Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Screenplay 2

Int. In a Gig

Nice gig place. Black is the dominant color. ear splitting noises. not the rock and roll kind. The Throbbing Gristly kind.

I don't know if this would be a nice place for a fucking conversation.

It's quiet now. You don't need to fucking yell.

Just a lull. It would be ear splittingly nice in a jiffy.

But it isn't now.

Why the fuck are we here?

Just need to interview....


Not Lou. That new band.. or monicker.. or whatever

I'll be over there.

Macy continues to wade to the crowd finally meeting up with the band.


I know you. Noise fanzine. Ya giving us an interview?

Probably (smiling). So, what's this shit about?

Noise. Fucking noise.

I heard Crimson and clover somewhere.

Drowned in noise. So that's the beauty of it. You get fucking tired of people gloss-ing up all the time.

Gloss-ing up?

Shot of Stu motioning at Macy

What the fuck does he want now?


What? Friend. Part genius part psycho.

He's with that band. Brain Stu. I think.

Haha. (Loud laughter) Lamest band name ever. Fuck. I'll just be there.

Walking over to Stu with the wicked grin.

Brain fucking Stu

Yup. Lame name for a lame band. Weird. It shoud've died by now. maybe we left a fucking impression.

Perhaps. You leave shit wherever you go.

And you're suppose to return it.

Lou wades trough the semi-crowd. Walks towards the two.

Hey fanzine girl. offering her hand. No offense meant. Macy right?

Macy Nodding
Hello. Seen ya two weeks ago with that other outfit. Not this one.

It's the same one. Anyone can play. People comes and goes. I'm the Mark E. Smith (smirking)

takes a sip of beer from a paper cup.

Hey. I'll just be there. I need a refill.

We'll, that's Stu. Always the sociable one.

Saw you on the drums a while back. Not really sure when.

The drummer days. I still do. You just caught us at the wrong time. I did drums all year last year.

Well. There goes my research.

Why not write for a... I don't know... something..

A magazine.. I am. Pays the bills. I'm doing this for me. The lost art of music journalism.

Rolling Fucking Stone

Inaudible voice

The band just started their set. Part aircraft noise. Part chain saw. Part Puccini with a singing soprano.

(lips moving) Fucking brilliant.


Lou caught Macy smiling at her. She takes a sip again smiles back. Exchanging half smiles.

Tuesday, 2 November 2010

Screenplay 1

INT. Night - Pad

close up of someone smoking. a girl. you could see it by the shape of the lips. Unless the guy is Mick Jagger or Steven Tyler.

She's propped up pillows on her back reclining against the wall. Writing something in a cilpboard and paper. She should've gotten a laptop but it affects her creativity.

Takes a long drag and place the cigarette in a makeshift ashray made of a recentry drank beer can. Then reached for a tape and placed in the player

Velvet Underground starts playing.

Stumbles at an unlabeled tape just with the initials TTL.

TTL. Whatever the fuck it means. (she says mumbling). Hmm. Must be Lou’s. Lou fucking Torres. Weird, lazy and fucking brilliant. (mimicking some brit in a pub)

Lou is a girl. Damn right. Weird, lazy and fucking brilliant.

Placed the tape in the player. A few second of silence then a weird sound came out building up. on and on until it became unbearable noise. Unbearable noise for some. Well actually for a lot of people.


Opening Credits

INT. - Pad - NIGHT

Macy gets up. Going nowhere actually since the apartment is one room with everything she needs in it.

Actually, she goes across the room and makes a fresh cup of black, bitter coffee. No effort whatsoever. Just pour hot water. It's not even a mixture. It's just umm coffee.

Goes back to the corner and as she goes to write something there was a knock on the door. Angry knocking.

She gets up slowly trying to piss off the knocker whoever that may be. Opens the door sarcastically smiling.


Can I use your bathroom?

You should be asking, can I come in?

Really, I'm not kidding.

Still in her black knickers


Runs to the toilet even though it's just a few steps from the door.

And away he goes.

Fuck you, Stu. Clean the fucking seat when you're done.

Stu emerges from the bathroom after twenty seconds.

False alarm.

Still in her knickers.

Well, you look like shit. As always.

She's been comfortable with him coming in and out the flat. He is just there for her. He and his useless thinking.

He is about to light up.

Hey, no smoking.

Gives her the finger.

(sarcastically) Like, yeah.

Get out.

I'm kidding.

She tugs his shirt and pushes him out.

He looks back and tries to say something.

Would you happen to have a tape with TTL written on it?

No. And get the fuck out, Stu. Aren't ya supposed to be working?

And what's that shit playing? Sure ain't The fucking Beatles. Aw, c'mon. Lou needs that shit she erased the whole fucking demo on her computer. That fucking pothead.

You know Lou?

No, I'm antisocial, remember? Of course I do! Hello, band mate. Do you always pay attention when I talk?

She releases him. He goes inside.

Okay, I won't smoke.

What do you think of the tunes? Noises or whatever?

Spoken, monotonous with background quirky sounds. Lou said when I interviewed her.

Macy and Stu in unison.
Music is fucking secondary.

It's all about offending people or to the same effect.

Well, we're kinda bandmates. Before, we were. She kinda duped me with some cash. That fucking pothead.

No! (meaning really) How much?

Enough to piss you off.

She is looking for some skirt or something. She is still in her knickers. But he didn't notice. He was still rummaging through the box with tapes and CD's.

Could you hand me that hanger?

Going somewhere?

I'm actually offensive in my knickers

I thought it was either an oversized t-shirt or an extremely short skirt

She blurts out a half-laugh as Joy Division's AutoSuggestion plays

Wednesday, 29 September 2010


Time to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
Should I stop?

Eyes closed.
Hints of Light
Blinds Let Down.

Wind Chimes.

Sharp rocks getting closer....

Getting closer....

