originality, ownership

"I am an amalgamation of many things: books I've read, movies I've seen, television shows I've watched, conversations I've had, songs I've sung, lovers I've loved. In fact, I'm a creation of so many people and so many ideas, to the point where I feel I've actually had a few original thoughts and ideas; to think that what I consider to be 'mine' was 'original' would be blindingly egotistical." - excerpt transcribed from uncreative writing, re-framed as a blog entry. meanwhile, here's an amalgamation initiated by tekstong bopis, supported by machine language, constructed using building blocks from a note.

gave you coupla reasons

(this is an addition to the close-reading list hosted herein. among the texts read / temporarily concluded / openly ended are the [omaca-an] series, the [crocodile] series, the [crab] and now, the [pink], which is one-shot like the crab. thanks D and H for granting the permission [?] to post our exchanges of reasoning. we tackled the words to an allegedly popular song via personal message, unlike the crab discussion which was posted as status message and the spontaneous discussion proceeded, free-for-all, at the comments section. we wanted pink for ourselves so-- after the cut, we discuss but before that, let me just say that the suggestion for discussing-- on second thought, i neither want to explain nor apologize for anything, so w/o further ado:)

=====

calvino's chuang-tzu's crab

the illustration is an approximation, or perhaps a rip-off, of the most perfect crab, as created by calvino's story's Chuang-tzu with one stroke. after the cut, dennis, hani and i tried to break the crab, the artist who created the crab and the writer who created the artist who created the crab, etc etc (btw, i have a similar issue to address, but i'd rather have it addressed visually, since the issue that bothered me for a couple of weeks lies in the visual realm).

"Among Chuang-tzu's many skills, he was an expert draftsman. The king asked him to draw a crab. Chuang-tzu replied that he needed five years, a country house, and twelve servants. Five years later the drawing was still not begun. 'I need another five years,' said Chuang-tzu. The king granted them. At the end of these ten years, Chuang-tzu took up his brush and, in an instant, with a single stroke, he drew a crab, the most perfect crab ever seen." —Italo Calvino on "Quickness," from Six Memos for the Next Millennium

imagined all the people.

 

(note: i am supposed to do an unsolicited progress report thing to self but let me offer this space for john lennon. the tragedy happened thirty two years ago. let me plug: if you want to humanize him, venerate him with understanding, you may heed the call of the lachrymologists. more info about the project [here], about the group [here]. tomorrow or the day after, i shall plug things that have been, are ongoing and will [hopefully] be. sighs.)

shorts [x]: lawa sa oktubre

walang kinalaman ang numerong 'x' sa piniling sipi. kaninang tanghali ko pa binasa ang kuwentong ito at napagpasyahang isalin kanina pa habang nanananghalian at hindi ko alam na ika-sampu na itong shorts. [tsinek ko at mula kay hunter s. thompson ang ika-ix.] andami kong shit na maaring ikunek-kunek sa iba pang shit tulad ng bukal ng pagkahumaling kong hindi pa nagwawakas pero tiyak namang magwawakas lalo at sapak sa buwan ang pagkakataong-- tama na. matapos ang ilang ligoy, naririto na ang kapiraso mula sa "The Lake" na siya ring piraso mula sa The October Country, kuleksyon ng mga kuwento ni Ray Bradbury:

shorts [vi]: che guevara + UP

no, he was not and has never been the vocalist of rage against the machine. go, google Ernesto 'Che' Guevara. you can do it. i, he, we celebrate his birthday today. and to do so, i share, not just googled pictures, but also thoughts on his being a student of medicine and his revolutionary track and so on. below the cut, and camila's image, is an excerpt from my unpublished article unearthed in my gmail account. it was written months ago, and, maybe, someday, somehow, if the article is decent enough, i can put it somewhere, somehow, in another zine, maybe, in the, i dont know, manner of pseudocuments:

[source]

and, here, hope you learn something from it as the sem starts:

Shorts [v]: Bradbury + Salin: Ang Saglit (Atwood)

ray bradbury went to one of the other sides today. links: [news from cnn][neil gaiman's tribute from the guardian][news from io9][news from time]. he reminded us that "there are worse crimes than burning books. one of them is not reading them," which kinda makes me feel guilty right now, as i am yet to read someday his novel fahrenheit 451. sa tagalog, "may mas malala pang krimen kaysa sa pagsusunog ng mga aklat. isa rito ay ang hindi pagbabasa sa kanila."

