VISAGES PASSING THROUGH MY RETINA

By: Iris P. Concepcion

I, presumably the worst face appraiser in the whole universe, has taken delight, of late, the vivacity and cornerstone meditations on my words (think of yoga via folding legs) as appropriated by my foresighted circle.

Yes, the paragraph above is muddled and my friend Nick the Terrible will easily grant me a slap on the wrist for being too winding. But how dare refuse me a laughter "for world peace" digs on the neanderthal unknown? Cruiser fields my foot!

The joke comes in first as morbid. After taking a shower, the satire gains its posse life and it gets overtly hilarious. Some of the paragraphs I have read so far are so bad I can see the faces of their writers chuckling in one corner, duping me for a 20 buck of eternal parody.

But let me take a severe fondling (not in an amorous way) on a cheer captain's foray into my world. In seconds, he had produced hybrids of faces, some of them ignorantly ridiculous that I am reminded of Amytyville Horror in reverse lay-up. THESE are fun faces. He is a genius, I reiterate, for closely following what I have written in a cleverly grotesque, unnerving manner.

Say, my two Dads shrank in sizes, with their thin ponytails. And they speak retardly. Is this an inside joke, the interloper asks. Yes, I say with glee, it is. Beware, he is doing hybrid sound now from the audio pad. Be very afraid.

Or out from a dunk corner of a sweaty street, I saw a yummy Hotdog standing so regally, in immaculate white and great cane, eating up most of the jeepneys that wheeze by.

I even saw my face transposed in three of my imaginary kids' attributes that I immediately declared: "This is freaking 21st century by gad!" Hybrid clones.

Refer to front page stories lately. Exactly my point.

A picture speaks a gazillion words that could not be deleted even by an H-bomb.

What can I say? I am living a high maintenance life with no glam or exquisite future beckoning me on its embrace but here: some hope peeks and even with T. Burton's monsters lurking ubiquitously on the sideline, I know I'd be safe. I could even buy flowers for.......world peace.

Is this working? I guess it is working huge.

And son, do not give up on porn. It is obscene NOT being forthright and honest in these times. I'd rather read you than pretend good-doers who do silly hoinky-toink on the back. That is your lifeblood for crying out loud. Without that, your vision will be such a drab I'd be eating beetlenut for supper.

Thanks to the gallant men and women who had sacrificed a lot to make this work.

Sniggers.

FOOD WITH MEANING

By: Iris P. Concepcion

A woman, one time, decided to go out of her way to deliver something that had been in the woodwork for five years. It is her purpose, the reason why he gets pelted by screaming people. She had walked under some heat that had tested her patience. It did not ruffle her except for some pluses on her expletive ammunition.

She usually wakes up with nary a care on what could happen; for as long as her words had been pressed there, for THAT reason, she continues to tread, like a contented snail circling in her small shell saying provocatively the emotive, perfect, spectacular : SHUT UP.

I wonder how snails sound when they utter that.

So that the universe shall know, it is the company that lends meaning to food, the very meaning why this woman still walks unabated in spirit, with words popping out of her mind, thinking of her new masterpiece, but still for that one reason.

TACKY OLD MEN
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Last night, a presumably dead man gathering worms inside an urn of lies, berated this writer: harassed even to the point that this writer laughed it off as some sick mind's cling to his drugged self living under the guise of pure public service.

I am thankful though for the sane people surrounding me; for whacking this ugly person's deceit to fame, the kind that only STD's can stand.

Have you ever been hounded by these types? If you do: free to call me and I am going to advise you on what to do. Exactly that: hit them back; do not be a morose caving in to their lurid dissection of yourself. The thing is you did not give in to their booze, drugs, trips, mistress collecting and plain rejection of what they represent: abuse.

I promised to write about this before and I think this old stuttered old hag with a propensity to get hospitalized via his abused women's coffers need a second death, the kind who can fix his extraterrestial face with a dose of decency: shot it through his system of duplicity.

I have been forewarned of these types, oh, the battered women getting choked in cars by men with large tummies and bad breath who tell you off as "yar ugly". The nerve. They who do not feed you do not have the right to berate you like you are one used-up person. Only one chance to decency and they do not want to take THAT opportunity.

That is pain, if you may want to call it that. Selfishness in its purest warped form.

I have seen these abandoned children in state of disarray. I think people in the know are hitting this man's ass back and for good reason.

Laban is not a thing to get casual about. It is not an abusive tagline for sycophant ways. I do not leech nor suck everyone's power trips to give me good graces.

You simply face the truth that we are foisted for a brave, new, young, world without the seedy faces of these old dirty hags using public offices to prey and badmouth women.

I am so glad I slapped this freak over time. I even told one of his abused women I did that.

Her reply: "Ang tapang mo Iris."

You could not begin to decipher what this cheapo had addressed me: taking potshots at the state of my personhood as if he is describing a pig. This is my foray to explanation. You know whom to nail if I get pushed somehow.

Yes, who cares about the world of hecklers when out of the noise someone says "I love You Iris" in a meaningful way. You just need to learn to move forward and get allied with people who do not pull you down.

Yes. I deserve handsome men with good attitude. Not old people with STDs and reality problems.

Now: would you really support this faux public servant?

