BURGERING THE STUPIDLY GASSED ALLEY VIA HURTFUL MUSIC
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I am using a Dead Sea Mask packaging as a fan.

I was listening to jail radio (its jocks seem to be facing drafts of complaints, I don't know, depending on their adamant defiance to rescue their souls from humdrum mobbing) and had fun haranguing imaginary texts to the perpetrators of old siliconed breasts (I know the breath, perspiration, smell, quirks of the children's corn: clone you can but not your Irisally-genetics (DNA) that is, get this you sons and daughters of the flood, injected in a specially-designed rocket to Mars). And they never, ever, say they are my offspring: that is how cocky they are that I'd spot them even on blind alleys.

Anyhow, they have learned to be angsty but still do sound like bored wives of the suburban, legendary caves.

Actually, I already find damp the alleged threats to the Presidency: I just walked past its builders and workers fixing the Espana road. They always clean the mess left by these black guys with black eyeliners and bad arrangement and it is not wuzz work. Truth be told, the President's men know from where they speak of: they know their facts and figures, how to eradicate the problems in concrete time frames and they know the history of progress (or digression) in their assigned agencies. They did their homework. Not nerdy: one can feel it; their inside knowledge of the ropes is shaking up and buffing up the institutions for greater social amelioration heights.

These sore losers in the last Presidential derby (just my hunch) may actually want to hasten up their ascent to power (I'd say it as is-----this country needs more forthright people not engaged in circuitous language calisthenics---the pretense to be good workers when you actually see nothing in the midst: bubble barbed claims). They are more grumpy than the candidates themselves who must have accepted their fate in good graces. I salute them.

Actually, the reverse is truer: I wonder if they are out there on the streets cleaning up their tracks and cameras. So smart and so caught by the fast changing spills of the times. One of their ilk had converted and had this genius explanation to his conversion: "We revolted because we wanted good governance. Now, this dispensation looks like it is implementing good governance."

In short, the reason for being, raison d etre, this source of whining, is already lost since the tables had been turned. These marchers for hire actually do not have concrete goals in mind when faced with basic governance problems, i.e., how to improve the state of the country. Instead, they devise plans to make money out of public service, using its structures for free in pursuit of their private enterprises, blackmailing its good servants and simply, just pretending they had improved rice production somewhere in the mountains.

It has gone comedy and horror and a source of spectacular scripts for morally-aware film makers. We no longer need paper work: we need to see actual work.

If you had been following the press conferences of the President, he is always blunt and straightforward: he knows how to spot the just mundanely irritating queries and he responds to them as pointedly. On this, he is better-equipped in parrying than her spokespersons.He truly knows how to use his words, his deep psychology of the "reverse" communication sitting well in his realm of governed diplomacy. I like it: this appeal to conscience more than the sissy threats of boxing etc etc. This is a battle for exact works. Imagery could not save the absent service track.

They were not invited to the brainstorming therefore they are plagiarizing information that they need to be courted. For what? I think they had been politely told to straighten up but are filled with pride to do it. The best option to address the endless whining is there: the reason why they are yacking is perhaps, they were not summoned to the process since they too had been checked on their previous accountabilities. I never know the exact reason but I have seen its visual replicas. It is pure sulking. And this saving-our-face for our love of cold-bilked snow.

Oh, you see the violators cutting down on road lanes, their bravery confined only inside the booths of microphones. They, nonetheless, turn red-faced in real life encounters. I had seen a lot of these walk-outs in my debate engagements: they simply stand up when the badgering of truths seem to be difficult to digest.

Just remember: music kills. Truth does too.