irvinmclovin

sangria

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 17:19:00 PST

it's about putting your weight on the right foot to keep your balance as the train move towards the north.

zombie at bed

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 10:35:00 PST

at 430 a quick four point something magnitude of tremor snatched me from slumber.

the ten layers of mattresses made from dreams, fear, hopes and expectations were rearranged but they still remain under me.

it was waking up but also like dreaming at the same time; like dreaming about being awake while you are actually awake.

i was awake but i remembered my dream about a plane crashing in an empty field in front of me.

the feeling was like watching a kubrick film while you're either drunk or on crack- everything becomes trippy, slightly psychedelic, and more artsy.

the bed is essentially a kind of pedestal without steps. for some reason, the universe put me there while i am sedated with tablets that erase memory temporarily.

by the way, the high rise bed is situated in the middle of a rice field. it was usually nice at night.

it’s so nice you can actually think of blowing up the stars you named after yourselves when you used to be intoxicated with overwhelming emotional chemical reactions.

jaded stone(d)

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 17:17:00 PST

is like being confined in a dark working environment with no proper ventialtion and air conditioning.
where hell is present in both winter and summer.

is like hanging on a thread of hope over stalagmites developed from tears of fear, melted hopes, and crushed expectations.
where salvation slowly diffuses into the graveyard of dead words and languages.

is like drinking coffee mixed with oatmeal and dark chocolate coated espresso beans at 12 noon.
where the body zombie neurons start to invade the large regions of the brain, making the body feel more lethargic after each tick of the clock.

regina spektor can kiss my sores away

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 16:01:00 PST

if my tongue is a leg it is now experiencing elephantiasis
from the repressed
elements that
failed to translate into words.

it wallows in listerine with salt and lime solution as
it tries to run away from the nerve shackles
out into the oneiric wild
to that constantly running
state of peaceblisshappiness.

YOU BETTER WATCH THIS IN 3D!

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 15:52:00 PST

just saw pina a few days ago from the AFI Fest 2011.
you have to see this masterpiece made in more than 20 years to get your own experience.
it left me and my partner literally breathless as we watch the full of heart, emotional, powerful, and fragile choreography of pina bausch being translated into the screen in 3d. pina is a performance that will leave you in awe.

-------
Pina (Germany/2011)
tanzt, tanzt sonst sind wir verloren
(dance, dance otherwise we are lost)
Directed by Wim Wenders

slashes you get when you french kiss an acetone with an empty stomach

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 17:10:00 PDT

last night i dreamt about my four models being abducted by robots with psychic powers. it was stressful as i struggled to still pursue our shoot despite the robots’ interference. //

when i wake up earlier this morning, rain has already polished the dirty streets of our neighborhood. it looks clean and shiny outside. raindrops woke me up as they knock on my bedroom window like arrows from the sky. //

i was thirsty but we have no drinking water available anywhere in the house. //

inside my mouth are 99,000 different kinds of pain. //

sore.throat.canker.sore.cold.sore//

burning, itching and more random burning sensation prevents me from talking. the hell in my mouth keeps me from speaking ill against the guy wearing a shirt that screams: house of worship.//

the creaking sound of the rust-filled spinning roof vent suddenly creates music that calms my nerves. i wish we have those in our apartment.//

sometimes, we tend to feel lonely whenever a specific person we expect to be there at that specific moment and place is not present. this can happen even if you’re with the presence of a sea of people that you brand as friends. therefore, expectations trigger loneliness?//

aloha milky way

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 14:26:00 PDT

i lingered
because
drops of jupiter,
my favorite song
from train, is

playing.

big o’ tree

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 17:18:00 PDT

invites them to climb

high and high until they fall

ruins crash on roots

in order to travel to earth2

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 11:34:00 PDT

one must understand that death is a prerequisite.

the definition of death here is not constrained only on the physical aspect but can also be applicable on the spiritual, mental, psychological and metaphysical realm.

one must experience death as in denying your existence in earth1 so that you could establish your existence on earth 2.

emotional diarrhea

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 08:39:00 PDT

my pores gave birth to hundreds and thousands of coffee beans as i waited for the 559 train at the subway station near broadway.

each bean that trickled down cracked, bounced and occupied every empty space that they can fill. they released a pure bitter aroma of sadness that gave the creatures of the tunnel an unlimited amount of energy.

sadness is contagious

like a bird part 2

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 16:57:00 PDT

for generations, my family managed to thrive and survive in the depths of the jungle while keeping at par with the latest forms of technology. yes, we do have internet in the woods. you know those satellite dishes used by the revolutionaries hiding in the mountains? yep. satellite ftw!

