Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

Notes on a Nude Sketching


2010
09.11

Here’s a poem drawn by poet/writer Richard Gappi:

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*Talababa sa Isang Nude Sketching

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Ipinapako ako ngayon
sa krus ng aking pagkatao.

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Mantel sa pisngi ng aking pwet
at sinag-araw-alas-tres ng hapon na nakabalabal
sa hubad kong anino.

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Nagsasa-Veronica ako
sa puting tela.

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Guhit ito na pinihit ng totoo
kung saan naroon
ang nakasilip na puwang ng naikandado—!

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Palayain siya!
Palayain siya!

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Sa apat na sulok
inuutusan niyang lumayas
ang inaalihan
ng kampon ni Satanas!

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Lalayas ako!
Lalayas ka!

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At magkakapit-kamay
tayong magsasa-Lazarus
habang dama natin ang hapdi
ng bigat ng batong ipinukol
ng sumang-ayon sa hatol.

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Puta!
Nakikiapid!
Malibog!
Pera-pera!
Magdalena!

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Hindi Magdalena
ang isang putik
kundi nagiging
eskultura sa pilantik
ng canvas
ng
isang
artist.

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- Richard Gappi, Oct. 1, 2005

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My English translation:

Notes on a Nude Sketching

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To the cross of my humanity
I am being nailed.

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Mantle on the cheek of my butt
and the rays of the sun at three in the afternoon
cloaking my naked shadow.

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I become Veronica
in the white cloth.

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This is drawn
by the truth
where the imprisoned space
that peeps lies—!

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Liberate her!
Liberate him!

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In the four corners of the world
he commands the ones possessed
by the minions of Satan
to leave!

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I shall leave!
You shall leave!

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And holding hands
we shall become Lazarus
Living the pain
of the crushing weight
of the stone
thrown by the ones
who consented to
the verdict–

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Fucking whore!
Adulterer!
Wanton!
Prostitute!
Magdalen!

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Magdalen is not the mud.
Sculpture in the graceful waves
of the canvas
of an artist

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She Becomes.

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- Richard Gappi (Eng. trans. Ian Lomongo, Oct. 3, 2005)

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best regards,
artes-ian, well!

A Quote from Nietzsche’s “Untimely Meditations”


2010
08.21

“Consider the cattle, grazing as they pass you by: they do not know what is meant by yesterday or today, they leap about, eat, rest, digest, leap about again, and so from morn till night and from day to day, fettered to the moment and its pleasure or displeasure, and thus neither melancholy nor bored. This is a hard sight for man to see, for, though he thinks himself better than the animals because he is human, he cannot help envying them their happiness — what they have, a life neither bored nor painful, is precisely what he wants, yet he cannot have it because he refuses to be like an animal. A human being may well ask an animal: ‘Why do you not speak to me of your happiness but only stand and gaze at me?’ The animal would like to answer, and say: ‘The reason is I always forget what I was going to say’ — but then he forgot this answer too, and stayed silent: so that the human being was left wondering.”

Friedrich Nietzsche, “Untimely Meditations” (trans. R.J. Hollingdale)

Is “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” a real word referring to Irish hookers?


2010
07.16

Re: Is “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” a real word referring to Irish hookers?

“Supercali” = superbeautiful (Greek, super=over + kallos=beautiful)

“Fragilistic?” = the word “fragile” comes to mind, which is probably from Latin “frango?” which means “breakable”? Just making an inference here…

best regards,
super kal-el

Source: http://http://www.straightdope.com/mailbag/msupercali.html

Is “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” a real word referring to irish hookers?

——-

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That Time When I lost My Phone While Playing the Guitar


2010
06.08

August 21, 2005. Early morning, Ninoy’s 22nd death anniversary, the moon’s on the wane after reaching its peak fullness the day before…

With Susan (my trusty old guitar now lost to typhoon Ondoy/Ketsana), I jammed with the street children who usually loiter at the corner street in front of Angono public market, where this Moslem guy cells CD’s and DVD’s. (From time to time, this guy would have free movie screenings, for the folks who happen to be loitering there in the wee hours of the morning.) I sang Yano’s “Banal na Aso, Santong Kabayo.” The kids responded with Parokya ni Edgar’s “Chikinini.” One even rapped a few (I’m thinking, improvised) bawdy verses…

I had fun. I think the kids did too. Checked the time on my cellphone. 4:00 am. Or thereabouts… Put it on the sidewalk where I was sitting. And forgot all about it. Somebody must have taken it while we were having a blast.

Oh well.

best regards,
ian

“The Filipino’s worth dying for.” – Ninoy Aquino

In the Arc of Your Mallet


2010
05.25

In The Arc Of Your Mallet
by Rumi

Don’t go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don’t see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.

I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go
up on the roof by yourself at night.

There’s nothing worse than to walk out along the
street without you. I don’t know where I’m going.

You’re the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.

