Oh for the love of Treeplanting

30 03 2009

that cruel Sun was ever itself

like it’s raining fire at the skies

burning the clouds to white

and it’s background a heat of blue.

a steam i’ve never seen fogs the air

then blankets my skin

with a warmth  you won’t dare think about

on a very snowy evening

because it had always been noon.

mornings were never mornings

but the extention of the sleep

robbed by the alcohol

hurriedly bought at 1:55 am

just before the liquor ban

and the empty bottle lies by the floor

just after dawn dies.

the day becomes night then

when my eyes pull down  the lids.

I then wake up to the sarcasm

of a great morning

and goes on all through out the day

which started without a bath,

for it will just come at me

as i bore holes to ground

with a big deal of iron

enough to fit our heads to it

for we always willed to come late.

yet this tardiness

could plant 30 trees

watered by sweats

running down from pores

widely opened by the days will

uttering the coming of the herbivores

ready to bring death

upon the little sapplings

who would’ve thrive better

on there plastic covered soil.

but they must be on the ground

for us to thrive for our future

seemingly dim for the haunting

thought of  soccerfields and courts

brought upon the feud of two faculties

playing us 32 caring less for the unfortunate.

we toil as the day ends,

but oh! for the love of treeplanting

i’m doing it again

for 100 trees more!

*************************

dig,.dip,.die,.

dig,.dip,.die,.

note: only my brods and sisses would understand this

Long Live UP Latagaw Lamdag Society!





Dried Out of Tears

29 03 2009

rain

falls

down

from the sky;

like rejected angels,

soaked

in their tears

and covering their whole being

sadness felt within.

cold hearts

and loneliness

pushing them down

down

down to the ground.

and below the earth

they weep

with no more tears to shed.





Wanted(Now): Classical Composer!

27 03 2009

The prevailing issue in the present, concerning the existence of art, is its appreciation. Its survival greatly depends on the taste of the public. They are the ones who choose them, whether what will be a hit or a flop, and decide whether to make it last or just forget them, like what had happened to many of the masterpieces that were considered as great before.

Today, it is yet even harder to make the world realize the value of an artwork, which is different from the scene of past decades and century. For the pressure, in the beginning of the revolution of art, was not a growing factor as there were just few varieties of art that existed. Michael Angelo, Da vinci and some other renaissance artists became famous for they have jived with the popular taste of the public, which had only one kind of taste. The music of Beethoven and Mozart became hits because it was only their genre that existed; there was not even a sense of difference of kinds of music before. Nowadays, particularly in music, kinds or genres have already been established. There is a very vast selection of the kinds of music: pop, jazz, reggae, rock, r n b and some other definitions of styles and approach to tones, rhythms and lyrics. From time to time, popularity shifts among these genres giving artists the difficulty to become famous and for their masterpieces to be appreciated. The same happens to other forms of art. It just depends where fame will swing its chance.

Having these many kinds of genres, classics, according to the genre they belong, can only be appreciated by the audience of its said genre. It is then so hard to make classic that can cover all the genres for there is a big difference among every person’s taste. For a composer, the challenge to make a classical piece has become a greater than before.

But we cannot deny the fact that there is still a presence art today. The recognition of it is just close to negligence. The blunted view of art slowly blinds the majority to what really art is. Who is to be blamed for the unsharpened scrutiny of the majority?

The blame resides on both the artists and the majority itself. Artists are paid according to the taste of the majority. The majority’s taste depends on what the composers feed them. And so then artists have the power to make the majority realize what art is through the masterpieces that they believe to possess an intrinsic value of art. Yet they have still the responsibility to please them. So they end up making pieces for the delight of the public and not for the sake of art itself. In their endeavor to please the majority, the classical value is more often neglected. This became a fault in the history of art, and unknowingly, became a trend.

The selection of the art can be defined with the word trend. This word is a threat to the survival of the classics. The metaphysical poetry of John Donne and George Herbert was replaced by the free verse of new artists. New artists made it a trend for metaphysical conceit was yet hard to be created or it did not click to the taste of many readers. Just showing the fault of both artists and audiences. Sometimes, artists can’t compare with the classics so they just make something that pleases the audience. Or, the audience has paid less interest to deeper thinking, which sometimes makes literary arts great and noble, they just choose to read selections that delight their taste and level of comprehension but don’t possess any touch of art in them.

If something really has a capability to become a classic, it will last for a long time. Shakespeare was an artist who delighted his audience and his patrons but still manages to make himself immortal to this day through his works. But there is can no longer be another Shakespeare that can exist now. The problem is that, there is a wrong sense of taste among majority. According to David Hume, in his essay, the Standard of Taste, an object before it can be claimed as good or bad must be examined to its smallest component. But the thing that is happening now is that, people agree according to the strong taste they experience from the art they appreciate. Artists of their time, like that of the Beatles or Elvis Presley, had this strong taste, which made it possible for them to become an epitaph in music. Yet this strong taste is no longer effective to the generation of listeners of the present for they consider themselves so young to adhere to those oldies, a reason we can connect to trend.

There are two kinds of composers, the worthy and the abuser. The one that makes music for money sake, yet still is appreciated because he rode with the taste of the poisoned majority. The worthy composer makes music for art sake, but is not appreciated, does not earn money and fame, for he does not delight the paying public. The bad means now gets good ends while good means receive bad ends. This is true especially in the present. It is easier for composers to make music that has no classical value and delights the majority; he can be famous and have a lot of money. Yet, this must not be, for without the practice of art, it may die. If composers are given two choices, art or money, the current market will suggest them to choose money. It is a wise choice if these composers can make something that delights to art and the audience. Yet, often, composers end up with the wrong choice suggested by the influence to earn market.

