i need a list on my arms

Today, I am again reminded of how reading takes you to the place you least expect to be and yet feel that it was a needed shove.

I cover paper with words every day,
But the stories never go anywhere
I find worth going.

-Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
Chapter 11, page 45

I remember saying this to a loved one recently. I told her that I do write but it sort of still sucks and depresses the shit out of me that I haven't written anything that goes out to where I want it to be. The exchange came over a cup of coffee, recent memories, feels and slight realizations. 

She said that I know that I am good at what I do and that is what separates me from her. I refuse to accept that statement.

She is lovely. I always forget to tell her that. 

Today I am reminded again of how much I refuse to learn the essential things. I need to close my eyes to the superficial as I feel more mundane than I was yesterday. I am also reminded of how the creases on her eye lids have smeared the emerald tint of her liner.

I need to go back into loving things, people and the prospect of tomorrow. I need to be reminded always and it sucks.

pantyhosed

“A man is not old until regrets replace dreams.”  -John Barrymore

Photo credits: Clayton Cubitt.

Visit the man's colossal pinboard of interesting finds and perspective here.

I've been thinking of creating a Tumblr account for a while now. My friend suggested the thing when I told him he was already famous on the site (among poets and literature peeps) and he is. He suggested that I'd get better reach when it came to audience. Though, I thought, I have all the audience I need in this personal space.

Tumblr has a certain thing for anonymity. The mysterious and the hidden at the same time being exposed and extroverted. Everything is projected outward but with a black strip to mask identities. Clayton Cubitt is not one of those fellas on Tumblr.

He puts out, not in the perverse way. His photographs show just that and his head on approach to the usual secrets in the real world. Gritty, dirty, flashy, real, rigid and starkly familiar. You can say that it's a bit hipster, meh, everyone has his two cents about everything.

I've been following his work for more than 5 months now. And I can say that I highly enjoy his works and his class. Dirty classy.

I especially like the way he connects his photographs with quotations from people I haven't even heard of. It is a diverse collective. His photographs look larger than life but occur within the dimensions as they do. 

Young 'uns

I never really get to know my son that much as I would want to. It is not due to the fact that we are 6 hours away from each other or anything that has to do with proximity. We really click it when we hang around the city with our little snacks and drinks and mischief that is innate in every boy. We're really both messy, sweaty and angry. It's true, we are angry. I don't really know how that happened or what but I know I'm an angry person and my son has probably inherited much of that rage from me. He'd throw fits every now and then, cry about things he couldn't get and look all mushy and cuddly right after. He's a handsome bastard, more handsome than his male predecessors. I guess that's how children are, I guess that's how my son takes after me than most ways that I can think of.

I make sure that I see him as often as I could and not miss the most important parts of his young life. He is a good kid, I know that, every parent does when they're dealing with their kids. He may be a bit of a snotty kid but he's really the sweetest, even sweeter than her mother (that part, I admit, I had nothing to do with.) My last visit was like the usual, eating out, buying stuff and doing the same old family thing. We do what we can. It's fun like that.

We tried to bring him to the barber for a cut but he was having none of it. He scolded me and his mum and even the barber for having him try to sit on the chair. He was angry like that, plus, he wanted a bottle of milk and his afternoon nap. He was just furious and teary eyed but still handsome as ever.

It happened to be the last week of the Panagbenga 2013. Session Road was closed for a week and was commissioned to be full of stalls that showcase the different trades and crafts of the modern Filipino. Food was the number one priority for me, though. Nothing beats the variety of food available during the event and be ready for the extra pounds

His mum lined up for an order of Ilocos empanada (which unfortunately was a waste of money, it was an injustice to call it such since the genuine Ilocos empanada is as heavenly as food can get.) She ordered that the little prince be walked around for a while so he wouldn't be irritable or anything and to get him away from the burning heat of the day. That's just what I did, I carried him around like a trophy. I heaved and huffed and the sweat started to show. It was a mess, I was a mess. He was enjoying the sights though he had a scrunched expression on his face, he got that from me. Beams of light peeked through and felt like heat from a nearby oven. I watched my son look on and about and at different things and faces that we passed by.

