Friday the 13th
Photo by Jefferson Solayao
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Since I'm no longer painting for the meantime I went ahead and watched To the Ends of the Earth, the fourth and last part of the BBC documentary In the Footsteps of Alexander The Great. It is set in India, then thought by the Greeks to be "the end of the earth". Dionysos was believed to have been born on a mountain here, "far in the East" of Greece, and Alexander successfully conquered this land where Hercules is believed to have failed. As in the other three parts of this documentary there are many shots of beautiful locals, whether they are in the foreground or in the background. India must have been exotic to Alexander as it can be to anyone today. There is a a brief feature of "pagan" Hindus, reminding us that there are "pagans" to every religion.
We are taken up and down mountains, and I thought that I would rather be a host than a cameraman at any time. A few episodes are shown from the black-and-white, 1941 Hindi movie Sikander, proof of how advanced in the art of film India has always been. Love that quaint, apothecary shop and that oil painting made on ceramic tiles! Also love those embellished flutes and musical instruments, and those crudely made boats and rafts!
I am not sorry I bought this documentary set. This is a cleverly written and cleverly made project, as documentaries written by the hosts themselves are. It should be watched, however, without any distractions, because, compared to other contemporary documentaries, it will come across as drab to jaded viewers, since it is not a commercial, entertaining project that employed know-it-all, atchay consultants.
In the end, Alexander obtained 21 serious battle wounds, the lethal one being from a poisoned arrow that pierced his lung. To me he died a lonely man. Conquering the world, indeed, can never spell out one's happiness if it means losing everything else.
We are taken up and down mountains, and I thought that I would rather be a host than a cameraman at any time. A few episodes are shown from the black-and-white, 1941 Hindi movie Sikander, proof of how advanced in the art of film India has always been. Love that quaint, apothecary shop and that oil painting made on ceramic tiles! Also love those embellished flutes and musical instruments, and those crudely made boats and rafts!
I am not sorry I bought this documentary set. This is a cleverly written and cleverly made project, as documentaries written by the hosts themselves are. It should be watched, however, without any distractions, because, compared to other contemporary documentaries, it will come across as drab to jaded viewers, since it is not a commercial, entertaining project that employed know-it-all, atchay consultants.
In the end, Alexander obtained 21 serious battle wounds, the lethal one being from a poisoned arrow that pierced his lung. To me he died a lonely man. Conquering the world, indeed, can never spell out one's happiness if it means losing everything else.
Rain
I love the rain, the tears of Sky Father--it is as archetypal to me as the sea, Primal Mother. Rain always brings me insights from my boyhood, when I spent long breaks at our ancestral house in San Fernando, Pampanga. It is the rain I associate most with my first experience and realization of homoeroticism.
In Pampanga, whenever it rained, our next-door neighbor, Rommel, a boy my age, and I would take off our shirts and run under the rain for as long as the rain lasted. We would run to places in the neighborhood we didn't ordinarily go to, as though the rain gave us the sole authority to do that. We would climb into a huge drum beneath a gutter spout and splash about. We would then shower together, naked. Nothing perverse happened--I am just mentioning the mental association that I have whenever it rains. As a matter of fact I have not seen Rommel for decades. He could be dead, living abroad, or an old man sitting at a computer also thinking about rain.
Those memories are distinct to me because, even at that age, I recall looking at the world around me and seeing how different it always was in the rain. The roads had puddles that were not there before, and the potholes turned into enchanted lagoons. I began noticing plants and weeds I hadn't in the dust and sunshine. Windows and wires were hung with droplets, like festive light bulbs on the eve of a mystical celebration. All of the adults were safely indoors, and I then felt that the universe was mine.
It is now raining in Cubao, and I am thinking of those days. I no longer yearn to go out and let Sky Father embrace me. The boy who used to play with Rommel is now an old writer whose name is Memory, and, no matter how much older I become, I will tell my readers stories about the rain.
It is raining, and the universe is still mine.
In Pampanga, whenever it rained, our next-door neighbor, Rommel, a boy my age, and I would take off our shirts and run under the rain for as long as the rain lasted. We would run to places in the neighborhood we didn't ordinarily go to, as though the rain gave us the sole authority to do that. We would climb into a huge drum beneath a gutter spout and splash about. We would then shower together, naked. Nothing perverse happened--I am just mentioning the mental association that I have whenever it rains. As a matter of fact I have not seen Rommel for decades. He could be dead, living abroad, or an old man sitting at a computer also thinking about rain.
