I was watching VH1 the other day and I could not help giving the regretful head while Candlebox, Collective Soul, The Wallflowers, Gin Blossoms and The Cranberries were progressively and successively aired out. Compared to the ehem, pseudo-videoke and lyrics-laden Myx music channel, I don't have to lash out my old song hits or download from lyrics.com just to be able to sing along the catchy and infectious words to these songs.

Music in the 90's was grungy. It was as trashed as the long-haired honchos of the popular music of those times, grunge (Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder, Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley). Music was as messy as let's say, Monet's paintings. Technical-wise, the sound-engineering was not good. Technology was underdeveloped. Drums sounded like kettles, pans and tin cans. Guitars were lousy and airy. But if you do listen closely, if you just put aside the comparison of then and now, you wouldn't dare to compare technology with aesthetics.

Even if you look and delve into the local music scene, it was the Tunog Kalye days headed by the long-standing Eraserheads, Violent Playground, Grin Department, Color it Red, Yano and many legendary musicians. Hip-hop has its street and block-rooted sounds. The Sugarhill gang, Cypress Hill, The Fugees, Arrested Development, 2Pac, Public Enemy and really talented rappers Hill Music videos still had its essence. It was never about the cost, the blings, the cars, the props, the pyros nor the director. It was all about the visual representation of music. It was art itself.

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Livejournal update: "For Art's Sake"
Album review: "Ciudad's It's Like Magic"

Napanood ko ang pilot episode ng 100% Pinoy ng GMA-7 noong Miyerkules. Nakalulungkot mang isipin na pansamantala munang tinapos ang isa sa mga paborito kong dokumentaryong pangtelebisyon, ang "Pinoy Abroad", di naman binigo ng istasyon ang mga Pilipinong manonood na nag-aantabay at naghahangad ng mga palabas na ehem, may Serbisyong Totoo.

Isa sa pinakamakabuluhang bahagi ng pilot episode ay ang segment na pinamagatang, "Ang Mall at Ako". Inihatid sa mga manonood ang malawak na realidad tungkol sa mall craze na karamihan sa ating mga Pilipino ay nararanasan ngayon. Samu't-saring mall ang patuloy na umaakit sa samu't-saring tao na pasukin ang mundo ng pantasya, mundo ng ilusyon at ang binitawang pahayag na "mundo na kung saan pantay-pantay ang lahat ng tao."

Doon ako nagsimulang di-sumang ayon. Paano magkakaroon ng pantay-pantay na pagtingin at karapatan ang iba't-ibang tao sa loob ng isang magarang shopping mall? Di ba't kinakailangang bumili muna ng mamahaling tsinelas ang isang batang paslit bago papasukin sa entrance habang ang mga mayayamang de-kotse ay nakasuot ng mamahaling Havaianas at Birkenstock?

Bakit di pinapayagang gumala sa loob ang isang gusgusing pulubi na nakasuot ng sando samantalang ang mga sosyal na lalaki't-babae ay naka-fit Lacoste shirts at spaghetti straps? Bakit ultimo ang mga pang-masang fast food chains ay nagtataboy ng mga batang bibili ng kapiraso at mumurahing burger sandwich?

At ang panghuli, paano magkakaroon ng pantay-pantay na pagtingin sa mga tao sa pamamagitan ng mga malls eh kung mismo ang mga malls ay di pantay-pantay ang ating pagtingin? Ikumpara mo ang Shangri-La Plaza sa Metropolis sa Alabang.

Totoo nga, 100% Pinoy dahil tayong mga Pilipino ay 100% mga hipokrito.

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Poetry or Something Like It: "Mother and Child"

It's superheroes time to once again shine. I watched Superman last week. Nothing Super special. Well, it was Super box-office hit because people were all Super excited about the return of the Super of all superheroes.

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I got promoted this July. Wow, joy! (as if that will really and sincerely make me say these). Having all the drudgery from work and not having the chance to smile since my takeover, I am now reminded of my Philosophy classes and the word ubermench.

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Nietzche believed Christian morals were used to weaken the majority of society in order to make them more easily governed by the "ubermench". All civilisations, according to Nietzsche, arose from the barbarians, who with their will and desire for power, have preyed upon the weaker, moral and peaceful societies. A healthy society does not exist for its own sake, but exists for the sake of a higher type of person. The 'ubermench' follow the type of morality that Nietzsche refers to as the master morality. The 'ubermench' do not live by morality but rather creates morality through the strength of his will; they live 'beyond good and evil'. Nietzsche sees this morality as being built upon the traits of nobility, strength and self-development. These super beings acknowledge and express the 'will to power'. 'Expressing the will to power' means taking advantage of your natural gifts (physical strength, intelligence, beauty, etc.) to achieve your full potential, for example, achieving dominance over others. Our 'will to power' is the motivation in each of us, which steers us to control our own environment. 'Exploitation" does not belong to a corrupt or imperfect and primitive society: it belongs to the essence of what lives, as a basic organic function; it is a consequence of the will to power, which is after all the will of life.

