenue and Gil Puyat Avenue in Pasay and Makati's border.
Anyway, the verbal tussle between the female passenger and female bus conductor apparently started when the former was insisting she had paid her fare already. The latter was vehemently denying this and was creatively cursing in Filipino, curses which I honestly think don't have any English counterparts but them curses were very very intense in meaning, if you get my drift. Then the bus conductor began giving the female call-center agent a beatdown, an intense one. It was bad. I couldn't believe the other passengers were not doing anything about the situation. Maybe they were just minding their own business. As impossible as it may seem, I think there could have been at least a witness to the situation if the female call-center agent had paid her fare or not but no one was stepping up to alleviate the tension. Eventually, I've had enough of the uncalled-for violence and I tried to pacify the bus conductor and told her to calm down. After about a couple more punches, she miraculously stopped.
The female call-center agent then began telling the conductor that she had indeed paid her fare already and the former flashed her company/employer's ID to the latter to prove that she has integrity and has paid already. But the bus conductor wouldn't have any of it. On a side note, I think the call-center chick had lost her ticket already, for some reason.
Two blocks or so later, the call-center agent left. Minutes after she had left, the bus conductor was still as pissed as shit.
I paid my fare moments before the aforementioned confrontation occurred. When I finally arrived at my stop on Ayala Avenue in Makati, the bus conductor asked me if I had paid my fare already. I showed her my ticket and she looked at it with distrust screaming from her face. I left the bus unscathed from any violence, verbally or otherwise.
I think a degree of injustice happened that day.
The female call-center agent then began telling the conductor that she had indeed paid her fare already and the former flashed her company/employer's ID to the latter to prove that she has integrity and has paid already. But the bus conductor wouldn't have any of it. On a side note, I think the call-center chick had lost her ticket already, for some reason.
Two blocks or so later, the call-center agent left. Minutes after she had left, the bus conductor was still as pissed as shit.
I paid my fare moments before the aforementioned confrontation occurred. When I finally arrived at my stop on Ayala Avenue in Makati, the bus conductor asked me if I had paid my fare already. I showed her my ticket and she looked at it with distrust screaming from her face. I left the bus unscathed from any violence, verbally or otherwise.
I think a degree of injustice happened that day.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Synapse
I took this photo using my friend's SONY Cybershot digicamera which I borrowed for Magrudergrind's upcoming late-June grindviolence Phillippine onslaught. I'm in no way an expert - let alone an aficionado - of photography but sometimes I like shooting at things just for kicks.I shot this picture last week when I was on my way home at around half past midnight. It's the intersection of our street and United Nations Avenue in Manila. I didn't knew what got into me but I just pulled the camera out and shot this. After seeing the picture afterwards, it occurred to me that there was something about the street lights and traffic lights; they looked liked auras (like the shit in Stephen King's book Insomnia). Or vibes. Negative and positive, focused and incoherent.
Same shit, different day.
Monday, June 9, 2008
A Dose Of Junkie Blues And A Girl
After my band's practice yesterday at around 6:00PM, I went to Malate to do some errand for my mother when I passed by someone from our neighborhood, someone who I really didn't know personally but knew by face. I'll just call him JC.
JC used to look remotely normal and good, in fact, he was supposed to appear as an extra in some local TV show back in 1996 but he didn't like the idea of being an actor and didn't bother attending his screening for the part. How the fuck did I knew about this? It's because I had this feverish crush on his younger sister that's why.
JC is about 3-4 years older than me and I can safely guess his sister's right about the same age as I am (25). When you're 13-14 years old and extremely smitten with a girl in your neighborhood, it's automatic that you learn things about her, about her interests and of course, her family. I guess that's all I have to say about that.
JC didn't look his age. He had hair that looked liked the one Mel Gibson had in Braveheart sans the dread-like parts (shit, I'm not even sure if those were dreads). JC's appearance gave away his smell and it screamed intensely rancid. The funny thing about seeing him yesterday was that I didn't recognize the motherfucker right away which is very not like me as I remember faces of people very clearly. He was sitting on a plank across the base of an electric post on a corner in Malate and he was actually the one who greeted me first and it probably took me about 3 seconds to recognize him. I was surprised that he greeted me but I wasn't really surprised when he asked if I have some loose change. Being the thrift fucker that I am, I quickly said I didn't have any (that's why I was walking) and he nodded morosely then followed his question with another one: where was I going? Thinking quickly, I answered him I was on my way to borrow money from a friend. An expression between disappointment and sadness peppered with a lethargic glee came across his face.
I knew the drugs have gotten him. Whatever his drug of choice was, it certainly did its job wonderfully.
After my brief encounter with JC, the thought that got stuck on my mind like a fly to fresh dogshit was his sister. I haven't heard the term back then but now I can describe that JC's sister to whom I've had the hots for was drop-dead gorgeous. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous.
After I remembered her, I silently hoped to myself that she's doing well and good. The Past sometimes has a wicked sense of humor. The thought brought a smile on my face and quite admittedly, smiling is something I haven't done a whole fucking lot lately.
JC used to look remotely normal and good, in fact, he was supposed to appear as an extra in some local TV show back in 1996 but he didn't like the idea of being an actor and didn't bother attending his screening for the part. How the fuck did I knew about this? It's because I had this feverish crush on his younger sister that's why.
JC is about 3-4 years older than me and I can safely guess his sister's right about the same age as I am (25). When you're 13-14 years old and extremely smitten with a girl in your neighborhood, it's automatic that you learn things about her, about her interests and of course, her family. I guess that's all I have to say about that.
