Saturday, December 31, 2005

Baguntao(n)

Bagong Taon
(salin mula sa isang awit ng mga gerilyang tsino)

Ninghua, Chingliu, Kueihua—
Anong kitid ng landas, sukal ng kagubatan at dulas ng lumot!
Saan ang tungo natin ngayon?
Doon sa paanan ng Bundok Wuyi.
Sa kabundukan, sa paanan ng bundok,
Kumakampay ang mga pulang watawat sa hangin sa alab ng tagumpay.

New Year's day

--to the tune of Ju Meng Ling

January 1930

Ninghua, Chingliu, Kueihua--
What narrow paths, deep woods and slippery moss!
Whither are we bound today?
Straight to the foot of Wuyi Mountain.
To the mountain, the foot of the mountain,
Red flags stream in the wind in a blaze of glory

---
wala akong new year's resolution. hiling ko lang ay magawa natin ang hindi natin natapos nung 2005. sana mapatalsik na natin si gloria. walang panahon!

Monday, December 26, 2005

6am, day after christmas

Tulang isinulat sa tabi ng puntod ng kasamang magsasaka sa unang anibersaryo ng kanyang pagkamatay

Dinalhan ka ngayon ng mga bata ng bulaklak
di nila alintana ang marahas na ulang
humahagupit sa kanilang likuran
ang kanilang panlulumo at pangako
ng paghihiganti’y di na tanda ng kawalang-muwang
Naaalala mo ba? Umulan rin
noon sa inyong nayon
apat na tag-ulan at tag-init na ang nakararaan
Nang dumating sila mula sa lungsod
mga bubot pang kabataan
tangan-tangan ang kanilang mapupurol na sandata
ang kanilang mithiin sa bayan
at ganap na katatagan
ang nagbibigay ilaw
sa mga siglo ng kamangmangan –
di hamak na malayo kung ikukumpara
sa mga asenderong nangamkam ng iyong lupa
mga bandidong nandambong sa inyong mga tahanan
mga pulis na gumahasa sa mga kababaihan
at pumaslang sa mga lalaki ng angkan…
Kung kaya’t ika’y nakinig
at nagtanong
at naunawaan
at namulat
ay nag-aklas din
laban sa kagutuman
sa pagkagahaman
sa pangangayupapa
sa pusali…
Sa gayon, hindi na mahirap nang
dumating ang pagkakataong
upang hamunin ang kaaway
sa huling pagtutuos
Upang pumili
sa sarili at sa sariling kamatayan
sa panlilinlang at sa karangalan

ngayon o magpakailanman
Kasama! Ang araw kung kailan mapalilibutan natin
ang kampo ng kaaway ay matagal pa.
sa ngayon, dapat nating pagkaabalahan
ang pagmumulat at ang agraryong rebolusyon
at pagtugis sa mga ICHDF hanggang sa kanilang libingan
nanatili tayong matatag.
Dinalhan ka ngayon ng mga bata ng bulaklak
habang inaawit ang mga himig ng digma
sa mapulang dapithapon.
di sila nakalilimot.

---

Poem Written Beside a Peasant Comrade's Grave on the First Anniversary of His Death
Servando Magbanua ( 22 Marso 1979)

Today the children brought you flowers
unmindful of the violent rain
beating upon their backs
their lamentations and vows
of revenge no longer a sign of innocence.
Remember? It also rained
in your village that day
eight seasons ago when
they came from the cities
raw youths
with their crude inferior weapons
their social message
and sterling courage
bringing light
to centuries of ignorance –
a sharp contrast indeed
to the hacienderos who grabbed your lands
the bandits who plundered your homes
the constables who raped your sisters
and murdered your brothers. . .
So you listened
and wondered
and understood
and thus enlightened
also rose up in revolt
against the hunger
the wickedness
the genuflection
the filth. . . .
It was not hard then when
the moment came
to engage the enemy
in mortal combat
to choose
between self and self's death
between betrayal and honor
between that moment and forever.
Kasama! The day when we encircle
the enemy camp is still far off.
Today we are still concerned
with enlightenment and land reform
and hounding the ICHDFs to their graves.
We remain undaunted.
Today the children brought you flowers
singing hymns of battle
in the bloodred sunset.
They have not forgotten.

Friday, December 23, 2005

una furtiva lagrima- edel garcellano


i.
"Hindi gawang biro o kasiyahan ang magpinta ng iba't-ibang mukha ng kalungkutan. Anong salita kaya ang magsasaad ng lahatlahat?"

-Edel Garcellano

ii.
sa write-up ni jewel tungkol kay joni mitchell sa immortals edition ng rolling stone, pinahiwatig niya na ang dahilan ng pagiging magaling na manunulat/kompositor ni joni mitchell ay dahil sa isa rin siyang pintor.

iii.
sabi ng karakter ni emma thompson kay alan rickman sa love actually, "joni mitchell taught your cold wife how to feel."

iv.
"
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I’m frightened by the devil
And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid"
-joni mitchell, a case of you

v.
takipsilim iv
ni edel garcellano

Sa katagalan ng panahon, nawalan na rin siya ng dahilan
upang itanong sa sarili kung bakit lagi siyang sapupo ng kalungkutan.

vi.
"It’s coming on christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on"

-joni mitchell, river





Thursday, December 22, 2005

isang pagsasanay sa pagsasalin at sa paglimot

Kung limutin mo ako


Nais kong ipabatid sa iyo ang isang bagay.

Alam mo na kung paano ito:
kung masdan ko ang kristal na buwan
mula sa pulang sanga

ng mabagal na taglagas mula sa aking durungawan,
kung hawakan ko

ang di maapuhap na abo
malapit sa apoy,
o ang magaspang na katawan ng panggatong,
lahat ng ito'y dinadala ako sa iyo,
waring ang lahat ng umiiral—

mga samyo, liwanag, mga bakal
ay mga mumunting bangkang

naglalayag
patungo sa mga isla mong naghihintay sa akin.

Ngunit kung ngayo’y
unti-unting pumanaw ang pag-ibig mo sa akin,
unti-unti, ihihinto ko rin ang pagmamahal sa iyo.


Kung sa isang iglap ako’y iyong limutin
huwag mo na akong hanapin
sapagkat nilimot na rin kita.

Kung matama at baliw mong pag-isipan,
ang hangin

ng nagdaan,
at napagtanto mong

dapat mo na akong lisanin
sa dalampasigan ng puso kung saan ako nag-ugat,
alalahanin mong
sa araw na iyon,

sa oras na iyon,
ikakampay ko ang aking mga braso
at ang ugat
ko'y hahanap
ng panibago nitong lupalop

Ngunit, kung sa bawat araw,

bawat oras,
nadarama mong ikaw ay para sa akin
ng may di nagmamaliw na tamis,
kung sa bawat araw ay may bulaklak

na dumadampi sa mga labi mo upang hanapin ako,
o mahal ko, o sinta ko,

ang kabuuan ko ay muling mag-aalab,
walang mamamatay o mawawaglit sa akin,
nabubuhay ang pag-ibig ko sa pagmamahal mo, minamahal ko,
habang nabubuhay ka, mananatili ito sa bisig mo
nang hindi lumalayo sa akin.


