bleed on

Lateral movement advocates literal stillness!

2007-01-01T22:19:00.000+08:00

Peeling the Bandage

Lady Soulless, what angel art thou
that dost seem’st make fools sober,
And perjur’d lips turn’d vile, sweet?
I, then with the same chorus
Ask of you, my fair maiden;

Milady,
Henceforth weep!
Henceforth weep!

Let not thee -- a single hair,
veil yonder those lustrous orbs.
Doth take pride in those tears
and flaunt their fluidity;
For in which salinity –‘tis the reason
for thine exquisite soliloquies.

Let unsolicit’d pilgrims intrude --
Lest merely pardon their paltry stares.
And if thou wilt; O, trespass, then sweetly purg’d.
Fear not, shallow streams;
And through them walketh past.

And if souls but do bleed;
Then a cup of your crimson torrent –-
With haste, I shall drink!
…Letting its soulful potency course these arid veins.

Healing, then rousing;
Rousing, then Healing
…This nocturne knave!

Then Exeunt Pain...
Then Exeunt Pain!!

------------------------------------------------------

ps (written once for she whose passion equals mine...)

More Emo > Less Ego = Astig!

2006-08-16T13:59:00.000+08:00

Cocky! ( posterpaint on board)

-----------------------------------------------------------

Simplify
…then
simply,
FLY!

Will you think
less of me?

A fraction
of a man,
Will I be?

Would you mind
If my coin purse

Be empty?

…

If

still...

All the
treasures
I’ll leave
to history

...

If

still

in the end --

All
but my
Worldly estate
(My literal currency);

...Are these:

That I once
Called

my
damn
poetry

...

--------------------------------------------------------------
Weapons of Mass Indoctrination

Mid last year I was commissioned to work on a flash project(a visual report) discussing nuclear fission and fusion. Then a ton of Physics books later...Einstein browsing...a Dishwalla song (Collide)...coffee and cigs, I was left with quite a humble sum in my backpocket and an ill-humored quest to rule the world. *inserting manic laughter here*

(Click the thumbnail to view the presentation. Originally a flash file then copied into a disk.I uploaded it at YouTube but since it's a hefty file, I divided them into parts so enjoy them all.)

And hope you learn something!

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Dalityapi Unpoemed - - THE MAKATA (POET)Vol.7

Makata Issue No.8, August 2006
is now available online featuring the works of our home-grown and international poets.

Poetry by:
Jaime Agpalo, Aurora Antonovic, Cecilia Borromeo, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, Hazel Calventas, Mary Ann N.Cariquez, Ravelth B. Castro, Melchor F. Cichon, JS dela Rosa, Eoin Ó Donnuartaigh, Zig Dulay,
Lee Don Francisco, German V. Gervacio, C W Hawes, Kim Ki Hoon, Shin Kang Hyob, Jake F. Ilac, Honey Pie Maniego, Papa Osmubal,Tony Mercado Peña, Alexander Martin Remollino, Francis Sales, ReyTamayo Jr. and EllaWagemakers.

msg from: Santiago B. Villafania

---------------------------------------------------------------------
Clown's Anthem: Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol)
video / lyrics

Comfortably Numb

2006-07-07T02:44:00.000+08:00

Autumn leaves -- 40cm x 50 cm (Oil on canvas)
with glass and gold frame

--------------------------------------------------

Concerto in Solo

Between the chaos-driven-man
And the system-defined-world;
Lyrical asylums are revisited
And a litany of echoes then
Shadow the night’s trail
Until it trebles to yet

Another morrow’s path.

…

With but, his thought therein --
Voices, as always, whine their concerto.
Tendered by a series of crescendos;
till cadenza, as so much so, begin.

In dissimilar degrees of timber,
The orchestra of the self and mind
Converse -- in glut -- an audible melee
Which, whose pitch, there lays:
A speech and another,
And another still,
And another ensemble,
Whose notes all denote:

True self is not its conductor!

For such -- a symphony --
Is but an obtrusive obra;
Where scores of tonal undulation
Offer an inflection not all his own.

Inside the intimate chambers
Of once, his hollow mind,
There now, in attendance --
The players for his amusement,
Sharing bedlam among octaves;

Inner conflict within its amplifications --
Certain diverseness, seeking unification.

A seeming debate -- accompany sound bytes,
In a libretto of fragmented compositions.
While still, eavesdropping on gods and angels;
And that of what they address,
And that of what they contest.

Whereby monologues share common juncture;
A medley of intransigence staging
their performance in random fashion:

The barren pleasures of pain in baritone,

The stagnancy of rhapsody in staccato,

A lonesome being’s tenure in tenor,

Falseness of the world in falsetto,

Altering faith and dogma in alto,

The sophistical refutations
Behind the search for
Meaning in soprano;

All, but offer a boisterous opus
With but the audience, really,
Is the tone deaf self
And the mind’s -- still
Unclaimed voice.

Amid the assonance, he is serenaded;
Though, it blares not, in basso profundo.
This soulful evocation, however,
Will -- in euphony -- be the song
He ached to always hear;
Notes he’ll breathe in
At every prospect.

Answers thus, will chant in chorus
When self is finally enlightened;
Then repertoire of the true state
Will demand an ovation,
For such, is a pronouncement
Meant for static listening.

…

But, for the soloist in constant mute,
The continuance of silence --
The interlude of noise --
will, for now, renounce an encore:

much to be
Awaited

And

much to be
Applauded.

-----------------------------------------------------

Clown's Anthem: Look What You've Done (JET)

Click here to watch the video (It's a great song, man!)

SIMPLIFY...then simply, FLY!

2006-06-11T00:47:00.000+08:00

Mao tse Tung /35" x 45" (Acrylic on wood)
I'm a big fan of pop art, and particularly, of Andy
Warhol's various screenprints. The image above
is a hand-painted piece I did -- inspired by
previous works of the above-mentioned pop artist.

---------------------------------------------------

Paradigm of Intoxicated Lips

The wind and spirits pass through;
Coursing within her suspended void.
In every vowel: she writes with infused sadness;
Finishing every single line with olden intimacies
-- Verses without autonomy over pain.

Words sighed, after shots of pessimism.
Liquid vile -- the bartender always dispense;
Subsequently, trailing drained conversations
About cobwebs and frail bones guised
Within the mystery of cupboards and analogies.

Sobriety -- a long frozen flint within her,
In the extremity of wintry solstice,
She sparks ember with continual conquest;
Fiery toxicity -- thawing melancholies
Tethered with every tear and heartache.

Sitting at the same broken stool,
Whistling a similar broken tune;
Spiraling from dizziness brought about
By calculations of crystal rings
Left immortalized by empty bottles.

She requests a song played by old souls;
Heard on vinyl records, aired only by a
Maudlin radio station for quixotic Dons.
Then finishing the last drop and last note,
She flutters and faints along with its memory.

In the confines of his noxious blackout;
She as well recedes, as the sourness of lime
Swims no more to their anonymous tongues.
…Thus, only then will, he and she, relish open kisses
To such paradigm of intoxicated lips.

------------------------------------------------------------
Clown's Anthem: Buwan (Wickermoss)
click here to watch the video

Number 24601

2006-04-29T19:51:00.000+08:00

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

--------------------------------------------------------------
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

-----------------------------------------------------------------

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

2006-04-03T20:58:00.000+08:00

Click each to supersize
Watercolor on masterboard
Studies intended for design merchandise (details).
-----------------------------------------------

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.)
-----------------------------------------------------

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.

----------------------------------------------------

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.

Mounted on Metaphors

2006-02-14T03:24:00.000+08:00

Mounted on Metaphors (working title)
is an unfinished piece -- of a graphite sketch on canvas
(...Someone's southpaw nailed to something?)

{ D E C I P H E R the obra }

-------------------------------------------------------

A Scarecrow made of flesh and desiccated fodder;
Solely, adorns a long stretch of emerald terrain.
With outstretched arms resting upon a crucifix --
It is suspended weightless upon this fertile rapture.