i have read a couple of his short fiction collections, and his zen in the art of writing, and i've done some of his suggestions, but, i don't know, maybe, i have to, really, focus. anyway, i tried to draw something as tribute to one of my favorite writers. well, a lot of favorite people have already went to one of the other sides. here are links that mentioned some transfer, er, mations to another plane:

[moebius, karl roy, encyclopaedia][kurt cobain, beng hernandez][andres bonifacio][crispin 'ka bel' beltran][maurice sendak][tony dezuniga, adam yauch, and victims of state fascism]. in place of an artwork, or any tribute of some sort, here's my adaptation of atwood's poem "the moment":

(shorter) shorts [iv]: si toffler sa teknolohiya

bukod sa mga tinuturing na panitikan, lalo na yung mga tulang kailangan pang intindihin sa maraming aspeto bago epektibong "maangkin" sa ibang wika, marahil, isa sa mga hamon sa mga nagsasalin (o nagtatangka nito, katulad ng inyong lingkod) ang mga teknikal at teknolohikal na mga piyesa, lalo sa iba't ibang larangan ng agham (o siyensiya).

mula sa brainyquotes, naririto ang ilang diumano'y sinabi ng futurist (kita mo na, paano mo sasabihin sa ating wika ang futurist?) na si alvin toffler. sa pagkakatanda ko, sa librong "future shocks," tinalakay niya ang pag-usbong ng super industrial society. nasa ibaba ang mga siping ipapasa ko na lamang sa inyo ang pagsasalin dahil, hay, ewan, ang hirap:

"The illiterate of the future will not be the person who cannot read. It will be the person who does not know how to learn."

"The next major explosion is going to be when genetics and computers come together. I'm talking about an organic computer - about biological substances that can function like a semiconductor."

(shorter) shorts [iii]: kalsada

mas update ito, kaysa isinaling sipi. sinimulan ko pa lang magbasa ng a song of ice and fire ni george r.r. martin. sabi ni jon snow bago siya magpaalam kay arya stark, ang magkakaibang kalsada, minsan, patungo sa isang kastilyo. ("different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.") nasa tarangkahan na ako ng isa sa mga sinasabing "kastilyo." iba nga lang ang dinaanan ko, dahil masyadong maraming masamang elemento sa kabilang daan. pero, nasa tarangkahan na ako.

[source*]

shorts [ii]: ang dalawang di-bawal na gamot

tulad ng naunang shorts (ang bobong pulitikal), hindi ko matunton ang pinagmulan ng siping ito, pero sinalin ko ito mula sa post ng page na the other 98%. ako na rin ang pumili niyang pamagat. sa isang banda, sumasakto ito sa akin, at maari ring sumakto sa iyo at, malamang na sumakto sa marami sa atin dahil malamang na maraming makaramdam ng "oo nga, no?" dami pang pasubali, eto ang malayang salin ko ng sabi ni bill hicks na idol ni maynard james keenan na idol ko:

"kung nais mong maunawaan ang lipunan, pagmasdan mong mabuti ang ginagamit nitong mga gamot. at anong ipinakikita nito hinggil sa (ating) kultura? tignan mo kung ano ang mga ginagamit nating mga 'gamot.' maliban sa mga lason mula sa botika, dalawang gamot lamang ang hindi bawal at kinukunsinti ng (ating) sibilisasyon. caffeine mula lunes hanggang biyernes para bigyan ka ng sapat na lakas para maging produktibo kang miyembro ng lipunan, at alcohol mula biyernes hanggang lunes para panatilihin kang masyadong tanga para matuklasan ang kalabosong kinaiiralan mo."

isang pang-habang-buhay na saglit (isang interpretasyon ng tula ni maningning miclat) + ilang pakikiramay ngayong umaga

tulad ng nabanggit ko [kahapon], nakaiskor ako sa bargain bin sa vargas museum ng voice from the underworld: a book of verses ni maningning miclat. at, nabanggit ko rin [ilang kahapon na ang nakalipas] na magha-hiatus ang carcosite, pero medyo mahirap palang hindi magkaroon ng labasan ng buntonghininga, kaya eto at nagbabalik ang inyong lingkod sa pagdaragdag ng polusyon sa cyberspace, bagamat napapanindigan pa naman ang pananahimik sa social networking sites.

