Postcard poem

This one's going out to someone out there. I haven't sent you one in a while, but I have no doubt you'll figure out its provenance.

[ Click to view larger. ]

Throwback Poem

Was rummaging through my files and found this prose poem I had written way back. Thought I'd do some revisions.

[Twilight 3 (2002) by Viggo Mortensen, from "45301".]

Beholder *

Gait still unsteady, he stops awhile, shakes off the last lingering moments of sleep, picks up his steps, bare feet trailing gravel as he ambles down the path, where everywhere is quiet, save for the whispering breeze, a grove of glistening beeches, a fluttering carpet of rustling leaves, muted scurryings of some nocturnal animal still savoring the thinning layers of darkness as it yields to the first slivers of dawn.

In one hand he cradles a Hasselblad, that battered black box, cherished companion and aide, spies a vast canvas overhead, readies supple fingers flecked with paint. Aiming this extended eye, he minces memory into a succession of frames, striving to capture what he knows will not keep still.

The ephemera he collects are as elusive as he, as silent, unobtrusive, fleeting manifestations in a world revolving too fast for appreciation, instances too rare for mass distribution. Furiously he shoots frame after frame, now and then shifting vistas on a single scene, oblivious to the observers who gather at his feet as the tide of day washes over the beeches that now seem to cover all the lands.

They look on in awe, marvel at how his feet barely touch the ground.

For he is both collector and subject, both hunter and hunted, both light-painter and point of interest, perceived only by the sharpest of sights. Magnified under lenses, he stands against sky, a quiet light blazing, burning his own hole in the sun.

*[This piece was a pre-cursor to Beholder II, which I posted here.]

This

...was the one I meant to post yesterday. Published somewhere sometime. Took a screencap because I'm thinking it'll be a bitch trying to format it in html, so I didn't even try. Yes, it's probably what you think it's about. (Click on the image to view it at a more readable size.)

Digging up an old poem because I haven't written a new one in ages

Yeah yeah, snort and chuckle all you want my friends. I can almost hear you now. Oh what have we here, imogen the cynic posting a loooove prose poem on Valentine's Day. After not having blogged in ages! First off, it's not exactly a love poem, is it? Well, yeah, it's a different aspect of love perhaps. I was going to post a real love poem (one of the less cynical ones I've ever written) but then hah, apparently my files are not in this laptop. I've managed to find only this one. So.

No, I have not written poetry in ages. Yes, I have still been thinking of getting back to it. And no, I have not done anything about it yet. By the by, I might be able to write again. Don't rush me, that will only serve to delay it.

So for now this will have to do.

At the Reading

This must be how it feels they think, at a mountain summit, when all you have is rarefied air, as they watch him, study him intently as if he were on exhibit, on display. He, his face, his body, is a map as familiar as their own. It is a cartography that charts the precise beatings of their blood. He is the shore upon which their stares have ebbed and flowed, have lapped and beaten, waves upon waves, raging and restless, a vast ocean stretching infinite and boundless. But they are not at sea, not now as they view him, watch him, as tentatively he raises mug to mouth, fingers like lithesome vine imitating the graceful curves and delicacy of teacups. Ridiculous it seems to infer this from a man whose mere presence makes every woman catch her breath. Rather: long coarse digits caressing china, he raises it to mouth, the interminable interval before it reaches his lips mimicking a slowness with a too familiar agony they wish to share. Their gaze burns a path along his angular jaw, traipse down the prickly stubbles that cover the breadth of his chin, touch his neck, the adam’s apple that screams his sex. He raises the cup again in salute, takes a sip. From behind its wet rim he fixes a stare, eyes changing hue. They suck in the beginnings of a moan, jagged and strained, pain as sheer as the edge of a blade. Just as slowly, he puts down his drink, devilish lips curling, creases forming at the corners of his eyes. The room heaves a breath, generates heat as thick as skin, feints a swoon. All this and he has yet to utter a single word.

