Begging, Dryly

She said, "Love me.  Love me like you used do.  Love me like I never broke your heart."  She pleaded.  Demanded.  Threatened.  Stomped her feet.  Begged on her knees.  But he will never love her, never again, never like before, because he could never love like that again.  That person was gone.  He'd lost the pieces of the heart that could love completely, absolutely, without fear, reservations or doubt.

So the story goes.  Call it the contemporary fairytale.  No fairy godmothers, just beer, rhum, soju, Tuba and all the other spirits that possess the weak to send spur of the moment text messages of pain, anguish and longing that no amount of chocolate, anaesthetic, psychedelics could cure.

I am waiting for the paint to dry on the canvas, but it will take hours, and I cannot wait that long.  I need to put my hand on a brush and soar.  But all I can do is sit here and stare at the wet  paint staring defiantly back while Rammstein groans a chafing:

I waere in die Tannen gehen, dahin...
(I would like to go in the woods/pines/pine forest, there/where...)
Doch die Abent werft ein Tuch aufs Land
(The night throws a towel/cloth over the the land)
...
Und der Wald, der steht so schwarz und leer
(And the woods, so dark and empty)
...
Und die Voegel singen nicht mehr
(And the birds aren't singing anymore/do not sing anymore)
Ohne dich kann ich nicht sein
(Without you)
Ohne dich
(Without you)
Mit dir bin ich auch alein
(With you I feel/am alone, too)
Ohne dich
(Without you)
Ohne dich verletzt die Stunden
(Without you the time/Hours pass/es by/ is/are lost)
...
Mit dir stehen die Sekunden
(With you every second lasts forever/very long.  Time drags.  The seconds stay)
...
Und das Atmen fehlt mir, ach, so schwer
(And breathing is so difficult)

Well, I tried my best.  I thought I understood the song but now that I have put the translation in writing, I find that it's very difficult to put the exact meaning of the text in English without straying into the realm of invention (like what Frau Wilke always says:  Keine Fantasie, bitte! -- Don't make things up, please)

Next song:  Everybody hurts.

Argh!  Forward!

Paint it black.

Oh yeah.  Paint it black.  Black.  Black.  Black.  Abort!  Abort!  Abort!

Back to the one that started it all.

She said I love you, boy , I love you so
She said I love you baby, oh oh oh ohhh
She said I love you more than words can say
She said I love you bayayayayby...

I have got to say, I'm impressed.  Do what you got to do.  Stalk if you need to, but is one person really worth going to prison for?

Oh, her eyes, her eyes
Make the stars look like they're not shinin'
Her hair, her hair...

Words like this sound romantic but at closer inspection...
Oh, her eyes, her eyes
Make the stars look like they're not shinin' [Flattery]
Her hair, her hair
Falls perfectly without her trying [She has to have long hair.  Hello?  See anything wrong here?]
She's so beautiful
And I tell her everyday (yeahh) [This is fine and all, but wait till you discover how he defines "beautiful"]

I know, I know
When I compliment her she won't believe me [Now he's undermining her self-confidence)
And it's so, it's so
Sad to think that she don't see what I see [He's right, she's wrong.  Alarm bells should be ringing in your head how.]
But everytime she asks me "Do I look okay? "
I say
When I see your face (face face...)
There's not a thing that I would change [Wow.  Impressive, right?  He must really love you.  Lol.  Really?  There's not a thing he would change?  Why, does your face remain that way forever?  You heard of the thing called getting OLD?  Then what?]
'Cause you're amazing
Just the way you are (are) [Again, all fine and good, but ask yourself what he means by "YOU"]
And when you smile [Smile.  A very physical characteristic, your smile.  How about the fact that you are kind and adopt lost kittens you find in the streets?]
The whole world stops and stares for a while [He likes you because the whole world does. The locus of his identity seems to be a little off centre, don't you think?  I think the proper term is histrionic.]
'Cause girl you're amazing
Just the way you are
Her lips, her lips [So physical, this guy.  Say your lips turned gangrenous and dropped from the face of...the earth... after eating Guinabot from Labangon dipped in sauce teeming with  sili kulikut (by the way, those are not the hottest thing on earth, as I had previously thought).  You're in trouble then.]
I could kiss them all day if she'd let me [All day???  All day?!  Your lips would really fall off then.]
Her laugh, her laugh
She hates but I think it's so sexy [Yeah, yeah, she's always wrong, you're always right]
She's so beautiful
And I tell her everyday [Before you accept this as a compliment, ask the creep to define 'beautiful']

Oh you know, you know, you know
I'd never ask you to change [People are dynamic.  People change.  Anyone with half a brain knows this.  Either he's stupid or he's a control freak.]
If perfect's what you're searching for
Then just stay the same [You are perfect now.  Change, and you won't be perfect anymore.  But you can't stop change.  It is what you do.  Better stay the same, though, or boy leaves you.  Good luck.]
So don't even bother asking if you look okay
You know I'll say [You know what he wants.  Stay pretty.  Stay young.  Stay the way he wants you to.]

