Burn Baby Burn

September 22, 2008

Doesn’t everyone just hate deceitful people? The two-faced bastards and bitches of the world…

It’s one thing that a person is really a bastard; or a bitch, and that person acts straight towards you. At least you know. It’s like being thrown a punch in broad daylight. At least you can read and react to it.

But it’s another thing to know a person who’s the proverbial “wolf in sheep’s clothing.” That’s the perfect recipe for a sucker punch: The type that catches you off-guard. The type that hits you from the least expected direction. The type you’re unguarded from.

And I guess that’s the most annoying thing about it: The surprise factor. It’s not so much that you got hurt. It’s more of the nature of how you got hurt. It’s a combined feeling of: “Takte, naisahan ako nun ah!” and “Of all the people… bakit ikaw?” Andrama diba? Pero totoo.

Anger, hurt pride, sadness, betrayal(?) and disappointment all rolled into one.

That’s probably why a lot of people lose their trust in other people… or in people in general. It’s why they feel the need to be guarded… private and secretive. Not that those people can be blamed. It hurts. For some it’s traumatic. It’s their baggage.

Me? I wouldn’t want to carry the baggage. I mean, not yet. Eventually it might happen, but I have enough sense to get up from being put down at this point. Naturally, I’m already generally secretive, quiet, snobish, aloof and reserved (although when the emotions kick in, it’s like Jekyll and Hyde, I admit). But no, I don’t want to carry the baggage just yet. It’s like conceding defeat - imho - to get hurt and then just be on guard to protect yourself from the pain.

What’s worse though is that some people even go to the extent of taking it out on other people. Other people who are clueless of the situation. Iginaganti nila yung nangyari sa kanila sa ibang tao. Those are the people who turn into wolves in sheep’s clothing themselves. No, I don’t want to be like that. Again… I can still help it.

So it’s time to get up. Dust off. Put yourself out there again. Lets see what happens.

burn baby. burn.

I miss blogging like this. >:-)

Flash Fiction #4 - Brighter Than Creation’s Dark

September 10, 2008

————

He looked far into the horizon as the sun was setting. It was a beautiful sight - like a perfectly painted work of art. The sky was colored in a majestic gold, and stretching far on either side was a wide expanse of stone and dirt – silent and untouched. Right under him as he rode on his motorcycle was a path that slithered on far into the stretch of Rocky Mountains beyond. As the motor of his ride roared and the cool wind pounded onto his face, he wondered if this was as good as his life could get.

After many more miles and a couple more hours of drifting through the valley, he passed through a small and modest town that seemed like an ideal place to stop and spend the night. As always, the first stop was the bar.

“A beer,” he said to the girl behind the counter. She had her back facing him and didn’t seem to hear, so he pounded on the countertop and repeated in a more commanding tone: “A beer, and make sure it’s a cold one.”

The lady turned slowly, confidently and gave him a piercing look as her lush red lips pouted ever so slightly. She leisurely reached down below under the counter and returned with her hand grasping a bottle of beer.

“A beer,” she started, as she moved towards him and slightly lifted the bottle to his face, “Cold.” And down went the poor bottle, hard, onto the top of the wooden counter barely an inch from the drifter’s fingers.

He was flustered and at the same time aroused by such a show of bravado from the opposite sex. He said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed at her; and she wore the same cold glance.

It almost felt like a dance. No movement whatsoever, but a dance nonetheless. With each pair of eyes peering into the other person’s soul, both of them moved without moving.

Finally, as the stare turned into a look of intrigue and the steely pout turned into a gentle grin, the barmaid gave way.

“I don’t suppose you’re the type that makes a lot of friends, eh stranger?” was her sarcastic icebreaker.

“No, not really. I usually ride alone and pass from town to town. Sometimes I take a few pleasures along the way.”
“Like an ice cold beer?”

“Yeah. And sometimes something colder than that,” he replied with a smirk.