Friday, 24 September 2010


Phonebooth Conversations

Decks: “Let me guess, payphone, Eco-Park.”

Paige: ”Right, Eco-Park.” “One of the last one standing.”

Decks: “Ain’t it dangerous there?”

Paige: “I look like a bag lady.” “Relax.” “And it’s in the afternoon here.”

Decks: “Why can’t you use a cell phone like normal people.”

Paige: “Who says I’m normal, dear.”

Decks: “I guess not.” “You could do it at night next time.” “Like a film noir shit.”

“When are you coming back, anyway?”

Paige: “Well, I feel that Mr. Unattached is actually making me answer a question.”

Decks: “I don’t require an answer.” “Just an honest question.” “Your friends are also asking.”

Paige: “Not right now.”

Decks: “Look, if you need time alone, Just say so.”

Paige: “How’s Lana?”

Decks: “She’s here.” “She is in this band now.”

Paige: “Goebells?” “The Neo-Nazi’s?” “Or is that what they want us to think?” “Anyway, why not let her play in your band, Decks.

Decks: “I don’t think so.”

Paige: “Is it me?”

Decks: “No, hurry home, will ya? “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

Paige: “Sorry.” “I was…”

Decks: “With Ron Jeremy…” “I know.”

Paige: “Always finding a way to make me laugh.”

Decks: “I aint rich nor good looking.” “Well, just…”

Paige: “Shut the fuck up.”

Decks: “Ok, I have this quirky good looks that art chicks go crazy about.”

Paige: “Oh stop.” “Heard about the gig last night.” “Was it that bad?”

Decks: “Anyway, we were covering The Swans and moron sound guy started acting like a fucking wanker.” “Then Lana threw a paper cup of beer at him.” “I’m surrounded by troubled females.”

Paige: “Aren’t you surprised you ended up with one?”

Decks: “I’m not yet sure.” “

Paige: “Hey, hang in there.” “Trust me on this.” “I just need to find my shit and I promise I’ll hurry home.” “No replies please just a yes.” “Could you trust me on this?” “Can I hear a yes from you?

Decks: “Yes?’

Paige: ”No question marks please.”

Decks: “Whatever you say.”

Paige: “That’s not a yes.”

Decks: “Yes.” “But isn’t this the other way around.” “I feel we’re like Sid and Nancy.” “And you’re Sid.”

Paige: “And don’t you fucking like it?

Monday, 6 September 2010


Long silence.
Awkward silence.
Nothing more awkward than taking a long walk with your ex.
Why the aggravation?
Why say yes in the first place?
We’ll it’s just walking and talking.

Long fucking silences...

“How’s the new band jelling?”
”Someone filled in for Paige last time.”
“You’re not even asking me to join now?”
“I’d know you’d say no, Lana.”
“What made you so sure?”
”I’ll think about it is not the same as a yes.”
“So, you like her?”

Long Silence...

“Heard about an episode of you.”
“From who.”
“I’m just worried."
“Fuck ‘em.”
“Shibuya.” “Your last gig.” "You went.." "Ian Curtis."
“You don’t own the rights to me no more.”

“What was it? Speed?” Meth?”
“Fuck off.”
“Look it’s just I’m worried.”
“Don’t fucking be.”

Random kiss.
Random long one.
Fast forward.
Why do people always smoke after sex?
I still couldn’t answer that fucking question.

“This is getting to be shit.” “Lock the door when you go.” “This means nothing, and I’m saying this so you don’t get any bright ideas.”
“Fine.” “I’m such a lightning rod for troubled people.” Thinking out loud..
"Paige was just perfect but you let her go.” “And fucking forget me.”

A little thud. A click of the door. And he’s gone.
Time for a long, hard cry.
For Lana that is.
Drummer girl.

For us guys?
We don’t fucking cry.
We do something else.

This is definitely shit.
Anyway, take the “Love Bus” home.

Fucking things still run.


“There’s no song about Thursdays.”
“There is?”
“Then fucking what?"

“Monday is always blue.”
“Or manic.”
"Or always hating it."

“ Tuesdays?”
“Nah. Just a band name.”
“Aimee Mann’s band”.

“Wednesday Adams!”
"That's not a song"
"Do you know a girl or a guy with the name "Thursday"?"
"Good fucking point."

“There’s Friday…”
“ I know.”

“ Saturday Night Fever!”
“Tony Manero!”

“ Sunday Morning”
“Love Nico.” *sighing*

“And Thursday?”
“Nothing.” *thinking*

"Fuck, you're right."

"But there are lots of songs about nothing..

Thursday, 2 September 2010


What the fuck is emotional attachment? Do we fucking need it? I just made another question without answeing the first one. That’s another question. Just answer the first one please. Unless you think about another question like, does love strike lightning on the same place once? Fuck, I just asked another question, didn’t I? And another? And another? Shit, this is getting nowhere.

Random sidewalk of a busy city. Dusk. Smiling faces. Fuck them.

“Fellini” she blurted out of nowhere.
“The director or some kind of restaurant” he said acting dumb.
“No silly.” “Did he do the seventh seal?”
“No, that was…” “Swedish guy” “Ingmar…”
“Yeah, that one about death.” aggreeing with him.
“I’ll remember him later.” “Not now.” she said.
“So, What about Fellini?” he said inquiring
“Not Fellini.” “The Swedish guy.”
“Bergman is the actress.”
“An off the hook comment.” “Out of nowhere.”
“Fucking Fellini”
“No. The Swedish guy.”

