Wednesday, April 30, 2008

the fascination of self in online publishing

In the press, there are the editors. In the classroom, there’s the professor. And supposedly, in the house, there are the parents. Writing seems to be so guarded and sacred that when internet age comes, armed with blogs (and its other relatives), all aspiring writers applaud. Because in this now-favored outlet, no one directs, no one hinders. Meaning, in cyberspace, there are no editors, no professors, no parents. As blogs prevail, with popularity that never seems to fade, a lot of the discreetly self-proclaimed deep thinkers of the community rise and contradict due to the advent of narcissistic writing.

There is no need to further evaluate and elaborate what this is; blood and tears have been shed enough to understand its intricate nature as to why it has even surfaced from the face of the planet—or more appropriately, extracted from the minds of human beings. Well, I think that’s what personal blogs are for; to provide an alternative for a journal.

There’s too much “pa-concern kuno” in this world (and those who lead this are the “pa-scholar” in the general public), even though the truth of the matter is that each and every one of us has the desire to show what is not usually shown, heard, or felt—or anything that the majority thinks is embarrassing. And this is the reason why quite a number of people (such as I, in some instances) tends to get out of the rut from everyday political, spiritual, and even metaphysical brouhaha. Most often, it is also due to the dreariness of current events that some succumbs to express write-ups in a dark depressing tone, or perhaps emotional which is then condensed into “emo,” as specially classified by the hypocrites. In my opinion, at least there are people who are emotional, who really feel, unlike those who have an emotional capacity of a paper clip. Thus the discussion about the smallest of things, may it be the dirt on a sleeve or a new music video on TV, can provide the buffer needed to continue living as bearable as it can be.

Those who try to suppress this desire in order to live up a yearned status (which makes up a social climber), to create a glossy impression to other people, still fail because in whatever way they sugar-coat their statements with these purportedly academic and mind-stimulating thoughts, they are who they are just trying to be someone else.

These new breed of societal A-list wanabees are also basically jologs; just overly-decorated with jaded eyeglasses or simply armed with a powermouth which rivals that of a National Social Butterfly, and are simply clouded in an air of cerebral superiority that they’d just rant off direct quotations from the book of Immanuel Kant or Karl Marx when they can no longer discuss what’s going on about someone’s personal opinion concerning Boy Abunda’s latest get-up.

If people define what is being sensible by dipping into a conversation about the mysterious smile of McDonalds, the evolution of whatnot in all fields known by mankind, or the economic instability of our nation and take this as their daily lunch chat, well they are better off at Fort Santiago’s dungeons with Beethoven’s deathly sonatas playing endlessly in the cold air in order for their ears to bleed and go deaf so as not to hear any nonsensical stories from nonsensical people or—in this case which calls for the defense of narcissistic writings—go blind so as not to witness air-headed writings from air-headed people (wait, how can music do that… never mind). Clutter in cyberspace? Well, those who are being opposed thinks of the same thing, too, by the way (now, at the least, there’s a similarity between the narcissistic and the theorist). Besides, everything in the web is clutter. What is only important in it is Google AdSense. Also, though their sixth degree synonym of a simple adjective—shockingly transforming “particular” to “circumstantial”—really impresses me for this show of knowledge that exceeds a chimpanzee’s, I remain my composure and set of standards.

If these writings are truly revolting and pathetic, what more is that egotistical response of describing such kind of personal writing in the first place? Don’t people have the right to intricately talk about a drinking session like an ode, or beautifully weave words about the afternoon rain like a poem, or magnificently transform the idea of hatred into a compact vignette? Well, those who do, go on! Continue what you want to say. Preach about the latest ear piercing you’ve got or what brand of undies you are currently wearing. I have been doing this in my very own public blog (no, not those two examples) and if someone comments that I am like a high school drop-out who have read nothing that goes beyond the thickness of an Archie Double Digest magazine, I will slap at their faces the tome of The Great Critics or Science Explained. Point made. The major rule here is to know the limitations. And I know mine.

Primarily, all of us have our respective spaces in the web and so those who cannot help but go bonkers about a blog post that is tagged selfish in their limited mindset, they should travel a thousand years back and live in caves. As a matter of fact, the title of this post should not mention “fascination” but, rather, an “importance.” The alleged ludicrous writing grants online balance: light and heavy, funny and serious, important and the not-so-important-but-relatively-worth-knowing.

