Words + Space + Beats + Herb

8:45 Heaven

Tiger JK of Drunken Tiger - 8:45 Heaven

Hip Hop performance at its finest.

kwento ni pareng meow (oo yung nagbabandal ng mga pader sa metro manila)

Meow: ay pare may kwento ako
Marlowe: ano?
Meow: edi naghihintay nga ako
Meow: kanina sa parlor
Meow: may bata nagpapagupit cute
Meow: tapos may binubulong yung bakla sa kanya
Meow: sabi bigla nung bakla. "anong sinabi ko sayo?"
Meow: bata: dinilaan mo lang ako ehhh

Atmosphere - Say hey there

"I'm overbooked, no emotional vacancy"

Manuel L. Quezon on power and women

Setting: May 1939, a meeting with Nacionalista associates
Primary source: "Speech in honor of Floor Leader Quintin Paredes," (typescript) Malacañan, May 22, 1939. Manuel L. Quezon manuscripts. National Library, Ermita, Manila.

Here is what the greatest Filipino pimp of all time has to say about power and women:

"To tell the truth gentlemen, I should like to continue being President of the Philippines if I were sure I would live one hundred years. Have you ever known of anyone who has voluntarily renounced power unless it was for a lady that, in his, opinion, was more important than power itself, or because of the threatening attitude of the people? Everybody likes power. It is the greatest urge of human nature--power. I like to exercise power."

Word. haha.

The Art of Knowing Numb

The Art of Knowing Numb
(For a friend who neither understood nor liked my poems)

Allow me, at the very least, to be
honest. I haven’t written
in a long while.
And if you query me for the reasons
as to why, maybe
I can propose
pretexts
I must believe in
for them to be true.

It could have been
the hesitation to commit
mistakes, the trepidation
involved in stark-naked
exposure to criticisms,
or even
something simple
like the absence
of a purpose
to write.

(god, it felt empty
like a word
that does not refer
to anything existent.
Is nothingness even a word?)

I recall when
there was still Magic
rather than conjuring tricks
and sleight-of-hand techniques
in my use of language, it was
easier for us to commune in unison
with the rhythm of a heartbeat.

Then, in my travels beyond
the dead end,
I found myself stumped
in a Limbo
of inebriated writers and failures, where
Jack Duluoz and Henry Chinaski
(both drowning in a cesspool of alcohol,
spit, punctured condoms, and vomit)
offered wise words of counsel
like a fictional Virgil’s verses to Dante.
But i was no journeyer,
just lost.


You never approved of my wordplay, tropes
and schemes. You thought
they were useless means
to express
what I should have whispered
in your ear
when we were both younger.