If you feel for this writer, e-mail her at coniris@gmail.com / i_concepcion@yahoo.com.

It is a terrible, hostile, OLD alleys of insecure old lackeys and you just need to fight them BACK.

P.S.

You know how you get accustomed to people being mature and all? Anyway, one of the freshest and uplifting things that had happened to me lately is watching someone in an absolutely kiddie trek mode. He stared at me while doing it, in diagonal form. As in slanting. I said: What a kid.

And that evens it up.

MISSING LETTERS
By: Iris P. Concepcion

A woman in braids with a mighty pen in hand expressed in horrific form: "Are you possessed?"

Not addressed to me.

She lends me books; I could not fault her Yoda ways.

I have gotten used to the day job of people castigating you for things they know you shall never compromise. If you undergo a whole five years of stopping the circuitous, inane, senseless, idiotic pandering to the glam cover-ups, I'd rather hole myself in a room with my sole notebook as company and think of that one Japanese lunch. Yes, they are still there prowling like freaks in the manger of Copanhagen taxed trip. What puppies brought them there is not pure talent I suppose: it is leechiness and the absence of guilt.

Here is the story of the braided girl then:

She is exasperated why a guardian of words would blotch it for a sandy castle. Of course, terrible choices come to people with lucid and clear visions for the society and it is a respectable deed if you truly wind it up a little bit into things that had say, limited the size of your closets than expand it. If you can't get through the biases, you just need to show them the opposite.

Gladly, I am like sealed in a fortress of good-minded people, some redeemers after having wronged in the past----yes, some of them wear fur but these are deducted from their hard-earned salaries. I embrace them as far as my arms could stretch out because we are not piously serving a common group of interest (snow patrol is already gone, here comes scorching Summer) but precisely to celebrate the beauty of diversity under a responsible roof of informed debate. Since they chose to go low, you just need to level them off from that ground too and allow them to see the folly of some hot air balloon rides. It isn't color that I normally gravitate into: it is the deed and you can wear indigo or periwinkle if you choose to without me screaming at your itchy throat.

One day you come across forgiveness and it strikes you as sincere; backing it up is nonetheless different. We all sinned somehow but constricted conformity to a gang mindset: those that are bred in some nocturnal pubs under the grace of God knows what, it does not sell my spirit. It is easy to get my acceptance if society as a whole benefited from the goodwill. I have come under fire for being stubborn, but the beautiful thing to come out is, I gained friends traditionally not regarded as friendly in my world.

I like it when janitors are being respected; I like it when people of high standing eat with bare hands among their folks; I like it when they give pep talks without being too guarded about their own follies (one of my Dads boasted of squiring a lot of women before he got married; he stayed at the house after the marital bond---understandable, he has a gorgeous face. He had confessed to sleeping in a fashion event one time). People who do not wear curtains when facing people are most likely the people that leave a mark in your space. I like those who do not boast they are prim and proper and do silly stuff at the back: I like people who are forthright.

Funny thing is, these are the people who can casually drop off sexy lines without being offensive because they state it as a matter of factly.

Sample: "Do you know Iris that sex cures headaches?" And I circle my eyes with imaginary cottonballs as if I am being lectured on a philosophical foray into the dynamics of economics. I mean, they talk it off to you like it is some priestly baptism or some primer on how to fix a stool or something.

And they are truly funny as hell. I do not know why a bagpipe would sound hilarious to me now, as I type this, but we guffaw in the same lilt of decibel laughter, at the same things, for the same reason. It is kind of evil, but they do pull my hair for that.

So here's the plea: if you want to trim down my words; do so by all means but never mess up with them just to suit your own environment. Do not do Europe in exchange for a botched job: that is totally uncool. Or terrifying Brazil. Talk to my kids. They've got razors. Guffaw.

http://tsinoyfornoy.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/thankyou.jpg

http://tsinoyfornoy.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/thankyou.jpg

WISH
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I wish they had captured
The momentary stillness
Of the countryside
Here
Our
Own
In the planks
And
Where unfinished
Houses
Get Stuck
In
One
Huge
Empty
Field

Pride
Of Nationalism
Offshore in Spirit
The booze of
The Spring
And Reckless
Demise of Self
Among the tweeds
And scarves
Of our taxed
Land.

MY OTHER DADDY LOOKS LIKE CHAPLIN

By: Iris P. Concepcion

"God will make a way where there seems to be no way. He works in ways we cannot see. He will make a way for me."- Moen

I have morphed versions of my sole nephew but mine, the authentic one with questions like "what does that word mean? It is deep," while his friends advise: "Just google it" kind of reply------while he was still bunking at a southern pink room used to room my mother, gave me these marvels of attitude I now recall with amusement and hilarity:

1.) He has this huge winter jacket too big for his size that terribly smells.

2.) He does not use pillow cases and just spends time putting his head on the cushion without let up.

3.) He has this most annoying laugh in this whole freaking universe.

4.)He gets exasperated when I am "bopol" (dumb) with computer functions.

5.) He once wore a flaring orange brief that he does not wash in say, two days.

6.) He was so aghast with my urinal chamber one time that he scrubbed it with a cleanser and told me NOT to use rusty cooking pots as urinal repository.