---

If You Forget Me
Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

"you're rebellious and ungrateful of my love" - ellaine miller to anita, almost famous


A Rejoinder by Sarah Raymundo and Bogart Jaime


In Ms. Evangelista’s reply to our blog “Patricia Evangelista: Rebel Without a Clue,” she merely reiterated her argument that “political activism is one among many ways to help the country, and that people determine their paths based on personal beliefs and experiences;” and that “[she] make[s] the personal choice not to become an activist.” While she insists that her “argument is simple,” we think that it is rather simplistic. It would be more convenient to direct the reader to our friendster blog but we decide to restate our positions. It is our argument that the “many ways to help the country” are often antagonistic than complementary as is usually presupposed. Should we perhaps believe that GMA’s effort to help the country through her Strong Republic complements the genuine agrarian reform program advanced by the Left? Her public announcement that she chooses not to be an activist counters the activists effort to arouse and mobilize the broadest number of Filipinos towards an organized movement for national sovereignty and social justice. Without having to allude to this organized movement, she is antagonizing the practice of “activism” which has virtually become a metonym for this very movement. It is perfectly fine to challenge the Left and its claims. It is a remarkable feat for a college coed to problematize the Left. However, we find that her denial of the antagonistic positionalities defeats the very purpose of any meaningful debate on social alternatives. It is curious how appeals for ‘tolerance’ is often addressed to the Left as when Ms. Evangelista says that her column is “an attack on intolerance, in the context of activism.” We engage this position since it is not only Ms. Evangelista who assumes it. For how is ‘tolerance’ used in its actual context, i.e. in ‘multicultural’ societies like the USA? The liberals in the US, for instance, address their plea for ‘tolerance’ to their government and policy-makers. Tolerance, in this context, is addressed to those who are in power. It is amusing to have to see columnists demanding ‘tolerance’ from a group that could hardly marginalize privileged voices (of columnists, radio commentators and other media personalities, not excluding some actors in showbusiness). Of course, the Left can always challenge dominant opinions but marginalizing opinion-makers is an impossible act for the Left to do. To think that the Left and the State (institutions and their honchos) wield equal power in the Philippines is a gross miscalculation. Furthermore, it is the least of our intentions to condescend to Ms. Evangelista that she is a “victim lured by the discourse of neoliberalism”. While we said that she is “lured by the discourse of neoliberalism”, we never painted her as a victim. We argued that she seems to have interrnalized the neoliberal ideology. It is clear to us that the victims of neoliberalism are the peasants and workers from Third World nations who are now protesting the ongoing WTO talks in Hong Kong. We demur Ms. Evangelista’s claim that we condemned corporations and charity institutions. In saying that corporate social responsibility is a conjunctural phenomenon, and a strategy of containment in the context of global monopoly capital, we are not opining that corporate social responsibility must be viewed this way, we are saying it has historically been that way. Given the logic of profit accumulation, we have yet to see Ms. Evangelista’s point that there are two kinds of motives for the setting-up of corporations namely “altruistic” and “purely commercial.” We pose that capitalist exploitation can never be negated by “acts of generosity.” We concede that there are impoverished individuals who are assisted by charitable institutions. Contrary to her misreading, we did not censure organizations like Gawad Kalinga. We pointed out the limits of charity within the context of global monopoly capital. This is far from dismissing the function of these institutions. We sense a refusal on Ms. Evangelista’s part to analyse poverty, charity, corporations and interests in a systemic light. Rather, these elements are thought in terms of “motivations.” We clarify this in the light of Ms. Evangelista’s take that we “speak as if only [us] have the right to dictate the motives of individuals.” We do not operate in that mode. We prefer a dialectical analysis of motivations vis-?-vis structures. This is why we find it important to finally reply to Ms. Evangelista’s rebuttal. We feel that it is our task to make it clear that our blog entry was not written as a personal attack. We are reading her arguments as symptoms of ‘reading history’ in a way that legitimizes the dominant social order. To take offense from this symptomatic reading is as good as implying that she is the sole author of her beliefs. Who is ever? Moreover, we are amused at Ms. Evangelista’s cunning in “cutting” our statements and “pasting” them in a manner that is rather self-referential and ostensibly decontextualised. Allow us to cite a an instance: she claims that we called her a “socialite.” We made certain formal moves to illustrate the phenomenon that we are assessing, i.e., the hold of neoliberal ideas. In our argumentation, it is formally impossible to isolate elements of our critique of charity via the historical limitations of utopian socialism. It is apparent that Ms. Evangelista’s argument articulates elements of utopian socialism. We even explained how utopian socialists like Robert Owen realized the logical conclusion of charity is a rupture in the social relations of production. Ms. Evangelista’s apotheosis of corporate social responsibility forecloses this very rupture in the social relations of production. As for her grasp of the sentence where the word “socialite” appears, we can only refer the reader to the original text. At this point, it is necessary to address Ms. Evangelista’s assertion that we were the ones who said that Professtor Lani Abad’s statements reek of totalitarianism. We find this as a malicious sleight-of-hand. Furthermore, it is not true that we accuse Ms. Evangelista of being a “megalomaniac.” The word “megalomaniac” in our blog entry appears as the first term of a compound noun ‘megalomaniac fantasies’. It is the fantasy that is being referred to. Unfortunately, we do not have the training to diagnose her, or even our very selves of such psychological ailments. Ms. Evangelista rests her whole argument on open-mindedness. We agree that open-mindedness is important in the debate on conflicting alternatives to the current social order. It is Ms. Evangelista’s premise that there could be a coexistence to all of these conflicting alternatives that we find debatable. Besides, how can she claim open-mindedness when she is deploying notions like ‘extremism’ as though the term is not subject to political contestation? If there is indeed ‘extremism,’ ‘terrorism,’ and ‘ideological intolerance,’ then there must be an entity who ascribes these to particular groups. Should we perhaps just accept these labels as defined, for instance, by the U.S. State Department? Although we earlier challenged her notion of open-mindedness, we cannot deny the authenticity of her claim to open-mindedness as when she says, “I believe and respect activists and their contribution to society. Neither do I close the possibility of ever choosing their way.” It is in her expression of a dimension of her personality that gives potency to her assertions. We therefore disagree that an erasure of one’s particularity (i.e. personality) is necessary for a debate. That a debate must be confined to ideas is logically sound since ‘people are not what they do’. In pointing out some of Professor Abad’s characteristics, we are simply trying to sculpt the flesh-and-blood from the stereotype of an activist academic. We welcome Ms. Evangelista’s Nietzschean realization: “I’ve always thought my beliefs are strong; it’s only now that I have to fight for them that I can honestly say they are.” But the question is, will her strong beliefs be the object of state repression? This year alone (2005) 150 activists in the Philippines were killed on account of their beliefs. Tolerance? How about justice?

Friday, December 09, 2005

walang sinuman, maging ulan, ang may kamay na kay liliit

sa isang dakong hindi ko pa nalalakbay

ni ee cummings (salin ni jose lacaba)

sa isang dakong hindi ko pa nalalakbay, lampas pa
sa anumang karanasan, mga mata mo'y may angking katahimikan:
sa bawat kilos mong mayumi, may bagay na bumabalot sa akin,
o bagay na hindi ko maapuhap pagkat lubhang malapit.

pinakamunting sulyap mo'y dagling nagpapabukas sa akin
bagamat kinuyom ko ang sarili na tulad ng kamao,
mga talulot ko ko'y isa-isa mong ibinuka, parang tagsibol
na nagbubukas (bihasa,mahiwaga) sa kanyang unang rosas.

kung ako'y ibig mo namang sarhan, ako at
ang buhay ko'y titiklop na ubod ng ganda, bigla,
tulad ng puso nitong bulaklak na nangangagimbang
dahan-dahang lumalapag ang niyebe sa lahat ng dako;

sa daigdig ay walang anumang matatagpuang katumbas
ng lakas ng iyong masidhing kapinuhan: na kung dadamhin
ay magpapagunita sa kulay ng mga bayan, magdudulot
ng kamatayan at kawalang-hanggan sa bawat hininga.