-Rumi

A Rehearsal for Dying


2010
04.04

A Rehearsal for Dying
By Michael Ian Lomongo

“To conquer death, you only have to die… you only have to die.” – Jesus Christ, in Webber/Rice’s “Jesus Christ Superstar”

I was a young kid then when my brother Errol and I used to play with toy guns, soldiers and tanks. Once, our mother heard us talking about wiping out each other’s “men.” She said that we shouldn’t be talking so cavalierly about killing and deaths because, in the real world, lives that are taken are lost, well, permanently.

At about the same time, during the proclamation of faith in one mass that we attended, I heard Errol sing “Si Kristo’y namatay, si Kristo’y nabuhay, si Kristo’y babalik sa wakas ng panahon.” I told our mom that my brother’s got it all wrong, that it should be “Sa bakas ng panahon.” Only to find out that I was the one who’d been singing it wrongly all this time.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I tried to imagine what it would be like at the end of time. I thought there would only be trees and birds. (I even imagined the sunlight filtering through the trees and the birds chirping in an early “people-less” morning.) Everyone I know (including me), and even those I hardly know and don’t know at all, would be gone, dead. It was awful.

I thought people didn’t really die. I thought that they soon got up from their graves or from wherever or whatever they’ve been lying, just like those numerous people who get killed in action movies. And to top it all, there was such a thing as the “end of time.” Oh God!

(more…)

Made in Vietnam, Born in the Philippines


2010
04.02

(old letters: May 7, 2000)

Kathleen, Michaell, Jan, Leanne, Carl, and Dante,

Still trying to catch up reading your letters. Congratulations! to Carl, for making it to Steppenwolf and to Jan, for completing your doctorate…

Am annotating a six-week workshop for basic acting (adults), am learning a lot in the process…

Cameron Macintosh’s “Miss Saigon” is going to be staged here… not too happy about that… they are spending a lot of money to do that, money which could have been used to produce shows which are more relevant and “Filipino.” As some have remarked, it’s a western play with a western viewpoint, conceptualized and directed by westerners, utilizing asian talents.

No doubt, because of it, Filipinos came to be recognized as more than mere “domestic helpers.”

And it would certainly be a rare treat for Filipinos to watch big mechanized, revolving stages and helicopters descending on the stage… but the thing is, it won’t help much in the development of Philippine theater. In the process, they’re also displacing the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra, Ballet Philippines, and Tanghalang Pilipino (where I am a scholar-member of its Actors’ Company) from the Cultural Center of the Philippines (where Miss Saigon’s gonna be staged). Of the eight to ten plays mounted by TP per season, only four would be at the CCP (because of Miss Saigon). The CCP conference room, which has been the regular rehearsal room of TP’s plays, would be transformed into an office of the Miss Saigon guys.

I don’t know, even though I was made in Vietnam (really! my parents met there.), I’ve never really liked Miss Saigon… (I’ve never seen it… but I’ve never seen “Les Miserables,” too, and I like it.)

Am intending to become a freelance writer, while also auditioning for plays, etc.

Salamat.

ian

Flatline Series 1: A Draft (A Video Installation by Infinity and Accident*)


2010
03.13

Flatline Series 1: A Draft
(A Video Installation by Infinity and Accident*)

I. Dying to See the Light

I’ve heard accounts of people who’ve had Near-Death Experience detailing their encounter with some tunnel of light, or their lives flashing before their eyes.

Like almost everyone, I have this morbid fascination with Death and Dying and everything that comes and goes with and after it.

But what if there is no light at the end of the tunnel?

What if nothing, just this big nothing, awaits us?

Like everyone, I’d like to end this life with some sense of fulfillment or completion. Yes, I’d like to see the light. More, I’d like to be “enlightened.”

And this, before dying.

II. Dog is God Spelled Backwards

A pseudo-intellectual joke: A dyslexic agnostic insomniac was kept awake in the night wondering if there was a dog.

In a past life, I was a dog.

III. The Grand Sex

They say that the orgasm of sex is called “la petite mort” because the release that one goes through is tantamount to some kind/form of dying, “a little death.”

Imagining death as the ultimate experience, would it then be “the Grand Sex”?

Moments before dying, what I felt was an intensification of sensation accompanying the palpitation of my heart. It culminated in an “orgasm,” centered in my heart. It was coupled with everything around me appearing brighter and clearer, as if bathed by a light coming from within. After which, I passed out.

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I woke up, five minutes later (so they told me), on a hospital bed, gagging, struggling, (alive!) and kicking.

ian lomongo
march 13, 2010

(*Infinity and Accident is Wire Tuazon and Ian Lomongo)

On Umberto Eco, Dan Brown, Signs and Symbols


2009
08.21

Brown’s devices are rather stilted… contrived… Although I laughed at that scene when Brown was thinking of some woman in the past and then the police driver who fetched him asks: “Did you mount her?” The Eiffel, of course… harharhar!

