I gave up sleep just to find your name,

Now it's said and done, so say goodbye to the people we don't know.
Go back to sleep, and let's sail away to the beaches of Normandie.

The Inn at Kirchstetten

Notes penciled in the margins of a book 

of the Dichtungen of George Trakl

How can I thank you B, for your ear, your mind, your affection?

Some afternoons after we had given kisses we would recline

against the hard bolsters in the little inn reading and rewriting

my poems.

At first the idea of exchanging caresses with an almost heavenly

Being had frightened me. I committed little crimes so you would

Postpone this perilous happiness.

No one had told me that it was possible to make love to a voice.

Only someone who has not shared such love will condemn these 
writings.

The toy train which brought us to the town was so slow. It

stopped at every hamlet. Farm people got on and off. There was

a car for their animals: lambs, pigs, chickens. When it was very

slow we would become frantic with impatience. We had so little

time to be together.

Outside the window of the inn were the streets of the town, its

old houses. But if we watched hard enough the scene would

change into a landscape of fields, trees, a little lake and

mountains in the distance.

Horses went clip-clop down the cobbled street. It was a blessing

there were so few autos and motorbikes.

There was a gilt-framed mirror on the wall of the room. Why did

we see in it the reflection of only one person?

The sound of rain in the window. The sound of the wind. The

sound of the sun. Yes, even sunlight has its sound though only

lovers are likely to hear it.

You were disgusted by the big cockroaches that scuttled across

the floor until I convinced you they carried secret messages. Our

postmen.

I always bought flowers to talk when love had rendered us

silent.

Sometimes you would say, I can’t remember who we are. I have

to look at the shoes on the carpet to recall our names.

A strange ballet. The horizontal pas des deux. Hands mimicking

the dancer’s feet. Your long hair is your costume?

A bird struck the window with a thud and fell into the street. It

was eager to join us but couldn’t see the glass.

We read no more that day. There was nothing the book could tell

us. Paolo and Francesca, you said. We often heard faint footsteps

in the hall, not as heavy as those of the inn servants. You said it

was the revenants who wanted to be with us. You opened the

door but no one was there.

The inn servants seemed an honest lot but it was just as well to

tip them a bit too much. I used the name Reseguier but you

might have been recognized from your pictures in the magazines.

There were porcelain basins and pitchers, two of each, on the

stand and eider puffs in the bed, two fat white pancakes on the

matrimonial.

There was a picture on the wall which I couldn’t place, most

unusual for a village inn, not a religious or hunting scene. It was

an abstract drawing in several colors. A grid of little nearly

identical shapes connected by ink lines. Perhaps an artist from

the city hadn’t been able to pay his bill.

Sometimes, if you dozed, I would change the time on your watch

that you always put on the bedside stand. I knew you would

wake with a start and say it was time to go home, he would be

waiting for your company at tea. There were later trains on the

toy railroad.

Hot and cold weather, we went there for nearly a year. Who is

using that room now? Perhaps a series of lonely travelling

salesmen.

You must know that none of these things may ever have

happened, that we imagined them. . . How can we be sure it was

not all an illusion? Remember the wineglass you dropped and it

shattered? We tried to get up all the crumbs of glass but some

were too small and worked their way into the fabric of the carpet.

They would prove we were there.

-- James Laughlin

Unanswered Plea

I learn things by myself, which is why
it takes so long. I'm asking you
to be patient. That's not asking much.
I learn by myself, learn to cross the village,
it's not every day I recognize you
in the timberwork of the roof,
the builders' sweat alight in the air even now.
The river is sluggish here, the lake is asleep,
one's step less heavy, but I'm no longer
convinced I've read it right: instructions
for painting a woodpecker's wings in red
and black and red, and how to cast a spell upon
the ankles of a pregnant girl. I don't know
nor want to know her name, and maybe that's
the reason I can't breathe, but I won't forget
the way she makes me feel. Did I really
read it right? Okay, I accept these signposts
in the humid moss, in the backbone curving
throughout every season, in scarlet shells
cracked apart at the feast to which I'm called.
Yes, this I accept. But where in the language
should I look for you, when the language
is unworthy of what you are? It might be
that you assume a common form, such as love,
or maybe you're something awful down the road
that will, after all, come to pass.

- Aleš Debeljak

Shit got real.

