And, finally, we came up with a more compound one, attempting to study, if not defy, the limits of style, structure, and media, thus, departing from the margins while keeping space, as we know it, undefined, so to speak. With the book’s dynamic approach to an age when we are all subject to compartmentalized outlooks and fed with a prepackaged sense of identity, it’s a challenge to insist on finding meaning and value in ubiquity.
Continue reading here.
Piso pa rin ba?
O mas malamig pa sa piseta?
Ang agahan, pananghalian
at hapunan na pinagkasya
isang maliit kakarampot na supot
para ipagpalit sa pangarap
na papsikel, tutunawin lang
nang panandalian, isisikmurang
sa paparating na pantawid sa tag-init.
Pabili po ng ice candy…
Piso pa rin ba?
-Armineonila M., 2017
Kubo and the Two Strings. I have a few words. It is a story that makes you cry from the inside. What it never tells is what moves you. I didn’t watch it in 3D or 2D or IMAX or with any cinematic paraphernalia. The experience was raw, down-to-earth, as the film itself manifests, it brought me closer to home.
But beyond the symbolism, the mythology, the haiku, the origami, the shamisen, the kabuki, the Edo period, cultural sensibilities, and all, Kubo and the Two Strings spins strings of flashbacks that may bind us to long forgotten roots. As the shamisen pulls on the heartstrings, embedding a kind of unspeakable yearning for the departed, the plot went on reeling the thread of immortality as it did the mundane. Indeed, death benumbs itself.
I’ll leave this piece with my hat off to Laika because, since Coraline, it’s guaranteed that stop motion animation will never again lose its way inside our memories. So before you head to the theater, here’s a beautiful cover of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” for your listening pleasure.
Mini musing: Life is a matchstick. The end.
I’ve spent a couple of days redesigning my blog and didn’t follow through in order to file this entry. I’ve been quailing at Ma’ Rosa for weeks now but missed the chance of watching Jaclyn Jose take home her Best Actress trophy from the 2016 Cannes Film Festival on Youtube. There’s no doubt that Ma’ Rosa’s hard-edged impromptu style social realist narrative could flush out the Philippine k-pop-culture-obsessed mainstream media in a jiffy. Independent filmmakers and thespians alike have been craving for keen attention from local moviegoers for a long time now but to no avail. It’s high time. Directed by Brillante Mendoza and initially released in May, the film premiers in the Philippines on July 6.
And that, comrades, is how THE social media work.
So as I mentioned earlier, I’m going to weigh in on the Harambe tragedy because, like the rest of the internet, I can. But I will not be slinging deadly stuff on the Cincinnati Zoo and its visitors here. They’ve been beaten up by the interwebs over the past weeks already.
I would simply throw in some insights and leave a picture of Harambe here to remind us all what we as humans have diligently evolved into, arms akimbo.
Lee Hall, author of On their own terms: Animal liberation for the 21st century, wrote: “If we think it appropriate to hold conscious beings in exhibits for ticket holders in the first place, we have already made the assessment that their lives are not as valuable as ours.”
Indeed, one must reflect upon what we have learnt from visiting zoos. Even though, none of these lessons include lifting a finger to assist in habitat conservation for critically-endangered species. But it’s alright to be upset and pour out our contempt over a post or a status update. After all, we have gotten used to expressing all our deep-seated, searchable angst over our newsfeeds, including thoughts that give us nightmares, like whether the dress is blue or gold.
So, now is the time to convert all of these emotions into action, something social media have been urging us to do ever since.
Disclaimer: this is not a recipe post. As plant-based living eases up a bit, thanks to the vegan police, and loyal adversaries, for spreading the V word, vegan labelled products sprout like mushroom in groceries. The vegetable section is still available, of course. We’re not anymore galaxies away from today’s norm. I’ve managed to discharge the superpowers of bicarbonate of soda and lemon on my utensils, toilet bowl, and cavities. And I’ve discovered a new way to make cooked veggies look decent. I guess life is fairer now.
Then the asparagus.
Who would have thought sautéed asparagus could crank out organized cheers? You can sense its set back yet provocative presence on top of the kitchen counter while watching world politics and other expletives. The asparagus sits comfortably on its high chair. It’s as though it’s preparing to launch into space, searching for new lands. Most glossy cookbooks continue to romanticize it at the expense of its roots. Most earthlings proceed to switch channels. I made an effort to keep the recipe in its simplest form, if I should call it a recipe.
But, again, this is not a recipe post. So here’s a picture of sautéed asparagus with other edibles.
Inside the edifice lurks
a felony in hiding,
but reach deep down
the politics of its pocket,
a wasteland crouches
loathing an earshot away
the brass casket,
a starving sense of justice, asses
and potatoes saddled
over the servants’ wages.