Who watches the Watchmen?

Come... dry your eyes. For you are life, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg; the clay in which the forces that shape all things leave their fingerprints most clearly. -- Dr. Manhattan, Watchmen by Alan Moore.

So yeah, I've noticed. Watchmen the movie is not everyone's cup of tea. Some girls I overheard in the restroom noted: "It suuuuucked." Well, too bad for them. Coz I liked it! Is that entirely because I had read the graphic novel beforehand? Watchmen is considered a classic of its time, penned by the much adored Alan Moore. A few years ago when I started to read it I had already had a taste of Alan Moore's writing with From Hell -- hella of a place to start because egad, was that dense! A difficult read made only less so on account of my interest in the subject matter (Jack the Ripper). Thanks to that I was not put off by the first few chapters of Watchmen. Some who dismiss the novel as just another comic book hero story perhaps never get to that mindset where one can see beyond the artifice and the fantasy underneath which more philosophical issues are being asked. In an alternate universe where the United States is still in a cold war with Russia, where vigilantes, outlawed and now retired, live out painfully ordinary, sometimes miserable little lives, the one hero recognized by all is virtually a god, a naked blue figure called Dr. Manhattan, a seeming sword of Damocles hanging over the heads of the entire human race. What does this god think of mere mortals? What does it mean to love a god, to be loved by him? What about the heroes of the past, how do they look upon their lives, their history? Do they long for it still? Or have they moved past it? Where do heroes go to die? Why do they become heroes in the first place, is it nobility or power? Is it a matter of choice? Or are they driven to assume alternate personas because they are just as flawed and damaged as the rest of us? Whether any of these is true or not, if any one of them could save us, save humanity, is any solution a justifiable act?

The movie, as good as it was, was naturally confined to the limitations of its format. In the graphic novel, the characters are so excellently explored that you get a sense of each one's pains. One of the things I loved about it was Dr. Manhattan's musings on the human condition, his recounting of his own transition from humanity to virtual godhood. For all his unimaginable power, Dr. Manhattan still did not know everything, and still marvelled as he reached an insight concerning his former lover Laurie (The Silk Spectre). (My favorite quote at the start of this entry is from that very moment.) I could go on and on but it's been some time since I read the novel, and there are just too many themes, too many details that I have already forgotten. (So yeah, I'll read it again someday.)

So yeah, I loved the movie. But that's just me. I love science fiction and fantasy because I sometimes find the more realistic drama genre too oppressive. Science fiction and fantasy, in contrast, present to us a hyper reality if you will, something that Ursula K. Le Guin calls "a psychological reality in the novelist's way", an "invention of elaborately circumstantial lies" underneath which are universal truths. Le Guin also notes that those who do not like science fiction describe the genre as "escapist". And it is, but only if you do not go beyond the surface. Otherwise, you're liable to say, "It suuuuucks!".

Waxing poetic in the metro II

The first one almost got me in trouble, but well, here it is.



Me pides sampaguitas... No te envío,
porque, al ir a cortarlas de la rama,
sentí temblar mis manos y mi pecho
prensado por la lástima.

No quiero que padezcan esas flores,
como padece, lejos de tí, mi alma,
no quiero que al contacto de mis manos
perezcan marchitadas.

Humingi ka ng sampaguita... Di kita bibigyan.
dahil nang puputulin ko na sa mga sanga'y
nanginig ang aking kamay at ang dibdib ko'y
nanikip dahil sa awa.

Ayokong magdusa ang mga bulaklak na iyan,
gaya ng pagdurusa ng puso kong malayo sa iyo;
ayokong sa sandaling hawakan ng aking kamay,
iya'y malanta at mamatay....

- Jose Palma (1876-1903)




Si alguna vez la vida te maltrata,
acuerdate de mi,
que no puede cansarse de esperar
aquel que no se cansa de mirarte.