anyway, thanks to the internet i was able to learn much about the outside world. i learned how super granny’s reputation have grown and evolved with the culture of the people, i learned how to do my own research, i learned emails, and chats. chats- that’s how i met lily. i saw her on this random lgbt chatroom flashing the status: bored.

i messaged her, we became acquainted and finally decided to meet. after a few sessions of debate, i was able to convince her to see me at the foot of the mountain. win-win for the two of us. she gets her discretion, i get to be close to the forest and obey my mother and we both get to meet each other. she was an instant friend.

we shared dreams, childhood memories, stories, fantasies, and weird stuff about ourselves. i even told her about the time i swallowed the rare tear of the banana heart. age old tales from my grandmother speaks of the mystical banana heart tear that can give anyone who possess it some powers. i never actually told anyone about that except lily.we just laughed it off.

we always meet whenever she’s free from filming. we eat fruits, share stories, have sex, and just enjoy each other’s company. yeah it was fun but one day i found myself borrowing the line from her chat status, i got bored.

when lily became busy doing her regal projects, i met herman. he was a tall, mahogany colored government soldier lost in the woods. perfect timing.

it was a full moon. my flirt nature lured him deeper into the woods. he later told me that he saw me as a naked and glowing creature with long black hair. well, i used to have long black hair but i wasn’t naked and glowing.

he was able to summon an army of sweatbeads as my heart beats like a jungle drum.

when he reached the deeper parts of the forest, i planted his lips a kiss. with the techniques taught by my mother, i returned him to the foot of the mountain in seconds. he returned. we became friends, flirted, played, exchange stories and got wild. with him, i can fly. on almost all nights that we spend under the full moon, we fly. i thought it’s the banana heart’s tear but i just shrug it off.

he thinks i’m supernatural.

to be continued...

supperficial meeting

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 09:55:00 PDT

dad calls for dinner
sis prepares pride for dessert
bro eats his heart out

like a bird part 1

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 16:54:00 PDT

let me tell you a secret. ever heard of that small squeaky baby chicken sound at night? nope. not a baby chick at all.

it's me.

there's only one person i know who is keen enough to recognize that the sound comes from something else-it's that guy who likes to hangout alone at the highrise condo rooftop at night.

my son.

i keep coming back to claim what’s mine.

yes, yes. i can fly. what’s the use of these huge wings if i can’t use it right?
shut up. these aren’t bat wings. see, even though i was cursed to possess avian features, i got something with flair. it may look off from afar but it’s a real beauty up close. fine. eagle wings don’t fit a huge swan’s body. but i don’t mind taking this form with a high pitched squeaky voice as long as my son is alive.

why?

here’s a quick recap.

i uttered a spell that backfired to me as a curse. my mother constantly reminded me to never use it, but they provoked me- lily and her henchmen.

as soon as she learned about my pregnancy and labor, she plotted a seemingly endless pursuit of revenge against me and my son. out of her fury, she even revived the myth about me and my family and included it on some of her blockbuster horror film franchises.

she used to be my girlfriend, thus the rage after she learned about my affair with my son’s father, herman.

she called me a two timing wo(man) eater. i’m guessing that’s where all the body splitting and the flesh eating depictions of me came from. haha. oh lily. she makes me crack.

lily made me look like a flying savage beast devouring people, with an extraordinary attraction to pregnant women during full moon. she pushed me back in the depths of the forest just like what they did to my great great grandmother way back in the days of the spanish colonial period. super granny was a babaylan (a female priestess and healer) who had an affair and got pregnant with a spanish town leader who was arranged to marry the daughter of a general.

as soon as the general’s daughter learned about super granny’s affair with the spanish leader, she attacked her reputation. she branded super granny as a threat to the community by being an influential witch who transforms into a monster that feeds on animals and humans-a scary aswang. since then, super gran retreated into the comforts of the forests and settled there with her baby.

there she met a native and they both settled as a family.

to be continued...

sugar quoting

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 16:05:00 PDT

Most people don’t cheat because they’re cheaters. They cheat because they are people. They are driven by hunger or for the experience of someone being hungry once more for them. They find themselves in friendships that take an unintended turn or they seek them out because they’re horny or drunk or damaged from all the stuff they didn’t get when they were kids. There is love. There is lust. There is opportunity. There is alcohol. And youth. And middle age. And twelve-day-long writers’ conferences in rustically genteel settings that give one the impression that the world one left no longer exists. There is loneliness and boredom and sorrow and weakness and self-destruction and idiocy and arrogance and romance and ego and nostalgia and power and need. There is the compelling temptation of intimacies with someone other than the person with whom one is most intimate. -lifted from mrs sugar's column at therumpus.net

081111

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 11:47:00 PDT

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superhero complex

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 00:25:00 PDT

some snapshots from the weekend's shoot

bland brifkani on graphics metropolis' superhero complex set
full set here

shhh

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 14:36:00 PDT

8:40am

an old man who smells like freshly squeezed orange puts a fresh spell of oblivion in the air along the two blocks stretch of broadway. it’s a pleasant way to forget a night of stage wreck- an evening suffocated with the ineffective dramatization and romanticism of languages. it’s a subtle delivery from the invasive memories of an institution that claims greatness only in merits but not in actions.

memory is a bitch.

erasing parts of it is a relief.