(hindi ko alam kung ano sa iyo ang sumasara
at bumubukas; ngunit sa akin ay may nakauunawang
ang tinig ng mga mata mo'y malalim pa sa lahat ng rosas)
walang sinuman, maging ulan, ang may kamay na kay liliit

...

somewhere i have never traveled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands


---
kinopya ko mula sa blog ni omer

Thursday, December 01, 2005

blonde and blue eye(d)


Patricia Evangelista: “A Rebel Without a Clue”


A reply to Patricia Evangelista’s column of the same title in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, 27 November 2005

by Sarah Raymundo and Bogart Jaime

Opinion columns have become, in our day, one of the most popular signifiers of liberal democratic consensus. It is here where privileged voices, by virtue of their negotiations with the state apparatus are given the opportunity to publicize their studied "idiosyncracies" thus betraying their nouveau riche predispositions and equally newly-acquired free market (read: insipid) ideas which they deploy as capital for further social mobility.

While some columnists do the best they can to produce rigorous analysis of socio-political conditions, others like Ms. Patricia Evangelista of the Philippine Daily Inquirer use the medium haphazardly for her own self-gratification. She does not,in any way negate the observation that opinion columns have become a venue for personal attacks and megalomaniac fantasies. To cite such an instance of harassment we refer the reader to a classroom discussion that's been cropped to a mere recounting in a paragraph (notwithstanding the complexity of the debate and the nuanced approach of those involved in this debate):

"One of my professors said that a student who questions activism is an embarrassment to UP. There is a right, she said, and a wrong (sic). To question that right and wrong is a ridiculous postmodernist concept (sic). She said that those who oppose activism live with a false consciousness of reality. The language she used was harsher but mostly difficult to translate into English.// For someone who lives by the principle that dissent and questioning are vital in a democracy, I find it odd that she finds being questioned offensive."

Ms. Evangelista, defeated in the classroom dialogue, slays her teacher in her column ruthlessly. If she is indeed as liberal as she claims herself to be (as when she preaches that people should refrain from challenging ideas antagonistic to their own) why would she prevent a public debate to ensue by keeping her 'adversaries' unnamed? How else should the classroom discussion be appraised without any proper referencing? Whom she sketches as the totalitarian monster and dogmatic activist is no less than the president of the UP Academic Union, Professor Lani Abad (Department of Filipino and Philippine Literature). Professor Lani Abad is known for her perseverance in forging unity among the faculty, academic representatives, and UP employees in their struggle for economic and democratic rights. She may have been maligned as a raucous, power-tripping demagogue by Ms. Evangelista but we happen to know that a considerable number of students enrolled in that class regard her as ironic, witty, and sophisticated. Too much for Prof. Abad. The point is to critique irresponsible media practice.

When Ms. Evangelista says that

"I'm not a political science major. I know very little about the dynamics of politics and will be the first to claim that my reading is limited to the Bestseller section of a bookstore. Maybe, this is the reason I shy away from claiming that my point of view is the only right view..."

she is in fact implying that she has mastered a particular field of expertise. For how can one disavow acumen in a particular field without assuming that one is a master in another? Humility, as opposed to this insidious and arrogant stance, consists in a thorough engagement of ideas to the best of one's abilities. In a sense, nobody could be a master of a field if we consider the material force of dynamism and dialectics. It is redundant for people to claim ignorance of a specific field unless they would want to imply mastery of another; since mastery is a formal impossibility. By saying that she is not a political science major and that her literary fare is limited to bestsellers (that she is far from the generic homo academicus), she makes a representation of herself as an open-minded individual as opposed to the alleged self-righteousness of the Left. Her perverted logic purports reading bestsellers and avoiding the political as proof of her open-mindedness. She makes it appear that any posture of criticality is a self-righteous act. Precisely coming from this innocuous position, she goes on to say that "For someone [Prof. Abad] who lives by the principle that dissent and questioning are vital in a democracy, I find it odd that she finds being questioned offensive." Dissent and democracy, in Ms. Evangelista's logic, are reduced to an unmistakable patronizing relativism that strategically contains the practice of dissent and democracy as functions of the much celebrated liberal multiculturalism. In the liberal democratic horizon, the tolerant multiculturalist can only tolerate customs and/acts that hurt no one. In Slavoj Zizek's words

"tolerance is tolerance of the Other in so far as this Other is not an 'intolerant fundamentalist'-which simply means: in so far as it is not the real Other. Tolerance is "zero tolerance" for the real Other, the Other is a substantial weight of jouissance. We can see how this liberal tolerance reproduces the elementary "postmodern" operation of having access to the object deprived of its substance: we can enjoy coffee without caffeine, beer without alcohol, sex without direct bodily contact, right up to Virtual Reality, that is, reality itself deprived of its inert material substance...In other words, the problem with the liberal multiculturalist is that he or she is unable to maintain a true indifference towards the Other's jouissance-this jouissance bothers them, which is why their entire strategy is to keep it at a proper distance (2004:174)."

The starting point of a multiculturalist is a dogmatic faith in pluralism. Pluralism presupposes that discourses have equal status in a given hegemonic order. However, it is precisely the existence of the hegemonic order that negates the very idea of plurality. For a hegemonic order to exist, it has to marginalize certain discourses that challenge it. Antagonism, and not some Miss Universe idea of World Peace, is the condition of possibility of all social formations, including that of "liberal democratic" regimes. Anybody who understands the dynamics of hegemony would therefore be exasperated at Ms. Evangelista's demand that one should remain silent before others whose point of view contradicts one's own. Should we perhaps keep our point of view as if it were some obscene secret? What is at stake here is not some vague term that Ms. Evangelista refers to as "point of view" but the substance of one's interest embodied in a point of view. At this point, let us venture into a hypothetical situation. Let us suspend, for a moment, that what transpired between Prof. Abad and Ms. Evangelista was an ideological clash on account of class interest and replace that antagonism with a racial one. Should we give the same validity between the views of the Ku Klux Clan and the Black Panther? This does not make sense even in the vacuum of multiculturalism where, supposedly, cultures have the same hold. Is the parallelism so haphazard? We do not think so. We cite Ms. Evangelista in support of this "hypothesis":"...I find it strange for people to accuse others that they have a false understanding of reality just because theirs is different. It's just as ridiculous as Muslim Fundamentalists claiming all Christians deserve to die because we believe in the wrong God." George W. Bush would have not phrased his racism and ethnocentrism this way, notwithstanding his all out "war on terror." Just as Ms. Evangelista has a stereotype notion of the activists, she also has a crass notion of the Muslim Fundamentalists.

By speaking commonsensical language, she reduces historical struggles into idiosyncratic preferences as if the difference between historical materialism and pragmatism were the same as the difference between ASAP and SOP*. Ms. Evangelista seems to understand democracy in exactly this way. Democracy in this diluted state is used by liberal democrats as its most potent defense against so-called left-wing totalitarianism, and hence, they find adhering to it as a virtue rather than a symptom of domination. In Zizek, this is what is called the point de capiton, a "quilting" that gives consistency to a given symbolic universe: " The point de capiton is the point to which the subject is 'sewn' to the signifier, and at the same time, the point which interpellates individual into subject by addressing it with the call of a certain master-signifier ('Communism', 'God', 'Freedom', 'America') -- in a word, it is the point of subjectivation of the signifier's chain (1989: 101)." By capitonnage, too, we can account for Ms. Evangelista's position that she is "outside ideology" as when she states that she is in no position to assess the "dynamics of politics," when she is in fact espousing/mouthing the neoliberal agenda. She valorizes the Third Way and the private sector's grand 'gesture' of corporate social responsibility:” In the United Kingdom, in Australia, in America, development did not come from government handouts. It came from the private sector deciding that they need everyone to succeed to enjoy their own success (sic). Here today, we have corporations like HSBC, SMART, GLOBE, AYALA and many more jumping into the wagon of corporate social responsibility (sic). There's a reason to hope and other ways to fight (sic)." Ms. Evangelista affirms this 'gesture' of multinational corporations as though corporate social responsibility is not a strategy of containment used by global monopoly capital to alleviate its crisis and therefore, it is not as if capitalism has suddenly acquired a human face. The discourse of corporate social responsibility is a conjunctural shift and not a permanent "change of heart" among monopoly capitalists.