Another problem for the survival of classical music is how it will make its presence seen in the midst of millions of albums and artist. Diamond, how beautiful it may be can still be hidden within a pool of dirty mud. As there are so many artists today, best ones are often unseen by critics as there judgments are blocked by some unworthy artists. Sometimes, the critics themselves are also poisoned by the blunted view of the world. They judge music according to taste of the public. When they do, the majority notes as good critics. These critics may also dictate the market. Their views affects the music industry to be economy-oriented, contrary to what music should be, art-oriented.

To pursue the value of art may cause efforts that are worth a lifetime. And even with that sacrifice, appreciation in return may still be so negligible. This endeavor is a real painful task. This is true among almost all artists. As they always say, there is no money in writing, yet there are still students who still study writing to make it as a profession. Painters must have to wait for a real long time for a painting that is worth of a thousand bucks to be sold. Composers must wait for his album to be released, may be months or a year without the assurance that it will become a hit. It will just then depend on the swing of fame if to which genre it will shower its promise of appreciation, and some grace of cash.

A true composer or an artist will not let the fads and showbiz rationality rule this world. He is entitled to make a new one. The world can’t just stay with Greek Classicism or the Renaissance Art. Yet, the 21st century must not consider these economy-oriented-alone kinds of music to be said as the best in this period. The poisoned public will continue being poisoned if not a new classical music will arrive to change the view of the world. No matter how long the wait before it will be appreciated, the most important thing is that, there should be.

It is established that it is even harder to pursue art in the present. If there exist true classical composers today, they will have faith in their masterpiece and face the challenge. No matter how big it may be. It is not possible for them to not care if their music would not sell but then more of their care must reside on the thought that the art in music must not die.

Art will still be art without its audience. It must not be created for the purpose of the audience’s delight for it loses its essence, its artness. It rather called audience then, than being called art.





broken hearts and concrete floors

9 03 2009

(note: this will gored with purple patches)

(Ignition…Clutch…First Gear…)

The rain outside the window  seemed to never end as i hoped it would be. The sky’s not clouded but only dark. I was on my way home. The dashboard was the only view aside from the long road I was taking. I knew the directions but I was  going nowhere.

‘Pouring over photographs…I’m living in your letters…breath’, the stereo’s whining with the sad thoughts from the track it plays. I had no choice but to hear it over and over again for I was busy driving home. And the windshield wipers kept on waving with the music. The soaked pavement of the front lawn of my house drawn in mind’s still a mile away.

A postcard laid next to the lighter and the cigarette case. The sight of it tempted to light a stick. But, my head ache forbade me to. It’s the best thing to do at times cold like those but it was good as a filler on the dashboard’s empty space at that moment.

(Clutch…Brake…Reverse Gear…)

Looking back I remembered myself sitting by a chair holding a glass of vodka on my right hand and it’s half filled bottle on the other. The room was warm from the burning wood by the furnace. I enjoyed watching every twig turn to coal. I watched them while slouching on my favorite couch. And just as the last twig burned black, my back grew tired of my position and I started to sit erect. The window was the first thing I saw. I let my eyes see further.

It was starting to pour outside. It was the end of summer.

I bade the best season of the year so long as I raise my glass to it and took a sip. The liquor slid straight from my tongue, to my throat and down below leaving heat and made me feel the summer I missed for a while.

The room was poorly lit by a lamp shade next to an empty couch in front of me. I gazed around. I looked at the fridge for the second time. And this time, I took the courage to stare straight at the note stuck on it’s door. I filled my glass full until the last drop of the bottle I was holding. And then, I zoned out with my sight fixed at the note I haven’t read yet.

…Summer rushed in large amounts of memories within me, the heat first burned my body and then squeezed my brain. My skin perspired and my forehead dripped sweats to my temples. I let out a calloused sigh. ‘That was too much of head ache’, I said, ‘too much that it had my heart throbbed with pain.’

The bottle I held was on the carpet and the glass was already in pieces by the floor. It’s fall was not saved by the thick cloth an inch from it.

My watch struck 12 am. I had no time to clean it over for I had to go. I took the note and headed to the car.

I placed it on the dashboard and started the engine.

(Clutch…Gear First…Second…Third…Fourth…Fifth…)

I was in a hurry that I even forgot to close  the door. No time to waste. I had to drive fast to the station.

There were only empty seats when I arrived. It started to rain hard. I wanted to wait for someone but there was no longer no one to wait for. I just headed home.

‘If only that place never existed, there would have not been a great university there. That glass could have not been broken. It could have been a cloudless night. I could’ve stopped the rain.’, I realized myself talking while I tried to keep the car running straight avoiding the concrete road’s shoulder.

And everything was quiet inside. I hoped for the passenger seat to speak but it didn’t. I changed the speed to gear fifth and stepped on the gas like I was hoping the car had sixth gear.

I stretch my hand for a stick and the lighter. I ignored my aching head and lit it up. I was driving with only one hand on the steering wheel at top but still I felt I had to read the note again. ‘This distance seems terrible…’

CRASH!

My head was stuck at the steering wheel but my hand still held the paper ‘…there’s no need to test my heart with useless space. These roads go on forever, they’ll always be a place for you in my heart.’ It read.

I looked at the wall I just hit. It was dry. Only my blood  soaked the pavement wet. It made me realize that making up a false rain does not help an absence stricken heart.

And the song on the stereo went until the end, ‘…Cause turning to you is like falling in love when you’re ten.’

ooOoo

Dashboard Confessional. “Broken Hearts and Concrete Floors” Swiss Army Romance. Fiddler Records, 2000.


…for those who did not understand this piece of flash,.just leave a comment.