FLIP / still

Waiting

2009-12-30T11:08:00.001-08:00

Last week, Judy asked me to write a story about commitment. I don't know why, but she just did. Here's my spin on what that thing is. This is a story about a boy, Kristoff, and his undying commitment for Taylor, his girlfriend. I thought that I'd keep the story simple, so please try to enjoy!

Yesterday, it was all about the aphids. Kristoff saw them sucking the life out of a rosebush near the train station. There were clumps of them – white, fluffy clumps of sap-sucking aphids preying on the life juices of the rose bush. Then, Kristoff saw that there were also ladybugs on the rose bush. The red and black beetles were feasting on the sorry, little botanical vampires. It made him smile; somehow, he knew that the rosebush will be right as rain, and he got off the bench that he was sitting on to head back home.

Last Friday, Kristoff thought that the bench near the train station was rather uncomfortable, and he thought that he couldn’t bear sitting on it anymore. Every time he sat on it, the hole where a nail should have been seemed to suck in his skin and make the bottom of his pelvic bone chafe onto the wood. It felt abrasive and raw. He would not have continued sitting there if not for the doves that flocked in front of the train station, swarming at bread crumbs and the French toast that he has thrown on the black and grey pavement to keep most of the birds cooing near where he waited. The cooing made him feel impervious to the irritation that waiting caused him, bringing him back to a time where all he needed to hear was the sound of Taylor’s giggles.

“Ummm, that’s so sweet of you, Kristoff,” he recalled what Taylor had said as he was handing her a bouquet of roses – a going-away present to wish her luck in her studies in Milan.

“Well, what can I say? I want you to remember what you’ll be missing for four years. Are you sure that you can’t just study here? We have good universities here, too, you know?”

“Oh come on, Kristoff. It’s only four years,” the memory of Taylor in Kristoff’s head went on. “I thought that we are through this? I promise that I’ll come back to you as soon as possible. I’ll come back to you even if I were already in a coffin lined with satin and gilded with roses.” He thought that she was always morbid.

“Don’t say things like that. It’s creeping me out.”

“What!?! If I die, I want to be buried in a coffin with silver roses as decoration. That’s why you love me. You love my attention for detail! Hahaha!” she joked. “But promise me that you’ll wait for me, ok?”

“Do I even have to? You know that I will. I will wait for you here every day if I have to.”
With mischief in her eyes, she said, “I’ll hold you to it.”

Then, instead of the deep, rumbling of iron train wheels, the sound of flapping wings shook him back to reality. Kristoff let out a deep sigh as the memory faded away. He got up, and headed for home when the last of the sunshine followed the lead of the evanescing thought.

Last month, Kristoff noticed that the street lamps went on at exactly 5:57 PM. He wouldn’t have noticed if not for his cellular phone sounding an alarm. He had set an alarm for that exact time because he had an appointment to keep with Mr. Lathenbaum, the store keeper of the bookstore right beside the station. He had a book from Africa for Kristoff.

“What a chilly evening to you, young fella,” Mr. Lathenbaum said as he was hauling some boxes full of books inside his store when they first spoke to each other back in November.

“Good evening to you, too, sir,” answered Kristoff. “That’s a mighty big box of books you’re hauling there. Do you need any help?” offered Kristoff in all earnest.

Hesitating but feeling his aching back due to arthritis, the old man answered, “I don’t want to bother you. It seems that you’re waiting for someone, but these books are really doing a good job of following the law of gravity.”

“No, I insist, sir.”

“All right. If you insist. The name’s Lathenbaum, Lysander Lathenbaum, bibliophile extraordinaire!”

Without any second thoughts, Kristoff took the box from the old bibliophile and asked, “It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Lathenbaum. Kristoff Jones at your service. Where do you want these to go?”

“Would you kindly put that on the counter? And for your trouble, we’ll guzzle down some vodka.”

Bashfully, Kristoff obliged. Mr. Lathenbaum realized that he always saw Kristoff on the same crummy bench, which he also absolutely disdained for those nails that stuck out. As he was pouring the vodka, he asked,

“What are you doing there in the cold, young man? Oh, youth! Good thing you can still enjoy a crisp evening, so savor it while you can. You see, when you get as old as I am, your bones will not be comfortable with each other. It seems that in my case, my backbones have argued, and now, they’re fighting each other. Oh, flabberfruits! I’m prattling. Where was I? Ah, yes, what are you doing there sitting in the cold?”

“I’m waiting for a special friend.”

“A lady friend?”

“You’re still sharp. You’re not as old as you think,” Kristoff chided.

That evening, Mr. Lathenbaum learnt of Kristoff, Taylor, and the tryst that should have happened a year ago. Since they weren’t strangers anymore, Kristoff always made it a point to say good afternoon to his elderly acquaintance before he sat patiently on his waiting bench. And as such, the two acquaintances became friends. Just like that, Mr. Lathenbaum came to know that Kristoff was looking for a book about Anansi and other African legends.

That month, Kristoff was accompanied by the tales of Anansi, the wise, mischievous spider from Africa. He was so amused of Anansi and the adventures that he totally forgot the alarm that he set. On the next day, it sounded again, and magically, the street lamps went aglow.

“Coincidence?” Kristoff wondered, so he didn’t put out the alarm on his cellular; for a week, he monitored, and for a week, the street lamps never failed him. They all went on at exactly 5:57 in the afternoon with our without darkness.