So when you meet someone who says the same things to you--run.

Assumptions

A turkish friend once pointed to the men's restroom and said something to me in German and I assumed I understood what she meant so I nodded, said yes, walked away, took a few steps, saw something in my peripheral vision (which was an amazing feat considering I usually don't have any), turned, and saw too late that she had entered the room.  I stood there frozen in horror and thought in all caps as only nervous thoughts do:  OHNOWHATONEARTHHAVEIDONEWHATIDONOW?!

So.  Assumptions.  They ain't never good.

I assumed "lesen" meant what it sounded like.  WRONG.

I assumed "unsympathisch"  meant what it sounded like.  GRRRRANGGG.

Just imagine the kind of trouble I got myself into when I assumed I knew what "bloed" meant.  Good thing I didn't.  Learned my lesson.

Blogs

I miss Filipino food, and by Filipino food I mean food found in Cebu.  No funky sounding food like PEHnoy (what is that?  Sounds like a half-hearted fart:  uh-oh, have to come out but I've too less a character so I'll just LEAK).  It's called Balut Pinoy.  PEEEEEEEEEEEnoy if you must spell it with an E (I couldn't find a descent/accurate photo of the pinoy.  Must note the difference, though, Balut Pinoy is NOT Balut.  Balut is abortion.  Abortion is...well, the mother duck/chicken never had a say in this matter.  So this is very wrong.) Got to say it right.  Got to give it justice.  Anyway.  Blogs sometimes drive me crazy--especially when I'm searching recipes and then I get this page that gives me ADVICE on how to make kids love pinoy food (This is easy, by the way.  Ever heard of the line "Not all the glitters is gold?"  It's absolutely true.  Some times it's HUMBA.  And kids LOVE everything that SHINES.  It might not be a very good idea to make people love pinoy food because, weeeell, more competition means less for you.  Ang Hangol bow).  Seriously.  I want recipes.  If I wanted advice, I'd watch Oprah or read Buddhist books.  Haha.  I am bloggering myself.  My handwriting is a lot better when I type, and then there's Leia who is in the "am I a one-man-demolition-team?" phase.  She's still figuring it out--too bad for anything that tears, cracks, breaks, you get the drift.


I definitely want to eat Bicol Express.  And Pancit.  And I might just give this a try (Khrystle liked this very  much--which is basically why I'm so intrigued now--2 years later).  I really miss Palabok, but this dish calls for such strange ingredients.  Shrimp Juice?  What is that?  Am I supposed squeeze the shrimp?  That can't be moral, can it?  This looks interesting, too.  But what kind of name is Bok Choy?  What kind of EVIL PERSON would come up with that kind of name and much more name an innocent bunch of leaves that?  Now PECHAY sounds so much better.  It's chic.  It's elegant.  It's graceful.  Like a pirouette.  


Chicken Curry.  This is delicious in it's unadulterated form but in my hands... it could be the last dish you'll ever eat.  I could already see myself using Curry Paste instead of Curry Powder simply because there's Curry Paste in the fridge and it's been feeling neglected of late and if I brought home Curry Powder it might get depressed and change color and harbor ill feelings and spores and kill us all.  So what if it's the color of ferric oxide--it'll just turn my Chicken Curry into a lovely shade red.  Hey--!  What is this?  You can either use Coconut Milk or EVAPORATED Milk?!  What?!  EVAP?!  Really?  Would cow's milk do?  (Have you ever considered the fact that cow's milk is also breast milk?  Probably not.  I am proud to be the one to have opened your eyes.)


Afritada!  But nothing beats Nang Prime's afritada.  It's a waste of time trying.


Chop Suey.   I might want to cook this some day when I get my hands on a bag of fish balls.  This is MADE of FISH.  Not A PART of a fish.  Just so you know.