The pretentious oily mess that posed like empanada was not yet ready so we turned and walked further. We walked past a local office supplies store and my prince started wriggling on and about. He was pointing at something on the display of the store. Of course, I had to stop. Everything for my little boy, of course. He was pointing at the toys on display. I asked him which one he liked and he just said "That one." I pointed to everything at the display until the last one. I figured he wouldn't want that one, but he did. He pointed at the a cheap looking toy set, a cook set.

I told him he wouldn't want that because it was for girls but he insisted on buying it. He was starting to get angry then. I urged him not to get the toy but he really wanted to get it. He was starting to get teary eyed and his cheeks flushed. I carried him back to his mum to ask for the go signal. He was having none of my behavior and attitude towards what he wanted to do. His mum gave the green light and back we went to the store. I gave him a hundred, he held it firmly in his right hand. He knew he was getting that toy set. He just knew it.

I think I was supposed to be angry at that thing. About the fact that my son wanted to play with girly toys. But what he did next taught me more than I could teach him. He was slicing the toy veggies and meat and put it inside the casserole, he was careful to put it on the stove and check the flame level. He was keen and bright like that. 

"Daddy, cook. Luto!"

I know I'm an angry man but when it comes to him, I'm just like a neophyte again, undergoing a further initiation into a bigger responsibility and humbling experience. He was angry but patient enough with his dad. It made me think how people make up the constructs inside their heads and try to impose them on their kids and the younger generations. It always had to do with rules and the main prospect of following it, to the letter. The construct of being gay has something to do with toys, colors, dainty things and queer stuff but really, they don't. And people should stop being angry for the wrong reasons.

And as my son taught me, parents shouldn't be always the ones to jump the gun and reinforce the fate they want for their children. They just want to play, they need to play, even if they had to do so with their own choices and preference. He wanted to play with the cook set because he associated it with his mama and papa cooking dinner and yummy snacks for him, not because he was gay or what. And so what if he was? So what if he chooses that path in the future? It isn't a disease that can be cured or a decision that can be swayed with indoctrination and severe enforcement.

He really loves that cook set. I think I'll build him a real kitchen in the future. I'll have my own angry cook. Flushed but with taste.

i will haze you

I Will Teach All of You How to Live

by Sterling Cooper

Dearest Fraternity Men,

Judging by the majority of the posts on TFM, most of us can agree on a few things: We love women in spite of their terrible attempts at humor; We love top shelf bourbon and the cheapest light beers; We wear the North while we represent the South; We believe in free market capitalism so much that we’d rather kill every baby seal in the world than allow our tax dollars to go the man at the liquor store bragging about how his “Obama check” is paying for his fifth of gin. However, many posts here are troubling to me, and I can no longer stand idle without addressing a few problems.

1. Coming from money is great. It means that you come from good stock, and your family has made something of itself. However, it is not a reason to exclude anyone. Many of the men we purport to respect are self-made success stories. Almost all of my brothers with trust funds have elected not to touch them in favor of making their own way, and having something even grander to pass on to their children. We all love America. Therefore, we make ourselves out to be liars if we scoff at the American Dream.

2. If your fraternity does not haze its pledges, you are in a social club. Whether it is national council-based like “Balanced Man,” or mandated by your respective school’s administration, the lack of hazing denotes a lack of pledging and, in turn, a lack of true brotherhood. We don’t haze to feel superior. We already know that we’re superior. We haze first because we were hazed. It is tradition. We do every alum a disservice if we water down our pledging processes. Pledgeship, while fun for actives, is more about putting raw iron through fire so that it can become steel, than it is about keeping our shoes constantly tied and our drinks constantly full. The reason we are so close to our brothers is because we all went through the same hell and came out the other side.

3. There is a difference between good humor and disrespect toward women. The phrase, “make me a sandwich,” is funny all day long. We pride ourselves on the number of women we sleep with, the attractiveness of said women, and our ability to juggle several at a time while convincing them that this is how college works. All of this is in good fun. But GDIs reading this column, make no mistake, you will find no one faster to defend a woman than a fraternity man. We joke all day long about women’s roles and sexual activity, but when push comes to shove about a woman, we skip pushing and shoving and go straight to fists. Women are beautiful, smart, and funny, and damn it if they don’t have the best invention ever created built into their bodies. Men, don’t feel guilty about making fun of sluts, but don’t you ever dare disparage a woman of true class.

