hiroportamiindietro

man to my cause

2009-04-14T02:12:00.001+01:00

"When the conduct of men is designed to be influenced, persuasion, kind, unassuming persuasion, should ever be adopted. It is an old and a true maxim, that a 'drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall.' So with men. If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. Therein is a drop of honey that catches his heart, which, say what he will, is the great high road to his reason, and which, when once gained, you will find but little trouble in convincing his judgment of the justice of your cause, if indeed that cause really be a just one. On the contrary, assume to dictate to his judgement, or to command his action, or to mark him as one to be shunned and despised, and he will retreat within himself, close all the avenues to his head and his heart; and tho' your cause be naked truth itself, transformed to the heaviest lance, harder than steel, and sharper than steel can be made, and tho' you throw it with more than Herculean force and precision, you shall no more be able to pierce him, than to penetrate the hard shell of a tortoise with a rye straw."

- Abraham Lincoln in his Temperance Address before the Washington Temperance Society (1842).

chagya pabo... the making...

2009-02-14T23:37:00.002+01:00

sometimes we get ideas and the unstoppable desire to create something. could be for ourselves, or for another person.

i made chagya and pabo out of my own favorite clothes, to give them more of the sentiment that i wanted them to have.

thanks, chagya, for making me smile. and hope again.

love is MY semordnilap of evil

2009-02-14T23:32:00.001+01:00

ordinary day.

woke up. shot off to the gym where 20 minutes of cycling and 40 minutes of lifting failed to rouse my still semi-functioning mind.

walked two blocks to buy me some Rothmans, a carton of milk, pineapple juice.
as i was going into the house, this old lady blindsided me by the stairs. she was muttering to herself, obviously pissed off at something or someone. by the elevator, she turned to me and asked if i knew the people who were making a fuss last night around midnight. having had little sleep, i knew it was the Peruvian family up on the fifth. But our floor having been the victim of unreasonable complaints from other tenants, i knew better than to squeal.

"Ero sveglio tutta la notte e non ho sentito niente, signora. Forse si sbaglia."
( I was awake all last night and i heard nothing, ma'am. Maybe you're mistaken."

That shut her up. As she got out on the second, she continued grumbling and huffing.
I hid a smile.

Outside the door, i could hear the phone ring.

"Pronto?" Hmmmm... nod. Gasp. Shit. nod. nod. Fcuk. Fcuk. Fcuk. nod. nod. shake head. Damnit.

That phone call sure did the trick. It felt like i drank a pitcher of italian corretto (which i hear is quite popular back home nowadays, the sambuca). It was my best gal pal in the U.S., the torchbearer of love, my mythical image of all that is good and and wonderful and POSSIBLE about love.

after 15 years of delirious monogamy, her boyfriend-now-fiance-now-jerk broke ties with her, apparently, over a romantic dinner and over a close friend of hers.

her belief in love was rattled, shaken, utterly destroyed by what happened.
imagine mine.

it is simple, really. Yes, we choose our partners. things work out. things might not. and yet it is also damnably complicated. It was my 22nd birthday when i decided to break an elementary concept.

Live and evil is probably one of the most basic semordnilap couple. Spell live backwards and you get evil. At that time, i firmly believed that it was LOVE that formed evil's semordnilap. And i stressed, "eeeh-voool!"

i dont know why, but i turned to my friend Luisa Igloria's poem I HAVE A CRUSH On An ITALIAn TEnor. Luisa is a poet extraordinaire and Associate Professor in the MFA Creative Writing Program and Department of English, Old Dominion University. I had the amazing opportunity to meet her and interview her for the paper i worked for here in Italy last year. Her words are instruments, the structure of her verses the sections, and her poems the completed orchestra that has the power to amaze, flummox, aggravate or convey peace.

...in those few seconds when i felt my friend's heart crumbling to pieces, i heard the words... "and for one person only...we say I choose you...delegate the rest to coffee shop friends..."

here's the part of the poem that I'm referring to.

...But when you think about

the souls in The Symposium, separated from each other
and condemned to yearn eternally for what completes them
and makes them whole, you can begin to understand
the difficulty. Not everyone can fulfill such a dizzying
array of needs, and for one person only. It’s hard enough

to figure out who it is we were meant to be with—and yet
we point and say we choose, we say I choose you. Would it be
enough to recognize which of our most important needs are met
by our mates, and delegate the rest to coffee shop friends,
email buddies, jobs, hobbies, therapists; to running, reading,

writing, yoga, or massage therapy? Sometimes it is at
the hands of a complete stranger that the spine gentles
and relaxes on the linen-draped table. The head droops,
the shoulders slacken, the ribs exhale a longer breath.
And the back, all this time locked tightly in its habit of not

giving anything away, responds to the fingers
of the blind masseuse, in the same way the tenor sings
so ardently of a world he still desires, can still taste and feel,
though he can no longer see. Any stone would melt
like a heart, from the honey of even such imperfect love.

I HAVE A CRUSH ON AN ITALIAN TENOR
(Poetry East, fall 2007)
http://www.luisaigloria.com/

...in those few seconds, i was the rope that they all pulled at, for which they hurled and heaved and measured their strengths and worth.

this tug of war.

delusion and faith.

and i hear another beguilingly profound voice at the back of my head, Spike singing his bloody aria of "Love's a bitch". Crass, and yet finespun.

"...And the back, all this time locked tightly in its habit of not giving anything away..."

some days, you're better off not getting out of bed.

xxx.

the love songs of many-a-zeus

2009-02-14T23:31:00.000+01:00

and he smeared the word itself
this four-letter secret that everybody else
seemed to know

and smeared themselves
thousands of times

it lived
and breathed
and died.

chthonic souls turned angels that fucked turned gods made chaos their master love their master
perfection their master turned slaves, this slavery

masters him. he cannot escape
and reads,

i am a simple guy. enjoys walks in the park, movies, meaningful conversations, love that never dies, my strengths are all listed here, and the rest of them you can view where my photos they can tell you make you see tease you make promises to you that i am who i say i am and my love never falters.

he shakes his head, laughs, distrusts
he is seeker and sought
and when he enters their world

he is simply lost

and he has known
the simple ones
the beautiful ones
the poor ones
the proud ones

and he has known how it is to read these love songs, troths that began with a smile, a chest, roughened thighs

this exercise of excesses that they, "their people", employ and the masks that they wear and he wears making them "his people" and his options exercised to his liking

and reads,

i seize the day and take what i can. i take you. i tell you you are mine and mine alone but i am not yours never will be alone. i fuck you and fuck you up then move on. i seized the day. i seized you.

and then his music
his tomes
his passions
his life

life smeared with that word
it comes up again
his own fractured fable

him, filled with the faces and bodies
of those he collects
like numbers and rainbows
they are polychromatic, and unending

he collects them

he is collected

a toy.

and reads,

or blank space

this fear
he is you, yet he despises being him or him or him
he is better, he is nothing
part of and cut off from the whole

i do my own thing

it reads

and suddenly, the unnecessary becomes desirable
the untruths getting new skins of
longstanding reason;

and he strives to read
between the lines

before he is carried away
to become the immortal that he was fated to be
his beauty set in stone
his heart hardened by time
and

that word

forgotten; that song,

unsung.

2008 Holiday Posters by... me!

2009-02-14T23:02:00.003+01:00

when i arrived in Catanzaro last December, i found myself with a lot of spare time in my hands (what's new eheheh). Having decided to search for a job after the holidays, I would wake up with nothing to do. well, except for cooking for my brother and the rest of the peeps here, or struggling with french or korean, or just plain shivering from the tragic cold.

I was then caught by the poster bug!

For yo. Pabo!!!

Of course i missed my brother! I havent seen him in 5 years!!! It was cool to realize how much we've changed and i marveled at how these changes allowed us to have a better rapport than before. I love my brother and I'm just so happy to spend my 'waiting time' here with him.

My three wacky sisters would never have let it go had i not made one for them too! so in the spirit of their new business venture, the Coffee and Cookie Company (the cookies in the poster are all their handiwork! Im so proud of you guys!!!), here it is. Guess it really runs in the family!

And here's one for my sister-in-law! Ate Judith is quite a lass, and though an unexpected choice, I believe, a right one that my brother made!

I miss my godson so much! Back in Milan, I would babysit for him as his mother, best gal pal Lanie, had to work. Little Gabri is just the cutest wootest!

The DOLGERS clan! My childhood friends. Wherever we are now, be it Dubai, Belgium or Manila, the bond is as thick as it once was!

Another cutie baby! My other goddaughter, Danica. It's a real kicker and laugh riot how everytime she sees Gabri she just has to smother him with kisses!

She was the girl who sat beside me in the benches of Milan's Loreto terminal. I felt her eyes on me while i was reading my book. She asked me abruptly if i were Filipino and if i spoke English. I answered yes to both. Then she asked if i were gay. The rest is history! Best fag hag ever! lolz

My four years in Milan could be broken down into seconds of beauty, minutes of pain, hours of friendship, days of learning , weeks of loss and months of reflection. Whether i lived alone, with a roommate, slept on a bed or a divano, worked as a cleaner or a journalist, through it all.... these amazing people were behind me all the way. It was painful to leave them, but of course, it's never forever. i miss you guys! I'll see you all soon, i hope!

i just love cooking!!!

2009-02-14T22:40:00.004+01:00

I remember watching my grandmother as she cut the vegetables up for the Filipino dish Chopsuey or show me how the batter for the rice cake or puto should look like. the buttery smell of the puto would always remind me of her and the Sundays that i spent in her kitchen. My grandma was a cook beyond excellence, and the credit goes to her heart, which is a main ingredient in her every dish. Each plate of scrumptiousness and each pot of godliness must have more than its share of ... love.

She taught my mother to cook, gave her all the recipes and the secrets and the trusted tips. But she parted leaving me something more precious.

Her passion for the culinary arts.

Whatever hardships i have to go through now in pursuit of a dream that at times seem to be so unattainable, i endure for the sake of her memory. One day I'll finally be able to leave Italy, move on to a place where I can study the arts and become a chef.

well, maybe in profession. But in truth, maybe just a simple guy with a lot of heart in his every dish.

( Learning about Calabrese dishes was given a major boost when i took on a job as stay-in caregiver cum cook for this wonderfully gentle man Signor Giuglio Altieri. Here are some of the recipes that i was able to prepare for him during my time in his home. )

it was friday night (my ghost friend)

2009-02-14T22:39:00.000+01:00

xxxhaneulxxx.

i asked myself
even as i was already immagining it
if it were possible
to make up your own ghost.

as a kid
i never had an imaginary friend.
i was happy enough by myself,
lost in books and dreams of greatness
and of smallness;

it is a boy,
just under ten years old,
he dresses always in the same clothes,
white buttoned shirt, khaki shorts,
black shoes.
his hair, swept to the side
his eyes, big and frightened,
his lips unmoving

he would sit beside me as i write poems
he would watch me cook, asking silently
for instructions on how to
properly marinade a roast
or make gnocchi al mare, his favorite,
with polipo and granchio.

it would amuse him so much
when i would start dancing silly
his eyeballs would roll
when i would open another bottle of verduzzo,
his eyes would become sad
when i would refuse to speak to him.

at night while i read
he would come stroke my head
he told me once
i should have my hair cut,
that my long hair makes me
look all the more sadder.

friday night, it started to rain.
past eleven, i started to drink.
listening to music, i started to write.
writing, i started to wonder

what i need is an exorcism.
give him hope, and another day

the little ghost boy told me
that he would just stand there,
amongst us, thinking,
his ghost thoughts
and somehow
he felt pity
for those of us living but are like
ghosts
too.

friday night,
it started to rain.
i was alone at the house.

my little imaginary ghost friend
was looking at me earnestly.

for some reason,
i started to feel a slight shiver.

era venerdi notte (il mio amico fantasma)

2009-02-14T22:38:00.000+01:00

xxxhaneulxxx.

mi sono chiesto
anche quando lo stavo gia immaginando
se era possibile
fantasticare una tua propria fantasma.

come un ragazzino
non ho avuto l'amico immaginario.
ero contento stando da solo,
perso nei miei libri e i miei sogni di grandezza
e di munizia;

è un ragazzo,
poco meno di dieci anni,
indossa sempre lo stesso abito,
camicia bianca, pantaloncini khaki,
scarpe nere,
i suoi capelli, spazzati a lato,
i suoi occhi, grandi e impauriti,
le sue labbre immobili.

mi stava accanto mentre scrivo le mie poesie,
mi guardava quando cucino, chiedendomi silenziosamente
per le istruzioni come marinare un arrosto
o preparare gnocchi al mare, il suo preferito,
con polipo e granchio.

si divertiva tanto,
quando mi metto a ballare come uno sciocco,
si rotevano i suoi occhi
quando apro un'altra bottiglia di verduzzo,
ha gli occhi tristi
quando rifiuto di parlargli.

in serata, mentre leggo
lui veniva a coccolare la mia testa
una volta mi ha detto
che dovevo farmi tagliare i cappelli,
che cosi lunghi mi rendono
piu miserabile.

venerdi notte, è cominciato a piovere.
dopo alle undici, ho iniziato a bere.
ascoltando la musica, ho iniziato a scrivere.
scrivendo, ho iniziato a chiedermi.

quello che ho bisogno è un esorcismo.
dagli speranza, e un altro giorno.

il piccolo ragazzo mi ha detto
che stava in piedi
tra noi, e pensa,
i suoi pensieri da fantasmi,
e in qualche modo
si sentiva il bisogno di condolersi con
quelli di noi che vivono
ma sono anche
come dei
fantasmi.

venerdi sera,
è cominciato a piovere.
ero da solo a casa.

il mio piccolo amico immaginario fantasma
mi guardava seriamente.

per qualche motivo,
mi sono venuti i brividi.

cazzeggiare è cosi bello e cosi brutto è cosi -- vaf%£/*&=o -

2009-02-14T22:36:00.001+01:00

- o come ha detto un mio amico. (lolz)

So che fra poco vado a trovare il mio fratello, ma nel frattempo, questo periodo in cui sto vivendo ... vorrei strappare il mio cuore, uscire dalla pelle e esplodere.

attualmente sentendo: a pezzi. come descritto.

attualmente ascoltando: varie brani dai nuovi album - Jennifer Hudson (spotlight, if this isn't love, invisible), 3 doors down (let me be myself) , beyonce knowles ( disappear, halo, scared of lonely), se7en (them girls) e l'album completo del mio mito Jeong Ji-Hoon (meglio conosciuto come Bi/Rain) - Rainism.

attualmente facendo: grafici per due clienti di personal catering (italian and french cuisine), tre inviti ( due battesimi, e un matrimonio ovvero, FORSE-matrimonio. hack hack)

attualmente imparando: vector e 3d graphics, piu la lingua francese e koreano.

attualmente leggendo: libri - di nuovo il BABEL TOWER di A. S. Byatt, poesie scritte dal mio amico Kim (oggi mi ha fatto sentire un suo opera via skype da Penang - un vero genio) e i file mandati dal CIA per recuperare intelligence persi colpa di un traditore (si tratta della sicurezza internazionale, mi spiace, non ve lo posso raccontare)

attualmente scaricando: Auction House (Korean drama) e Prison Break (tutti gli episodi per il mio fratello) e la discografia completa di lee hom wang e yo-yo ma.

attualmente mangiando:

ogni giorno zuppa (perche sono

attualmente malato: raffredore e tonsillite.

attualmente parlando: con un amico di messina, un amico cinese e la mia cocca Orietta che la voglio tanto abbracciare.

attualmente bevendo: che altro. vino rosso e troppo caffè.

attualmente fumando: gli ultimi due stick del mio Benson. uffa.

attualmente mancando: ballare con roland (il mio ex-coinquilino),

la torta a caramella di Ghrei, giocando a tennis con il Panda team, Gabri, e la mia macchina fotografica.

attualmente guardando: gli ultimi episodi della quinta

stagione di L-Word (ammetto, "Sono un uomo-identificato-come lesbico". aspetta, sono anche gay. che confusione!) *pic - Leisha Hailey of Lword

attualmente progettando: come cambiare identità e apparenza, come far soffrire tutte le persone che mi hanno fregati e delusi, come poter lavorare per unicef, e una programma di dieta e fisica per avere il corpo del dannato Ji-Hoon.

attualmente sperando: che lui non mi ha dimenticato. che c'e un ragione per tutto questo. che in fondo, sono ancora io. per me. e per lui, un amico.

credo di aver capito

2009-02-14T22:34:00.001+01:00

by haneul. xxx.ccg08.xxx

credo di aver capito
per quanto umile possa essere,
contro tutta la mia storia, tutte le mie esperienze
l'amore, le amicizie e le fortune che ho avuto,
tutti i sbagli, tutti i pensieri, tutto il passato e il futuro....

credo di aver capito
che non avrò
mai
la felicità
che cerco.

non saprei dire ancora se questa
profonda verità
mi aiuta a vivere
o mi impedisce di piu

non saprei dire ancora se questa
vera falsità
mi rende piu impaurito
o piu consapevole di
tutte altre verità

vedo una tela bianca davanti me
una tabula rasa
una possibilità per rincominciare

una vita
tanto impossibile.