A few months back, maybe four or five, Kristoff noticed that the bench paint was wearing out. It was wearing out on the left side, the side where Kristoff took out a nasty nail with its exposed head irritating Kristoff’s behind. With pliers that he took out of his tool shed because of sheer irritation, he awkwardly tried to pry out that dastardly nail out of the wood, trying his best not to attract that crowds that poured in and out of the train station. With all his effort, he was able to succeed in taking out the nail, but to his surprise, the hole left by the nail on the wood didn’t make comfortable in any way.

After pulling that nail out, Kristoff’s waiting bench offered him a dilemma – to sit on the right side where there was another nail sticking its head out to irritate those who unwittingly sit on it or to sit on the left side where there’s a vindictive hole on the wood that is Kristoff’s punishment for tampering with the bench. In the end, Kristoff decided to own up to his actions, be a man, and accept his punishment. He always sat on the left side of that bench ever since. With the help of the doves, he was able to tune out of the irritation, and wait patiently. He just noticed the fading paint because he had to avoid some bird droppings that landed on his usual seat.

However, today, Kristoff didn’t leave the bench anymore. He didn’t say hello to Mr. Lathenbaum. He didn’t feed the doves that kept him company. He didn’t draw close enough to notice if the ladybugs have eaten all of the aphids off of the rose bush. He wasn’t even able to stand up from the train station bench that was especially painful on his buttocks.

He just sat there staring with the help of the flickering 5:57 street lights, staring at a telegram he was holding. It read:

Dear Kristoff,

Guess who’s finally coming home at 5:30 PM, March 18? Train station. Don’t be late.

All my love,
Taylor

“I am not late, but where are you?” he asked as though Taylor was standing right in front of him.
Earlier this morning, this telegram made him run to his kitchen and cook an especially hearty breakfast. He cooked a cheese omelet, toasted some bread, and indulged on cottage cheese. Then, he prepared for work, and he took some changing clothes excitedly out from his closet. He folded them nicely to avoid roughing them up for this much awaited reunion. When he was ready, he dashed down the staircase, side-tripped to the kitchen, and snatched the two telegrams that he fished out of the mailbox.

With giant but gleeful strides, he sped out the door. He made quick work of his lawn, reaching the sidewalk in only three seconds when it usually took him a minute to get there. With briefcase in hand, heavy with paperwork and clothes, he fumbled for his keys to lock his gridiron gate.

The day went so fast that he forgot to read the other telegram until he got to the bench. He got there at 5:28 PM. He sat patiently until 5:30, but when 5:31 came, he was fidgeting. He took out Taylor’s telegram to pass away the time. He looked at it until he couldn’t see the letters anymore. He was thankful when 5:57 came; with the aid of the street lights, he’ll be able to read the telegram again.

As he was holding the piece of paper, he realized that he hasn’t read the other telegram, so he took it out. After reading, the street lamp beside him seemed to have read the telegram, and its light flickered. He couldn’t tell if the lights dimmed, or if he blacked out. All he wasn’t able to read the entirety of the message, but he got the message clear. He should be at the train station at 6:00 PM to meet a white mahogany box lined with satin and gilded with silver roses.

Terms and Conditions

2009-12-07T06:41:00.001-08:00

Richard is easy to deal with.

If you him to listen to you, give him food.

If you want some advice, make sure that you follow whatever he tells you.

That’s it.

An Odd SMS and an Odd Essay

2009-11-04T11:05:00.001-08:00

Tonight, I received an odd SMS from my friend, Judy. The message says this:

mr know it ol, is der any truth 2 dis: human minds r linked w/ ich other thru neuron activities w/c means if ur thnking of sum1 ol day long, dat pers0n is pr0bably thnking of u. how 2 debunk dis?

Out of pure weirdness, I composed an email, which sounded like an essay.

Dear Judy,

Although it may be argued that human minds can be linked by neural activities, there is little scientific proof to this. Even twins claiming that there is such a thing as telepathy, when subjected under rigorous scientific measurements, were not able to present a conclusive correlation to the claim. Pure neural activity may not be enough to connect two people together and prove that person A can think of person B to encourage person B to think about the person A. Although this thought seems logical, it exists as a fallacy proven by biochemistry, behavioral psychology, and the Butterfly Effect.

On the other hand, we can involve several other factors, starting from the neural activities, to link 2 people together. However, this discussion might need that the two people involved share a close proximity with each other. For instance, Jane is thinking about Tarzan. Neural processes, the release of neurochemicals and bioelectric signals, may cause Jane to act differently, almost on an unconscious level, while Tarzan is nearby. As animals, humans may emit pheromones that are unconsciously detected by Tarzan, causing him to think of Jane.

Another alternative may be body language. Jane might look at Tarzan, drop her stare, and look at Tarzan once again. As an animal, Tarzan would tend to be vigilant of his surroundings and may notice Jane's "odd" or "unconventional" behavior, which might puzzle Tarzan into thinking about why Jane is acting like a crazy stalker. On the other hand, Tarzan might misinterpret this as a show of interest and could motivate him to think that Jane is expressing interest in him. Thus, this train of thought follows the idea of perceived body language creating thoughts about another individual.

On the other hand, if a person ascribes to any esoteric school of thought, it could be argued under the Butterfly Effect that the subtlest of things can cause a drastic and chaotic chain of events that leads to a specific goal. The firing of a neuron would indeed have enough force to set an innumerable chain of events to happen that will ultimately hit the target person, but as the basis of the Butterfly Effect is still a flux of events happening in succession, we cannot argue that neural activity is enough. In fact, it will lead into a vicious cycle: if Jane thought of Tarzan, then Tarzan would have been thinking of Jane, too, but who started all of this? The confusion within this vicious cycle may be pragmatically solved by merely generalizing that neural activity is the basis of the intricate web of connection, but logically, it exists as a slippery slope fallacy.