Kung sakaling malupit sa iyo ang kapalaran,
alalahanin mo ako,
dahil hndi mapapagod sa paghihintay
itong walang sawang tumitingin sa iyo.

- Luis Garcia Montero

Neil Gaiman launches Pinoy Expeditions into the unreal

Right. I went to the Expeditions book launch and 2nd Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards held at Bonifacio High Street. Got a set of paperback Expeditions, one of which (the Comics volume) was pre-signed by Neil who wrote the Foreword, got my friend Y's cousins, first prize comics winners Waya and Lala Gallardo's autographs, stood around for ages (warranting foot reflexology afterwards), lost a favorite earring (waah), got no raffle prizes (I never win on raffles ack), found some amusement in Erik Mana's prestidigitations (a term foisted on the crowd by hosts Gabe Mercado and Karen Kunawicz, also a reference to the book American Gods) and the Bahaghari Ensemble's (not their complete name; sorry, it was too long and you know me, memory like a sieve!) strange ethnic music cum arnis/kali demo presentation (I felt like I was watching a video game hey!), saw some of the country's better known writers and artists in the comics/scifi/fantasy genre, and lastly, got to listen to Neil Gaiman.

For transcripts from that night, head on over to Charles Tan's blog. Images can be found at my flickr gallery. Check out how Neil assisted in Mana's magic trick, and in a fan's marriage proposal (for the latter I don't have a pic because it happened the day before, but the link is there, you'll have to look for it *wink*). Click on the pic below to get there:

Neil Gaiman believes in Pinoy talent

It's heartening to know that such a writer as Neil Gaiman has faith in the Pinoy potential. He believes in the Pinoys' talent and creativity, but is frustrated at how disconnected we are from the rest of the world, as reported in Walang Pahinga's LJ. Some choice quotes that I borrowed from said LJ, from Neil's talk, Imagination and the Creativity in the Contemporary World, during the 20th Advertising Congress last Nov. 22:

"The important questions are what if? I wonder if...? If only...? What would happen if...? Everyone asks these and wonder. The best ideas come when we daydream. They come when we're bored. The only difference between other people and writers is that writers know when they're imagining and they know they're gonna pursue and write it."

"I don't believe in writer's block. Writers are very special. Ever heard of politician ever getting politics block? I don't think so. Especially not here. But writers have writer's block. I don't believe in it since they end up writing over 20,000 words explaining why they can't write what they should write. For me I believe writers get stuck. People get stuck. And when that happens to me, I get away from my computer, walk around, rest, have tea."

Neil also reportedly described Philippine folklore as "the coolest folklores in the world" and encouraged Pinoy writers to unleash them across the globe (or else he will). Check out this Inquirer article.

Charles Tan's blog has mp3s of the Ad Congress talk and Q&A, plus Neil's reading of an excerpt from his upcoming novel The Graveyard Book and Q&A from A Gathering of Dreamlings and Nightmares held in Subic Bay this morning.

I just found out that Azrael will attempt to air the Bonifacio High Street event live tomorrow in the internet via video streaming. Kewl! Go through here to watch it.

A taste for the surreal

My friend Ninfa introduced me just recently to the wonderful work of Maggie Taylor. Taylor creates images using a scanner, photographs, assorted objects and Adobe Photoshop. Here are samples of her work.

Twilight Swim ©Maggie Taylor / The Scientist ©Maggie Taylor


Woman Who Loves Fish ©Maggie Taylor / Distracted Cats ©Maggie Taylor

Check out her online gallery here. There are images that are whimsical, funny, strange, even disturbing. In June 2008, Modernbook Editions will publish an illustrated Alice's Adventures in Wonderland featuring Taylor's creations. For those interested in how the images are made: the downloadable Adobe Magazine (June 2007 issue) from photoshopsupport.com has a feature which shows Maggie Taylor's creative process (very aptly entitled "Building A Dream"). Perhaps when I have time I'll try my hand at this. *excited*

So Neil Gaiman has arrived

Neil is already in Manila according to his blog.