We have our own words to say. In the web, there is no intellectual copyright but only intellectual arrogance. Even if I have said this I still cannot change anything, but the bottom line is I have explained. Actually, there is no need to stoop low. Sheesh, I couldn’t believe I am saying these things. If there should have been enough time today, I could have go on about my new hairstyle. Sayang.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

going to gotham

One of the few films that really stood on its leg after numerous disappointing series is the Batman. Thanks to Christopher Nolan who got the director’s chair and save the franchise from a possible regression into mediocrity, the second take of the caped crusader in Gotham City is another reason to buy a ticket at the nearest movie house when the month July comes. And Christian Bale as The Dark Knight can be another reason. The foremost villain of the bat here is the Joker—my favorite next to the Riddler! In the trailer, his chilling query “Why so serious?” duly shows the perfect combination of instilling fear and guilt. And he’s portrayed by Heath Ledger; which would probably be his final performance for the silver screen if his other movie, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, ceases to show up in theaters.



[ ego ]


Monday, April 28, 2008

heads up

Blame the appearance of this post to Marianne (hey, now you’re mentioned here in two consecutive entries!). If not for her countless attempt on “beautifying” her blog, I wouldn’t have done the same thing and stay completely satisfied with my old header. Well, I can’t help it but make one too (insert envy with a smile). I am not pleased with the results though but maybe, someday, if the knack of laziness doesn’t overwhelm me, I would make another blog header much worthy in the eyes of both the art police and the art-illiterate.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

staying in connection

For my 200th post, I am presenting this photo taken by Marianne Tapales last April 21, at 8:01 p.m., who bearably helps me define what this “F” thing is of which I do not believe existed until she drilled it into my head just recently. Mushy! Mushy! Smile!

Saturday, April 26, 2008

cutting the grass

At long last, I did something today that changed the course of my vacation. I didn’t hit the beach nor go spelunking which I sorely miss; what I managed to do was something many wouldn’t dare do these days, especially in my age. As with other breaks that I had in the past years I decided giving a hand to my mum and came out from our house—working gloves on and armed with a pair of garden shears. Because mowing seriously wouldn’t work in our stony hilltop frontyard, I manually cut the weeds. Unlike in the previous long days when I jadedly face the computer like a customer service representative, I enjoyed my shady spot, the brush of the long grass, and the beads of sweat that reminded me only of an effort put into good use. As the sun leisurely hid behind the hills while the gray skies signaled me and my mother a rainy night, I went back home. I was happy.


Friday, April 25, 2008

premature outcome

Upon lazily lounging on the sofa with an Alice Walker novel at hand, a thought clouded my mind I didn’t understand the first three sentences. “I can’t stay like this forever,” I mumbled to myself. Bracing the uncertainty ahead, I searched for my pencil, eraser, ruler, pens, brushes, and a bottle of ink at various places I never imagined they were actually there (I planned of making a pen and ink A3 piece). The urge to revive my embarrassing talent in visual arts, or whatever is left from it, was so stimulating that afternoon (embarrassing because I didn’t get anything to be proud of from this talent other than filling our house with framed works only the family ghosts appreciate). As I was starting my sketch, my mind went suddenly blank that I gained nothing more but a piece of paper being scrawled with already-mysterious lines only my fickle and elusive inspiration can comprehend. I stowed my materials back into their places and picked up the Walker book. What a waste!

Thursday, April 24, 2008

9th gawad ernesto rodriguez jr. awards

Ang Gawad Ernesto Rodriguez Jr. (Gawad ERJ) ay ang taunang patimpalak na inilulunsad ng College Editors Guild of the Philippines (CEGP) upang kilalanin ang kagalingan ng mga publikasyong pangkolehiyo. Ito ay bahagi ng layunin ng organisasyong isulong ang pagpapataas ng pamantayan sa pamamahayag pangkampus at ang pagtataguyod ng mulat at makabayang mga manunulat-estudyante. Isinasaalang-alang ng Gawad ERJ ang teknikal na kahusayan ng publikasyon at ang nilalaman ng bawat artikulo’t bahagi ng isang pahayagan.