But this creature of hay and tissue confounds --
The main intent of its conception.
It attracts black sagacious fowls from which,
Ostensibly, it must by all accounts dispel.

A blessed curse perhaps from the sower of seeds --
A megalomaniacal jest from he who is the tiller
Of marionette-like subsistence and wiccan folly;
Accursed marionation -- one of freewill mustn’t negate.

Upon the sorrowful pawn’s shoulders rest
Fallen crows -- aching winged leeches from the sky.
Their eerie squawks resonate into an eclipsing gloom;
Withering prolific bliss upon one who such hears.

It is but a mime bounded by a noose on an axial quatrain;
Substantially shackled to the four corners of a word --
A contradiction to its supposed insignia of deliverance,
Wholly made ambiguous by an omnipotent artificer.

A sacrificial altar for the insatiable hunger
Of those flighty vermin -- birds of prey -- and hovering souls.
Voyeurs in the eternal pantomime of a sodomized scarecrow,
In whom unjust harvesters reap their own poetic ventriloquisms.

It is a creature spawned from copulation between
Bestial sanctimony and mortal divinity; or was it between
The polygamy of virginal maidens and pious gods? For somewhere
Its humblest of retrospection had been: defined, redefined then skewed.

O, piteous mannequin! Pardon the blasphemous innocence of a child --
Who seeks redemption from the man he came to be --
Away from the truth he was taught and from the lies he had borne.
The sinner stands at the foot of the being of flesh and hay
… reading meekly a sign above its head:

Iesus
Nazarenus
Rex
Iudaeorum

INRI (titulus)

--------------------------------------------------------

View Andreana's amorous and humbling gesture esteemed upon this clown and his meek carnivale. O Sweet Muse! that was utterly wicked of you.

And drop by The Doppelganger theory and give 'em props or give 'em hell, eitherway you'll love his mascot (or so he thinks).

--------------------------------------------------------

Click the thumbnail to supersize a pic' of the Royal Neil logo
( a commisioned 40" x 30" relief sculpture)

Clown's Anthem: She is My Cain (Wolfgang)

Life in Mono

2006-01-09T21:10:00.000+08:00

A portrait of Holden Caulfield

The Nth Time

Slaving like clockwork --
On every clicking monotony.
Tapping off keys with
Almost effaced letters
Of that synthetic board.
Caressing then pointlessly
Drifting through that
Carpal kneading.
Exhausting the juices--
From pulp to pit,
From mind to fingers.
Drowning in the volume
Of a pumped-up headset,
Bass set to maximum.
Sound files opened --
Opting diverse genres:
From departed masters
And their classical oeuvre’s;
To Mohawk-wielding,
Teeth-grinding,
Angst-ridden simpletons
And their axe-riffs.
Strangling on the smoke
Of your last Lucky’s.
Flicking elegantly ashes
Of a prized wisp of that
Solitary filtered stick.
Glancing at an Everest
Of consumed stubs.
Audaciously discounting
The emphasized admonition
Of that creased cigarette pack.
Subjecting to the drops
Of that chemical dextrose;
Distillery of the elusive light bulb --
Florescence captioning
An induced thought.
Inimitably patented
With your demented infirmity,
Laced with cosmic perversion.
Ignoring the virtual exhibition
Of the flashing time.
Intoxicating, as always, on:
Indiscernible keys,
Nicotine aftertaste,
Rennaisance punk resonance,
Liquid chemistry,
And unlit contemplations --
by-products all --
Of clockwork tedium.

---------------------------------------------------

Spent the 1st day of “The O-6” over at Master Vino’s abode amongst a couple of other friends – what was supposed to be a day of humble penance to usher in a brand new year turned into almost a week of bingeing, debauchery and whatever extremes we could possibly think of ( Pinoy Big Bro’ style ).

{Activities covered – not in their chronology }:
Red Horse engulped: more or less three cases (on 3 separate nights)
Cigs’ our lungs consumed: 1 Luckies. 1 Camel, 2 Marlboro Red, 2 Marlboro White…list goes on (yup’ it’s our fault why the ozone’s depleting)
Dvd’s enjoyed: Revenge of the Sith, Count of Monte Cristo, Matrix Animatrix ( and a whole lot of cable )
Tattoo session: an arm and a hand ( did henna tat’s on my friends )
Lessons learned: taught Vino how to create gifs, in turn they showed me how to use the file sharing program Limewire; and show, they did! [ I think I had my share of porn (flicks of ill repute) that could last me a fuckin’ lifetime; my eyes, they burn! ] Introduced them to kickass tunes of 311 and a couple of my other fave bands.
Another lesson learned: always remain fully clothed (Period!!).
Brunch: not discounting the hangover’s we always woke up with, we stuffed our bellies
at a fashionably early lunch or fashionably late breakfast.
Chef on parade: I cooked for them fried bean curd and slightly seared pork ( tokwa’t baboy ) then we bought congee (lugaw) to complete the ensemble. Astig, my cooking was a delight , all thanks to MSG (we just don’t know why our heads spinned after dinning), hmnnn.
Malling: went to Greenhills to buy some gadgets and to make porma.
At the carpark:I kept hollering, Dude where’s your car?
…Why?…Don’t Ask! (we just kept on laughing)
----------------------------------------------
To all those who took time off to send me offline messages, tags, emails and of the like; Astig Kayo, Salamat!
* Stands firm and points towards "the O-6" and beyond whilst mimicking Achilles' stance when he was lauding and pointing as well to the virgin shores of Troy, "Immortality, take it; it's yours!"

Mheng -- salamat sa e-card, that was awfully sweet of you; continued bliss and miss ya as well! Mwah!
Speaking of animated gif's -- here's the first I'd ever made.
I also stress that the avatar above is also a movie recommend.

Clown's Anthem: God put a smile upon my face (Coldplay) -- listen to it on the player

Attica! Attica!

2005-12-13T02:10:00.000+08:00

{ A friend commissioned me to come up with a poster design for a seminar that he and his group will be officiating, as a requisite for their college -- the topic, "Anti Social Behaviour in a Socialized Society." Resulted in the two studies above. (Heck, I knew my blog's logo will come in handy someday) }
-------------------------------------------------------

"AREN'T WE ALL?"

Aren’t we all…
Thespians in a hallowed stage --
Mimicking life from the poetics within a tragedy --
Of a Dead poet's once uttered dreams.
Harbingers of laughter, unsolicited.
Dancing to celestial beats without end
Until that last day when we lie
Parallel with the horizon.
…?

Aren’t we all…
Preachers in our own cathedrals,
Adamantly advocating faith -- blinded
From eyes, to mouth, from ears, to hands.
Sanctified or damned: we deny making a choice -
‘Til the eleventh hour when we wash
Our bloodied fists with our tears.
…?

Aren’t we all…
Minstrels of a broken tune --
Philosophers ignorant of answers
Already in front of us.
Serenading acoustic rhetorics
(Fanatical idolatry of bent exclamations).
Chanting to the metronome
Of monotonous heartbeats.
...?

Aren’t we all…
Fragments of our frailties --
Debris of a whole that once was us.
Empty as emptiness could ever be.
Our soul’s mere ornaments like carvings ,
Bought and sold by travelling merchants.
...?

Aren’t we all…
Organized grifters, veiled syndicates --
Feeding on spoon-fed lies
By Neanderthals tracing inscriptions
On damp cave walls.
Placing our own sense on enigmatic scrolls
Whose meaning even to ourselves
A question mark.
...?

Aren’t we all…
Cherubims waiting hand and foot
At porcelain gods.
Waiting for effigies to bleed crimson
Or ‘til we realize the blankness
In the meaning we all search for.
...That liquid hope offered
By ivory monuments --
Suck dry our conviction’s succulence.
...?