As such, mere thought might not be enough to absolutely prove the connection. It may be a hasty generalization that needs a close examination of other factors that might be involved. Such factors consist of biochemistry, behavior, sensation and perception. Even following the esoteric Butterfly Effect would only show the deficit in the generalization by presenting a vicious cycle. These factors might indeed help predispose one person to think of the other, debunking the idea that pure neural activity can achieve the desired effect.

¿Contesté yo la pregunta?

I don’t know what she’ll say to this, but it’s worth the wait. At any rate, it seems that I was not successful in debunking the theory – or was I?

Christmas Wish List

2009-10-29T09:29:00.001-07:00

I was walking the other night with my friend, Judy, along a transport terminal when I realized what I wanted for Christmas. I don’t exactly know if this is simple or difficult, but here is my wish list:

1. Inland Territory, the latest album of Vienna Teng.

I can’t seem to find any here in the Philippines, so I’m really desperate to have one.

2. A short story written especially for me.

I don’t have any specific reason for this, but I do have a plan about it. Just in case that I receive several stories, I would compile the ones that I’ll like and publish them in my blog. Wouldn’t that be fun?

I hope to get all the things that I wish for, but I just don’t know if it will happen.

Wisdom Tooth

2009-10-10T09:27:00.001-07:00

Last week was a very weird week. Monday started out really slow. I was feeling very odd, and I was cross most of the time. I kept on snapping at people for the smallest things. I was also silent most of the day because I had a hard time reviewing essays and giving my comments. I felt so dumb that day. Little did I know that it would be the start of a very painful tooth ache.

At around 3:00 PM, I started feeling pain from my right molar. A few years back, I seemed to have broken my tooth, my right wisdom tooth, while eating sisig, a local dish. I just ignored it until this month, my tooth ached. Before I went home, I asked my supervisor if I could take the day off so that I could have my tooth fixed. Luckily, she told me that I could work from home so that I could still do my job and go to the dentist.

Tuesday afternoon, I went to the dentist and had my molar fixed. She said that the tooth has cracked and I only had 3 parts of the tooth left because I left the crack untreated for so long. Good thing, yet again, that the dentist can still fix it with light cure fillings. However, I can’t bite on anything hard anymore. She told me that I need to take care not to do that so that the tooth won’t shatter.

Wednesday came, and I went back to work, feeling all happy and jolly. I said good morning to my officemates, and after an hour of sitting at my desk, a very funny realization hit me:

I think I acted foolishly because of my tooth ache. The tooth that shattered was my wisdom tooth. When I got it fixed, I felt alright! My work felt easier to do because, probably, my wisdom came back when my wisdom tooth got fixed. LOL!

Michael Jackson Medley

2009-10-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

When I die, I want to be honored like this:

Credits: Sam Tsui - Vocals Kurt Schneider - Arrangement, Production www.myspace.com/SamTsui www.myspace.com/KurtHugo

Boredom, Typhoon, and Work Over the Weekend

2009-09-28T09:08:00.000-07:00

The title almost sums it up. Since last Wednesday, it's been raining here because of a typhoon. Too bad that I had to still work while I hear other people rejoicing -- especially the kids -- because they didn't have to go to school. In addition to the envy that I felt, the typhoon decided to pour so much water that it flooded my street up to the knees with brown, rushing water. Stuck and imprisoned inside my own house, I felt so bored, and so, the Devil's workshop started ticking, bringing me these wonderful Facebook status messages:

Thursday, September 24, 2009, 9:24 AM:
It takes an iron will to just sit still, confident in your own righteousness.

Thursday, September 24, 2009, 9:39 PM:
The last five steps of the journey cannot be rushed. A traveller still needs to ignore the blisters on his feet, and he still needs to overcome the fear of cramping up when he is so close to the destination. Can anyone lend the traveller a hand and cook some bacon, waft the smell of honey-cured meat so that the weary traveller can look forward to a hearty meal after a long, tiring journey?

Friday, September 25, 2009, 12:12 PM:
When the lonely traveller is gets stabbed by a thorn, he walks faster because he knows that the rose he is looking for tells him that he is on the right track.

Saturday, September 26, 2009, 3:52 PM:
The flood, oh, the flood! The overabundance of water makes deep, burried feelings bob on the surface.

It was a good thing that the flood subsided early Sunday morning. Otherwise, I would have flooded my Facebook account with nonsensical sentiments. How are you all doing, Philippines?

Introducing the Memapost

2009-09-18T10:50:00.000-07:00

In all my years of blogging, I have encountered strange things. I've found a blog that features Post-it drawings. I also found other blogs that post random things like funny conversations that they overhear. A few months back, I was flipping through another blog, which was just about normal life events of a girl, when I read about this curious term: memapost. As I was reading through her blog, the writer explained that the memapost is actually a shortened version of a Tagalog phrase. Literally, it means "para lang me ma-post." Roughly, it can be translated as "just so that I can post something." The term was so fascinating that I immediately latched on to it.

As such, I was wondering what to post for today, so for inspiration, I went on to my Facebook account and clicked on the Pandora's Box application. It generates random pictures submitted by the people who has that application in their Facebook accounts, too. After a few worthless pictures, I found this:

Richard open the Pandora's Box and found Jessica Alba

the cuttest girl ever :>

Usually, I would put comments about the things that I'd find from that application, and here's what I wrote:

I don't know but she looks like God's failed attempt when He was creating Angelina Jolie.

Would anybody dare to compare? And as such, this blog post is now, officially a memapost. Until next time. Cheers!

Happy Birthday, FLIP / still!