Suffice it to say that an espousal of such discourse is anything but a position "outside ideology". In fact, Ms. Evangelista clearly adheres to Thatcherism (the independence of the market from the state which privatizes basic social services such as education and health; deregulates key industries such as oil; and liberalizes trade, bombarding neocolonies with surplus products in a dizzying fashion). What makes her a good subject of Thatcherism is her belief that "there is no alternative" to neoliberalism and the capitalist mode of production that it preserves. This is clearly seen in her denigration of activism as impotent. As though a victim of the Stalinist trials, she laments "the activists decry apathy. Rally, they tell us. Fight the system. Don't settle. Don't be one of them.// I think it's a huge assumption to claim that there is only one way to fight." Any UP student who bothered to spend time listening to what the activists really have to say would sense that Ms. Evangelista has not listened to the activists at all. What she is presenting are no real life activists but one-dimensional representations/stereotypes that only the AFP also deploys in order to cast doubt on the integrity of these people. The true activist that she refuses to reckon with is one who does a concrete analysis of concrete conditions; one whose calls to action are a product of thorough social investigation; one who 'always historicizes' (Jameson); one whose tireless persuasion goes beyond a mere injunction to rally. In Ms. Evangelista's consistent anti-leftism (see Evangelista's others essays in Philippine Star) could we perhaps discern an insistent refusal to see initiatives that enjoins musicians, poets, linguists, political scientists, economists, patriotic businessmen and state bureaucrats, church people, sociologists, film makers mathematicians, visual artists, IT people, physicists, chemists educators and so on? Initiatives that result in unprecedented cultural and scientific synthesis that, among other things, pave the way for even bigger mass demonstrations.

So what could perhaps be the 'master-signifier' (Lacan) in Ms. Evangelista's symbolic universe? NEOLIBERALISM. Neoliberalism or the free market ideology purports free competition as the highest form of virtue when in fact the free market has spawned the uneven development of nations. The free market harps on the equality of subjects while it maintains the gap between classes. The free market continues to foster oppressive forms of stratification while it profits from the commodification of gender identities and indigenous cultures. The free market presupposes autonomy from the State while denying the latter's active intervention in the export of warm bodies (read: cheap labor) leaving Filipino families restless and anxious on account of separation. The emotional costs of which has been the burden of social scientists and is left uncalculated until recently.

Celebratory discourses on migration have reached the point of utter absurdity as when it is asserted that women's unpaid labor in the household gets compensated upon export. Never mind that these are professionals at home. Never mind that they are maltreated, that they suffer undiagnosed depression, that their salaries are usually put on hold, that some are sexually molested and that many come home dead. Yet the logic of the free market declares them heroes. Indeed, state deregulation as espoused by the UP School of Economics is really the deregulation of the market's social evils. This is anything but close to the so-called autonomy of the market from the state.

Despite this, Ms. Evangelista continues to be lured by the discourse of neoliberalism. It may be difficult to resist the seductive 'synergy of the global village.' The difficulty doubles up when one, like Ms. Evangelista, does not yet see any need for partisan politics: "[W]hen I believe the cause is great enough, and that there is no other means, I expect I'll be out there in the streets, too." Could this same aversion towards activism prompted Ms. Evangelista's insidious attack on the faculty and staff of the College of Arts and Letters who mobilized themselves in the fight for the COLA back pay? She says: "Two days ago, as I was rushing up to class, I met one of my professors facing the hallway (sic). He said the academic staff was in front of the Oblation rallying for ten years of backpay (sic). Yet my professor was there in front of our classroom, a solitary old gentleman in a baseball cap, reporting for duty because he promised us a lecture (emphasis ours)." The implications of this statement on the professors who participated in the said demonstration are enormous.

Ms. Evangelista's functionalism makes her think that teachers should just teach, that students should just attend their classes and leave social responsibility to the well-funded NGOs and support organizations like the GAWAD KALINGA. She lauds the GAWAD KALINGA thus: "Everywhere, there are organizations that work from the grassroots to uplift conditions in the face of political turmoil (sic). Take GAWAD KALINGA (sic). House after house, slum after slum, it changes lives and gives opportunities to people who would otherwise be mired in poverty. Thousands of volunteers from Mindanao to Luzon have picked up either shovel or wallet to help in the war against poverty."

Even Robert Owen, a Utopian Socialist of the esrly 19th century realized that the logical conclusion of charity is a rupture in the social relations of production. In his well-meaning experiments on charity he found himself bankrupt. This goes to show that genuine charity entails the loss of profit, something that the corporations she alludes to would never consciously give up. Although Ms. Evangelista invokes ideas resembling that of a Utopian Socialist like Owen, her ego-ideal (read: how one views oneself in order to appear likeable to oneself) seems to be closer to that of a socialite. But the ego- ideal in the context of Lacan's mirror stage is always illusory and deceiving. One would have to reckon with the rock of castration (rendered here in terms of habitus) for there is no escape from the symbolic, save for psychosis. Habitus consists in enduring dispositions; like symptoms these signifiers can be gleaned from dreams, speech, writing, comportment and habits of mind.

Ms. Evangelista's metaphor for the activists is a noisy cat that has made her "become deaf to the noise." The same cat she wishes to serve as "cat soup for dinner." Should we take that as a fascist urge to kill all that is bothering her? Another symptom, another essay.

*SOP and ASAP are competing Sunday variety-shows aired on GMA-7 and ABS-CBN.

**Sarah Raymundo and Bogart Jaime are orgmates from the Center for Nationalist Studies in the late 90s. Sarah is now a faculty member of the Department of Sociology and Spokesperson of CONTEND (Congress of Teachers/Educators for Nationalism and Democracy). Bogart is now knocking on the doors of call centers and calls this a function of social ageing. They spend their free time scouting for scoundrels and gossiping on the scandalous practices of academics, whether political or sexual. They are, in the last instance, national democrats.

Monday, November 21, 2005

The Great Fudgee Complex: Almost Famous



"Look under your bed. It will set you free...
Listen to Tommy with a candle burning,
and you'll see your future."
-Anita Miller

napanood ko ang almost famous for the nth time (sa star movies naman ngayon). matagal ko nang pinaplano na panoorin uli ito, pero pinagungunahan ako ng katamaran. at sa kung anong metapisikal na kaganapan, ayun, sky cable na rin ang naghatid sa akin ng pagkakataon. hindi naman kaila sa iba kung gaano ko kamahal ang pelikulang ito. sa katunayan, pinangalanan kong doris ang kama ko, dahil dito naman ako madalas naglalakbay. para nga akong tanga habang pinapanood ko ang pelikula. siansabayan ko ang mga batuhan ng dialogues. una ko pa lamang napanood ito courtesy of mbb friends, nagdownload na ako ng script noong mga panahong gumagastos pa ako ng P30 para sa isang oras ng internet. ito ang ilang mga tagpong pamilyar ngunit patuloy pa ring kiniklala:

----

Anita Miller
: First it was butter, then sugar and white flour. Bacon. Eggs, bologna, rock and roll, motorcycles. Then, it was celebrating Christmas on a day in September when you knew it wouldn't be commercialized. What else are you going to ban?
Elaine Miller Honey, you want to rebel against knowledge. I'm trying to give you the Cliff's Notes on how to live life in this world. I'm a college professor. Why can't I teach my own kids? Use me.

