"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).
14.4.09
14.2.09
chagya pabo... the making...
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
("InSPIEGABILE" / Pisa, Italy copyright 2007 photo taken by cris carpio-garing.)
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
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!
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 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!!!
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. )
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)
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.
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)
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.
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 -
- 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.
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
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.
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.
8.11.08
The lover /l'amante
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.
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
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.
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.
30.9.08
SIMPLE TRUTH (with words by Thoreau and Basho)
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
26.4.08
support jayr
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
3.4.08
METRO TALES. an encounter
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!
31.3.08
MISSED !!! HOW A SIMPLE "HEY YA" CAN MAKE YOUR DAY
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!!!
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 Buñuel smiling.” David Bordwell,
davidbordwell.net
"(Director) Brillante Mendoza…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 LIBERAZIONERegia: 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.
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