Those memories are distinct to me because, even at that age, I recall looking at the world around me and seeing how different it always was in the rain. The roads had puddles that were not there before, and the potholes turned into enchanted lagoons. I began noticing plants and weeds I hadn't in the dust and sunshine. Windows and wires were hung with droplets, like festive light bulbs on the eve of a mystical celebration. All of the adults were safely indoors, and I then felt that the universe was mine.
It is now raining in Cubao, and I am thinking of those days. I no longer yearn to go out and let Sky Father embrace me. The boy who used to play with Rommel is now an old writer whose name is Memory, and, no matter how much older I become, I will tell my readers stories about the rain.
It is raining, and the universe is still mine.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Was re-reading the biographies of Thomas Hart Benton, John Singer Sargent, Tamara de Lampicka, and Henry Scott Tuke and couldn't help but note that their biographers described their works as having gotten "out of fashion". That is very perplexing to me. I believe that art never goes in and out of fashion, because it is timeless.
There are two kinds of appraisal that determine how much a painting will cost:
1) Value Appraisal: The actual costs incurred in making the painting inclusive of materials, studio rental, electricity, and such, multiplied by two to cover the artist's labor.
2) Critical Appraisal: Regardless of materials and other costs, if the painting is reviewed well, is considered a major work, and/or initiates a new art movement.
The humblest of the humble will of course always base their prices on value appraisal.
1) Value Appraisal: The actual costs incurred in making the painting inclusive of materials, studio rental, electricity, and such, multiplied by two to cover the artist's labor.
2) Critical Appraisal: Regardless of materials and other costs, if the painting is reviewed well, is considered a major work, and/or initiates a new art movement.
The humblest of the humble will of course always base their prices on value appraisal.
The goddess of the storm is my mother.
On your magical chess set, cover the map of the Philippines with a clear-glass bowl.
http://www.tonyperezphilippinescyberspacebook11.blogspot.com/
On your magical chess set, cover the map of the Philippines with a clear-glass bowl.
http://www.tonyperezphilippinescyberspacebook11.blogspot.com/
Visited M.'s cafe last night. There was a crowd of male tenants hanging out at the guards' station at the side of our house, and more walk-in customers than usual in the cafe, especially for a Sunday, on which I assume people go to bed early so that they can wake up to get to work on time the following day. The neighborhood seemed restless and unable to sleep. On nights like that I sit at a corner table and write in my TinTin notebook.
Went to bed again with Animation Domination.
Went to bed again with Animation Domination.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Saturday, May 28, 2016
A fulfilling day. Today was the last day of Angelique's finals; next week she will be preparing requirements for her OJT. She and J. took the entire X-Men set upstairs, where they are viewing the DVDs. S. and I are making progress on our paintings. Aubrey has two more days of her college admissions review workshop. Benjie finished welding and priming work on our front roof and balcony. We are layering the balcony floor on Monday with marine paint. I'm choosing a highly unlikely color, lavender.
Friday, May 27, 2016
"Art is not life, nor a reproduction of life, but a representation carried out within the specific terms, conversions and limitations of the particular art used. Hence, absolute truth, with reference to objective fact, is not to be found in the business. The most realistic art is considerably removed from reality. Art does not give real things or imitations of real things. The thing that art gives is strained first through the artist's selections and judgments, and then through the specific techniques which he used to present them. If you are to enjoy an art, you must first accept its terms."
--Thomas Hart Benton
--Thomas Hart Benton
Like me, Kay has amassed quite a lot of pieces of indigenous fabric from her travels. I recall that Robin once told me a tongue-in-cheek joke about American female diplomats collecting exotic pieces of fabric from their posts all over the world, and the slogan "She who dies with the most pieces of fabric, wins."
Kay was thinking of having some of her pieces converted into dresses, but I advised her to go to a real couturier to have that done. Otherwise she might just end up looking like a department chairperson who operates an old Singer sewing machine.
I also advised her to avoid the Department Chairperson Look by the following:
--Use woven blankets only as blankets.
--Use woven table runners only as table runners.
--Use woven table napkins only as table napkins.
--Do NOT attempt to look clever by covering your cushions and throw pillows with pieces of fabric originally meant to be blankets, table runners, and table napkins.
--Do NOT attempt to look cute by hanging the pieces of fabric on your wall--either framed or on a dinky pole.
--Avoid fusing ethnic with modern. It is low-budget pretentious, and that is the only statement that it makes.