The lover /l'amante

2008-11-08T17:52:00.002+01:00

The Lover
xxxccg08xxx

something hung in the air,
it settled on the walls and the furniture
his smell was left behind and i could smell it
smell him
his hair, his neck, armpits and belly.
and how he smelled of dolce terra and aceto
even for that last time.

i opened the windows
let the wintry breeze seep in
from the nearby park in viale Monza
through glass and jacquard,
i could hear the swish and silent whispering
and his voice, also left behind
the words that marked every corner of this house
like the first and last words of a book,
a book that contained only
his goodbye.

to close my eyes: and see
how two miserable beings found each other
imprisoned in that bubble of space and clarity.
it is intolerable to watch the game unfold,
of hearts wrenched with guilt, revived with happiness -
the immensity of it
slipping quickly under their skin
burrowing itself beyond even memory,
and to close my eyes: and see
it is intolerable to
have searched for this prison and this heart
and watch the dawning sun take everything away
just like that
simple as eating all the minutes and hours up, unmindful

of the gentle loosening of buttons
the grating of teeth, the wounding of flesh
and the breaking of hearts.

in one swift second,
everything collapsed and time started ticking its barbarous
tick and tock, i could feel him leaving even before
he gathered his clothes and closed the door.

he heaved a sigh and looked at me
and that sigh contained in itself all his unsaid words,
all the unkept promises, all the time unspent.
with that sigh he gazed at me without our eyes meeting
he held me in his arms without our bodies touching
he gave me back what was given

that sigh was my death.

But just like that, the way i sat, the way my head
was bowed down, like the many brilliant notions
that come to man
like the many ordinary notions that come to him ,
each and every single day, i stood up
i made coffee and smoked two Bensons.
i put my hair back in a japanese nod, i look at the mirror
i barely look at myself so much as looking at a stranger,
i took my keys
and went out the door.

Auden said:
"Any knifewound now is every one i had coming."

Inside my mind is a vision of
when i would smile,
at a barking dog or a leaf falling from its autumn fate,
it is an image
that lets us know without spelling it out,
the truth, no matter how cruel,
bears with it always a semblance of
something that could resemble
hope.

and i cling to all these pieces,
all the big pieces, the little pieces, the shattered ones,
the memories of all those missing pieces,

to keep things whole
and him, inside the house,
a haunting ghost.

just a ghost.

L'Amante
by haneul. xxxccg08xxx

qualcosa era sospeso nell'aria,
s'è attacato sul muro e sui mobili,
è rimasto il suo odore e potevo sentirlo
Lo sentìi
l'odore dei suoi capelli, del collo, l'ascelle e la sua pancia
e il suo odore come terra dolce e aceto,
anche quell'ultima volta.

Aprii le finestre
lasciando entrare il vento invernale
dal parco vicino in viale Monza,
passando attraverso il vetro e tessuto jacquard,
sentivo il fruscio e sussurra silenziosa
e sua voce, anche quello è rimasto
le parole che segnano ogni angolo di questa casa,
come la prima e l'ultima parola di un libro,
un libro che conteneva solamente
il suo addio.

a chiudere i miei occhi: e vedere
come due esseri abbracciati della miseria si sono trovati,
imprigionati in una bolla di spazio e chiarezza.
è intolerabile guardare come il gioco si sfoglia,
dei cuori strappati con colpa, rianimati con felicità -
l'immensità di questa situazione,
entrando rapidamente sotto la loro pelle,
scavando anche al di là di della memoria,
a chiudere i miei occhi: e vedere
è intolerabile
di aver cercato questo prigione e questo cuore
e vedere il sole sorgente che porta tutto via
cosi come
divorare i minuti e le ore, non pensando

allo sbottonamento dolce dei buttoni,
i stridenti dei denti, il ferimento del corpo,
e la rottura dei cuori.

in un istante,
tutto crollò e l'ora ha iniziato di nuovo il suo tic-toc barbarico,
sentivo lui che partiva prima che
ha raccolto i suoi vestiti e chiuso la porta

emise un sospiro e mi guardò
e quel sospiro conteneva in sè tutte le parole non dette,
le promesse non mantenute, tutto il tempo perduto.
con quel sospiro, mi guardò senza che i nostri occhi s'incontravano
mi tenne in braccio senza che i nostri corpi si toccavano
mi diede ciò che è stato dato

quel sospiro era la mia morte.

ma era cosi, come mi sedevo, nel modo in cui avevo la mia testa
verso giu, come molti concetti brillianti
che giungono all'uomo
come molti concetti ordinari che giungono a lui ogni giorno e ogni singolo giorno,

mi alzai
preparai caffe e fumai due Benson.
mi misi i cappelli indietro a nodo giapponese, guardai lo specchio
mi guardai ciecamente quasi come uno sconosciuto,
Presi le mie chiavi
e uscìi dalla porta.

Auden disse:
"Ogni coltellata adesso è ciascuno di quelli che ho fatto venire."

Nella mia mente, c'e un immagine
di quando mi mettevo a sorridere,
ad un cane che abbaia o una foglia che cade dal suo destino autunnale,
è un' immagine
che ci fa sapere senza dirlo a chiare lettere
la verità per quanto crudele,
porta con sè un'apparenza
di qualcosa che assomiglia
speranza.

e io, mi tenni stretto questi pezzi
tutti i pezzi grandi, i pezzi piccoli, i pezzi distrutti
la memoria di tutti questi pezzi persi

per preservare la compiutezza delle cose
e lui, rimasto in casa,
uno spettro.

solamente uno spettro.

louise gluck's the butterfly

2008-11-08T17:51:00.000+01:00

i want to share this poem that is immensely astute. it's a poem by Louise Elisabeth Glück, an American poet. The poem is from the collection of poems entitled Meadowlands (Ecco Press, 1996). Enjoy!
vorrei condividere questa poesia che è molto astuta. è una poesia di Louise Elisabeth Glück, una poeta america. è estratto dal libro, una collezione di poesia, intitolato "Meadowlands" (Ecco Press, 1996).

THE BUTTERFLY / La farfalla

Look, a butterfly. Did you make a wish?
Guarda, una farfalla. Hai espresso un desiderio?

You don't wish on butterflies.
non si esprime un desiderio quando vedi una farfalla.

You do so. Did you make one?
Invece si. L'hai espresso?

Yes.
Si.

It doesn't count.
non vale.

THE WISH

Remember that time you made the wish?
Ricordi quella volta che hai espresso un desiderio?

I make a lot of wishes.
ne esprimo tanti desideri.

The time I lied to you
about the butterfly. I always wondered
what you wished for.
La volta che ti ho mentito
a proposito della farfalla. Mi sono sempre chiesto
quale fosse il tuo desiderio.

What do you think I wished for?
Tu che desiderio immagini?

I don't know. That I'd come back,
that we'd somehow be together in the end.
non so. Che io tornassi,
che alla fine in qualche modo saremmo stati insieme.

I wished for what I always wish for.
I wished for another poem
Il desiderio era il desiderio che esprimo sempre.
Era il desiderio di un'altra poesia.

SIMPLE TRUTH (with words by Thoreau and Basho)

2008-09-30T00:20:00.000+01:00

SIMPLE TRUTH , photo taken by Haneul , 2007

Man's life must be of equal simplicity and sincerity with nature, and his actions
harmonize with her grandeur and beauty. -- Thoreau

I want to go soon and live away by the pond, where I shall hear only the wind
whispering among the reeds. It will be a success if I shall have left myself
behind. But my friends ask what I will do when I get there. Will it not be employ-
ment enough to watch the progress of the seasons? -- Thoreau

Occasionally, when I feel energetic, I gather firewood and draw spring water.
I love the drops which fall, tok-tok, along the green of a single spray of fern,
and nothing is so light as my stove. -- Basho

Yield to the willow
all the loathing and all the desire
within your heart.

-- Basho

I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to
practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep
and suck out all the marrow of life. -- Thoreau

The morning wind forever blows;
The poem of the world is uninterrupted,
but few are the ears that hear it.

-- Thoreau

My solitude shall be my company
and my poverty, my wealth.

-- Basho

The scent of orchids
perfumes the wings
of a butterfly.

-- Basho

I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me
that I had several more lives to live and could not spare any more time for that
one. -- Thoreau

Going nowither; where travelers are not too often to be met; where my spirit is free;
where the walls and fences are not cared for; where your head is more in heaven
than your feet are on earth. --- Thoreau

When observed calmly,
all things have their fulfillment.

-- Basho

The humblest fungus betrays a life akin to our own.
It is a successful poem in its kind.

-- Thoreau

support jayr

2008-04-26T12:46:00.001+01:00

http://thegumbayproject.blogspot.com

He's Gumbay JaYR aBAS. HE came to Italy years ago and started working as a one of the crew in a Mcdonald's branch. About three or four years ago, i met up with him because of his newfound passion - the sport of snowboarding. No matter what anyone says, i believe he has gone a long way in the sport, considering that he's the only filipino able to enter into different tournaments held here in italy and given his many constraints - lack of support from the Phil. government, lack of support for training and gear. but what he really needs now is YOUR support. we have contacted the phil olympic commission and they said we need to drum up a petition for jayr and that he be endorsed by the phil. consul general here. we already got that from our Hon. Sir Pete Chan so now, it's our turn!

This sunday Jayr goes back to do a slew of interviews (sports unlimited, gma 7, untv, various print media) and hopefully finally get his voice heard by the commission.

please go to this website to learn more about him and follow the link to the support page (see nav bar) . tell all your friends! support jayr! his dream is every filipino's dream!

http://thegumbayproject.blogspot.com

p.s. soon we'll post downloadable fun stuff like more posters, wallpapers, etc. and hopefully we get rights to publish online his competitions with burton etc.
for email: gumbayjayrabas@gmail.com

my peeps

2008-04-15T01:37:00.000+01:00

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

METRO TALES. an encounter

2008-04-03T09:18:00.002+01:00

Wednesday. It's hell day.
My Wednesday usually starts on Tuesday (or you could say, my Tuesday usually stretches out up to Wednesday lol) but however you look at it, it's one of those long, dragging days when work just doesn't seem to end and when it does, you are depleted of all
energy. It's a wonder I can still get home. A 40-minute tram-to-metro journey. Ugh.

So after having taken the 9, I find myself reading in the subway. The book, Deepak Chopra's Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment, has been with me for two days already and I have still to get through the first chapter. People ask me why i lug around books all the time. There's your answer. It is while waiting for the subway train that I find the time to read.
I was just getting to more about this young man in line for the throne and for his father's kingdom - this young man who yearns for the outside world as much as I used to yearn for it - when i suddenly heard a voice. ANd it was directed at me.

James: Ch'oum poepgetsumnida. (How do you do?)

I turn. This (obviously) Korean guy was sitting beside me, him and a girl. Both were looking at me with smiles and expectant looks on their faces.

Cris: Ne. (Yes.) Annyong hashimnikka? ( Good evening.)

James: Are you Korean?*
* spoken in ENglish

Cris: Aniyo. (No. ) Yeongeorul malsum halsu isseoyo? ( Do you speak English?)
Jeo-nun han-kook-o-rul jo-gum-bah-ke mo-tahm-ni-da. ( I only speak a little Korean.)

James: Yes. SOrry. Thought you are Korean. I just got here.

Cris: (kinda figured that out, with their luggage and all) Are you guys here for vacation or business?

AT this point, I knew it was the guy that spoke better English because the girl was squinting at me so hard I knew she was hoping I would speak more slowly.

James: No. I got here today. SHe... living here in Italy.

Cris: davvero?!? (Really? - it just came out of my mouth. I didn't even think if they would understand me)

Irae: Si. Milano. (Yes. Milan)

So she understands Italian!!!

Cris: Ah! Ma da quanto che sei qua in Italia allora? (Ah! So how long have you been here in Italy then?)

Irae: Io... 9 mesi. (Me... 9 months)

Cris: Perche? (Now, it's James that's squinting! I was loving this!)

Irae: Studiare... Italiano. (Study...Italian.)

James: Namjachingu imnida. (I am his boyfriend... He said this with such a cute expression - it was like he was so proud and so happy of it! So sweet!)

(three of us laughed then, with Irae nodding her head in a meaningful way.)

Cris: Capito... QUindi lui è qua per farti una bella visita. (Ah. I understand. So he's here to visit you.)

Irae: Ye. (Si. Yes)

Cris: song-ha-mi oteoke dwesijiyo? (What is your name?) Mi chiamo Cris. Nice to meet you. Mahnnabwepge dweoseo bahngahpsoumnida. I am very glad to meet you.

I honestly was confused at this point because I could not figure out anymore whether to speak in Korean, English or Italian. I just went along with it. When I would say something in ENglish I would look at James more and if in Italian, at Irae. They would then talk to each other in rocket-speed Korean that would just be like a blur to me.

James: I'm James. And this is Irae. We're from Seoul. (Mi chiamo James. E lei è Irae. *I-re-e.Veniamo da Seoul.)

Cris: Bello! (Beautiful!)

Irae: Cri--- Cris, vero? (i nod). Tu - Milano - studiare? O lavorare? (It's Cris, right? You- here in Milan - studying? Or working?)

Cris: No. Io sto lavorando come grafico e scrivo anche per un giornale. Dovrei studiare piu la lingua Italiana. (No. I'm working as a graphic artist and I also write for a newspaper. I should actually study more the Italian language.)

Irae: Da quanto tu a Milano? Abiti qua? DOve? (How long have you been here? DO you live here? Where?)

Cris: Oh, I've been here 4 years. I live in the zone Turro. (Ah. Sto qua da 4 anni. Abito a zona Turro.)

JAmes: ANd your family? (e la tua famiglia)

Cris: No. I'm alone here. Sono da solo. Gajok? (family/famiglia) Niente. Sono tutti nelle Filippine. (My whole family's back home in the Philippines.)

Irae: Anch'io! Naneun...Seulpeoyo.

Cris: ah... seulpeoyo... ?

James: seulpeoyo... Sad. That's why I come. But, only for one month! (Triste.
è per quello che sono venuto. Ma solo per un mese.)

Cris: Choe-song-ham-ni-da. Chonun hangungmal chal-mo-tae-yo. (I'm sorry. My Korean is soooo bad. Scusa.... Parlo male il Koreano.)

Irae: Kok-tchong ma-se-yo! Tu parli benissimo anche Italiano! (DOn't worry! You speak good Italian too!)

Irae: (takes out phone) Noi..scende Pasteur. chiamiamo?

AT this, I was flustered again. ANd I think she mistook it for me not understanding what she meant. She repeated it, gesturing to her phone and then pointing to me and to herself. BUt in truth, i was just surprised that she wanted to exchange numbers so fast after just meeting each other. I looked at James and he was nodding so yeah....)

Irae: (after saving the number in her phone. she mispelled Cris , she did it with a K but that was ok. It was already Loreto and they had to get off at the next stop)

Cris: Allora grazie. Ci sentiamo. Usciamo forse, a fare le foto. Farlo vedere la città. (to James) Show you the city. YEs? (Then thanks. LEt's talk soon. Maybe we can go out, take some photos. Show him the city.)

James: Thank you. Yes. Annyonghi kashipshiyo.
Cris: Mannaso, pangapssimnida. (Nice to meet you! Lieto di incontrarti!)
James: (laughing) You too!
Irae: Ciao!
Cris: Bye! Ciao!

Two stops later, it was Turro. AS I got out, i had this rush of exhiliration. I love that feeling!!! It's like being alive, being connected to the earth, to life, to people!

In my life, it's only happened four times. One, with one of my closest buds, Jong (who, strangely, looking back at this night's incident) is also Korean but lives in Hongkong. We met at a bicycle path and almost ran each other to the ground.
Second time, with Gary. This AMerican guy at the Feltrinelli Library. We still keep tabs on each other, he's in London now. But i think he's coming back to Milan in May for a vacation.
Third time, was with Jeni. It was after the first day of school in this Italian university that holds free Italian classes for foreigners. I was reading (hmmm...maybe that's the key to meeting people... I should read more in the subway) and she just plopped her pretty self right next to me and asked me, Are you FIlipino? I said yes. Her second question would be the "gist" of it all. She asked me if I was single, sane and straight. I answered yes, yes and no. That would cement our friendship and up to now we're still the best of friends, and pretty soon, roommates!

Let's hope this fourth encounter would bless me with two new friends.

Tto bwepkessimnida!!! See you later! A dopo!

MISSED !!! HOW A SIMPLE "HEY YA" CAN MAKE YOUR DAY

2008-03-31T21:25:00.001+01:00

SO AFTER A WEEKEND OF QUESTO AND QUELLO, I GO BACK TO THE OFFICE, SIGN IN ON YM, AND LISTEN TO MY FAVE MUSIC.

AT 15.50, I GET A CALL FROM THE UNICEF OFFICE FOR A PHONE-INTERVIEW WITH THE ONE IN-CHARGE OF VOLUNTEERS. SO I WENT TO THE OTHER ROOM.