Nahahati ito sa mayor at maynor na dibisyon. Sa bawat kategorya ay nakapaloob ang mga uri ng pahayagang maaaring ilahok ng bawat pahayagan. Ito ay ang mga sumusunod:

A. Mayor na Kategorya
1. Tabloid
2. Broadsheet
3. Magazine

B. Maynor na Kategorya
1. Literary Folio
2. Alternative Form
3. Website

Mga Alituntunin
1. Maaaring sumali ang mga miyembro at hindi miyembro ng CEGP basta ito ay isang opisyal na pahayagan ng mga estudyante ng isang kolehiyo.
2. Ang bawat opisyal na publikasyon ay maaari lamang sumali sa isang porma sa mayor na kategorya.
3. Maaari namang salihan ng publikasyon ang lahat ng nabanggit na porma sa maynor na kategorya.
4. Ang mga kalahok para sa tabloid, broadsheet, magazine, literary folio at alternative form ay kailangan ng tig-15 kopya ng partikular na isyung ilalahok.
5. Ang mga kalahok sa website ay kinakailangang nakalagay sa isang CD na may limang kopya at ang website ay nararapat updated sa loob ng nakaraang buwan bago ang paligsahan.
6. Ang lahat ng kalahok ay nararapat na nailathala at/o nailabas para sa pang-akademikong taon ng 2007-2008.
7. Ang publikasyong lumahok sa mga patimpalak at di nakadalo sa 68th NSPC at 34th Biennial National Student Press Congress ay awtomatikong diskwalipikado.
8. Ang desisyon ng mga hurado ay ituturing na pinal.
9. Ang mga nagwagi sa mga patimpalak ay pararangalan sa gabi ng Mayo 26.

Luzon - Trina 09104803098
Vizayas - Rachelle 09285059855 / 09222058904
Mindanao - Leigh 09109136556

(from Rachelle Mae Palang, CEGP Vice President - Visayas.)

* * *

The College Editors Guild of the Philippines will hold its 68th National Student Press Convention (NSPC) and 34th National Student Press Congress on May 23-27 at Camp Alano, Toril, Davao City.

The Guild is the oldest and largest intercollegiate alliance of student publications in the country. This year, CEGP celebrates its 76th year of existence committed to the advancement of campus press freedom.

The NSPC will provide lectures and workshops on basic, intermediate and advanced journalism skills. Likewise, trainings in different literary genres will be given. And as part of the Guild’s dedication to educating student journalists regarding the plight of the country, various socio-political discussions will also be featured.

their intoxication*


My eyes protest. They present themselves as arid balls of wakefulness even at this hour (must be the hot cocoa drink that gives me this sudden insomnia). Wait, I assume this is caused by some knowledge I just recently knew. Starting from this enlightenment, I acquire some mood. An alleged icon of promiscuity, a distraught aggressive player, a confused flirt, and a depressed single are grouped together. An unhealthy bunch, I might add. What makes me fall into such fit? Let’s just say that destiny is one troubled guy; he’s supposed to venture onto the right path but usually tends to create fresh branching trails, attracted by the temptations offered by those unknown sidewalk vendors of which, more often than not, lead him to a catastrophic dead end. The silly me, the martyr of all practicing masochists, tries to straighten out destiny. But still, to no avail, my efforts remain futile. So, I let those four characters have the time of their lives. Like what most people say, irony is sprinkled on everything and everyone loves it. For me, it only gives a bitter aftertaste. I am sorry. Just can’t sleep.



Wednesday, April 23, 2008

making a scene

I confess our home is relatively close to nature but amazingly, in my whole stay in this forested area, there’s this invisible boundary that seems to separate us humans from the non-humans. It’s like we are living in our own space as they’re enjoying their private lives in a much greener habitat. But before I went to sleep and turn off the computer this early dawn, a tiny tree frog was sitting innocently below the monitor. That’s no joke. Of all the things to appear at one o’clock in the morning, I witnessed a shiny little amphibian. Cute. What more, just when I woke up from bed, I heard some disturbing clanks outside. I went out to see what was happening and to my amazement, a native chicken was actually trying to make a home right in our dirty kitchen’s sink! Okay, I don’t know if this is just with me but I think there’s something in the world right now. And wait, there was a bee buzzing around my head when I was typing this.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

accepting it

The simple irony of this song by Amy Winehouse, the seamless mixture of jazzy melodies with words of short-term anxiety and acceptance, makes this the perfect song in this humid summer where I just linger in a monobloc chair and amusely ponder on things that have just passed. Though the melody and the lyrics are composed by Winehouse, the whole basics of the music is just an interpolation of the Motown song Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. Meaning, it is based on that classic hit. Hear the resemblance? Well, I consider this an exemplary work of genius (although, I know, it’s not original) to rehash an old favorite and present it in a fresh way. As for the lyrics, they're just damn so deliciously tenacious they keep on ringing in my mind.