It is really as simple as that. Use what you bought the way they were meant to be used.
Otherwise, why buy them at all?
Kay was thinking of having some of her pieces converted into dresses, but I advised her to go to a real couturier to have that done. Otherwise she might just end up looking like a department chairperson who operates an old Singer sewing machine.
I also advised her to avoid the Department Chairperson Look by the following:
--Use woven blankets only as blankets.
--Use woven table runners only as table runners.
--Use woven table napkins only as table napkins.
--Do NOT attempt to look clever by covering your cushions and throw pillows with pieces of fabric originally meant to be blankets, table runners, and table napkins.
--Do NOT attempt to look cute by hanging the pieces of fabric on your wall--either framed or on a dinky pole.
--Avoid fusing ethnic with modern. It is low-budget pretentious, and that is the only statement that it makes.
It is really as simple as that. Use what you bought the way they were meant to be used.
Otherwise, why buy them at all?
Benjie insisted on extending the roof of our house by six inches in order to prevent the rain from falling on our Cubao New Orleans French Quarter balcony floor, and I have given in on one condition: NO eaves and no downspouts, because I consider them to be the weakest architectural link in any house and every repairman's nightmare.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Your Hangout Message:
"Good afternoon, Sir Tony. Today was another chance to experience a new unusual thing. I was laying in bed when I figured that I wasn't fully awake yet. So I, then, decided to just lie there and sort of calm myself down by telling myself that I have done this countless times before. It would be easy, I thought. On first attempt, I woke up still in the same state as it was dark in the room and I rarely switch my lights off during the night. Second attempt, I can't remember the details so well; but most likely, the same thing happened to me as with the first attempt. My means of going out of a sleep paralysis before have proven to be ineffective today. I still did it the third time because I know of nothing else to do than calm myself down. I showed a little frustration this time... then, I eventually woke up for the third time with the room still dark and eerie. I did not mind that, though. I got up, switched on the light which did not since I am not able to do it because technically, I was still sleeping. I headed on to the door, opened it, letting some light get into my room. Something held me back from going further from that door. Instead, I returned to my bed, closed my eyes and prayed that I could wake up for real now. It was only of seconds interval from my prayer when a lot of ancient symbols and writing flashed through my mind in bright yellow color. There was not a single symbol that I knew what the meaning was. All I could think of was it was an ancient writing.. probably of Egypt in origin, but mostly thought that it came from ancient Babylon. My interpretation to this is that my psyche has come to a point wherein it demands action from me to seek for more knowledge, to open that door to wisdom and explore beyond the world I am presently living in. The fear of the unknown is holding me back, making me go back to bed. The symbols that flashed through my mind were indications that it goes back to history. I love learning the history of mankind. It is like telling me that I could learn more if only I could overcome my fear of stepping to the unknown. I wonder if my interpretations are right."
My reply:
Hello _______!
Your interpretation is correct. Years ago, when you were in my workshop, we both already knew that you would explore deeper forms of spirituality in the future. You are now of age, and it is time to do so, taking care to remember at all times that your religion may not approve of it.
Philippine Batong Urian (Touchstones)
These Philippine touchstones are the blackest natural stones I have ever seen. They are still being used by smithies in different parts of the country to test gold.
I acquired several of these in 2010 to program them to absorb negativity. Strangely, I discovered their true power. They not only test gold--they test friendship as well. Soon after I acquired them, it was as if I'd taken off a blindfold and saw which of my friends were true--and which were not. As a result, I disbanded a group of them and I hope to never see them again.
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
The summer always bakes in silence. I shall soon miss the quiet oppression of the sun. When the rains come, they will trample on our rooftops like the armies of Genghis Khan. During respites the cicadas in our dragon tree will take over. Not even hard rock can shut them out, because the music of cicadas is the very sound of the planet slowly revolving within the cosmos.
Get well real soon.
When a person gets sick it is, of course, due to a virus or a physiological malfunction, as it is with everyone else.
But I note that, on a psychological level, when a man gets sick it is more often than not because he is unable to achieve something that he wants very much, and he is unable to accept his inability.
When a woman does not get what she wants, she either sulks or pampers herself. She does not get sick because she continues to believe that she is able to get what she wants, and she stays well in order to keep on trying.
When a person gets sick it is, of course, due to a virus or a physiological malfunction, as it is with everyone else.
But I note that, on a psychological level, when a man gets sick it is more often than not because he is unable to achieve something that he wants very much, and he is unable to accept his inability.