“Heard that you pissed Lana off.”
“Nah, not really intentional.” “I made a cheeky comment about her band.”
“She went ballistic.”
“Lana? Ballistic?”
“Not exactly ballistic.”
“I just sense that it’s going to be silent between us for a long fucking time.”
“You haven’t pissed me off yet.”
“You want me to?”
“Back to.”
”Back to?”
“Back to the ballistic part.”
“Do we need to?” “Alright, she just said I’m mocking her band mates.” “And I’m so fucking negative.”
“Herr Goebells?” “The dude is a fucking nut!” Paige smiling slightly mocking him by agreeing with him.
“I didn’t exactly say that.” he tried to clarify.
“Yes, you did.” “I could imagine.” “You could be a fucking prick sometimes.”
“Yes, I’m a prick but at that instance I wasn’t.” “I apologized but she hasn’t replied yet.” “She’s pissed.

“But you’re the king of apologies.” “We couldn’t resist forgiving you.” She said smiling and touching her nose to his.
“So, there goes the ballistic story.” “Ballistic shit.” “The silent fucking treatment.” "Incommunicado.” She continued his sentence.
"I feel for you, dude." She was a bit silent and suddenly out came a burst of laughter.

“Your turn” He blurted out of nowhere.
“What?” she was caught unaware by his response.
“You’re shit.” “That’s my shit this week.” “What’s yours?”
“I don’t have shit, thank you.”
“Ok, my apologies mademoiselle.” “What has been going on with you this week? “It’s a guy right?”
“Oh, you’re so adorable.” “How did you know?” “And fuck you!” “Bug off.” She being a bit defensive.
“Like a guy like me could never offer advices that you would never follow.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Trying to ignore him.

“Is it the guy with the long name or the one with the generic name.”
“Generic?” with her mouth resembling a "huh?"
“Yeah,” “Like, How’s your day, Paul.”
“Fuck off!”
“Or the guy with the long name.” “Juan Manuel Luis Alejandro.”
“You have no value for your life”
“I guess you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not now.”

“Kidding.” “Lesso is the guy.” “Paul is the stalker.”
“Are you telling me the story of your life?” “And Lesso?” He's getting a bit surprised.
“You forgot Lorenzo” “Kind of.” “I’m kinda sharing it.” “There.” and she let's out a sigh.
“To me.” “Are you sure?” “Can you take my deadpan comments?”
“Try me.” she said sighing.
“I think you never take the next step.” “Or should I say you never take steps.”
“I guess I don’t like a guy if he starts to like me.”
“You’re so fucking profound.”
“I like to leave things hanging.” “Everywhere you look there’s a “what if” question.” “And you don’t even need to answer the question.’
”Questions need to be answered, I reckon.” “Or at least attempt to.” “Doing nothing is just lazy.”
“Slacker king is becoming un-lazy.” “The world is about to end.”
“No, if you don’t answer it the possibility is endless.” “What ifs, answering What if questions.” “It’s like the twilight zone.” “Why end it with an answer?” “I like this state of confusion, turmoil and even nothingness.” “The answer could be good but no thanks.” “I now you’re happy with Chloe and all but that’s not for me.
“Who’s Chloe?” with his eyes wide open
“I thought her name was…” realizing her mistake.
“It’s not and we’re not talking about me again.” “You’re so good at talking about something else
except you.” Him amazed at her way of turning the conversation around.
“It’s a gift.”
“It’s a curse.”
“Fine.” “A gift yet a curse.”
“Mr. Poetic strikes again.”

“I’m not saying anything.” “I’m the one supposed to be fucked up this week.”
“I guess it’s a girl thing. We always get our way.”
“Okay, I’m just a natural born asshole. I feel bad about Lana.” “Her silence is fucking killing me.”
“So, the adorable apologies don’t work with Lana?”
“I don’t think it’s working.”
“You kind of like Lana.”
“What the fuck?” “What did you just say?”
“You like her.” “Or in your twisted world, you would say, I like her shit, shit that she does and all the shit associated with her.”
“Are you finished?”
“Hey, we’re not psychic. But, you’re so predictable.”
“Leave it at that, alright?”
“Girl pissing off a guy? That’s new? Touchy today.”
“I guess so.”
“I guess so what?’
“I don’t like her.”
“Fuck you, I don’t like her.” “You are such a douche bag.” Hitting him in the head.
“Look, I have a lot of shit going on and I don’t want to rain shit everyday.”
“I get it.” “Sorry.”
“And you won again.” “We aren’t talking about you.”
“Girls rule.” “Anyway, my shit is boring.” “It’s the overused plot of an undecided rock chick that likes to keep things hanging because she doesn’t want to get to level 2.”
”The great unknown.”
“This is my ride.”
“I’m this way.”
“See ya soon.” “Sooner than later.”


Wednesday, 1 September 2010


Train ride home. Dusk. People talking out loud about their shit. Keep it to yourself please if you’re not asking for my help. Just don’t tell the whole world about your shit. That’s what it is. Shit. I’m not against you and we’re all in this shit together. But I got to take care of my shit. And your shit is better off with your kind. But don’t get me wrong. I support your shit.

“I thought that would never end.”
“What?” she asked as she removed her headphones.
“The Smiths.”
“Are you eavesdropping?”
“I could hear it.”
“What happened to the Talking Heads?” He was listening to the heads before.
“It ended a minute ago.” “I reckon I’d eavesdrop on normal people.” “Like that woman she’s going abroad.” “That guy is talking about his work.” “And showbiz.” He was being sarcastic as always.
“And we’re talking about people talking about things.” She said smirking.
“I figure.” “I find you ghastly and irritating.” She told him.
“And I find you obnoxious and screechy.” He snapped back.
“I mean what is that voice.” “It’s like a screeching tire.” “And that laugh.”
“I’m not getting mad.” “Fuck you for hating The Smiths.” she said in one of those half smiles.

“Show some love for The Smiths.”
“Over Fucking Rated.” He said smiling.
“Now now.” “That’s not the way to treat genius.”
“While you’re at it.” “Fuck Belle and Sebastian too.”
“Now that’s shit.” “What the fuck is really going on with you.” “It’s Lana right?”
“What?” “I’m not answering that question." "I'm not even listening."
“I’ll let this hang. The unknown is a wonderful place to be.” "I got the quote from you." Telling her.
“What fucking if?” she said.