Amy Winehouse

All I can ever be to you
Is the darkness that we knew
And this regret I got accustomed to
Once it was so right
When we were at our high
Waiting for you in the hotel at night
I knew I hadn't met my match
But every moment we could snatch
I don't know why I got so attached
It's my responsibility
And you don't owe nothing to me
But to walk away I have no capacity

He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day, but I'm grown
And in your wake, in this blue shade
My tears dry on their own

I don't understand
Why do I stress the man
When there's so many bigger things at hand
We coulda never had it all
We had to hit a wall
So this is inevitable withdrawal
Even if I stop wanting you
And perspective pushes thru
I'll be some next man's other woman soon

I can't play myself again
I should just be my own best friend
Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men

He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day, but I'm grown
And in your wake, in this blue shade
My tears dry on their own

So we are history
Your shadow covers me
The sky above ablaze

He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day, but I'm grown
And in your wake, in this blue shade
My tears dry on their own

I wish I could say no regrets
And no emotional debts
Cos as we kiss good bye the sun sets
So we are history
Your shadow covers me
The sky above a blaze that only lovers see

He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day but I'm grown
And in your wake, my blue shade
My tears dry on their own

He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day but I am grown
And in your wake
My deep shame
My tears dry on their own

He walks away
The sun goes down
He takes the day but I'm grown
And in your wake
My deep shame
My tears dry.


Monday, April 21, 2008

to end a wall

Either one of us
will divide, break, or tear
this wall apart; and yes not push
because pushing things aside does not do
any good—they just fall. (You enforced
not to wait for someday and I said eradicating
that someday, hopefully, must be easy.)
If this wall remains standing,
stoic and solid, let it remain standing like
a sentinel that would remind us what we have done,
or consider it an idol, a wide white barren article
of the past wherein we hold our hands
inside one of its tiniest cracks, crooked serpents
crossing the coarseness of its concrete face,
and see if greatness in mistakes crumbles
by the littlest plastering of confessions.

(for you of which this shall be the last. Have a joyful day of birth!)

Friday, April 18, 2008

another one

Grand visuals plus gripping storylines (though the latter may unfortunately wane in the end) more often than not attract me. That’s why when I have seen the movie trailer of Tarsem Singh’s latest feature film The Fall, it instantaneously becomes my favorite next to Julie Taymor’s Across the Universe and Guillermo del Torro’s Pan’s Labyrinth.

Though Tarsem, as what he is famously called in the industry, is much more associated with The Cell (which starred Jennifer Lopez and Vince Vaughn) and its “inappropriate” heaviness on eye-popping imagery than on plot, I still say his latest work has a lot of promise. Well, I just base this praise on the trailer and I just hope that when I see the entirety of this movie I wouldn’t swallow these words. I don't even know yet when this would be shown in the Philippines.

Click here for the full trailer.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

47th dumaguete national writers workshop fellows

Just by simply sending in some manuscripts I consider obsolete in my little world of writing where I am a practicing fiction writer, I am scared and weak-kneed. What more, when I received a messaged last Monday (April 14, 2008) that I got into a national workshop, I was suddenly thrown into a whole new atmosphere. I was, really, in a shock thinking this was just a prank. But it wasn’t. And minutes ago, I've read a message in my email from the Workshop committee... My, I know some of the fellows (not only those from Silliman) and they are published and professionals in their own right. Shiver, shiver.

National Artist for Literature and National Writers Workshop Director Emeritus Edith L. Tiempo and Silliman University are pleased to announce that the following young artists have been accepted as fellows for the 47th Dumaguete National Writers Workshop scheduled on May 5-23, 2008.