Quite by Accident

I want you by Fiona Apple


Oh my baby, baby
I love you more than I can tell
I don't think I can live without you
And I know that I never will

Oh my baby, baby
I want you so it scares me to death
I can't say anymore than "I love you"
Everything else is a waste of breath

I want you
You've had your fun
You don't get, well, no more
I want you
Your fingernails go dragging down the wall 
Be careful, darling
You might fall

I want you
I woke up and one of us was crying
I want you
You said "Young man, I do believe you're dying,"
I want you
If you need a second opinion
(As you seem to do these days)
I want you
You can look in my eyes
And you can count the ways

I want you
Did you mean to tell me, but seem to forget?
I want you
Since when were you so generously inarticulate?
I want you
It's the stupid details that my heart is breaking for
It's the way your shoulders shake
And what they're shaking for
I want you
It's knowing that he knows you now
After only guessing
It's the thought of him undressing you
Or you undressing

I want you
He tossed some tatty compliment your way
I want you
And you were fool enough to love it
When he said "I want you"

I want you
The truth can't hurt you
It's just like the dark
It scares you witless 
But in time you see things clear and stark
I want you
Go on and hurt me
Then we'll let it drop
I want you
I'm afraid I won't know where to stop
I want you
I'm not ashamed to say I cried for you
I want you
I want to know the things you did that we do too
I want you
I want to hear he pleases you more than I do
I want you
I might as well be useless for all it means to you
I want you
Did you call his name out as he held you down?
I want you
Oh no, my darling, not with that clown...
I want you

You've had your fun
You don't get, well, no more
I want you
No one who wants you could want you more

I want you
I want you
Every night when I go off to bed
And when I wake up
I want you
I'm going to say it once again
Till I instill it
I know I'm going to feel this way until you kill it
I want you
I want you
I want you... 


I found this song quite by accident on youtube.  I had though it was awesome... and then I read this:


(http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/60169/)

"Sub-Urban-Ite  
11-18-2008

Rated -1 

Actually, while the song is rather creepy (and awesome), it's not as simple as a cheating spouse. Originally titled "House", this song was a Side B that wasn't really ever meant to be recorded. Costello was drunk during the recording session. It is a tragic story told from the point of view of a man who's lover is admitted to an asylum, where she is repeatedly raped by a night guard. In her drugged and disorientated state, she is in a sense brainwashed into falling in 'love' with the guard, and grows distant to her anguished lover, who has figured out what has been going on, but can't do anything to stop it. By the end of the song, the man has been so distraught about the situation, he becomes insane himself... "

Now it's... sad.

Are You a Floater or a Sinker? Is This a Personal Question?

I'm thinking I'm too anxious to write.  I can't find my camera anywhere!  I've searched in the most likely places, that is, the most unlikely ones, and it's not anywhere!  It's the 3rd day since I noticed it's been missing and I've retraced my steps up until Monday when I last took photos of Leia gallivanting outside.  I had not wanted to consider it but it must have fallen out of my pocket--that is the only logical explanation--otherwise, it would be here, but it's not, and I know, because I've searched under the shoes, under the couch, under the bed, and the entire world of under!  Things don't exactly make a thud in the snow, I must have missed it when it fell.  I remember having to carry Leia some 200 meters on the way back because she'd decided that was more fun that way.  I want it to be morning already so I can search for it outside, perhaps it did fall in the snow and got buried deep in it with only the string flapping up in the wind as if desperately trying to call out to me and I'd be the only one to notice because I'm the only one who knows that it's possibly my camera.  I just want to find it real bad.  That camera's been with me through thick and thin, rain and snow, autumn and tropical weather.  I hope I find it.  I really do.  


I had wanted to talk about snow and the different kinds of snow.  I have felt deceived when I found out that you can't make a snowman just because it is snowing, aside from the fact that you need enough, and this is another matter altogether because in the movies, when it snowed, it always did until it was a foot deep, at least.  I had not known that it could snow so little  as to cover the ground only for a  few millimeters.  You can't make a snowman out of that...I think, unless...well, a miniature snowman, perhaps.  Anyway, had my camera been right here in my arms safe and warm, I would have been able to write some of the things I did learn about ice, snow, the cold, and the grass underneath that looks green and healthy despite it being dead, or so Nils told me.  He said they only looked alive.  Zombie grass.  How cool is that?  Despite my fascination with zombie movies, not really zombies themselves, and by association, zombie grass, I really won't be able to write down anything close to coherent, at least as coherent as I can get.  I am too distracted.  Where the hell is that camera?