Their talkie shifted to the gig that happened the previous night.
"Why don't they get a real sound man?" Don't they realize that bands won't play there if their sound system fucks up?" She was in a complaining mood.
“It was that bad, eh?” “What’s on the phones?” He was trying to change the topic.

“Crappy techno playing on my earphones.” “It's so fucking bad that it has this campy factor going for it.”
“It's still okay because "The Masses" haven't devoured it yet.” Him telling her.
"The Masses", the "FUCKING" Masses, the supposed majority.” “It looks like we were better off when Hitler and his so-called psycho cohorts were on the driver seat at least we had neurotic geniuses controlling our path to destruction.” “We're all going to die anyway but dying without knowing is like shyte.” “Assholes would milk you of your last cent and you leave your love ones fucking broke.”
“Finished?” Him smiling at the rant she gave.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“It’s me who’s supposed to let off steam because of a botched gig.” smiling but exasperrated.
”Fuck, I’m a girl. “We all have issues.” “I wasn’t at the gig.” “Sorry.”

“Why weren’t you?”
“Migraine.” touching the sides of her head
“Sorry.” “I’m not sounding angry am I?” “I was just…” “I don’t know… you weren’t there.” he was fumbling each word.
“You were looking for me?”
“Not exactly looking.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m just saying that you weren’t there.” “That’s all.”
“Now that’s sounding angry.” She said smiling.
“I’m not.”
"Your ears are twitching." She said laughing.
“Yeah, it twitches.”

Friday, 27 August 2010


5:20. Rainy Tuesday afternoon. Random girl walking with a transparent plastic umbrella. Perfect for walking. Not too hard. Not too windy. Walking with a lot on your mind. With a heavy heart. Wanting to drink away the afternoon. Perhaps a shot on the veins. Don’t to want to make the blood shot eyes obvious. Shitty day. Perfect weather but shitty day nonetheless. Their smiling faces. What are they smiling at? Something overpriced? Shopping? It’s in the female gene. The art of spending. Fuck spending. To hell with poverty by Gang of Four. Good song. Good fucking song.

“Nice shade of black.” “Which is different from the shade of black you were wearing yesterday.” He said.
“You have a way with compliments.” "Blunt with a thud." she added
“I mean, you’re not fishing for one now, right?” He said sarcastically.
“I was never fishing for compliments.” “Ever.” Her eyes rolling.
“So, what’s with the bag lady thing.” “Aha, shopping!”

“Piss off!” Hitting him with the bag.
“It’s definitely in the female gene.”
“I just got something I probably won’t need.” She said sighing.
“Which is?”
“Something I won’t probably need.” She is trying to be incoherent.

“We’re not jelling here.”
“Who says anything about jelling?” “I’m ignoring you.”

“Hey look.” “Elephant on the clouds.”
“Cloud looks like an elephant.” “Nimbo-stratos” “Nimbus or whatever.” “It’s going to rain.”
“No it’s not.”

“ What’s that?”
“Is there such brand?” She knows the brand but just for the sake of talking.
“It’s European.” “Got it from duty free.”
When were you out of the country?”
“We sent Paige off at the airport.” “Got these and some Jack’s.”
“I could use some Jack’s.” she said

“Nimbus.” “Yeah, fucking nimbus.” “With a long elephant trunk.” Looking at the clouds. another offhand remark.

“What do you have in there.” asking her about the unlabelled brown paper bag.
“Stuff.” “Oh, and I got this old Stone Roses 11".” “The dude has no idea what he is selling.” “It was a fucking steal.”
“The Stone Fucking Roses.” "You never liked them." He said sarcastically.

“What would you do if your ex starts calling?” He is fucking good at changing topic in the middle of the conversation.
“Is that the question?” Her trying to ignore it.
“Fuck you it is.” “Which ex is giving you hell?” “The one with the long name?” “Or the one with the trying-to-be-cute name?” Smirking.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been calling them.” “Why should I?” “I might fuck up their minds, like what’s happening to you right now.” "Fucked up over a girl." She said bluntly.

So, what about the ex?”
“Are you finished?” “Are you supposed to be helping me on this?”
“What kind of help?” “I’m kind of short on cash.” He said smirking.
“Fuck you. I’m serious.” Hitting him in the head.
“Shit. That serious, eh.?” “Damn. Fuck him.” “If it’s fucking your mind up, don’t even bother.” “At least gimme some alcohol.” She said smiling.
Jack’s okay?
“Jack’s fine.”

Jack Fucking Daniels.

Tuesday, 24 August 2010



3:40 AM Thursday. Hospital room. Drank alcohol. Not the brewed one but distilled. Fuck. It was distilled. For external use only. They sucked it all from her stomach. She wanted to die but not strong enough to pull it off. Or an abrupt attempt to kill herself but couldn’t finish the whole thing. I guess too much of this thing called love could kill you. Love. Delirium. Shit.

4:00PM Sunday. Deckard and Lana in a random coffee place.