AT 14.43, I GO BACK AND DAMN!!!

THERE IT IS! MISSED IT! MISSED A CONVERSATION WITH RAM! HOPE YOU'RE COOL, FRIEND!

BRILLANTE MENDOZA'S TIRADOR IN MILAN!!!

2008-03-31T20:32:00.003+01:00

The 18th Edition of the Festival Cinema Africano, Asia and Latino Americano returns this 7-13 April. And like last year (which included Benji Garcia's BATAD...for the pics, click HERE), another Filipino film is to be presented to the Italian public - Brillante Mendoza's TIRADOR as part of the Competition Segment "FInestre sul Mondo".

As I have yet to watch it, (and hopefully, i DO get to watch it, I'm still waiting for my Press Pass!!! fingers crossed!) I post here some of the reviews about the film, which apparently has already done a signifcant orbit around various international film festivals.

NOTES ON TIRADOR (film by Brillante Mendoza)
"Rapidly emerging as an important new talent, young Filipino director Brillante Mendoza delivers his second feature of the year, a wickedly energetic portrait of Manila street life shot on the fly with a digital camera." JA, Eye Weekly, Toronto

"From the opening police raid to the closing political rally, director Mendoza takes his hand-held camera into the heart of Manila to create a remarkable, lively, intimate and realistic portrayal of life in a slum!Not one moment looks staged, and the cast performs flawlessly. Mendoza never plays to our sympathy or editorializes. He lets his stories tell themselves and weaves sharp social observation into his frantic and often funny action." Now Magazine

"Superb drama "Slingshot" makes the streets, alleys and crushing deprivations of Manila come to wrenching life. Shot like a mini-"Bourne" film with lightweight high-def video cameras, it darts from one acutely observed vignette to another! Some of the details break your heart, without the trappings or musical cues of melodrama." Michael Phillips, Chicago Tribune

"(The) biggest discovery of the (Vancouver film) festival! Mendoza's most audacious inspiration is shooting the film on location during the election season, where the politicians have done his set dressing for him...(While) the title Slingshot...(is) a literal translation of the street slang for thief, (it) is oddly appropriate for a film that moves with such whiplash momentum and (with) characters who rush and ricochet through their worldâ” Sean Axmaker, Green Cine Daily Vancouver Dispatch

"Mendoza's breathless account of desperate lives in the mean streets of Manila is a pummeling and visceral experience!A highly impressive technical exercise, yet at heart offers a penetrating glimpse into lives lived on instinct, predation, and reaction alone”Doug Cummings, Film Journey

"not so much a movie as a moving portrait ”complex and complete, hopeless and honest " into the underbelly of a society that could be as at home beneath a city as within...The feat of (the) film lies with its ability to deftly deliver us to a world we haven't seen before and demonstrate that the lowest denominators in society are common the globe over. The film delivers slogans, substantiated by our own daily news, that democracies are definitely not infallible.” Elliot V. Kotek, Moving Pictures

"(Reminding one) of Los Olvidados, both in its unsentimental treatment of the poor and its political critique!The final shot, showing an anonymous petty crime accompanied by a crowd singing. How Great Is Our God,would have had BuÃ±uel smiling.” David Bordwell,
davidbordwell.net

"(Director) Brillante Mendozaâ€¦has come a long way in a few years!The many vignettes in the film have an additive effect, contributing to a larger picture. Like City of God, (the film) is relentless."”Bruce, Chlotrudis Society for Independent Film

"The film finds Mendoza once again taking his camera into the teeming streets to capture life as it flows right now. This is a fiction film, but Mendoza's impressive skill is to impose a calculated narrative onto Manila's constant unpredictability, shaping its ground-level chaos into art.It shows Mendoza's rapidly maturing abilities with digital cinema. What is more (is his) novelist's eye for the full range of human behaviour, especially the ironies of greed and vanity.” Cameron Bailey, Toronto International Film Festival

"No disrespect to the late Robert Altman (well, not much), but you ain't seen multi-strand plotting or heard overlapping dialogue until you've watched Slingshot. From the opening scene of a night-time police raid on the building, the film plunges us into a world of non-stop noise and chaos.(The film provides an) angry but heart-breaking picture of a corner of society with no obvious way forward.” Tony Rayns, Vancouver International Film Festival

"The most stunning film at the Vancouver (filmfest) was Slingshot, by the prolific Filipino Brillante Mendoza. With its skin-tight realism, the movie positions us right in (a) Filipino slum where the everyday existence of the characters is as squalid as the sludge-filled gutters of their ghetto.Urgent, powerful and devoid of sensationalism, this is one of the year's best films to come out of anywhere.” Kong Rithdee, Bangkok Post

Here are glimpses at other films in the category:

ANDALUCIA
Regia: Alain Gomis
Nazionalità: Senegal / Francia / Spagna 2007
Enthusiastic young thirty year old, both funny and violent, Yacine lives in a caravan, on the margins of reality, gets by with little jobs. Attracted by the unknown man but without flowing with it, he one day meets a woman who looks like him. And so reappears in among people he had so carefully avoided: Djibril, a childhood friend from the city, then his Algerian family headed by his, formerly in the FLN converted to Catholicism. This community brings back easily to the surface memories of exclusion, desire for recognition, boyhood frustration, and, in order to move forward, Yacine will have to rid himself of it forever and take-off.

EL BANO DEL PAPA - (IL BAGNO DEL PAPA)
Regia: Enrique Fernandez, César Charlone
Nazionalità: Uruguay / Brasile / Francia
A small South American village is in a flurry over the Pope's 1988 visit.

GETTING HOME - (ANDARE A CASA)
Regia: Zhang Yang
Nazionalità: Cina
A black comedy about a farmer who tries to bring home the body of his friend, who died far from their town.

LA MAISON JAUNE - (LA CASA GIALLA)
Regia: Amor Hakkar
Nazionalità: Algeria / Francia
In the arid mountainous landscapes of Algeria, Aya, a young girl of twelve, is digging a plot of land when a police car pulls up. The policemen hands her a letter describing the accidental death of her elder brother who was doing his military service. As soon as the rest of the family is informed, the father, Mouloud, sets off to collect his son’s body. Determined to do right by his family, he braves all sorts of dangers to bring back his son's remains.

MUNYURANGABO - GIORNO DELLA LIBERAZIONE
Regia: Lee Isaac Chung
Nazionalità: Ruanda / Usa
An orphan of the Rwandan genocide travels from Kigali to the countryside on a quest for justice.

MUTUM
Regia: Sandra Kogut
Nazionalità: Brasile
"Mutum" is a coming of age story seen through the eyes of a ten year old boy. Thiago lives with his family on an isolated farm in the arid backlands of Minas Gerais, Brazil. As the story unfolds and Thiago is forced to confront separations and betrayal within the home, Thiago begins, little by little, to see and understand a place that he had never been able to before, thus slowly letting go of his innocence. "Mutum" is an adaptation of the novel "Manuelzão e Miguilim" by João Guimarães Rosa

OUT OF COVERAGE - (FUORI COPERTURA)
Regia: Abdullatif Abdulhamid
Nazionalità: Siria
Amer and Zohair are friends. While Zohair spends time in prison for a crime he did not commit, Amer devotes his time, energy and own family’s needs towards Zohair’s wife and little daughter. Now, as Zohair, is about to be released, Amer faces an unexpected conflict between good and bad - a classic duel between him and his devil. Will Zohair’s return lead Amer back to his small family life?

POR SUS PROPIOS OJOS - (ATTRAVERSO I SUOI OCCHI)
Regia: Liliana Paolinelli
Nazionalità: Argentina
Two students would like to make a film on women who have family in prison. It turns out to be quite difficult to get in touch in the first place and to build up confidence. Elsa, the mother of one prisoner, eventually agrees but under condition that her son in prison is being interviewed as well. Pretending to be the son’s girlfriend, Alicia has to undergo the humiliating controls in prison and understands that the elder woman plays a double game in order to pull her son out of his despair and lethargic state. She has used Alicia like Alicia used her as a protagonist in her film. But then everything becomes different. Turning a documentary makes you learn a lot about yourself. Although he is proven guilty and the prison cell is small and depressing, Alicia falls in love with the prisoner and herself becomes a “wife of a prisoner”. Films as a medium of participating observation, the responsibility of a filmmaker, the wretchedness of the convicts and the co-punishment of the relatives.

BUDDHA COLLAPSED OUT OF SHAME -(BUDDA CROLLÒ PER LA VERGOGNA)
Regia: Hana Makhmalbaf
Nazionalità: Iran
This unusual film, directed by a 19-year-old, is shot on Afghan locations very close to the spot where the fundamentalist Muslim Taliban destroyed the centuries-old gigantic statue of Buddha.

MiArt 2008 --- see you there!

2008-03-31T17:30:00.000+01:00

Enzo Guaricci
don-azione
2003
resine e polvere di marmo
35 x 35 x 15cm

MiArt 2008 the 13th edition of Milan's International Modern and Contemporary Art Fair won't fail to surprise with its new features and projects. This unique event turns Milan into a prestigious showcase for art and a point of reference for collectors, gallery operators, artists and curators.
Like last year, MiArt will take place in the Portello pavilions of fieramilanocity between 4 and 7 April, with the invitation-only inauguration scheduled for Thursday, 3 April. MiArt is reasserting its role as the only trade show in Italy able to offer a complete panorama of the art world through its 3 separate sections that encompass modern art to the most innovative voices of contemporary art. Together, the 3 sections, Modern, Contemporary, and Anteprima take in Italian and international art from the historic avant-garde to the most recent experimental works, attracting collectors with different interests and backgrounds.

Kro Art Gallery
Peter Assmann / Iberia Medici
NON VEDO L'HORA
2007
wandteppich / arazzo
180x83cm
MiArt 2008: a benchmark and a meeting point for the art world that, for this edition too, will see the participation of internationally respected gallery operators, critics and collectors, as well as the directors of prestigious museums.
Thanks to the increasing collaboration with the public and private sectors, over recent years there have been numerous cultural and art events presented during the exhibition under the umbrella title "fuoriMiArt" - an unmissable program that promises to present the most exciting events in the whole city. The numerous parallel events testify in a tangible way to MiArt's desire to establish an ongoing dialogue with the city of Milan and transform the exhibition into a fully fledged arts festival.

Focus on Latin American Art

MiArt 2008 is continuing its program of inviting galleries, artists and dealers from one particular geographical area. The decision to run the Guest Nation program over the last three years stems from a desire to look beyond the globalization of styles and tendencies that can blur differences and highlight the unique qualities of local art.

As a part of pursuing this goal, the prestigious conference “Cina Intra/Extra Ovest,” chaired two years ago by Hans Ulrich Obrist, will return – probably in Beijing – with the goal of catching up on a country where time passes quickly and seeing what effect this has on its art.

Last year’s focus on the Netherlands had different objectives. It was intended to be a look at a country (in some ways similar to Italy, and therefore easier to understand) whose system for promoting contemporary art is probably unrivaled in the Western world. With the exhibition staged in a city where there’s heated debate over the urgency of a museum, this system offered many points for reflection.

And in 2008 the focus is on Latin America, a group of countries in perennial transformation in which the exigencies of art are defining a political and cultural identity. The Latin American artists featured by international galleries and galleries from Central and South America reveal a crosspollination of languages, of an art that, despite the pressures towards uniformity, indicates a strong identity and incredible bonds with particular localities.

In contemporary Latin American art, different languages and an abandoning of traditional techniques in favor of extra-pictorial media are the tools artists use to tell their stories of a great region that is looking for a model for autonomous development. The emergencies of social disintegration and exclusion that the various democratic governments are facing come alive in the region's art, in which the urban space – as the focal point of change and contradiction – is often the central theme. Like nowhere else in the West, where we embrace the areas away from cities, in Latin American it is in the cities that new artistic messages and national identities are taking shape.

And it is from the cities that, since the 1980s, the Latin American artworks featured in biennials around the world have come and that are triggering so much interest internationally. This is an art of reality in which a profound knowledge of the individual leads to a lucid and passionate interpretation of the events taking place today in each artist's country.

The Anteprima section of MiArt 2008 features a group of international galleries, coordinated by the Spanish-Cuban Omar-Pascual Castillo, that will focus on the creativity of Latin American.

Named by Castillo as “En el posterior de las American,” the man who conceived the project has this to say about it:

With MiArt 2008 the first host of Project Rooms dedicated to Latin American art at an Italian art fair, I believe that bringing together a selection of artistic identities – artists who work in Latin America, the United States and Europe – was the best perspective to take on what is an ongoing dialogue.

“En el posterior de las Américan” therefore presents artists and galleries that aspire to speak of an outward and return journey of infinite reciprocity, a path of relocation – not just physical, but, in particular, subjective, which can have no other end but reciprocal and cumulative enrichment.

The exhibition centers on Project Rooms that focus on the recycled experiences of the artists and their perception of this reality. Thus, a Mexican gallery can present a Texan–New Yorker artist; a Dominican or Madrid gallery, a Cuban artist; a Catalan gallery, an Argentinean artist living – by no coincidence – in New York.

Since a Project Room is a legitimizing place in the context of an art fair, with a transient yet effective exhibition exuberance and fragmentary but also design possibilities, I’m enamored by the idea of presenting individuals active in the art world in the form of these fleeting, concentrated prisms. This is a world in which an encyclopedic approach is not possible and the maps must be part of a process whose ending you cannot guess. The decision to focus on the artist is more than obvious to me, since it corresponds to the interpretation of the continent in which we are located as mere observers.

And, at times, we can only recall the “legible paths" of artists capable of creating esthetic-poetic works.

Studio D'Arte Fioretti
Ben Vautier
JE VEUX DISPARAITRE

acrilico su tela
100 X 100cm

30 people off the top of my head

2008-03-27T20:08:00.001+01:00

Can you name 30 people you can think
of right off the top of your head?
Don't read the questions underneath
until you write the names of all 30
people.

1.watz
2.george
3.mark
4.nessa
5.flor
6.angie
7.nard
8.thea
9.whisky
10.roland
11.chill
12.ram
13.nessa
14.mean
15.norman
16.mamu
17.papi
18.antonio
19.rogel
20.brat
21.lanz
22.she
23.charm
24.wilson
25.barry
26.stacey
27.nicole
28.mia
29.ciongs
30.ghrei

THE QUESTIONS:

• How did you meet 10?
* he's my current roommate and sistah

What would you do if you had never
met 6?
* i'd probably still be yearning for that younger sister after me (that is, if thea didn't come after too)

• What would you do if 20 and 15
dated?
* I'd be happy! They both mean a lot to me so of course, their happiness would be mine too!

• If you could marry between 6 and 14
who will it be?
* 14! 6 is invalid! she's my sister!

• Did you ever like 9?
* yeah i did.

• Have you ever seen 4 cry?
* of course! we cry to, with and for each other all the time!

• Would 4 and 17 make a good couple?
* nope

• Would number 1 and 2 make a good
couple?
* NO!

• Describe 8
* wacky intelligent

• Do you like 12?
* oh god. next question!!!!

• Tell me something about 17
* my dad keeps a lot to himself, i think i got that from him.

• What's 7's favorite color?
* i gather it's blue

• What would you do if 1 just
confessed he/she liked you?
* next question! (why did i have to take this survey! i ask myself, why!)

• When was the last time you talked to
number 15?
* months ago

• How do you think 19 feels about you?
* my best loves me!

• What language does 13 speak?
* tagalog, english, flemish and maybe french

• Who is 2 going out with?
* no one

• What grade is 16 in?
* way over that stage! unless my mom's taking her masters in worrying management

• What is 5's favorite music?
* i think the romantic songs

• Would you ever date 13?
* of course!

• Is 11 single?
* yes!

• What is 10's last name?
* Culler

• Would you ever want to be in a
serious relationship with 7?
* no!

• Where does 18 live?
* vimercate, italy

• What do you think about 20?
* ultra-sweet and deserves to be happy

• What is the best thing about 30?
* she's got the best soul and the greatest heart

• What would you like to tell 14 right
now?
* that i wouldn't be this strong if it weren't for her!

• How did you meet 9?
* that's a secret

• What is the best and worst thing
about 2?
* that she's not here anymore

• Are you going to know 3 forever?
* i can't imagine a life without nime!

• How long have you known 26?
* some months, 10 i think

* Who is 24?
* one of my best buds from HS

• Are you or did you ever date 2?
* no!!

• Do you have a crush on 27?
* i think so! but in a good, unromantic way!

• Would you kiss 25?
* not in a million years

• Have you hugged/kissed 22?
* of course!

• Would you like to hug/kiss 21?
* i always do! she's my girl friend!

• Is 29 your bf?
* waaaaahhhh! no! he's a good bud!

• What do you hate about 23?
* she's so intelligent!

• What's your relationship with 28?
* one of my best buds

• are you inlove with 1?
* it's not gonna work out ever, but yeah. i AM. forever

More than just about CHI

2008-03-21T10:50:00.007+01:00

the China Central Television's headquarters in Beijing

the "BIRD'S NEST" Olympic Stadium, designed by Chinese artist Ai Wei Wei and Switzerland's Herzog & de Meuron

Hi Panda COllection. I WANT THOSE LITTLE 'UNS!!!

