Sunday, November 27

Holy priceless collection of 20th century pop culture, Batman! (a.k.a. Me ranting about comic books when I really want my nicotine fix)

Someone sent me a sneak peek of the new Superman movie the other day. I haven’t opened the file yet. My computer is a remarkable antique, still moving but not fast enough to outrun a speeding bullet, so I doubt if it can keep up with old Supes. I’m not too keen to see it, really. See, I’m not much of a Superman fan. He’s okay enough to watch in the Justice League Unlimited animated series, but I could definitely live without him. Give me the Batman anytime. Who needs heat vision and super strength when you have high IQ, street smarts, gazillion of bucks, unresolved angst, and unbridled rage? You don’t think Bats can win against America’s biggest boy scout, heathen? Look for a copy of Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns. Fifty-something years old and he kicks Superman’s ass. And with style.

I must admit I have a few Superman comic books in my collection. They were going to kill him off so I was duped into buying more than 20 books related to this much-awaited event. How will he die? Will he really die? Who will do the deed? Like any other comic book consuming freak at that time, I had to KNOW and swiftly made reservations for the above-mentioned titles. They even had him flirting with Wonder Woman for a couple of issues before his demise so I got those as well. I was a victim of the greatest marketing scheme ever created for comic books: the Cross-Over series. That’s what they called it when one storyline seeps from one comic book to another (and Sucker is what they called folks like me). I quivered with mixed excitement and trepidation when I saw that splattered across the cover. I will get to see a lot of characters, sure, but that also meant squeezing out more money from my already emaciated wallet. It tested my non-existent budgeting skills.

The X-Men were notorious for it. To get the whole story of these spandex-clad band you had to buy not only the Uncanny X-Men, but the New Mutants and X-Factor as well. With the whole death of Superman storyline, I had to buy Superman, The Adventures of Superman, Superman: The Man of Steel, The Justice League of America, and Action Comics. And what did I get in return? A black arm band for a super hero who got bludgeoned to death by an ugly alien in front of his loving fans (Yon na yon? That’s it?), an overly drawn mourning period, clones and Superman wannabes, and finally, a very anti-climactic re-animation of the big guy. Did they try to pass him off as the new Messiah? They even used the empty tomb story. And then the resurrection. It took longer than 3 days, but he came back just the same (and with long hair to boot!). At least when they killed off the second Robin in 1988 he stayed dead.

Maybe they make better Superman comic books nowadays, but during my time (ehem, yes, my little young ones), all the best writers were weaving tales for the Caped Crusader. I was obviously not the only one around who found him infinitely more interesting and intriguing than the other costumed heroes out there. Alan Moore gave us one of the best Joker stories of all time with The Killing Joke. It was gut-wrenchingly violent and graphic yet painfully sad and poetic. Storytelling at its best. Then there’s Arkham Asylum, penned by Grant Morrison with haunting illustrations by Dave McKean. Nothing campy about that one. And finally the classic Batman story made by Frank Miller. The Dark Knight Returns took us to an alternate future of Bruce Wayne. He was old, retired from crime fighting for 10 years, and was still struggling with his alter-ego. Very bitter and flawed, and yet, still heroic. Miller also wrote the Year One series and showed us a deeper insight into Batman’s early years. He made Commissioner Gordon interesting and not just another cut-out cardboard character.

Okay, although Batman became darker and edgier during that time, they still kept the PG-13 rating by dishing out normal action hero stories (similar to Superman’s, in other words). Even if the Death in the Family series (when Robin II croaks) dealt with a serious theme, it was still palatable to Bats’ younger fans. It was a bold move to kill a major character, but the story was a bit lame. The script was just too comic bookie. And the Joker as the new Iranian Ambassador, the pinky friend of the Ayatollah (who does a cameo)? GARGH, please. It was memorable enough, though, because the readers decided the Boy Wonder’s fate. In an unprecedented move, DC Comics gave them 36 hours to vote (by calling a 900 number. Imagine if they had texting capabilities then!) for his survival or for his demise. They apparently had 2 versions waiting for the final count. Well, it was obvious that most of the fans hated him like I did. It was good to get rid of that brat!!