So yeah. The teaching thing keeps me from finishing the previous series. Who would have thought. Also: Eternal torture to kids who don't read. Ha!

Nothing I dream is new

20 & anything goes

1. I have trouble holding down a job. In my first job, I was an account manager in a PR company for barely 2 months. I hated my boss and my officemates (there were only 5 of them, boss included.) I was a program researcher for a TV show but I only worked there 6 months. I hated the people there 100 times more. This is the reason why I couldn’t stay in one company: I have a hard time pretending to be nice around people I dislike / di ko vibes for various reasons (e.g. unprofessional, too loud, freeloaders, backstabbers etc.) The longest I’ve ever been employed was 10 months. I just bummed around and did freelance gigs, and mostly went to school in between all that.

2. I do miss having an office job. If ever I find another job, I’ll probably quit it again in less than a year. HA!

3. I loathe unnecessary plastikan. I’m getting too old for that.

4. Most of what I do today is influenced by my mood. I’m so afraid my mood swings have taken over my life that I can’t become productive anymore.

5. Despite my lack of commitment to any type of job, being late for classes or meetings, and not having any real structure in my life for the past 2 and a half years, I am in fact what you call a manang. Proof: I spend Friday nights at home with chips and soda / tea / coffee AND a lovely book. I don’t keep alcohol for myself at home (well, not anymore.)

6. On the evening of my high school graduation, I got a call from my old yaya who left when I was ten years old. After congratulating me, she asked if I already knew I was adopted. I had no idea what she was talking about, so I tried my best to sound unsurprised. I ended up sort of saying I’ve known it for a while. When I asked who told her I was adopted, she simply said one of our other maids (her cousin) revealed it to her. I didn’t believe her because something about how she knew a thing like that seemed fishy. However unconvinced, I still felt insecure. What if it was true? I started fishing for information from my brother, the other maids, and my folks. You could imagine how my heart dropped when my brother said he couldn’t remember our mom being pregnant with me. Of course he could have been too young to remember, but it still left me worried. Anyway, to cut the long story short, I talked to our oldest maid and I found out it’s just a joke one of the yaya’s made up which my old yaya apparently took too seriously. What a bummer.

7. I’ve had pneumonia 3 times in my 25 years of existence. Most of my friends know I quit smoking (except when I was in Dumaguete, but I haven’t touched a stick since I came back) and this, aside from my fear of getting cancer, is the reason why. I was 16 when I first got sick with it not knowing how serious it was after coughing and wheezing for a month. I got well after taking antibiotics for a week every six hours. The second time I had it was after a medical exam administered by the college I was attending. A week later the family doctor said I got it again. I got really scared the third time around (call me paranoid but I think it’s bronchitis!) I swear to god if I get it again it might be the end of me.

8. There was a time I dated a girl in college when my then boyfriend was away in Ilo-ilo. The girl turned out to have a girlfriend as well. An even sadder story? When we both decided to return to our partners, none of our relationships worked out. It took us a year to talk casually with each other again. We endured another 2 years of awkwardly working together on group projects (e.g. shooting a film for an entire semester.) After we graduated, I messaged her just to say I was sorry. The girl asked to meet me and I never replied. We’re still friends on FB.

9. I received an indecent proposal when I was working in GMA. A gay make-up artist tried to convince me to sleep with a lesbian balik bayan from the U.K. He thought I’d be delighted with the prospect of having a sugar mama. (I wonder why?)

10. Other indecent proposals: When I was 19, a girl who was stalking me on Multiply asked if I was interested in having a threesome with her and her ex-boyfriend. I was so young and innocent I turned it down. Today I think I should put this on my bucket list. (We’ll see?)

11. I have never seen A Walk to Remember.

12. Four years ago, I almost got caught with marijuana when the police stopped our car for a random check-point under the Katipunan flyover. My ex-boyfriend and I were in a friend’s car and we were smoking weed on our way to Mag:net (oh god where have I been?!) We noticed the police before hitting the U-turn slot and pulled over a few blocks. We opened our windows and turned the A/C on full blast. Our friend came prepared with Lysol. We hid the stash under my seat. After briefing ourselves with what to say when the police asked us stuff, we went for it. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life. Good thing they didn’t have a drug sniffing dog. I remember laughing like a retard after passing the police, but I was depressed for 3 days after that.