(for more pics, see the IHT article)

Think Chinese are only about piracy? Think again! China's Design Evolution is slowly being recognized and pretty soon, it might be the other way around - the Westerners imitating them!

I read this interesting article on the International Herald Tribune website this early morning and couldn't help but be taken in by the cute panda collection and the amazing architecture! damn!

see, my friend Gary and I were talking once about how the Western World will eventually lose to the new emerging powers such as China, India and if given the right attention and aid, even Africa is bound to be a World Superpower. Somehow, I just can't wait for that day to happen!

TU ... DA CHE PARTE STAI?!?

2008-03-18T22:32:00.005+01:00

Okay so we all know what April 15 means, right?
It's when:
April 15, 1991 Europe foreign ministers lift most remaining sanctions against South Africa
April 15, 1988 Meteorite exploded above Indonesia
April 15, 1985 South Africa will repeal sex and marriage laws against whites and non-whites
April 15, 1983 Tokyo Disneyland opens
April 15, 1973 Walt Disney Store opens
April 15, 1896 1st Olympic games close at Athens, Greece
April 15, 1877 1st telephone installed: Boston-Somerville, Massachusetts
April 15, 1865 President Lincoln shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theater
April 15, 1784 1st balloon flight in Ireland

Apart from these, it's also the day these famous stars were born: emma watson, emma thompson, elizabeth montgomery, henry james, leonardo de vinci,
And of course, moi. Yours truly.

BUt April 13 and 14?

For Italians, it's market day, a walk in the park, think about good and evil, coffee break, work some, cigarette break, chat with colleagues, lunch break, another coffee break, siesta, work a little, cigarette break, coffee break, and then maybe finalize a decision about which lesser evil to vote for.

With the failure of Senate President Franco Marini to form an interim government after former Prime Minister Romano Prodi was forced to step down from office when he lost a most crucial confidence vote in Parliament, a legislative election was then scheduled for these two 'spring' days - April 13 and 14.

The race isn't as exciting as CLinton's and Obama's. Nor is it, at least in my opinion, that substantial.

Like most things in Italy, I gather it's all for show.

We have Silvio Berlusconi, Italian politician, entrepreneur, and media proprietor who heads the Forza Italia political movement, a centre-right party founded in 1993 in Rome. The wealthy Berlusconi has three times held the office of President of the Council of Ministers.
I like to call him Silvio Vulture-sconi. Imagine such a wily, violent predator following the Prodi government's every move with its right eye, its left ready to signal when to pounce and eat them all alive.

And on the other side we have Walter Veltroni, leader of the Democratic Party and former Mayor of Rome, having held office for seven years. He's the Italian Giuliani, I guess. Not much I know of him. Except that he was a former journalist, seemingly all-for Democratic Rights, and a socialite-life lover.

I've never really been into politics, but I am beginning to show some interest not just in the Italian political system but those all over the world. True, hurts every working nerve in my body thinking about all the reading i have to catch up on to get me updated, but hey.

Italians, according to the survey done by Demos-Eurisko , as published in national daily are split into a 44.3 % vote for Berlusconi and a 43.2% for Veltroni.
The rest is undecided.

Most of the Italian friends I know and with whom I have had discussions with, well.... discussion's a pretty strong word, would normally shrug. Or they'd be like, "Oh well. I'll decide when i get there." or "It really doesn't matter. This country needs someone ready to instigate change.I guess we'll have to just wait." And that's that.

Going back, I say that the coming elections is kind of futile, because i kind of agree with ROberto Saviano, Italy's foremost writer/journalist/Mafia nemesis. He is that Superman sans underwear over tights, Clark Kent sans eyeglasses. I have yet to read his GOMORRA novel, wherein he describes in detail the machinations of the Italian Mafia, but there was this article that he wrote in the March 24 issue of TIME Magazine, entitled "Maimed by the Mob", which poured more cement to my already hardening belief that Italy cannot fix its regional and national ills without fixing its "Mafia" problem first.

I used to watch Mafia movies and I have always found them interesting, almost romantic - living that hard-trodden path where you face evil everyday but keeping (supposedly, at least, most of the heroes did) a good heart inside.

Now I think Mafia and I think death and filth.
Rue the day when it gets to me so much that thinking of Italy would bring no more images of the good life, Tuscany, olive oil or wine but the Mafia and those two words that unfortunately cling to it.

SIAMO INCAZZATI

YURIGU, my friend posted this photo in his site; him, being all about politics. (still my idol!) MY interest isn't so much that I would voice out my own little-informed (as of now) opinions on which guy to root for, but the campaign ad did get my mind thinking. As an immigrant, what WOULD i like addressed on a national level after the elections are over? Granting, of course, that the person elected would have the balls to address them.
The site to go to is http://www.siamoincazzati.com/ where you will be greeted by these words:

ci sono un milione ragioni per essere esasperati e stanchi ma non dobbiamo rassegnarci
( there are a million reasons to be exasperated and tired, but we shouldn't give up. )

Here below are my own ideas:
All photos and text by Ha-neul.ccg

a click, a flash, an idea

2008-03-18T22:04:00.002+01:00

SUBMIT YOUR BOOK NOW!!!

FRUSTRATION 101

2008-03-18T17:26:00.003+01:00

1. Dream BIG. no, HUMONGOUS. Really GRAND.
2. Then do nothing about it.
3. Browse other people's, those with the same interests and BIG DREAMS, and salivate at how they have managed to churn out results and achieved a iota of what their original idea was, whatever it may have been.
4. Salivate some more.
5. Then Dream of How You Yourself Are Gonna Pull "It" Off in an Unprecedented, Totally TIME MAGAZINE's 10-ideas-that-change-the-world manner.
6. Or Pick Up the TIME MAGAZINE's issue with the 10 Ideas that Change the World article and read it, losing valuable time and then realizing that it's already 17:31. (takes a look at PC clock and nods, shakes head, sighs. Yeah, it is 17:31:37)
7. Glance at the other computer screen, glaring at you with the COREL DRAW and ADOBE CS windows and the text ready for input for the next MUTUO & CASA advertisements.
8. Then think of Mr. Allan Tiu, somewhere in Milan, walking briskly almoust out of breath squinting eyes or as much squint as he can get out of his chinks, already formulating in his mind the e-mail he will send you tonight. Cris, Where are the ads? The flyers for Grace? The marketing kit? The and the and the and the......
9. I'll take frustration anyday.
10. BTW, please repeat everyday of the week.

That's my days and nights lived out in painstaking digital agony.

wings, pixie dust and wind

2008-03-17T07:16:00.002+01:00

had a dream last night.

it's not that strange.

unless you count the fact that i never dream. Or i do, but i never remember them.

this one i did.

let's wait awhile to see what happens...

igoogling it

2008-03-15T08:46:00.003+01:00

Having had a load of problems with my Internet Explorer, I decided to give Mozilla Firefox a shot. And it working with Google, I immediately realized I can have my own personalized homepage wherein each widget, each moodget, each gadget that i would see on it is something that's useful to me.

try it! trust me, it's worth it!

stake me!

2008-03-14T07:14:00.013+01:00

"Oh my God! Buffy, what are you doing?" - DAWN
"Oh, merciful Zeus! Oh, my eye. My burning, beautiful burning eye." - XANDER
"Why are you naked in bed with Satsu?" - WILLOW

"About time." - ME/PEN/HA-NEUL/IO

These are the reactions of the Scooby Gang upon barging in on Buffy the Slay Gal , or should i say, Gals , Buffy and Satsu in the comic "version" of the cult TV series.

Now many of you will think, "oH, that flick series!" (there's more beef here than in O.C. or Prison Break) or "It's so shallow" (Right, you who likes The Simpsons and High School Musical).

Truth is, BUFFY is probably one of the best written shows ever in modern TV history, thanks to its brilliant creator JOSS WHEDON and his very own Scooby Gang of writers. In all its seven seasons and 144 (!!!) episodes, it didn't just tackle the paranormal. In fact, the paranormal in this series becomes a mere shadow , a metaphor of reality, of life. And because of this, the humanity in each of the characters were fully presented in a believable manner, in which CHANGE and GROWING UP becomes the main issue.

IT did, in all senses, help ME go through my formative years. (and i thank , of course, my dear NIME /FAITH for going through the ride with me. 5x5)

AFter the series, a huge void was left. Not just in my daily viewing habits (because I could always re-live it, as i have all episodes on DVD (thanks, sis!) but onscreen. Which is why, all BUffy fans rejoiced when DarkHorse published the Buffy comics which has kept the show "alive" and actually, grow more, expand and become this mammoth of a creative pool that knows no boundaries.

Okay, back to the pics. Although i have yet to process it, I must say. Kudos! Hey, if she was able to snag (and shag) two centuries-old vampires ( Angel and SPike ), and a cool Military Guy ( Riley ), why not another girl? A Slayer at that! The event happens in the new story arc, "WOlves at the Gate".

Years back, the series was groundbreaking in having shown a lesbian kiss with lesbians in an actual relationship, Willow and Tara. See video. swoon.

I can just imagine Buffy's mother, rest her soul, JOYCE SUMMERS, if she were still living and were to find out about it. "BUffy, is there anyone or anything you wouldn't do?"

In an interview with the New York Times, creator Joss Whedon even said that there were no plans to make BUffy gay, and that... "We're not going to make her gay, nor are we going to take the next 50 issues explaining that she's not...She's young and experimenting, and did I mention open-minded?"

Or former lover SPike, "Well hey, the more, the merrier."

Or FAith, "No Way!"
to which a Willow would retort, "Way."

miss the old times.

stake me.

cheeky movies' barbie & ken

2008-03-11T09:28:00.005+01:00

Okay, so maybe that's a misnomer. There ain't no Barbies here... Ahahah. From among cheekymovies' flickr photos, there are many that stand out but none more than his barbie's ken dolls series which truly is amusing! (check out more from the series in his flickr site)

missing interview

2008-03-11T00:01:00.006+01:00

gakt! i have missing files in my archive! okay, okay, so right now it's a mess. I'm currently using my own harddrive memory of 120 GB + 80 GB (laptop) + 120 (office pc) + the 500 GB of the office external drive. whew. yeah, that's weeks of archiving pleasure (or torture!). photos, graphics, downloaded media, documents.... aargh!

last year, i had the fortune of doing an interview with BRUNO BOZZETTO, one of Italy's foremost cartoonist/filmmaker/visual artist and Oscar award-winner. The piece was based on the short entitled "Italians vs EUropeans", in which he showed a funny side to life in Italy.

When i first saw the clip, my first reaction was , "Whoa! Are these Italians or FIlipinos?!?" The similarities were amazing and that prompted me to scout Signor Bozzetto out.

Until I am able to recover that interview and publish it here, i'll just link you to some of his VIDEOS as well as his own WEBSITE.

turkey bopis (my very own recipe)

2008-03-10T23:02:00.006+01:00

actually it was ghrei that cooked it. i just made her promise that she'll refer to it as the "turkey" bopis so i can eat it (i'm so not picky when it comes to food, but i'd rather down the (delicious) fresh oyster with lemon than pig innards anyday!). For some reason, though, whatever Ghrei cooks, i eat. no matter what it is, as long as i remain ignorant. hence, turkey bopis. eheheh. it was very good! (i also asked her to put extra pepper in it. i just love hot and spicy food! i've also recently acquired the habit of munching on actual hot peppers as appetizers. yummy!)

a fever, wine and coffee, and mimosa bouquets

2008-03-10T22:20:00.006+01:00

sunday. at ghrei's place.

splittin' headache. my girl k-drama. still at work. ads for grace. event posters for TQ.

coffee. cheese. cake batter. mimosas and sunflower. all i really want to do is sleep. another cup of cappucino.

it's still love by shin seung hoon. an hour in the tub (and some minutes of sleep, lavender bath salt. still the headache.

not really makin' any sense right now. oh, well.
if you want to see more of the most recent pics this weekend, just click HERE.

Bipasha

2008-03-06T07:03:00.002+01:00

I stared at them
two fluttering butterflies

i wondered if i caught one,
can i wish on it?

Call it Bipasha
my deep dark desire

and watch it simply
flutter

away.

xha-neulx.08

TAR

2008-03-06T07:03:00.001+01:00

He left,
and all she could
do was smile
wave a hand
and then weep
before the
confused audience.

She flew
right into that trap,
they all threw
cruel glances and
stones
at her face.

he laughed.

He left,
and all she could
do was smile.

No pain is more unbearable
than silence.

and he broke it

diving headfirst
freefalling
returning once more
to the ground.

xha-neulx.08

my own kdrama in the making ehehehhe

2008-03-05T18:52:00.001+01:00

breathe.

2008-03-05T06:32:00.005+01:00

okay. three steps to get really P-I-S-S-E-D off real early in the morning.

1. check on your blog and end up playing the Space Invaders widget in the sidebar.
2. waste precious minutes (and space-invader-combatting lives) fiddling with the mouse before finally realizing that the damn thing has nothing to do with the controls.
3. lose.

what comes next...

desperation.

my sister's self-portrait

2008-03-04T15:02:00.000+01:00

meet pPeru! ain't he the cutest!!!

2008-03-04T14:55:00.000+01:00

eat.drink.be happy.

2008-03-04T14:44:00.003+01:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARWIN!!!
jen's bro has helped me out a lot and though the invite was a sudden one, i managed to steal 15 minutes out of my sched to do this for him. thanks again, dar!

im so jealous

2008-03-04T14:42:00.005+01:00

brat went to baguio! i wish i were in the philippines! i miss taking road trips and backpacking like i used to do!

thanks, jong!

2008-03-04T13:58:00.009+01:00

this is my site dedicated to everything asian... (most especially k-dramas!)

i guess a personality as fragmented as mine have to have a lot of names:

name/who started calling me by that name:
penpen - gramma
cris - charmaine (first girlfriend)
kuya - jing
archangel - school newspaper
angel - ateneo mates and makati pals
haneul - jong, my korean friend

p.s. haneul means "SKY" and my korean friend jong said...

"that's what the world is to you....like you can do , be , accomplish anything... and that's what you are to everyone else - a person that symbolizes hope..."

p.s.#2

WINGS UNDER MY FEET

2008-03-03T12:18:00.013+01:00

A Filipino’s dream of Olympic glory
article by Cris Carpio-Garing, photos taken by Ibrahim Joel Chavez

I call it my personal J campaign. If i ever do leave Italy, it is what i hope to take away with me - the knowledge that i did everything i can to help this FIlipino brother achieve his dreams. When i first met Jeiar, i was quite touched with his story and he told me that his passion for snowboarding grows everyday.

i feel that my passion for his benefit is growing as well. i really want him to succeed and with the help of KT and other people who see in him the grand potential of a future Olympiad, we are conquering mountain after mountain of obstacles.

A lot still needs to be done.

I post here snippets of my first interview with him for the paper. AN interview, that, in his words, sparked the flames, earning him the first glances from Italian media ( CIty, Metro, and eventually SKY, of which i have footages of and have also posted them here.)

His feet touched earth and the muddy soil, rubber slippers cushioning his small feet as he ran towards the rice fields of Batangas. There, surrounded by nature and the simple, idyllic, if not bucolic life to which he and his brother have grown into, the little boy harboured fantasies of becoming a pilot. Some 18 years later, that same little boy shreds across the snow-covered crests of Monte Bondone.
As his body unites with his board, his mind is cleared of all worries; he becomes one with nature and the sky becomes his home. And then, Gumbay “JayR” Abas Jr., lands on his feet again, breathless from a few seconds of flight but ready to take to the air once more. How has a simple boy from the Orient found his way to the European mountaintops? KT speaks with the Filipino who dares dream of becoming an Olympian.

A Filipino in the snow. That IS a sight to behold.
JayR: (laughs) It’s a pretty amazing thing. It’s funny, though, you saying that. I always bring my being Filipino into what I do.

But from Imus, Cavite toItaly. How did this come about?
JayR: I’ve been here in Italy for almost five years now. January 5, 2004 – I remember it perfectly like it was yesterday – I was taken skiing by a family friend, Florian Palazzolo, to the Dolomiti. It was love at first sight. The snow...it simply took my breath away.

So from the very first instant, you knew – this was something you weren’t going to be able to walk away from?
JayR: Yes. Even if back then, I kept falling down. I really fell a lot! It was both horrible and fun! But even the falls cannot deter me from my ultimate dream.

And this dream is?
JayR: The Canada Winter Olympics 2010. It’s the goal. And I WILL make it. To be able to represent the Filipino as a pro-rider/pro-boarder is a dream I am willing to dedicate my life to.

What steps have you taken to get closer to it?
JayR: We’re slowly moving towards getting accreditation from the Philippine Olympic Committee. It’s a pretty exciting moment– if I get the chance, then after that big step (that of getting accreditation), comes getting sponsors, training, training, and MORE TRAINING.