The barmaid was amused at the innuendo. She found him charming, with a very rough quality about him. Yet, it was an easy chemistry from the very start.

Customers came and went, and she served them at the bar as the recluse made himself comfortable at the far end. When there was no one to serve, she found herself gravitating towards that far end, chatting up the gruff fellow and sharing a lot of laughs.

As the evening was getting old, what precariously started with the trading of cold stares gradually turned into an easy banter. And as the night was wrapping up, with the help of some good alcohol, the banter turned into a flirtatious exchange. By the time the bar was closed, both of them already knew what was going to happen.

Barely a word was said as he was finishing up his last bottle of beer and she was wiping the few last glasses at the bar. Just like hours before, all it took was a fleeting look, and they knew how to do their dance.

The following morning, he found himself waking up against the most stunning woman imaginable at that moment. After sliding himself out of bed, he stared at her intently - and it was a beautiful sight: Like a flawlessly captured photograph.

The morning light sneaked through the window as the sun was rising and it highlighted every curve and detail on her body: The way her auburn hair draped softly over her shoulders… the manner by which her face gently snug up against the pillow… the way that the blanket barely covered her body, as if merely an ornament… the way she daintily rustled, turned - half-awake - and how her chest gently rose and fell as she took a deep breath before going back to a serene and comfortable sleep.

He didn’t even have to try committing her to memory. The sight of her that morning was branded permanently into his thoughts. As he walked out the front door of the cabin and the warmth of the daybreak greeted him, he knew for sure that this was the most perfect moment in his life. There were no regrets as he got back on his motorcycle; and after talking a few more minutes to take it all in, he rode back into the slithering road.

As the purr of his motor turned into a roar, the barmaid woke up in alarm. After a few moments though, she realized exactly what was happening. But she didn’t rush out to stop him. She knew this was exactly how it should be: A perfect moment. A fleeting flight of fancy tucked into a random page in their lives. It wasn’t meant to be a long and drawn-out fantasy.

The roar of the motor was at a peak now, and after a few moments, she heard it speed off. The sound slowly got softer as she replayed the events of the previous night in her head. The dance… the stare… the touch… the kiss… the pleasure… the comfort… and peace…

…until all that accompanied her that morning was the silence of the valley.

And In The End…: My Final Word on the Eraserheads Reunion

September 7, 2008

I just wanted to get in one last entry - my final word on the whole Eraserheads thing before moving on to other stuff. Yup, it’s been a week already, but the aftershock of that concert could still be felt all over the internet: On blogs, mailing lists, forums, and on YouTube. Heck, it could still be felt beyond the internet: On the radio, on TV, on print, during conversations with friends, and during a lot of tiny gigs by those bands who were inspired by the ‘Heads.

I’m writing this just to get it out of my system. At least majority of it, if not totally.

That previous post was just the raw ramblings of a fan fresh from a musical high. This one hopefully is something that does justice to what that event really meant.

By now, we all know what went down on that historical night a week ago. It was a musical event with a magnitude so great that thousands of lives seemed to have stopped or slowed down in anticipation of it. And as the music started, everyone was transported back in time - a decade and a half ago - to when my generation was still in its formative years.