13. I was a member of our parish choir for 5 years. I used to love singing in church. I even learned how to play the guitar in church.

14. I am vacillating between agnosticism and atheism. Don’t worry; I am very tolerant with religious beliefs EXCEPT the bigoted kind.

15. I’ve tried sending my CV to schools in hopes of becoming a college professor. Good luck with that.

16. I am mostly insecure about everything because I know that whatever I do well can be done better by someone else. It’s a very humbling thought, and also a very inhibiting one.

17. Latest realization: Nothing’s / nobody’s worth all the trouble. At the end of the day, you only have yourself. Well, that’s just me.

18. I don’t invest energy on being liked anymore. I think I’m merely making life easier for all of us. I’ve let go of some social aspects of myself for a year now. I really don’t mind if people find me boring, inattentive, insensitive, aloof etc. It’s mostly true. And I find that being away from a lot of people keeps me from wondering what other people think of me (did I say anything offensive? did I do well enough? why is so and so mean towards me? etc.,) an activity which isn’t exactly productive either. But when I’m there, I’m there. I give you all my time and attention.

19. What makes me sad: Having impossible standards even I can’t achieve.

20. Truth: I am a better reader/critic than I am a writer. 

As much as I’d like to claim I am a writer, I’m not sure I’ll ever be good enough to become one. I've always had to remind myself that the writing and the poetry is all just part of it. The goal has always been to live.

Nowhere Chronicles (Part 2)

After resigning, it took me a month to find another job. I kept my expectations simple. I didn’t bother to make any real long-term plans. I told myself I’d save money to travel, watch all the concerts I wanted, read more books, get inked, hang-out with friends and basically do what every person in their early twenties wanted. I was looking for work which came with a decent salary, and hopefully lesser stress. I wanted to have enough time for myself.

When an HR person called back to tell me I was hired, I was pretty happy. I specifically intended to take a fair-paying writing job. It meant less social stress because I didn’t have to coordinate with a lot of people. It also meant I could do something I actually liked, which was writing. It wasn’t any creative writing post, but I accepted the offer and officially became a web content writer. I said it before, and I’d say it again: it was the best pseudo writing job I ever took. A job with definite work hours allowed me to draw a thick line between my professional and personal life. My initial expectations were fulfilled of course, and somehow unexpectedly, I met a few friends along the way. For a good while I was able to afford most of the things I couldn’t buy when I was in college (mostly clothes, shoes, and books, and even the very laptop I’m using today) and reached a certain level of financial independence. For the first time, I had a regular job with social security, health benefits, and generous incentives. I knew I could afford to move out of the house if I worked a few months longer. More importantly, I felt my family respected me a bit more, seeing that I was responsible and able enough to support myself.

However, just like any job, it came with its own set of impediments. As expected, I didn’t grow fond of my other workmates. And like any typical BPO, we were overworked; we rendered overtime hours daily for months, sometimes until Saturday mornings. As to whether that kind of work was interesting or fun, it was certainly a very monotonous one. It only took a few hours of churning out generic websites for anyone to get bored out of their wits. It's worth mentioning the company allows one to practice technical writing, and for web designers, basic graphics and lay-outing skills. But anyone in their right mind knows this isn’t the kind of job they should settle for. Still, these were the least of my concerns.

My real setback was the odd hours. The work required me to render night shifts for two weeks at a time, a serious constraint that messed up my social life (yes, I have relationships,) body clock, and overall health. I knew it was becoming a hindrance when it was slowly becoming difficult to have a life outside of work. It's the kind of stress that builds up exponentially until you're burnt-out. In a way, the nature of work somehow dictates the psychological and emotional space left for people to dwell in. The second one, which I consider the major setback, came eight months later when the company forced most of its writers to take calls instead. It meant working graveyard hours permanently. The change really threw me out of my comfort zone, and once again, I felt the urge to move away.

During that time, I was in a relationship that was turning cold, my father was diagnosed with a rare type of cancer, and I was slowly losing interest in my work. Good people in the company cheered me up from time to time and it kept me going a bit longer. I was in denial of my depression. Now, I wouldn’t go through all the convoluting details of my resignation. By the end of that year, I knew I wouldn’t be working in the company anymore.