---

William Miller: I've been doing some stuff for a local underground paper, too.
Lester Bangs: What, are you like the star of your school?
William Miller: They hate me.
Lester Bangs: You'll meet them all again on their long journey to the middle.

---

Penny Lane: Call me if you need a rescue, we live in the same city.
William Miller: Heh, I think I live in a different world.

---

William Miller: When and where does this "real world" occur? I am really... confused here. Fuck! All these Rules And all these sayings... and nicknames...
Penny Lane: You're too sweet for rock and roll.
William Miller: Sweet? Where do you get off? Where do you get sweet? I am dark and mysterious, and I am PISSED OFF! I could be very dangerous to all of you! And you should know that about me... I am THE ENEMY!
Penny Lane: Look. You should be happy for me.
You don't know what he says to me in private. Maybe it is love. As much as it can be with someone who --
William Miller: -- sold you to Humble Pie for fifty dollars and a case of beer? I was there!
(He is instantly sorry. Her world privately crumbles, but she tries to remain stoic and carefree. Wipes a tear down her cheek.)
Penny Lane:What kind of beer?

---

Elaine Miller
: This is not some apron-wearing mother you're talking to. I know about your Valhalla of Decadence, and I shouldn't have let him go. He is not ready for your world of compromised values, and diminished brain cells that you throw away like confetti. Am I speaking clearly to you?
Russell Hammond:Yes, ma'am.
Elaine Miller:If you break his spirit, harm him in any way, keep him from his chosen profession -- which is law, Something you may not value but I do -- you will meet the voice on the other end of this telephone. And it will not be pretty. Do we understand each other?
Russell Hammond:Yes... yes...ma'am...
Elaine Miller: I didn't ask for this role, but I'll play it. Now go do your best. "Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aide!" Goethe said that. It's not too late for you to be a person of substance.Get my son home safely, I'm glad we spoke.

---

Lester Bangs
: That's because we're uncool. And while women will always be a problem for us, most of the great art in the world is about that very same problem. Good-looking people don't have any spine. Their art never lasts. They get the girls, but we're smarter.
William Miller
: I can really see that now.
Lester Bangs: Yeah, great art is about conflict and pain and guilt and longing and love disguised as sex, and sex disguised as love... and let's face it, you got a big head start.
William Miller
: I'm glad you were home.
Lester Bangs
: I'm always home. I'm uncool.
William Miller
: Me too!
Lester Bangs
: The only true currency in this bankrupt world if what we share with someone else when we're uncool.

---

Penny Lane: I'm never good at goodbyes.

---

at sasabi nga ng mga band-aids: it's all happening!





Friday, November 18, 2005

we're captive on a carousel of time, we can't return we can only look behind

sanity break.


o divine kaya mo ba ito. ehehehe. sa wakas, naghigh score na rin ako.


circle game
(joni mitchell)

Yesterday a child went out to wander
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on a carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.
Now the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, when you're older, must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on a carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came, and go round and round and round in the circle game.
Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him,
Take your time, it won't be long
Till you drag your feet and slow them down
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on a carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.

So the years spin by and now he's twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur
coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on a carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
And go round and round and round in the circle game.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

the world according to lisa

walang pagkahapo. nasusugatan, pero nagpapatuloy. lumilingon pero sumusulong. gaano man kahaba ang paglalakbay. ito at marami pa ang natutunan ko sa lakbayan sa mga singkit na mata ni lisa.

si lisa na kayang pumaslang kahit nakapikit, daig si darna at ang sugo, at ang mga sangre.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

grabedad: "like husks of coconut, he tears away the billion layers of his selfishness," -eman lacaba


"[ang] mga tensiyonadong tereyn ng isang peti-burges sa lungsod: nakapasok sa akademya/ nagkamal ng cultural capital/ maaring suma[sa]ma rin sa [mga] rally/ nagsusulat ng halaga ng pakikibaka/ nakikibahagi sa pakikibaka/ habang sa mga sikretong pahina ng pinakatagu-tagong kwaderno ay isinisilid ang sentro de grabedad ng panulat--ang Sarili."
-Carlos Montesa Piocos III, Introduksyon, 24/7 walang panahon

ito ang ikalawang (pathetic) attempt ko sa paglikha ng graphic design. halatang wala akong tiyaga sa detalye. parang pinagtagpi-tagpi lang. drowing ko ang mga yan mula sa na-recover kong sketch pad na nabili ko nung may stipends pa ako. ginawan ko lang ng montage ang mga sketches na kinopya ko mula sa mga cover ng libro at front page ng dyaryo. yung central image ay kinopya ko mula sa edad medya ni pete lacaba. pag nagkapanahon na ako, at sapat na ang dunong sa adobe photshop, ayusin ko ito.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

" i'm uncool. i am (or i want to be) the enemy."


"nowadays, i find myself a sum of borrowed parts."

- e.b. , dear catastrophe tempter



tuwing nagtatapos ang mga chapter sa buhay ko, madalas akong inaatake ng allergic rhinitis ( naalala ko ang testimonial ni iris kay isagani : "because you know, little boy, your mama and i, we slept on dustydusty couches with boys. that's how i got rhinitis") . sa ganitong mga panahon lang ako nakakapaglinis at nakakapag-ayos ng mga bagay sa ilalim ng kama.

nung isang gabi, tinawag ako ng tita ko at tinanong sa akin kung akin ba 'yung mga gamit na nakatambak sa aparador sa dati kong kwarto sa bahay ng lola ko. papaupahan na raw kasi 'yun. makakatulong din sa pagpapagamot ni lola. sa buong pagka-alala ko, nadala ko na sa masikip k0ng espasyo sa bahay ang lahat ng gamit ko. (pinaalis ako sa kwartong iyon noong 2003 kasi hindi na raw ako umuuwi. sayang lang daw at ginagawang tambakan ng basura. pinalayas din nung agosto ang ate ko kasi ayaw niyang magbayad ng kuryente).

nang umakyat ako sa kwartong iyon (na bagamat maganda at maluwag ay sobrang init dahil sobrang lapit sa langit) tumambad sa akin ang gabundok ng mga basura nga ba o alaala. ang pugot na heavy duty na sinaunang electric fan (na saksi sa mga milagro ng room 312), ang file folder kong walang ibang laman kundi mga lab reports sa organic chem na hindi ko na pinasukan, sampung dangkal ng dyaryo (kule nung panahon nina eleyn at sherwin, pinoyweekly mula sa internship, atbp.), at tone-toneladang scratch paper (photocopy ng kung anu-ano), tanging jacket na nabili sa ukay sa baguio, tatlong brief na naka-plastic pa galing divisoria at hindi pa naisusuot, apat na pares ng shorts (kaya pala tig-isang pares ng shorts lang ang ginagamit ko sa bawat linggo) ilang t-shirt, at isang makulay na kumot. naroon din ang mga bag kung saan ko isiniksik ang mga bagay na ayaw kong itapon, scrapbook, notebooks na walang sulat maliban sa mga listahan ng mga paboritong pelikula, at gustong panooring pelikula, doodles, mga tula ng aking kabataan/kabaduyan. at siyempre, kasunod ng mga na-diskubre ko ay ang dumadagundong at walang katapusang pagbahing.

hindi ko kasi ugali ang matapon ng mga bagay. sa katunayan, kapag binisita mo ang bag ko sa hunyo, anuman ang makita mo dun, yun pa rin ang makikita mo sa oktubre. ang lagi lang nawawaglit ay layter at bolpen. Hindi ko madadala sa isang bitbitan ang lahat. Wala na rin akong paglalagayan sa pwesto ko sa bahay. dala na rin ng katamaran, hinayaan ko na lang na maiwan ang mga bagay na naroon. Itatapon na lang daw ng tita ko. Ni hindi ko na sinilip kung mayroon mang mahahalagang bagay na maiiwan. sa tuwing titingnan ko kasi kung anong bagay ang mahahalaga, walang naitatapon. ang kinuha ko na lang ay ilang kopya ng kule, ang mga bag na naglalaman ng mga notebooks at ang mga damit. iniwan ko na ang sobrang bigat na electric fan kahit na maraming sentimental value na ang ipinuhunan dun ng tatay ko, ako, at ng lola kong yumao.

