Lateral movement advocates literal stillness!

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!

Cocky! ( posterpaint on board)

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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


...


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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


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

Comfortably Numb

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.

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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!

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

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

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

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)

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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)