JC didn't look his age. He had hair that looked liked the one Mel Gibson had in Braveheart sans the dread-like parts (shit, I'm not even sure if those were dreads). JC's appearance gave away his smell and it screamed intensely rancid. The funny thing about seeing him yesterday was that I didn't recognize the motherfucker right away which is very not like me as I remember faces of people very clearly. He was sitting on a plank across the base of an electric post on a corner in Malate and he was actually the one who greeted me first and it probably took me about 3 seconds to recognize him. I was surprised that he greeted me but I wasn't really surprised when he asked if I have some loose change. Being the thrift fucker that I am, I quickly said I didn't have any (that's why I was walking) and he nodded morosely then followed his question with another one: where was I going? Thinking quickly, I answered him I was on my way to borrow money from a friend. An expression between disappointment and sadness peppered with a lethargic glee came across his face.
I knew the drugs have gotten him. Whatever his drug of choice was, it certainly did its job wonderfully.
After my brief encounter with JC, the thought that got stuck on my mind like a fly to fresh dogshit was his sister. I haven't heard the term back then but now I can describe that JC's sister to whom I've had the hots for was drop-dead gorgeous. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous.
After I remembered her, I silently hoped to myself that she's doing well and good. The Past sometimes has a wicked sense of humor. The thought brought a smile on my face and quite admittedly, smiling is something I haven't done a whole fucking lot lately.
The Patient (Part 1)
the wait
is something i can tolerate
the wait
is something i knew was coming
the wait is long
but i still went on with it
i knew the possibility
was a resounding "slim-to-none"
but i still went on with it
the wait might have been long...
but the regret of not trying would
have been longer.
is something i can tolerate
the wait
is something i knew was coming
the wait is long
but i still went on with it
i knew the possibility
was a resounding "slim-to-none"
but i still went on with it
the wait might have been long...
but the regret of not trying would
have been longer.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
A Very Hot Minute
Sometime in the scorching summer of 1997, a good two months before junior high school, I borrowed my friend Jeff's cassette tape of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' One Hot Minute album. It was the only music I would listen to for the next 4-5 months. Shit, I think it was the only album I listened to for the rest of that year.
I don't know, I might be a complete fucking retard for liking this album but I do. Still do. In fact, I listened to it in its entirety today before going to work. Twice. No, it wasn't the same cassette tape I borrowed from my friend - I have a CD copy but the weird thing is, the last time I listened to this album was way back in mid-1999 but for some reason, after 9 fucking years, I can still sing along to every fucking song from the album, word for word. Weird.
Hearing "Aeroplane," "One Big Mob," and the terrific album closer "Transcending" still makes me grin in aural sarcasm. These songs were the shit I was into 11 years ago and their potency still remain to this day. One Hot Minute flopped but who gives a fuck? Many fans of the band hated Dave Navarro, who played guitar on the album, but I think it's beside the point. The band made their darkest album of their career - lyrically and musically - and I relate to it very much.
Yes, I listen to this kind of shit when I'm not listening to hardcore punk and grindcore.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Summer Heat And Then Some
The Philippine Summer is here. Its heat is cruel and unforgiving. It scorches the rich, the poor, the ugly, the beautiful, and everyone in between. Since I get off my shift at 9:00AM, it's a given that I get the sun's wicked fury everyday. It is maddening. I try to get my shit together and most of the time, I get home alive. Barely. The experience is priceless, though.
To sleep soundly after work means I've got to be extremely lucky. Sleep at night is one thing, sleep at daytime is quite another. With my shift at work starting at midnight, I usually sleep at 1:00PM-2:00PM only to wake up 30-40 minutes later with the temperature reaching red hot microwave-pissed intensity. I woke up the other day cursing as loud as I can, with the electric fan pointed steadily at my shirtless yet sweat drenched sorry excuse of a body. I thought I was going to bust a vein somewhere in my head and die instantly. My head was so wet I thought a water pipe busted somewhere in our apartment. The heat was honest to goodness intolefuckingrable. My hatred for being awoken from my sleep was completely misdirected at nothing. It was funny and serious both at the same time.
Getting up sometime between 9:00PM and 10:00PM to get ready for work gets me in Search-and-Destroy mode, instantly. The thirst for life and disdain for sweetcoated bullshit gets magnified tenfold and I start to unload unneeded baggage - both mental and emotional - and count my blessings carefully. For someone who has less than nothing, I couldn't afford to be ungrateful for what I have got. I make do.
Living is not about enjoying life or basking in the glory of its good things. Life is all about appreciating being alive even if it means you're going to fry yourself under the sun.
To sleep soundly after work means I've got to be extremely lucky. Sleep at night is one thing, sleep at daytime is quite another. With my shift at work starting at midnight, I usually sleep at 1:00PM-2:00PM only to wake up 30-40 minutes later with the temperature reaching red hot microwave-pissed intensity. I woke up the other day cursing as loud as I can, with the electric fan pointed steadily at my shirtless yet sweat drenched sorry excuse of a body. I thought I was going to bust a vein somewhere in my head and die instantly. My head was so wet I thought a water pipe busted somewhere in our apartment. The heat was honest to goodness intolefuckingrable. My hatred for being awoken from my sleep was completely misdirected at nothing. It was funny and serious both at the same time.
Getting up sometime between 9:00PM and 10:00PM to get ready for work gets me in Search-and-Destroy mode, instantly. The thirst for life and disdain for sweetcoated bullshit gets magnified tenfold and I start to unload unneeded baggage - both mental and emotional - and count my blessings carefully. For someone who has less than nothing, I couldn't afford to be ungrateful for what I have got. I make do.
Living is not about enjoying life or basking in the glory of its good things. Life is all about appreciating being alive even if it means you're going to fry yourself under the sun.
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