agad kong pinalabhan ang mga nakuha kong mga damit. at agad kong isiniksik sa ilalim ng kama ang mga bag, na hindi ko na rin sinilip ang laman. kinabukasan, inaayos ko ang ilang gamit sa ilalim ng kama. inilagay sa isang walang lamang bag ang lahat ng ginamit sa thesis proposal (salamat kay jeeu, karl, caloy at eleyn). isinalansan at nilagay sa mga malalaking envelopes ang mga kopya ng kule. pero hindi ko na nakuhang piliin pa mula sa mga laman ng bag kung anong mga gamit pa ba ang kakailanganin ko. matapos malinisan ang ilalim ng kama ( todo na ang bahing ko sa puntong ito), nagsimula na akong magpatugtog sa radyo ng bunso kong kapatid. gustong-gusto kong naririnig ang dave matthews band (kahit na satellite lang ang alam kong kanta nila) habang nag-aayos ng gamit. para bang na-teleport na naman ako sa kung anong era at lugar.

naaalala ko ang eksena sa almost famous (ayan, eto ang tinatawag nina caloy na the great fudgie complex, na para bang eksena sa pelikula ang buhay ko). tinitingnan ng batang si william miller ang pinaubaya sa kanyang album koleksyon ng naglayas niyang ate ("look under your bed. it will set you free."). dun ko unang nakilala si joni mitchell at ang malungkot niyang hiling sa ilog. inihalintulad ko dito ang pagtingin ko at pagbasa ng mga dating kolum sa kule.
ito ang mga pagkakataong kung minsan, tumitiklop ako sa sarili kong mundo bago pa man nabuksan ito sa silid 401, sa vinzons, sa mendiola, sa bigote, sa madrinan, sa timog, sa tarlac at sa kung saan-saang lupalop na hindi ko matutunton nang mag-isa.

nung makasama ko ang dakilang manunulat na si k---- sa bistro isang hapon, napausal ako sa pagkasabik. iyon kasi ang una kong beses na napunta sa '70s bistro. kamusta raw at saan ako nanggaling? ang totoo, sa kwarto ko. dun lang naman uminog ang mundo ko. kung madalas man akong mag-isang naglalakad sa sm north o sa quiapo, ang totoo, nanatili pa rin ako sa loob ng masikip kong kwarto. masikip ngunit kumportable. kabisado ko kung saan ako matatapilok, kung paano ayusin ang mga bagay. kahit pa madalas akong mabahing dahil sa alikabok, wala akong takot na baka lumalala ang sipon na iyon.

at kahit na nakalabas na ako sa kwarto ko matapos ang dalawang dekadang hiatus, tuwing may pagkakataon, pinipili ko pa ring manatili at bumalik sa kwarto. mas mura ang pamasahe pabalik. katwiran ko, gusto kong magpahinga. matapos ang buwan-buwang pagsusulat ng mga bagay na sa akala ko'y makakapagpabago ng panahon, ayaw ko munang magsulat kahit naghihintay ang mga mahahalagang gawain. pinili kong mag-kumponi ng pc, magbuo ng panibagong bahay sa sims, mag-experimento ng bagong putahe, manood ng tv, makipagkilala kay jack kerouac, at makiiyak sa sinapit ng tatlong lider-aktibista sa gitnang luson.

at naiwan akong nakatitig sa awa, at tumitig ang awa pabalik sa akin.

pag natapos ko nang masalansan ang mga papel at dyaryo, titingnan ko ang mga nabili kong libro sa loob ng limang taong may pagkakataon akong magkamal ng intellectual at cultural capital. hindi lalagpas sa 50 ang mga libro ko. at tatatlo lamang ang orig kong cd (kung sinuman ang nanghiram ng cynthia alexander ko, ng twice blessed, ng days of disquiet, ng raise high at catcher in the rye, at ng dekada '70 sa ikalimang pagkakataon, paki soli na po! at ng marami pang bagay na nawaglit). marami na rin akong hinayaang mawalang vcds kahit noong una'y ito ang most prized possession ko, wala na rin akong effort na pagsisingilin ang sinumang nanghiram. ganito rin ang nararamdaman ko sa ambisyon ko dating maging filmmaker, o di kaya isang premyadong manunulat. ilang beses ko na ring iniiyak ang pagkawala ng mga pangarap na ito. matay ko mang isipin na hindi rin naman sa loob ng kwarto ko mahahanap ang mga ito.

minsan kahit alam kong walang patutunguhan ang ganitong paglulunoy sa pagiging petiburges ay ginagawa ko pa rin. at iyon na rin ay dahil package deal ito ng pagiging peti-b. na kahit alam kong isang hakbang lang palabas ng kwarto ang kelangan kong gawin, ay lagi't laging akong tumitiklop. sana, tulad nung isang araw, magawa kong hayaan na lang mga bagay, at hindi silipin kung ano pa ang maaring maisalba mula sa mga napag-iwanan.

nabuhay kasi ako sa pelikula kaya para bang kay simple ng mga kontradiksyon kung i-roromanticize ang mga bagay. minsan ako ang namamagang version ni piolo, o kaya ang utal na william miller na wrong grammar, o kaya si vilma santos na nagtataas kamao.

di bale, sa ngayon, nabura ko na ang sims sa pc, at wala akong mahanap na bagong installer.

_____________________________________________________
paumanhin kina ka ric, ka kiko, ka pedy atbp., pasensya na habang naliligo kayo sa sariling dugo ay nagpapakalunod ako sa malalim na balon ng pagkamakasarili. pagpupugay sa inyo, kayong nagmamay-ari ng daigdigan (sabi ng kanta). sana tulad ni eman, balang araw, sana mabunutan ko rin ang sarili tulad ng niyog.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

salinlahi underground

mga sanhi ng ating lunggati: dalawang salin ng subterranean ni eric gamalinda

Subterranean
by Eric Gamalinda

Let me be the first to say
that I know the name for everything
and if I don't I'll make it up:
dukkha, naufragio, talinghaga.
Just like the young
whose hearts give no shame,
I love the excesses of beauty,
there is never enough sunlight
in the world I will live in,
never enough room for love.

I fear none of us will last long enough
to prove what I've always suspected,
that the sky is a membrane
in an angel's skull,
trees talk to each other at night,
ice is water in a state of silence,
the embryo listens to everything we say.

I am afraid for the child skipping rope
on the corner of my street,
the girl on the train with flowers in her hair,
the man whose memory is entirely
in Spanish. I am more afraid of losing consciousness
when I go to sleep, and that in my sleep
I will grow old and forget how desire
once drove me mad with wakefulness

Just like the perfect seasons
they will die
and I will die
and you will die also;
no one knows who will go first,
and this is the source
of all my grief.

-0o0-

subterranean
salin ni omer mejia

Hayaan na mauna akong magsabi
na alam ko ang pangalan ng lahat
at kung hindi man lilikha ako:
dukkha, naufragio, talinghaga.
Tulad ng kabataang
may mga pusong hindi nakakapanghiya,
iniibig ko ang mga kalabisan ng kariktan,
hindi sumasapat ang sinag ng araw
sa mundong ako ay mamumuhay,
hindi sapat ang puwang para sa pag-ibig.