7.) He loves to bully people in the streets with his talking snot (he talks as if he always had colds)

8.) He loves to eat and spend money on the loose and advised me to live each day as if it is the end.

9.) He plays in the tiled floor with the youngest playing horsey and one time I just yelled on top of my lungs : " STOP THAT!!!!!!!!"

10.) He protects me in a weird, terrible, warped, irksome but genuine way.

11.) Be very afraid of his laughter. It kills.

12.) He is a star material. Totally.

13.) I always leave him or drop him off somewhere but he gets to keep the telephone, always.

Many have claimed I am their Tita (that is just okay with me but do not go dangling on me the loot for a changed choice, it just wouldn't work) but this one's a basic magnet for affection. He likes the Pyramid song and that explains everything.

I have been losing pages of my daily newspaper readings lately. And curiously, it always had to do something with old ladies. One scolded me for borrowing hers; the next old lady borrowed mine and returned it headless (front pages were missing). The third one just made a Houdini, she sat beside me and presumably swept the inside pages while I wasn't looking. She wore a duster. I think I knew the reason why she did that as I read for free, from a side corner vendor, the vanishing pages.

I kind of like the way some of these millions of parents shield me, albeit in a weird, intrusive ways sometimes. They are my obnoxious lienages who warn me of impending dooms and catastrophes of massive proportions while I eat. They are fierce people prowling on the waves with:

"HOY DADI WANT U 2 GO HOM TO D DORM CUZ BAD PEOPLE IN A BUKOL CONTEST WILL MAKE SWIPE UR HAIR OR SAMTING SO HOY, DADI WANT U 2 SLIP!"

Tado could not have said it any BETTER. If you need to explain a joke, talk to these people. They'll drive you nuts.

P.S. The annoying voice is here again. Brrrrrrr.

ON WHY WRITING THIS BLOG IS ALREADY WORKING
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I had walked in several streets and alleys of this archipelago conducting interactions with mammals with high I.Q.'s, some terribly hostile to the equilibrium of the mind. But still, roads are paved to be walked on, so I walk.

I had met in some obscure corners people on the primest block of a truly reinvigorating, creative movement. It is not the put-on type, easy on the eyes impressionism. I find it difficult to articulate why I have to find the answers (sometimes) in mammoth sub-urban graffiti walls and weird reel locations with robots donning spaceheads; and thus, I often shun the jammed airwaves and bugged phones that I put off since I easily doze off after minutes of posse listening.

Anyway, daily, I await for calls that never came and I was given reasons for that too. I often wonder why my sentences get chopped in the information highway. I was given a pointblank answer who is doing it, in more literary ways than the poppy ones. Yes, they might have been possessed by the Blairian events of the current world and you just need to respect the reason for the bouncing-off balls, losing their steam in the grinding process of the modern times.

People pose sometimes as the people I communicated with but scratching the initial surface is one thing I have developed quite impeccably over the years; you live on the edge daily as people throttle you with choices of their own. There is only one heart to give and I do not mess around casually pumping it for people with screwed shoes on---or shod springboards?

I am conducting an interview with myself to get through these points:

Q: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE AFTER THE ELECTIONS?

A: I retrurned to the city and found it inside a boiler room. The whole kaboodle of insensibility is somewhat tempered by the views of people who had taken long hours to hurdle the design stages, took a hefty, free time to build concepts whilst whiling away their donkey rides in the deserts with sashaying hair, on hold (besides, they have ridden in beat-up vans in Divisoria, grinning at me like carnivores). If we want faster communication using the available computer savvy, they say it will falter. Next thing we know, they created pronto holograms already so done by the immediate competition in say, two years back. My point being, if it shall be embraced nonetheless in the medium, why bitch about it in the first place? The proponents never claimed perfect competence but for taking the big, bold, new, vibrant step to that direction (an impressive feat considering the least time involved, as opposed to say, six years of yacking indefinitely and choosing which suit matches the new glammed up face in the leadership arena), somebody had to take the credit and I am giving it to the persons who derserved it.

Q: DO YOU LIKE ITS TURN-OUT?

A: Yes. I was in a precinct where shoving and priority tickets get distributed like raffles and I figured, it isn't that those machines failed (they worked like zingers on horny heat where I voted---reliable and fast), it is that people were creating superficial vacuums and disarray to stall the procedure in major ways than one. Some people were yelling "uwi na tayo matagal pa ito" but I desisted the jungle call of the losing spirit and said, head on, "Have these people line-up for Christ's sake and have them vote as they come." Despite the man-made catastrophes pursued by people used to lug 2,000 heavy pounder boxes in the boondocks, I persevered as an embrace to a refreshing change. Partner said, you may not have free houses or cars but haggling for street food has its pluses as far as your character is concerned. Yes, the election is a test of wits and the young wit nailed this one on a dead man's coffin.

Q: HOW DID YOU VIEW THE CONTENDING PARTIES' CONCEDING POSITIONS?

A: I was impressed with them. The first one to come out with a press kit was Gilbert Teodoro and he was very jovial and upbeat. I just know he wouldn't get lost in the way of the wolves inside just because he is firm and forthright. There is a certain respectful way this kind of leader exudes onto the field, it isn't just cuteness, he has the cerebellum to back it up and the speediness to enforce them; when he said he is going to contribute if he is tapped by the new administration, you just feel he isn't boeing-ing it for some cheap lay or free ride atop a sandy donkey outside the country. I voted for his cousin but they're GREAT family.

