music i'm listening to. and i'm putting this down here, just so i'll remember. may never pass this way again.
and this was exactly what i was looking for pala. been restless all evening trying to find the right music. then i checked out some itunes tracks that i had unchecked a year ago, not because i didn't like them (i love them! especially because it was sir butch who saved them there, when he very kindly agreed to get my macbook workin. yey). stopped listening to them for a while because they made me weepy, especially the ones my mother and her sisters used to sing as a trio. kanina i tried playing them again. okay na. i just had to imagine myself in a terry cloth robe, glass of scotch in hand, sitting in a dark veranda. in other words, as an over the hill, nostalgic prof or retired chess master, looking back on the highs and lows of his life. haha. don't ask me why. why old, why male, why lonely/alone. basta yun. this has always been my meaningless comfort ego/alter image. as a kid, one of my dreams was to be an old, retired male blues singer. what foolish revelations these are. to think that i had just participated in a very lively discussion earlier on the history and current status of feminism. before that, i had a very, very, very, wonderful surprise meeting with one of my literary theory crushes! and, of course, because i am an idiot, my tongue got all twisted, and basically i just came off as a crazy person. am wondering now if the song choice has anything to do with meeting rey ileto (THE rey ileto!) this afternoon. or listening to delia aguilar talk about the history of feminism/s, while her other half, epifanio san juan sat quietly among the audience, and took pictures very discreetly. haaay. it must be bad when things like this affect one's mood radically, when they become valid sources of happiness. am heeding a friend's wise advice: don't blog when smashed. so, good night.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Bach's Prelude: Cello Suite No. 1
that's how it was all day today. started with a low, slow humming, like a hesitant warning, and then a more insistent sense of foreboding. i should have known. how could have i ignored the deceptively graceful running commentary. the day's events, to the littlest actions, flightiest thoughts, were laid out already. as certain as the visit, of the house robin, at our bedroom window. this has been happening more frequently. every morning. four, five days now. i think it is looking for itself. it has no concept of mirrors and reflections. it keeps hitting the window pane. it ignores what matters. the feast of scraps and crumbs of bread we lay out for it.
like being out of breath, even when you're perfectly still. that's how it was all day.
***
was it ning or larry who said that the best worst Bach to paralyze you is Air: Orchestral Suite No. 3. no, not for me.
***
at chateau verde, around seven pm, to wait for husband weng. perfect excuse. place was almost deserted. there was a light drizzle. insects buzzing. the moment was "a very clean well-lighted place". the waiters were huddled over the day's news. i was the only customer and i didn't want to be served. they wouldn't allow me to smoke. it was very cold. they offered to let me inside the kitchen to hide and have my cigarette and keep warm. i wasn't very responsive, or participative. they were frustrated, i think. finally left me alone. i texted e., just to say that life's a bitch, and i miss the old days, the old people, the younger us. i was sitting at the exact same place where i sat exactly a year and a half ago. i remember i brought mother's last pair of eyeglasses to the optometrist in shopping center that day. even if i knew very well that she no longer had any use for them. and i had sat at this exact same chair to wait and wait, and to try very, very hard not to think of anything. e. said that if he encountered his old younger self he'd bring him to the shrink, then he'd still end up meeting the old younger us. if i encountered old younger me i'd get her the hell out of here and bring her home, along with all she loves. then i'd teach her how to swim properly.
like being out of breath, even when you're perfectly still. that's how it was all day.
***
was it ning or larry who said that the best worst Bach to paralyze you is Air: Orchestral Suite No. 3. no, not for me.
***
at chateau verde, around seven pm, to wait for husband weng. perfect excuse. place was almost deserted. there was a light drizzle. insects buzzing. the moment was "a very clean well-lighted place". the waiters were huddled over the day's news. i was the only customer and i didn't want to be served. they wouldn't allow me to smoke. it was very cold. they offered to let me inside the kitchen to hide and have my cigarette and keep warm. i wasn't very responsive, or participative. they were frustrated, i think. finally left me alone. i texted e., just to say that life's a bitch, and i miss the old days, the old people, the younger us. i was sitting at the exact same place where i sat exactly a year and a half ago. i remember i brought mother's last pair of eyeglasses to the optometrist in shopping center that day. even if i knew very well that she no longer had any use for them. and i had sat at this exact same chair to wait and wait, and to try very, very hard not to think of anything. e. said that if he encountered his old younger self he'd bring him to the shrink, then he'd still end up meeting the old younger us. if i encountered old younger me i'd get her the hell out of here and bring her home, along with all she loves. then i'd teach her how to swim properly.
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