Seems there won't be a booksigning on Sunday at the Bonifacio High Street event. Perhaps they don't want to tire him out like they did in 2005, poor Neil, autographing thousands of books. Good thing I got a couple of mine signed. The only signing scheduled will be in Subic, where Neil will also be speaking at the 20th Philippine Advertising Congress. A couple of lovely posters by Ian Sta. Maria (check out Ian's multiply album to see larger versions. Neil asked for his autograph!):

Ruey de Vera already wrote a review of Expeditions, a set of two books (Comics & Prose) to be launched on Sunday. Something to look forward to evidently.

"Whether the words and images bow to your particular taste or not, whether they are miracle drug or mere placebo to you, whether it is the Escape key or the Enter key, there is no denying how both volumes of “Expeditions” are a testament to the remarkable promise and power of Filipino creativity in fiction and comics, the hurricane of words and images birthed from the fierce flapping of an unleashed butterfly’s wings."

Shelfari with me, why don't cha?

I admit I haven't been reading much lately (apart from Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix which I read nightly to put me to sleep), and my eyesight hasn't been getting any better (I haven't been using my eyeglasses). But I will get right down to it. Here's a glimpse of the contents of my Shelfari Reading List of the moment. (Click on the image to see my Shelfari shelf.)

Shelfari is a social networking site of sorts, but it is books that binds people together here. The interface is much like Flickr's (which I love). You can build your shelf, add friends, recommend books for them, browse their shelves, join groups, participate in discussions, and so on. Membership is free. Shelfari got a much coveted partnership with Amazon, which pays them a small amount for books bought at Amazon through a referral made by Shelfari. (Note that you do NOT have to buy to keep your account.) There are still some kinks and bugs they have to fix -- well ok, it's not only "some" kinks if you ask me, but that's only because I complain a lot and want so many things all at once - Flickr has `em, why can't Shelfari too? Like I was supposed to post a widget above, but there's something up and it wouldn't display properly so I just posted an image of the widget. Had it been working you'd have been able to click on each of those books on the shelf and gone to that particular Shelfari book page. Sounds nifty, huh? But alas something got lost in translation. Maybe the javascript, maybe it's blogger, who knows? But they've got a shiny new spanking techie team working on the site right now. That's what they're saying anyhow.

Still and all, I like what I see so far and I'm inviting you to come join me. Go to www.shelfari.com and let's get reading. (Or else I'll keep bugging you with invitation e-mails. Half-kidding. Shelfari got a lot of flak from their first invitation e-mail program because it kept sending itself to all the people in members' address books. But worry not, that has been fixed. As with most things in the world wide web, it's best to be careful: read before you click. That was the primary flaw of the invitation before - it required un-clicking a lot to keep the program from doing the annoying thing, and only one click to get it going.)

Waxing poetic in the metro

Last week on the LRT Line 2 I was pleasantly surprised to find poetry on the train. There were posters inside the train with pretty pictures and layouts of texts in Spanish and Filipino. I instantly thought that it must be a project of Instituto Cervantes, one of the most active cultural institutions here in Manila. So I stepped closer and found it was indeed their project. I had a backpack with a laptop strapped to me and only a very short ride, so I messed up the pic. Just tonight I attempted another shot, and again I had a backpack and a quick ride, so this is still blurry but it will have to do (clickie for larger image):

The text reads

Oh Maynila, sa talulot
ng mahinhing liryo isinilang!
mabunying prinsesang nahihimlay
sa bula ng karagatan!

Oh Manila, en la corola
de un casto lirio nacida!
gentil princesa dormida
sobre la espuma del mar!