Lawrence Anthony Rivera Bernabe (UP Visayas)
Noelle Leslie G. dela Cruz (Philosophy Assoc. Professor, De La Salle University)
Ma. Celeste T. Fusilero (Ateneo de Davao)
Rodrigo Dela Peña (London PR Consultancy Creative Assoc., Dumaguete)
Arelene Jaguit Yandug (English Asst. Professor, Xavier)
Bron Joseph C. Teves (Silliman)


Marguerite Alcarazen de Leon (Ateneo de Manila)
Dustin Edward Celestino (UP Dilliman)
Joshua L. Lim So (De La Salle)
Liza Baccay (Speech Pathologist; contributor Cebu Daily News)
Fred Jordan Mikhail T. Carnice (Silliman)


Ma. Elena L. Paulma (Xavier)
Anna Carmela P. Tolentino (De La Salle)
Lamberto M. Varias, Jr. (UP Dilliman)

Sponsored by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) and coordinated by the Department of English and Literature, the Workshop will be held at Silliman University in Dumaguete City.

Among the panelists expected to assist Dr. Tiempo are Dumaguete-based writers Ernesto Superal Yee, Bobby Villasis, Myrna Peña Reyes, and Cesar Ruiz Aquino, as well as guest panelists Dr. Rowena Torrevillas from the University of Iowa, Butch Dalisay, Butch Macansantos, Dave Genotiva, Susan Lara, Danny Reyes, Anthony Tan, and Lito Zulueta.

Other sponsors include the following: Hon. Emilio C. Macias II, Governor, Province of Negros Oriental; Mr. Roy Cang, Bethel Guest House; Ms. Susan Cu, Café Antonio; Atty. Whelma Yap, Bacongham Resort; and Ms. Kitty Taniguchi, Maryah Gallery.


I can clearly remember that I have mentioned in one of my old posts “people are like sparklers; they ignite a distinct flicker so exhilarating and engaging but when suddenly they fade, they leave you in earnest sacrifice of waiting.” Up to now, I still believe in it. But through constant enforcement of strong scolding at myself, I can now attest to the last seven words of that quote. I don’t wait. There’s no need to wait because from now on, I have to decide whether I would be dragged downhill with all these difficulty or climb up as mightily as I can while at the same time hate everyone who made me fall. I can’t think of any solution than to hate in order for me to forget. Any suggestions? Please tell me; I know this is not right.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

a day of pure annoyance

1:00 am – Like a parasite, it never leaves that easy.

1:30 am – It’s all coming back. Argh!

8:00 am – What’s the definition of offend?

9:00 am – Mr. Cleonico Fontelo was not in his office at the Business and Finance (BF) building so I wandered to the Multi-Purpose Room (MPR) and found him there. I rushed back to the BF and retrieved on his table the papers I needed.

10:00 am – Went to the OIP and talked with a secretary (‘mad). Sprinted again to the MPR and met someone along the way (‘pissed). The big boss talked and talked and everything changed (‘ultraelectromagnetically hyper-angry).

10:00 am – Dragged myself back to the BF and procrastinated in a bench when I discovered the secretary I was looking for was not around.

10:30 am – The world was against me. Very egocentric but true. Head Superhot.

11:30 am – Sent some messages to some people; erased some messages from other people, unread.

12:00 nn – Lunch at Chowking with Donna and Claudine. Well, some promises are meant to be broken.

1:00 pm – Cooled down at National Bookstore. Just got a relaxing feeling whenever I get myself surrounded with fresh, unopened books sitting daintly on their respective shelves.

1:30 pm – Hurried towards my place, dashed to the pier.

2:00 pm – Wait. Silence. Sea wind.

3:15 pm – Ocean Jet was at it again; late.

4:45 pm – Bohol welcomed me with open arms and was glad that I left that city. It’s just a hurting city.

5:00 pm – Typed this.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

submit your works for the 4th philippine speculative fiction anthology

Speculative fiction is the literature of wonder that spans the genres of fantasy, science fiction, horror and magic realism or falls into the cracks in-between.

1. Only works of speculative fiction will be considered for publication. As works of the imagination, the theme is open and free.

2. Stories must cater to an adult sensibility. However, if you have a Young Adult story that is particularly well-written, send it in.

3. Stories must be written in English.

4. Stories must be authored by Filipinos or those of Philippine ancestry.

5. Preference will be given to original unpublished stories, but previously published stories will also be considered. In the case of previously published material, kindly include the title of the publishing entity and the publication date. Kindly state also in your cover letter that you have the permission, if necessary, from the original publishing entity to republish your work.

6. First time authors are welcome to submit. In the first three volumes, there was a good mix of established and new authors. Good stories trump literary credentials anytime.