Q: ARE YOU ALARMED BY THE DOOMSAYERS?

A: Not in a large scale. Here's the thing: I know who is plain vicious, despite their made up "I Love My Country" columns (the nerve to write that Ninoy Aquino did not leave any legacy because he was not President---they are enjoying the nuts and bolts of that claimed democracy because this man died, truly, and it wasn't via fake urn). Anyway, I look at legacies of how far their policies had really trickled down on me, as a citizen, and much as I pain writing this, those weren't implemented by sloths. The workers did them, fast and square. Why argue with words? When they cross the printing press for truer, seen, implemented, working environment, that is when you say your "aye."

I also read something that the aunt of our new president explained : that they were persecuted during the martial law years but she said, they never got back what had been sequestered from them nor lengthily enjoyed the economic fruits brought about by Ninoy's death (yes, that is not legacy enough to old geezer-whiners). She was as forthright into explaining what it is to be within and I am glad that they are finally articulating the dynamics happening there in actual form. The bank explanation is particularly an appreciated gesture. Many can claim otherwise, but I know who had been truly there. It is not just yelping out with "Hey chicken s****t, give my mistress a job she needs via free phone." That is soooooooo Byzantine period and no longer clicking. Or splurging on mediocre clips as a pitch for government: we are far more THAN the out-of-focus shots believe me. Somehow, that is a done statement.

Noy's sister Kris said one time that she wonders who wants to be inside the Palace since it is a very lonely place to be, with several people pulling you off from everywhere. She further said, if the purpose is to bilk out something from the office though, it could be good.

I say, when these people in an alleged lonely place start to truly listen, that's when good things genuinely happen.

Q: BUT ARE YOU ALARMED ?

A: I said not in large scale.Unmasking the whole set-up is the fun part though. I especially take my hats off to people who got caught up in the web of past heroisms as they take the art into the streets. My people got copied and that is the highest form of flattery I could have in this planet of ours. Oh yes, you get turned-on by all of that massive force of getting the dam out of the water and you do that for the sole partner who matters and who the freak gives a damn if I am singularly blind that way? I do not like sharing my devotion that is why: if it is that person, it should not be a cause for alarm that he gets the super mojo always because productive come-ons do not come in cheap bottles and blah talk.Not to mention springed shoes.

Q: WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND LATELY?

A: Oh, Joey de Leon's Filipino poetry, I guess he was wrecking some nerves in the past too, and I think I know from where he is speaking from. Here's what he penned:

"At pati si Kris ay pinakialaman
Sa sinabi nito bago maghalalan
Na siya daw ay maging pabigat lamang
Sa kampanya ni Noy syay aalis na lang.

Ngunit tanga lang ang di makakaalam
Na si Kris nga ay parang naging hologram
Na biglang lalabas sa kung saan saan
Para ikampanya utol nyat tulungan.

At ang endorsement nyay nakatulong naman
At alam mong puso and pinaggalingan
At hindi katulad ng iba dyan
Puro usapan kaya baya'y barya lang.

Biro nga ni Noy
Tigil nyo kadramahan
Siniseryoso kanyang mga tinuran
At gusto na syang palayasin sa bayan

Ngunit sa tingin ko ang katotohanan
Kaya gusto nila si Kris ay lumisan
Dahil matagal na pong nasasapawan
Itong mga LINTIK na tinatamaan

Ang mga inggetera inyong lubayan
Amining upuan niyay gustong upuan
Hindi kayo magiging Kris kailanpaman
Wag syang gamitit di kayo kailangan.

Hindi naman kaya kayo ay ganyan
Ay dahil kandidato nyo ay iba lang
At tipong manok nyo nung huling botohan
Ay hindi nangitlog at sumemplang.

Subalit dahil sa nagyaring eleksyon
Parang mga tao'y haghalo-halogram
Nag-iba ang timpla at nagkabistuhan
Sana'y makabuti ito in the long run.

Q: AND WHAT IS YOUR FORM NOW?

A: Formless. I see people. It is hot walking but they are good visages.

WHY
By: Iris X. Concepcion

Stepped on toes
Crashing pushcarts
Ladies in pumps
Candied hair

And wrapped feet.

My middle initial is sooooooo fascinating. Actually, it is Irish X. Con. Like in comic books.

(I love it when they say "en" instead of "and".)

EXPRESSION
By: Iris P. Concepcion

Have you ever experienced scooped out from your cocoon and suddenly, you are propped in an environment of instant families?

This morning I thought I won't be able to speak about mushy things once again but I did. You understand why everything must be worked on. He had promised you shall be alright, but the full comprehension that everything that the universe grants is there for the taking is much a wider latitude of calm that I had felt amid the confusion sowed.

The little one was once asked by this writer what he found good about her personhood. Two words: "you seem to truly care and kind."

I laugh at his assessment now. I write this to express that the reverse is truer: he had his whole family picked me at some odd roads before, leaving me as is, respecting my choices. It was not a throttling kind of attention. I was blabbered on and they simply entered and took up the cudgels for me.