A Manila
Pacifico Victoriano

According to the Inquirer, Berso sa Metro is a campaign aimed at promoting reading among Filipino commuters and strengthening Filipino-Spanish ties. The works of Filipino (Jose Rizal, Jesús Balmori, Claro M. Recto, José Palma, Evangelina Guerrero, Pacifico Victoriano and Fernando Maria Guerrero), Spanish (Calderón de la Barca, Lope de Vega, García Lorca, Antonio Machado, Luis Cernuda, Luis Rosales, Miguel Hernández and Gil de Biedma) and Latin American poets (Pablo Neruda and César Vallejo) have been selected for us to enjoy. The campaign is planned to run for three months but may be extended depending on the public's response. A quick blogsearch tells me there are people taking notice of (and pleasure from) Berso sa Metro:

I Heart Manila
Let a hundred flowers bloom
Digital Buryong
...and then some
sealed with a kiss
Palaboy
pattypot
Loving Multiply, Multiplying Love
The Coolness that was...

Another poem I spotted was Pablo Neruda's Tu Risa. I messed up the pic (wide shot while sitting, sorry, my aching back!)



but here's the text:

Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría.

Pagtawanan mo ang gabi,
ang araw, ang buwan
Pagtawanan mo ang liku-likong
landas sa isla,
Pagtawanan mo ang torpeng
lalaking ito na nagmamahal sa iyo,
Ngunit kapag bubuksan ko
at isasara ang aking mga mata,
Kapag ako ay umalis,
kapag ako ay muling bumalik
Ipagkait mo na sa akin ang tinapay,
ang hangin, ang liwanag at ang tagsibol,
Huwag lamang ang iyong ngiti
Dahil ito’y aking ikasasawi

(They should have acknowledged the translator of all the poems they used. Or perhaps it was indicated in small print, I just didn't see it?)

Now if only they take this bright idea and start posting more of Philippine art and literature. Say, post comic strips in series. Or Philippine art - photographs of paintings, sculptures, and so on. Illustrations from children's books. They can even serialize these, make it a game or puzzle for children and adults alike. Wouldn't that be a treat?

Guess who's coming (again)?

Larger image and details at the Fully Booked website.

Neil actually broached the idea of holding Graphic/Fiction awards after his visit here in Manila in 2005, seeing how much talent our local artists have. Below are links to the winners of the 1st Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards, Comics category. (Still looking for links to the winners of the prose fiction category.) Said winners are published in Expeditions which will be launched at the 2nd Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards.

Grand winner
The Sad, Mad Incredible but True Adventures of Hika Girl

Runners up
Splat!
Dusk
Defiant: The Battle for Mactan

Re-uploaded

I re-uploaded these just recently:

I got my Neil Gaiman album from my old filphoto gallery and brought it over to my flickr gallery. Click on the image to view the album:

Neil Gaiman, Manila, July 2005.

I also re-posted my Angkor slideshow (from my dailymotion page) since there were some having problems accessing the original one I posted (from photobucket). So the slideshow ought to work better now - updated My Angkor Movie entry.

Morbidly yours

I'm a tad late in posting this but hey, `tis still the season for talk about the dead, death and dying. Yes, morbid thoughts, but not necessarily sad or depressing.

1.


First off, let me tell you what new tv show has taken my fancy lately, and what you should also be watching: Pushing Daisies. It's a sort of forensic or procedural fairy tale (say what?), a dark comedy that has caught my attention much like Six Feet Under did when I first discovered it (that is, before it went a tad too dark to be funny. I did like how SFU finished though). Pushing Daisies is about Ned, a piemaker who has the power to bring the dead back to life by a mere touch. But if he lets the newly undead live for more than a minute, the nearest living thing of the same species will die. To prevent this, he must touch said newly undead again - to die forever. Now Ned has a partner, Private Investigator Emerson Cod. Cod finds people who have died under questionable circumstances, the solution of whose murders carry a reward. They go to the see the corpse, Ned touches it, they ask the undead who killed them and presto, case solved (not so straightforwardly, naturally). Sounds lucrative, no?