Hmmm… I can definitely talk a lot when it comes to comic books! Maybe I’m developing a nervous tick. Hehehe. Not to worry, I’ll let you go in a bit. I just want to add more ooompf to my Batman-is-cooler-than-Superman argument: the movies and TV shows. Christopher Reeve was endearing but who could forget the silly but lovable (albeit slightly chubette) Adam West (I had a crush on Burt Ward! Jeeez). Tim Burton directed the first couple of Batman movies… who did Superman 1, 2, and 3? Even the animated series are better. Batman’s nouveau-classical styled cartoon in the 90’s and its present slicker version (hello, theme song by U2’s The Edge) put to shame the animated Superman’s perennially bland for-Saturday-Morning-Only design.

I know, I know… rambling like an idiot again over nothing. Hey, how do you deal with nicotine withdrawal anyway? I’d rather ransack my comic book collection than the pantry or write this silly blog than run off to the nearest store to have a puff. Maybe I’ll have something more relevant and practical to talk about next time. In the meantime, gosh by golly jeepers, Batman, let’s track some evil doers!

BIFF! BAM!! POW!!

Thursday, November 24

The end of an affair

That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m dumping Mr. Marlboro Man for good. I’ve been giving this a lot thought lately, and today looks like the perfect time to do it. It’s Thanksgiving. Not that I celebrate it, but I think it’s a good date to mark the event. I can thank all the Marlboros, Winstons, Amsterdams, Drums, and Golden Virginias that have passed through my life all these years (in their light, dark, medium incarnations… there have been many) and tell them it’s been fun but I want to move on now. I just hope this would be an amicable parting so that they would never come back to nag me again. I should have done this during Halloween—putting things to rest and all, plus, I could have incinerated a giant effigy of a cigarette!—but this is as good a holiday as it gets to kick the habit. I’m doing this cold turkey. Thanksgiving… turkeys. Ha-ha. Funny. This makes it easier for me to remember this day and remind me of what I am doing.

I actually had my last one already. I found a perfect, pristine white Rizzla filter tucked away in one of my purses a couple of days ago. I didn’t use it right away because I thought I should find a special occasion for it. So before the clock struck 12 last night I stepped outside and rolled my final cigarette. A fitting ritual through and through. I sucked it till its very stained filter all the while exhaling with intention. I urged the tendrils of smoke to reach the Waning Moon so that she could hear my prayer. She was the perfect moon to have around. She would fade into the Dark Moon in a week, hopefully bringing with her the remnants of this bad habit.

I can hear Ben Folds 5 in the background, “She’s a brick and I’m drowning slowly. Off the coast and I’m headed nowhere.” A fitting song for my dysfunctional relationship with tobacco. We’ve had good times together, but now he’s become a real drag. And I want out. I know this will be very difficult to do but I need to stop right now. I deserve better. And I really can’t afford to liquefy any of my remaining brain cells.

I still haven’t gone bonkers yet. Well, it has only been around 18 hours. I’m finding it hard to concentrate and I feel a bit abandoned, but I am basically okay. Ask me again in 3 days and it will be a different story. That’s usually when it starts to hit me. Believe me, I’ve done this before. GARGH, breaking up is really hard to do.

Tuesday, November 22

Positively Disheveled

I am still suffering from post-match hangover. I didn’t drink beer to celebrate Barcelona’s victory or anything like that. I just spent every free minute since Sunday morning gorging myself on players’ and coaches’ interviews, photos, and analyses of the game. Funny how one can willingly give in to a useless obsession to the detriment of one’s sanity. I guess that’s why they call it an addiction.

I’ve got a raging headache now from trying to get some sleep. Don’t you just hate it when you just want to unplug your mind and you can’t? No one can accuse me of having a sluggish imagination. I can be thinking of football in one minute and then jump to my grocery list then on to the possibly evil creature lurking outside my bedroom window all in one second. Even when I am asleep my imagination won’t leave me alone. I get nightmares for ordinary dreams. You don’t even want to know what I see when I am having real nightmares. I’m not talking about run-of-the-mill-gosh-I-am-naked-in-front-of-the-class kind of dreams. On an ordinary night I get stabbed in the head with a pencil by a bunch of giggling girly girls (an effing Mongol pencil! WHY?!?). And that’s already benign in my book. In another dream I was in an empty bus with an old man and the Pope. Quiet, but the Pope was John Paul II. I knew he was dead. I tried to get off the bus but the door led to another bus then another then another. I zigzagged my way from buses to buses the whole time desperately trying to punch in my monthly travel pass in each one and shake the Pope off my tail. It’s curious because I had exactly the same dream almost 6 months ago but instead of him trailing me, I followed him and the old man out of the bus through a postcard sized door and into a tunnel.