When a woman does not get what she wants, she either sulks or pampers herself. She does not get sick because she continues to believe that she is able to get what she wants, and she stays well in order to keep on trying.
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Monday, May 23, 2016
I remember when ABS-CBN featured a dead baby in an informal settlers' area. The baby died in the night and was discovered by its parents the following morning. It had bite marks on it. A trail of blood led up to the ceiling of the house.
The news program that zeroed in on the story insisted on an "asuwang" angle. They invited their favorite psychic, a man now deceased, to visit the place. Determining that the baby had been bitten by a rat, the psychic turned on the news team and gave them a scathing lecture on exploiting the plight of the poor.
Thinking that this episode would embarrass the psychic, the program directors actually AIRED it. Such atchays are so dense that they can never see that whatever they air is a commentary on themselves, rather than on their subject matter.
The news program that zeroed in on the story insisted on an "asuwang" angle. They invited their favorite psychic, a man now deceased, to visit the place. Determining that the baby had been bitten by a rat, the psychic turned on the news team and gave them a scathing lecture on exploiting the plight of the poor.
Thinking that this episode would embarrass the psychic, the program directors actually AIRED it. Such atchays are so dense that they can never see that whatever they air is a commentary on themselves, rather than on their subject matter.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Watched Across the Hindu Kush, the third part of the BBC documentary In The Footsteps of Alexander The Great. Again, only contemporary scenes and events are shown, parallel to the narrative, providing irony and counterpoint. Amazing to see such scenes vis-a-vis the conquest of Asia 2,300 years ago by one of Aristotle's disciples.
Love all those candid shots of the locals! They are beautiful, though not Hollywood-beautiful, which makes them really and timelessly beautiful.
In this episode Alexander's hubris surfaces. He flies into a rage and kills a compatriot who says that his father was and would always be greater than him, and has another tortured to death for reading a quote from the Iliad that indicates how Alexander could never be a god. The episode ends with the over-empowered Alexander's continued efforts to be treated not as royalty but as divinity. Quite interesting to observe that I was able to follow and appreciate this docu because I followed and appreciated Colin Farrell's movie.
Thousands upon thousands of men comprised Alexander's army, which proves that there was overpopulation even then. I must state that, indeed, too many men create armies.
Still, there will never be another Alexander. Even if other men keep trying.
Love all those candid shots of the locals! They are beautiful, though not Hollywood-beautiful, which makes them really and timelessly beautiful.
In this episode Alexander's hubris surfaces. He flies into a rage and kills a compatriot who says that his father was and would always be greater than him, and has another tortured to death for reading a quote from the Iliad that indicates how Alexander could never be a god. The episode ends with the over-empowered Alexander's continued efforts to be treated not as royalty but as divinity. Quite interesting to observe that I was able to follow and appreciate this docu because I followed and appreciated Colin Farrell's movie.
Thousands upon thousands of men comprised Alexander's army, which proves that there was overpopulation even then. I must state that, indeed, too many men create armies.
Still, there will never be another Alexander. Even if other men keep trying.
Caught, over the last few evenings, the nth replays of A Bone to Pick: An Aurora Teagarden Mystery and Gourmet Detective on DIVA. I love DIVA mystery melodramas. They have good-looking characters, they are wholesome, they have pleasing settings, and they contain nothing that upsets me whatsoever.
I did go to bed last night, as usual, with Animation Domination.
I did go to bed last night, as usual, with Animation Domination.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Quite strange. From the time I set up my new account in another social medium, a group of young, Portuguese men have put me in a Secret Group that has unusual postings. The surname Silva IS Portuguese, for my maternal grandfather was pure Portuguese, and from Portugal, not Brazil. Perhaps the Admin has mistaken me for someone else?
I'm always reacting and commenting on the posts, though. I hope I learn Portuguese somewhat, though their terms and expressions are abbreviated and typically in textese.
They use, for example, "kkk" which is the equivalent of my "bwahahahahahaha!".
Had sisig toward midnight at M.'s cafe. An unusual Friday night because the cafe was full of men only and, for some reason, even M.'s night shift then was comprised of men and boys.
Noted the dominant smell of men's sweat, deodorant, and shoe leather--I haven't smelled that in some time because I've lived for so long surrounded by females. It brought me back to my Air Force reservist training days!
Noted the dominant smell of men's sweat, deodorant, and shoe leather--I haven't smelled that in some time because I've lived for so long surrounded by females. It brought me back to my Air Force reservist training days!
Friday, May 20, 2016
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