In conclusion, I think it’s important to sum up what being in a fraternity is about, and why we pledge. We don’t take pledges because they’re cool guys or they can drink a lot. We take pledges based on the content of their character. Can you survive the hell we’re about to put you through? Are you worthy of our energy? Can you party like Charlie Sheen, pound like Wilt Chamberlain, work a room like Sinatra, and command a board of directors like Warren Buffett? Will you do something with your life? If these questions lead to “yes,” then you’ll get a chance to prove yourself. GDIs (I know y’all are reading this), let’s get one thing straight: I don’t think I’m better than you. I know for a fact that I’m better than you. In fact, this goes for anyone reading this. I’d probably party with most of y’all. I’d hang out with a few of y’all. But make no mistake, I am better than you, and if you don’t think the same thing about yourself in regard to me, then I don’t want to know you. We aren’t better because we drink a lot. We aren’t better because we have money. We aren’t better because we pledged hard. We aren’t better because we don’t have to buy drinks to get pussy, even though all of these things are true. We’re better because we know we’ll go on to build empires. We’re better because we don’t doubt ourselves. We’re better because we have the secrets, we have the grip, we have the tradition and – most importantly – we have the character of champions. So go out tonight (whatever night you happen to read this), get drunk, make mistakes, find a girl to introduce your dick to, fight a wolverine, punch a liberal in the head…fuck it, rage so hard that your Sperry’s come UNTIED. Just know that whatever shit you get into, all of us are going to make it our primary goal to one-up you. Because that is how brotherhood works.

from www.totalfratmove.com

incessant whining

Staying relevant in this world means a whole lot than doing things you like. Sometimes, it takes more than just a desire and a dream to make things happen. The mind is strong but the mind is weak, the body is strong but the mind is dull. No, really, the thing is there are many objects that distract us in the things that we do and try to do. It is hard to translate every aspiration into a workable piece of art, engineering and poetry. It really is hard to see yourself fail in almost everything you have sworn yourself not to fail at.

But, there is always a cliche in each story, like how tragedy comes with a silver lining, a rainbow after the rain and the dawn after a long and cold night. What they don't always tell you is that sometimes, you sleep the night away only to find the morning to be drenched in sad rains and shitty consequences. They fail to tell you that there are no rainbows in nuclear winter day. They forgot to mention that the tragedy does not go away. They fail to mention to your face that you fail and it is in that failure of recognition that you fail to see things as they really are.

Though, there are some people who desire to see the day that the masks are torn off and the true stories be said to those who are willing to hear. It may not always be a beautiful story, but it still worthy to be told without the wrapper of candy coated adjectives and recanting statements. As gritty as it is, as rough on the edges it may seem and as delusional and unacceptable the truth may sound, you have to hear it.

I've gone into an interview lately, actually, just yesterday and before I got to the part I had to finish a questionnaire. It was supposed to assess my value and worthiness into being accepted as a new employee, a new cog into another already working machine. I dreaded the fact that I had to do it by hand, my calluses are getting a workout and a steroid fix right after. The interview came and I think the interviewer failed to tell me in my face that I was not the employee that they were looking for. It's cool, I thought. It's not the first time I faced rejection and that it was better than not being sent a notice of anything, really.

Getting back to my story, I've been listening to a lot of rap from one artist lately. He talks about things that are not entirely new but with such blunt truth that you think about it hard and for a good amount of time. The overdose, the addiction of conjuring an image without verification and the cool factor of being consumers in a world full of promos and creative branding. We can't escape it but if we try hard enough, we just might be able to shake some of the influence off. 

He tells the story of how much it hurt to be a failed icon to those recovering from drug addiction. He recalls the hardship that most often brag about but never really had he balls to face on in sobriety. The reality of social restrictions to gender preference and the stigma that only "real men" get to be successes in the world. There are just so many levels of understanding that you need to repeat the songs over and over just to get a sliver for yourself. Look up Macklemore x Ryan Lewis so you could get it. I'm not done with the pseudo-depressing shit. But I hope I am, it feels cold enough in here already, that one's almost in the literal sense.

I'm just ranting. Welcome to the Heist.