I know you are itching to consult the dream dictionary, but I don’t want to have any of it. I do have my own interpretation of each of my dreams. I always try to see it in the context of my present life instead of picking a possible meaning from the internet. It’s much more interesting that way because I can choose to make up even wilder explanations for it. And sometimes I just kick back and enjoy it like an HP Lovecraft inspired movie. My friend Jessica told me to sketch my dreams. Maybe I can put together a book someday. A lot of people go to seminars and sign up for workshops just to come up with images and stories I conceive when I’m asleep. At least I don’t spend hundreds of dollars on drugs to get a trip.

Yeah, I should count my blessings. That thought doesn’t relieve my headache though or silence the spooky scratching noises outside the house. Oh well. I guess it’s business as usual.

Sunday, November 20

Final score...

MADRID 0-3 BARÇA
YESSSS!
THEY WON!!!! AND IN MADRID!!!

Goals by Eto'o (minute 15), Ronaldinho (60, 78). Five yellow cards total--3 for Madrid, 2 for Barça. Sweet! And since Osasuna didn't win their match (a draw against Getafe) Barcelona is number one in the Spanish League. Life is gooood!

Now I can go to sleep. I can rave some more later. Olé, olé, olé, olé...

Killing time before the Real Madrid-FC Barcelona game


Bleary day

It’s almost 2 in the morning and I am waiting for the big La Liga football match on TVE. I don’t even know if they will air it, but I can always follow the game online. So, with nothing better to do, I go back to the question I posted here on the 13th of November: Must Art come from tension?

A lot of people seem to think so. This belief has surely reinforced the idea of the tortured artist all these years. They say that the tension comes from the artist’s perception of the world and how he must demand for the truth. This insatiable thirst for meaning is one of the reasons why Art is closely linked with madness and depression. Imagine thinking about so many things at the same time and not have the ability to grasp all of it at once or do anything about it. But do you really have to get into that hole to make Art?

I have to say that I agree in a way. Art, at least in my case, comes from a feeling of nervousness and restlessness. I don’t know about hacking off an ear and all that, but I do feel that tension. My art (not with a capital A) comes from different things, sparked by anger and boredom mostly. I get the feeling that something is not right. It’s like having an itchy spot on your back and you can’t seem to get to it. It can be annoying and exhausting if you don’t do anything about it. But I also make art when I feel like I’m on the brink of having another fit of rage. Sometimes, I just don’t know where it begins. See, it’s like the chicken and the egg for me—do I go antsy when I am not working or do I start creating something (anything!) just so the little monster in me gets pacified?

Maybe it’s both. All I know is that I go a bit loony when I don’t move. I usually end up throwing things across the room or I just growl at no one or nothing in particular. It’s really not pretty. I also go into hermit mode and pretend no one else exists. I don’t exactly do this just for my own good, I also do this to protect the people around me. You don’t want to see me angry. I don’t turn into the incredible Hulk, but like I said, it ain’t pretty. I just want people to get out of my way so that I can do my thing. But then again that’s the easy part. You can turn off your mobile and lock yourself in your bedroom anytime you want. I noticed that the hardest thing for me to do right now is to get out of my own way.

Huh? Okay, it’s like this. Let’s say I am having one of those days. I get impatient and snap at everything that moves. Sometimes, instead of just working I choose to wallow. I bathe myself in anger. Hey, it’s fun to do that sometimes! And instead of dealing with it I choose to sit in front of the TV and surf the channels rather than pick up a pencil. I know I get in my way when I head for my bed and give in to my laziness. I don’t know what to do sometimes. I can’t get a grip and I forget to take care of myself. How do you tell yourself to bugger off and let the work emerge? Now that’s not pretty at all and it can be really scary.

HA HA! I should stop right here before I tie myself up in knots. I have a match to catch and I want to enjoy every bit of it. Time to cool off. Maybe I should just read all the pre-game stats. So I guess I’ll have to leave this question again for the moment. Maybe I’ll be a little bit more lucid next time.

Friday, November 18

November Full Moon


Fotocopia (A self-portrait)



I was supposed to post this message the other day when the moon was full. I thought today was the 16th! GARGH. Anyway...