karamihan sa mga berso na nasa nabanggit na kuleksyon ay may salin sa english at chinese ng mismong makata. mas "interpretasyon" ang ginamit na termino, kaya ito na rin siguro ang gagamitin ko, at ang pinili kong piyesa ay yung hindi pa isinalin ng makata sa ikalawang kuleksyon niya ng mga tula. "To Catch a Second and Turn it to Forever" mula sa unang bahaging Leaving China ang napagdiskitahan ko. narito ang burador:

miclat's and jacinto's Cartilla

today, i am fortunate enough to score a poetry collection for thirty bucks. today marks the 115th death anniversary of the supremo, andres bonifacio. and today, which is not really the greatest day, but to some extent, it is, because of finding things i am not really looking for, i shall nevertheless share a poem from maningning miclat's book of verses, voice from the underworld. [oops, a kinda delayed commercial break: drawing bangungot (nightmare) was published at the philippine literary folio.]

an excerpt from The Enigma

"No man can say what he is. But sometimes he can say what he is not. Everyone wants the man who is still searching to have already reached his conclusions. A thousand voices are already telling him what he has found, and yet he knows that he hasn't found anything. Should he search on and let them talk? Of course. But, from time to time, one must defend himself. I do not know what I am looking for, cautiously I gave it a name, I withdraw what I said, I repeat myself, I go backward, and forward. Yet people insist I identify my term or terms, once and for all. Then I object; when things have a label aren't they lost already? Here, at least, is what I can try to say."

That's from "The Enigma," from the collection of Lyrical and Critical Essays by Albert Camus. And with this comes a declaration of hiatus, in an attempt to search whatever is left of my soul of meaning and other sorta fvcking petty bourgeois bullshit amid the offensives that sparked from blood and oil and water.

defragmentation [i]

Holy week's been unholy as I have sinned at lease one of the seven deadly sins: sloth. So, to, uhm, repent, I did something I deem productive while reading Umberto Eco's essays and listening to my shuffled playlist. An assemblage of some sort. Am not sure what this is called.

Similar species that came first are Marrian Ching's "This Feels Like a Song," Alyza Taguilaso's "Play: List (or, Why I Never Let The Boys I Love Listen To The Music I Like)" and my, er, mash-up "LateralobZen." I numbered this with "[i]," implying a "[ii]," "[iii]," and so on. Sana ma-pull-off ang serye. Olrayt, eto na, bahala na:

***

defragmentation [i]

From the depths of his deep darkened hole [01], let me watch

the last living rose quiver [02]. With qualms that I speak

of the wrists that I cut [03] breathing slowly, mechanical

heartbeat [04] full of dead leaves,

bits of twisted branches [05] giggle

and the flames grow higher; dance in a circle

around a central fire [06], haunting familiar

deja vu, I know your end is coming soon [07];

cast a spell on the country you run

and risk [08] all the man in me to be

the dog you wanted me to be [09]:

Turn to the gates of heaven,

to myself be damned [10] quick to the throat

in this ink cartridge funeral [11],

unholy water quenches the thirst [12] with the prophets

on a mission of salvation, cities falling, nations

falling nations [13].

[01] "Coattails of a Dead Man" - Primus

[02] "The Last Living Rose" - PJ Harvey

[03] "Desperate Graves" - The Mars Volta

[04] "The Art of Dying" - Gojira

[05] "Misty" - Kate Bush

[06] "Indigo Children" - Puscifer

[07] "Deja Vu" - Dog Fashion Disco

[08] "Take A Bow" - Muse

[09] "Atlas Air" - Massive Attack

[10] "Eye" - Smashing Pumpkins

[11] "Metronome Arthritis" - At the Drive-in

[12] "Sea Serpent" - Cathedral

[13] "Prophecy" - Soulfly

***

Let me share a quote: "The world of literature is a universe in which it is possible to establish whether a reader has a sense of reality or is the victim of his own hallucinations." -from "On Some Functions of Literature" by Umberto Eco. Back to reading and finding out whether I am of the former or the latter lot. :L

Here's an Easter Nuclear Rabbit, for your pleasure:

Dahil World Poetry Day

Within the day, may kasunod pa itong dalawa o higit pang transliterasyon, terminong napulot ko kay Axel Pinpin. Pag translit (uy, may fare hike sa transpo, P8.50 na ang minimum, can't find a link, pero nabasa ko sa inquirer, at, oo hindi pa ako sumasakay ng jeep kasi parati akong naglalakad, anyway, balik sa translit) parang salin ito o adaptasyon batay sa kultura ng wika kung saan ito, er, inampon? As usual, sorry Whitman, hindi ko maaral ang pagfoformat. Ito na:

