Written Contusions

The Queen of Angst is back with another heart-wrenching album called Flavors of Entanglement. Alanis Morissette has successfully made an album that reflects all her different flavors. Flavors of Entanglement definitely gives fans and plain old listeners a surprise with its bold, eclectic and haunting songs.


Richard's picks for this album include Citizen of the Planet, which defines the bold flavor of this album. As the first track, this song definitely packs a wallop of musical intensity. This song is her way of saying that she is back and she is back to proclaim that she is a citizen of the planet. With this song, look out for the line that says "I fly back with my nuclear." For some odd reason, the daring mix of words, coupled with the scalding connotations of nuclear hit a heart-string of mine and it is now etched in my memory.

Aside from the boldness, you'll also hear the same kind of Alanis beats minus the electric guitar. The eclectic mix of sound in her songs now include a sitar and some Indian inspired musical instruments, or so I think. The song writing also offers a vast array of emotions within this album. The first song is triumphant in saying that she is back. Not as We has the introspective flavor that That I Would be Good had. I think that she has already grown up and bloomed into a full woman because she also mixed love in a not-so-gruesome way with In Praise of the Vulnerable Man.

Furthermore, it makes my hair stand on edge because some of the songs are haunting. Who would want to declare a moratorium on their love life? Make sure that you listen to that. Torch and Giggling Again for No Reason also made me feel flashbacks - old emotional time bombs in my heart came back to bite me.

I can't help myself! Call me brash and bold but I would dare and say that this album is the reinvention of Alanis. For me, who goes for everything, this album is a menagerie of eclectic and eccentrically flavored songs that will found ways into my hall of fame. For those who are picky, I am sure that some song in this CD will still give the resistant listener with an LSS or two.

Still can't get enough of Alanis? Check out her website at Alanis.com.

Tracks
Citizen of the Planet
Underneath
Straitjacket
Versions of Violence
Not as We
In Praise of the Vulnerable Man
Moratorium
Torch
Giggling Again for No Reason
Tapes
Incomplete

It was a cold November afternoon. He went out to smoke a cigarette atop a boulder just outside the house.

The sky was still gray; it had just drizzled.

He took out his cigarette, put the butt between his lips and flicked on his lighter. The ember was as red as the sunset.

He slowly took a drag at the cigarette and he followed the wisp of smoke drift into the disappearing greyness of the sky.

Birds and bats were flying together. He could tell because of the way bats flapped their wings; the down strokes were desperately seeking altitude. Birds were darting gracefully like the side stream smoke. One dived straight which brought his gaze back to earth.

That was when he saw it right beside him. It had fur, matted and lutinized. The snout blew out steam like his half-consumed cigarette. The red of the sunset felt ashamed because it was not as read as the creature's eyes so it retreated into the night. The fangs and claws of the creature only differed in color; both were as sharp as the fear that gripped him.

After 10 years of lookong for it, he didn't expect that he would be gripped by a lacerating fear at this meeting. He expected that he will be overjoyed and excited. He was genuinely petrified but there it was. It was as real as the unlikely mix of birds and bats in the sky.

He didn't know who was crazier: he who looked for immortal creatures to talk to or his detractors who said that there were no such thing?

He felt a searing pain in the realization that he was afraid of saying something stupid at this moment - this moment that he waited for all his life. The fear was intensifying as he strugled in his mind to find the right words to greet the long-sought creature. What will he say to it? What can he say that will define the outcome of this meeting?

Then, it bit him; the answer to his questions bled in his mind. He knew what he was going to say to it.

As he was opening his lips to speak, the wendigo said, as if it was able to read his mind, "Do not bother. It does not matter."

John, while talking to you, I said, "Bats and birds flying together. What a nice line," which gave birth to this meeting. November 20^th, 2008.

Published June 21st, 2006.

Give It All Away by Ben Jelen is my album of the moment.

According to my research, he writes his own music and lyrics. The album itself seems to be hung up on a girl but the melodies are good to listen to. Of course, my favorite song is the first song he released, "Come On," which came out with a very weird video where he was playing the piano and people were coming out of it. Other choice tracks include Rocks. I like it because it talks of things that crazy people do when they're in love - or is it the other way around? If you are getting a copy because I endorsed his album, don't forget to check the title track as well, Give It All Away.

Can't get enough of Ben Jelen?

Check his website out at BenJelen.com. This guy is so awesome; he also has a website for his foundation which promotes environmentalism at The Ben Jelen Foundation.

