Thursday, September 19, 2002

piracy, or how I do it anyway

I actively resisted Napster - and when I finally gave in, I would only download one song at time, erasing it before I would download another. Then I gave in to my acquisitive nature and embarked on collecting every sound Ryuichi Sakamoto ever made. When Napster was shackled, AudioGalaxy took its place. When that service was restrained, I turned to Kazaa (the Lite version with no spyware). To my delight, it does everything i expect it to do and it can also get videos, pictures, documents and stuff.

So with my "always-on" connection, I instucted it to fetch the episodes of Six Feet Under that I haven't seen (love their grave humor), the PDF version of TSR's Epic Level Handbook which I refuse to pay P2,500 for, clips featuring the exotic stylings of Ms. Tera Patrick (don't click if you don't like nekid wimen) and a Big Mac Meal.

manila sound

Perhaps it's a sign of my age (which is odd, considering I was barely conscious when the Manila Sound was at its height), but I was delighted to note that the Aegis Band has regular gigs. These people are great performers and deserve more than their masa base. One of their singers (Mercy?), when her vocalizing reaches the truly high notes, collapses on the ground, writhing and kicking her legs in the air. Now that's showmanship (which reminds of me of Mystika, that other gyrating singer who had an inordinate fondness for hats).

it's over, tita glo

Until today I just let the various (and growing) criticism of our lady President in one ear and out the other, because I basically respected the fact that she was several magnitudes of intelligence ahead of her alcohol-befuddled predecessor. But when I saw her latest photo op on the front page of today's paper, something in me just snapped. In the foreground was the bloody corpse of a kidnapper, and there she is behind him, smiling and apparently chatting with the other gentlemen on the scene. It's not just inappropiate nor in poor taste. It's stupid. When will we, as a country, get a good leader? Or do we deserve exactly what we get?

a taste of Flim

From his site:
"Bumped into my gay hair- dresser neighbor with the pink hairdo. Bugging me as to when we will shoot. WHEN WE WILL SHOOT? WHEN THE CAMERA IS THERE RIGHT IN YOUR FACE YOU WHINE AND PROTEST ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO DO IT BECAUSE OF SOME HEART ACHE CRAP! BUT NOW THAT IM WALKING UNARMED( WITHOUT THE CAM) HE COMES WADDLING by and PATTING ME IN THE BACK".

Go and have fun.

malaise

I've been feeling a bone-weariness these past couple of days. All I want to do is collapse and think of absolutely nothing at all. Taken in context, certain aspects of life in general are just stultifying. You work, you eat, you come home, you sleep, you read, you play, you create. You spend a lot of time talking and in transit, and not enough time just shutting up and sitting still - as if to stop moving is to die or concede defeat. You pursue money (that you swore in your youth would never influence your thoughts) in a variety of ways, always trying to have enough for your expenses and maybe a little more, just a little more. There's always something you need, something you want, something you wish for, for your wife, your child, yourself. Desire is high maintenance. I 'm tired.

Half

half-asleep I watch you leave
my eyes half-open half-broken
goodbyes half-spoken
pneumatic half-closed rheumatic
releasing a hiss of air
a kiss of steam
(like the cracked safe in my dream
you told me was my heart)

It doesn’t matter what I see
or think I see
(if I hold my hand far or near, I
can still see only half of it, and if
I fold my hand, then only half of half);
what matters is the weight of my eyelids
half-suspended half-upended
its tonnage that threatens to shut away light
(slam the door or close it gently,
I can only see your back anyway,
only that half of you)
and movement and cigarette smoke;
a snapshot blink
that seems inevitable

(if I blink:
either I lose
or your shadow is
captured)

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