The November full moon signals the beginning of the dark months. It is a time for slowing down as the winter comes, to finish projects, and to tie up loose ends. No wonder I've been cleaning up my files, my room, my computer, my head.

I've been writing Spanish poems with my magnetic poetry kit. It's really useful for people like me who can't write. hehehehe. Here's what I've come up with for the full moon:

Enojada ola dentro del fuego
volando hacia al recuerdo del tiempo.
Todavía la niebla duerme en su nido negro
preguntando a la luna el sueño de su cuerpo.

A work in progress... Need to search for more words inside the box!

Thursday, November 17

The Ring-bearer

I watched Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy again. I mentioned this to someone and she immediately asked me how many more times do I have to give and waste almost 10 hours of my life to these movies. There are only 24 hours in a day, isn’t there anything worthwhile that I can do with them? I told her that I do not question what good it does her when she goes off malling at the end of her work day or during weekends, so what I do with my own time should not concern her.

I honestly do not think watching the trilogy is a waste of time. Aside from seeing gorgeous men in armor (which can brighten anyone’s spirit) and fantastic sets (hmmm… how did they do that? Maybe I can draw it), you can see and pick up a lot of good things from the movies. They talk about friendship, loyalty, honor, and coming into terms with one’s own life. One can surely identify with any one of the characters at a given moment. Arwen says to Aragorn at the beginning as he struggles with his future—"Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur’s heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate." How many of us have not thought that we should follow in our father’s (or mother’s or forefather’s) footsteps and carry within us his or their sins?

I identify most with Frodo. Yes, I am short, have curly hair and have a penchant for drama (though I do not have hairy feet!), but I also feel his helplessness and fear with the situation in which he found himself. "I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened." There are dark days when I question the path that I have taken, the choices that I have made, and seriously wish I had not chosen to become an artist. It’s not easy job. I do not enjoy being the only one around who doesn’t have a "regular" life. When things don’t come my way it is so easy to see this as a burden instead of a gift or calling.

In another memorable scene Frodo says to Galadriel, "I cannot do this alone." She answers, "You are a Ring-bearer, Frodo. To bear a Ring of Power is to be alone. This task was appointed to you. And if you do not find a way no one else will." He replies, "Then I know what I must do… it’s just that I’m afraid to do it." Galadriel smiles and whispers gently to him, "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future."

I do not think that I alone can save the world. At least not in that cataclysmic, doomsday sense. I believe that we are all little Frodos. We all have a task to do with our lives and in doing that we contribute to the survival and good of our Middle Earth. We don’t have to slay Orcs and Uruk-Hais to be a hero. Each one of us has something to do—whether to be a mother, a leader, a farmer, a banker, an artist—and each responsibility is as important as the next. What matters is, even if it is easy or difficult, that we do what we are supposed to do. And although it is true that we are alone in doing this task—your friend, husband or mother can’t do it for you—we do not have to isolate ourselves and that, whether we want to or not, we will always have someone to help us along the way. Frodo did not save Middle Earth alone. He had loyal friends (Sam, Aragorn, Gandalf), strangers (Faramir who released him instead of taking the Ring for himself), and enemies (Gollum who bit off his finger and took the ring) who have all in their own way helped him with his job.

So when I find myself feeling desperately dispirited and disheartened about the life that chose me, I go back to my favorite Frodo moment toward the end of the The Fellowship of the Ring: he’s standing on edge of the riverbank of Anduin with the Ring resting on the palm of his hand. He knows he has to leave and go to Mordor alone. He remembers what Gandalf said when he confessed that he wishes that the Ring had never come to him, "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." The music swells (tears start falling down my cheeks). And with great courage Frodo pockets the Ring, accepts his fate, and with a determined look, boards the boat and sails to the eastern shore.

Wednesday, November 16

Awakening

I ran across this while cleaning my computer. I don't know where this is from...


"The Awakening"

A time comes in your life when you finally get it...when, in the midst of all your fears and insanity, you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out...ENOUGH! Enough fighting and crying and blaming and struggling to hold on.

Then, like a child quieting down after a tantrum, you blink back your tears and begin to look at the world through new eyes.

This is your awakening.

You realize it's time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change, or for happiness, safety and security to magically appear over the next horizon.

You realize that in the real world there aren't always fairy tale endings, and that any guarantee of "happily ever after" must begin with you... and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are... and that's OK. They are entitled to their own views and opinions.