2009-09-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

September 14, 2009. FLIP / still, the umpteenth blog of Richard is born at exactly 3:00 AM, Manila Time.

I flip through blogs. Hence, part of this blog's name is FLIP. Still, I keep on making new blogs every now and then over a period of almost 15 years now. Hence, part of this blog's name is still.

Kate would laugh out loud when she finally sees this blog. As a long-time friend, we've been through several blogs in each of our own lives. I think she is on her fourth one. I think I am on my 15th. On the other hand, I can't trust my own counting because I have already lost track of how many I have. "You know, Chad, you're a serial blogger," Kate said to me one day. I said, "No! I sure am not." She'd laugh in triumph for being so accurate in labeling me as a serial blogger.

Before, I had themes for my blog. I seem to make one when a new phase in my life comes up. For example, I once had "Orange Fantasies" to mark out the time when my favorite color was orange. Now, it's green so that blog is already dead. I also had a cheesy blog, "Just Look Back," to mark a melancholic and pensive mood, which almost was a death warrant to that blog since it was only done on a whim. When the wind wafted the whim away, the blog was blown away with it.

I still have other blogs that are still active. For now, I am keeping my stories flowing in "The Ivory Tower" but the stories are running short, and gaps between posts have been longer. I also keep "Ang Pinoy Aquarium," which is in Filipino; I've been interested in keeping fish for a long time now, so I guess that blog might stay a while. To ensure its survival, I got a friend to help me update it, although he's not the most prolific writer. Hopefully, I could keep this blog alive as well.

In this blog, expect to read about flip ideas. Hopefully, I could keep myself still long enough to make this blog the last blog I will ever make.

Perspective

2009-07-10T12:33:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, we can only see the beauty of things we take for granted when we change our perspective.

As I was bored out of my wits last week, I took a picture of our rafters. It was a half-hearted shot and a surprise when the picture came out really well. The over exposure of the lower left part of the picture contrasted nicely with the underexposed top right portion. The shadows were really dark and the light parts exposed the ridges of our roof.

With that first picture, I started to look around the house and tried to find other parts of the house that would look good on camera given the proper angle and perspectives.

The left middle picture, the one colored pink is my current bed spread. The right middle picture is the jalousie frame of my window. The bottom picture is of our bench in the living room. All these pictures came out really well.

However, I took the pictures with the black and white setting of my camera phone so I decided to colorize the photographs to add more appeal.

Given that I am not a professional at this, I would like to say that I am proud of these pictures because they surprised me; I always thought that our house was quite ugly and unfinished, but when I looked at it with a different perspective, I was able to appreciate its beauty.

Red Headed Match

2009-04-17T07:35:00.001-07:00

With a single red headed match,
I ignite,
burst into flame,
smolder,
burn,
flicker,
die out,
turn to ashes,
fly into the wind,
and settle
on your forehead.

It's ironic that it only takes a single red headed match
for you to notice my presence,
yet, brush me off
back into the wind.

Shall I Write About You Now?

2009-02-08T05:33:00.002-08:00

A spark.
Then, a fire.
Everything is set; my cigarette is lit.

Shall I write about you now?
I guess I should. Surely, I can
easily whittle you down
into a perfect metaphor on paper
but in writing this verse,
I succumb to the greatest temptation:

words

mere maps that only approximate
and cannot dictate where exactly
in my heart the sun sheds light on you
or where it fails to reveal shadowy sorrows
you fervently endure.

Did you whisper your woes to me?

In the subtlest ways, maybe,
like the way teardrops dry up on your cheek.

Now,
rising but never drifting straight in the air,
smoke mimics how I contemplate
gazing at the red ember,
half-expecting epiphanies to fall,
like ashes from my nearly spent cigarette.

A Prayer

2009-01-18T09:17:00.001-08:00

Say it softly
after cleaning the crystal cabinet;

While opening the door,
certain things drop
into consciousness. At every remembering,
ripples of sorrow stir the air.

Dust settles on glass and crystals.

It almost sounds like a prayer:
wiping specks off, using a rag moist with tears.

Softly,
try to forgive Forgetting
for trying to covet,
in layers, memories
stacked on shelves.

After restoring everything into the sparkle of grace,
turn to leave them all,
saying softly

amen.

Midnight Paintings

2009-01-11T08:44:00.001-08:00

The full moon rising.
Fingernail clippings are thrown
into the darkness.

Sorrow is present
in between the faint moanings
of tall bamboo stems.

A man's open palms.
Appearing into the sky -
fiery thunderbolts.

An old scab is picked
revealing the bloody moon.
Dark clouds separate.

Silver boughs glisten
as sun rays penetrate clouds
after a night's dream.

March 14^th, 2007

Tryst

2009-01-01T14:42:00.001-08:00

De Sade beams at you
-delighting at the sound of dead leaves crunching
underneath your taunting feet;
-gulping in deep breaths, wonderment,
when blowing away dandelion down, shrieking
as you scattered them into disrememberment;
-giggling at how a brook bitterly bottles up tears
while it sulks;
and yet, I still stay, yearning
as empty bottles and blank sheets of paper
-clinking to stall being abraded by silence
-flipping at the slightest breeze
so that dust won't bury me under your conciousness
deep
next to crushed leaves,
bald dandelion heads,
and wet choked sniffs
as Masoch applauds.

Mice Madness and Cat Craze

2008-12-31T19:21:00.001-08:00

I just thought that mice playing with a cat is a cute concept so here it is. It seems to be an anti-thesis of "when the cat is away, the mouse will play." By the way, the cat looks freaky... I know.