If you’ll ask me whether my co-workers there had any sympathy for what they did, I’d have to say I saw some of it in my team leaders and close workmates. Then again, most of the people who signed up to become day-sleepers certainly weren’t in it to “help businesses.” They were there for the money, and they stayed there so they can support their families financially. If they really cared at all, it’s only because they had important connections with people in the company.  

Despite these disadvantages, looking back, I wouldn’t say that BPO stint was a waste of time. I have always sought value in the things I did, whether it meant I’d earn income or simply feel a sense of fulfillment. What turned out to be one of the most stressful times of my life also afforded me enough space for myself to think about what purpose I wish to commit myself to. I had time to engage in personal writing projects, read good books, and communicate with people who had more or less the same concerns. I enjoyed a degree of solitude yet felt that I wasn’t completely alone. It was bittersweet.

By ten months I had an idea what I was saving all my money for. It wasn’t just for vacations, concert tickets, or an apartment. I was still in that place where I didn’t know what to do with what I wanted, but I figured an academic atmosphere should help give me much needed direction. When I left the company, I decided I would go back to school. I had to learn how to write better—that was the plan.

Nowhere Chronicles (Part 1)

Three years ago, I made a decision to quit my job as a program researcher for a television network in pursuit of another career path which I hope would bring me closer to my true self.

Barely a year out of college and six months into production work, I had hardly known what I was giving up my job for. At that time, the most rational decision to make was work long enough to get promoted as a segment producer even if it meant being a contractual employee who didn’t receive any medical or social security benefits for years (most of my bosses were still contractual employees when I left.) Working conditions could get rather toxic especially for a newbie in the field. While we didn’t have to go to the office daily, being a researcher meant overseeing everything from start to finish, so I was practically working until I went to bed. Although some of my research assignments were fun and interesting—going different places and meeting popular personalities, testing beauty products to tasting unique dishes, shooting with a professional camera and making decisions that gave me a degree of artistic freedom—my enthusiasm to perform well gradually waned.

When I left my post, I convinced myself it must have been the low pay and lack of real security which drove me to search for another job, preferably a more comfortable one. Looking back, it was more than that. It must have been the people I worked with and their demanding, often complacent and unprofessional attitudes that caused my anxiety. It was inevitable because production is all about team work. Ultimately, I had this growing resentment towards my co-workers for failing to own up to their shortcomings and pointing their fingers on the easiest person or thing to blame. At the same time, knowing some form of politics will always be present in any office, I was aware moving to a different workplace wouldn’t rid me of this problem. We simply cannot choose the kind of people we can work with. Nevertheless, I found comfort in the idea of moving away.

Unfortunately for my co-workers, the introvert in me happened to dislike most of them. At first it was the act of not spending too much time with people I felt uncomfortable with. I would only deal with them when my work required me to. I usually had lunch or dinner alone. I didn’t stay in our cubicle when most of my co-workers were there. Short cigarette breaks with some members of the crew were alright. But after working with them for months, it proved difficult to draw the line between my work and personal life. I could only imagine how this was for senior researchers and producers, losing all distinction between professional and personal life, becoming used to eating, sleeping, and bathing in the office with strange people for days at a time.  

The general atmosphere was one of constant pressure to deliver; it wasn’t enough to meet the deadline, we had to be good or we’d get a mean and embarrassing remark from our producer. It was quite terrifying, to be honest. I was afraid my contract would not be renewed (which was baseless because if they really got rid of people, they should have axed half of the crew a long time ago.) Though my co-workers were just as afraid to face our producer, I figured they’ve gotten so used to her bitching that it didn’t affect their performance anymore. Most of them, I felt, did not have any real sense of sympathy for their job. It didn’t matter how they accomplished it, as long as it was done. And it didn’t matter whom I worked with, I was always left compromised. When something went wrong, they would rather put someone else under the bus. It was every man for himself.

Was I able to rise above the expectations, deal with unprofessional co-workers? I think so. I knew it was only a matter of time until I got promoted and received better salary. Given the nature of the work, I wasn’t the only person thinking of resigning. In fact, a few were already leaving at the time, and staying there guaranteed I’d get dibs on a better post. However, by then even this thought did not ease my anxiety.