Yes father, you raised them up good, well and tough. I just realized that now.

He thus said: "You can now hold hands."

I needed permission to do exactly just that. Respect comes in many forms and character is when you give it at the precise moment it must shine through.

I am going to our burger joint first thing in the morning to give my hearty thank you.

A GUY NAME NAMED MISSY a.k.a. JESSIE's GIRL
By: Iris P. Concepcion

"Where are you going Ma'am?" asked a taxi driver with an extremely happy, round face.

I figured he has a pretty neat family tucked in a perky brood; smiles do not come easily to abandoned kids but this one might have been raised to widen his lips when prompted.

Lunging my heavy bag filled with summer clothes for a Mindanao sojourn, I managed to reply through his rolled down window: "Airport."

"Hop in," he said, maintaining a disposition of a somewhat reckless but responsible guy.

I did as told, bringing myself slumped on a chair with butterflies in my stomach (I always have winged creatures playing footsies in my tummy, giving this writer endless tickles, always.)

I started a conversation with my usual "hhhmmmm, okay, aha, yeah" nonsense to exhibit that I am a human being with a functioning mouth.

Actually, he started to talk, Mr. Loquacious without even trying.

He said: "I don't know why they are fixing the roads here," looking at an elevated construction of a main thoroughfare always visited by flood.

"It looks good though, " I replied. "Look at the elevation, properly done."

"You know what Ma'am, you need to fix the drainage systems first before you can build solid roads in flooded areas. That's the first thing you need to do."

"Uhhh, okay," I slurred. "But is sure looks good. The road gets wider, more room for vehicles."

He scored the first point.

"What is this?" I pointed at a sticker on his taxi unit with the hilarious "Bawal ang Umutot dito!" (No farting here). There was a guy there saying it. I will not mention what color he is wearing for fear of smelly retaliation.

"Did you get it already Ma'am? Hahahahahaha," he jovially interjected.

He drove on.

I got going.

"So much bottleneck in that block earlier. Traffic," I said.

"That's only a gridlock. We'll pass by in a less congested highway, " he commented.

Somehow I trusted that he would deliver that promise.

He talked about politics. I silently laughed at his choices. They certainly did not match mine in all terms. I did not supply any riposte least he'll knife me or something.

"You know, they should stop pasting posters on those walls. It is hard to tear them down once the campaign is over," I madamely explained.

He drove on.

"How about you Ma'am, who are you voting for the local officials?"

I said I am registered in Mindanao but if I were allowed to vote in the city, I'd choose ____________.

"Ay pareho tayo Ma'am," he gleefully complied.

"I hope the boulevard shall be lit up again, with those night owl spots," I said.

"No Ma'am, it is cleaner without those restos and bars. People can walk freely. That used to be an excuse for drug dealers to sell their wares at night," he explained.

"But it gave the area a good place to enjoy some sunset moments."

"No Ma'am, it is really better. You can see the ocean clearly."

I insisted : "They should have food stalls there. Like siomai. It is difficult to cross the street when you get famished while promenading. I just saw rolling stores selling buko and the like there. But I like the statues."

"Maybe. Siomai, but you can't have restaurants there," he defended.

He seems to be dismayed as he took note of some blockades that he thinks, should not be there in the first place.

We passed by high rise buildings, well constructed skyways and all the while, he was picking on that they are ugly, that much is spent for these structures. I told him the designs are extremely, to say the least, exceptional.

I explained that when done for the public, it doubles its aesthetics. He said we do not pay the toll at this time but if it is _______, mentioning some tagline, it shall be with pay already.

We passed by an unfinished dome-like landmark and I was struck again by its beauty; the buildings were formed quite creatively, like you are propped in first world countries.

"Wow. I muttered," I could not really complain much if I see works done versus those that were not done simply because everyone got tired of moving for something only aliens can detect.

I said I hate whiners who talk much while disarray behind their backs keep on rolling like bad films.

"Mahal yan Ma'am, di pa nga natapos," he said.

Arriving at the airport, I disembarked. He bid me good luck and I gave him the exact fare he definitely deserves just because he took a time out to give me some pointers on the problems of drainage, roads and well, traffic.

Very good taxi driver, I ruminated, as he sped away in his roaring cab.

LOOKING AT "I AM NINOY SHIRT" THAT WORE ME TO DIVISORIA (ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL PLACE) TRYING TO EXCRETE PRODUCTIVE JUICES FROM MY PULP MIND
By: Iris P. Concepcion

The introduction is so long that it can form a sexy body, feet, legs, toes, warts, neck, cuticles to say, an entity with only a face.

Veering off from the heat, I found a safety net in a truly weird environment : Divisoria. All throughout my stay in Manila (from the prime age of 16 to Madonna's chameleon range) I have not truly explored this place for its reputation (smelly, heat, snatchers). I only went there once: to buy mementos for a friend who is going to get married.

I love the retention of the the old concrete materials in a bookstore and a bank. Their walls looked like chipped blocks from the once bombed-out Manila during the Japanese Occupation.