Mula sa Mga Indikasyon

ni Walt Whitman, transliterasyon ni Tilde Acuña

Magbibigay sa iyo ng mas higit pa sa mga tula ang mga salita ng tunay na mga tula

Bibigyan ka ng mga ito upang lumikha para sa iyong sarili, ng mga tula, mga pananampalataya, mga pulitika,

digmaan, kapayapaan, kaugalian, mga kasaysayan, sanaysay, mga romansa, at lahat ng iba pa,

Tinitimbang nito ang mga hanay, kulay, lahi, paniniwala, kasarian,

Hindi sila humahanap ng kagandahan—sila ang hinahanap,

Habangbuhay silang hinahaplos, o nalalapit sa kanila, sumusunod ang kagandahan, nag-aasam, nakukuntento, nababaliw sa pagmamahal.

Naghahanda sila para sa kamatayan—ngunit hindi sila ang wakas, kundi ang panimula,

Wala silang dinadala sa kani-kanilang himlayan, o ang pagiging kuntento at buo;

Sinumang kanilang tinatangay, tinatangay nila sa kalawakan, upang matunghayan ang pagsilang ng mga tala,

upang matutunan ang isa sa mga pakahulugan,

Upang maglakbay nang may ganap na pananalig—upang kumaripas sa walang humpay na mga kawing,

at hindi na muling manahimik.

The Indications [excerpt]

[source]

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,

They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions, politics,

war, peace, behavior, histories, essays, romances, and everything else,

They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,

They do not seek beauty—they are sought,

Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows beauty, longing,

fain, love-sick.

They prepare for death—yet are they not the finish, but rather the outset,

They bring none to his or her terminus, or to be content and full;

Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the birth of stars,

to learn one of the meanings,

To launch off with absolute faith—to sweep through the ceaseless rings,

and never be quiet again.

**(12:30am | 03222012) updates as promised kaninang umaga***

Kung Bakit Hindi Ako Pintor

ni Frank O'Hara, transliterasyon ni Tilde Acuña

Hindi ako pintor, ako ay makata.

Bakit? Sa palagay ko mas nais kong maging

isang pintor, pero hindi. Buweno,

halimbawa, nagsimulang magpinta

si Jose Joya. Dumaan ako.

"Umupo ka at tumagay," wika

niya. Tumagay ako; Nag-inom kami. Tumingala

ako. "May SARDINAS ka sa loob nito.

"Oo, kailangang may pumuno roon."

"A." Umalis ako at lumipas ang mga araw

at dumaan ulit ako. Nagpatuloy siya

sa pagpipinta. Dumaan ako. Tapos na

ang obra. "Nasaan ang SARDINAS?"

At ang tanging natira ay

mga letra. "Nasobrahan," wika ni Jose.

Pero ako? Isang araw, may iniisip akong

kulay: kahel. Sumulat ako ng isang linya

tungkol sa kahel. Sa ilang saglit naging

isang buong pahina ng mga salita, hindi mga linya.

At isa pang pahina. Dapat magkaroon

ng higit pa, hindi ng kahel, kundi ng

mga salita, kung gaano kasaklap ang kahel

at ang buhay. Lumipas ang mga araw. Kahit pa sa

prosa, tunay akong makata. Tapos na

ang aking tula at ni hindi ko man lang nabanggit

ang kahel. Labindalawa ang mga tula, tinawag ko

itong MGA KAHEL. At isang araw sa tanghalan ng obra

nakita ko ang pininta ni Jose, pinamagatang SARDINAS.

Why I Am Not a Painter [source]

I am not a painter, I am a poet.

Why? I think I would rather be

a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg

is starting a painting. I drop in.

"Sit down and have a drink" he

says. I drink; we drink. I look

up. "You have SARDINES in it."

"Yes, it needed something there."

"Oh." I go and the days go by

and I drop in again. The painting

is going on, and I go, and the days

go by. I drop in. The painting is

finished. "Where's SARDINES?"

All that's left is just

letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of

a color: orange. I write a line

about orange. Pretty soon it is a

whole page of words, not lines.

