EXCESS
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Most of the fascinating reads I have gorged on and had gained access to in the past years came from the Web.

It is not exactly a fastidiously, prosy kind of sentence build-ups: I have actually read BETTER sentence structures than these.

The first time I realized this was when I bumped my letter-fancy eyes to a site. I was instantly inspired by McSweeney's, a New Yorkian type of off-the-box critique on everything, from eyebrows to leggings to undiscovered vinyls. No ads, no pop-outs, just a canvass of words existing as monuments to visceral and auditory experimentations that are beyond hyper-realism. These are the insane mind bites (insane in that they can afford to be freely brilliant) without begging nor pestering for any feedback whistle.

These are writers who would not sell their douchiness for inglorious ratings. They can afford to be rich that way.

From then on I would match the flux of these word architectures with actual print fixes. They became my yardstick for craftsmanship, not the other way around. It is not obligated to commercials nor to muscling bigwigs, thus, this unconstrained travels of the cranium without the guilt disorders accompanying it.

Most of my fiction germinated from this process. I have seen my works redone, re-edited, stolen, mocked and slashed by the better-equipped word technocrats. My computer crashed one time as people visited my room, innocently picking on my keyboards. I am trustful of friends. I do know who they are right now.

My real editors preferred visiting me at the house though, with my manuscripts pencilled in by unique annotations. Over noodles and pasta, we have reached, communication-wise, far-ranging topics like theater, films, rivers and the tawdry happiness arising from sporadic moments of solitude.

A sample of our discussion: The art of having mosquito nets where marital brawls are staged in some far-flung barrio setting. I do not think we need to, ever, dissect the sanctity of variety show dance sequences with much vigor and immortal passion after this nonsensical delving into the psyche of creative quest.

Now, we have seen the fruits of these gigantic pursuits for excellence. In reverse, we pray in silence. We have the armory to improve the guilds of aesthetic productions but chose the opposite. Instead of embracing the world with its natural sources of inspiration, we stepped on it with our new-found stilletos and focused camera angles. We are so tired of the quest that we could not write more than that. We equate our triumphs with the number of conquests we have bagged along the way and we weep whenever we see our beautiful, discretionary decisions.

That is hardcore drama, if you pin it down to that level.

Come to think of it, these are excellent film scripts, staring right into your faces. Only fools will not grab the opportunity to write them down.

If this creative excess could not mount a cultural awakening Byzantinian in nature, I wouldn't know what will.

Yes, the Web taught me this. Mainstream media had dulled me for a long time. The wave of Internet information opened up a world unshackled by traditional gatekeepers that are content with repeating formulaic mind settings.

Here, excess is good. Here, excess is tranformational. Here, excess is even Godly.

Here, exacting creative revenge is sweet: even my local panciteria has a crazy guy refusing the food of his heckler. Such dignity. The dialogue went:

Hefty guy: "Sira ulo na yang pari....ni reyp kasi yung kapatid, walang alam."

Bystanders: "Di naman po siguro."

Hefty guy: "Hoy tanggapin mo yang pizza na binibigay sa yo!!" (my only participation here, as the pizza giver).

Bystanders: "Di ka naman po pinapakialaman."

Hefty guy goes to the cashier for his leftover to be packed.

Waitress: "Bakit di nyo na lang ibigay to sa sira ulo na sinasabi nyo. Wala siyang makain."

Hefty guy: "Hoy ito, kainin mo...ayaw mo? Ha? Ha?"

Crazy guy received it but was saying "coconut", waving it for people to view his given loot. His way of saying, I do not like to eat.

Hefty guy: "Ayaw mo talaga? Akina, isoli."

Crazy guy politely gave it back but only after giving me a contented smile.

Moral of the story: Had he seen I was not hungry enough, he would have gotten my pizza. But he saw through that and left me, as is.

Title of Film: Street Dignity. Even paupers can teach us a thing or two about principle.

Do I need a station to improve on this impromptu celluloid?

Here, even excess is functional.