“You really tried drinking isoprophyl alcohol, How was it?” Ill timed jokes are his specialty and he gets away with it.
“Not funny” “Let it go.”
“Ok, are you back together?” Trying to be serious but still smirking.
“Sort of.” She can’t describe what’s really going on.
“Don’t ya think that’s guilt on his part?”
“I'm not pushing it.”
“You better.” “This is just shitty.” “I haven’t met anybody too delirious.” “You are fucking delirious."
“Sorry, I don’t find anything about you that catches my fancy.” “No offense.” She lights another one trying to finish off the pack.
“None taken.” “And those dolphin tattoos are wicked.”
“Are you a twelve year old?” “I’m going to alter these or even erase it.” Smiling at Deckard’s childish comments. After all, he is a 12 year old trapped in a twenty thirty something body.
“Don’t worry about it.” “You’re still the most adorable shit head of all.” She continued.
”That’s reassuring.”
“Well, HE thought of the design.” “I’ll alter it.” “Just like Johnny Depp’s”.
“Fine.” “You could do that Celtic thing.” “It would look way cooler.”
“Wickeder?” trying to speak his alien language.
“If there’s such a word, fucking yes.”
“There is.” “I’m fucking sure.” She smiles a bit. Those half smiles.
“Now, that’s not a scowl, is it?” “Fuck, she smiled!” “The heavens would be pouring soon!”
“Fucking hell.” “You’re the most adorable asshole ever.” “Thanks for listening.” Hitting him in the head.
“Thanks for the trust.” “I’ll tell everyone about it.” “I’ll blog about it.” “I’ll write a book about it.”
“Well, go ahead.” “You’re not going to finish it.”
“Why so?” He hit her in the shoulder playfully.
“You always have the best ideas, best answers, but you are the worst finisher.” mocking him.
“Since when do you start noticing shit about me.” He asks.
“Just a bit” she said.”

Just a fucking bit.

Monday, 23 August 2010


gig talkies

11:30 pm. Saturday. Hermann Goebells gig. Lana’s back. And how? Never put this girl down. She’s back on the drums. Drummer girl pounds away her demons. She turned away a lot of invites and we even politely asked her to join one of the other bands that were chasing her. I guess their music is not toxic enough and poisonous enough to have an effect on her. All she needs is poison. Her drumming is a cross between skin torture but she was trained in jazz so the sticks just bounced on the skins. At the end of the set the audience was left befuddled, mesmerized and bothered. Who’s the drummer girl? Why didn’t she join other bands? She could’ve been famous by now. Drummer Girl. Pa rum-pa rum- pum. (Yes, the Christmas song.) Acid on her veins. Keeps her going.

“Yo, Lana wait up!” Deckard half running to catch up.
“Hey.” “Thought you’re playing.” Waiting for him to catch up
“Supposed to. We don’t have a drummer.”
“You never had a drummer. Just a bass player, What’s her name?” She met her several times but couldn’t remember the name.
“ Paige.”
“Nice name.”
“Nice set.”
“ I guess so.” In her adorable half smile.
“ Paige’s in El – Lay now. She’ll be back next week.”
“ Why do you have girls in your band?” She never sounded playful and bubbly before. This is the first time.
“ They came to me.” “Got three other guys on board too.”
“House and noise?”
“House and noise.”
“I have your CD, I think.” She reminded him.
“I was about to give you one.” “You didn’t wait for the giveaway?”
“Bought one.”
“You did?” “I should get rid of this then.” “It has two extra tracks and a remix.”
“Wait, let me have it.” “Grabbing it from him.
“Makes me sleep.” “Really.” “Must be the layers.” “Yeah.” “It’s cerebral.” “It’s loud but doesn’t pierce the eardrums but rather bores through the skulls.” Her trying to give a review of the CD. Which actually are the underground reviews.
“Any chance you’d play with us.” Him trying to invite her.
“I don’t think so.” “You guys are better off with Industrial.” “Like Throbbing Gristle.”
“Throbbing Fucking Gristle.” He smiled. He hates comparisons with other bands.
“Name dropping” “I know you hated name dropping.” “Just pissing you off.” ”Yeah, and it makes me sound that I knew those bands.” She added.
“You’d be at home with Coltrane’s band.”
”Fucking Coltrane.” “Let the name dropping commence.”

This is the part where they’re supposed to argue about bands. Just like before. But this ain’t before. This is now. This is fucking different.

“How’s it going, Decks?” She beat him to the question. She somehow had the feeling that he’s going to ask a seemingly uncomfortable question. About the past perhaps? She hated the past. And she knows what the future’s going to be. And NOW is just too fucked up.
“Fine. Bands fine. I’m fine.” Somehow that was a lame attempt to be defensive.
“I’m fine too, Decks. I knew you’re going to ask that question.” “Yes, I tried to and fuck, let’s leave it at that.”

“Lan, we’re just trying to help….”
” I don’t need your sympathies right now. Save it.”
“I’m not trying to.” “The needle’s going to win eventually.” Him looking away.
“Sorry.” “It’s just…” Somehow agreeing with him. Yup, she’s agreeing with him these days.
“I get it.” “I know when to back off.” “Just do whatever you’re going to be doing.” He wants to say something but decided not to.
“You’re no Dr. Phill, man.” “You’d suck as a shrink.” Smiling again.
“I’ll be going around to find myself.” “I’ll be gigging a bit here and there.” Shibuya on the fifteenth. “Small art space.” She continued.
“Nice.” “Have it on video.” Somehow the mood has lightened a little.
“Saw a shrink recently.” “Fucking shrink.” She stares blankly.
“The Tony Leung guy? One of his offhand jokes again.
“Fuck you.”
“You dated him right?”
“Fuck.” “You.”
“”I’m just playing.” “Sorry”
“And he doesn’t look like Tony Leung.” “You guys are the worst gossip.”
”Fucking hilarious” “Catch up sometime?”
“Sure.” “You’re buying.” She said…

Her half smiles again.

Friday, 20 August 2010



Hermann Goebells. misspelling intended so it isn’t obvious where the name came from. Well, It's actually obvious but just for fuck sake it is a monicker of the band taken from two German officers in World War II. Hermann Goering of the Luftwaffe and the infamous Joseph Goebbels. Deckard Lee, the founder, was named after Frank Deckard, a Blade Runner. Brilliant novel. An even brilliant movie. Ain’t it cool when your dad actually names you after a sci-fi character? It’s fucking brilliant to be exact. Citizen Kane? Blade Runner will fuck Citizen Kane. Twice.