Then another page. There should be

so much more, not of orange, of

words, of how terrible orange is

and life. Days go by. It is even in

prose, I am a real poet. My poem

is finished and I haven't mentioned

orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call

it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery

I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

***

Kahulugan ng Tula

ni Boris Pasternak, transliterasyon ni Tilde Acuña

Isa itong sipol na umihip sa isang saglit,

Ito ang pagbibitak ng yelo sa amihan,

Isa itong gabing pinagyeyelo ang luntiang mga dahon,

Isa itong pagtutuos ng dalawang maya.

Isang baging na marangal ang marahas na pagkaripas,

Ito ang luha ng daigdig na nasa sisidlan,

Figaro itong tulad ng tumilapong bubog

Mula sa mga plauta sa basang himlayan ng mga bulaklak.

Ito lamang ang inaasam matagpuan ng gabi

Sa kaibuturan ng malalim na lawang paliguan,

Ito ang bituing napadpad sa palaisdaan

sa iyong mga palad, basa at nanginginig at malamig.

Kasinglapad ang hanging ito ng mga tabla

sa sapa. Malapad sa mukha nito ang langit.

Nakakalibang kung ang humalakhak itong mga bituin-

ngunit nakakabatong kasadlakan ang kalawakan.

Definition of Poetry [source]

It's a whistle blown ripe in a trice,

It's the cracking of ice in a gale,

It's a night that turns green leaves to ice,

It's a duel of two nightingales.

It is sweet-peas run gloriously wild,

It's the world's twinking tears in the pod,

It is Figaro like hot hail hurled

From the flutes on the wet flower bed.

It is all that the night hopes to find

On the bottom of deep bathing pools,

It's the star carried to the fish-pond

In your hands, wet and trembling and cool.

This close air is as flat as the boards

In the pond. The sky's flat on its face.

It would be fun if these stars guffawed-

But the universe is a dull place.

Shorts [i]: Ang Bobong Pulitikal

Hindi ko alam kung katulad ito nung quote na diumano e mula kay Bob Marley, yung paano ibigin ang isang binibini shit na di nagtagal, mukhang hindi naman pala mula kay rastaman at kumalat lang sa social media at inattribute sa kanya. Ewan ko kung ganoon din ito, pero, it's the thought that counts naman, e, di ba?

"Ang pinakabobo ay ang bobong pulitikal, hindi siya nakakarinig, hindi nakakaimik, hindi rin dumaranas ng mga karanasang pulitikal. Hindi niya alam na ang halaga ng buhay, ang presyo ng gulay, ng isda, ng bigas, ng upa, ng tsinelas at ng gamot, maging ng langis, ay nakadepende sa mga pagpapasyang pulitikal. Sukdulan ang kahangalan ng bobong pulitikal kaya taas-noo niyang ipagmamalaking ayaw niya ng pulitika. Hindi alam ng hunghang na, mula sa kamangmangan niyang pulitikal isinisilang ang puta, ang ulila, at ang pinakamatindi sa mga kawatan, ang trapo, binulok at inalipin ng mga pambansa at multinasyunal na korporasyon." -sinabi diumano ni Bertolt Brecht, tinangka ko isalin at dagdagan nang kaunti.

Tinangka kong hanapin yung naispatang quote sa facebook feed, pero hindi ko natunton kung saan galing ang nasabing sipi. Maliban pa sa The Cabinet, nakita ko itong painting na kasama ang orig na naispatang quote sa isa pang cabinet:

“The worst illiterate is the political illiterate, he doesn’t hear, doesn’t speak, nor participates in the political events. He doesn’t know the cost of life, the price of the bean, of the fish, of the flour, of the rent, of the shoes and of the medicine, all depends on political decisions. The political illiterate is so stupid that he is proud and swells his chest saying that he hates politics. The imbecile doesn’t know that, from his political ignorance is born the prostitute, the abandoned child, and the worst thieves of all, the bad politician, corrupted and flunky of the national and multinational companies.”

Okay, tama nang #Noynoying. Hindi ako makapokus dahil *some text missing* May shameless plug pala ako, bukas ko na ipaplug kasi wala pa yung, say, rekisito. Nga pala, natutunan ko ngayong araw na ito na bagamat walang gitling ang walanghiya, mayroon at maari nitong pagkabitin ang walang-hanggan. Naispatan ko lang ang link ni Makoy: "Gabay sa Tungkol sa Ispeling, Bokabularyo at Balarilang Pilipino."

