Friday, October 14

Between the first and the fortieth

Drunkenness and its slightly tilting musical-numbered alternate universe has descending levels not too different from Hell's layered furnace. Sweeter is deeper. Deeper is closer to the floor. But it's not always peppery dancing and incandescent word play that punctuates a good, long gulp.

Like a prisoner circling his cell, planning escape, and memorizing, in the process, the cracks on the walls, the sharp turns, the geometry of forgetting. And somewhere between the first and the fortieth swig: Kim Ki-duk's unsettling endings. Ricky Gervais' rock star beginnings. Nine Songs and porn. The left turn in Makati Cinema Square. Rats. Writers and writing and laughing in between words. Beautiful Girls. The Eraserheads interview on the pavement outside 70s Bistro. The good old days and the ones that got away.
Last night, Dodo and I drank to forget and to remember.
But we also defied gravity.
I was still smiling when I got home, clumsily flipping through old mixes, looking for that Seona Dancing song. Positive that whatever happens in the future, there will always be nights like this.

Thursday, October 6

Bali High

Flirting in Bali

Something Happened in Bali (Memories of Bali here in the Philippines) is intense. PJ Harvey Rid-of-Me, heart imploding intense. Self-destructive in 20 episodes. Green-eyed everyone of the four leads; jealouosy imprint in every strand, every curve of the story arch. Couples switch and swing, with each one refusing to let go. Who doesn't want to have it all? If looks could kill, this would be a massacre staring fest and a literal massacre in the end. (With apologies to the recent turn of events in Bali, God bless their souls.)


In contrast to the primal melodrama, the revelations are whispered in bed.

Confessions of love. The burden of regret. The beginning of lies. The end of lies. Almost always darkly lit, under the covers, their backs turned. In the last few minutes of the finale, we hear the last confession, murmured, crumpled like the sheets.

The restrain makes the damage more painful. More echoing. And really, this is how most things end. Not with swelling music or grand declarations. But with sobering silence.


Over beer and nachos a Friday ago, this happened. Fuck Hollywood. Fuck adaptations. Let's talk and fight over Asian movies at Korean Bug. Let the biting begin.