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I saw the trailer for Spider-man 3 in the office. I'll trail back into how I got to watch the trailer since our office ruthlessly blocked all downloading and streaming sites. Since I have an access in the Admin office, I get to hang out with the Admin people who were err, administratively using the PC through watching movie trailers. Haha.

My conclusion: Great power comes with great responsibility. =P

To dream is to relive the past and be relieved by it. Re-live the unforgettable past and create a picturesque and seamless panorama even if it may just result into a figment of our imagination. We cannot dream of something that we haven't sensed, we haven't felt. Dreaming is seeing. Just like what Gabriela Garcia Marquez lectured us in his work of genius, "Of Love and Other Demons", "Disbelief is more resistant than faith because it is sustained by the senses."

I've always wanted to correct the past. Only hypocrites articulate that they have lived life without regrets. Every single action that we make have rooted out of branched decisions, perhaps from our autonomous response to the uncertainty of to be or not to be, to do or not to do. Unless thwarted by a mishap or anything that can cause mental distress, Karen Horney (psychoanalyst) is resolute that "We are all neurotic individuals who have irrational needs."

I am burdened with the past. It is so hard to leave the luggage behind once you've come face to face with your final destination. You cannot easily dispose long hours and even sleepless days and nights, all the toil and the humor, the ardor and the bitterness. All of them will come. All of them ought to come. Dreaming of a "perfected past" is the only way to relieve or unburden ourselves.

Like they say, we float in our dreams.

What is my concrete dream?

I want to be back in the mainstream. Life is so hard to be alone. Life is so hard to be different.

Take me to the stream. Let me go with the flow. Not backwards. Not to the past.

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Poetry: Grounded

Poetry again: Sleeptalking

Track 1:

i've become a download freak these days. At last, I have shamefully become part of the piracy-provocating-people. With the worsening economic condition in our beloved country, people continue to strive for leeways to escape the hovering canopy called poverty. And one basic step to preclude ourselves from being engulfed by such is to SAVE money. Unfortunately, people have come to re-define the word "thrifty" in accordance to the unbelievable and always misconstrued Filipino lifestlye.

Track 2:

Okay, I'll stop with the flowery words and excuses. Somehow in the history and in the depths of my music-loving self, I have come to realize how essential the anti-piracy battlecry is. We all know how we ruthlessly strip and empty out an artist's pocket as we perpetuate buying unlicensed and cheap CD's; may it be in the darkest and filithiest corner of vendor-strewn Quiapo/DV sidewalks and alleys or simply, self or requested free-downloading from Imesh, Kazaa or Limewire.

But money is not the sole issue. We have also heard the same harangue about disgracing the artist's themselves as we inevitably and unintentionally misinform the public about details of songs and album titles, stealing away raw records and other unreleased music and put their musical career into a halt; for instance,whenever we do our own sporadic compilation of their greatest hits (for prolific and legendary artists).

Track 3:

Don't you people appreciate credits and acknowledgements in a CD-cover packaging? Because I do. There are perks you know. And they come in surprises, too. Only in Audioslave's Out of Exile record was I informed that Chris Cornell and Susan Silver (Cornell's long time manager and wife) were no longer together.

Track 4:

But what most of us fail to recognize is the purpose of having an album packaging. Yeah, music first. Most people would steadily respond with "songs are most important." But these songs would not be created without lyricists, composers and instrumentalists. These songs wouldn't be heard if not for sound engineers and audio mixers. And take note, what about the lay-out artists? We call a compilation of songs an album because of a certain relativity or connectivity with the music. Yet just like how we treasure and organize our pictures in photo albums, so do we in music. We need visual art as an alternative to extend and relay the message and essence of an artist.

Don't you just love browsing through great photography and illustrations (more so when digital media has become popular and widely used) in an album cover? It is no doubt, stimulating. Especially when you get free lyrics on some pages, you can triumphantly get in touch with a particular song in a particular time.

Track 5:

People have degenerated into strips of barcodes, waiting to be swiped into a card reader or waiting to be sensorized by laser. We have come too "digital" and too "wired". We have become robots. Everything is convenient, everything is handy, everything is pocket-size.

An album cover may be a trivial thing for the majority. But one small thing can lead to greater and monstrous events. It's not a crime to be traditional nor is it sinful to stick to the old sometimes.