7. No multiple submissions. Each author may submit only one story for consideration.

8. Each story’s word count must be no fewer than 1,500 words and no more than 7,500 words.

9. All submissions must be in Rich Text Format (.rtf – save the document as .rft on your word processor) and attached to an email to this address: Submissions received in any other format will be deleted, unread.

10. The subject of your email must read: PSF4 Submission: (title) (word count); where (title) is replaced by the title of your short story, without the parentheses, and (word count) is the word count of your story, without the parentheses. For example - PSF4 Submission: Bull Meets Frog 3500.

11. All submissions must be accompanied by a cover letter that includes your name, brief bio, contact information, previous publications (if any). Introduce yourself.

12. Deadline for submissions is September 15, 2008. After that date, final choices will be made and letters of acceptance or regret sent out via email.

13. Target publishing date is December 2008/January 2009.

14. Compensation for selected stories will be 2 contributor’s copies of the published anthology as well as a share in aggregrate royalties.

from Dean Alfar's blog.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

sunlit burial

The instant the song has been sung
and the prayer has been preached,
in memory of your most melancholic moments,
the sun screams with intense bliss
on this day when the clearest of all blood
is shed on the heels of your beloved.
The morning star casts everyone immense shadows
and a little later, when they leave,
you barefacedly dig for the bones
and brings them to your unknown haunted home.
You can no longer bear the burden
so you keep it hidden behind your shadow’s back
which is lengthening, forever looming
as the commencement of the burial
truly (finally, you said) concludes
by the time the sun sets with your secrets.

This was written between 5:30 and 6:00 p.m., Sunday after going to church, for the purpose of giving this as a present. Eventually, the result was much more of a disappointing ode for the bereaved than a gift for the blessed. I changed my mind.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

what is your curse?

Another person’s complaint a while ago is my interest for clarification right now. Someone’s enigmatic predestined life got me into thinking: do I have a curse, too? No, not the curse that we get from evil witches but the kind of curse that seems to be shockingly inborn and tends to ruin our goal of attaining our wishes.

For example, there’s this curse that makes a person unusually fail in every examinations taken no matter how many liters of oil are burned at midnight. Also, there are those that pitifully become the object of ridicule by almost everyone in campus. So, what is mine then? I have a little inkling on what it is, though, but I forcibly get it off my mind. I don’t want that too-obvious curse; I want a different curse! And still, the longing for a crystal-clear picture on what my curse is remains unresolved. Think. Think. Think.

Friday, April 11, 2008

hard to forget

If memory and history cannot be separated,
the chance of removing the notes on the corkboard
that we leave for the taking
will eternaly remain an impossibility.
Apr 11 / 08 (01:24am)

Thursday, April 10, 2008


“Love can be magic, but magic can sometimes be an illusion.”

Sensations keep us alive. They serve as reminders to keep us on our toes, to perk up our logic when needed. At the most, they can be reliable sources in knowing one’s pulses are still on the go. And sensations do not only come in physical forms like the itch on our skin or the hunger that becomes violent whenever we skip our meals but, also, they can be the inside joke that forms in our heads or the simple thought of meeting someone in the afternoon. But what if everything, the sensation believed to be so meaningful and authentic starting from those countless nightly conversations to that spontaneous kiss of the recent past, is not real? In a direct clean-slate opinion, that sensation surely cannot be real, it is just a transmission of pure fakeness one may unfortunately experience. It is undeniably tragic to fall into this situation. Going astray in one’s thoughts like thinking of being uselessly disregarded in the dark or pondering on the ideas of the macabre is inevitable.

Then one may ask: In the first place, how would one determine what is real from not in order to avoid from falling into such mess? Honestly, that’s one question that is so hard to answer; especially that from the very beginning the growing sense of belief basically flourished since there was constant nurturing of hope, trust, and love. No harm done? Well, there is. Other people’s insensitivity and excess playfulness just made me stress the point that nothing in this world is indeed authentically real and beautiful. Beauty, I say, does not lie in the eye of the beholder, but rather on the eyes trained to see what is not actually there. Therefore, a sensation is just an illusionary trick of our complex, twisted being.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

those days

Someday one would just have to agree that some memories,
important or absurd, are better captured in old photographs
than bear them in mind in each passing day…

…there are things that should now hide
in their special corner, somewhere, wherein one
does not need to look for them again…

…and most of all, there are those people who should now leave
whose everyday companionship and familiar conversations
would, maybe, forever remain a recollection of distant thoughts.