Aren’t we all --
Alike!
...Or are you simply, indifferent?

------------------------------------

{ As a humble gift, for you -- whose name is synonymous to "LOVE...LOATHE" and everything unsaid -- in between. CLICK HERE!

Post Halloween Blues

2005-12-03T03:15:00.000+08:00

The Seraphim and His Succubus

Act I

There was a haunting silence looming from where they laid --
from where old rendezvous congregate their familiar serenade.
Beneath the eastern sky, he looks westward with resolute awe --
therein the questions, she for purposes of conclusion draws:

She asks upon him, “My Dearest Sir, do tell when...?”
He without reservation, utters words --
like from thoughts of past, he penned;

“O Maiden, for the love of me, consider this modest premise:
Let these verses, your subtle ears, they solemnly kiss:
It shall be the day when music loses… its poetry --
And only bitterness is heard betwixt notes of symphonies .
It shall be the day when the vast horizon loses…its art --
And its beauty thereupon burdens no more a once buoyant heart.

It shall be the day when you, My Rose --
I’d treasure only… for your thorns,
Thence depluming the petals of pledges,
once blindly, from upon which miracles—
its birth, have faithfully been sworn.

It shall be the day when I’ve bled my last grief
For the unfettered thigmonasty –
I once relished upons’t you Milady,
For You, of whom, is My opiate leaf."

{ Their eyes then departed each others entwine;
…‘twas a pause, nay a silence, infinite in its end –
An eternal stasis in the autumn of tear descend,
hence once saccharine, now, became mere bitter wine.}

(end scene)

Act II

…There was an unsettling stillness from where they laid --
from where their innate singularities proposed alignment.
By the unison of clockwork metronome, their hearts swayed;
Therein the questions, for finality, she solicited a tad more,
“Beloved Sir ‘tis the last query then nevermore
Why, amidst all…Why…? -- thine answer now I implore."

The gaze of him from within the reflection of her eyes
mirrored the words his soul long kept hids’t;

“O My Amour, ‘tis like asking breath – Why air?
‘Tis like asking Sin – O Foul design! Art thou forbidden?
‘Tis like asking Abyss – Oblivion, O, Art thou Endless?
‘Tis like asking Death – Angel ,’Tis you… God? "

{ Unmask if you will, My Muse, the bent exclamations --
The questions cardinal in number
( equal to the sum of one and one).
Rhetorics that always remained unasked…unequated
...UNDERSTATED!
For it is, as it is, without eloquent reason --
An answer... (The Answer!)
from which humble lips, dare I say, not behold. }

--epilogue--

...Answers unfolded in the twilight of the night,
when Seraphim and Succubus --
In their Divine Matrimony spawn Cambion.

Inferno… Purgatorio… Paradiso…
You… You… You…
Paradiso...Purgatorio..Inferno..
Me...Me…Me…

(end scene)
------------------------------------------------
Exeunt Playwrights of this poetry’s narration:
Seraphim: He
Succubus: Her memory
Cambion: Still utterly Unknown?
------------------------------------------------

--the end--

--------------

Click the thumbnail to
animate a short montage.
(Flash Animation)
____________________________________
Clown's Anthem: James Blunt (#164 - Goodbye My Lover)
Look for it in the player at the sidebar; or if you want to listen
to all the other clown's anthems, click the
- Open Player in a New Window -
link and enjoy... share my passion for the blues!

"Blood," 'tis an infinite inkwell!

2005-10-18T01:31:00.000+08:00

click here to supersize
--------------------------------------------------

LADEN
(Ode to my ephemeral muse)

A crescent satellite hovers – stationary,
upon an amorphous outline --
(of a being roused by moonlit
emphatics of a lunar deity)
Nebulous, in his outset
and just as indistinct
in his inception
A stained murk
he just is
a mere…

“ Shadow”
at the
footsteps
of her radiance

Dusk,
seethes when
dawn capitulates the
collision of the moment
Curbed and blighted by gloom
He is enclosed in coalescing shades
between illumination and confusion

He trails paths in the vein of a hearse
stabbing onwards his minds
Necropolis -- Sanctuary of
forgotten graveyards
He freights alone
pining over a
Headstone --

Unheard

The intensity
--in his screams --
drowns within the pretense
Of an up-curve-grin -- A masquerade
Swimming against the ebbing tides of his

Undercurrents --

Billowing depth -- kneeling before a cliff
equally mordant at the mocking stars
Acumen -- whose sole bind is to
trace the polarity of a
shape shifting moon

“He breathes life to death
as Death breathes upon him

…twilight…”

His stellar lamentations
laced with lunacy
pierce like grass blades
onto slit wrists…
(with razor precision
upon his own mortality)

His oblivious neurosis
Seems to be…
heard only by the
evening’s anonymity --

guided by whispered elocutions:
heeded by the.. Unwritten

of the absence...Unnoticed

from a wall... Unguarded
(a fortitude – humbly paper thin)
(nonetheless,, nobly speaks volumes)

...of the fourth man
(woman) on the “cross?”
…at the outskirts of Calvary…
(Unheard of fourth bowing down
from the eminence of a Trinity --
and their supposed theology)

Where maidens mourn over the Stigma
of palms CRUCIFIED at the Rhetoric Cross
mounted on metaphors between
every wounded line and
bleeding pauses from a
crimson NAIL (his quill)
whose ink is…

Laden with pain
As it serenades –
( its only bliss )
the chance to be
kissed by the
glimmer of
her divine

…moonlight!

(Hoping his poetics
Dance verses upon lips
Of a kindred
Satellite Soliloquist)

While he waits for winter to dawn
upon his temperate shore
He utters a prayer…
A plea just like
The one he
cried out --
Eternities
Ago…

“Henceforth, my muse –
I ask of you again
suppurate for me once more…
‘Til your tears and mine
thus again collide in the
pretext of fornication!

..And Laden, my name, further be anew!
Escaping the shadows of my dark optimisms…

Whereto?

...Away

From the

Backward

Steps

of a

Perilous

Edge! "
________________________________________
Clown's Anthem: Dishwalla (Collide) click here to launch Dishwalla's virtual listening player

Kahon ng Kundiman

2005-09-23T12:00:00.000+08:00

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

__________________________________

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.

__________________________________________
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..

_______________________________
( 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!

2005-09-15T03:45:00.000+08:00

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…

_____________________________________

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.
___________________________________________

Clown's Anthem: Collide (Dishwalla) and
Youre Beautiful (James Blunt)

Lamenting Flight

2005-06-29T22:58:00.000+08:00

Requiem for the Fallen Icarus

(…Enter Chorus)

I ceased to see for a moment…
Letting mind and soul ascend,
leaving my body to sing --
these succeeding faint lines;
verses swaying to your heartbeat’s cadence --
slave to its effervescent tempo!

x

…My fingers traced the Braille lexis from your corporeal,
A touch striding inch after rousing inch.
With leased eyes I then forget this mortal blindness;
For in your eyes lies my poetry’s infinite inkwell.
Those orbs -- penchant to an Oracle’s black pearls,
Bequeathing a poignant stare with enigmatic persuasion.
Impressionists to the aura of lustrous spirits.
Illuminating; supplementing your tresses’ halo,
Belittling the sun’s radiance; taunting its insipid gleam.
Offering a blinding stare, configuring constellations.

(Chorus)

Then,
I ceased to feel for a moment…
Letting mind and soul ascend,
leaving my body to sing --
these succeeding faint lines;
verses swaying to your heartbeat’s cadence --
slave to its effervescent tempo!

xi

…Sensation and stimuli I cautiously chartered from your lips;
Those amorous lips as elegant as butterfly wings,
In whose these pilgrim lips but do trespassed.
A harvest of wild berries seemed to linger,
Out of every savored kiss, shifting from meek -- rupturing to manic.
Cherishing breaths aromatic as summer blossoms.
Crafting a chaste smile in between pauses -- after every sighs.
Laughter in whose grace dyes the horizon with unseen hues,
Euphorically bringing to a wondrous standstill --
The irrelevance of time and the insignificance of existence,
Letting me forget all my woes, leasing me to taste sweet bliss.

