Kahon ng Kundiman

Run Forest! Run! (click here to supersize it)

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I pause -- at least for now -- from the usual dark optimisms my quill has to dispense; to showcase one of my illustrations. It's a fictitious, somewhat comical scene about the Gudlukers Team over at INFONxx (which my brother is a part of -- he's the one illustrated on the helm of the jeepney's steering wheel).

Relief sculptures of Team logos (of Royal Neil and Gudlukers), caricatures of two of their bosses have been commissioned pieces as well. One of the illustrations I did was published on the 16th issue of One Voice -- company newsletter of INFONxx. And it even reached the "bloody" banks of UK (Click here to see it, or part of it at least).

The above illustration, also may very well be a teaser of sorts for my upcoming flash animation. It's an indie animation I'm currently moonlighting. I've already finished a lot of frames and in due time I will be publishing it over the net for public viewing. I don't want to leak contents and storyline in my eagerness to update so I must hush now.
The style of illustration of the said animation is similar to the one above.

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Ang Ating Araw
(Dicta License)

Sisikat nang muli ang ating araw
Sa nayong may himig ng hanging hinipan ng Banal
Tulad ng awit na pumipiglas sa kahon ng kundiman

Madalas ay reklamo lang ng bukambibig
At 'di makita ang sakit na iyong pasan

Mas matalas ang dila kung mayroong galaw ng bisig
Paliparin ang malayang isip

Dinggin mo ang tawag ng lupang pinagmumulan
Ng kayamanang 'di mo rin pala natitikman

Kelan malilinis ang bahid ng dumi
Hindi malaman, pero pag-asa ay inaasam

Isa na namang awit na tutuhog
sa marurupok na pusong lanta
Lanta sa diwa at pag-asa ng umaga

Bukas-loob silipin ang sarili
Balat, mukha, mata, dinggin ang huni

Pagkalipas ng ilang taon
Unti-unting aahon

Ang lipi ng lupa na napako sa kahapon
Walang pamagat alay kong alamat
'Di makakahon damdaming naisulat
'Di mo ba naririnig ang tinig ng lahat

Sabay-sabay lumiliyab, sisikat nang muli..

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( This poetry/song is the first lyrical cotent
I posted here that is not my own. The band
Dicta License -- is for me the brownman's
incarnate of RATM. And this particular
piece inspires me to post future compositions
in toungues native of my own. For I seem
to have forgotten -- what countless amorous
serenades the Filipino language can utterly
resonate -- if only harnessed. )

Clown's Anthem: Gemini (SpongeCola)
Click the song's title to stream the track

Paint it Black!

Silent Serenade amid Sublimations
in the Melodrama of a Blank Canvas


Let me bathe you in shifting chiaroscuro:
in variations of liquid light
and silhouetting darkness --
crowning you in the ambit of your halo.

Let me free you from your mind’s mimetic frame
to a coined novel pictorial lexicon.
Let me discourse your outline
with ebullient brushwork rhymes --
mediating with your aesthetic smile.

Let me worship your facial cruciform
as you listen to my prayers dubbed in
visual articulations kneeling before your skin;
presenting an offering in your altar
of dichotomy and syncretic harmony.

With spatial hues, let me capture the dynamism
of your eloquent (impending) eyes --
those amber spirits of Euclid singularity,
culled from the ethic permanence
of a lonely painter’s touch.

I’ll take from an ethereal palette:
heavenly pigments to paint a paradox --
a conundrum of myself kindred with your being;
Let me shrine you in a cathedral symposium,
between insulations of textured myths
And forgotten vibrant psalms.

Let me, gloss; as a cardinal requisite --
a lucid sheen to testament your
soulful nomenclature.
Ascending your spirit within uttered strokes
of sighed lines linking spheres and dimensions.

I’ll let you cradle my heart in the lullaby
of your compelling pose and melodic prose.
Let your virginal paradigm
succumb to the wooing’s of a starving artist
craving for your tangible immortality.

Let me mount you in the stead of my
chastised easel beyond the delirium
of spatular spectrums.

Let me affix my signature within the
backdrop of a landscaped shadow.
For, I am the black tones infused with your
every concealed tear whirling in the pools
of Pathos; drowning in chaotic symphony
within the profile of a saline sea.

And, you…
…You are my panoramic angel;
taking flight amid the serenade of a blank canvas,
Embracing the immortality in a melodrama --
I once and will always grace you with apical levity,
...Thus you are – Forever!
…and I, still, am not…


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If I have to acknowledge rationale for my long
departure from this frequency:
I can choke culpability to artist block –-
for not moistening my carpal kneadings,
as I quilled solitudes' atop isolation’s zenith --
where the clouds denied me humid sanctity whenever
I attempted to douse my felt tip in cumulus glory and
tried to wet my fingers on those heavenly pools of cotton
whenever I turned pages blistered and parched to
reveal their scibbled continuum.
...Or point the finger, at the apocalyptic finality
I envisioned in my random surrealisms –
(speculated who rose triumphant in my dreams) –
dark optimism and their nocturne wings --
watching them dance to the wayward symphony of screams and silence.
Or again, place blame to societal divisiveness, political gluttons,
gothic romances or trainspotting-like bingeing.
But alas, I have to say nay to all the afore-mentioned;
for the account of my abscence is unromantic as long pauses are –-
reason being a mere nuisance of a phone company
whose services, I now detest. Hope the new one's better.


-- And to find my backstage violated is bluntly fucked up (pardon my French).
For the random souls that dropped by and left a tag
since the advent of my journeys; your capricious projectiles
and their echoes will forever linger my Carnivale –
the minuscule Church of my mind’s prayers.
I tried to unearth them but they lie on graves unmarked, nonetheless.
I commit them all to memory, and believe me they will linger in my hemispheres.
For the gesticulations you’ve graced me will smear perpetually
like a black mascara circling this clown’s eyes. Thanks!

For those who sent revolver roulettes of epistles by my way while I hibernated to the farthest realm of oblivion and back, I express also my gratitude. I applaud your concern.
The ovation of silence is now broken...
I again stand at the cliff waiting to be nudged...
...push me pls.

"Wake me up when September ends," as Greenday's song goes; in my case I woke and rouse mid-September. (September -- month of nativity of all this ramblings -- this blog -- and opening of closed eyes.)
Bloggaddict, I truly am; a trivial junkie as you could read here at INQ.7.
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Clown's Anthem: Collide (Dishwalla) and
Youre Beautiful (James Blunt)