I was uncertain of a lot of things, but I was sure working in production or media in general wasn’t the right career for me. I couldn’t imagine myself doing that kind of work for the next twenty or so years. Underneath all the rationalizing, what I really hoped to find was something closer to who I was. It wasn’t that I didn’t like shooting features or writing scripts. Apart from struggling with difficult people, it just came to a point where the stresses outweighed what made production work interesting and meaningful. So, I thought: If I was going to do something for the rest of my life, it had to be something I was really interested in and passionate about. It had to be something worth doing. If a career would require me to associate with people I’m uncomfortable with (which frankly means everyone) and if it would demand so much of my life, I must do something I truly love. So, what is it? I had to ask myself that.

The most frightening thing wasn’t that I didn’t know; it was the fact that I actually had an idea what it was. Somewhere inside, I knew. I didn’t understand what I was going through, so I shrugged it off for a while longer. I didn’t really know what to do with what I wanted. 

Where words would never do.

I just wanted to make you something beautiful
--Industries of the Blind

Harmony in the Boudoir

After years of marriage, he stands at the foot of the bed and
tells his wife that she will never know him, that for everything
he says there is more that he does not say, that behind each
word he utters there is another word, and hundreds more be-
hind that one. All those unsaid words, he says, contain his true
self, which has been betrayed by the superficial self before her.
"So you see," he says, kicking off his slippers, "I am more than
what I have led you to believe I am." "Oh, you silly man," says
his wife, "of course you are. I find that just thinking of you
having so many selves receding into nothingness is very excit-
ing. That you barely exist as you are couldn't please me more."


-- Mark Strand

Begin Again

Dream, how I dream to feel
Dream, how I dream to feel

And everything will fill with light
A golden sun would fool this night

And all that is and ever was
Begin again, begin again.

Bono kept talking about that place where he can't live. Have you been there?

In his essay “Specialization of Poetry,” poet Wendell Berry wrote:
“there is, in reality, no such choice as “Yeats’s Perfection of the life, or of the work…” 
It is a necessary tension.

Hence this song, “With or Without You” by U2. It’s probably the most played single from the band that's been covered by so many artists.

 

In one interview in the late ‘80s, U2 lead vocalist Bono talked about what inspired the song. Bono wrote the lyrics while struggling to reconcile responsibilities, both as a married man and musician. He realized that neither facet of his life defined him, but rather the tension between the two.

 Now that’s a lived song.


 Unless you’d rather see this explained in diagram form.

Chair Variations

I surrendered my severed limbs
to the mercy of nails
to become whole again.

*

I have offered my flat surface
for comfort.

I serve many, indefinitely.
I never learned
to count the hours.

*

Sensing your restlessness,
my sturdy form keeps you still.

*

My back remains unmoved by your back.
I knew you'd lean, eventually.

*

I am behind and beneath you.

*

Despite the common intimacies,
Solitude is my loyal companion.

*

A touch is always foreign;
one person's grasp
is unlike another's.

*

One day you will not resist
the urge to carve words on my skin.

*

My skin is my memory:
I keep the marks you leave,
the deep and undecipherable
as well as the names
you carve yet forget.

*

Everyone is fleeting.

I remain unmoved
and never used to it.

*

I am grateful you keep me occupied
however momentary. I accept
this is my purpose.

*

I recognize the warmth
of your body at rest.

I keep this for as long as I can.

Dumaguete in May

"It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right
I hope you had the time of your life." - Green Day

\

Passing

Some nights don't beg for sleep but keep your eyes locked in the dark staring at the nothing that has passed your body so many times. You must have caught it once, maybe twice, then went on to somewhere more important; a celebration where firm hands would clink glasses full of wine. Try as you might, you can no longer recall for whom the party was, or what was so eventful you were glad to be there that night. But it was where everyone placed their life on desires as though the endless meant the sun would fail to rise. Anyhow, nothing, for so long, has passed: It is no longer a question of how much time you have wasted. Hope is a man on a train who missed your station because he was busy pitying the drunk who fell by his side. He was always passing, and wherever he went, he was expected. He had everywhere to go.

Memory of an Accident

It was a Saturday night after a long day of walking around the filthy holes of the city. I had a bottle of beer with a friend at one of the those run-down stalls that dare to call themselves bars. I decided to call it a night before the next unworthy indie band played. 

I went to the parking lot and started my car. A public utility jeep hit me from behind while I was backing out of the dark parking lot. I was shocked, I couldn't move. It was a hit and run. I drove a bit and pulled over to the nearest well-lighted spot. 