Natatakot ako na wala sa atin ang magtatagal
upang patunayan ang aking mga laging hinihinala,
na ang langit ay isang lamad
sa loob ng bungo ng isang anghel,
nakikipag-usap sa isa't isa ang mga puno kapag gabi,
ang yelo ay tubig sa kanyang tahimik na kalagayan.
nakikinig ang binhi sa lahat ng ating sinasabi.

Ako ay natatakot para sa batang nagluluksong-lubid
sa kanto ng aking kalye,
sa babaeng sakay ng tren na may mga bulalak sa kanyang buhok,
sa lalaking ang buong alaala ay nasa wikang Kastila.
Ako ay higit na takot na mawalan ng kamalayan
tuwing ako'y matutulog, at sa aking pagtulog
ako ay tatanda at kalimutan kung paanong minsan
ang pagnanasa ay binaliw ako ng pagkakagising.

Tulad ng mga sakdal na panahon
papanaw sila
at ako ay papanaw
at ikaw ay papanaw din;
walang nakakaalam sino ang mauuna,
at ito ang pinagmumulan
ng lahat ng aking hinagpis.

-0o0-
subterranean
ni carlos piocos iii at karl castro

Hayaan mong sabihin kong
alam ko ang pangalan ng lahat
at papangalanan ko yaong hindi ko alam:
dukha, naufragio, talinghaga.
Katulad ng musmos na may dibdib
na walang takot sa muwang at pusok
Iniibig ko ang labis na Alindog
Hindi sapat ang liwanag
sa kulimlim ng aking daigdig
Hindi sapat ang puwang para sa pag-ibig

Ikinatatakot kong maaring wala nang magtagal pa
para patunayan ang matagal ko nang hinala:
na ang langit ay isa lamang lamad
sa loob ng bungo ng anghel,
ang mga puno'y nag-uusap pagsapit ng dilim,
ang yelo ay tubig na pinatahan ng lamig,
minamanmanan tayo ng sanggol mula sa sinapupunan.

Ikinababahala ko ang pagluluksong-
lubid ng bata sa kanto, ang babae
sa tren na may bungkos ng bulaklak sa buhok,
ang lalaking ang buong Gunita ay yaong
nasa wikang Kastila. Higit kong ikinatatakot
ay ang mawalan ng malay kapag natutulog,
at sa aking paghimbing, tatanda ako’t makaliligta
kung paano minsan ako'y pinagdamutan
ng pagnanasa ng antok at katinuan

At tulad ng mga Kapanahunan,
sila ay mamamatay,
at ako ay mamamatay,
at ikaw ay mamamatay rin.
Walang nakasisigurado kung sino ang unang yayao
at ito ang sanhing lahat ng aking lunggati

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

utos ng hari

“The history of the oppressed teaches us that the state of emergency we live in is not the exception but the rule.”
-Walter Benjamin

Agad kong naalala ang sinabing ito ni Benjamin nung nabanggit sa akin ng isang kaibigan ang nasabi ni Mareng Winnie sa Debate nung nakaraang linggo. Hindi hamak na malayo raw ang Batas Militar noong panahon ni Marcos kung ikukumpara sa CPR at EO 464 at 467 ni Gloria.

Inisa-isa pa ni Monsod sa kanyang pang-Sabadong kolum sa Inquirer ang mga puntos kung bakit hindi na posibleng muling ipasailalim sa diktadura ang bansa. Punong-puno na raw ang Saligang Batas ng 1987 ng mga batas upang pangalagaan ang demokrasya. Dito pa lang sa ubod ng kanyang argumento, mapapasinungalingan na siya ng mga pangyayari noong nakaraang linggo.

Gasgas na nga kung tutuusin ang paggamit sa Saligang Batas bilang pansalag sa pasismo ng estado. Makailang beses na ring binabaluktot ang konstitusyon upang makalusot at umayon ang interpretasyon ng batas sa sinumang may monopolyo ng mismong interpretasyon ng batas. Kakatwang sa isang bansang makadalawang (tatlo?) beses na nagtungong EDSA, ano’t BP 880 ni Marcos ang ipinapatupad sa mga lansangan sa tuwinang may kilos-protesta.

Taktikal din kung tutuusin ang pagkakalagay ng numero unong disipulo ng Malakanyang sa Department of Justice. Kay Raul Gonzales pa lang, niluluto na ang mga batas (at paglabag sa batas kung ipupukol sa kaaway ng administrasyon) na maaring gamiting pananggalang ni Arroyo mula sa batikos at sa katotohanan. Nang mapasama si Miriam Santiago sa slate ng K4 noong nakaraang eleksyon, hindi alyado ang binili ni Arroyo kung di abogado.

Unang naging bukambibig ng mga bulaan sa Malakanyang ang katagang “rule of law” nang nanganib sa kamay ng sambayanan ang pananatili ni Arroyo sa puwesto. Sa panahon nga ng postmodernismo at globalisasyon, singkong-duling na lang ang katapat ng interpretasyon ng batas at ng ibanabandilang “rule of law.”

Simple lang, kung paanong sinuspinde ni Marcos ang pagpapatupad ng 1935 Constitution nang ideklara niya ang Martial Law, ganoon din isinantabi ng revolutionary government ni Aquino ang 1971 Constitution pabor sa Freedom Constitution. Dahil sa huli’t huli, walang ibang naglelehitimisa sa mga batas kundi ang pagsunod dito ng taumbayan. Kung gayon, ang mamamayan pa rin ang mapagpasyang nagsusulong ng karapatan nilang higit sa lahat ay makapangyarihan. At hindi kailanman maaaring pagbanggain ang kapakanan ng bayan sa karapatan ng mamamayan.

Sa lipunanang binubuhay ng pagsasamantala, ang bayan ay nasa palagiang “state of emergency.” Lagi’t laging nasa bingit ng paghihingalo. ‘Yun bang naghihintay parati na masalinan ng dugo. Sa bayang ito, ganito ang nasasaad sa batas: Kung wala na’t maubusan ng blood donor, hindi mangingimi ang hari o reyna nagmaglabas ng pangil.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

"ng katotohanang tayo ay nag-iisa,na ang mundo ay nakaliligta."


dibuho ni Karl Castro

Flash Photography

ni Eric Gamalinda
Salin nina Carlos Piocos III at Karl Castro

Matagal na, ngunit maaring

isa ito sa mga nangamatay

sa kidlat: madaling mahinuha

kung paano napunit ang langit

na parang lamat sa bumbunan

ng nabitawang bungo. Tanging ang nakikita

lamang ang nalalaman.


Ipagpalagay na lamang na iyon

ay isang agos kontra sa pangkaraniwang

daluyong ng pang-araw-araw. Isang

batis ng yumao nang himala,

hindi sinasadya at walang saysay

sa kasalukuyan, isang daigdig na umiinog

sa pamahiin, sa salimuot.


Pinipili lamang ang nais alalahanin.

Walang pag-ibig sa paggunita,

kundi pagkatupok sa liwanag

mula sa pagkalunod sa dilim

at pagkalulong sa nakalalason.

Maaaring retrato ng

di gumagalaw, imortal, imoral.


O mas nakababalam, na parang sinasabi

na lahat ng ating nawala

ay mananatiling nawawala,

at ang litrato ay isang paraan lamang

ng hindi paghahanap,

at ang tanging pag-asa ay ang lente,


itong aparatong walang pakialam,

ay makagagawa ng paraan

upang mapalitan ang lahat ng liwanag

mula sa mga nagpakahulugan

sa mga itinatago nating takipsilim,

at ang paningin

ang tanging hindi nakapapansin sa lagim


ng katotohanang tayo ay nag-iisa,

na ang mundo ay nakaliligta.

At sa huli, hindi gunita kundi pangungulila

ang aangkin sa lahat,

at bilang kabayaran,

pumupuslit tayo ng alaala

para sa lahat ng nawala’t lumisan.