I did not enter its airconditioned malls: off to the heat areas I went. Their prices are low and I liked the haggling part where you can't actually haggle because the owner, in halting Tagalog, says that I must find a stall that offers a lower price and if I do, he will double his discount or give me a rebate (something to that effect). These are kind of messy (in a topsyturvy way) edifices where it is so hot you need visors not to protect your eyes but the air that waves in front of your eyes.

Quiapo is another area where the pulse and beat of the metropolis is especially felt. There is something biblical about its array of people selling wares from death to redemption; one is almost surprised to see surfboards nestled beside rosary beads.

You feel almost free to dive into swerves without having to thwart loudmouths you often hear babbling in huge establishments: theirs is a different kind of yell; their language extracted from the bowels of the earth sounding off in the bells of its famous church. I attended a mass here and there is certainly freedom of speech reverberating in its well-sculpted interior contours. Sometimes, I need to do away with the normal information plugs and listen to gut talks from Godly sources. I was admonished to turn off my cellphone; I took a pic and was reminded all over to follow the instruction. This is what fathers do usually. My millions of ascendants have a common factor: stern but firm to make me toe the line.

I never stray because of this.

Wisdom comes from this kind of silence and communion, allowing me to decide promptly as encapsuled in the next paragraph:

I felt inner liberation in saying "no" to people who are only after my spleen and guts and nothing else (perhaps, I have a price tag to them--what a silly proposition for friendship). I dropped those too. No, I do not see made-up gorgeous faces as the most fastidious way to earn social points (overrated). I have been with the truly blessed ones in spirit and I have discovered their beautiful souls on MY terms. I am kind of happy communicating with these people. You kind of see beneath the sudden flux of "you are ours" by the larger context of set-ups in their own brand of networking: I have seen mine in kalyes, roads, vehicles. Sometimes they are perched atop the roof fixing leaks.

I failed to throw away my old compact discs with droppable songs in it: I hope the singers learned something inside my world. When they put mud and urinated on the floor for me to mop, just brazenly put things on the DVD as assaults to my own private idaho (I allowed them; then I talked them out of it) I did so as an affront to their boorishness with nary a smack. When they took the bait to still instill their warped sense of reasoning via plasticity, I still fed them. That is no fluke, to say the least, and for all eternity, I have interacted with some drab people, but most often, the exciting ones who had ruminated in wondrous forms the value of conversations as inputs to major social decisions.

I once cooked for a group and came this little woman who had to voice out what I needed to hear in that entire praying-before-meals ritual. The words: "Thank you God; thank you Iris, for preparing ALL this." I saw another blase woman smirk at the words uttered but there's a fan standing at the end of my dining table, speaking without strings attached. Those are my own personal perks.

I couldn't thank enough the son who wrote as what his mother might have wished him to write: writing from the platform of truth: he soared beyond his airplane.

Yes, those are the people I GENUINELY love. And yes, they find the things I also find beautiful in Divisoria. And Quiapo.

BACK HERE
By: Iris P. Concepcion

And thus the pieces rippled,
Tenfold, in united voices
Made louder
By their dignified
Silence.

Talk to my hands.

YELLOW CAB REPLY
By: Iris P. Concepcion


Dear Darla,

( I am Iris)

I love your feisty soul.

(What does feisty mean? A fist without an "e", trying to outbox the first "f" letter in a play of phrasings? Have you actually seen my soul? Does it speak? Is Green the new Black? Yes, I am feisty--in a three karat way of mouldering heat, hotter than the sun, imbibed as my soul is, which I haven't seen actually except in my writings, in my fingers. I was quite impressed that the people out there are magnanimously accepting things as they are. The words get jumbled in the area where am at but I do believe the very good people who still believe will come in. Try as they might be torn down, they will still emerge victors in the end.)

You make me happy.

(Really? Give me sanitized air and I can say the same to you. Thank you for the wonderful statement though.)

My nephew took this awhile ago, in a thrift store. Perhaps it was a funny occurence to him, as he was taking picture of the top clothing. That is a rabbit pic lauding forth his statement.

All for the best fellas. All for the best.

And that is just a funny, wild take on how we feel sometimes. Well, I love everything that comedy has taught me. I love you guys. I will still give you a hug, sure.

It made me live.

I VOTED

By: Iris P. Concepcion

If you want to vote, it pays to be a Senior Citizen. In the precinct where I voted, the old people get priority numbers.

I was given a priority number (215) and the people at the COMELEC was still serving number 31. Quite a slight mayhem. I stayed put. The other precincts were orderly: as you arrive, you just need to know your precinct and number on the list and it is already a go. You just need to fall in line.

I sidled up with a senior citizen; I was able to cast earlier than the rest.

The machine is cool.

In the United States, they have to do it via touch screen.

Although ours still needs to be fed to the reading machine, it is fulfilling to watch your vote being read and scanned. After which, the word CONGRATULATIONS appears. It is truly fast. The ballot is long because of the numerous numbers of party-list candidates. I could not understand why there is so much negativity on this process; it makes things bearable, in keeping with the modern times, and old people getting introduced to technology.

Now, we are just praying, those votes will be pooled correctly. I am glad this is already started. It is my lifelong dream to elect via a computer and it finally came true.

OBVIOUSLY ON THE TRACK
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I woke up the other day with yellow ribbons adorning the town I am living in. Did supergalactical bodies enter and decide to tie them?