22 years ago

mamang, my grandma would always warn me not to look down at my bowels.

“a glance would suck memories out of you.” she would say.

ohshitohshitohshit.

indeed. shit sucks memories out of you.

zafra's message for tourists, expats and other visitors to the philippines

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 12:13:00 PDT

Welcome to the Philippines! You’ve probably noticed that Filipinos are friendly, accommodating, and nice all around. For starters we are always smiling. It is not true that we are always smiling, but it is likely we do it more than your people. This is because it is so much more pleasant than frowning or scowling. And people generally look better when they’re smiling, no? Here in Manila there is so much aggravation to put up with. It’s sweltering even when it’s rainy, the traffic is horrendous, it’s noisy and poverty is widespread. Smiling is the last thing one feels like doing under these circumstances. If you think about it, smiling in these conditions is a form of protest. It is a way of rising above the situation. It is not, as you might think, a vapid reflex.

-Jessica Zafra- Etiquette for Expats, Tourists and Other Visitors to the Philippines

self serve

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 23:49:00 PDT

dead squid dancing with soy sauce

this morning as he drove me along the street decorated with strip clubs, i encountered again his old authoritarian self from 18 years ago.

the moment he pulled out that huge plate of a plan, i immediately knew that he will be on a force-feeding frenzy.

the steaming plan he served this morning glows of hope and promise like the ones from the past. it was tempting, almost sumptuous, and inviting.
i’ve learned my lessons.
like all the other dishes that he force fed me before, this one’s glow was not meant to last.

he said he wants to purchase a house.

not here though. he wants a house somewhere in our homeland- a place filled with hope, a refuge full of the possibility of a peaceful, greener pasture. a dream conceived within a whirlpool of dreams fulfilled and unfulfilled.

he used to force-feed me bowls and plates of food in one meal. i used to eat a whole serving plate of rice with bowls and bowls of different kinds of viands.

i used to eat a lot because of fear.

my dad was a hardcore straight-up soldier who threatens to beat the crap out of me should i fail to finish my meals. his ways taught me the value of food. i grew up as a fat kid wearing a 36” waistline.

he force fed me.

he forced fed me not only with food but also with words.

he was the first person to ever feed me the word initiative.

perhaps it’s in his nature to share and feed us pots of unsolicited advices and opinions about life. it’s a feast whenever he talks. there are huge bowls of unfertilized ideas, platters of inchoate dreams, pitchers of unplanned ideas and lots of cups of hope.

don’t get me wrong, i appreciate and see his efforts to satiate our family’s hunger for a better life.

fatherly instincts, i get that. but force feeding? not so much.

most of the half-baked plans and inchoate dreams never hatch into something concrete and successful.

today he’s acting like a chef of ideas but with alzheimer’s.

he will try to make something but then will eventually forget the actual procedure, goals and motivations of the menu. what seems to be a profound dish from the start will usually turn into something pointless afterwards.

initiative.

i should know better and cook my own meals.

time to eat the meals u deserve.

------------------

dead frogs

shiny red balloon

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 07:52:00 PDT

after the horizontally challenged lady finished filing her nails on the train, a spilt second spark exploded in the afternoon and blinded the city branded with glittering stars.

its potent light spelling i-c-o-n-o-c-l-a-s-m sparked fireworks on top of a building in hollywood at around 6 in the afternoon where the sun is still a mighty lord over the sky.

it screams of the crime, the violence, the horror and the injustice of the city. ironically, it also screams of hope.

it happened before the night when a 30 foot long boa constrictor parades and slithers on top of the stars along the walk of fame.

the incident happened on the day when hotdog peddlers form a cavalcade of hotdogfest that transforms highland into a frying mexican hotdog fiesta.

everything happened so quick it’s like experiencing and reacting towards the horrors of the city then shrugging and forgetting about it afterwards.

image from http://www.graphicsmetropolis.com

fcking florentino ariza with an incomplete haiku

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 10:15:00 PDT

a bird caged in his own heart
finds a key nearby
unlocking another heart

on the image is the portrait that i took of model olivia price featured at graphics metropolis

mush in a cup

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 06:27:00 PDT

the noodles are actually made from the enchanted hair strands of that lady who was cursed to eternal sleep and that explains its lethargic effects on the consumer.