I actually caught on to the Eraserheads relatively late. It was in 1994 when the song “With A Smile” hit the airwaves. It officially became the song that I first fell in love with.That tune was what inspired me to take up playing the guitar. It didn’t take much convincing for papa to buy me a guitar since he’s also a music lover - and he self-taught himself how to play the instrument - so I guess he could relate.I remember us buying this simple acoustic nylon-stringed guitar from a Lumanog store in Cubao for around 1,000 pesos; and by the time we got home, the first thing I did was to struggle through the chords: G-Am-Bm-C-D. As I followed the chord patterns in the songhits, I realized that my small 11-year-old hands couldn’t fret the strings just yet, so dinaya ko nalang by playing only the treble strings… but it sounded fine. Eventually, I was able to play the entire song properly, and then I started moving to other songs. Then I bought more songhits, listened to more songs and studied how to play tunes by other bands. A few more years down the road, I took a shot at writing my own compositions. But a lot of times through the years, when I hold a guitar and just jam, my hands tend to go back to those chords, as if by muscle memory, like it was my default chord pattern: G-Am-Bm-C-D. “Lift your head, baby don’t be scared…”"With A Smile” was also the song that implored me to buy my first record: A cassette of “Circus”, which is still intact although very much worn and torn. No, it wasn’t something I saved up for (as much as I want to claim that it was). I asked papa if he could buy me the tape, and after some convincing… he did! My dad rocks \m/ Sa SM-Cubao namin binili yun for 100 pesos. So, having gotten what I wanted, I waited patiently like a good little boy for my parents to finish with their shopping and other errands before we could go home.

As soon as we got home and I got through the front door, I raced up the stairs, went inside my parents’ bedroom, tore off the plastic packaging, loaded the tape into the player and then pressed “play”. It was bliss. After that, I would occasionally save up from my grade/high-schooler baon/allowance just so I could buy more records. I religiously bought every Eraserheads album that came out after that (except the last one, because I was bummed that they were already breaking up).

Then I branched off to buying the records of their contemporaries such as Rivermaya, Yano and Color It Red. Then the band scene died down a bit so I started exploring the foreign music scene. Then the age of the internet came and mp3s spread like wildfire. But nothing was quite like listening to Ely, Raymund, Marcus and Buddy. Aside from them, the only other four people whose songs I really know by heart are named John, Paul, George and Ringo. But tagalog songs dig into my soul a lot deeper. They feel more honest and warm. Parang kaibigan mo lang o kamaganak na nagku-kwento. There’s a certain sense of familiarity and normalcy that can’t be matched.

Ultimately, The Eraserheads started my love affair with music and their songs figure heavily in the soundtrack of my youth. I’m not a fan. I’m a fanatic. It’s a crazy, obsessive and incomprehensible musical love. Their songs aren’t just songs. They’re windows to the past. They stir up emotions and bring back memories.

So last weekend, in that hot and crammed-up field, it was a heartwarming realization to have, knowing that thousands of other people felt the same. We all felt it in varying degrees and it manifested in different ways, but it was same basic feeling: A love for the music and a deep appreciation for the four guys who created it. On that night, it didn’t matter kung sino ka. There were musicians, actors, politicians, writers, bums, rich people, poor people, old and young… but everyone was stripped bare to a single unifying identity on that night: We were all simply fans of The Eraserheads.

Even until now, the feeling won’t go away. Especially after reading all these testimonials, interviews and news items by the named and the nameless entities around the internet, it’s a musical high that ceases to decrease. It was like a dream. It was surreal. Goosebumps galore. It was a privilege being there. It’s one of those feelings that you either understand or you don’t. If you don’t, no amount of explanation will suffice. If you do, no amount of explanation is necessary.

It doesn’t even matter now if they do it again. Anything after that night - even though it was cut short - would pale in comparison.

It doesn’t even matter now if they come together as a band again. A big part of me actually doesn’t want them to. Maybe I’m selfish for feeling that way, but The Eraserheads were the 90’s. This is a different time. It would just dampen their legendary status, enigma and mystique if they reformed. One big grand night of mass karaoke senti-tripping is enough. Kahit bitin, at least nangyari. Kung mauulit, ok lang din at pupunta pa din ako. But I wouldn’t expect it to match the energy and excitement of last weekend.

Now that I look back on it, it wasn’t actually the band performing for their audience throughout the concert. It was a communal experience of the fans singing back the band’s songs to them. As Raymund put it when he recalled those last few seconds before they rose from beneath the stage: “I could feel the love, it was pure love.”

Gaya nga ng sabi ng Beatles: “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”