shitter

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 Brocka’s dark and dreary Maynila sa kuko… Come to think of it, it wasn’t really that bad 20 years ago. This deserves a remake, using today’s characters. Well there isn’t really any changes except everyone’s 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 everything’s going well for you. You know, flat mates, work, people, work, the angst of living (you’re really not that angry). Then a burst of “women are fickle minded” on my phone screen. Well, that’s what caught my attention even though I don’t 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 you’ve probably moved out, but if you haven’t, need help with the furniture? As if. Well, It gets darker and darker that night and drowning in alcohol wasn’t 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 wasn’t 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 haven’t 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) It’s like the bitter taste of dark beer (Cerveza Negra). Don’t take this seriously I’m 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. There’s just too many. A 30 minute song perhaps? Fookin’ hell, Why the fook not? Maybe longer? Should be. I’m on my surrealist mode right now. I guess that would define all the shit that’s going on. Maybe I’ll talk to the ghost of Warhol. Or do an audio version of sleep. I dunno, It’s 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)? Don’t you just hate it when they say, katunog ng (insert band name). Man, it’s 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, that’s a 10,000 word essay waiting to happen. Can’t do it now because I’m editing my 35 minute track. Who gives a fuck what it sounds like.