I stepped out and checked my car for the damage: the back bumper was bent and the right panel was dragging down the pavement. A guy was walking on the side-walk and saw the ruin which was my crushed back bumper. I said "hey" and asked for help. He said he'd come back. 

A few moments later he walked over to me with a thick plastic string. He helped me tie the bumper just enough so I could drive it home in one piece. When it was done, I thanked the guy and drove away. My hands were trembling all night, it was a wonder how it controlled the steering wheel. Adrenalin kept me going until I finally got home.  

This is what everyone knows about the accident. 

The Artist Inspiring Other Artists: Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen in the '60s-- he looks a lot like Pete Yorn here, don't you think?

Leonard Cohen is a poet, novelist, and musician inducted into the American Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008. His song Hallelujah was originally released in 1984, covered by John Cale, and later on covered by Jeff Buckley’s haunting vocals in the ‘90s.

Baby I have been here before

I know this room, I've walked this floor

I used to live alone before I knew you.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

Maybe there’s a God above

But all I’ve ever learned from love

Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

It’s not a cry you can hear at night

It’s not somebody who has seen the light

It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah…

Hallelujah cover by Jeff Buckley

In one of Tori Amos’ live performances, Leonard Cohen read a few lines of poetry before the song “Silent All These Years.” It is the 2^nd single from her debut album, and is, I believe, still the most outstanding Tori Amos song to grace the airwaves.


I've heard of a man who says words so beautifully that if only he speaks their name, women give themselves to him. If I am dumb beside your body while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips, it is because I hear a man climb the stairs and clear his throat outside our door.

Silent All These Years by Tori Amos, with words from Leonard Cohen

This Summer

let's see how this one goes

to the other side of myself

i'm having bouts of self-mutilation in my head again. most days i feel this lack of energy does me good only because it keeps me from destroying this body. the images come in succession when i'm trying to focus on writing, and mostly when i'm trying to find rest. it keeps me from sleeping. it's strange how one can be so restless and yet feel so weak. the restlessness sustains me with an illusion of control, while i feel weak when it finally becomes a kind of physical anxiety, as if i'm squirming for air in a tiny room. awful, this failure of not doing. the frustration arrives when i see how i've wasted so many days, months of my life, accomplishing nothing important. 

you see, it's hard to love yourself when you've been in conflict with it for a while. self, you keep searching for different ways to resolve concerns, even opt for temporary solutions, to find another way to live; anything but the ways myself has suggested. see, here. i have paralyzed myself. settling for the things i have and still managing to lose them isn't a favorable streak. and i know it will not work; what i want isn't always what i need. self, you might want to do yourself a favor while you still have the time. already i dread losing you to contempt. get out, and while you're at it, why don't you do some real talking?

If You Like Leaving

Back when Boeing 747 was the largest aircraft, a Swedish band composed a song titled 747. Its lyrics had nothing to do with aeroplanes.

In the late '90s, the song was number 1 in the NU107 radio countdown for weeks. Though the song debuted in English, I always preferred the Swedish version over the English one because of a slight difference in the latter's sound arrangement. Read the English translation of the lyrics below.


747

Silence, like a whisper
Maybe tomorrow it won't be here
So tomorrow we could teach them
Some new styles
You're such a killer
So shoot me down again
It won't hurt when the killing is done by a friend

Silence, like a whisper
So this is all we need
The fully air conditioned sound of speed
A violent whisper
And this time it's for real
So this day I made plans for us to leave

Silence, why won't you listen?
Maybe it's just me
But sometimes it's impossible to breathe
A violent whisper
Maybe this time it won't heal
Maybe this time it will bleed until I'm free

****

Listen to the original version below.

Don't just sit there.

Have you found love? Did you find love again?

As the Sparrow

To give life you must take life,
and as our grief falls flat and hollow
upon the billion-blooded sea
I pass upon serious inward-breaking shoals rimmed
with white-legged, white-bellied rotting creatures
lengthily dead and rioting against surrounding scenes.
Dear child, I only did to you what the sparrow
did to you; I am old when it is fashionable to be
young; I cry when it is fashionable to laugh.
I hated you when it would have taken less courage
to love.