Stamp Collector

2008-12-26T02:46:00.001-08:00

Flying through air,
posted on an envelope,
a butterfly pair
arrives in the mail.

Arhopala anthelus impar:
blue and black
and parantica danatti danatti:
white patterns broken by dark veins.

I held the letter and admired the stamps.
Tearing paper,
carefully unfolding letter
shows red ink
and cursive handwriting.

Wormed through
smudged words,
I peeled the stamps
off the envelope

and let the letter flutter in the wind.

I never thought that I would find the exact stamp that I was looking for. That blue one is really the stamp I wrote about. I just can't find the Parantica stamp. This poem actually came as a surprise from one of my really old blogs and I did not expect to find it yet again.

It was written on May 17^th, 2007. According to my notes, my friend Charisma inspired me to write it. I just forgot the circumstance that brought it on. Nevertheless, I think that it is a good poem.

Wisp

2008-12-25T05:35:00.001-08:00

“There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.”

- Vincent Van Gogh

December 25^th, 2008
Red felt tip pen on drawing paper.

To Forgetting

2008-12-21T11:18:00.001-08:00

Flowers are pretty on a vase.
Tortoise shell balls resting on the mantle looks shiny.
Crystals on the chandelier reflects rainbows
but each one will succumb to forgetting beauty
when dust settles thick.

June 22^nd, 2005.

Equus

2008-12-11T09:22:00.001-08:00

Equus means horse. December 4^th, 2008

Disfigure

2008-12-05T08:49:00.001-08:00

Post-it. Orange ink.

My Day Does Not End Until I Sleep

2008-12-04T11:01:00.001-08:00

I really did this on December 5th, 2008. Just as the quote says, "my day does not end until I sleep. I got the idea that it would be a good description to what's on the drawing.

Post-it. Orange ink.

Alien Salad

2008-12-01T08:56:00.001-08:00

fingernail orchids
obsidian eyes
fern-leaf ears
blue bottle necks
fish bone smile

slices of the familiar
tossed together
would make an alien salad

but only the tongue can decide if it is palatable.

This is just a poem that came out of my weird play on words. I am not quite sure if I would really consider it poetry but I did decide to go with vanity and put it here. I think, based on my files at least, this poem was written around the time of June 8^th, 2006. If I remember correctly, the first line I wrote was fingernail orchids. Doesn't that sound exotic?

By the way, who would've know that I could find a fitting picture for this post?! Initially, I posted this without a picture but I went and googled using the key word "alien salad" and the perfect image came up. I would like to thank Till Nowak for making this. I found this image in Scott Beale's Site, LaughingSquid.com.

Flowing

2008-11-17T19:57:00.001-08:00

Strolling by a garden,
I saw a ruined buddha.

Its moon face is turned up,
contemplating.

Jagged rays reveal jagged stone
broken at the neck.

Its torso, torn in three, is robed in green moss,
the only part left still wanting to cling.

Its open palm, turned out and up,
catches a trickle of water from an adjacent spring.

At its exhausted and calloused feet,
lotus blossoms grow.

As heat breaks the statue smaller,
sweat soaks my forehead.

Cupping my hands at the light trickle
to freshen my face, water gets disturbed

and the jade eyes of the buddha
burst into tears.

Published June 21st, 2006.

Taxidermist Solliloquy

2008-11-02T01:43:00.001-07:00

yellow and green feathers
out-stretched wings grasping
air bridging clouds together
fanning away dust, vapor, smoke & mist
with the distraction of flight.

why do you droop like so?
you were spared from worms, earth & decay
be grateful you were plucked from mortality
and is now mounted on permanence.

This is another old poem written by Richard. It was written published in his older blog on June 11th, 2005. For him, this is a glimpse into the mind of a deranged and obsessed person who destroys the object of his love. What does this mean to you? He'd appreciate if you put your own interpretation in.

Eruption

2008-10-25T09:51:00.001-07:00

A dash of flash poetry:

suddenly
the world tilted
like a band
vertical horizon.

fire raining down
from the transposed heaven
on stone

scalded

i clutched the searing
red glow
and found my fingers
charred

and my chest
gaping
like a crater

smouldering.

This was poem was originally written on March 29^th, 2006. Originally, this was entitled Melancholic; that's because melancholy was the emotional weather at that time. Likewise, it says on the first line that this is just a dash of flash poetry. Who said that only prose can be flashy?

Red Butterfly

2008-10-16T09:07:00.001-07:00

Open your cupped hands.

Fluttering away, you will see
the red wings & black markings
fade into the blue.
You will hear at every flap
clapping
from the light bright heart
of your liberated captive.

The wind will take the butterfly away.
You have no need to fret
because the memory will flutter back
whenever you find roses
- drifting in the wind.

Tomorrow, put a smile on & hold this fact true:
If you've held fast today,
you'll only have stains of red & black
- powdered wings and crushed body.
Something will be left - something sure
permanent, indelible, immortal
that neither time nor tears could wear or wash away.

This is still part of Richard's attempt to collect and collate most of his poetry to this blog. This is actually an old poem from March 13, 2005. He wrote this while he was at work.
Richard decided to post this in response to Cecille's comment on Emjay's photograph of a dragonfly.

Starbucks' Song

2008-10-02T18:58:00.001-07:00

tea steams in a paper cup.

the siren's song is defied by ears,
leaves and lips that refrain from coffee.

cigarette smoke swirls.

sipping from my cup, showing no fear of heat,
should encourage you to hold my hands.

breath is blown out.

my eyes encouraged your fingers.
tea leaves on cup-bottom already fortells good fortune.

tea steams in a paper cup. cigarette smoke swirls.
breath held back waiting for silence to break
and Starbucks resumes her song.