In the pilot episode (cleverly entitled Pie-lette hee hee), said corpse happens to be that of Chuck, Ned's childhood crush and first kiss. Ned ends up letting her live. Which makes Emerson very unhappy (because it spells 3 way split on the reward money from then on). So here we have it, Ned and his childhood sweetheart reunite, never to kiss again. Talk about platonic, well this takes the cake. Or pie as the case may be.

The show has been said to be reminiscent of Amelie and Tim Burton movies. Each episode is introduced by a narrator, in keeping with a storybook-like feel that is complemented by super-saturated colors and CGI. The dialogue is witty, littered with brilliant turns of phrase, and delivered in tongue-twisting speed. Any show that gets me continuously chuckling, giggling, snickering, snorting, laughing, and guffawing and hah-ing and ooh-ing and ahh-ing, is an instant favorite of mine. The characters (and that includes the narrator and Digby, Ned's golden retriever) are all lovable and wonderfully casted.

Very early on (that is to say, after the pilot), naysayers (including myself) have speculated that this show will not likely last beyond one season, for how long can you keep the whole resurrect-the-dead-and-solve-the-case schtick going? And how will you keep things interesting between Ned and Chuck? But after having seen 5 episodes already, I've forgotten to be skeptic. Who cares if they do the same thing all the time - some shows have stayed on using far less imaginative formats - the show is the most delightful there is on tv right now (right, like I actually watch TV. Hah!). What's not to love? As for Ned and Chuck, well. Surprisingly, the producers didn't bide their time at all because we see Ned and Chuck kissing in the 2nd ep. Hah!

So far, Pushing Daisies has gotten lots of good press, and critical acclaim to boot. It's been picked up for one full season. (Hopefully, the Writers Guild of America strike will be resolved soon, but if it isn't, the season might end with episode 9, according to thepiemaker.com.) You might want to check out the official website. Here's a preview of the show's pilot:

Pushing Daisies
Uploaded by afrobacon

2.

On a less flighty note. I wouldn't be surprised if none of you had ever heard of Loreena McKennitt, she's not that well-known in these parts. Certainly not as popular as Enya to whom she is often compared. In keeping with the theme of this post, I thought it apt to share this favorite track of mine from McKennitt's album The Book of Secrets.

In a lonely train journey across Siberia, Loreena thought of Dante's The Divine Comedy and wrote this song. It is a profound meditation on the human condition, on what lies beyond life. I have loved it since the first time I heard it. It moves me with each listen.

Dante's Prayer

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...

From my old files

A hack dreams of Klimtian Viggo / Viggoesque Klimt.
[Larger.]

Beholder II

See here, that odd congregation of flags,
those black dogs vanishing in a haze,
a leaf on a chilled forest floor,
curled trunk, stained tusk, white camisole,
cluttered graffiti on the walls.
These random abstractions,
recent forgeries of the ways of things,
they are what I revere,
the elusive, the fleeting, the evanescent ---
the moment that passes over once, and fades.
You say I take far too many,
that I seem to be in constant vigil
of scenes at the periphery.
Is it some coincidence of memory
that compels, some urge to mark
the ebb and flow of days,
lest they go stale, lay mundane?
And I say, what does it cost to remark on
the lines of this silhouette,
the graceful fall of fabric beside decorated skin,
the eloquence of ghosts dancing, or
an ineffable fleck of pale wings undulating in green?
What is there to remember: a tail, a hand, an ear,
a baby’s foot, dead fish, or calf, pig, or bird,
passing through the desolation of Tamdacht,
disappearing into Chetwood’s otherworldliness,
the bright chaos at Odense, the prospect
of a snowstorm at Te Anau,
even the daily grind in Venice.
It’s all I know to take, how can I disengage?
These are my points of focus, uncertain
exposures now merging in a blur.
See, underneath this assemblage
of traces, evocations, ephemera ---
Wanyánkin ye yo. Look at it:
Beholder.
Miyelo. It is I.
Kholá, it is you.