Snowboarders start very early – some are born into it. In the competitions that you join, do you find yourself at a disadvantage, having just started the sport?JayR: For someone who’s not really training yet as extensively as the others, I can say I’m pretty confident and proud about my achievements. So far I’ve joined the Salice Big Air (3rd place – qualifying, 2006), Fiat Slide Rail Contest (8th ), La Notte del Dragone Big Air, Static Slope-style (5th- Piani di Bobbio), Mystic Free Ride Alana Big Air (5th), Boss of the Park Slope-style (Finals-Monte Bondone), FSI Big Air (Federazione Snowboard Italiana, 4th) and Budweiser Still Contest (photos).

“IN THOSE FEW SECONDS WHEN I AM AIRBORNE, IT IS 100% JUST ME – NOTHING
ELSE, NO ONE ELSE. IT’S JUST ME, THE BOARD AND THE SKY… I LIKE TO RISK, TO DARE AND BE DIFFERENT. IT’S THAT OR NOTHING.” – JayR

And just last week, you were at the Mystic FreeRide Freestyle Competition.
JayR: Yes. It was a great opportunity for me. I placed 5th! There were many of us, and most of them are already professionals and train regularly. It was a real boost in confidence having just participated.

You are slowly making a name for yourself in the circuit. SKY SPORTS did an interview with you just recently.

JayR: Yes, I really want to thank Dodi and Valeria and the Sky people for being with me on this. The interview was aired during the SkySport Uno program last Sunday. (Ciao, Ola!!! – JayR)

Who are your influences in snowboarding?
JayR: Shawn White, of course. He’s the American legend. Then Heikki Sorsa (Finnish) and (Norweigan) Andreas Wiig.

And your sponsor situation?
JayR: It’s very important that I get more sponsors right now, especially come this summer when I hope to train in New Zealand or Switzerland. In the winter season, I might even have to transfer to Monte Bondone BEST – they have offered me a place there in order to have more time training.

And your last words?
JayR: There is more to my snowboarding, more to the Olympics that I keep in my heart – it’s the simple wish of that child years ago – to find the one person I have been looking for all my life. If I am reunited with him, I would be truly happy.

BELOW ARE THE FIRST SLATE OF POSTERS THAT I DID FOR J. WE'LL BE PUTTING OUT MORE, ALONG WITH MORE VIDEOS.

KT follows JR’s dream of making it to the Canada Winter Olympics 2010.
If you are interested in becoming a sponsor, whether you are an organization or private, write to: carpio_garing@yahoo.it

me buggin' with J

TO SEE THE VIDEOS OF JEAIAR'S INTERVIEW WITH SKYSPORTS ITALIA and GAMES

To read friend Leciram's blog (in Italian) about Jeiar: click here and for her photos taken during jeiar's february competition at the SNowpark in Milan, click here

the dolgers tribute

2008-02-23T11:52:00.004+01:00

Persistent, they cling to you like dirt. Heavy, they drag you down like an anchor. Clamorous, they clutter your life like flotsam after a shipwreck. BUt heck, without these best friends, I probably would be sane, happy and stable. So THANK YOU!!!! THANKS TO THESE UNFORGETTABLE CHARACTERS IN THE SATIRE THAT IS MY LIFE.... MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! I LOVE YOU FOREVER!

MEAN
i call her: My Bitch. (okay, two)
friends since: our mothers probably hung out during their pregnancy and we were already bitchin' to each other in our bellies
favourite bonding activity: recruiting gullible young 'uns to our Org of Super-powered and Paranormal-obsessed gang
next favourite bonding activity: recruiting gullible old 'uns to our org of Glitter-powered and Paranormal (the para became homo) - tripped-out gang.
is my: conscience

JOSH
i call him: my pug, watz, watots
friends since: 1997, when we had to write for and act in the school anniversary play
favourite bonding activity: talking until the wee hours of the morning
next favourite bonding activity: smoking while talking
is my: brother, best friend, my best lover and worst enemy (ahahah)

MARK
i call him: nime, marky
friends since: 1997
favourite bonding activity: nurturing variegated passions like writing, Xmen and Buffy the vampire slayer
next favourite bonding activity: getting together the Dolgers (now taken over by Rogel)
was him last: 2004, at his birthday party (also my bon voyage party, it turned out). I will never forget that day.

ROGEL
i call him: Ylio, Gel
friends since: forever
favourite bonding activity: debating about everything under the sun
next favourite bonding activity: debating about whether to debate about everything or not
has taught me: the value of humility and patience (patience: he used to always make me wait for him. one time, i stupidly waited a whole day!)

NESSA
i call her: THE GRAND BITCH.
friends since: fourth grade, i think.
favourite bonding activity: drinking away our crazy ideas and depression
next favourite bonding activity: drinking to get crazier and be more depressed
whenever i think of her: my heart is lightened. she is the strongest person i know.

DMS
i call her: the luckiest girl in the world
friends since: even before her mother conceived her. Thanks Nessa, for bringing her into the world!
future favourite bonding activity: thinking up of ways to exasperate her mother
next future favourite bonding activity: thinking up of ways to appease her mother, then later, exasperate her more
is: the heir to the dolgers throne

NORMAN
i call him: nibbles, boy bastos or "BB"
friends since: fourth grade
favourite bonding activity: tickling each other and using physical violence to demonstrate our love
next favourite bonding activity: giggling about it afterwards
has the: best freakin' manly voice I have ever heard on a - man

MIAi call her: Mia
friends since: since she, Mean and I began this Pres-VP-Sec love/hate affair which afterwards became a puppy-love love triangle
favourite bonding activity: talking about love
next favourite bonding activity: talking about love and how we hate it
taught me: how it is to love someone unconditionally

CHRISTOPHER
i call him: topher, ciongs
friends since: fourth grade, when we joined the volleyball varsity together with Norman
favourite bonding activity: playing tennis
next favourite bonding activity: drinking with nessa, the "female christopher "
is the: last standing ... guys, you know what that means. ahahah

Cat And Mouse

2008-02-04T22:08:00.002+01:00

by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

Softly we tremble tonight,
Picture perfect fading smiles are all that's left in sight,
I said I'd never leave you'll never change
I'm not satisfied with where I'm at in life.

Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price.
Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price.
You said, you said that you would die for me...

We made plans to grow old,
Believe me there was truth in all those stories that I told.
Lost in a simple game cat and mouse are we the same people as before this came to light?

Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price.
Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price.
You said, you said that you would die for me...

You must live for me too'...
For me too...yeah, yeah...
You said that you would die for me...

Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price.
Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price
You said, you said that you would die for me...

MY BABY and I

2008-01-28T10:43:00.000+01:00

When i first bought my Canon EOS 300D Digital, it was to appease a homesick heart; a way to battle the everyday banging of unknown Italian slang, the winter wind, the draining hours of work and the sentient familiarity of being alone banging slamming banging in my mind.

In the first two years with "My Baby" here in Italy, it was just that. It was only in 2007 when the passion unfurled in me wholly and i was intoxicated.

After four years, I believe I have taken some shots that to me were amazing because of what i felt in that moment, where i was, and what was going through in my mind and heart. That is, after all, what photography boils down to. At least, it's that way for me.

and i didn't even had to make my out of the maze

2008-01-23T10:40:00.000+01:00

This month, a lot of my friends have asked me to be the labrat in their omnifarious avocations.
There was my friend Ping, an upcoming, IED-schooled women's clothing designer from Bangkok, who wanted me to sit in as a 'living mannequin'. The idea was cute until i realized that his fingers and hands would be all over my fragile and sensitive body, pricking layers upon layers of textile (and probably, into my skin, along the process). Oh, that, and to stand around in a dress the whole day? Ugh.

A girl friend of mine, Tina, who teaches at the Wall Street Institute, also asked me to come in for a seminar on "being uprooted". I guess she wanted me to talk about my experiences moving from one palce to another, starting new lives and starting from scratch. This one, i could get into... if not for the fact that the seminar would be held in one of the schools in Rome. Right.... with my work sched as of the moment, scratch that.

Then Albie, this aspiring photographer asked me to do a shoot with him for a series he's doing for one of the smaller but edgier galleries of Milan. I could have said yes, but then i learned that the project is to be entitled: The Naked Truth About My Gay Friend. It wasn't so much the posing around naked, but that i would have to pose around (and probably, intimately close to (on top, under and i-don't-even-want-to-think-about-it) his other women models). Sorry Albie, im just not that brave yet.

And then, Mario, this Latino guy that i volunteer with every week at the Unicef office, asked for some of my pictures because he was finishing a thesis on photography and he wanted some Asian blood for the so-called "Black" series. Now, this one was feasible enough. As i already have a ton of pictures of myself taken by me and by other people.

I don't really know for what specific purpose he used them, or what point he was trying to make, but he was kind enough to give me copies of the "edited pictures". I think these weren't just cs2-ed. But, heck how would i know. here they are.

yes, sometimes being a labrat can have advantages. For the mannequin stint, i was promised a spectacular Thai dinner. For the seminar, travel fare. For the photo shoot, a special invite to the opening and a bit of remuneration. For the black series? A free lunch at McDonald's (where we met up to give him the pictures) and where I, after months and months of not eating junk food, was magically reacquainted with the hateful but deliciously captivating world of : grease.

WORK 1

2008-01-21T09:46:00.001+01:00

JUST TO GIVE MY FAMILY AN IDEA WHAT'S I'VE BEEN DOING WITH MY TIME.... hours and hours spent in front of the pc, learning step by step, and all by myself... i never really thought i'd get into it, i remember when i was still young and insisting that i WILL NEVER encode my stories into a computer's memory. Such an idea to me then was a betrayal of a writer's nature. I considered the humble typewriter and the simple pen and paper more faithful to the romance of being a writer. Now, however, i have re-discovered the pc as a valuable tool for communicating. This time, with images.

SOME ADS FOR A LAW FIRM

XMAS 2008 E-CARDS FOR KT

POSTER FOR PIER PAOLO'S BIRTHDAY

POSTERS FOR WORK

LITTLE ANGELS
i made these for grace, who does all the cakes herself. i had fun with the ads, and she was brave enough to choose the "gay" one!!!

WORK 2

2008-01-21T08:58:00.002+01:00

FRAGMENTS

SOME RANDOM WORK

INDEPENDENCE DAY 2007CAMPAIGN

MORE ADVENTURES OF CESARE

2008-01-21T08:06:00.000+01:00

THE RETURN

THE ENGINEER

THE ACCENT

PREP ATTACK

winterwind

2008-01-20T08:27:00.001+01:00

WINTERWIND.
Wind,
why retreat
curb your cold desires
why hide behind the morning fog
sleep into dark night
come dance
your wild dance
let loose the tired leaves
and cry if you must,
your tears,
fall and wet the hungry earth
sing your howling,
end your pain,
mirror my heart,
come blow again.

WINTERWIND.

2008-01-20T08:24:00.002+01:00

If i were thinking clearly, i would tell you, that i wrestle alone, in the dark, in the deep dark, and that only i can know, only i can understand, my own condition. You live with the threat, you tell me, you live with the threat of my extinction...i live with it too. This is my right. It is the right of every human being. I choose not to suffocate in anaesthethic of the suburbs but the violent jolt of the capital. That is my choice. The meanest patient, even the very lowest, is allowed some say in the matter of her own description. Thereby she defines her own humanity. I wish, i could say, for your sake, i could be happy in this quietness. But if it is a choice between Richmond and death, i choose DEATH. - Virginia Woolf, from THE HOURS by Michael Cunningham

MAN-CHILD

2008-01-20T08:24:00.001+01:00

MAN-CHILD

"A man is the history of his breaths and thoughts, acts,atoms and wounds, love, indifference and dislike;also of his race and his nation, the soil that fed him and his forebears, the stones and sands of his familiar places, long-silenced battles and struggles of conscience, of the smiles of girls and slow utterance of old women, of accidents and the gradual action of inexorable law, of all this and something else too, a single flame which in every way obeys the laws that pertain to Fire itself, and yet is lit and put out from one moment to the next,and can never be relumed in the whole waste of time to come." - Randolph Henry Ash, ca 1840

I stared at the mirror.

Unflinching, unassuming stare.

WHO IS THIS MAN?

This man, who for long thought himself caged and beaten down, a damaged creature sewn together by his words and the many creations of his pen.

This man with thoughts that read as poems, with songs that sound as quiet sobs, with actions that bear the face of long-weathered toil.

Who is this man?

And i smile.

Giddily, funnily, excitedly.

I see HIM.

A man whose flickering flames are lit anew, a wildfire of new dreams, now within reach; of new passions, love and friendships continually feeding the burning core. A man aware of his past, the striking of swords that bled his flesh, and fortified his soul.

A MAN-Child.

With many more men to become within him.

2008-01-20T08:23:00.003+01:00

seconds,
slow and fast,
their steady approach
soberly famished and cruel,
they do not wait for me,
stay their heavy hands
an ally of gentle heart
and a villain
most treacherous
most uncaring
of me.

i steal from them,
a regular thief,
snatching and snatching
slivers of diamond
wherein i store
the words that are borne
by my frozen fingers
and a much-abused pen
silently awaiting
its nearing death.

are words
kept in the cages of time
whence it was spoken,
or worded out by ink, lead
or even mere thought,
are they enclosed
in a sheath of ice
or bound
by flaming steel doors
never to escape,
and taste the breath of freedom
quick and swift,
as when they first
was liberated.

then i am
their foe,
their creator,
the weaver always weaving
thin and thick,
strands upon strands
of deeply-loved
words,
passionately making love
to the,,
even to their
prophesied imprisonment,
i breathe life into them
before taking it back.

seconds

and seconds

and more.

COUNTED LIVES.

ode of two sisters

2008-01-20T08:23:00.001+01:00

we are sisters, you and i
we bore our children
and we bore hurt,
we bled and keep bleeding
and nurture,
they keep growing,
living and dying on us.

we watch their games,
their playing and merry-making,
their laughter strikes the same chords in the air
their shouts of glee and sudden tantrums,
thier tears at night, dreams and wishes,
our stars, our heavens,
both hear their nightly prayers
and send them to sound sleep.

we see them thrive,
in fleeting moments,
enduring moments,
see them take each second’s triumph,
each second’s fall,
take them to heart
one second to the next.

they are conquered and conqueror
kings and slaves,
heroes and traitors,
lovers and adulterers,
saints and sinners,
educated and ignorant,
laborers and bumbs,
parents and orphans,
children, our children
they are

one, with many colors,
all the same.
all different.

we love them
singly, deep and unending,
to their graves,
to lives that come after,
we shall remain
their mother.

they have gone so far,
some do not return,
their faces never forgotten,
their voices, we still hear,
and remember

and remember

for you and i
are sisters,
we,
our same earth,
our same skies,
our same waters,
will endure
their inescapable
destinies.

ode of two sisters
(of two lands, a song)

more lovestops

2008-01-10T08:47:00.000+01:00

LOVESTOPS 1 by pen

THOUGHTS OF YOU

THE JOKE

HOW TO WIN MY HEART

THE ITALIAN

Ikaw.Ako

2007-11-16T19:57:00.000+01:00

Nag-alab.
Bumusilak.
Lasong dugo ng apoy.
Hindi maikublil.
Itaboy sa hangin.
Ilapat sa tubig.
Itapon sa karimlan.
Hindi mapigilan.
Apoy.
Pag-iisa
sa dilim.
Ikaw.
Ako.
Pagtatagpo
sa likod ng anino
niya
upang mapadpad
sa walang hangganang
liwanag ng
Pag-
ibig.

IKAW
K
O

cris

drifting

2007-11-16T19:56:00.000+01:00

PAPERBOATS
by cris

There was an ocean between him and me. I knew it.
I could see it stretch beyond what my eyes could follow, I could hear its roar and whispers even in my sleep. I felt its depth and I was saddened at how far he seemed, how so out of reach.
This ocean, it had no waves.
I walked its shores with soundless nonchalance. Any noise I make, he would not heed anyways. The sand was a bit coarse, there were stones mingled with it, even broken pieces of glass now pretending to be shards of corals or gems blinking enticingly by my feet. Aged shells calmly retorted in their silence. The sun still hid. An invisible blanket, this horizon, it covers the ever-flaming ball that rose and rested like the beating inside my chest.
Only a few hours now.
I keep noticing these things. My mind has to. I think of people in comas, their minds protecting themselves - it is to the corporeal what to the abstract is known as hope. The physical realm's manifestation of such a force - one that cannot let go, one that hangs on because one day, it will reawaken and maybe breathe life into an empty shell.
Am I in a coma?
Is this why I keep seeing these intricate details of a scene before me, a scene that is not even real? But nor is it imagined.
The waveless ocean is there.
I knew it.
Between him and me.
I knew it.