(Chorus)

Then.
I ceased to love for a moment…
Letting mind and soul ascend,
leaving my body to sing --
these succeeding faint lines;
verses swaying to your heartbeat’s cadence --
slave to its effervescent tempo!

xii

…Soliciting warmth from your ephemeral embrace;
From your body’s landscape of metaphysic symmetry.
Beneath the finitude of fervor sheets;
I drowned my melancholy in-between the blatancy,
Trenching my gloom deep amid the rasping of zealous thighs --
Letting the lighthouse’s scarlet lantern silhouette
The matrimony of fiery limbs and its requited prayer.
From centered ophyron, to sweltering chest,
To cross unburdened shoulders --
‘til the unnerved clasping of calloused hands.
In loves’ sepulcher my somnolence took its respite;
Even if only for an epigrammatic instance…Even if only…

( Exeunt Chorus)

Then,
I ceased to breathe for a moment
Letting mind and soul ascend
Leaving my body to write,
Leaving my body to sing,
Leaving my body to faint…
Back into the bosom of the
previous proverbial lines.

_______________________________________
Clown's Anthem: (Waiting in Vain) MYMP
(click the songs title to stream the track)

Lemon Grass

2005-06-26T13:27:00.000+08:00

"Rebirth", 40 x 50cm, oil-based medium on canvas
enveloped with a yellow tinted plexi-glass -- by Lee Don
full view

__________________________________

Lemon Grass

The Hour of Solaris’ Exodus;
A long anticipated departure:
One fine day amidst groves of mangoes --
of aromatic Camia buds and its splendor blossoms --
of grasping essences and revisited innocence.
The radiant Sun showering elucidation
to saturated leaves and to this
dew perturbing bohemian soul;
but once in a precedent verve --
a very countrified lad, was he?
With gleaming eyes,
he surveyed the emerald fields:
Nipa cabins of old he witnessed --
All traded to rural conformities; tsk, tsk!
Bamboo columns and straw fortifications --
now all elements of architectural archives.
Carabao driven carriages --
replaced by horse powered machines.
Ah, the evolution of urban reformities!
Change - is truly, a constant revolutionary; tsk, tsk!
Grassy conduits trailed his course, still;
to adjacent rice pastures --
and to the incorruptibility
of once cherished childhood.
Humid sweat galloping on his bronze skin,
as this somnolent traveler
relished the scent of the prairie’s bouquets --
while treading tranquil on irrigated meadows.
There under the trinity of mango trees;
beneath the elegance of jade leaves
and their saccharine fruitful bounties --
Of golden miracles and amorous marvels;
he took respite, Oh. Sweet Surrender!
Looking up he saw elated kids;
playing on elevated pillared branches,
wolfing on the yellow nectarines.
And the aphorism of their innocence --
The cliché’s of a time of sublime --
Made his eyelids into a watery basin;
Ah, to be a kid yet again!
Just as his sweaty palm and
cigarette stained hand wiped nostalgic moist
from his misty wistful orbs;
a mantle of cumulus bathed the
parched pastures with revitalizing conjecture.
He then: juvenile reminiscent, still;
trailed home walking barefoot.
Striding from verdant paths to mud puddles;
letting the downpour wash away
his evocative whimpers --
with thoughts of Home;
…and yearning to sip a hot broth
of Lemon Grass quintessence.
Ah, to be a kid yet again…
A final send-off to Summer’s solar flares!
And as well;
…to youthful INNOCENCE!

______________________________
Clown's Anthem: Broken Sonnet (Hale)
(click the songs title to stream the track)

Cheap-Ass Cigarillos

2005-05-04T20:55:00.000+08:00

Amidst the fiestas in our bucolic town of Lubao (Pampanga)
I bought me a packet of this Alhambra Mahaba,
it costs about P10 per pack. They tag the cigarillos
as 'Markang Ngungot,' which roughly translated
means 'From Coconut.' I smoked me a couple 'twas sweet,
maybe that's why old folks like this stuff (*coughs, coughs!*).
____________________

Past Psychedelia

Beyond the splendor
of your calligraphy…
I convene the spirits
of infernal flame.
Awaken, Rage;
My iniquitous ally!
Trounce the tears
of winter hoarfrost.

Beyond the reason
in your assonance…
I invoke the soulless at
Heaven’s watchtower.
Follow the wind
to autumn’s plane.
Breeze solace to this
Cannabis mind fields.

Beyond the pen
in saber’s might…
I ripple through waves
of behemoth stance.
Worship the crescent beam;
Let the mermaid’s lullaby
Romance the nocturne
Vermillion imps.

Beyond the rebirth
in your eternal myths…
I ascend from cinder’s womb.
Amongst a murder of crows;
Fulfill your prophesied flight.
Arise, Phoenix!
Realize the epic written
with Excalibur’s blazing steel.

Beyond the labyrinth
In your majestic cathedrals…
I’ll look past the deceit
in your dogmas.

Beyond the altered inhibition
In your alchemic liaisons…
I’ll toast and imbibe
from your goblet, still.

Beyond the lucid vividness
In your manic reveries…
I’ll yield the jousting
of our philosophies.

Beyond the Reaper’s
haunting grim…

Beyond Psyche!
Beyond Pendulums!
Forever I’ll Love Thee…

________________________
Clown's Anthem: Sleep with Butterflies (Tori Amos)

Icarus Off to Misty Heaven

2005-04-18T03:32:00.000+08:00

Inspiration at DeviantArt can be spotted in every click of the mouse, a myriad of aesthetic orgasms will satisfy you with every link that you may somehow weary from and stumble upon. (the original photo was by MsBizarre; and when I saw it, it inspired me in many ways to play around with it, hence the resulting graphic manipulation above) If you want to see it's original unedited state checkout MsBizarre's gallery .
______________

Pernicious
Love

Oh,
beauteous Trojan;
Make haste deeds, Defy
concrete Grecian pillars. Let
the gods of Greece conspire. Let
us be but corporeal and act upon
our fatal loins!

Oh,
sweet tempest;
What wondrous grace!
Let Thy name be stricken off
from mens lips! Let all of Sparta
march to claim, Let ships of tens
of hundreds sail! Let an entire Aegean
fleet come to mêlée. For amidst all
I will still stand firm!

Oh.
Fortified wall;
Flout the foretold,
make swift defiance!
Upset the eyes in the sky,
Redraft the divine tragic comedy
And displease the Playwrights of
misery!

Oh,
arsenals of pain;
Let pilums and arrows
Rain like rays of light.
Aim for my heart. For I, followed
it's ev'ry throbbing whim. This
crestfallen Prince awaits...
And silently beckons.

Oh,
vengeful ire;
I have but only spite
for the gods! Still, I applaud their
theatric puppetry. For one graced beauty
bled thousand mortal men! Draw your swords
What say you? And pierce my heart
For she...My Love clandestine;
has long impaled my beating
empathy!

Oh!
pernicious love;
From forth this destined tryst!
Spawned only lonesome pain and
bled crimson tears! So I must bid my last
farewell, my fair muse!
Adieu...My Love!
...Adieu!!!