You learn the importance of loving and championing yourself... and in the process a sense of new found confidence is born of self-approval.

You stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you - or didn't do for you - and you learn that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected.

You learn that people don't always say what they mean or mean what they say and that not everyone will always be there for you and that everything isn't always about you.

So, you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself... and in the process a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.

You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties... and in the process a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.

You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view. You begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really stand for.

You learn the difference between wanting and needing and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you've outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with.

You learn that there is power and glory in creating and contributing and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a "consumer" looking for your next fix.

You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a bygone era, but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life.

You learn that you don't know everything, it's not your job to save the world and that you can't teach a pig to sing. You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that martyrs get burned at the stake.

Then you learn about love. You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be. You learn that alone does not mean lonely.

You stop trying to control people, situations and outcomes. You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.

You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside, smoothing things over and ignoring your needs.

You learn that your body really is your temple. You begin to care for it and treat it with respect. You begin to eat a balanced diet, drink more water, and take more time to exercise.

You learn that being tired fuels doubt, fear, and uncertainty and so you take more time to rest. And, just as food fuels the body, laughter fuels our soul. So you take more time to laugh and to play.

You learn that, for the most part, you get in life what you believe you deserve, and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different than working toward making it happen.

More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction, discipline and perseverance. You also learn that no one can do it all alone, and that it's OK to risk asking for help.
You learn the only thing you must truly fear is fear itself. You learn to step right into and through your fears because you know that whatever happens you can handle it and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life on your own terms.

You learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.
You learn that life isn't always fair, you don't always get what you think you deserve and that sometimes bad things happen to unsuspecting, good people... and you learn not to always take it personally.

You learn that nobody's punishing you and everything isn't always somebody's fault. It's just life happening. You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls.

You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you.

You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about: a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Then, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never, ever settle for less than your heart's desire.

You make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting, and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.
You hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind.

Finally, with courage in your heart, you take a stand, you take a deep breath, and you begin to design the life you want to live as best you can.

Tuesday, November 15

Changes

I've been quite indecisive lately... I didn't really like the name of my blog (which I just created recently), so I changed it. Hope I don't change it again next month! HAH!

Monday, November 14

How The Sandman shaped my life

I was going through my comic book collection the other day just to check if it was still intact. Most of the books were still in good condition, but a few of the older ones have started to turn yellow and had a sharp acidic smell about them. In mint condition or visibly ratty, it was good to see them again; it was like saying hello to my childhood friends. I used to spend so much time with them, just hours on end reading and admiring the artwork. No wonder I didn’t have money or a social life back in high school and college!

My all-time favorite title would have to be THE SANDMAN by Neil Gaiman. I was already happily collecting titles such as the X-MEN and the BATMAN when it came along. I must admit that during that time I fed on high-kicking action scenes and angst-filled dramatic battles, but I also enjoyed reading my sister’s "mature" titles (re no muscular/big-boobed heroes involved) by amazing Brit authors (THE SWAMP THING by Alan Moore and Jamie Delano’s HELLBLAZER). I had just gotten of high school and, being a teenager, I was still into kiddy and colorful stuff but was ready for something with a little more meat. I am just thankful I didn’t think too much about it and was smart enough to part with my 75 pesos (that’s around 350 pesos now) to buy "Sleep of the Just" (SANDMAN#1).

Thank God for that! I was hooked and couldn’t wait for the next issue to arrive. The first story line ended with "The Sound of Her Wings" and I knew there was no turning back, I was in love, and was in for a roller coaster ride. Then came other story arcs and halfway though the 4th or the 5th, I could sense that this book was taking me somewhere and that it will end when we get there. Panic struck. I never had to forcibly say goodbye to any of my favorite titles! Sure, some of them got cancelled and some I willingly dropped (I had stopped reading the mutant books by then), but none of them started with an ending in mind after so-and-so issues. I was devastated. The more I read the more I savored each panel thinking that it could be the last one. Of course that meant that the more I read the more I fell in LOVE with it. It was inevitable. I was setting myself up for a heartbreak.

