CLICK..............ME
By: Iris P. Concepcion
Shuffled leaves of pages hit the period as things unfold, miraculously from the innate craftsmanship of children.
These are snapshots taken by happy hands. Hands that irk, probe, question, chastise, worry, laugh, sleep, yawn, scratch and well, sit down. Hands that have mouths, hands with 236 fingers clicking the camera's "click" mode that dig deep, looking for the better meaning of life (forget I wrote the last words--it is stupid and it is mine).
The first shot speaks for itself. That is a page of a film pitch, inviting creative investors to try the Philippines as a shooting location. I was alarmed by the numerous dots. In case you are wondering who owns that black-pencilled annotation, let us make her the mystery girl of the moment.
The next shot is the cornkid's scribbling. I could not, for the life of me, force her to reply to queries that she does not like to answer. This is part of her exam. The item drew an "ant" and she must identify what the insect is in its Filipino equivalent term. It is langgam.
Why on earth she would write the lgorog twiddle is beyond my comprehension but I totally laughed over this creepy stubbornness; this devil-may-care attitude that some quarters may frown upon. Of course, I told her it was the wrong letters she had placed.
She simply gave me a knowing, throaty smile that is definitely deep-timbred. It is totally zombie for shock value.
Well, there is your profound answer to all the terrible questions thrown at this writer:
Lgorog.
On another note: Have you ever tried waking up to hilarious music that is supposedly, in intent and meaning, not originally a funny material? I never get spectacular music from my radio (although I do catch irreverent but dynamo music there once in a while) but the oddest places.
I watched a film that is not either on DVD or Betamax (wala lang, I like writing the word Betamax, it is so dinosaur) and in between breaks, I had listened to the best sounding disco tracks I haven't heard in years. I have the option to turn off the inanity but I could not bring myself to shut off the otherwise dug masterpieces of the down and yonder. They are irresistible. Of course, out of enjoying myself over the melodies and musical progressions, I have to be stunted by apocalypsian thunderstorms. I do not know: how can I be so silly, lame, humbug and content like a bug and laughing like an ass most of the time? Do I need to pay for this secret clown dancing over my head?
I think I need a salad but I need to grow vegetables to eat one. Perhaps, I'd start by picking on trees, toss in some duct water and fight everyone with a spoon. Who knows?
Someone is not going to get his salad though. Truly, that was an awful, awful, miserable, miserable column. But the products are primetime comedy, I'll give you that.