--------------

I'm leaving.
This he said with such fire in his voice, and the same fire in his squinty eyes.
I remember I smiled.
Just about the only involuntary response my body was able to conjure. A million nerve cells sparking off electricity in unimaginable speed and power, reacting one by one to the stimulus sent and yet all that came out from within me was - a smile.
There was a wedding and he was invited. He'll be making several trips by bus and ship, traveling miles and miles to. But all that registered was that he was traveling from. Away from me.
The bags. The clothes. The money. The tickets. Where should he start?
I smiled again.
He was my friend. He is my friend. And yet a strange but not completely unfamiliar feeling crept up on me that very moment, one I was desperately trying to lose.
The green monster that had ravaged so many others now had his eyes upon an unsuspecting prey. Me.
It was after me.
No weapons in hand, a still-broken body and a confused mind, I could only do one thing.
I ran.
I ran so fast, so far. For so long.
I did not even notice that I was running from nothing anymore. The monster had given up.
Still my legs did not buckle. They did not stop.
Night had fallen. The wind lashed at my face, sweat warmed and pasted to my skin.
And when I looked back, you had gone.
The snapping of nocturnal birds, their mocking songs and wingless flight - they followed me home, as I ran to the only place I knew I could not be gotten to.

-------------

The paper boat was cast away by my hand. I was young, then. Barely seven.
There was a calm to the storms that I knew. They would start as a drizzle, little tickling fingers that tasted briny and smelled wrong. In a matter of seconds, it would come down, hard and raging.
So I made boats.
Different kinds. Colors. Sizes.
I folded them gently, creasing them like they were precious and not so very vulnerable. I made every fold ceremoniously. I knew the storm would wait.
Until finally, I was ready. One by one, I let them go. The puddles by then were already more than five inches thick, craters in the cement making my little oceans, little oceans where my vessels can drift about and sail away.
I would watch them with a smile.
They looked so beautiful and majestic, small as they were.
For several minutes, they taunted the heavy drops. They flitted in between and escaped the harsh fleeing of water from the clouds.
One drop makes all the difference.
Just one drop and the boat gets trapped between two forces that only sought its demise. From above. So too from below.
The boats sank to the sound of my heart breaking.
I was drenched and I smelled. There was no smile on my face.
But there were no tears.
No.
No tears either.

---------------------------

That night, I got home before the rain fell. The days and the nights before that were dreams made of paper boats that sank no matter how strong you made them, no matter how long it took you to make each vital fold.
I wish I had the time to try to save it. Scoop the water out with my little fingers and put rubber into the holes that threatened to capsize my silence.
It was cold. And I started to cough. I coughed deep and endless.
I pulled the sheets up and I tried to think clearly. It seemed my hands were not the only ones on their own. Even my mind was.
Did I sleep soundly?
Did I sleep at all?
I could never remember.
What I do remember, is the feeling of being adrift. Whether asleep or awake, I felt waves underneath me. I felt t he gentle rocking of the water, and sometimes, its maddened tossing. I was pulled and pushed and there was nowhere to go. Somehow, I felt like I was with him. There in the sea, right by his side, with a dream right in front of me and nothing behind that called out our names.
A waveless ocean.
A boatless voyage.
I'm hoping I did sleep then.
There are some friends that never go away and that night, I needed one's embrace.

----------------------

I was not the same when I woke up.
I was not the aimless wanderer who saw glass in the sand. I was not the one who ran nor the little boy with the sinking paper boats.
There was an ocean, yes.
I could still feel it.
I touched its presence, there, between him and me. He had gone.
And I knew why.
I understood.
And loved him more for it.
With him, I would always feel the water.
He is flowing. He is never anyone's possession. He is drifting.
If I am to know him, I must know the shore will be seen one day and whether he takes the step toward it or not is something I must be ready for. Whether he walks the length of the coast , glass and stones in the sand, holding my hand. Or he could float away in his own paper boat, beautiful and majestic, never to sink, never to fade from sight. Far and yet always near. Away and yet always here.
I think I found home.
It was a waveless ocean.
It was him.

-------------------

finite.

please

2007-11-16T19:53:00.001+01:00

you found me
on my knees
a salty runlet, red
seeping to the hardwood floors.
I asked you
please, just please,
stay away
let me do this
by myself,
so you stand still
and watch
one by one,
I pick them up
tissue and bone, crystal skin
broken into shivers,
how small these pieces are!
I collect them
with my right hand
put them in my left
palm against glass
flesh against quartz, this
flame you blew out
with syrupy words
and your honey-dipped smile
a promise of friendship
that slit the throat of a
hopeful heart.

I asked you,
please, just please,
let me do this by myself,
myself is all I have.

PLEASE
ccg

I remember

2007-11-16T19:48:00.000+01:00

I remember
late that night,
we gathered in circles
inside circles,
as the bedside lamp
illumines the room
in somber orange.

we could only whisper our names
like canticles of ancient Mythos,
softer than the softest breath
but underneath a maelstrom rises
bridled in fear
that we may wake
spirits long gone and
resting.

in those votive hours,
we performed the ritual,
-slow deliberate motions
of pouring
in measured propinquity
and we breathed in painful anticipation.

I met your eyes,
only for an instant
as we raised out treasured plastic cups
to our parched lips,
needing
lusting
wanting
this fire-water to burn itself dry
of plastic to flesh
of air to water
of taste to light, sound, touch
eggyolks and gold to
crimson. when I met your eyes
only for an instant
as you were engulfed in steady
drops
of ocean red.

I felt your blood
turned mine
turned yours
drowning me in cheap beer,
made cheaper by my drowning.

I remember
late that intoxicating night,
like voyeurs and maniacs
we called non-existent gods and
damned ourselves in unending anathema,
for shattered dreams
for broken lives
and hopes of no consequence
now dead.

before bloodshot eyes,
we nurtured
perfervid rebellion –
or,
surrendered in fear?
so we hid behind the only weapons
we knew-
the cups we held in our hands.

we died, too.

it still echoes in my mind, you know.
the wordings of a lost soul
never to be sought,
just wanted,
recovered,
and transfixed into a newfound promise,
betrayed by a blinding truth
that it was not lost
in the first place.

there are nights when I wake up
hoping to recapture the images
with which I remember,
like the fading essences of silver-framed photographs
like treasures so easily found yet easily lost
like a gypsy dance,
a somnambulant reckoning,
bodies rejoicing in circles
inside circles
and
outward.

but the dance ended.
And we are left with only a resonance
to keep the memory alive,
as I gaze at you
from a distance too far,
even beyond what my eyes could see
even before old friends
turned brothers
turned strangers.
I seek refuge
in your wordspinnings:
the worlds you created with a ballpoint pen,
the doors you opened with keys
of language
of truth and sanctimony
only you can understand.

and I wonder
when I can start drowning again
in the beginning
in the middle
in the end
of the lines you so deftly crafted
winged by the purest of souls.

I wonder
when I can start drowning again,
in the familiar trickling of
your blood,
turned mine,
turned yours
before this paper cup
I hold in my hand
overflows –

ISANG TAGAY LANG
1999

per te

2007-11-10T18:56:00.000+01:00

some call it dependency. some call it not being strong enough. some call it real love. i simply call it life. we are alone. and we do need each other. and so, if you do find someone who's worth holding on to, as a friend or a lover, hold on to him or her as long as you can.

DO YOU SEE ME?

2007-11-10T18:40:00.000+01:00

should i tiptoe into his heart
find me a corner to hide in
to wait while the pain parts,
with the fear, i know, is brewing.

should i kneel on the floor and be quiet,
sing a melody of love's own humming,
a voice akin to a dreaded whisper,
the winds shall carry the warning.

should i lie with my eyes half-open,
half-closed, should i even dare,
if tomorrow to find him beside me
in this brokenness we share.

will his heart allow me passage,
or its doors close on my face,
his eyes, like the crescent moon shining,
in the start and end of days.

should i tiptoe back into my own,
with a sliver of his soul,
when a day it will come,
when this masquerade is done
then i need tiptoe no more.

TIPPING TOES, TIP TIP TOEING
ccg.

...sometimes, being able to find the one person that you can be yourself with, and be free, and be happy, is about realizing the person that is already there...

pierpaolo's birthday

2007-11-10T18:21:00.000+01:00

sometime ago, i wrote a poem about the love of a mother. In all the best cases, no matter what words i use, i don't think i can ever really describe what it is about a mother's love that knows no bounds.

i met orietta the very first day roland became my roommate and instantly i loved her. i knew she was a real person - i felt it. it emanated from her very smile, her soft touch, even from her bright, blonde hair.

a couple of months later, i met her son, pierpaolo who, i believe, is a boy of 8, but also a man, in all aspects. his charisma is one that pervades into the air, as does his intelligence.

so when orietta came to me asking for help so that she and husband andrea can throw him a surprise 8th birthday party, of course, i had to say yes. after all, all i had to do was be there.

i thought of doing the poster for him, though which came out really fabulously. But, all the rest, was Orietta's and Andrea's. They are just the loveliest parents. I wish them all the best.

Quello primo, quello mio

2007-10-29T21:37:00.000+01:00

He said, Youre late.

I know.

The park was empty that Sunday afternoon. There were benches that lined the perimeter of the imprisoned sandbox.
He sat on one. I, on another. I wasn’t sure whether he wanted me to sit beside him.

The seesaw was still, one of its end jutting out straight up like a sinking ship.

The swings, its chains noticeably rusty even from where we were, slightly shivered.

He said, Its always empty.

This park? I asked.

Yeah. Me and my friends come here a lot, though.

Do you have good friends? I asked.

Yeah, he answered.

He asked, Do you like YOUR friends?

I said, I guess. I don’t really have much time to hang out with them.

Oh.
He said, That must really suck.

I smiled.

I said, Yeah. It really sucks.

╔

He asked, Do you like comics?

I do.

Really? He smiled. Which one’s your favorite?

Xmen, I said. Hands down.

No way! He exclaimed. I like the Zany Zapster better.

What? I exclaimed in disbelief. You can’t possibly like him over the XMen!

I don’t like their costumes! He said, They look dorky.

Okay then, I agreed. Don’t worry, I’ll bring some next time. You’ll see. You just gotta read some of their cooler stories. There’s one when they all fight Apocalypse and then Angel becomes his servant, and oh! The Phoenix Saga and the – What?

Nothing, he said.

You were looking at me funny, I said.

No, he replied.

You’re not like other grown-ups are you? he said, more than asked.

You can tell? I snickered.

Right off the bat, he said.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I wanted to know.

Good, he smiled. Definitely good.

I smiled back.

╗

You know, he said, I have this dream about you.

Have? I asked.

Well, yeah. I keep having it, you see. I dream the same dream.

That’s a recurring dream, I told him .

Oh, he said. He repeated the word. Re-cu-r-ring.

So what’s the dream about? What do I do in it? I asked.

Nothing, he said. You were just standing there, and it was dark and I really couldn’t see your face. Then it starts to get light, but before I could see you, I would always wake up.

I didn’t know what to say.

What do you think it means? He asked.

It could mean a lot of things, I said. A lot of different things.

I do know, however, I said, looking at him, You won’t have that dream tonight.

How do you know? He asked.

I grinned. I’m here with you right now, aren’t I?

╚
I think I have to go, he mumbled.

So soon? I asked. I checked my watch.
Oh. It is getting late. Sun’s almost down.

It’s because you were late. He said. That should teach you a lesson next time.

I laughed. Yes, it did.

It was nice meeting you, he said.

I knelt down, hoping to hug him.

He held out his hand.

I nodded, settling instead for the handshake. You seem like a great kid.

He looked down at his shoes.

They were blue.

He started to walk away.

A few steps.

Then he looked back.

Dad? He called out.

I wanted to jump. Scream. Laugh. Shout.

Yes? I calmly asked.

He smiled at me. You won’t be late next week, right? I mean, if you want to come again.

I’d love to! Of course! And hey, I’ll bring some of my Xmen stuff over, okay?

Cool! He yelled, running. I’ll bring Zapster.

Pause.

He called me Dad.

Pause.

Cool.

╝

CHILDREN OF THE ATOM

IN MEMORY OF
15iv03.

....it was the hardest thing i had to accept...that i couldn't have HIM... i so wanted YOU. know that. even if you weren't born, you're still mine...

someday

2007-10-17T19:35:00.000+01:00

love the song!

NIGHTflights

2007-10-16T14:24:00.000+01:00

sunday, 2 a.m. taken while sketching Unplaceable Kris.

I LOVE MY ROOMMATE RO. HE KNOWS THIS. WE'RE SORT OF LIKE SISTERS. BUT SHE'S ALWAYS ON ME TO GO OUT AND HAVE FUN WITH THE REST OF THE KIDS, AND WELL, IM JUST NOT LIKE THEM.

WHERE THEY WOULD BE HAPPY GOING TO THE DISCO OR THE SAUNA, I WOULD BE EQUALLY HAPPY COOKING FOR MYSELF A NICE DINNER OR TAKING A WALK IN THE PARK, OR JUST HAVING A NICE CHAT WITH A GOOD FRIEND OVER TEA, OR WINE AND CANDLES.

WHERE THEY WOULD BE PRESSED OUT TO MEET NEW PEOPLE, TO GET DRINKS AND PARTY, I WOULD BE TINGLING WITH EXCITEMENT TO WATCH A MOVIE OR LISTEN TO SOME GOOD SLOW MUSIC.

WHERE THEY WOULD BE PROWLING FOR THE NEXT CONQUEST, I WOULD BE GAZING OUT MY WINDOW HOPING THAT EVEN THOUGH I AM WAITING FOR NOW, THAT ONE DAY WHEN I WOULD FIND SOMEONE OF MY OWN TO LOVE AND WHO WOULD LOVE ME BACK WOULD COME TO PASS.

MAKES ME THINK BACK TO A STORY I WROTE A YEAR AGO. OF WHICH, THE DESIGN IS NOT YET FINISHED. (HENCE, THE PICS ABOVE)

IT GOES:

THE UNPLACEABLES.

by Cris Garing

There was once a family of fairies whom everyone in the fairy kingdom called the Unplaceables.

They were Father Unplaceable, Mother Unplaceable, the Unplaceable twins Ori and Ro and the youngest - Unplaceable Kris.

Everybody called them the Unplaceables. No matter where they went, everyone knew who they were.

They have traveled from North to South, East to West.

They've looked from forest to glades, river to sea.

They've turned every rock, every pebble, searched every tree and bush.

And they still haven't found one.

You see, it is because of this that the Unplaceables are called what they are called.

Nobody cared much about the Unplaceables.

And the UNplaceables didn't care much for anybody else.

That is,

Except Unplaceable Kris.

Well, i'm gonna have to cut this real short until i finish with the designs.

I keep thinking...

Maybe right now, it's okay being UNPLACEABLE.

So i spend my nights writing and working, drawing and dreaming and gazing out my window when i should, in fact, be dancing and living the life.

I have a friend who still has to go through these things. To find out who he really is. I myself have partied and lived that particular lifestyle already, and it doesn't mean i already know who i am or what or who i want.

My grandmother Georg always said, "in life, you will always wonder. And that's good. EVen with all your questions, and doubts, just continue to share yourself to others. You have a weak heart, the doctors say. BUt i know, i feel it. You have the strongest heart of us all."

(Georg, i miss you like mad. MY heart still beats. It still stops. It's still weak. And it's still strong. )

So i tried. And still here i am.

It'll be okay. Things have a way of working themselves out one way or another.

FOR THE KICKS

2007-10-15T18:52:00.000+01:00

lost innocence.

hmmmmm... my friend Jayce (miss you, dearie! Hate that you're going to Bakersfield for XMAS!!! Say hi to Mika and Blake for me) egged me on to join this metro global photo contest. So here i post all 5 entries to the contest.

la solitudine. 07

perfezione.07

And so I have. And since Jayce's favorite color has always been red, i decided to enter the thing with photos that has red as the dominant colour.

diversità.07

Here's to you, dear friend. You've always looked out for me and never once have you let me down. I miss us four - you , me, Mika, Blake. We're all in different parts of the world now, but home will always be where you guys are.

come quando eravamo piccoli. 07

aftermath of letting go

2007-10-14T11:00:00.000+01:00

I was walking last night and all around me, i kept seeing signs of it.

People together, couples holding hands, embraces, arms around shoulders, knowing smiles, heart at home.

Love. I don't really like writing about it, but here it is. It presented itself to me last night so clearly that there is just no way around it, no way to follow my own rules of not writing about it, thinking about it, dwelling on it, because after all, what is it but air, wind, god. things we cannot see, we can only fathom.

The way it was evident last night makes you wonder. It's here, it's true people feel it have it know it taste it keep it. Then why do so many feel so lost and so...wanting. If it were so easy to have, to realize, to know, why is it so difficult to believe?

Some people fall in love, at first sight, they say. Some after, some see it right off - that possibility, others not so quick, they can't see what's right in front of them or under their noses until it's gone, drifted away and owned by someone else.

MIllions of people. If you keep searching for the right one, that would mean you would search your entire life and beyond, without ever finding it. If you settle, is that bad? or is it actually realizing that your needs of love, CAN be met, if you yourself allow love to enter whole and untouched.
NOt edited like they do in movies. NOt cropped like they do with photos.
Whole.

Some wait for it, others think they're not ready and yet they entrap themselves in confusing complicated fucked up messes. But when they finally say they are, it becomes a bigger mess.