One particular scene that I loved (not for any “high”/literary reasons but for the seeming naturalness of the playfulness of the characters) in “Foucault’s Pendulum” was when the narrator, Casaubon, was reading up on the Rosicrucians in bed, with his girlfriend Amparo. There are no narrative descriptions about what goes on. But Casaubon from time to time remarks, “Stop that!” or Amparo gets some food and eats and feeds Casaubon, too, and repeats a curious word or name or detail from what Casaubon reads aloud, and you know that they’re teasing each other and having some kind of a foreplay. Parang si Dumas din sa “Count of Monte Cristo.” Alam mo kung ano’ng nangyayari sa dialogue lang… sa tone, sa manner of responses and counter-responses… wala nang description o (kung sa play, stage directions).

Wala talagang binatbat ang “Da Vinci Code.” (A comparison can’t be avoided because both works talk about the knights templars, rosicrucians, the grail myth, conspiracies, etc.)

best regards,
ian

An excerpt from “Foucault’s Pendulum” (This is Lia, Casaubon’s girlfriend (after Amparo) and mother of his child, talking to Casaubon.):

…she patted her belly, her thighs, her forehead; with her spread legs drawing her skirt tight, she sat like a wet nurse, solid and healthy — she so slim and supple — with a serene wisdom that illuminated her and gave her a matriarchal authority.

“Pow (Lia’s pet name for Casaubon – ian), archetypes don’t exist; the body exists. The belly inside is beautiful, because the baby grows there, because your sweet cock, all bright and jolly, thrusts there, and good, tasty food descends there, and for this reason the cavern, the grotto, the tunnel are beautiful and important, and the labyrinth, too, which is made in the image of our wonderful intestines. When somebody wants to invent something beautiful and important, it has to come from there, because you also came from there the day you were born, because fertility always comes from inside a cavity, where first something rots and then, lo and behold, there’s a little man, a date, a baobab.”

(I’m reminded of an exhibit by Gabby Barredo at Hiraya Galler in 1998 or 99. There was a monstrance (the thing where priests put the sacred host during an exposition of the holy sacrament), but instead of a host, what you find inside was a vagina. – ian)

“And high is better than low, because if you have your head down, the blood goes to your brain, because feet stink and hair doesn’t stink as much, because it’s better to climb a tree and pick fruit than end up underground, food for worms, and because you rarely hurt yourself hitting something above — you really have to be in an attic — while you often hurt yourself falling. That’s why up is angelic and down devilish.

“But because what I said before, about my belly, is also true, both things are true, down and inside are beautiful, and up and outside are beautiful, and the spirit of Mercury and Manicheanism have nothing to do with it. Fire keeps you warm and cold gives you bronchial pneumonia, especially if you’re a scholar four thousand years ago, and therefore fire has mysterious virtues besides its ability to cook your chicken. But cold preserves that same chicken, and fire, if you touch it, gives you a blister this big; therefore if you think of something preserved for millenia, like wisdom, you have to think of it on a mountain, up, high (and high is good), but also in a cavern (which is good, too) and in the eternal cold of the Tibetan snows (best of all). And if you then want to know why wisdom comes from the Orient and not from the Swiss Alps, it’s because the body of your ancestors in the morning, when it woke and there was still darkness, looked to the east hoping the sun would rise and there wouldn’t be rain.”

Still on Dan Brown’s Recuperation of the Sacred Feminine


2009
08.19

Cultural symbols have some kind of consistency. And rightly or wrongly (I mean, one could always present arguments that would show the inappropriateness of a symbol or sets of symbols), the associations have been formed and set through the millenia. One cannot simply do away with a symbol that has been passed and accepted by cultures/traditions, etc. One can, however, question and undermine the seeming “naturalness” that these symbols have come to acquire (like what Nietzsche, Derrida, among others, have done).

The association of “black” with “male” and “white” with “female” (at least, symbolically) is not consistent with, and I’d even say, goes against the grain of, tradition of symbolical associations with gender archetypes. Check it out for yourself. Research on this topic.

Even the very moral association of “black” with “evil” and “white” with “good” is consistent with the disparaging of the “feminine principle” that Brown himself presents in his novel.

Which leads me back to Nietzsche… the earth/matter, feminine, black, deceptive, as opposed to the spirit, male, white, beholden to the truth… and which does he champion?

Neither.

Rather, he asks, probably with a grin on his face, “What if truth were a woman?” (which can be read as “what if the truth were lying/deceptive?”)

So, again, rather than simply overturning the tables or reassigning the good values with the opposing pole (i.e., saying that “male” is “evil” and “female” is “good”), one gains an insight into the interconnection/interweaving/inter-reliance, complexity, and perhaps, even complicity of the bipolar signs/symbols into our understanding of this world.

The world is to a large extent, amoral, and because of this, both cruel and innocent. It is us humans/cultures who assign values, depending on our perceived needs/wants in given situations. It is when these values harden/ossify that they become dangerous to life/living.

best regards,
ian