19 October, 2003

Note. The digital collage was an entry I submitted for a creativity contest at viggofanbase.com a couple of years ago. For the collage, I drew the lizard, took the swirly light photos, and used a poem I had written the year before for the background text. Beholder II above is that same poem. I won a Viggo Mortensen CD for the collage (or was it a book, I forget). I can't remember if I entered the poem simultaneously for the poetry category. I think I won something for that, too.

Miróesque Musings

L'Oiseau Mongol, Joan Miró, 1969

Happy Birthday to me.


I would like to be a dot in a painting by Miró
by Moniza Alvi


I would like to be a dot in a painting by Miró.

Barely distinguishable from other dots,
it’s true, but quite uniquely placed.
And from my dark centre

I’d survey the beauty of the linescape
and wonder -- would it be worthwhile
to roll myself towards the lemon stripe,

Centrally poised, and push my curves
against its edge, to give myself
a little attention?

But it’s fine where I am.
I’ll never make out what’s going on
around me, and that’s the joy of it.

The fact that I’m not a perfect circle
makes me more interesting in this world.
People will stare forever --

Even the most unemotional get excited.
So here I am, on the edge of animation,
a dream, a dance,a fantastic construction,

A child’s adventure.
And nothing in this tawny sky
can get too close, or move too far away.


[View a Flash version of the poem here.]

Flash poem, anyone?

You know how things turn up when you're not looking for them anymore? Well this file is something I had been trying to find for ages. Finally found it when I cleaned up during the holidays. (Good thing the diskette is still working.) A few years ago I attended a Macromedia Flash workshop. This animated poem was one of my projects. I must say, the poem itself isn't one of my better pieces, but it was rather well-suited for translation into Flash. The thing wouldn't convert into a Quicktime movie for some reason, so I just made it into an animated gif.

(Click on image to view a slightly larger version. Point the cursor on the image; if you see a "+", click again to further enlarge. The poem loops continuously. Just refresh the page if you want to see it from the very start.)

Ganesha, remover of all obstacles

Ganesha. Collage by Nick Bantock,
from The Venetian's Wife (1996).

"The one who moves towards knowledge of the timeless is never afraid." -- The Arthava Veda, Ganesha Upanishad

V is for Vitriol

"I'm not going to claim all comic books are literate — there's a lot of rubbish out there. But there have been some very literate comic books done over the last 20 years, some marvelous ones. And to actually read a comic, you do have to be able to read, which is not something you can say about watching a film. So as for which medium is literate, give me comics any day."

--- Alan Moore rants against movie adaptations and the V is for Vendetta film, MTV interview

For the nth time, the man is not pleased. He has again asked that his name be removed from the credits and signed away his share from its earnings. Can't blame him for spewing vitriol against the movie industry. From Hell sucked majorly, and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, was well, from hell. *snicker* It was just too awful. But hey, I kinda enjoyed Constantine (but then I hadn't read the comic series).

I look forward to V is for Vendetta with considerable dread, seeing as how the last Wachowski brothers production I saw gave me a splitting headache (Matrix Overloaded), but we shall see. A 70% rottentomatoes rating isn't all that bad. It only means that several critics hated it, some liked it, and some were ambiguous (rottentomatoes isn't at all accurate but it's a pretty good indicator either of unanimous praise or unanimous disgust).

Tsk tsk tsk, poor Moore, such rotten luck. Neil Gaiman mentions how relieved he is that no one has done any Sandman films. If the universe is as good to us as it is to Neil, there never ever will be a Sandman movie. (I wonder if Peter Jackson would take up the challenge? Nah, I don't think even he can pull that off, much as I love him.) I am starting to get worried about Kabuki (I don't mean Japanese theater silly, but the David Mack comic series.). Even with the Mackster himself writing the script (sorry David). I can't believe I'm thinking this but, may it never come to pass.

(Idle thoughts following Neil Gaiman's Guardian article `$1M a minute to film? No problem', on movies and comics. Thanks to G for the heads-up.)