Monday, April 07, 2008


I’ve been staying in my hometown for almost three weeks and the whole sense of “vacation” hasn’t sink in to me yet. That slippery word, especially for a student like me, supposedly gives me the sense of trips, sands and beaches but what I am having right now are only the internet, books, and bed. I am expecting my fellow high school rascals to get me out of the rut but I have just learned they are busy pursuing the “serious” nature of Nursing until the end of this month. Oh my, anyone, please help me break out from this agonizing extreme-boredom sickness.

Saturday, April 05, 2008


We pin these notes on the wall; this little wall
of some queer material: porous but firm,
soft yet clingy, like us
when we bravely paraded the barren streets
on ungodly hours and screamed at the night
for lost loves—evasive, incomprehensible, or non-existent—
for you and me, that seemed to be fixed
within the frame of our separate fears.
(Actually, it is not just a little wall
but a board made of cork granules
bunched, compressed, packed and then baked in a process
only time knows when it shapes into a form we could all love
to see, to touch, and to feel.)
As we pierce these pieces of papers
filled with intentions, desires, or even long-kept admonitions
on this board
that welcomes the penetration
of the tiny metal spears, we experience a departure,
a sudden suspension of remoteness
that we would stare at the board
—while the spaces slowly flee from existence,
gradually covered by our notes we leave for the taking—
and be enveloped in this silence we all dread.

(for someone who pleads to bear this all)

Friday, April 04, 2008

dark blue southern seas 08

Here are the final contents of this literary folio:

Bitter Harvest Alfred Casipong
Mr. Sunshine Carlos Garcia
Camus Dreaming Jan Paulo Bastareche
Sweet Baby Justin Megan YuThe First Dream Robert Jed Malayang
Until Today Marianne Tapales
Wanderers Michelle Eve de Guzman
Like A Broken Record Rodrigo Bolivar II
Damien’s Succulent Fiesta Breakfast Anthony Gerard Odtohan
Solitude John Boaz Lee
Group Study Ian Rosales Casocot
The Return Timothy MontesThe Other End F. Jordan Carnice
The Spark Sonia SyGaco
Necrolatry Jan Paulo BastarecheLightless Zakiyah SidriInstant Messages Lyde Gerard Villanueva
Picasso Bron Joseph Teves
Pulutan Celeste June RiveraBulsa Celeste June Rivera
Life Radio Bron Joseph TevesReverse Mask Primy Joy Cane

Thursday, April 03, 2008

palanca, anyone?

Please, would someone slap me directly at the face? Because right at this very moment the competition is ringing in my mind even though I am fully aware that my aptitude in writing is juvenile. Anyways, for those who want to participate, click here for the papers needed in participating the 2008 Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature. And better work on those writings, the deadline is on April 30, 2008.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

dbss coming soon

The Dark Blue Southern Seas (DBSS) Literary Folio will be available soon. This 2008 issue will no longer be in a magazine form but in a 100-page book; thanks to Mr. Cleonico Fontello for approving our proposal. Though the university could only pull off 1,000 copies for circulation (which is a far cry from some university that have produced 9,000 copies!), the good thing here is that finally the Weekly Sillimanian has been able to produce an actual literary folio—unlike Sands and Corals which has been stagnating for the past three years.

Inside the lit-folio are the works of:
Timothy Montes
Fred Jordan Mikhail T. Carnice
Jan Paulo Bastareche
Sonia SyGaco
Carlos Garcia
Alfred Casipong
Celeste June Rivera
Rodrigo Bolivar II
Primy Joy Cane
Michelle Eve De Guzman
Anthony Gerard Odtohan
John Boaz Lee
Robert Jed Malayang
Zaki Sidri
Marianne Catherine Tapales
Bron Teves
Lyde Gerard Villanueva
Junstine Megan Yu

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

because from now on

"Ah, when to the heart of man was it ever less than a treason
to go with the drift of things to yield with a grace
to reason and bow and accept at the end of a love or a season."
Robert Frost

"Some people swallow the universe like a pill;
they travel on through the world,
like smiling images pushed from behind."
Robert Louis Stevenson

"Differences of habit and language are nothing at all
if our aims are identical and our hearts are open."
Joanne Kathleen Rowling