Ma’ Rosa grabs a Cannes

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.

 

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A kid can enter an enclosure, a gorilla was shot, and now the internet has piped down

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.

Harambe 2

Harambe, a 440 lb male silverback gorilla, was held captive at the Cincinnati Zoo. Photography by Robert Streithorst.

Lee Hall, author of On their own terms: Animal liberation for the 21st centurywrote: “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.

 

 

Morello rages against machines, Bieber and Gomez

Morello rages against machines, Bieber and Gomez

Watch Rage Against the Machine guitarist, Tom Morello, machine-slap Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez at 100% full political rage.

Read the story at Rolling Stone.

Sautéed asparagus inside a space simulator

Sautéed asparagus inside a space simulator

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.

Muse-in-briefs-asparagus

Life and other apps

Life and other apps

I’m finally back on board. It seems my daily paper and ink (um, this is a failed attempt at replacing “bread and butter”, gah) didn’t help me in any way in cooking new rants for my blog. Embarrassing, really. No, not writer’s block. Something more meta, like renovating and keeping up with my mini animal shelter, in my opinion. But the cats have weaved me something far more terrible. A chock-full of advice for wanna-be faux writer’s block victims. Get off social media and play mini-games. Find more time for naps, set the alarm clock for treats. Download more apps on your mobile and watch the insanity unfold. Something faster, easier, like food apps. Regularly check your gallery’s app only after you’ve instagrammed your newly braided hair. There’s a whole bunch of nasty worlds out there on the interwebs. Finally, find new ways in organizing your downloads. Hah! The cats even sent me the image below. They wished they created it themselves. They said they’ll use it for digital world domination. We never know what we’re missing, really.

Muse in Briefs Writer's block handmade soap

Respect to who ever created this soap.

Waiting for a good home. Bed bugs.

Waiting for a good home. Bed bugs.


Speak wide. Mouth of a tunnel.
Brush shoulders like we’re comrades.
Beat the beats of cult fiction.
Believe friendship is a staple.

It’s a dirt we share.

Ever barefooted the huddles of the city?
Our eyes both swallowed the disease.
“Life is a currency, yes?” Experts say.
“Agony is business.” Ibid.

Let’s talk culture and drink beer.

VIPs don’t buy words. Not from copper pages.
A brown woman is a brown woman.
A black woman is a black woman.
The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

It’s a rhetoric they teach.

And yet, we brush shoulders. Anisometric.
Like when we’re tots. You are winter. I am summer.
Eyes fixed on one TV screen – Big Bird groupies.
Fastforward to adulthood – export materials.

A stock market ice cream cart.

Give me a tree to trust. A forest.
Who knows who’s on top of the food chain.
Words are taxed with blood. Or enjambment.
Our silence is their weapon, anyway.

Or maybe just encode another poem.

On bed bugs.


Armineonila M. 2015

Legacy

Legacy


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.


Armineonila M.

July 2015