-- Charles Bukowski

Covers as good as (or perhaps even better than?) the original

Well, fine. That would still depend on your taste. It's one thing to sing a karaoke version of a great song, and it's an entirely different thing for musicians to make a refreshing version without listeners thinking 1) they're creatively drained, 2) they have absolutely zero talent, 3) and they're just riding on a legendary musician's popularity. 

After listening to these covers, I hope you agree they did justice to the original hits. And here is where I have to say kudos to artists who still manage to serve us something unexpected in the golden age of formulaic pop and unprecedented piracy. 

DISCLAIMER: I'm a bit of a new wave junkie, so pardon me if some of the songs here may be a decade older than you. Listen and enjoy. :) 

1) The Ghost In You

The Psychedelic Furs to Duncan Sheik

Listen to the original song here

The Ghost In You is one of my favorite new wave tracks so I never thought any cover would be good enough; it always had to be The Psychedelic Furs for me. Written by Richard and Tim Butler, the song earned spots in the U.S. and U.K. pop charts in 1984. By the '90s, the Counting Crows covered the song in grungy acoustic fashion for the film Clueless (1995) which brought Alicia Silverstone, then an unknown teenage actress, international success. Almost a decade later, singer/producer Mark McGrath of Sugar Ray made a version with arrangement and vocals heavily enhanced by I-don't-know-what-you-call-em (technology that makes that buzzing sound) for the comedy film 50 First Dates (2004) which starred Adam Sandler as the love-struck marine biologist in desperate pursuit of Drew Barrymore, an art teacher inflicted with anterograde amnesia (yes, I had to Google that). Another Ghost In You rendition was recorded by a lad named Matthew Puckett (good lord, I wouldn't have heard this version if I didn't do all this surfing!); his haunting vocals and raw acoustic guitar matched the theme for the North American TV horror series Being Human (2011). 

Needless to say, a lot of covers have been made and it's only a matter of time until somebody finally records a version that throws old and new listeners off their seats. And yes, I believe the best version was recorded by Duncan Sheik (and I have to say that Puckett guy gets 2nd place for his eerie cover). 

Released in 2009, The Ghost In You is the last track in the album Whisper House. Though the album did not receive as much acclaim as other Sheik albums, the cover is most definitely an unexpected gem out of 10 tracks. This song is quiet as a windy summer afternoon by a still lake, a pond, (or a stagnant creek, will you?). It's the kind of sound you hear when you look out the classroom window to daydream about that someone. Hear the whispering vocals, the piano’s rhythm delicate as glass crystals, and the guitar's gentle acoustic strums as it stirs lives "inside you", whilst "the time moves..." as if you knew what Duncan Sheik meant by "ghosts" and why they won't fade.

Listen here

For my old man on his 30th wedding anniversary

For his woman.

Today is supposed to be my parents' 30th wedding anniversary. I'm sure my mom has always looked forward to it. Three years ago I even thought about planning a simple wedding celebration for them.

It's been almost two years since my dad passed away. To get my mom out of her widow (anniversary) blues, we decided to go out and have a swanky family dinner at Buenisimo.

Things are a lot different without my old man around. We miss him every day. I'm just glad to be spending this day with my family. 

seafood pasta & lengua

lechugas, anyone? chorizo & smoked salmon salad

with mom and bro

Simply the best lengua I had in years

yours truly with mi mudra

liver pate

chill place

Buenisimo by Cafe Ysabel is located at #24-C Scout Tuazon corner Scout Lozano Streets in Quezon City. Check out their menu at http://www.ilovebuenisimo.com/ Yes, this is shameless plug, but I am in no way related to the owner of this restaurant, nor am I paid to write this entry. ;)

The Burning Place

These godless hours remain
the mind’s faithful partner.
And from the only body I’ll have,

I watch your motion, I watch you let me in.

Sontag recognized love is about submission.
Like giving yourself to be flayed and knowing
that any moment the other person can walk off

with your skin, she wrote.
If red is what I wear to dinner with you
to protect the skin I should give up.

If I say what you refuse to feel

and gladly take you to the burning place.
Where there is no you or I
and our veins, like graves, are opening

for what will open in us.
We start and finish one another with a kiss,
a look. We do it ruthlessly and all the time.


-- Alex Dimitrov

Zzz

We found a place to which we drive
and I offer you the time
to sleep, to dream
to wake up when we arrive