“ Got a light?”
“ Where’s yours?”
“I don’t have one.” “Oh, here it is.”
Takes a long drag after lighting.

“They sure got caught.” said he. And again offhand.
“Who? What?”
“She and Him.” “Uncompromising.”

“I thought she broke up with her… you know, her ex.” He did know her ex. And she is a she. A Chrissie Hynde type.

“Her?” “I love her already.” Somehow what she’s saying is true.
“Uncompromising as in, in the act? She added.”
“As in bathrobe and a sleeping guy.”
“ I guess he still has a key.” "Lesson number one: always get the key back."

“ She moved on fast” he said smirking.

“ What’s with the side comment?”
“Hey, before you go ballistic. It’s just an opinion. It could be good or bad but that’s just it.”
“ A fucking bad opinion.”
“ I guess it is.”

She lights up too. Takes a long drag. And looks at him. And smiled. One of those rare smiles.

“Are we just talking about other people?”

“Oh shit. We’re like the rest of them.” He laughed too.

“Ok. We did.” “Fun wasn’t it.” “Now, let’s play a game of …Who’s fucking who?

“Asshole.’ kicks him in the shins in jest.

Only with him did she laugh hard. No amount of comedy could. Well, Monty Python perhaps and him.

Thursday, 19 August 2010


walkies talkies

12:56 MN. Wednesday. Random dead guy. Stab wounds. Robbery victim. Unidentified. IDs were probably inside a wallet thrown somewhere after taking the money. Single? Perhaps. Married with kids? Maybe. I guess life is just random. It ends. Just another random episode of CSI.

“This is the last time I’m lighting up.” Paige on her second straight cigarette.
“You said last time, last time” Deckard reminding her.
“I mean this is perfect”. “A cup of coffee.” “Smokes.” “And a lot of mindless conversation.” “Just mindless, trivial shit” “You can’t ask for more.”
“And don’t ya start another break-up-would’ve-been-could’ve-been-story”. Deckard adds.
“I’m not about to start one.” “Besides, it’s all the fucking same.” As she takes a long drag.
“You must’ve hated that asshole.”
“Not really.”
“I figured ya just made up twice this year.” With that evil smirk on his face that is up to no good.
“Aha, Are you taking count of all this?” With a hard slap at Deckard’s back.
“Nah, I wasn’t listening to your stories but you somehow manage to sneak this person between one them”.
“I guess…” Silence.
“I get it, no need to fill the lines.”

Long Silence.

“The coffee.” The guy has perfected the art of ill-timing.
“What?” she was caught by surprise.

“Does it wake you up?”
“The mushrooms gives a stoney feeling.” “I couldn’t really find a word but it has a stoney feel to it.”
“No fucking way, let me try.” He grabs the cup and pushes her aside like a 10 year old. Paige hits him back in the head. He sips.
“Fuck, it’s just coffee.” “A disgusting kind, and why do you keep drinking this shit.”
“I don’t know.” “Taste good with smokes.” “Got some more?”
“Go buy your own.”
Gives him the middle finger. “C’mon, share the loot, asshole.”
She lights up. Again.

Long silence.

“This coffee is shit.” “What the fuck is it?”
“With the Chinese herbs.” “Mushrooms.” “Yeah, mushrooms.”
“Should have put weed in it.”
“This is not fucking Amsterdam, duude.” “Read my lips.” “As in Jeff Bridges, Duude.”
“Fucking Amsterdam.”
“There’ll be chaos here if they legalize the shit.” She added.
“I disagree with that.” “I couldn’t elaborate, but I definitely disagree.” Deckard disagreeing, duh!
“You just disagree.”
“I just disagree for the sake of disagreeing.” “It’s a strange fucking habit.” “And who says I’m fucking normal.”
“I wasn’t even going to open my mouth.” Paige taking along drag. She’s not fucking normal too.

Tuesday, 17 August 2010


Talkie Walkies

Deck lights up a cigarette but Paige snatches it before he could puff some. She is making smoke rings now. They decided to walk smoking and passing the last cigarrette like a stick of marijuana. A nice day for walking. The sun was hiding behind the clouds. Warm but shady. Breezy but no drizzle.

"Look.” “The Love Bus!" Paige yelled over the street noise.
" Should be in the junk yard by now".
"Are you sure it‘s The Love Bus?"
"I'm fucking sure."
”You never ride buses.”
“I do.” “It’s fucking therapeutic.” “Seeing someone driving in the same fucking road every day.” “He’s more fucked up that I.”
“So you get off on that.” Deckard trying to look surprised
“I guess” “And the people who ride on it. Same street. Same route. Same highway. 24/7. Now that’s even more fucked up.” Paige with eyes rolling up.
“Yeah. Fucking Love Bus.” ‘Sponsored by Trojan magnums’ Deckard deadpans.
‘Fucking Pervert”. Magnums?. You? More like BBs.’ Paige trying to match Deckard’s sarcasm.
“The fucking Love Bus.’
“Fucking Love Bus.”

“How about The Love Train?”
“Won’t work. Too crowded.
The Perv Train is more like it.”
“Nah. Too embarrassing. “Remember the train ride October last year?” Somehow Deckard regretted he said that.
“Fucking hell. Don’t start this shit.” Paige looking away.
‘Sorry, unintentional. It’s more of a previous chapter for me so it’s fucking nothing. Really.”

‘Sorry, I’m a bit shakin’ up.”
“By the Perv train story? Deckard trying to lighten the mood.
“No, something else.’
“It’s obvious.’ He said softly
‘It’s obvious. You’re shakin’. Looking in her eyes.
“I dunno. Need some smokes.” Paige looking away.
“You want to talk about it?”
“In time. I’ll be in El- Lay on Thursday. Catch a gig. Got some tickets and the grant has been approved. Have to at least show up.’
“Nic Endo?”
“Yeah. Endo.”
“Don’t want to talk about the grant. It makes me feel “Intellectually Snotty.” I kind of like the feeling. I get off showing it off to hapless friends.”
“We’ll you are snotty, snobbish, bitchy and….”
“And you fucking love it.”

