It's been months since Cueshe's Stay began blaring from car stereo's in every FX I have had the chance to get into. Even those jeepneys, with their CD-ROMs mounted on the dashboards and their bass levels tastelessly pumped, have the song playing as they soar through Cainta and Marikina.

And a month before that I had the chance to watch them perform for a liquor company's event in Novaliches. I didn't like them that much because they sounded like something you'd hear when you're on your way out the door- you look back and walk away. I've never really mentioned it before, but Stay's chorus' melody is really identical to The Greatest View from Silverchair. Honestly, I don't think I need to tell you that.

And I just don't like it. Aside from that, they played three other songs during that gig. One suspiciously sounded like Sandwich's Butterfly Carnival, which I ignored comletely, and instead focused my undivided attention to gulping down a shot of liquor while unintentionally flirting with one of the the wine girls. And then they did a cover of The Reason by Hoobastank, which was standard showband-fare at the time; and also an Incubus over, which was so lame I don't even remember.

Anyway, I never liked the band, but I have to hand it to them, they've been playing in Cebu for a long time. But two songs that undeniably sounded derivative, makes you doubt the band.

I don't like them, that's all. But then again I don't like a lot of things: rainy Monday mornings, bull fights, running out of cell credits in a middle of an appointment, cold milk and soggy pulborons, among others.

No amount of dislike should be expressed in a nationwide tirade against them. I am however, paying homage to the band they sound like in the first single (although I have to stress that it's just the chorus, not the entire shebang), so I have posted The Greatest View on my Syndrome section.

Sing.

Yesterday Jopet and I went over to Furball in Cubao for our scheduled photo shoot with direk Lyle Sacris. Jopet, being the diligent photographer that he is, after much deliberation, decided with Lyle not to shoot it there. Lyle offered his house.

When I stepped into his room, I was seriously awestruck. The guy has a lot of DVDs, graphic novels, toys and novelty items, he can rival 2Rats, only he owns originals. Even his light fixtuers and the landline telephones are so [bleep]ing cool. I wonder how long I'd should work (and in what field, for that matter) before I could buy all the stuff he's got.

During the shoot, Jopet and Lyle talked about technical stuff about cameras (Lyle is a cinematographer) and laughed and talked a lot more, before the actual shot began. He's such a nice guy, makwento and you'll never get bored. They were even having fun with the camera. Meanwhile, I was staring at a big, moveable figure near Lyle's left shoulder.

It was an object of utmost fear if your grew up in Zion.
It was a Sentinel. HOLY CRAP! And now I can't stop thinking about it!

After I resigned from work, I had to drop by the Tech Dept to have my email account and my employee log in deactivated. Being the idiot that I am, I forgot to send all the important messages to my yahoo account and so all the memorable ones got deleted as well. A couple of months ago, in my Phlog account, I posted a picture of her, and people began commenting on it. Jill posted the "prose" I wrote almost two years back which even included an artwork she inspired me to finish.

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2:00 pm
October 22, 2003
Angono, Rizal


title: Reclaiming Therese
artwork and text:

I opened my desk, pulled out my art materials and started to whet the paper's appetite for the strokes and the swirls of the pencil as guided by the moonlight of my hand. Nimbus clouds were in my eyes, as I dreamt of dust-covered pieces of t-bones; cooked medium rare, before the particles have settled in and rendered it unfit for the human consumption.

I bathe myself in bicycle wheels and envision myself as Don Juan making wild and passionate love to bone-white paper to create shapes and shades, lines and shadows.

Figures and planes.

And slowly I become the pencil and you, the paper. I stroll down your plotted surface, lose myself in your alleys and drown in your puddles.

You fold and crumple.

I need to be sharpened.