Yukino

2008-09-28T19:01:00.001-07:00

When I was growing up, I always watched anime. I love anime so much that it inspired my art and concept of beauty. I would usually draw thin, lithe figures when I draw people. In animes, most of the characters there were drawn the same way. Usually, the eyes of my drawings would also be big and round but there are times that I would draw almond eyes instead, so I can add an Asian feel to my figures. Even the hairstyles of my figures would be noticeably asian. I would usually style the hair of my drawings according to the anime that I was watching at the time. Even the clothes of my drawings are affected. Kimonos and obi sashes are among my favorite clothes for my drawings. Since a lot of animes have pointy ears, much like an elf, I would also fashion the ears like that. For me, those characteristics would add up to what I call beauty.

The picture above is entitled "Yukino." I really don't have any particular reason. After I drew that picture of an elvish Japanese girl, I started thinking what to call it and it came to me that I should call her that. It might sound crazy but I could swear I heard a voice from the picture. "What can I call you?" I asked.

"Yukino... ," the picture said to me.

Call me a liar but that's really how I came to get that name for that drawing.

I intended to color that picture but I decided against it because I know that I am not really blessed with a natural eye for color. Sometimes, I would ruin a perfectly good drawing due to a vain attempt of coloring it. It was a good decision actually. I forgot when I drew that picture. Most probably a few years back. I found the original sketch in one of my old portfolios in my book case and since I bought a scanner, I decided to scan it and upload it here. The picture was drawn on oslo paper using a black ball point pen. I guess it took me about 2 nights drawing that because I was never satisfied with just a foreground. The background came in later and if you will notice, the background was blackened by a cross hatched stroke. backgrounds are another bane to my artistic career. Thank goodness that this turned out to be just fine. I hope you enjoy looking at it.

Until next time! Ciao!

Richard's Phases , Richard's Faces

2008-09-27T22:01:00.001-07:00

These photos are arranged from oldest to newest. I don't have any reason for
posting this. This is just a whim of a really neurotic person. By the way, I am
looking for inspiration because I want to change hair styles. Can anyone suggest
anything?

Dust Settling

2008-09-24T18:00:00.001-07:00

The inside of a deserted house:
from the window,
light illumines dust
settling to create a blanket
of forgetting over furniture.
Even if the air disturbs
the process, slowly
every particle finds its spot,
a place where it conveniently covers up
some distant memory - on a nearby table

a partial puzzle waits. One piece is still
a lost unsettled edge,indisposed.
The idea that it is the missing piece
completes its sadness.

In only one spot can the table top be seen.

Untouched, unfinished,
the puzzle succumbs
to slow forgetting
what is lost
while dust
fills
the
gaping
gap.

This is a poem I originally wrote on September 17th, 2003. I revised it after five years! It's been a long time since I last read this. I think I have forgotten enough of the emotions behind it so I am now able to publish a revision. Comments are appreciated, of course. Cheers!

Monday and Madness

2008-09-21T10:43:00.001-07:00

For some reason, I cannot stop myself from thinking about darkness and light. Yesterday, I saw several movies on HBO and the opposition of light and darkness kept popping up and kept on grabbing my attention. While watching, I wrote some notes about the meaning of those two words for me but I will need to reserve those for another blog post. What I am really interested in posting today are some of my dark art.
The first picture is of me and the rest were digitally distorted through Adobe Photoshop CS3 Extended Edition. Thank you, CS3, by the way! Because of you, I was able to artistically distort my face and become a monster. Why a monster, though? Looking at the time stamp when the files were created, I found out that I was in the dark phase of my life. Except for the original, the other three were done around January 31st, 2008.
I don't really know why I did this set. I was just exhilarated to try out the CS3, I guess. Hmm, I wonder! Perhaps, I was just trying to concretize the idea that I had, or rather, a question: "How would I look like if I was a monster?" I guess I answered it in those 3 pictures, huh?!
Oh well, since this is just a randomly blurted posted, I will just finish it off right now. I now have to think of some other project to do or entry to post here in my blog.

Convenience

2008-09-20T10:50:00.001-07:00

How convenient for me the rain fell before your tears
affording me to share one last moment with you
under my umbrella.

Every drop, wet
dreadfully cold, taunting you to stay
under my umbra of tempting warmth and dryness.

Your vain effort to stop the rain from falling:
You reached out to catch a drop
on your palm. It still fell, heavy
embodiment of sorrow,

loss

-of the cloud that failed to hold on
-of the wind not being able to return the drops.

Words condensed on my lips,
waiting for the moment
when air gives way to thunder.

How convenient for you that the rain lingered on.
Every word that rolled off my lips
merely fell into the dark
glassy puddle the rain filled
to reflect my bowed head.

Finally, I managed to plead for you to stay.
You nearly did

but conveniently,
the rain went away.

(August 5th, 2003)

This was a poem I wrote way back in 2003. It was originally entitled, "How Convenient For Me The Rain Fell Before Your Tears," but it seemed to be such a long title so I decided to repost that as, "Convenience." As a project, I am starting to gather a portfolio of my works so that I can share my poetry with other people.

Aggressive

2008-07-04T07:37:00.001-07:00

As I was going through my daily surfing I came across this previous work of mine. I think the image will say it all.

Technorati Tags: aggressive,photoediting

Goodah!

2008-05-20T10:37:00.001-07:00

Sometime last Feb, a Goodah!!! branch opened up near my place and eversince I saw it, I had a foolish and inordinate desire to eat there. I guess it got the best of me so one Wed morning, I just woke up, got dressed and up and left to go to Goodah!!!.