Hopefully by now, the message is strong: let us make this work.

NEWSPAPER
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I read the news today, oh boy (from a Beatles song).

Exceptionally done. The columns had it good.

Thank you guys for the dynamics of shutting up the lazies. Speak up and you shall be heard.

M and N
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I was walking by Roxas Boulevard (where I saw this family collage) and just had to connect it as invitation unto the welcoming arms of what is to happen. Look at the rays of light; real artists do not choose where to scatter their creativity. The place chooses them instead.

One writer extolled that Manila is best explored by foot. I am exactly doing that and had found nookies where the real action is brewing. You just need to disconnect from the plugs that deliver hypocritical analyses of things to come; they are overly rated anyway. They must have lived in time capsules where ostentatious snowing is the rule of thumb as a badge for expertise. I am glad these had been unmasked and not even via barging through-the-wall ignomity. They cannot afford to be funny because the joke is on them. The lenses hurt like fractured butt but we must look at them in new eyes to understand why they want slothness to rule.

Rohmer was viewing all these inside his makeshift sleeping sanctuary, viewing his number one fan under the heat of the sun. His fan was haggling for a bag and had a momentary fixation on a huge ass trapped in black, tight legging. The fan could not ask for more.

Silence leads me to things worthier than the useless milling around of the true (?) backbone of our nation. No sense of undermining can stifle how far this universe is able to cast itself in a wider spectrum of things. When one person you count on does not deliver because a car is better than my eyebrow, I usually get more intelligent interactions from bigger and more brilliant people to fill in the slack. I used to ask why this normally happens. Now I fully understand why.

I do not have any beef with dissension, you can't please everyone. When unnecessary force is used to get your nod though (pambabraso), I shall be speaking for the mute and the voiceless. Whether or not you have billions or whatever, when that is routinely allowed to escalate just because you dig the panicky dick of those who feed you, I will still consider you a simple dung. No room for that under the circumstances.

I hate people who seemingly condone acts of inhumanity against people who do not share their views. I draw the line there. Shout if you can; just do not extend that sick elbow in the process to prove your point. You have not proven a single point in my direction except for the terrible videos of made-up people doing understated drama under the daffodils of route change. You breed those kind of persons and I will show you WHO these breeders are.

Show me structures and investments and vibe in an otherwise staid environment and I might have considered your position. I am normally correct: these are not done by the slackers.

Wherever we may be heading, our heart is never out of place to the true beat of this nation. It is not a holier than though attitude but by the MANNER of how you treat your detractors under this time of creative and productive change.

I know your faces: you could not hide behind your knives that cut off my water pipes one time, made a hole in the wall of my room, shouted terrible words during a wake. Truly, barbarity mounts at the expense of reason. I should have presented left and right orgies so they would listen. Perhaps they will stop instructing zombies to hit me on my face with a comb. Silly ploy.

Oh saint, I need to wear a scarf to get validated by the pros? But why?

I almost cried as I was reading something earlier. Thank you Eliza for allowing me to rumple your hair. Thank you for not failing me under the tightest of circumstances. Argue all you can, it is through balance that I, as reader, take my hats off to those who stand firmly on the ground of fairness. Thank you for giving me THAT.

http://ph.news.yahoo.com/gma/20100504/tph-iglesia-ni-cristo-endorses-noynoy-aq-d6cd5cf.html

WIKI vs. MOB GOVERNANCE
By: Iris P. Concepcion

An author once argued for a lean organization (like making an indie film) as a surefire way to do things. Ergo: people implement things better in least cost.That is a good and sound business advice if you ask me.

One need not visit the bottom rung of things to understand the mechanics of how this is achieved. Just do the talk. Do not strut there like a sore cretin implementing things via fake osmosis.

I was joking earlier that there is even a "Good Governance for Dummies" book to weed away those laughable stints where situational comedies are founded on. By now, the clique knows that a forthright take on things gets my respect always.

I do not care whether or not the thing is unpalatable; I often give my respect to people who may fall but who can easily own up, get back on their feet, and spend the rest of the evening crafting say, a "Treatise on Silence" instead of ruining other people's output via insecurity. Insecurity turns me off always. Sometimes, you need to cross out people who imbibe toxic and inept attitude to free your mind for other things. I do not need creative bastards (those who tend to sound and look good only by maligning others). As themselves, they are pathetically silly, transposed in a medium obviously invented ONLY for great adlibbers. It is not a space for potbellied d.o.m.s looking for cheap scores. God, I dread those types like my flying snot.

Anyhow---now that these heroes are getting their harelips done in faraway Virginia and consider muteness the new cool, I listen to their musical arrangements.

Res ipsa loquitor. The thing speaks for itself. Those freaks can truly pack powerful muzak. I wanted them to curse at one point in time but they never did. Instead, they allow their detractors to yack, giving them hecklers some breathing space to enlarge their beautiful souls (yes, they allow them, verily---that is extreme maturity for such young people). I am proud that the expert people mimic them nowadays. It does. It makes my boobs larger, to cup XY (humongous orbs!).