-0O0-

Flash Photography
by Eric Gamalinda


This could have been someone
who died of lightning long ago:
easy to imagine how the skies
broke and the fulguration
like a skull exploding. I know
only what I see with my eyes.

Think of it as a current
impervious to the ordinary run
of lives, a source of ancient mystery
but meaningless and inadvertent
now, a whole world spun
of rumor, of perplexity.

Chooses what it likes to recall.
Selects not with love,
but light. Does its harm
in darkness, in the thrall
of poisons. May be portraits of,
still lives with, soft porn.

Or more urgent: as though to say
all that we've lost
still persist in their absence,
and the photograph is a way
of not seeing, and the most
we can hope for is that the lens,

this indifferent apparatus,
somehow borrows the light
of those who gave meaning
to the darkness in us,
and the faculty of sight
dispels the terrifying

realization that we are alone,
that the world forgets.
All told, not absence but memory
takes what it can,
and we pay our debts
by remembering completely.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

"times are shitty, but I'm pretty sure they can't get worse*..."



"I could seat guests as they come
/Chatting not about Heidegger, but wine! / ...Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe/ Our labors would reap financial gains /We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe / And save from devastation our brains.../ We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away / Devote ourselves to projects that sell/ We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe / Forget this cold Bohemian hell*..."


Isa na namang text mula kina A, B at F, mga matapat na kaibigan mula pa noong simula. nagyaya sila na mag-lunch date kami sa darating na huwebes.
naisip ko bago pa man ako magkamal ng cultural capital sa ivory tower, sila ang mga nauana kong nakausap sa iba't ibang hilig: indigo girls, joni mitchell, rent, almost famous, cynthia alexander at marami pang iba. ilang beses na rin pala kaming nagtangkang magplano para sa isang night out, pero lagi't laging may aberya.

third year kami nang magsimulang magkawatak-watak ang aming landas. dumalang ang pagkikita namin. at pagdating ng fourth year, sa panahong nagiging malinaw na sa iba ang mga bagay na gusto naming gawin, lalong bihira na kaming nakakapagsama-sama. at lalo na nang grumadweyt na sila.
parang 5 minutes lang ang isang marathon na kuwentuhan na umaabot na ng madaling araw. tuluyan nang nagsanga-sanga ang iba't ibang landas namin.

masaya ako para kay F dahil kahit papaano ay ginagawa niya ang bagay ng gusto niyang gawin. pinaka-determinado naman si A para tuparin naman ang pangarap niyang maging pinoy pop superstar (chos!), kaya't kahit maliit ang kita sa paminsan-minsang gig, pinapatos niya. at siyempre sobrang tuwa ko nang sa hindi inaasahang desisyon nag-NGO si B (kahit na iba ang paniniwala ko sa NGOismo).
masaya akong lalo, na bagama't iba-iba kami ng paniniwala, na tanggap nila ang piniling kong buhay. paminsan-minsan mang nagkakadiskusyon e madalas namang iniintindi na nila ako, kahit ba itong niyakap kong paninindigan ang dahilan kung bakit ako ang pinakamadalas na absent sa mga paglabas.

pero kahit na alam at iniintindi nila ang landas na tinahak ko, hindi pa kailanman ko pinakilala sa kanila ang mundo ko: ang vinzons hill, ang mendiola, ang espanya at welcome rotonda, ang bigote, at iba't iba pang lugar kung saan madalas ako nangangarap at binubuo ang mga pangarap na iyon.

minsan, naisip ko ang isang eksena: imbes na si vilma santos, silang tatlo ang kikitain ko sa isang liblib na restaurant
sa chinatown at ako ang namamagang version ni piolo, at melodramatic kong i-re-reassure sila na mabuti ang kalagayan ko at masaya ako sa ginagawa ko.

sila ang pinaka-nakakaintindi sa akin tuwing ginagawa kong pelikula ang bagay-bagay. sa kanila rin pinakamabenta ang malalaswa kong hirit. at bakit ko nga ba ngayon ginagawa ito? korni na kung korni pero paraan ko ito para sabihing pasensya na sa lahat ng kakulangan (etching) at salamat sa lahat. to quote B's favorite line from a chick flick: "TEAR."

p.s. isa lang ang inseguridad ko sa kanila. ang kanilang wakanangshet na boses, habang ako ay tone deaf. bwiset! hmp!
_______________________
*from the song Sta. Fe, Rent (shemps, the situation can get worse, and i'm pretty sure about that!)

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

days of disquiet, nights of rage*



mag-antanda na at iusal na ang dasal sa paghambalos ng unos:


"Aba po Santang Gloria'ng Hari. Inang walang awa. Wala kaming kabuhayan o kapayapaan; Aba, isinasakdal ka namin. Ikaw nga ang pinaparatangan namin sa mga pinapanaw na taong anak ni Eva. Ikaw din ang ikinabubuntung-hininga namin ng aming pagtangis dini sa lupang bayang kahapis-hapis. lisanin mo na kami, reyna ng kasukdul-sukdulang Kalbaryo nang kami'y makinabang sa pangako ng aming pinaghirapan.
Siya nawa."

_________________________________________
lumabas itong dasal na ito sa huling issue ng kule 04-05. upload ko lang dito dahil mukhang (pun intended) iigting pa ang hambalos ng walang hiya!
*pasintabi kay Pete Lacaba;

Friday, September 30, 2005

bigote nights club


Awit ni Joni*

Ana Morayta


Ano e, pagod si Joni noon, naalala kong sinabi niya

Minsan sa Bigote: Pagod ako Mami

Sabay ubo, malalim at dumadarang –

Nakarinig ako ng gasgas sa lalamunan

Isang kanta lang, isang Brickell o Chapman,

Sabi ng mga taong medyo lasing na

At sentimental sa isang gabi

ng muling pagkikita

at pag-alis ng isang kasama

E ganun naman ata talaga, hindi ba't

magkatuwang ang pagtatagpo at paglisan

Dahil wala namang bigat ang paglisan

kung hindi iyung nais mong makatagpo ang magpapaalam

At ano lang nga ba naman ang muling pagkakatagpo

kung hindi siya ang iyong inaasam?

Dahil kahit tila wala kang magawa,

Sa katunayan e ang pag-ibig ay isang pagpapasiya

Ang pag-ibig ay pagpanig

At pagkitil sa kabilang hindi mo pinili

At pagkikipagtitigan sa mata

O pagpapaputok ng mga buto sa daliri

At marami pang iba,

Pero mabalik nga tayo sa kwento,

Na isang gabi sa Bigote pinapakanta,

Pero pagod na itong ating kasama


Pero - kumanta pa rin - kumanta si Joni


Pinunit ng boses niya ang hatinggabi.

May bahid ng paos

Nagpapaalala ng dausdos ng usok ng yosi

at matagal na paghihintay.


Pagpupuyat paglalakad at paglalakbay

Pabulong at humahagod sa ilang bahagi

Parang nanunuyo at nanunukso

Parang humihimas sa katawang hapo


Malutong at marahas kung bumirit,

Galit at nag-aalimpuyo

Sa sagasa ng pakikipag-iibigan

O sa malupit na panahon

Sa hilalil at panlilinlang

Sa walang katarungan

Sa mga sandaling nasayang

Sa pagpapatuloy

At sa bukas na sinusubukang mabago

Tuluy-tuloy lang.

At maalala ko lang,

Nung gabing umawit si Joni

Nakita n'yo ba kung paanong bago siya tumayo

Ay marahan at mariing hinaplos ni Anton

ang isang eksaktong lugar sa kanyang likod niyang hapo.

________________________________________
*mula sa Kasal sa Apoy at iba pang Nagbabagang Balita