Generalismo

Yesterday marked the 143rd birth anniversary of my great grand-father. I post a few "modern" images I've picked up from the web to help commemorate his life.

The Man!!

100 Bullets

I've been following this series diligently for over seven years now. Think Reservoir Dogs, Sopranos, Godfather, Wall Street and Maltese Falcon. I was hooked from the outset -- suspense was built with bits and pieces revealed gradually over the years now to culminate in a dramatic showdown in its final 100th issue. It has all the elements I like in stories - crime noir, a plot revolving around an ensemble of characters who are all well-defined, graphic violence, street dialogue, dark, gritty and  more twists and turns to the story-line than a snake in motion. 

There are no proponents of good here. Only people caught up in a whirlwind of shifting allegiances and betrayal. 

One theme is recurring -- that things are not what they seem.  A few of my favorite characters have already been killed off. You cannot get attached to anyone.

Five more issues to go. Can't wait to see how everything falls into place. Yet feeling sad that it's all coming to an end and nothing to look forward to. I cannot rant about it. You just have to pick it up and read it for yourself. It is quite an experience.

(The best resource on 100 Bullets on-line that I've found. The images were taken from this site.) 

http://www.100bullets.sevenpennynightmare.co.uk/100bullets.htm

You and I

This song is a favorite among the Days with the Lord crowd. This was the only "non-cover" version I could find online. We were too attached to this song that we would even sing it during communion at mass although there wasn't any religious significance to it.

Siam

I loved driving to Ayyuthaya. It took an hour and half to get there from Krung Thep, even less if I felt a little more reckless and drove like a man possessed. While it was a tourist attraction, the crowds were generally thin. On weekdays, it wouldn't be surprising if you found yourself all alone at times and the chedis were all yours. There is a restaurant right beside the river which served the best garlic fried soft shell crabs I've ever had in Thailand. Goes well with Heineken.

I miss Siam.

Bladerunner - Time to die

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.

Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.

I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate.

All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.

Time to die.

As time goes by - a not so known tale of romance at AS

Herman was the toast of the AS lobby way back when in UP. All the females swooned but he never noticed. He had this strange relationship with this equally gorgeous lass, Lisa, still with a tomboyish disposition then--untucked long-sleeved polo shirts and sneakers and a knapsack slung over her shoulders. On her birthday, he gave her a baseball bat. Because she asked for one.

She was not to be contained nor owned. Not comfortable with demonstrations of affection. One Valentine's day, she refused to accept a bouquet of red roses from an admirer. She was livid. She was stern. "I don't want it." She had a reputation for shooting them down. And it was a reputation earned, not merely hearsay without basis.

She would tell Herman, "Will you stop pursuing me?"

"Bakit, liniligawan ba kita?" He would retort. That would shut her up and put her in her place.

I could not figure out Herman. Couldn't fathom if he really liked her or he was just playing a game, the way he would efficiently run the point or shoot threes. He came from a family of athletes, more known for their brutish nature than for their sensitivity.

I had front-row seats to this show. Herman had just learned to drive and was not comfortable navigating the streets of Metro Manila yet. I would drive him to Mandaluyong, drop her off at her house and pick him up after an hour or so. It was always the same story, she wasn't into relationships. And it seemed that it never bothered him. He would let her rant and he just prodded along. I never pried. I was just the driver.

One day, he comes up to me while my fingers were gliding over ivory keys and asks if I knew As time goes by. I played the tune for him. Without fail, he would ask me to play it every time a piano was in proximity. Just as I was a willing driver, I also played the role of part-time musician.

"Gusto 'yan ni Lisa." Finally, he admits.

The fox listens to the wind in the wheat, the color akin to the hair on the little Prince's crown. Not surprising. He had been tamed.

Here's to you, Herman and the girl who got under your skin!

Remembering Rey

It’s been 19 years now. Almost two decades since he dispatched himself, choosing the manner and the moment of his departure.

I would rather dwell on the fine things created by his hands. Certainty defined the body of his visual work. Black and white were the only colours in his spectrum. His sketches were clear-cut and straightforward. No room for ambiguity there.

His saxophone exuded music much louder than his voice, with an eloquence his tongue could never match. His tones filled up completely the entire lobby of AS. We all took heed and paused. We listened to the story of our lives narrated to us.

Yet, the same hands were prone to violence as well. I have witnessed the pointless battering of bodies amid savage war cries. I recall scarlet. Scarlet and flesh. Some things you would rather put out of your mind.