______________________________
Clown's Anthem: Hopes and Fears (Keane)

A Minute Fast...A Minute Past

2005-03-19T07:48:00.000+08:00

A Minute Fast...A Minute Past

I flicked a matchstick on a crisp, cold early morn'.
Like a mesmerized moth I stood in awe
As I gazed and played with the minute inferno.
Then I lit my diminutive nicotine nightstick.
Clouds of grey escaped from within me,
Like an angel's lengthy tresses;
I watched the smoke and my misery
Sway adrift with the sinuous breeze.
Letting my melancholies all glimmer away.
Nostalgic slideshow: paused!
I then savored the flavor nesting on my lips,
'Twas an all familiar tang.
Drops of heavenly tears sat leisurely on a fortified table.
My goblet of 'deja brew' seemed to battle the divine damp.
The auburn liquor's warmth kissed the dews.
Then the pearly mists having been briefly romanced
Transcended to seventh heaven.
The irony of a tobacco and a brewed coffee bean
Aided me as I nursed, yet another hangover;
Yet another fuckin' overshadow!
Like a leaf trembling from a tree;
I parked myself, unfazed by my cranial pain.
The uninvited wind breezed by my way, yet again.
Along with it...An ephemeral muse!
Oh! Sweet Rose, that you are; come and ensnare me!
Incarcerate me in your euphoric embrace!
With your destined thorns;
Soil my fingertips with puddles of crimson!
Valve into my subliminal heartaches!
Pierce into the blackest zenith of my grey matter!
Permit me! To again fall witness to the infinite battle
Between the merry sun and the sinister clouds.
Like bamboo chimes,
Inspiration then played a symphony!
An overture long-awaited amidst a lengthy lingering.
Revelations seemed to realize Genesis.
Blank canvasses: now enthrall me,
Like the flickering of my matchstick.
Palettes and horse hairs: exhausted!
Hues and toxic turpentine: then intertwined!
Words smith into lines and curves.
Quill and parchment: bleeded!
Unearthed clay, now in eminence amonst grand marbles.
My transient muse, again, I thank and bid farewell!
For just as she fluttered by so fast,
Hitching onto the swift shift of the pendulum.
Also, promptly, she plunged amongst
The rapid waning sands of the hourglass,
Equally just as hasty!
Oh, Sweet Rose, Adieu!
The Chronos, I proverbially curse!
For a minute had past...
And "YOU" left so God damn fast!
Yet again, another Cosmic Fuckin' Paradox?!
______________________________
Clown's Anthem: Same Ground (Kitchie Nadal)

Enticement at the Wasteland

2005-03-10T23:13:00.000+08:00

Enticement at the Wasteland

An angel's opus accompany me,
As my mind cradle past to present.
Ravens hover around me;
Circling my almost rigor flesh,
Eyeing my yielding heart.
Their gaze: piercing,
Even through my frail frame.
The desert sun: it blinds my chimera!
The desert sands: it robes my bare body!
Rabid coyotes: laughing!
Amongst themselves; skirmishing,
As to whom obtain the lion share of me.
I thirst for a drop of unfiltered truth.
Then a serpent came slithering,
Offering a drink,
To douse my crippling thirst.
Like a spout from its fang,
Glistening liquor: it coaxed!
The lure of that liquid vile,
Venomous as it may
Manifestly seem.
Masked itself in a saccharine placebo;
Making the offer more tempting,
Blindly more enticing!
A bargain was struck,
A covenant was made,
And a soul was traded.
Amid a parched gullet
I lay in the barren sands,
Orifice opened: awaiting absolution!
The malevolent snake it took mercy.
Then drops of noxious ambrosia,
Filled my whole being!
The dilute pushed through my veins,
Then pass my wits...
My soul subsequently!
All faded to black!
Memories no more!
The angel's interlude,
Befell into banshee shrieks;
Their incoherent eloquence,
Their melody of obscurity,
I inaudibly deciphered!
The once fuming desolate:
I laid my head on,
Altered to this verdant Eden.
The Ravens: a catalyst for butterflies!
The Coyotes: Apostles twelve!
The Serpent: My Eve! My Magdalene!
My errant persuasion: My only absolution!
Eyes before wide shut,
Now, no more cryptic visions!
...For my thirst: Will forever be my Cross!
Mine alone to bear!
_______________________________
Clown's Anthem: Mr.Brightside(The Killers)

You Sick Fuck Clown!

2005-02-24T20:19:00.000+08:00

YOU SICK FUCK CLOWN!

You sick fuck clown…
Yet again the Carnivale is in town.
You’re a jester with false smiles,
You simper and snicker but all lies.
A recluse amidst having a manifold mindset;
Misery your company, a constant silhouette!
Others disdainful bliss and trifling pursuits
Bleed dry your sanity!
Always before a live audience,
Your real self inexistent.
You share the stage with the rest of the freak shows.
What you do what you do, no one knows.
Your laugh earsplitting!
But your weep the most hushed.
Tears beckoning, your spirit hemorrhaging!
Blue your perpetual hue.
Your Ringmaster; no fuckin’ clue!
Antagonist as always portrayed,
But unmasked a veiled martyr hailed.
They applaud your fanatical spectacle!
Your true essence, a question they ponder.
Towering laughs, heard across the heavens.
Sightless spectators and muted comments;
Persistently in attendance, never absent.
Mind adrift; subliminally you crave,
For once… they halt the torment!
Others ‘Boo’ and ‘hiss,’ you don’t fret,
Never did react!
So I clap once in my sincerest
I hope you heed it.
But, Alas!
All you shared was a passing glimpse
Then the curtain fell, lights were dimmed
While behind the scenes…
You faced the mirror,
Then you smeared your clown face,
And with a stunned demeanor!
I now grasped true comprehension;
For in your eyes I stared,
For your soul you’ve bared.
… You sick fuck clown…
Fuck it! I AM YOU!!
________________________________
Clown's Anthem: This is the last time (Keane)
deviant comments

Fallen Icarus

2005-01-25T18:40:00.000+08:00

This is a photomanipulation I did of some stock photos courtesy of dreamstock and zerothirtythreestock both DeviantArtist as well.
_____________
FALLEN ICARUS

In surrealism’s arms;
She offers her cold embrace,
With her deceiving smile she charms.
With broken wings;
I aim to soar, try to fly…
Bloodied up, it hurts, I cry!
Black smoke afloats;
Damn! it chokes.
Illumination blindly guiding.
To crossroads unwavering; misleading!
Deafening serenity abound;
Absolute Nirvana, never found.
Cloaked fears chase me,
My tombstone they carry!
Blind preachers summon a test.
A cliff I reach, I rest…
I look down, I bleed.
With weary knees I plead.
Drops of crimson,
Fall to the vast oblivion.
Trinity ever so Holy,
On all my slumber persistently lonely.
Darkness I peeked;
At the bottom destiny I seeked.
Then I leap!
I weep…
Did I soar, did I fly?
A mystery…
Oh! Fate, Why…?!
_____________
deviant comments

Lull Me To Slumber

2005-01-18T05:48:00.000+08:00

Lull Me to Slumber
a.k.a
[Loner chats with Phil Collins (private title)]

My heart once vacuum packed,
A feeling of sense it lacked.
Numbness beating,
Pins and needles pricking,
But last night briefly I smiled…
Time seemed to have flied.
That beautiful face seen once more.
Friendship again; it opened its door.
My new drinking buddy,
Across seas and country.
Your eyes, virtual lenses.
Your voice, keyboard phrases.
Ever the little big sister.
To all her friends, a comforter.
Always the subdued bad girl, you little rebel!
Her compared to diamonds, they lack luster.
A trip down nostalgia for miles
We crossed with a gleeful smile.
It’s dejavu like old times,
Swappin’ sob stories ‘til the clock chimes.
Sharing anecdotes and one liners,
With this now friend once partner.
While she chugs her cold beer in a distant land;
Cheap brandy I toast here on the other hand.
As we both lighted our lil’ cigars,
Happiness in us afire.
Makin’ funny faces, singin and dancin’,
Your eyes through virtual lenses, I’m starin’.
I’m fallin…
Always almost meeting on crossroads.
But heck, destinys’ mystery it corrodes!
For hours blissful intoxication,
Accompanied our conversation.
Again night and day shifted,
My head all-liquored up, senses drifted.
Shakespeare now I quote;
So this budding cunning linguist his words I rewrote,
“Adieu! Parting is such sweet sorrow
But I must bid goodnight
So I could chat with you tomorrow.”
Thanks Wildchild…
For last night I smiled!
_________________________________
Clown's Anthem: Are you gonna be my girl (Jet)
deviant comments