I, as a nurturer of these fellows (hehehehehe I sound like am 90 years old), feel proud nonetheless that they are copied. Reverse homage. Well, not entirely mute. If you hear certain crickets on the background fooling with the music, hold your tongues, those are the heroes I am talking about. They can make a tune sound like a short story (Rendition plus timing. There is also some suspension in the lyrics that is precise). I know awful when I hear one.

I received little notebooks from someone who had listened to my educational musings. Exactly the things I need to distribute to kids. These are the stuff I am talking about. It is corny but it gives me the goosebumps more than say, a P1,000 worth of bread.

Thank you very much for getting it right.

IN THE BRINK OF AN EYESTORM, STORY ON REEL

By: Iris P. Concepcion

The most enjoyable thing to absorb these days is looking at the quartered visual men of this writer. There is a tendency to gush over nonsensical things that is understandable only to a few people. Anyhow, I could talk to a typhoon right now and I am pretty sure, it will give me an intelligent answer.

A director was asking me how I do this thing (am being spoken to by a white cloth, how avant garde is that) : split-second stirs and spurs of the mind stream, touching in brief why I see things the way they are (contrary sometimes to their experiences). I thought he called it brilliancy on one aspect. It is not THAT; I would call it putting the keyboards on my fingertips but with the tactile and sensory organs doing the "typing" instead of say, my forefinger (I do not type correctly).

How? Indirectly, we both get by, finding laughter on the bizarreness of things, framing them in paragraph forms. That is my only key. I share with you this penchant to attach anything to everything.

The collaboration is mind-bogling in that there is never a tinge of "I'll hit you with an axe" kind of shot in every frame. You treat every character with fondness, kindness even. Under the circumstances, I would be spewing incomprehensible poetry but that would be giving in to a pointless verbal blah. Your men/women certainly know how to tweak a joke to an advantage: the repetition is numbing: cold but very concise. The better other is still courting his best (bleeeeeecchhhhh) other through Pacino acts (the ongoing romance thing). Incredible but extremely fascinating. He does this villain posseur like eating mudpie or something.

I know I am surrounded by your likes whenever an aberration occurs. The amalgamation of my hearing capability tweeted nothing but immense laughter. Stringed, out-of-the-blue occurence versus elevator shoes, I'll be damned. I think I have dissed enough top men on my end that they might find my shoes too big for my size.

I like the photographic vision laid there; that is WHAT I am talking about.

If you are wondering what the heck that hanging picture is doing in this entry: my current fascination is looking at galactical decorations such as this one. They even post these stories on restaurant walls. You are all sooooooo worth the words.

I was looking at this.....this light thingy.....upward while eating blueberry crepe. In this place came the Orientals (Ang Lee minis) who speak MY language.

Finally, I said.

STROBE LIGHTS
By: Iris P. Concepcion

People found a new medium to parlay some excess and it spooked me out that the moving installation art looked like a page from a magazine. Genius. I am not referring to the spaceships above (I have a thing for anything alien if you have been following this blog). Those caged cars; very Scorsese in form.I have seen these things before, but in still form.

I surveyed some grounds last night (an exciting metaphor for the wet alleys; actually I did tread a path, not much of a hip thing to babble about), looked for spaces to hang some posters on. I have a fast forward mind that these could be taken down by people in plaster cast but let us give it some shot. I can sleep over the fact that after everything is done, the people I am endorsing here will not have any problem on a clean up drive; they did not put much value on streamers; the stickers on cars is their best way to maximize visibility at an optimum level. I have seen these in baywalks and I am impressed with how I can immediately connect these images with their very open, head-on take on issues (their web sites do explain these).

Okay, so it was a lame drizzling walk (like what normally happens in a sleepy indie film) with hosts of people whom you might consider in other circumstances as impolite, but upclose, are paragons of decorum. Tambays can be the most refreshingly upfront and honest persons in the whole world, take my word on this. So we simply walked and landed in this nookie with spaceships (now, this is interesting).

In here, a terrible sweet show was staged. They were singing. And disco dancing and it was all awful but spectacular. This mix is lethal in content and the faint of comprehension could actually walk out in desperation as to why strobe lights can be so poring over souls.

Ordered food; sauces got mixed. The bouncers had like, 1,000 tons of balls under their pants; they walked like bags of sandbags were placed in between their legs. Of course, it was hilarious. And double of course, I am a deep person like Deep Purple and saw the most intelligent message thereon despite the tight pants. Platform of my caring classmates.

I have always wanted to enter some of these seedy places to feel how it is like inside; write about it and this is the closest weirded out environment I can get into. Everything seemed wrong but deliriously correct. It is one of those days that you laugh at the silliness of some things; I almost lost my whole set of teeth to mimicry and realistically, it was truly funny. I hate to admit it but there goes the freakiest brood in the whole universe cornering all the Godzillas in one motion. It validates me actually that they have refrained from cussing and displayed an Ang Lee type of satire that I went: "What the hell is wrong with these people?????"

Zafra is a huge fan of Eric Rohmer. Now, THIS is Eric Rohmer. Doesn't ring a bell but he is deadly with those kicks.

For the finale: A very, very dark guy entered with a shirt : "Bomber Moran Forever!"

Valentinos rode in those spaceships!!!. And the night turned into a journey to the carnival. You need to go there if only to look at their stoic drummers---they all looked like they are merely selling taho.

Envious? One word : WALK.