Since they had to cook the food I ordered, I had to amuse myself so instead of staring at a couple on the opposite side of the place, I took pictures of the place and this photo came out nicely. Initially, it was in color but it didn't have the appeal that I was looking for so I reshot the scene under a sepia filter and voila, here it is!

Robots

2008-04-24T01:03:00.001-07:00

My robots.

McDonald's Solarized

2008-04-05T11:45:00.001-07:00

created Tuesday, ‎January ‎01, ‎2008, ‏‎7:54:20 AM
taken using my Nokia 6131 phone with 1.3 MP resolution

Photography

2007-07-05T10:44:00.001-07:00

A shot at photography. What do you think ?

Dream: Trespassing with a Twist

2007-05-28T02:07:00.001-07:00

Two nights ago, I dreamt about another disturbing thing.

I dreamt that I went into an apartment near my house. I sat in the living room on a turquoise colored sofa and I started reading a book. Suddenly, my little nieces and my kid cousin came in and started playing in the living room. Afraid that they might break something, I told them that they should stop. I got up, folded my book and started holding their hands in mine when I noticed that there was an old lady sitting on the other sofa.

Her hair was gray and it reached down to her forearm. Her face was kinda stern looking. It was kinda wrinkled in an austere kinda way. She had her hands folded on her lap.

After seeing her, I felt embarrassed that I went into her house without her permission so I faced her and I said, "Sorry Ma'am. I didn't realize you were there. I will be taking the kids home now."

"That's a good idea," she replied as she smiled at me.

When I looked back to grab the kids, they were gone. Instead, I saw the old woman standing in the door way. She said she was lonely and asked me if I could stay longer. She pointed to a photo behind me to show me her family picture. I turned my head and the old lady was already on the other side of the room, sitting behind a desk. She was smiling dubiously now.

I approached the desk but I felt funny. It felt like every step I took didn't reach the floor. My body felt light.

Then the old woman asked, "What's wrong?"
"I think my body is levitating and I can't control it."
"I can do that too. Just concentrate," she advised.

I put my palms together and opened it slowly like a butterfly while making sure my index fingers and thumbs were together to form a triangle. Slowly, I was able to prevent myself from floating. I was able to control the rhythmic bobbing of my body.

Then I got surprised because hand gripped me from behind and pulled me down.

I turned to face the person and I felt relieved to see my colleague from work. Her name was Ena.

"Hey! What are you doing here?!" I asked enthusiastically.
"I'm visiting my friend," she answered.
"Ah! Yes, that's right. You told me you had a friend living here but I didn't know your friend lived so close from my house."
"Where do you live ba?" she asked.

I walked towards the window. It was made from jalousies. "There! I live in that compound just across the street."

As I pointed it out, our view of the street zoomed in like it was being focused on a video camera.

I said, "Wow! Auto-focus!"
"I could also do that!" my colleague said and the window view zoomed even more til I could see my house's very own door.
"That great! So is she your friend?" pointing at the old lady.

I twisted my body to look and point but the old lady was gone. I looked back to Ena an the old lady was beside her already, sitting on a wooden chair.

The old woman was stilling smiling and I noticed that I was not able to move my whole body. I could manage to wriggle my toes and fingers and jerk my hand but that was it.

I struggled but my efforts are in vain. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me. I realized I was dreaming!

Local superstition states that if you are dreaming and you can't move your body, the solution to that is to clench your toes or cross you fingers. I was starting to get frantic. I tried both at the same time. I was starting to curl my toes when I saw Ena hugging the old lady to prevent her arms from falling to her side.

I immediately saw the connection. I was put under a binding spell and the only way to break it is if she unfolds her hand or if I was strong enough to break it on my own by curling my toes or crossing my fingers.

I was near victory and I saw the old woman straining to stop her arms from being lifted up when suddenly, Ena helped her and hugged her really tight.

I became desperate. I was able to talk so I started shouting for my mom. I was also starting to wake up but still I couldn't move my body. My mom was fast asleep. Good thing my aunt woke up and I was able to tell her to curl my toes and then cross my fingers. Suddenly, every was ok.

It felt horrible. I thought I was going to die in my sleep that night. I felt like I traveled the astral plane again and I met someone really powerful. Could this also be a test of power?

Dream: Medical Exam Gone Wild

2007-05-24T19:51:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I dreamt that I went to a clinic for a medical exam. I walked up to the counter and they gave me directions on how to proceed. My first stop was a male nurse across a corridor strewn with all kinds of things like blood test kits, syringes, plastic wrappers, test tube racks, and beakers.

With patience and a considerable amount of dexterity, I was able to reach the nurse and he took my hand. He put a test tube with a jagged opening to my wrist. We slowly moved the jagged glass around my wrist and I got lacerated. My wrist was bleeding slightly so I pressed on it with my other hand to stop the bleeding.

Anxious to get the medical tests completed, I asked the nurse, "So where should I go next?"
"To avoid crowding, go to the last nurse's station and then back track."
I said, "Ok. Thanks!" as I was walking towards the place he was pointing to.

When I got to the nurse's station, the nurses rushed up to me and they looked horrified. They asked me, "Sir, what happened to you!?"

As soon as they got to me, they held up my hand and I realized that my wrist was bleeding like a stuck pig.

"How did this happen to you, Sir?" they asked as they were cleaning my wound.

I pointed to the male nurse and said, "I think he wanted to get my blood sample using a test tube."
"Sir, we know you've done this before. Weren't you weirded out when he did that? You know that its not the standard procedure!"
"Yeah. I thought that was weird but...." I never finished my sentence. They ushered me in to a room to get my wound dressed.