Message in a Liquor Bottle

2005-01-15T03:10:00.000+08:00

I lie weightless in the abysmal.
Absynthe fueled, I sit by the bayside;
Flinging pebbles,
Upsetting the tranquil sea.
But nay the deep,
Still serene as can be.
I stir the water,
Watch the shifting current.
And in my mind, I paddle…
A pen my friend.
The bottle my mistress.
The foghorn sounds!
The lighthouse it blinds!
And in my mind, I paddle…
I sip the last drop,
Bitter sweet tang lingered.
My thought it enthused.
The felt tip it spoketh.
And in my mind, I paddle…
Pages upon pages;
Layers realized,
Nostalgia rain poured.
Rhythmic lullabies it spewed
Tears kissed the melancholic ink.
For again like lovers,
In each others company.
Misty eyed,
Once more a tear fell.
It touched the once calm sea,
The waves it sternly rippled.
The swell it pained for me!
And in my mind, I paddle…
The bottle she’s drained.
The pen all out of words;
Her name and mine,
With crimson tears I scribe.
Bottled up pages, I threw!
Now reaching… nowhere I knew.
Nowhere, seem my fated place.
The spot I covet to be.
I scream finally…
And in my mind, I drown!
And in my mind, totally free!
…Her!
… and Me!

______________________________

Clown's Anthem: Cast of clowns (Wolfgang)

deviant comments

poetryclub comments

Caricatures 'R us!

2005-01-04T05:15:00.000+08:00

Slideshow

My latest deviation if you will; comic illustrations of actual peeps. They're not yet finished though, a little more touching up on Photoshop for the colors and 'Voila!' as they say; another one for the books.
*Taps self at the back for a nice job and carries his own seat across the room(Chuckles)*
Click here for full view
________________________
Clown's Anthem: Noypi (Bamboo)
deviant critiques

Blurred Revisions

2004-12-27T05:18:00.000+08:00

Blurred Revisions

The same brick wall I build which once shielded slings and arrows,
Now floored upon me with all its concrete illusion.
The same dreams that once infinitely the Sandman
Abetted me to swank a sound slumber,
Now befell to be dreadful nightmares
Each night I try to break away from.

The same solitude I at one time envisioned being my Zion,
Now disentangle to be this crammed full Hades.
The same goddess which I once sited in a pulpit;
She who opened my eyes and wiped my tears,
Now morphed to be this Frost Queen
In whose slight touch, freezer burn!
And the constant raison d'être for my drowning eyes.

The same shadows I persistently stumble upon narrow alleys
and dead ends
Which at a point served as my only company,
Now even in the brightest of days no sight.
The same quill and parchment I used to draft my traverse
In this cosmic string theory,
Now became quill darts
That struck me bulls-eye where it hurts the most...my soul!
The scripts on parchments expunged.

The same source of strength I once called upon for fortitude,
Now grew to be the reason for my deteriorating circumstance.
The same perspective of life,
I once frequently sketched on a blank canvas
To boast having this perfect equilibrium,
Now I've erased for it's a three dimensional
Flawed masterpiece.

The same mask I perpetually sported to dispel
Other peoples duplicity and as well as mine,
Now glued itself into my mortal coil.
A permanent fixture to me,
Yet just another quintessence of human dichotomy.
These same eyes which once gleefully dumbfound
Life's miracles and mysteries,
Now see only blurred visions.
True meanings of what once were figurative truths
But in reality are only artificial optimisms and false certainties.
A second look...these are my blurred revisions!

Take the Trainspotting Quiz!

2004-11-16T06:10:00.000+08:00

Which Trainspotting Character Are You?

I took the Trainspotting Quiz and results are in; I'm definitely "Sick Boy" all pun intended.
If you haven't seen this flick (Trainspotting) then I urge you to get your copy whether from your nearest pirates or simply rip it off the net. It's a wild, freeform Rebelian trip on how not to be a low-life! It's a hillarious story focusing on a group of disaffected Scottish youths who turn to heroin to escape the banalities of modern-day existence. Then, they begin to suffer the consequences and discover that there are no easy solutions to the inherent loneliness and pain of life. I bet you'll fall from your seats laughing if you haven't already pissed in your pants that is! You'll learn something as well...

Kalyado mong kamay!

2004-11-12T07:39:00.000+08:00

This is an Adobe manipulation of an unfinished painting I had. And below is a little prose I composed to go along with it.

Put your Blame Here!
(from the sick mind of a sick me)

I wiped my tears
So insubstantial I won’t be.
I scrunched my fist
So for scuffle I would be ready.
I gnawed my tongue
So not to scream.
I dosed off
So let me dream.
I wore a mask
So pretenses I could hide.
I shackled myself
So no more friends to confide.
I closed my eyes
So not to cringe.
I pissed on laws
So dogmas I can infringe.
I reflect on nothing
So to misery I won’t fall prey.
I knelt to call upon
So not to drift away.
I knocked back a lot
So memory won’t serve me right.
I wander in the day
So refuge I could find at night.
I consumed your bullshit
So desertion I won’t sense.
I licked my wounds
So the puss may intense.
I scorched your scripts
So your history I’ll have no hint.
I blurred your image
So in my mind no more print.
I popped a pill
So to tempt death.
I slammed the door
So not to plead.
I slit my wrist
So in hopes to be freed.
Inflicted pain
God, just let it bleed!

Seclusion Perpetua! (Lost in Translation)

2004-10-22T13:34:00.000+08:00

Below is an indirect translation of a previously posted prose or proverbial
rambling of mine, so if it sounds vaguely familiar; that's the reason why.

---------------------------------------------------------
UNTITLED

Sa iyong paglakad sa pagdikta ng kapalaran,
Noon pa ma’y alam mo nang walang patutunguhan.
Dati’y nasa pahina ng tadhana,
Ngayo’y bahagi ng kinalimutang kasaysayan,
Buhay walang saysay, walang makaagapay.

Tanging ihip ng hangin ang iyong kasama,
Na siyang pumupukaw sa uhaw ng iyong pag-iisa.
Patak ng luha’y ‘di humuhumpay,
Pagka’t alam mong lahat ay wala na,
At ‘di na makasama.
Kinulong ang sarili, pintua’y sinara!

Pawang lungkot ang nadarama sa bawat paglubog ng araw.
Nanginginig ‘di sa ginaw
Ngunit dahil sa takot ng pag-iisa.
Na ang tanging kaagapay ay itong musika;
At larawan ng nag-iisang sinta.

Parang baliw na kinakausap ang sarili.
Nakapiit sa apat na sulok ng silid.
Dito binubuhos lahat ng hinanakit.
Ngunit ‘di pa rin mabawasan ang nadaramang sakit.
Ang tanging lunas marahil ay manatiling galit…!

Walang katapusang paglalakbay,
Natanto mong ‘di muling makakabalik.
Tanging sarili ang kaakay at ang mundong nilikha.
‘Di na muling marinig ang sariling mag-isip
At tanging nakikita’y ang paglaho ng kamalayan,
Nag-aabang dumating napipintong... kamatayan!

Not all Paints and Palletes!