Repeat until fade / Reverences [v]

"Books are worthless," Abrenuncio said with good humor. "Life has helped me cure the diseases that other doctors cause with their medicines." -from Of Love and Other Demons, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. But some books are of significance, like, the Necronomicon for instance. And some comic books are of utter significance like Alan Moore's Neonomicon.

[source]

*About REVERENCE: Posts labeled with reverence are photographs or images or horrors the resident of the carcosite admires like a fangurl. Entries such as this shall have no caption or labels, besides this caption that shall blankly describe what REVERENCE is. So blank that all you can do is wander via google about the featured entity and wonder. Well, this is, simply, a facade for fangurling; and an attempt to pretend that the label REVERENCE means something. Yes, hollow words, I know. Good day. By the way, there is a good chance that I am preparing or planning some sort of (private) hagiography for revered entities featured herein.These images, just like most, if not all, images in previous REVERENCEs, are not mine.* All images lifted from the [comicvine.]

[source]

[source]

[source]

[source]

Repeat until fade [iv] Playlist: Telling Ghosts, etc.

"The more you take, the more you need; the more you suck, the more you bleed; the dead know better so listen to the letter; the more you suck the more you bleed," sings Maynard James Keenan, who also said in an article that he "has no interest in watering his product down for the masses." I wrote a poem mentioning him during the days of Mideo Cruz shenanigans, and this statement makes me feel like, I don't know, making me ask whether deep within my subconscious, I am, indeed, following him as a role model or otherwise. If I am already conscious of the possibility that I am unconsciously -- [The artwork above was done while cramming for the zine "Pseudocuments Volume One: Prose | Poetry | Pictures."]

-- no, rethinking philosophies, principles and all the fvcking bullcrap shall be postponed to another day, because this day, I shall try to stop taking and sucking to lessen the needing and the bleeding: I shall stop absorbing information right at this very moment and face whatever the fvck awaits me later this afternoon. Hope everything goes well, because my life plans, to some very hardcore extent, depends on what the shiznit later brings and how the consequences of what it brought conceive further aftereffects, and speaking of effects, I'll just go on and do what I am ought to do and leave you with shit from Trent Reznor and MJK. And Meshuggah, too:

Repeat until fade [iii] / International Women's Day

[source]

"To be aware of a threat is to reply to it." I cannot remember whether this line was from Neil Gaiman's Sandman or from Mike Carey's Lucifer but I am, somehow, certain that this line came from Mazikeen. Happinternational Women's Day! (I have thought of Arya Stark, but she has already been quoted in a [previous entry].)

[Can you guess who the inspiration / model is? If you cannot, then don't! error was published in the February 2012 issue of the UP Newsletter, with the article for Prof. Dennis Andrew Aguinaldo's lecture, "The Literary Appropriation of Science: Barthelme's Postmodern Fiction as a Possible Resource for UPLB."

I have also used a detail of error as one of the panels for the "Fragments: In Which We Are," a collaborative work written by Alyza and adapted / visually interpreted into comics form by yours truly and published by the Quarterly Bathroom Companion Comics Compendium peeps in the second volume.

To people who had the chance of reading our contribution, I hope you noticed some sort of semblance of the women in it to, you know, real existing women? But if you didn't, it is, of course fine. Drawing faces of women I admire is already a pleasure, anyway. And, I hasten to add that admiration does not really mean mere physical attraction, though that aspect, of course, counts. I think strength, as seen in Mazikeen and Arya, are among those which matter the most.

[google's logo tribute thing]

Salamat, at muli, Maligayang Pandaigdigang Araw ng mga Kababaihan!]

***

[PAHABOL!!! At the risk of preempting and shit, I plan to write at length about this issue. Sana, magawa before the week ends. Sana, actually, makapagdraft tonight! Central Electoral Board's Mark Lester Chico, by the way, is an alumnus of BUKLOD UPLB. Yung prinoklama nilang USC chairperson na si Joyce Divino (na natalo ni Ynik Ante) ay from BUKLOD UPLB. There, connect the dots. Plus, this [article], written by the Editor in Chief of the current UPLB Perspective that failed to live up to its supposed mandate as the flagship student publication of Southern Tagalog, stinks of propaganda, propaganda being derogatory in this sense! Yan, may glimpse na ng kung anong binabalak kong isulat na kahit hindi ko ata masulat e may ideya na ang ilan kung anong lalamanin nito. Agitating. Hanggang dito na lang muna. Magdiwang muna kayo / tayo, sa kabila ng mga kashitan.]