And for some, they just never find it. I feel the unravelling truth about where i fit. Does it scare me?

I was walking without actually knowing where to go.
I am writing this without actually knowing where I am headed.

Maybe that's it.
That's the point of it all.
There is none.
Damn.

I CAN SEE WITH ONE EYE CLOSED, MY RIGHT ARM OVER MY SHOULDERS, MY LEFT LEG LIFTED HIGH AND MY HEAD IN THE CLOUDS

2007-10-07T16:39:00.000+01:00

A SPURT OF AN IDEA.
Ideas, opinions, views, beliefs.
Sometimes all of these is merely out of perspective. How we see one thing.
Perspective, in the English language, can be described in the context of vision and visual perception. It is simply the way in which our eye recognizes objects based on several factors.
IN the graphic arts, it is the representation on a surface of an image that is ‘seen’ by the eye.
And in the theory of cognition, perspective is a choice. Many scholars argue if it is the actual choice or the result of this choice that can be called perspective. In any case, it allows for a value and a belief system to influence how we view, analyze, and think about a certain topic, person or thing.
Here are some thoughts to ponder:

Bias and impartiality is in the eye of the beholder. (Lord Barnett)
Distance has the same effect on the mind as on the eye. (Samuel Johnson)
The difference between a mountain and a molehill is your perspective. (Al Neuharth)
If the only tool you have is a hammer, you tend to see every problem as a nail. (Abraham H. Maslow)
You are only as wise as others perceive you to be. (M. Shawn Cole)
A heretic is a man who sees with his own eyes. (Gotthold Ephraim Lessing)

Another way of looking at it is by “looking at it” (physically).

This most original idea by photographer Boris Kahl was realized by simply….looking at the sky, rather, where parts of it can be seen set against the many skyscrapers of the city.
He calls the project TYPE THE SKY, now published as a book, featuring all 26 letters from the alphabet, with the addition of the punctuations “?” and “!”.

So the next time you are affronted by a certain situation, it would help if you take a moment to ask yourself, “Is this the only of looking at it?”

Who knows, you just might realize the world wasn’t-square isn’t round after all.

FOR HE WHO COLLECTS NUMBERS

2007-09-24T08:21:00.000+01:00

GEEK.NERD.DORK.GENIUS.LOONS.WEIRD.
If you happen to love numbers, or be a wiz at them, you are usually any one of these. (at least in the primary, middle and high-school mentalities)

I say otherwise.
Dorks can be the cutest people on earth.

(if you find any more cute cartoons like this, let me know.)

2007-09-11T23:15:00.000+01:00

NOT love at first sight

2007-09-11T20:15:00.001+01:00

There someone I'm in love with...Although I can't be with her now...I'm still in love with her...

I've always taken the gift of sight for granted. I would hurt my eye, not take care of it. I love reading until late night, and i love to do it in the most hurtful of conditions - while in motion, or with little light. NOw that my passion for photography has taken ahold of me, i can't imagine being without it, being lost and unable to appreciate the beauty - to view what is real and envision possibilities.

The words above were words narrated by the man in the the video. He is a photographer himself, and he chose to up this most precious gift for the girl that he loved and hurt. And love still. AT the end, the girl realizes that it was him who gave her back the ability to see, and it's heartbreaking to watch when she realizes the sacrifice he made for him.

Everyone of us makes that wish. To find someone that would love us. Few of us realize that this wish is most easily remedied not by a wish getting granted .... but by a choice being made.
My wish? To be strong enough to make that choice one day. To give my heart to someone and love that person so damn much that i would risk everything, be less, lose everything and yet, be better , be whole for it.

The song is by KISS ( Jini, MIni and Umji) , one of Korean's instant hits, but which disbanded after their one and only album. Would you believe that this clip is so popular that many versions of the song were made, and in many languages - english, french, mandarin, cantonese, even tagalog! The two actors in the video are Shin Hyun Joon and Goo Hye JIn. Both gorgeous!

a sad love song /choeun

2007-09-11T18:29:00.000+01:00

UTADA HIKARU'S FIRST LOVE

2007-09-09T20:14:00.000+01:00

I remember first seeing and hearing Utada in a club in Hongkong, where she played years ago... From that moment until now, this song's still one of my favorites.

FORSE OGGI NON SEGUO IL SOLE...

2007-09-05T19:21:00.000+01:00

Watching Vittorio De Sica's I Girasoli was one of the first peeks I've ever taken of how Italy was in the olden days - even seeing Milan's Central station's old face gave me somewhat a different sensation.
Sophia Loren's Giovanna is an Italian woman who falls desperately in love with Marcello Mastroianni's Antonio. So much so that
when it was time for him to enlist in the army factions bound for Russia, Giovana agreed to a ruse (admittedly, I first thought it was real, until i caught up with what the two crazy lovers were doing)
to have Antonio locked up in the loony bin. When they failed in this, the two had to accept their destiny and part.

Years after, and the war finally ends. But no word comes from Antonio and Giovana decides to conduct a desperate search for her lost husband, whom she believes to be alive.
The plot thickens on, and watching the film, I am reminded of other films whose main themes were relatively simple but which would leave you amazed at how intricate these emotions can be, making even the simplest seem most complicated.

Many may call this almost soap-operish and zaccharine-sweet, but i actually found it endearing and had the circumstances been right, i would have actually cried. (crybaby that i am)

Two things the film's definitely got going for it are the cinematography and the music. There were some pretty amazing shots all throughout the movie. And of course, being a Henry Mancini fan ( I must have watched Breakfast at Tiffany's a million times, partly because of the music), I knew i would be glued right off.

P.S. Thank you Jean for sharing this film with me!

THE WORD

2007-09-02T22:18:00.000+01:00

There is one word in the English vocabulary that is as mysterious as faith, as tangible and yet fleeting as a shiver, as essential as oxygen to a person’s existence, and as indeterminate as the future.

It is when a young man, who did not express his desires succinctly and always let chance and fate dictate his own life, gets drifted off to a faraway land, gets stripped off his dreams and realities. In exchange he gets a reality that is so strange to him, it is almost violent. It grates at his skin. It bites his flesh. It tears at him everyday. This. His new life. His condition. In less than a month, he buys a ticket to go back home. He is called a quitter by everyone else, a lost cause.

It is when another, who did not allow his desires to take the better of him and always let his ideals dictate his own life, is given a heart to look after and his own heart to surrender. His reality became everyone’s dreams. It fills him with joy. It fills him with pleasure. It fills him with love. This. His very being, he gives up. In a matter of weeks, he breaks all binds and sets himself free and vulnerable. Where there was safety and love, he now risks pain and loneliness. He is called a fool by everyone else, a lost soul.

It is when one, who did not desire so completely and always let other people’s realities dictate his own life, gets drifted to a place he so longed to discover, gets stripped of old fears and doubts and in their place, new fears and new doubts. Every step he takes now may bring him closer to a dream long-nurtured and kept hidden or may cause him to shut himself off and retreat back into quiet non-being. It is one kiss, one hug, one resounding yes. He is called a newbie by everyone else, one with a lot to lose. Or a lot to gain.

The word is Choice.

Who gets to decide if one is a quitter or a fool? We look life in its face and we look away, each taking something for ourselves, each leaving something behind.

What matters most is who we make of ourselves in the end. The good we have in us, the good we do, and the good we can still achieve.

ASPETTANDO L’AUTUNNO

2007-09-02T22:17:00.000+01:00

Browns
the leaves
that bear my
Tears
dried and torn,
littered, soaked in
rainwater, frozen
shivers,
these trembling gems
fall,
they call
to earth and air
to sleep
and wait
their unknown fate.

.cris.

L'ULTIMA CENA TRANS. THE LAST TRANS SUPPER.

2007-09-02T22:12:00.000+01:00

Thanks to the person responsible for this image. It made my day.

So ...question is, what becomes of the Holy Grail?!?

From OF CURTAINS AND MEN

2007-09-02T22:11:00.000+01:00

The young man held his breath.

He wiped the sweat running down his cheeks from the aching temples where a mass of golden-brown hair stuck, strands to scalp. He shivered, the cold air like a bath of ice on his strained muscles. The smells of rain-drowned grass, booze, cigar and cum enjoined, making him cough. Or maybe he coughed because he had forgotten to button up his shirt, as well as his pants. He had even left his wallet, left everything else he knew to be his.

Walks. Cries. Flies.

The young man headed the wrong way.

There was no way, he thought. Right or wrong. No all I have, I carry with me. All I need.

My words, just my words all screaming, fluttering, laughing, talking, forming, f%&=ing inside my head.

Write. Think. Murmur. Think!

Just my words. Always my words –
And breath.

From OF CURTAINS AND MEN: a short story. cris

pensieri. poesie. passioni.

2007-08-29T05:45:00.000+01:00

One day they will show themselves,
lines of age and wisdom
come too late,
hasty white strands.
the lines
around eyes and lips
softly drawn curtains
where your smile used to reside,
and the walk of tired years
emerging from disquieted seas
memories,
flickering flames,
now lit with regret
odd smells and an aftertaste
from a favorite cigarette stick,
faces and shadows,
this stranger the mirror does not recognize

yesterday’s goblets emptied, arias played
dances danced and battles waged
the nighttide ebbs into waxen hours,
this long wait, the hours.

THE LONG WAIT

left the windows open,

and from inside,

I hear the little girl pounding,

pounding on the dirty sheets

ten times her size.

she beat the filth away

with a wooden club

made solely for this purpose.

this ritual of little girls,

handed down by dead mothers,

they must learn how to crush innocence

to get to the grime, the malice

that hides deep clings hard to thread and skin.

the mothers said

what do you need of this innocence,

just a brand-new sheet,

better break it in yourself

before the others get to it,

their soot feels fine on top of yours.

the pounding,

slowly becomes a muted song

tender to her ears

notes she carry with her
to old age.

THE LITTLE GIRL POUNDING

I can see it in your eyes, the reflection of the person

I was and I am left to wonder

when my face would come to view,

this face that I bear now

the face that holds my smiles and defeats

and stores my tears and triumphs.

this is me.
when will you see

that I am no different

no better

no lesser

no easier removed from your side.

SEE

we await so longingly a miracle to prove our faith,

when there are miracles in the whispering winds

the greenness of leaves, and the godliness of a little ant.

UNTITLED

it will have its way with me

this place...

the hours that eat away at my core

and slowly grinds me in its mouth.

fodder is what i am,

fallen prey to a silent hunter

caged and tethered,

a mindless animal

growling at my fate,

as it spits back at my face.

cut me and i bleed.

break me and i will fall to my knees.

but hurt me, and i will not cry

nor scream and beg for the end.

this place will have its way with me

but it cannot win.

IT MUST NOT.

RAGAZZO.

cris

AKO.

2007-08-22T11:14:00.000+01:00

ako. io. I. yo.

When i was a kid, i told everybody that my dream was to become a social worker. I always dreamt of going to places in the Philippines, in India, in Africa, wherever - every place that saw a tear in a hungry child's face, every corner of the world where a hug meant more than a dollar, a helping hand more than new shoes.

I remember even writing this poem (which luckily I have in my archives) entitled "LUHA", which means tears or lacrime.

...he smiled,
the little boy whose feet were hard as rocks,
whose stomach growled a vicious monster,
whose face wore ages of pain and regret

i wondered how regret could be pasted onto a face
which should house innocence and joy,

he smiled,
the little boy who looked at me like i was his long-lost brother

he smiled,
because i smiled too.

part of "LUHA"
cris. jan.15, 1991.

I wonder what happened to that dream. I can still feel that desire. To seek a way to help, to find a chance - to feel more ---I dont know, human. All the homeless people. All the orphans. All the young and dying, the old and aging. Their pains should be OUR pains, too. Shouldn't it?

Aren't they US? Aren't we THEM?

Let me share this most beautiful song called PARAISO. Which is strange, in a way. Because like the title of the song, which i think , can be understood in all languages, so should the very words BEING HUMAN.

The video features some photos from the Philippines. For more on the country, check out these two other videos:

And i end this blog with a part taken from Carlos P. Romulo's "I am a Filipino" essay:

I sprung from a hardy race — child of many generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries, the memory comes rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men, putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and the whistling wind, carried upon the mighty swell of hope — hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children’s forever.

This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green and purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promised a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hollowed spot to me.

By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every right of law, human and divine, this land and all the appurtenances thereof — the black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with their inexhaustible wealth in wild life and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen with minerals — the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them, and in trust will pass it to my children, and so on until the world no more.

agosto. 07

SUNDAY CONFESSIONS

2007-08-22T10:41:00.000+01:00

Father, I have sinned.

yes, dear child. you may speak freely here.

father, from my dad's pocket, I took a dime

The Lord appreciates your honesty, child. Go on.

to buy me a Tootsie Roll. ever had one, father? melts in your mouth, they do. a dime for some Tootsie Roll. a dime for my soul.

The Lord appreciates your honesty, child. Go on.

I peeked at my cousin Trudie. She's thirteen, but father, God knows he ain't right in making her look all of twenty.

never presume what the Lord thinks, child.

then for that, I'm to be forgiven too, Father. Trudie, she took a bath, see. I took a peek, a regular Peeping Tom I am. What i saw made me think dirty thoughts, yes, father, and these thoughts i acted upon them with the devil's hands.

God knows your heart is aggrieved, son. your body confuses and tempts you. you must be strong.

father, i acted on them thoughts twice.

then the Lord forgives you twice as well.

then i faked sick. me and momma had to go sell some rice cakes in the market,like we do every goddamn day, 'scuse me father for cursing. i hate them damn- silly cakes. Packed with rice and sweat and momma's tears and our daily grief.

Do not swear. And do not look ill on what the good Lord provides.

Yes, father. But they all i have in me, father. rice cakes in the morning, at noon and nighttime. and then, some more rice cakes in between. I swear ---

Don't.

Yes, father, i won't. I ---can tell you this much. My sweat and blood and innards must be all rice cakes. They are. So i faked sick.

What did you do with your time?

Well's, momma thought i was resting, and so i snuck out. Sun ain't barely up, Poppa's wasted on the floor again so i took the dime from his pocket and went to see if cousin Trudie wanted to swim in the river, which she didn't, on account she took a bath, and i did her wrong twice. So i went to Tommy's instead. Bugger-faced Tommy. Play catch, is what i thought.

and did you? Play catch?

NO's father. 'is the truth, i tell ya. me's and tommy crossed over to Old Maria's backyard, you know who she is, that deaf-blind-mad-woman witch.

The Lord forgives you for name-calling.

Thank you, Lord. So when we got to the woman-witch's place, we started throwing stones at the kitchen windows.

one that was big!

two ,missed but close!

three, yes! one in the center!

now Tommy's got a good hand. He started teasing me bout my bad 'un. Out of ten, I got two cracks. Whip! Crack! the glasses they broke. the pieces they shattered. the rocks they clunked inside.

we didn't notice it, father. But Old Maria went close to the windows and started shooing us like we were buncha crows. I took a big rock and aimed straight at her face. hit smack center in the forehead. down, she went, father. like a big log. Timber! I called, laughing. Timber! I shouted. I didn't know why, but i laughed. father, I laughed real hard.

didn't just hurt her see. went inside to check, there she was, sprawled on the floor. ees about to popo like the cap of a bottle of soda. her breasts, Tommy touched them, hard as rocks themselves. Tommy said no beat was in them breasts. No beat at all. Wouldn't have sinned with the devils' hands if you paid me, or God paid me, father. Them breasts long gone.

Father, I killed Old Maria. she's dead as a dead cow.

a rock for her body. a rock for her mad soul.

oh ---g---God. son, did you tell somebody? the police?

I AM telling, Father. I'm telling you. seeing as you're supposed to keep things silent and private here, aren't ya?

words between God and me? you'se and God? you'se and me?

Yes , son - but this ---we have to tell---

now, Tommy, crybaby he is, started bawling like a girl. I told him to shut up. no faggot friend of mine is gonna cry. and he is, faggot. Tommy. Once I saw him kissing that other boy that lives with his momma in the big blue house. Told him I wouldn't tell anybody if he did all i said. He wouldn't stop crying, tho'. So i took a wooden board, that board that Old Maria uses to beat clothes with, get the dirt out? So's I took it and i was only trying to scare him, father, but he wouldn't stop screaming and shouting and crying and so i didn't stop beating and pounding him like beef at the butcher's. He kept on crying, You'se killed her, shit! You'se killed ---

Boy, tell me. Aaaang then---? Where is Tommy?

I kept hitting him, father and it worked. it made him shut up two ways sunday. silence was a dusk's wait for light, not even a hummingbird hummed, i reckon. nor a twig breaking outside. Silence, there was.

See, i knew father. i knew. The Lord will understand. I listen to your sermons like i listen to nothing else.

You'se once said :

Strike down the screaming liars with them instruments of peace. Bring about silence and calm with your might and let those blinded to the Lord's mercy be brought to light.

your words rang in my head, father. I've always wondered what i'm here in this world for. not to sell those fucking tasteless rice cakes. now i know.

the lord made me more.

