Number 24601

A commissioned piece for a canteena
(Specified requests): draw me a sexy waitress

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Before you read the verses below I strongly suggest
you click here to align your mindset atuned to the same
frequency mine was when I scribbled the words below.
Hey, humor me -- if sometimes I like to foster interaction.
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Satellite Soliloquists
(A soliloquy in echo to a soliloquy)


At the far distance of each others whisperings
The plausibility of kindred phantoms to reconcile
Meaning to the totality of one and the others
Equally outlying and faded sighs is an eclipsing
Of shared dreamscapes where mutual breaths
Pant in soulful unison with songs of distinct
Tunes absolving into exhalations of a singular voice
Hummed in sync with the dance of both their
Shadows finding solace in the rhythmic ballet
Offered in wooing for malady and its contrary
Hopeful still that fate equates distance a little more
Closer for communal odes to resound and find
Each other perpetually bounded together at the kiss
Of quill to its naked parchment healing the wounds
Once wrought by the subtleties of papercuts
Of which the cold echoes blissfully embrace slaves
And masters alike of murmured soliloquies
Gracing sound to forever ascend as meaningful letters
Thus bridging planes of different plateau to magnify
As reflections of one and the other from which
Enigma and Paradox spin in collision at the axis
of a single sphere both still in graceful control while
in awe at propositions offered over hushed confessions
by clandestine lovers crooning before their beloved moon



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F.Y.I.
The piece above was written loosely as an answer to Eponine’s soliloquy (On My Own) from the musical Les Miserables. It’s one of those songs that permanently leave a mark regardless of one’s age and gender. First, I heard of the song was probably way back secondary school and since then it stuck as one of my ‘ole time faves. Just remember to change the pronouns when you’re singing it in public -- to suite you best -- otherwise if you’re a guy you might be mistaken for Gaylord Focker (not that there’s anything wrong with that).


(an excerpt of On My Own):
And I know it's only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to her
And although I know that she is blind
Still I say, there's a way for us


And Jean Valjean’s song (Who Am I) strikes a chord as well to me on a deeprooted personal note. Valjean is one those unforgettable protagonists to have ever graced the pages of classical literature. Both the hero and the story of Les Mis transcend time. Astig!


( an excerpt of Who Am I):
If I speak, I am condemned
If I stay silent, I am damned!
Who am I?


The piece above was also in part written as an answer to this
somewhat riddle echoed by a recent unearthing:
I don’t know if Enigma and Paradox are one and the same;
still, I wouldn’t mind getting lost in both spheres of the word.

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sidenotes:
There’s a short story here -- why out of all writers/playwrights Victor Hugo will be the last to leave my cognition when I grow senile and shit… but then again that’s another post.
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Went to Pampanga for Inang's Padasal a couple of days back. Pseudo-reunion na rin with the Cabalen's -- to brush off my dusty Kapangpangan lingo. A prelude to upcomming fiestas and sagalas this coming May. Click the thumbnail on the left to see pics from that eventful shindig.


Video uploads from the said trip -- here

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Clown's Anthem: On My Own (Eponine) and Who Am I (Valjean)

click here to listen to those tracks in their entirety and a lot more from Les Miserables

Thoughts of a Quixotic Don

Click each to supersize
Watercolor on masterboard
Studies intended for design merchandise (details).
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Of Capulets And Magdalenes

A district of red light
manifest its hospitality…

As you’re welcomed
to the lure of neon signs
boldly flashing their
false advertisements
you shake your head;
for you know to well,
the dysfunction that
happens within those
walls of social concrete;
cemented by fetishes
of anonymous pricks,
floored by the sticky
smell of bleach.

Shadows of a darkly lit
stage will never deny
that patrons are: if not
strangers, known friends
all there for the same
FREUDIAN SHINDIG!
Coupling in queue for the
lace and leather orgies;
your ego in pole position.

Enjoy the peep show --
the striptease --
the contortions of
double jointed Marys.
Thighs you anticipate
in split syncopations.
Line up then,
take a number.

Be ready to empty
your pockets.
Have your way
on rooms paneled by
slightly tacked drapes.

Let the little lolita gnaw
on your prophylactic.
For common civility
ask her name; then
as outright libido goes:
Man, just romp
her senseless!

Remember that natures
of necessity, relatively
impedes one’s
moral divide.

For services rendered
reimbursement is
always a given option;
if you don’t have loads
of change on you --
chances are, you’ll be
hearing this inside
your mind’s ear:

Whistling…whistling…
A soul, for a quick fuck;
indeed a bargain comin’
from Juliet’s kin.
Washing away the sin --
Bargaining for a fling.

...STILL
Will the shell of a man;
be tormented by his -- only sin?
Same Ole Fucking Thing!
Same Ole Fucking Thing!

...FOR TOMORROW,
he'll stop pissin'
then he'll start
cheerin' on
the patrons
outside
the streets
laced
of neon
afterglow.

(s. o. f. t.)
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Makata Vol.7 Issue No.4 off the virtual press
Written by Santiago Villafania
Saturday, 01 April 2006
Makata Vol.7 Issue No.4, April 2006 is now available online featuring the poetry of our home-grown and international poets.

Poetry
by Amelia P. Ada, Aurora Antonovic, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Debbie Karol G. Butay, Kristina V. Cajipe, Zig Madamba Dulay, Juanito Escareal, Lee Don Francisco, Lolito Go, Dorothy Go-Guerrero, H. W. Hawes, Noahlyn Maranan, Jen Macapagal, Clive Oseman, Papa Osmubal, Alexander Martin Remollino, Oswaldo Roses, Francis De Lima Tanay and Ella Wagemakers.

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Clown's Anthem: The Blower's Daughter ( Damien Rice )
is the saddest song ever, can't get it out of my fuckin' ear;
and the music video takes it another notch -- google to watch it.