**international women's day in solidarity w chile update - march 9 **

[source]

[source]

**i thought this fangurling ended already. it should've ended**

Ang Wakas at ang Simula (Wislawa Szymborska)

Burador, as useless. Gusto ko ng UP diksyunaryong filipino. Medyo 
nirepaso: ika-5 ng Nobyembre 2012. May kopya ako ng salin ni 
Joseph Brodsky nitong parehong tula. Maisalin din kaya? 

Ang Wakas at ang Simula

salin ni Tilde Acuña ng salin 
ni Joanna Trzeciak ng tula 
ni Wislawa Szymborska

Matapos ang bawat digmaan

mayroong dapat magligpit.

Hindi isasaayos ng mga bagay
ang kanilang mga sarili, sa kabila ng lahat.

Mayroong dapat magtabi ng kalat

sa isang gilid ng kalsada,

upang makadaan

ang karitong puno ng bangkay.

Mayroong dapat na lumusong

sa latak at abo,

sa mga pako ng silya,

sa mga bubog,

at sa mga duguang katya.

Mayroong dapat humila sa tahilan

upang isandal sa dingding.

Mayroong dapat magpakintab ng bintana,

magkabit muli ng pinto.

Hindi ito maganda sa paningin,

at tumatagal nang ilang taon.

Lumisan na ang lahat ng kamera

para sa isa pang giyera.

Kakailanganin nating ibalik ang mga tulay,

pati ang mga bagong estasyon ng tren.

Magugulanit ang mga manggas

mula sa pagkakarolyo nito.

Tangan ang walis, mayroong

mga makakaalala pa rin ng nakagisnan.

Mayroong isa pang nakikinig

at tumatango nang may ulong hindi napugot.

Pero mayroon ding mga nasa di-kalayuang

nagsisimulang magbilang ng poste

at mapapagtantong nakakabato ito.

Mula sa halamanan

paminsa'y mayroong nakakabungkal

ng mga katwirang kinalawang na

at dadalhin ang mga ito sa tambak ng basura.

Ang mga nakakaalam

kung anong nagaganap dito'y

marapat na gumawa ng paraan para

sa mga kapos ang nalalaman.

At mas kaunti kaysa kapos.

At sa huli, singkaunti ng wala.

Sa damuhang lumabis ang paglago

ng mga sanhi at mga bunga,

mayroong dapat magpalawig

talim ng damo sa kanyang bibig

tumutunghay sa langit.

[ni zdzislaw beksinski (source)]

***baka gusto mo isalin [source]***

Love at First Sight

translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

They're both convinced

that a sudden passion joined them.

Such certainty is beautiful,

but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they'd never met before, they're sure

that there'd been nothing between them.

But what's the word from the streets, staircases, hallways --

perhaps they've passed each other a million times?

I want to ask them

if they don't remember --

a moment face to face

in some revolving door?

perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?

a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?

but I know the answer.

No, they don't remember

They'd be amazed to hear

that Chance has been toying with them

now for years.

Not quite ready yet

to become their Destiny,

it pushed them close, drove them apart,

it barred their path,

stifling a laugh,

and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,

even if they couldn't read them yet.

Perhaps three years ago

or just last Tuesday

a certain leaf fluttered

from one shoulder to another?

Something was dropped and then picked up.

Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished

into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells

where one touch had covered another

beforehand.

Suitcases checked and standing side by side.

One night, perhaps, the same dream,

grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning

is only a sequel, after all,

and the book of events

is always open halfway through.

Commemoration

translated by Joanna Trzeciak

They made love among the hazel shrubs

beneath the suns of dew,

entangling in their hair

a leafy residue.

Heart of the swallow

have mercy on them.

They knelt down by the lake,

combed out the earth and leaves,

and fish swam to the water's edge

shimmering like stars.

Heart of the swallow

have mercy on them.

The reflections of trees were steaming

off the rippling waves.

O swallow let this memory

forever be engraved.

O swallow, thorn of clouds,

anchor of the air,

Icarus improved,

Assumption in formal wear,

O swallow, the calligrapher,

timeless second hand,

early ornithogothic,

a crossed eye in the sky,

O swallow, pointed silence,

mourning full of joy,

halo over lovers,

have mercy on them.