They finished dressing my wound quickly. They told me to wait my turn for the other procedures for the medical test. They said I could walk around the garden while waiting. I got up and went out through a side door.

Stepping out on the garden felt like a visit to the zoo. There were cages with all sorts of animals. I am particularly delighted with ponds so I approached a pond when I saw a monkey wallowing in the sludgy water. I didn't notice it earlier but there were two crocodiles approaching the monkey and another animal. It seemed like an aardvark or a hairy ant-eater.

The first croc slowly plowed through the mud and snapped at the monkey, taking away most of its snout with it. Surprisingly, the monkey was able to still struggle away from the hungry crocs and it helped the aardvark/ant-eater escape the jaws of death. When they stepped on land, they ran with their front paws held outward and they ran erect with their hind legs.

I felt queasy considering that the monkey only had half of its face left.

I was distracted by the ruckus so I didn't notice that there is an even bigger crocodile approaching me. Good thing I was standing in front of the door so I didn't meet my end.

As I stepped inside, I saw that I was in another sector of the clinic and I was surrounded by a wire mesh fence and there were benches to sit on. I had my bag with me and one kid was yanking my bag. I felt scared that he would get my cellular phone or wallet so I shooed him away. He left but he put out his tongue at me.

I saw my mom there too.

I tried getting back to the nurse's station I was previously at but I didn't find it. I was tired already so I sat on a bench. I had nothing to do so I examined my wounded hand. I felt relieved that it stopped bleeding but I got chills looking at the muscles moving beneath the torn skin. I felt frantic when I saw that instead of blood, the wound gaped open like a talking mouth. I was so outraged that I mocked the passing medical personality by making the wound close and open like a mouth when speaking.

After that, I felt ashamed because I saw that everybody was staring at me already. I sat down again and tried to cover my face with my hands when I saw Eli (Elizabeth), my ex-girlfriend. I didn't want her to see me that way so I wished I could be invisible. Nevertheless, she still saw me and she sat beside me.

I don't remember anything more about that dream. That's all I have. It felt weird and actually felt that my hand was aching when I woke up. I was pretty shaken up because of that.

A Cockroach Story

2007-05-17T03:54:00.001-07:00

Sometime two weeks ago, I saw a cockroach crawling underneath our washing machine. I know, this might not be the best choice for a blog entry since you might think that I am sloppy but this is actually very disturbing.

Knowing that its really not a good thing to have a cockroach in the house, I asked my kid cousin to swat the unholy creature dead. After a considerable amount of crawling to dodge the swat of death, the cockroach finally managed to stay still long enough for my cousin to kill it. Thinking that he already swept the dead insect, I turned to more pressing issues, i.e. the game show I was watching and I forgot all about it.

Evening came and I noticed that the little rascal was still there, dead and flat on the floor. However, I didn't want to sweep the germ-infested thing so I left it to my sister. While watching TV later on, my sister called me in a distressed and excited scream and she was laughing she asked me to guess what happened to her. I told her I had no clue and patience to guess so she energetically told me that our dead little cockroach was taken by another cockroach. This might be our hard evidence that cockroaches, over the millenia, have developed a culture and became civilized enough to claim and bury their dead.

Freaky huh?! I am still haunted by the thought. Brrrrr....

A few days later, my sister reported that the cockroach was returned to the original spot where it lay dead. She saw another cockroach dragging the dead one while she was sweeping.

Broken Wendy

2007-05-03T02:25:00.001-07:00

Emotional camouflage.
Wreathed in smoke
hair shrouds eyes.
I'm sitting pretty on a lounger.
Bar is full of entangled histories
about desires, frustration,
real & imaginary ecstasies.
I lost my capacity to suffer -
sadness. I blatantly show
red cheeks
when no glance intersects with mine.
My eye lashes bat,
hearts start to flutter
& then a warm hand on mine
takes me to Neverland

-November 11, 2006

The Surreal Shop

2007-05-02T01:45:00.001-07:00

Welcome!

Vintage photo?

The flight of two birds
called "Dream and Nightmare"
in a sepia sky.

Hour glasses?

The endless autumnal molting
of red maple leaves
or the vernal tears welling
down weeping willow boughs
that are barely visible
except on moonlight nights.

Balloons?

Giant ogres orbitting over our heads.

Looking glasses?

You - a pale fairy prince
pointy-eared with damselfly wings.
Me - a rain child with scarlet scales
and lionfish fins.

Rings?

A fin & a feather intertwined.

I'll take that, thank you.

You're welcome
and thank you for shopping.

-Marso 8, 2007

Descent

2006-08-14T19:17:00.001-07:00

I've stared hard
at a glass of water.
Wanting to drown
in the wisdom it shares
with the deep sea.

I closed my eyes
and drowned in darkness.
Always in the periphery
- lampfishes
with hypnotic lights swim.
I try to follow
into the throat of the deep black.

Pressure is rising as I descend.
My heart tells me so.
My veins pulse
with dread of shades that swim
in the abyss.

Suddenly, I felt the feeling of mud
beneath my feet.
I have descended to Atlantis.
I opened my eyes
and i look at myself
reflected on the glass of water.

Seasick

2006-08-10T18:52:00.001-07:00

Every drop of water longs for the ocean.
Even lakes secretly wish to escape the strong embrace of earth just to return.
And humans, though only 70% water, with our sincerest efforts to find heat
sweat
still seeps onto skin, tears well up from eyes
and some even bleed to death.

At this point, the lost becomes the hunter.

Let the glasses shatter,
beaver dams break,
and in the end, a deluge
to reclaim the sea.