He might as well have been born in Sparta. Brought up in a household where discipline was paramount. The rules were simple. He was not to be trodden upon. He would never back down. During the early February mornings of 1986 at EDSA, when the crowds had not yet convened, his presence was reassuring. His resolve was steel, fortified by pride. Unwavering.

He was never afraid of anyone or anything. It was only he himself that he probably feared. And in the end, it could have been the reason for his fall. He was beaten. Or was it the other way around?

I miss him. Funny, he’s been gone far much longer than I’ve actually known him.

“When I meet you in the sun, I shall tell you much.”

(The image is a caricature he made of me during a rehearsal break of a production we staged in UP).

Classix Nouveaux - Never never comes

Beer would cascade down our throats as the Clash, Tears for Fears, the Cure, the Bunnymen and the Smiths merely articulated our life philosophies. We slouched against car bumpers, drawing long drags on Winstons or were laid out on the Corinthian pavement like picnic rugs as the party crowd weaved through itself.

We relished our outsider persona. The middle finger was perpetually directed at everything and everyone.

XB were the two relevant letters in the airwaves. This tune would come on and give us pause.

We would fall silent and an inner voice would lead us to a chamber within, not often visited but definitely recognized and kept away from the outside world. We always did need a reminder every now and then.

This was an anthem. Rampaging memories just tore the levee apart.

Imagery
We never come to see is blind
Far outside
The covers we hide behind
Daylight
Turning into deep night
Insight
Forever you know
Never never comes
Somewhere far
We used to be we are and proud
Visions we can
Never come to see are loud
Daylight
Turning into deep night
Insight
Forever you know
Never never comes

Wolfie and sharkie - kilabot ng mga tupa

That in the photo, is my friend Sharkie. I knew him only briefly. For less than a day actually. He acted rather strangely. Like a fish out of water. The one on the left is also a friend. He is James. Sometimes I think he is not all there.

He thinks he is Gary Oldman and I am Tim Roth. He thinks he is Hawkeye and I am Chinggakook. He believes he is Michael and I, Tom Hagen. Truth be said, I only let him believe what he wants for God only knows what a dose of reality would do to his fragile self-esteem.

To be truthful, I am the lone wolf and he is the cub. I am Batman and he is Robin. I am Aragorn and he is Gimli. I am Toshiro Mifune and he is Tetsuya Nakadai. I think you get the picture.

He is an enigma though. The black and white collar is now part of the wardrobe. The chalice is an additional accoutrement from which he now dispenses Holy Communion. But the big bike and all 450cc of it stays. Oh, and get your hands off his Samurai katana. That is Hanzo Hattori steel. Still have lots of unfinished business. Navigating tight turns at breakneck speed is really pushing it. No, that's not faith. And no, that's not stigmata either. Those are lacerations and punctures when you fly into the air and land 15 feet away. Jackass. Now get yourself stitched up. What? You're going need a metal brace in your arm?!? What is it with you and your self-inflicted injuries? Jeez, the last time around, you knelt on a shaving blade. By the way, since when have you developed the taste for crepes? Crepes, my butt!!! yeah, yeah, yeah. You are over her. blah blah blah.

It's a mad, mad world when the fishers of men were weaned on Joe Strummer and fascinated with James Gandolfini spewing "figlio de puttana."

The Sheperd has yet to return but in His infinite wisdom, has left the wolf to watch over the flock. Of course, the sheep are unsettled to have a predator in their midst. But unbeknownst to them, legions of ferocious beasts lurk in the darkness, ravenous, ready to pounce and tear them to bits. It has gotten a lot more dangerous. El Lupo Santiago bathes in the lunar glow and howls at the moon, lamenting lost loves, reliving past glories, celebrating la vitta and warning demons to keep away. And the hounds are kept at bay.

My man, I've got your back like you've always watched mine. Bring it on then!! Bring it on.

We are all Massoud

Ahmad Shah Massoud, slain Afghan resistance leader, is one of my personal heroes. He was born on September 2, 1953 and was assassinated by the Taliban on September 9, 2001 -- two days before the September 11 attacks. I post this as a tribute to the man who would have been 55 years old two weeks ago. It's a pity he is not as well known as Che Guevarra. On second thought, considering how Ernesto Guevarra's likeness and image have been shamelessly commercialized, perhaps Massoud's relative "anonymity" allows his legacy to remain intact and pure.

The world was a darker place when Massoud's flame was extinguished. We need more great men like him.

We are all Massoud!

http://www.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/0110/junger.html

(photo by Reza)

Ang galing mo Romi!!!

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

- Rudyard Kipling

What is that which will cause my true spirit to emerge and will bring forth the bravest of performances? What is it which will compel me to locate my inner strength and draw from it?

What is my Everest?