the after effect gives you that looming cloud of the feeling of betrayal. a cumulonimbus cloud formed from the evaporation of high expectations of borrowed energy throughout the day.

the blonde strands you eat in the morning with all the homogenized and preserved pseudo veggies and meat contains an additive that can trigger a kind of addiction to your brain. addiction to false hopes; you feel high then you expect high then you feel exceptionally low and sleepy. your body will not cease to move, but everything else falls under the same spell of eternal sleep slowly. first your creativity falls to slumber, then your logic succumbs to hibernation, your senses shifts to sleep mode, your brain functions in slowmo, then your heart beats softer every second.

there is a well known remedy though. a panacea that has long been embedded in the psyche of everyone who has experienced a childhood with the tales of princesses, of kingdoms, of witches, of fairy tales and of stories of kingdoms from far away.

yes, a true love’s kiss.

immobile patrol in the sky of glendale

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 06:12:00 PDT

tonight there’s a half-eaten biscuit in the sky chasing two tigers holding each other’s paws on the freeway.

it mocks the valley as it swims in the ocean of shadow and sugar sprinkles.
yesterday the half-eaten biscuit is a pacman character in the sky.

few days later it will be a stray fingernail of a giant that will either smile or frown over hollywood.

like a morphing ball of a demigod, it lords and witness the evolution and existence of the office person who blames it all on another officemate, the armenian lady who doesn’t pay her rent, the sister who wouldn’t clean the house because of dysmenorrhea, the father who struggles for his legal rights over his wife and children, the distant friend haunted by loneliness, the patients hugged by cancer, the activists abducted by the government, the stripper who wears orange instead of strawberry, the lover who is afraid to be in love, the pop star who plans her next crazy move, the businessman without money, the writer who thinks he was left by his muse, the neighbors who fuck like cats, and the office worker who takes all the blame from the other office worker as the milky way of darkness and midnight sparks swallow it whole.

five to four and still spacing out

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Mon, 20 Jun 2011 17:29:00 PDT

at.

the

off ice. working like

a zombie. a mecha. a japanese mecha running low on batteries.

like a weak ultra man. like a weak japanese ultra man with a blinking red warning light on his chest.

working like.

the mind weaves, creates and directs its own shorts amidst the smog and the clouds loitering around the avenues of the subconscious.

shorts scenario no 1: a black hobo asking me questions about existence and why do i keep lingering on unhappy crevices where i can be free

shorts scenario no 2: me floating in the air throwing an army of shuriken down on my targets: the clones of the self righteous blame-it all on the smellville wonderland ruled by the boss lightyear.

shorts scenario no 3: finding myself in a middle of a classroom with popular and not so popular singers. prepping for a sing and dance number shit and then later realizing the absurdity of the situation and then then being aware of the daydream world.

shorts scenario no 4: a major production and shipment mistake occurred and the whole company of giants running the show swallowed you whole like giant waves, no, like giant whales with no eyes and teeth.

shorts program no 5: sade’s music was immediately replaced by kanye’s blame game on the background while replying to emails, answering phone calls, making orders and scanning 50 pages of documents while imagining a soviet kind of marriage.
coffee cleared some fog. a postcard from korea lifted my spirit a notch.
a photobooth picture painted a huge smile on my heart- a smile hidden from the view of the

judging world.
somehow the scenario changes after the coffee mixed with the warm feeling of positive energies replaced the dark, murky aura of the people in the (work)place. these are the creatures who like to call on the name of god “my god” “my god” (repeat 100x) in vain whenever they feel the need to rant and blame.
“my gaaahhhhhd” says the blaminator. “my gaahhhd” says the negatron.
a wave of wishful thinking occurred.
i see a friend as a free man. free in many levels. free from repression and oppression as opposed to being abducted and detained by the forces of the ruling government because of their movement to expose the other sides of the yellow ruling class.
i see a liberated self, travelling, flying in countries, and doing the work that provides growth to the heart and mind: capturing souls in the frames of his camera and then sharing multitude of stories through them.
will leave
in a
few minutes
bye off.ice.
see you tomorrow.
fck.

tonight i will be a pilot

noreply@blogger.com (bulitas) — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 11:50:00 PDT

tonight i will write intimate letters and fold them into paper airplanes of different sizes.

i will spew them out of my mouth and pilot them to the thresholds of your subconsciousness where you can either interpret the signs or fail to catch them at all.

as i do that, i will use my third eye that can see a black sun and record your masochistic onanisms as scarlet tints coat the moon.

i will close my eyes born with impressionistic visions of the world and see a myriad of images from the past, present and future, monet style.

i will let the images serve as the palette to paint the blank canvasses of my paper airplanes- the vessels that will carry the most mundane and profound thoughts from my soul.