2004-09-28T05:38:00.000+08:00

In between classes, cutting classes and after classes you'll see most of us here. Where you ask, it was called Bilog; a hub situated inside the University of the East campus that architecturally resembled a cock-derby arena, just outside the Fine Arts building. Many rushed projects were painstakingly finished here.We were so-called Deadline Artists; 'cause we would submit plates and projects just in the nick of time, well most of us, basically. In a typical day you'll see us hanging about in our little tavern, lighting a smoke, swapping nonsense, hiding from our professors, playing a hand or two of cards, staring at girls who passby the hallway and holla "Hotshit" at 'em, ...stretching after hours length of painting nude models, at occassions grab a gin and tonic and have a buzz, and tryin to avoid gettin picked up by guards (Damn, sikyu's!).
And that was just for starters, the fun really starts after school hours and then the shindigs on, It's the after party as I like to call it. Then come the next morning you arrive at school with a nasty case of hangover, ask your friends 'Bros', what happened last night?' and find out from them you were swapping spit and some fluids with a gal you somehow forgotten, tough right! What was most fun was when everytime we would offer to do henna tatoos, bussles of hot mommas would line up pick a design and have it tattoed on places horny guys like us would appreciate, suprisingly most of them were very unhibiting, they never cared if a g-string, a strap or lace would show....or God forbid you cup a feel, Oooops! sorry!Again!And again!
Damn! that's why I love beein an artist.

Up Yours!!!

2004-09-24T00:50:00.000+08:00

I used to know some pretentious prick who acts like some nazi mutha! One of this days you'll pay your just dues! You made my stay at Stalag 69 a living hell. Thank God D-day came. For all I just wanna say this ain't some long-time hostility pointed towards one guy and I'm all geared up to shoot him with a rifle like that guy on Higher Learning when he went all AJAX on campus or when the Son of Sam killer slaughtered all those people and he told coppers his dog made him do it. And no I won't go Columbine on his ass, that's just plain stupid; though tempting I might add. No, I just saw a miniseries about Hitler's life and damn! it made me think of this fuckin poser, can you say SIAMESE!

Blast From the Past, Guess Who? Winners may buy me a beer.

2004-09-23T21:59:00.000+08:00

This is for all DETIMARO members or any coed who happen to have spent 4 years in a place worse than the ghettos, And controlled by this Mein Kempf avid reader and all-around Uncle Fucker. The place we were sentenced: MCU, the fucking dictator;__________?? ..was who? A very distinctive hint can be seen in the picture. Indulge me in giving you bits and pieces of information to guide you in realizing really who this nut swallower is. Well if you didn't by now have the slightest of idea as to the resemblance of the two freak jobs, the one the real Hitler and the other the Adolf wannabe. So here it goes:

1.This poser lets call him, looks and smells like a real dictator, meaning 'Yes' he looks and smells like dick. 2. He also controls a bunch of his army men, you know he makes them say Achtung!, and makes them march and ready them for impending war to conquer Europe, NOT!!! 3. Ah, yes how can I forget the hair genocides, t'was a gloomy flag ceremony each day of inspection. You know we have to be good little boys and follow in the Fuhrer's same sense of styling our locks. No parting of the Dead Sea or you'll have MC Hammer hair when he sends you off to your jail cell 4. Our uniforms man, must be Government issued, he wishes. The pants man if the seamline of your pants exceeds 7 inches and your off by a centimeter it's the trenches for you. 5. And what the fuck was this anti-semmitic (or Jew hater; I called him that bec. Jews are known to have long hairs; and he hates long hairs) thinking when he was issuing TRO's, I think it was called for those quote-unquote violations, like it was a crime to have bangs. 6. Your right to organize went AWOL bec. of him, If he sees a large group of people hanging about like we did he'll seperate us and tell all our Gustapho's about it. 7. Every morning he would stand in his imaginary podium, hold the speaker phone and urges us to join his little Nazi party and those with not so clean records were humilated and bared because they did not belong to the Aryan race. 8. Final clue, when D-day came at our graduation he threw tradition off the window, He over and over commanded us not to throw our top hats at the end of the ceremony, Bullshit!!
Figured it out...If not still, this demogogues' famous alias is that thing that can be bought each night from guys carrying baskets while humming that all familiar line _ _ _ _ _! It's around eight pesos a pop. And It's something you can eat. You make Tsup! tsup! at it Hmmm, Delish!

How sweet was our victory guys when we toppled off his so-called regime and survived.
Still somehow we have to thank him and those other cunts like him for....for..., Wait! I can't think of nothin. Thanks for playin Guess the Fuck face. Next time I'll quiz you all on who the Lenin, Mussolini, Bush, and Saddam wannabes are. Live Fast! Die Young! fellas.
Ora Le Esse!!!
This is a paid advertisement for my one time nemesis, evil canevel , duke of hazard and Czar of Pateros.Hey Bygones!

Sigmund Freud Why? or So Fucking What? What's the better title?

2004-09-23T06:00:00.000+08:00

As my friends could attest I'm both a Psychology and Fine Arts major but both came out half-baked. Well if only Sigmund Freud could rise from his grave and can give one more session and psycho-analyze me, Think it will help me a lot. Maybe if he'll give me a dose of a little hypnotheraphy, some electric shocks then top it with the Chinese torture chamber. Wait I got an idea... So all I need are some wood preferably 6ply then fashion it into a box, some nails those sharp ones and throw some dull ones too, a necklace must have a pendant of course; and I'm off to have a one on one session w/ myself.

SFW?
-from the sick mind of a sick me-

-As the flame touched my lips
-As the liquid with its dire putrid taste made its way to my head
-As the sound in all its noise pushed through my ears
-As the memoirs of yesteryears flashed back
-As the relenting query ‘why?’ seek out answers not yet found
-As the wind with all its smolder clouded my awareness
-As my eyes drowned in tears
-As my fists struck all barriers with all my strength
-As the ink wrote stuffs never meant to be comprehended
-As my body trembled ‘cause of trepidation of what may come
-As my veins showed manifestly due to perpetual pressures
-As my heart fell into a spasm

I ASKED MYSELF, SO FUCKING WHAT?

-As the cold crept down my spine
-As everyone who I care for disputed everything I do
-As my supposed friends where never there when they should have been
-As my mentors who ought to help pushed me down
-As love with all its might crippled me with pain
-As my key never unbolted any locks
-As my providence ran out and was mislaid by misfortunes
-As the door closed entirely hitting me on my face

I ASKED MYSELF, SO FUCKING WHAT?

-As I traversed along the cycle of existence
-As I am ensnared in this vast infinity of hassles
-As I am persistently haunted by my conscience
-As I am naively lying to myself
-As my ego consumed me entirely
-As my enthrallment with the devil diluted my faith
-As the gods with their master plan played us like marionettes

I ASK MYSELF SO FUCKING WHAT?

-As the deafening sound of angst awakened my longing for total tranquility
-As the worsening state of my existence become further dismal
-As her face kept on budging in on my mind
-As fate ever so spiteful destined already my demise
-As the wounds with all its pain never healed
-As my eyes confine in three dimensions the lunacy of our so- called world

I STOPPED AND ASKED, SO FUCKING WHAT?

-As her saccharine ‘yes’ grew more and more into a rancid ‘no’
-As my still breathing body sank deeper and deeper six feet under
-As the shackles of my repression to transgression and lure tightened each day
-As bigotry from diversities befall more the reason for another holocaust
-As night dawns fast and day never showed his visage
-As creatures grand and intrepid evolve to become no more than mere human

I ASK MYSELF SO FUCKING WHAT?

-As solitude become more the meaning of my bliss
-As the chemicals that flooded my system diluted my wits and body
-As diffidence made me fearful to meet head-on even my own silhouette
-As I hear people whispering calling me a freak
-As my life flashed back leasing me a new chance to glimpse those exhausted years
-As my psychotic mentality geared me to do things you could never even envision

I STOPPED TO PONDER SO FUCKING WHAT?

-As the prejudice eyes of the populous pricked through my individuality
-As change ever so constant seemed to have elapsed over me
-As I ran out of grounds to dissenter
-As people kept calling me a LOSER
-As my life ever so multihued now faint to tones and shades of black
-As the cheap malt liquor made me lofty

I STOPPED AND ASKED MYSELF SO FUCKING WHAT?