And then it came. I had cried through most of THE KINDLY ONES so by the time "The Tempest" came I was exhausted. That was it. The End. No more Sandman to look forward to every month. And then it hit me—after mourning my loss with buckets and buckets of tears for days—I was okay. Fine, it was just a comic book and to most human beings it wasn’t real, but I realized that I was lucky to have had a companion, a surrogate father, a fairy godfather of sorts in Dream (or Neil) all those years. Flawed as he was (he was a bungling, pompous, insensitive prick at the beginning), he learned from his past, his relationships with his family, and his mistakes, and in the end took responsibility of his life. I saw him grow up, and in turn he helped me grow up too. I had fun, and it was time to go on my own. By being there with me in those seven years THE SANDMAN drummed monthly into my head several important lessons no comic book or song or movie or self-help book could ever give me—that I will always have the choice to start and end things, that everything has a beginning and an end, that I have to learn when to let go when the time comes, and that even when things end they will still remain with me.

Over and over again I learned about beginnings, endings, good-byes, and that one has to be responsible for his own life. At the end of the first arc Dream had to dust himself off and start his life anew after he found all of his missing possessions and was at a loss at what to do next. His brother Destruction left his domain after he realized what he was doing had no point or meaning. Dream killed his son when he finally realized and accepted that it was the right thing to do. And it all aptly ended with a reference to my favorite Shakespeare book—like Prospero, Dream knew when to step aside and let things run its course. We are in a way bound by the choices that we make and the consequences that come with making them, but we will always have a choice to change them.

It’s been almost 10 years since the last issue of THE SANDMAN came out. I realize that I’ve had to start and end story lines of my own since then (it’s curious to note that I stopped collecting comic books when THE SANDMAN ended and I moved to another country to start a new life. Coincidence?). Now as I am poised to open a new chapter in my own book, I re-read the whole series and it has helped me yet again put things into perspective. My sentiments are perfectly encapsulated in a line found in issue #74: one of the barbarian riders said to Dream as he starts to disappear, "Omnia mutanthur, nihil interit." How true, how true. "Everything changes but nothing is truly lost."

The Gladiator for Christmas

Russell Crowe for hire. This Hollywood actor is offering his services this Christmas for a whopping fee of $900,000. Question is... is he worth it? For more details, check out this link.

Sunday, November 13

Must art come from tension?


Mask

I am reading this book about a poet who is continually struggling with her craft and her bouts of depression and rage. I still don't know how I feel about this... I think I agree but I will have to let this sit for a while before I can really write about what I really think about it.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a paragraph she puts in her book about Goethe: "It seems that two qualities are necessary if a great artist is to remain creative to the end of a long life; he must on the one hand retain an abnormally keen awareness of life, he must never grow complacent, never be content with life, must always demand the impossible and when he cannot have it, must despair. The burden of the mystery must be with him day and night. He must be shaken by the naked truths that will not be comforted. This divine discontent, this disequilibrium, this state of inner tension is the source of artistic energy. Many lesser poets have it only in their youth; some even of the greatest lose it in middle life. Wordsworth lost the courage to despair and with it his poetic power. But more often the dynamic tensions are so powerful that they destroy the man before he reaches maturity."

Saturday, November 12

Pindsvineunger


A friend from Denmark sent me this pic recently. These little buggers make your day, don't they?

Friday, November 11

The Big Game

1816h 4' 56" till the Big Game of the season-- it's Real Madrid versus FC Barcelona on the 19th of November at 20:00 (Spanish time). It's going to be good! FCB is 2nd in the standings while RM is 3rd. I can't wait to see my boys demolish Becks and company again! HAH! Visca Barça!!

Missing my roll ups

Why don't they sell filters for roll-ups here in Manila? They sell Drum tobacco and different types of paper but they don't have filters. All you get are plastic thingies that don't really work with roll-ups. I know, I know… I shouldn't even be smoking, but I really miss the taste of real tobacco. I'm back to smoking lights and it's not the same. I might as well give up smoking. Roll-ups taste better (especially when you use my fave brand Amsterdam) and you don't get that chemical after taste in your mouth. And I smoke less when I roll my own ciggies. I really do! They die on the ashtray when you don't smoke them then you can light them again afterwards and they don't taste icky. You think you've been smoking a pack of cigarettes the whole night but you have really been smoking 3 sticks. I think they're great!

Yeah, you're right… maybe I really should just give it up. I smoked for 9 years, gave up for 5, then started smoking for six months, off for seven, blah, blah, blah, for the last couple of years. I should thank Fuma for not selling those damn Rizla filters! Maybe it's a sign to chuck my lighter already. There is enough smoke going around the city anyway…







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