Track List:
Come On
Rocks
She'll Hear You
Give It All Away
Every Step
Christine
Wicked Little Town
Falling Down
Stay
Criminal
Slow Down
Setting Of The Sun

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

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

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

A dash of flash poetry:

suddenly
the world tilted
like a band
vertical horizon.

fire raining down
from the transposed heaven
on stone

scalded

i clutched the searing
red glow
and found my fingers
charred

and my chest
gaping
like a crater

smouldering.

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

Yes! It's another open letter. This time, Richard is writing this out of sheer desperation and frustration regarding the situation.

"Why did this all have to happen that I live in my universe and you have your own?" he asked as he sat in front of his computer.

"All I want is to be your harbor..." was the aptly playing song in the background.

He wanted to post this because you seem to be so near yet you are so far from his reach.

Everyday, he tries to elicit a response from you. He would always be the one to initiate the text messaging although he knows that there will be a danger to his sanity that you will not respond. Lately, you do but it seems that the happiness is too flimsy and fleeting to hold on to. That is what makes him desperate.

Instead of writing this for himself, I had to write this stupid letter for him. He is so frustrated that he cannot even touch his own pen to begin writing. I love his handwriting so much but it seems that you are stopping him from writing, from showing his love for you and most of all, from being happy. That is what makes me frustrated.

The song is now coming to an end as the speakers say:

"fear is the brightest of signs
the shape of the boundary you leave behind
so sing all your questions to sleep
the answers are out there in the drowning deep"

No! Another open letter for somebody who might not even care. Richard is pining away in desperation. He is twisting in frustration but the song was starting to loop back to the start.

Open your cupped hands.

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

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

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

This is still part of Richard's attempt to collect and collate most of his poetry to this blog. This is actually an old poem from March 13, 2005. He wrote this while he was at work.

Richard decided to post this in response to Cecille's comment on Emjay's photograph of a dragonfly.

"I died in a car crash three days ago... ."

After hearing that line, Richard's attraction to morbidity awakened. He asked Raissa about that line and she told him that it was part of a song composed and sung by Vienna Teng. Later, when they arrived in the condominium, she pulled out the CD and played it for Richard to hear.

Instantly, Richard's eccentric musical taste became addicted to Vienna Teng's Music. Out of sheer curiosity and admiration, he researched about her and he found out that she was a so like him in many ways.

They were both Asian. They were both in lucrative careers in their respective countries but most importantly, they both let go of those things to so that they could follow their hearts and answered the call of their passion.

Being Asian is actually just a minor similarity. Richard was just thinking of something to add to his list of similarities with Vienna. Seriously, though it is just a minor one, Richard felt an affinity with Vienna. You may not know it and he may not look it but when he was in college, Richard was always asked if he was Chinese.

"My grandmother on my mother's side of the family is from the Nim family so I guess so. I couldn't really prove it but I want to believe it's the truth," he said to one guy from the business organization booth beside his org's booth during the recruitment period in their university.

Vienna, on the other hand, is pure Chinese, or so Richard thought. He was so obsessed with her that he researched her on the net. According to her website, ViennaTeng.com, Wikipedia got most of her information  right so he believed what he read there. After reading that, he learned that she is Taiwanese! There, he learned that she was as Cynthia Yih Shih and her birthday is celebrated every October 3. When he read that on October 14th, he felt somewhat sad because he wanted to celebrate the day and thank God for creating such a talented lady.

As he read on, he found out that Vienna started out as a software engineer in the Silicon Valley and she graduated from Stanford. Richard thought, "Hmmm.... it seems that she's also like me in that aspect. I'm also in a good paying job." He was working as a customer service representative for a call center then.

"So how did she become a singer-song writer?" he asked the monitor facing him. He tried looking for the answer and according to the official biography he found on Wikipedia, while she was at Stanford, she joined the Stanford Harmonics, an a capella singing group. She studied and wrote her music as well. Reading on, he found out that she recorded her songs and distributed her music around campus. It seemed to him that she was so great that it was just a matter of time before Virt Records signed her on as a recording artist.

Likewise, he was also like that. He studied psychology in De La Salle University. On his first year there, he mustered enough courage to undergo the Malate Literary Folio's application procedure to become a poetry staff. He got in as a probationary staff but to become a full-pledged staff, he needed to get published in the folio. Deadline after deadline, he submitted his works but he never got anything published until he joined the university's 10th Literary Awards. He won first place under the Filipino poetry category. More than the prize money, he found that seeing his name on the staff box of the Lit Awards edition of the folio more fulfilling. However, after graduation, he set aside his writing for a call center position. "Money for food before starving," was his motto then.