I am his instrument. HIs hand in this land that forsook him, among those who turned blind eyes and deaf ears to his saving grace.

The words of the Lord are mysterious, son . We cannot know that they truly mean, I 'm sorry ---but i have to---

But i felt those words, father!

as if hot air blown right into my lungs. now i must share it, bring judgment to those who need it. I ain't ever felt this way, father, like a hundred angels lifting me up.... better than holding my prick and whacking it dry.

I have a question, though, father.

y-y-y-yes?

why's God got to make it always damn messy? i have red all over my hands, father. see, i don't like red. I think i'm gonna have to learn how to carry out his will without so much of it.

and it smells, father.
oh yes, the blood.
damn bad, the smell.

SUNDAY CONFESSIONS.

L'OTTAVO DI UNO SBADIGLIO

2007-08-14T17:29:00.000+01:00

back, bring me back

as a painter's brush frozen, dripping colours afraid of blank space

and the inevitable end.

as the glance of a hurrying man, almost at his destination

yet wishing to turn around.

as the gentle blowing of smoke, circles of sex

inside your mouth, tickling your throat,

as those words fighting to free themselves,

and be let loose into air, carrying with them regrets

and the shards of a secret promise.

and he laughed,

saying he had never heard

of anything so silly.

agosto.07

apen.

first birthdays and nostalgic tram rides

2007-08-12T17:21:00.000+01:00

It was Teren's first birthday party and I went to the feast with my friends Jeiar (Filipino snowboarder, aiming to represent the Philippines in the Winter Olympics in 2010), and Sara Maestrello (an Italian photographer who's doing a kick-ass project on 'secondo generazioni' Italians , meaning children of immigrants).

I decided to stray away from the usual modes and combination of tricks that i do when taking pictures and this time, using the AV mode which i rarely use. The first few shots were so interesting that i decided to keep experimenting with it, how the light works for and against it, how the focus can become blurred and yet retain a certain 'photographic feel' about it. And so, I didn't realize it, but i went through the entire feast using the cool technique that i discovered.

I don't know. I kinda like it.

Oh, also the party.

For the complete gallery, you can click on this link, or at the same link in the galleries section in the sidebar.

festafilippine

the nostalgic tram rides come after.
out.
cris.

ELO'CIN. A GIFT FOR A FRIEND.

2007-08-11T08:10:00.000+01:00

ELO’CIN
for.

Biting, you are another gale of the frosty eve come down to smite me,
You are a burning upon my naked skin,
A few hours of reprieve from the endless drown.

Jikan, you are another undressing of shame,
You are a burning upon my tired, so tired eyes
And the dying that is my existence from day to day.

Breathe, you are another hammer pounding on my chest,
You are a burning, burning the blood that traces my despair,
This daily torture, street vendors and children laughing in Kiyosumi

And I am this laughable ghost, another of Kiyosumi’s many secrets,
Burnt by my own blood that despaired at who I am,
Another breathe that escapes is another second to live.

And I am dragged underneath by the cruel hands of everyday,
Burnt by their eyes, seared by the lies turned truths turned lies
Another undressing and yet another and yet another and yet

For I am the hours that surged forth from my endless drowning,
Still burning, I stand firm and scream no more,
And I am, living.

HALF-LIFE capitolo 1 (for joshua,old friend)

2007-08-10T13:33:00.001+01:00

There was fire.
It lived and breathed and ate everything in its path.
There was a loud thumping noise and a shadow. Lond-eared.
He was falling -
-
and-
falling,

He jolted, woken by an impossible fall and an even more impossible flight. A giant bunny in red tights had come to save him from the fires of hell.

No worries there, he thought, scratching his head. I was meant to burn, anyway.

Looking at the clock on his bedside table, he saw it still had twenty minutes before the alarm was supposed to wake him up.

I could have used twenty more minutes of sleep.
Or a month.
Yeah, give me a month.

He turned on his back, putting his left arm behind his head.

The afternoon sun gave off an alien-like orange, vibrant through the blue gauze curtains that hid him from the world. His bare skin glowed under its light, his white boxers almost yellow.

Outside seeped into the quiet room in a continuous grumble; overlapping orchestras of angry drivers trapped in the after-five traffic, young 'uns speaking incorrigible street lingo into insanely priced mobile phones, street vendors shouting their remaining, unsold goods, and the latest Pinoypop music blasting from jeepneys - the lyrics, melody and dance moves all capable of making him cringe as the vivid photos of the exposed internals of last night's slasher murder victim in the news.

Inside, however, was a settled kind of noise, a chaos that clung silently onto every ordered space, every meticulously thought-of arranging and re-arranging.

A mini-kitchen, blue plates, green tumblers, flea market silverware. Copper-framed snapshots scattered and hung. These jut out from the entire room like marbles in sand, each smiling couplet stranger than the next. A lemony-detergent-cigarette-hangover-leftover lunch-smelling bathroom. Vinyl-covered main table with three wooden chairs and a steel one.
Everywhere he looked, he saw layers upon layers.

There was passion, heaps of it now buried so deep it's a wonder one can sense it at all. A layer of blame. A layer of lies. A layer of regrets. A later of hate. A layer of forgiveness. And a thick, almost suffocating layer of silence.

They stayed there like dirt, they attached themselves so strong and stubborn even if one were to scrub at them from morn til night, a skin will remain. They are our unpaying tenants, coinhabitants of a world built by two people who have lived together too long that it seems neither one knows anymorewhat keeps them together still, aside from a blanket of comfort and an idealized and falsified sense of commitment.

This place has a life. We bred in it a breath of deep and steadily growing indifference.

Nowhere more so than in this very bed.

He looked at the sheets, crumpled and undone. They are white, blinding witnesses to the facade that we live, and spiteful reminders of where we are.

What am i doing? he asked himself, for what seemed to be the millionth time. The millionth, for today, at least. Everyday, every simple, freakin' day, I wake up to an empty, stifling hot room, wait until i have to go to work, work nocturnal hours for measly pay, and hours later, go home to a lover rushing off to workall our couple-y actions automatic and pressured, wait again until sleep comes, cycle after cycle, day after day.

Does any part of my life make sense? Is it even a life?

Have to call home, he reminded himself. It's Tuesday and i have to call home.

He sighed. I WILL call home. After all, it's Tuesday.

The alarm went off. Every inch, every corner of the apartment stopped and listened as it screeched and waited for the inevitable. They know the routine. They know what will happen. They await his bustle, his hurrying into his semi-conscious existence.

Instead he closed his eyes.

He did not sleep.

He did not stir.

He just laid there, heart beating and blood pumping.

Half-alive. Half-dead.
--

------------------------------------------

OUtside, a little boy hears an alarm beeping, the sound getting louder and louder, more insistent.
The boy wonders why no one turns it off.

written.

cris garing

(image by Anthony Gayton)

HALF-LIFE capitolo 2

2007-08-09T00:09:00.000+01:00

Only connect.

Only.

Lines and traces and shadows and trails. Where do we end up amidst all these twists, these intertwining chains? Where do the beginnings take form and the endings end it all? Where does He find himself, in his daily torture of khaki and cotton, ties and leather belts, fake smiles and real smiles, and alien thoughts and more alien sentiments?

I hate it, he thinks. I hate this. And i hate even more that I can't get out of it.

Look at me, all dressed up and ready with my earphones and my spiels.

Good morning. Can I offer? ---- Let me get the supervisor who can better assist you ---- Thank you ! Have a great day! ---

I used to be anti-social, but with the skills to appear socially cultured when need dictated it. This is slowly beaten out of my system with this grating monotony of hello's and may I's.

The devil is feeding. He feeds, and feeds and he is hungry. more. everyday.

Two o' clock. Bitch. Struts into the common room like she's the ice princess or Madonna. Not the, but the 'papa, don't preach me' one. And she does act preach-needy, her and her slutty lips and slutty hips and slutty walk and slutty ankles.

Love the strap sandals, honey, but come near me and i'll trip you, watch you fall and sing a happy song.

She comes and every sperm cell in the room automatically swims in her direction, fighting for release. Let us out, Let us out.

Five o'clock. Supervisor watching. Careful, all i need is another probation. Better do good, make sales, close deals. Better, be better.

Ten o'clock. Beefcake. Does he have to sit there, looking like he does? Smelling as he does (in my mind, I can smell him, I love his smell)? I watch his muscles, I imagine how they'd wrap around me, push me back, play rough. And that tongue, thick and wet. I see it when he wets his lips after a call, I see it and I see him, lios on mine, smell on mine, taste on mine, him on me.

Buddy. Call time.

Shit. I hope the supervisor didn't catch me drooling. Wipe your mouth, asshole.

And the hours pass.

I go out, i smoke. The nightwind is blowing, dark velvet is the sky and there is laughter and there are voices. They are female, they are male, and everything in between, under and over and across and all around it. The human stain. God, bleach us all bare and naked, peel our skins and maybe, just maybe, we see better who we are, what we are.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon.

He on the bed, eyes closed. He let the alarm go on and on. It rang and it shrilled and it bore the marks of my life's disappointments. It rang, ten, twenty times.

Twentyfifth, he heard another noise. Keys. Door slamming. Bag thrown on sofa. Water drunk.

He kept his eyes closed.

You're awake, I know you are. Why not turn the damn thing off?

I don't want to.

You set the alarm, you turn it off.

You turned it off-

because i came.

It would have turned itself off anyway. It's not the end of the world.

silence.

Clothes are taken off. His smell brings back the smell of the outside world, just when he thought the dark and the space would keep all memory of it out.

Come here.

No.

He kisses my ears. He kisses them , knowing full well that i get worked up this way. Then his tongue It brushes. He bites, he knows. He knows. He kisses and kisses. The neck. Never strayin too close to lips, never too much.

It is kindling fire.

I said, No!. I said no, even as i felt my cock growing inside my white boxers.

His naked body came closer. He wrapped his right legs over my body, feeling my skin, feeling me hardening, tightening, giving in.

The boxers get taken off. He entered this time, he entered and he violated, he cursed and I cursed and nasty words, dirty words get thrown into the air, they cling to the walls like dust, thickening the layers and layers upon them. He straightened up and I took my cock and beat it, beat it hard and fast. I screamed for him to to do it harder , to fuck me you fucker give it to me do it fuck! And he screamed and we screamed and we both laid silent for an eternity. He fell on top of me, still inside of me. PArt of me wanted more. Part of me wanted him hard again and to keep on thrusting, his heavy hips hurting my skin, slapping my flesh burning and ripping. Instead he kissed and caressed. And cum, all over us, our bellies, our chests, our hands.

I asked. Please get off.

He did.

I stood up and took a bath. Half an hour later, I went out, leaving him atop the spoilt sheets, already asleep.

The hours pass.

It is all i know.

The passing of hours.

Something i read once.

It was either the wind or the spirit of the house itself, briefly unsettled by our nocturnal absence but too old to be surprised by the errands borne from the hap between what we can imagine and what we, in our hidden realities, in fact, create.

I still feel his smell. I still hear the ringing of the clock. I still taste the soup my sister-in-law made for me last time I went for a visit.

This is me. I accept it. I neither imagined nor created it.

I do my best. I live. I breathe.

There is a letter to be written. There is a story to be read. There is life to be hoped for.

There are no halflives. There is only the life that we live now, and we know it, it is ours. The life I will live, the life i hope to live. It will come. We just have to be ready for it when it does.

There are deals made, things accomplished. Work is done.

The bitch says hi when we pass each other going to the rest rooms. I say hi back. Once she's out of hearing range, I gagged. She's nice.

Bitch.

I sweat at the thought of seeing Beefcake tomorrow. He should wear his fit white shirt with the superman mark. His nipples show right through when caught by light.

A jeep ride. A walk. A fumbling of keys.

A sigh.

I unbutton my shirt strip it off work the zippers down my pants push it down take it off throw my socks on the floor the boxers stay water is cold I splash it on my face rub soap with hands lather massage it on face rinse rinse well turn on the stereo put on john mayer lower the volume put it on repeat mode the music will play on and on lie down reach for the alarm clock set it to five a.m. set the volume on high put it back on the bedside table fluff my pillow put left arm behind head close my eyes and be

still

written. there is peace to be had, in any form. cris garing.

( images are by Anthony Gayton : www.anthonygayton.com )

NOT TANGLED ENOUGH

2007-08-03T10:29:00.000+01:00

so my chest
it was a field you rested upon
where you slumbered light and drifting,
you listened to the earth underneath
the rousing plates and the tremors,
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my hands
they never left yours
and you brought them to your lips
like fragile glass,
held them like precious jewels,
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my neck
you slowly explored,
a shadowed forest, hidden trails
leading to places we cannot yet go to
will you remember the way?
when it is time, the whispers will lead you back.
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my back
you traced with your fingertips,
you made them glide like they skated on ice,
this cold curvature, this arched valley
heated with your soft touch.
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my lips
they were your slaves
servants to your own, they followed your bidding
biting, nipping, softly drawing
me into you and you into me,
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my thighs
you held them closer, pressed me harder
and i could feel everything that you are

but there's always this space

we cannot conquer
no matter how tight we coil ourselves
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my heart
and your heart
our souls naked and our love revealed,
our words, thoughts and actions,
our bodies entwined,
yet not tangled enough.
no, not nearly enough.

dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

cris garing.

MOTION

2007-07-27T19:23:00.001+01:00

16.30

2007-07-22T04:44:00.000+01:00

It's 16.30 The need to sleep is like the winter wind come crashing against bare skin. My eyes are fluttering ,my head a bag of snow my arms heavy irons banging against my laptop tired as i am, whirring and muttering like an old fool unable to shut up.

close your mouth. close your mouth. close your mouth. shut your eyes.

A million things running in my head. Things to do tonight. Things to do tomorrow. Things to do over the weekend. Things i could have done during the day if the hours stretched beyond 24 and I didn't feel the need to sleep like the flash of heat come burning through my head a supernova exploding my arms dirty reminders of things i could create instead let loose and wasted in the wind tired as i am, of drying tears and realizing it isn't winter and wishing it wasn't only 16.30.

and so i took my camera. and i shot.

going through the house, it took seconds to realize which things i would take photos of. they had voices and they were calling out to me.
MINDSTAINS

TOUCH

ordinary things can represent so much more, and getting caught up in the profundity of the ordinary, my thoughts seemed to follow some sort of unknown order.

i remember this poem i wrote years ago...

the words,
they spill over
these infected words
that fill my mind.
they attach themselves
to faces and images
rubber stamps of memory and dreams
leaving marks
harder to trace
much harder to erase
than the footprints
from my
mud-browned shoes.

SECRETS

DIVERSITY

and i was calm.

and i could think. and feel.

at least for now.

HIBERNATION

Links to all the images:

SOUL party for kelby

2007-07-16T17:12:00.000+01:00

torre del lago, italy

2007-07-16T17:11:00.003+01:00

pisa, italy

2007-07-16T17:10:00.001+01:00

a dinner at the house with friends

2007-07-16T17:08:00.000+01:00

il mondo che vorrei

2007-07-09T14:27:00.000+01:00

pride kisses

2007-06-25T07:31:00.001+01:00

THANKS YURI FOR THE LINK TO THIS VIDEO!!! AND TO WHOEVER DID THIS, GREAT IDEA!!! AND YOU GOT THE GANG'S KISSES TOO (YURI AND MAX, NICOLE AND BAILEY)

CHRISTOPHER STREET DAY PARADE , MILAN 23 GIUGNO

2007-06-24T19:28:00.001+01:00

PRIDE!!!

2007-06-19T09:27:00.000+01:00

ONe NIght Only

2007-06-19T01:03:00.001+01:00

INDEPENDENCE DAY CAMPAIGN

2007-06-10T12:04:00.000+01:00

I had the idea for these just looking at a little Filipino boy riding the tram one day. So here's what the Independence Day campaigns looked like. Most of the pics were photos of friends and people I've interviewed over the past months.

MABUHAY!!!

FOR NESSA

2007-06-07T07:08:00.000+01:00

left the windows open,
and from inside,
I hear the little girl
pounding, pounding on the
dirty sheets
ten times her size.
she beat the filth away
with a wooden club
made solely for
this purpose., this ritual
of little girls,
handed down by dead mothers,
they must learn
how to crush innocence
to get to the grime,
the malice that
hides deep
clings hard
to thread and skin,

the mothers said
what do you need
of this innocence,
just a brand-new sheet,
better break it in yourself
before the others get to it,
their soot feels fine
on top of yours.

the pounding,
slowly becomes
a muted song
tender to her ears
notes she carry
with her

to old age

THE LITTLE GIRL POUNDING
10iii04

THE RO

2007-06-04T16:52:00.001+01:00

Last Saturday, Bailey, Ro, Giody and I trooped to see the show Ro's girls were putting on for the Settimana dello Sport in Parco Treno! It was raining and it was on the other side of Milan, but heck, we call ourselves 'troopers' and we are just that! So we braved the weather and the distance and were delighted to see Roland all caught up, excited and contented! Bravi!!!