Nic Endo

Nic Endo (born January 7, 1976) is a Japanese-German-American noise musician who played with the German digital hardcore group Atari Teenage Riot. The daughter of a Japanese mother and a German father, Endo was born in Texas, US.

She lived in Frankfurt from 1994 to 1996 and later moved to Berlin.

Nic Endo joined ATR while they were on tour in 1997 and was involved with the production of their final album 60 Second Wipe Out.

After ATR effectively broke-up in 2000, Endo released an experimental solo album entitled Cold Metal Perfection. Released by Fatal Recordings, an explicitly feminist offshoot of Digital Hardcore Recordings, Cold Metal Perfection was named as one of the top 20 albums of 2001 by Alternative Press.

In 2001, Endo assisted in the production of Alec Empire's solo album, Intelligence and Sacrifice. She has also since been a part of Empire's touring band, and was also involved with his follow-up album Futurist (2005).

Her trademark is her black leather and white face paint overlaid by the Japanese characters 抵抗 (teikō), meaning "resistance".


Random Talkies

Tuesday 9:00 AM. Random day. Rainy day in a noodle shop but not having noodles. Sorry, not in Hong Kong. It could've been ripped off a Wong Kar Wai movie but no. It's just a typical conversation between male/female friends who rarely see each other. This conversation would never work with two males and two females talking. Why? For males it would require the push of alcohol. For females the topic would always go back to shopping.

"Pass the chili"
"Is this really chili?"
"Sauteed in garlic."
"Shee-it, sauteed."
"Burns like fucking acid." "Gives the food flavor" "Keeps your mind off the cholesterol" "Shits good." " Here."

He puts half a spoon of this wonderful concoction red chili sautéed in garlic while retaining the oil.

" Fuck, it burns". "And you ain't even sweating... for a girl."
" Emma Frost is my name". Paige deadpans.
"You're a Marvel chick after all."

Deckard slapping the table and pointed at her fingers shaking. (Doing a Crispin Glover Back to the Future impersonation)

"Of course" "and you are...."
"The Apache Chief" “I get to have the biggest dick in the world in just a say of a word!"
"Ha ha, Super friends 1975." "You are fucking old." Paige in a rare laugh.
"I got a DVD.'
"People always have DVDs of old shit." Paige trying to stop his Quentin-ish mouth.
"Citizen fucking Kane" "You gotta have Citizen Kane." "Jimmy Dean." “East of Eden." Deckard continues. "This shit is quite good. Changing the topic for once. “I can't believe it's just wet rice and tripe." "That reminds me of an aunt's recipe, tripe and all." "I was expecting it would look grotesque but it doesn't" "She's definitely the queen of presentation."
"Isn't that Callos?" "I kind of tried it already" Paige trying to end the monologue.
"Yeah, that's right."
“And I thought seafood is light.” “I gained weight”. An offhand remark. Paige is definitely the queen of such.
“Girls and their weight.” “ What the fuck is the connection between seafood and callos? Decks sarcastically asks.
“I don’t know. Random thought.” “Toothpick.” “Fucking tripe.”
“ Here.”
“ Got to do it in the restroom.”
“I’ve seen your gums before.” “ And something else.” Deckard deadpans.

Gives him the middle finger.

“Wait here.”
“Aw c’mon.” “Going to the restroom to get tripe out of your gums?”
“None of your fucking business.” “Girl thing”.
“ Oh.” “Why didn’t ya say so.” “Need help?”

Gives him another middle finger

I don’t know if he just completely ignores her insults or he’s just cold. Anyway two could play that game and trading insults are just a way of life for these two.

“Are you eating this?”
“Yeah.” “Don’t touch it”. “I’ll be back for it.”

Girls restrooms. Why is it that it stays immaculately clean while the boys room looks and smells like a pigsty. If you don’t agree could you stand making whoopee at the boys room? Someone raising a hand? Fuck you. Slob.

She returns from her soiree. Perhaps after flossing the teeth. Powdering the nose. Girl thing.

“Where were we?”
“I don’t know.”
“Citizen Fucking Kane?”
“Yeah, Citizen Fucking Kane.”
“Orson Fucking Wells.”
“Seen that 9 hour movie?”
“Attempted to.” “I gave up after 5 hours” “Went in at 12 noon right after lunch.”
“Were you the last one out?”
“I won’t start any film school arguments with you.”

Paige an art student while Deckard is a self taught musician and engineer. Both are film buffs and argues a lot.

“Try me.”
“You could actually tell that story in two hours.” “Too many unnecessary parts”
“Taught you that in film school?” “Where people see too much films with sub titles and read too much Oscar Wilde.”
“See.” “You’re always too personal in your attacks.”
“Coming from a non-film school background I give a bitter sting of the truth”
“The movie is just showing-off.” Deckard continues.
“Guess so.”
"Who's getting this?"
"It's your turn."
"Why do I get the feeling that I have been cheated."
"Whatever Johnny Rotten, pay the tab and lets get the fuck out of here."

Sunday, 15 August 2010


People walking in slow motion
Red lunch boxes

Noodles with chopsticks
Wooden benches
Train ride to nowhere

Music without words?
Rain drops

Gazes Entwined
Blurred background

Have we met before?