For Vienna, the rest was history after she quit her software engineering job. As for Richard, he has just recently abandoned his call center career to become a writing tutor. He figured that he could hit two birds with one stone with this job: he can live la vie bohemme and earn at the same time. He thinks that history will come for him soon. 

For now, he is just dreaming through the noise with Vienna. Her tracks makes him happy everyday. He is inspired by Vienna to continue writing. Realizing that he had similarities with her makes him feel that his time will come.

tea steams in a paper cup.

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

cigarette smoke swirls.

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

breath is blown out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time! Ciao!

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

There are just a few things that I hold dear to my heart. Among those things are rainbows because of the beauty, mystery and hope that it brings. If I were to whittle you into a metaphor, you would be my rainbow. Niji as the Japanese calls it. Do you want to know why? You are my rainbow because you gave me hope, you inspired me but most of all, you tantalized me. You still do, actually.

Whenever I see a rainbow, I feel hopeful. After a dark day of rain, a rainbow will appear and the sun shines brighter after. You appeared while I was in a rainstorm. Through the gray haze of memory, I can still recall you vividly. I can still recall our first meeting. Do you remember when we first met? Off course you do! We just talked about it one Friday evening. I don't know if I can safely say that I love you but I have heard someone say that if something is as heavy as love, the heart can bear the weight. After two years, I am still bearing it. Because of that, I am still hopeful.

Seeing a spectrum after a gray day is totally inspiring. It seems that my imagination is always up in the sky dreaming wide blue fantasies. Sometimes, it is in some forest, looking for some green epiphany growing from the underbrush. There are also some instances where it is under the sea, trying to fathom the darkest mysteries, reveling in the dark. You know those things are true. However, you inspired me to stay on the ground. You helped me come to terms with the gravity. You turned my insane imagination love the reality of life, which I loathed. To some, it may seem that you stunted my growth but for me, you inspired me to reach out to something that I brownly feared.

After all that I have said, all good and true, you tantalized me. You still do. When I was younger, I honestly tried to follow a rainbow because I heard from the television that there is gold at the end of it. I really tried. I don't know if you know the feeling but it feels futile. The harder I ran towards the rainbow, the farther it seemed to be until I tried to catch my breath and when I looked, it was gone. That is how you tantalized me.

Niji, I can still bear the weight of my feelings. I can still flit between fantasy and reality. I am doubly inspired What's more surprising is that I can bear the frustration of being tantalized. Why? Because as I have said, you are my Rainbow, held dear to my heart. I just hope that unlike real rainbows, you don't vanish when I am not looking.

I fear the reaction that this letter might elicit. Nevertheless, I will revel in the idea that I have said my piece.

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

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

In only one spot can the table top be seen.

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

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

This is from a collection called No End of Fun printed in 1967 and was written by the Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska. She won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1996. This was translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh. I interpreted it as an ars poetica of hers. I would like you to enjoy this poem with me. Read it aloud. Read like you were reading it for a child. Do it in a made-up voice and don't forget to sip a black, hot, steaming cup of coffee along with it. Enjoy!

Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence - this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word "woods."

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they'll never let her get away.

Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.

They forget that what's here isn't life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.

Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.

For some reason, I cannot stop myself from thinking about darkness and light. Yesterday, I saw several movies on HBO and the opposition of light and darkness kept popping up and kept on grabbing my attention. While watching, I wrote some notes about the meaning of those two words for me but I will need to reserve those for another blog post. What I am really interested in posting today are some of my dark art.

The first picture is of me and the rest were digitally distorted through Adobe Photoshop CS3 Extended Edition. Thank you, CS3, by the way! Because of you, I was able to artistically distort my face and become a monster. Why a monster, though? Looking at the time stamp when the files were created, I found out that I was in the dark phase of my life. Except for the original, the other three were done around January 31st, 2008.

I don't really know why I did this set. I was just exhilarated to try out the CS3, I guess. Hmm, I wonder! Perhaps, I was just trying to concretize the idea that I had, or rather, a question: "How would I look like if I was a monster?" I guess I answered it in those 3 pictures, huh?!

Oh well, since this is just a randomly blurted posted, I will just finish it off right now. I now have to think of some other project to do or entry to post here in my blog.

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

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

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

loss

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

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

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

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

but conveniently,
the rain went away.

(August 5th, 2003)

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