Escolta, etc.




























1. I was listening to Fatalist Palmistry by a band called Why? the other day. Its lyrics ("and now my socket sits like empty catcher's mitts waiting") remind me of this man near the bus bays of MRT North Avenue, panhandling for coins, just last week. Not only is his face deformed (by some really strong acid reaction), his eye sockets were for all the world to see: carved out, as if his eyes were scooped out of its sockets by drug syndicates, and probably sold in the black market.

2. Things have been busy: Wednesday was my first night out with my new workmates in this tapas bar. Then I went to Escolta just yesterday to sell zines with my friends.

3. At Copylandia was this man with a bruised left cheek. I was wondering how he got it, but declined to ask later on. He was just focused on getting the reams tight for the photocopy machine, for my zines to look like zines.

4. There was this single Thursday when I arrived late and found out that I'd be spending the night all by myself (my wife and my son are with my in-laws), there's beer in the kitchen, some leftover food in the fridge, and everything else. Is this the feeling of not having a family? When I've been dreaming of finding the house all by myself, it dawned on me that it's miserable to be alone, to cook your own food. I suddenly missed the warmth of my family, and the problems as well. I went to my bedroom, which turned out to be fusty after a couple of days, and tried to absorb the silence. Some three years ago I was very much at home to this feeling of silence conducive to reading books, to watching porn and masturbating, to calling several friends, to smoking weed, to writing on my typewriter certain things for my thesis, and to lying in my bed, or smoking cigarettes in the balcony, enjoying the boredom. Now, I can't stand it. To lie in my bed alone is to note the absence of my son and wife. I found myself without purpose, without any reason to spend the rest of the week working. I wouldn't have realized how selfish my teenage years were, but it became that when I got married. Ashbery would have a better turn-of-phrase here, about this feeling of sudden change of perspective regarding the past, that it had been selfish all along.