-AS I PLANNED TO TAKE MY OWN LIFE, I PAUSED TO THINK DO ANYONE EVEN CARE…

Mascot name: Beegoatee

2004-09-23T04:24:00.000+08:00

This is a logo design for a billboard that someday will grace tha long highways of EDSA or this will be somethin you'll oneday spot atop my major advertising firm's highrise. I chose the name ERACISM STUDIOS for its intended double meaning. It could mean as an artist I've dealt with erasures a lot or it could also mean I'm not prejudice. The logo features a charicature illustration of me holding on for dear life on my PC while still posin' for the camera

MMDA Advisory: Think Pink!

2004-09-23T00:46:00.000+08:00

Rage Against the Machine is my fave band of all time not only due to Zack dela Rocha's lyrical stylings and vocal prowess but also because of the band's idealists minds and no-nonsense I wouldn't take crap from anyone philosophy that resonates to most of of their songs. My personal testament of how great this bands is this, It was my Speech class and we were supposed to give eloquent monologues in front of the class and it was half of our final grade. I was so nervous 'cause I had nothin' prepared so when I was called I relunctantly stood up and introduced that my speech was delivered by a great revolutionary leader by the name of Zack dela Rocha then I pieced together bits & pieces of their songs lyrics namely the Intro to 'Bombtrack', a lot of ' Without a Face' and ended it with 'Take the Power Back' all in the Live and Rare album, that I just bought so most of their songs were still freshly imprinted in my mind. 'Cause you know how it is when you buy a new spanking album you listen to it until you get tired of it, then pile it where it can collect dust and be forgotten. So to make a long story short when I was finished my professor liked it and I passed the course. If he only knew...
So as thanks this is my propaganda art as proof of my leftist incling.
But I don't know if this is a fight I could win.
What was I thinking' ...URINALS!!! Piss off!! MMDA when number 1 calls I wouldn't recognize
a wall from a post or a pink smelly urinal.
Fight for your Right!

Original Poem for a Very Original Girl

2004-09-22T04:24:00.000+08:00

LONER

As you saunter to where your fate dictates
You think your life's entirely ending up in waste
Once a part of a grand perpetuity
Now rapt amongst forgotten history

Remembering the dawn of time and of creation
You once believed in it with deep fascination
Now you halt and pointlessly wander through the dark
You escaped from which you thought was the cell of
your incarceration

Endlessly roaming you now realize you can't go back
And all you've got is yourself & the world you've made
No more can you hear your mind think
And all you can see are your memories drowning down
the sink

Only the frosty wind gives you company
To quench your thirst from your melancholy
Drops of tear relentlessly fall
'Cause you've known all is gone and is no more

I'm a big Scarface fan and my other name is Tony Montana

2004-09-22T04:20:00.000+08:00

This is for the Vatos Locos who never get tired
of pimpin'. Hey, Carnalito's this one for us,
Homes! This little nonsense I did way back
when we where still in the barrios, I mean in
school, Esse!

DETIMARO

D- elinquents we are often called
Enemies of our own teachers
We are the new society
The new breed of insanity

E- njoying the plasures of life
As we rage against our enemies
Not minding the world behind
Trapped in world of cruelties

T- omorrow will wait
And we don't even care
For what may come around
'Cause we don't easily scare

I- nhuman you may call us
Our souls filled with sin
Death may come and get us
For we don't know where we've been

M- ind astray we all will stay
In a world of sin and lies
Insanity! You try to see
Our corroding conformity

A- narchy and chaos
Our humanity plagued with disorder
Time will tell then you'll see
You all will burn in hell

R- otten youth they all dispute
Diversity versus eccentricity
We the proud, the few
We fuse to our brotherhood

O- ld men dying, justice not prevailing
The only hope of this nation
Against holocaust or incarceration
DETIMARO! Your road to REDEMPTION!

What's this Shit?

2004-09-20T16:19:00.000+08:00

Just something I did to kill time..
Wondering what the hell this logo means, it's just some kickass group. There's no frontin just some kickass pimpin, hey fellas, Holla!! Founded in the year of our Lord;1995. We were a bunch of rowdy hotheads as we reach our one decade mark; we the few. the proud, we fuse to our brotherhood!

To Beer or not to Beer, that is the Question. Whether it is nobler to sufer the slings and arrows of a coffee bean......

2004-09-20T16:12:00.000+08:00

This is a parody I made using the famous Starbucks logo.
Hey cofee for me sucks, whether it's a hundred bucks worth of Frappacinno or those in cheap
sachets , eveytime I take a sip it always wanna make me take a dump. I say give me malt liquor anytime. Don't care if a pint of beer can make me puke, nothin still beats a hangover!

Homage to the Queer

2004-09-18T04:00:00.000+08:00

This original digital artwork that I made is obviously inspired by Andy Warhol; a fuckin kickass gay painter who if you didn't know designed the famous Campbell soup layouts. Anyway, if your wondering who the hell is that lad in that masterpiece sporting that very cute visage, Is he famous you ask,...'No it's not Judas man, it's just me..

2D Art

2004-09-17T16:42:00.000+08:00

This is my original artwork.It's a 4-peice 2 dimensional artwork designed as a series art. These pieces were made to resemble brass or metal sculptured peices.The materials I used were thin sheets of rubber, illustration boards and tons of glue.

Maria Clara

2004-09-17T16:08:00.000+08:00

Influenced by one of my mentors ethnic inspired artworks which predominantly features women with arched heads.

Buddha bless you...

2004-09-17T16:02:00.000+08:00

The concept was intended for my design artclass but it was never approved so I used it for my sculpture anyway.

Sarimanok

2004-09-17T14:56:00.000+08:00

This piece was particularly inspired by a local phonecard.

Tsunami

2004-09-17T14:50:00.000+08:00

This is inspired by a yakuza tattoo I saw from a mag.

Shotgun Blues!

2004-09-17T14:44:00.000+08:00

This is my sepia artwork of two oldfolks enjoying fine cuban stoges, or is it?; hopefully not in Makati or they would have been charged with a misdemeanor. This vintage painting look can be acheived with the use of just a brush, a coffee, and a little skill to boot.
See even our grannys' were jammin' back then, bet you they were listenin to some Rasta stuff on the background while they were stogin'.

Trainspotting

2004-09-16T21:46:00.000+08:00

A movie I can't forget...Probably because it's a movie that will blow your mind. A surrealistic fore-telling of a pothead's life. See Ewan McGregor dropp his pill in the loom and he diving and swimming after it.Live fast...Die young. For sure you'll get your fix if you view this flick!

Taxi Driver turned Vigilante

2004-09-16T20:47:00.000+08:00

Are you talking to me? I said are you talkin' to me? There's no one else here so you must be talking to me. I think most men in one point or another who ever saw this flick has tried to recapture this vigilante's monologue. But I bet not as disturbing as when De Niro spew the line. Kudos.

Che Guevara: From Rebel leader to Pop icon

2004-09-16T19:38:00.000+08:00

This is a Warholian tribute to the greatest revolutionary leader Ernesto "Che Guevara. The finest leftist there is. Hasta La Victoria Siempre! His portrait will forever dawn the streets as long as there are pigs who trample on people's civil liberties.

The Big "O" for Mona

2004-09-16T19:13:00.000+08:00

Mona Lisa smiles or just hesitantly not too excited about Da Vinci painting her portrait.
Or is she posing really..? Hmmn, maybe someones pulling a Bill Clinton stint down her skirt hence the nasty grin. Hey whatever happened back then, ain't a problem 'cause this little ditty right here fetches a hefty right now. Gonna have me some of that moola, hopefully, soon, too.

1st Day of Creation...And then there was light...Then my Blog....And I said to myself Everything's Good.....

2004-09-16T06:53:00.000+08:00

In the beginning there was nothing, no thought of space existed, only the deafening silence of nothingness traversed this vast infinity. No concept of randomness but of just the pre-destined...
Then came my awareness of blogs, hence this new chapter for me.
Let me forewarn first time voyeurs at my site 'cause I even don't know
when will my 7th Day be....