What are we waiting for? Let's compile our wits and cover up! :)

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Melancholic update: Ophelia Dimalanta's Love, Lie Still...
Another Melancholic update: Haruki Murakami's After the Quake
Poetry, poetry, poetry: Sshhh...
Poetry again: Mayo 11, habang nag-aabang ng dyip sa Makati Ave

People have long weighed physical potency against emotional, psychological and spiritual vitality. The thorny question of who will you side on, for instance, a person who is emotional distressed than a person who is physically weak, is still as intricate and testing as the broad and winding road of religion or philosophy.

I'll get straight to the point. No matter how adamant I, myself want to be when it comes to putting a stop on extending sympathies and commiseration to those beggars and impoverished many strewn along the busy streets in sullied cities, I just can't. And you know what most people say about following your heart.

Just one MRT ride will screw my week long target of not giving alms to those pitiful faces and grimy bodies that will meekly and persistently nudge their palms and cupped hands for a quarter or two. Just the apparent fact that they are everywhere, I know that my promises ought to be broken.

Given the growing and convincing truth that the underprivileged and indigent inhabitants have continually outnumbered the rest of the population in our country, my pity still has conditions and limitations. If I've mentioned about "following my heart", I am proud to say that it is selective. Take for example, the bible-freaks that preaches or shall I say infuriates your early morning bus-ride as they specifically order you to give "money" and not bus tickets and other paper wrappings in their overused envelopes. What about the "spider-kids" along Quezon Avenue who takes advantage of red traffic light, crawls along the aisle of jeepneys and let their soiled rugs speedily run through your bare feet? And can I still mention those picky beggars who notoriously throw the food that you gave them to show their dislike of not getting money?

So now, my Achilles heel stems out from no other than seniority in age. Old people cork up the cruel me. Whenever I spot some cane-dependent, gaunt-faced, close-to-naked, medically undersupplied and care-wanting elderly, I lose my principles and ideologies. Maybe weakness should most importantly be measured by flesh. After all, we are human beings who crave and live superficially for flesh. Don't we?

Come to think of it, what is a 70-year old, sagged and sallow skinned grandfather who doesn't even have false teeth to an energetic 20-something with a cheaply-dyed hair? What is the purpose of listening to sappy and overly dramatic stories of a middle-aged woman who runs to you and narrates same old tales about a bed-ridden or a medically deficient loved one? Yes, at times, I still consider myself crueler when I discriminate against other poor people just because of age. Through sickness and health, be richer or poorer, age shouldn't matter.

However, these are only words that I can share. I can never say when and how this so-called weakness will settle down into something else. As of now, the flesh is willing but the mind is weak.

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Livejournal update: People: Segregated
The Ultimate update: Audioslave's Be Yourself

I'm heartless and senseless. Would the abominable heat have scorched my mind and body to end up like this that I could not even think of anything to write about? Writer's block? I don't think so. There are so many things (both beautiful and crucifying) around me. Maybe I am too weak, too delicate and now too numb to feel that they do exist. Didn't Jack Kerouac lecture us that "existence is what we make of it?"

How I wish I could have been one of those rolling stones even if I cannot gather any moss. It could have been better. It could have been satisfying to realize that I had move an inch or two; hither and thither; far or near. But to what distance? I cannot even identify where I am standing. I cannot even name what surrounds me, what breathes with me. I live for myself or I live to be myself. These are two difficult ones that I could not dare to dissect and analyze. Both are true. Both are me.

Until when would I solidly stand uncaring and uncared for? Until when will I let the rain shower down or the sun dry the water out of my hardened and impenetrable concealment?

There goes the same old quandary. Break me into pieces and let us see.

What did she feel? Did she love him, or did she feel nothing at all for him or for any other man, being, as she had said that afternoon, free, like the wind or the sea?

- From Virginia Woolf's The Voyage Out

Ang tagal bago ako mag-update
Ang tagal bago ako mag-isip
Ang tagal bago ako makasulat
Ang tagal bago matapos ang araw
Ang tagal bago ako makauwi
Ang tagal bago matapos ang trabaho
Ang tagal bago ko mamemoryado ang paboritong kanta
Ang tagal bago ako makalangoy sa dagat o pool
Ang tagal bago matapos ang isang teleserye
Ang tagal bago ako makakakain
Ang tagal bago ako magbirthday ulet
Ang tagal bago mag-Pasko

Ang tagal bago makalimutan ang lahat
Ang tagal bago makapagpatawad
Ang tagal bago matapos ang lahat ng sakit

Nyak, di pala kasama yung tatlong huli... :p

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Updates, updates, updates:

Album Review: Up Dharma Down's Fragmented

Livejournal update 1: Conversations with Cheese

Livejournal update 2: Sa Uulitin

Bi's new pics for his new drama: "A Love to Kill"

OPM Song review: Sandwich's In Case of Fire