Wednesday, 11 August 2010



her invisible friend
locked in her mind
she comes out for tea time
On the on the outskirts of her head

her invisible friend
slightly insane
the one who holds the whip
The one who holds the reins

her invisible friend
got infectious eyes
sometimes tells I'm the best
a pack of lies

her invisible girlfriend
in the train station
trashed the flat
no medication



Splitted into two
One of me's addicted to you
One of me begs to let go
The other can't stand me, the other can't stand you

Ceaselessly fighting for control
One incites, the other consoles
Each demands the wheel
Neither ceases to be real

Why are you so keen to forget?
sweeter in deep regret
Pain explored to the end
Hide it and it might never mend

Spill bitter tears
Doesn't it feel good?
Blame yourself, blame her, blame the world
Envy every boy with a girl...

Tuesday, 10 August 2010



'tis not her fault when they call her different
she'd relish the fact that she isn't
one of the girls who'd say they were "in"
she's just cool but a little bit insane.

Her stained finernails hidden in nail polish black
her mouth could be foul but doesn't hold them back
All she needs is her records of Davis and Coltrane.
Not the songs of the boring and mundane.

She wear her hair long and unkempt
she's got eyes unsure what it meant
sad or angry

She was too cool to care about fashion.
She'd start with mozart over a large cup of coffee black.
Day's she'd be fashionably sensitive
Some days she'd be silent and her mind subdued

She'd hate the smell in her hair
Everytime the smoke would fill the air
In her quiet pad you'd get to hear silence and
the sound of dear Lou and all the machine violence

I barely get to see her
and those forlorn eyes
the endless musical critiques and the bitter coffee
and the smell of cigarrettes in her hair

Friday, 6 August 2010


May 30.. Two Emails...

Saturday, May 30 An oh-so-gloomy-rain-drenched Saturday evening. Headlights reflecting in the puddle as cars moved snails pace. Yet it was dark as in a sense, noisy, barely audible, unnamed band (electronic music) playing in the car stereo. Punctuated by Brockas dark and dreary Maynila sa kuko Come to think of it, it wasnt really that bad 20 years ago. This deserves a remake, using todays characters. Well there isnt really any changes except everyones carrying cell phones or wearing designer brands. Well, scrap the idea of a remake! Well, your news of leaving the flat caught me flatfooted. I felt that everythings going well for you. You know, flat mates, work, people, work, the angst of living (youre really not that angry). Then a burst of women are fickle minded on my phone screen. Well, thats what caught my attention even though I dont pay too much attention to text messages (a weird habit, perhaps?). Well, where does this go then? New roomies? Back to thy humble abode? By the time you read this youve probably moved out, but if you havent, need help with the furniture? As if. Well, It gets darker and darker that night and drowning in alcohol wasnt my idea of fun. Though, I got my fix of Cerveza Negra, that black beer that has an aftertaste of coffee and something burnt. Then I excused myself, a bus ride is much more appropriate than a carload of blokes. Pretty strange, everybody dispersed quietly on Saturday night. Must be the rain, or the gig after the film wasnt much of interest. Everyone just fell quiet. The vibe was just dark, like walking through the corridors of your oh-so-cool-ex apartment. I wonder what is it like in a room without windows. Just a light bulb and a door.

2nd email

Saturday, May 30 An oh-so-gloomy-rain-drenched Saturday evening. Headlights reflecting on the puddle as cars moved like maggots. Yet it was dark. As in noisy but barely audible, unnamed and undanceable electronic music playing in the background. Sorry, I havent been returning text messages. Never was a fan of the cell phone to start with. My nights are spent tweaking knobs, blending noises, ear splitting feedbacks only I could hear.(headphones) Music is now nameless, faceless, only the sound of obscurity. (filenames like: loop130 chorus) Its like the bitter taste of dark beer (Cerveza Negra). Dont take this seriously Im just gathering enough negative energy for my audio projects. I actually have a lot of garbage lying around and finally that I have the drive to gather them. Theres just too many. A 30 minute song perhaps? Fookin hell, Why the fook not? Maybe longer? Should be. Im on my surrealist mode right now. I guess that would define all the shit thats going on. Maybe Ill talk to the ghost of Warhol. Or do an audio version of sleep. I dunno, Its probably just me. I just had enough of the name dropping (bands, record labels, genres, all of it). I just name dropped Warhol. Then, fuck Warhol. Just hated the idea when people ask me what do I sound like. Should I answer, It sounds like (Insert band name/Insert genre)? Dont you just hate it when they say, katunog ng (insert band name). Man, its the show band mentality at work! (Cruise ship band according to a Jap-Am guy). Even the so-called indie people are into it. What is indie? Well, thats a 10,000 word essay waiting to happen. Cant do it now because Im editing my 35 minute track. Who gives a fuck what it sounds like.


emailed stuff...

Che's Kids

Dear fellow revolutionary:

What's your number these days? Just askin', have you developed any telekinetic powers. Like, objects move because you look at them. Sudden gusts of wind when you're around. And my personal favorite. Mind control. Well, just writing nonesense again because I think I've probably found my mutant powers. I'm an Ice-cold person! Iceman name has been taken but I think that would describe my powers. I'm a person devoid of emotions. I realized I have never cried since..my gosh, when i was 9 years old? I think I cried at that time because my dad won't buy me a bike. Are we supposed to cry at funerals? I had a feeling that we should. Judging by the eyes that look in my direction during the funeral. I'm the only guy in the immediate family that hasn't had tears. Maybe I need that emotion back. Sadness. Maybe it would come back with a loss of someone dear but right now, I don't see anything sad. Pity? Lots. Melancholy? Check. Forlorn? Yes, of course. I do feel emotions tugging inside but the physical manifestation is nada. Where had my tears gone? Had drugs destroyed my tear ducts? How do you automatically turn on the hydrant. Others had it so easy. I know the feeling of loss because I tend to dwell on it longer. I have this thing with crematoriums. Cemeteries tend to have hints of a festive atmosphere. Crematoriums are pure sadness and gloom. Anyway, I feel so much better now.

The dark clouds are back.

Note: I dont do drugs. Really.