I would like to note, despite my current preoccupation, a certain kind of personality that exists in all kinds of culture--and now we step into the bigot and fascinating world of stereotyping complex dynamic life forms--regardless of size, height, mass, color, and sexual orientation.  Just when you are wanting to be ignored and left by yourself, complete strangers as they are, they will pick a conversation with you, and within 5 minutes you will realize that it will take more than a horde of stampeding wild horses to make this person stop talking TO YOU.  Now I can be talkative, as anyone can, its just a matter of motivation, may it be spirits, torture, mushrooms--button mushrooms being my favorite--, etc., but I will never willingly pick a conversation with a stranger (it is unkind to encroach on someone else's personal space) and will not hesitate to come to the conclusion that this person is CREEPY and will immediately commence fight or flight response.  I'm still worried about my camera.  I think I will meditate as to its whereabouts.  CIAO.


PS.  And no, I'm not, unfortunately, a floater.  I'm a sinker.  I sink to the bottom of anything, be it fresh water, see water, chlorinated water, polluted water, rain water, etc, despite kicking and splashing like my life depended on it, and most of the time, it usually does.

Scared Shitless

I like writing, well, not really writing, per se, I also like typing, in fact, I prefer typing and I am quite a capable typist as my High School strived hard to teach its student the ancient art of typing using the ancient instrument called Pica and another less ancient one whose name I have forgotten--a smaller, lighter model, much easier to handle and renders much less damage to the little pinky should it slide underneath the SHIFT KEY as it is wont to do after some minutes of typing in a room full of other typists breathing heavily the warm afternoon air--because I had the luck or misfortune of not being assigned to one.  I landed with the PICA sitting right in front of the teacher, Mrs Trinidad, I think, tall woman, good strong stance, curly likely combative hair (combats straightening shampoos, blow-driers, iron, etc).  Yes, I am fond of writing, as such, I write about everything, like that one instance when Leia and I decided to have  walk at about 4 pm--it had looked like it was already 6 pm, the snow was glowing eerily, a strange kind of blue punctuated by yellow and some brown (art work from resident dogs) when we heard a yell.  It sounded like a yell.  From experience, I expected to see a bunch of kids (adolescents) doing the primitive form of mating dance, courtship, that is, teasing with hints of aggression, the kind you see insects display, like the praying mantis, for example, but alas!  We found a lone woman walking hurriedly, hunched as if recovering from a kick in the stomach, and gripping her phone in a vice-like grip.  She was weeping.  She called someone and though I could not understand what she was saying, I understood the agony in her words--she had screamed them.  I felt like an intruder.  Leia felt... well, she looked comfortable in her seat.  I had wanted to go to her and tell her she was strong, whatever it was, she was stardust, she, well, the atoms that made her up, were 436 billions years old, she could handle this (although whoever had hurt her this bad was also made up of atoms of the same age, I would not have mentioned this), but I couldn't have talked to her.  For one thing, it would have had been a horrible crime to have had invaded on someone's privacy, second, I could not speak the languages she understood (there is body language, but surely, you think a weeping woman on the run would have time for a game of charades?)  Oh, I almost forgot, I had wanted to write about horror movies/series/films/plays/MGB...  Oh yeah, that program with Noli de Castro was a great loss, indeed.  It's surely worth more than the Vice-Presidency.  Come of think of it, doesn't the name Noli sound strange?  Was he named after the book?  If that is really the case, then wouldn't his name really mean:  Not de Castro?  If you're Spanish and you ask like this: "Are you Not de Castro?"  Would he then say:  "Yes, I am Not de Castro"?  So much for writing about horrific things.  Anyway, I always found The Possessed 1 (aka The Exorcist--it was really about the possessed, wasn't it?  The possessed one had more airtime--if it were a TV show, but it's not, however, I do not know the proper term for films so airtime would have to do) to be scariest.  Then there's Night of the Living Dead by none other than Giorgio Armani.  Haha!  Then there's...what was it?  Damn.  The Running Dead?  The one film that started the running zombies.  That was like bending the rules of physics but it panned out.  Running zombies were much much much scarier.  Resident Evil doesn't count.  That movie is more in the league of Spider Man the Return of Batman Begins the Fantastic Iron Man.  Hmmm... I've bored myself.  I think I will write about sad songs now.

What I Didn't Know Then

Another year has passed and alas!  A treasure trove of things have we all learned, some welcome, some not, some invited, some forced upon us (think Pink Floyd:  Another Brick in the Wall).  I must say I've quite a few discoveries myself, for example:

1.  It was early Autumn when the temperature had only just started to dive that I found myself nursing a growing headache early in the morning as I was tripping along hopping and humming on my merry way to the VHS and as such found myself automatically trying to characterize the maturing cephalalgia when to my surprise I realized that the pain was radiating from the fleshy lateral extensions attached to my head.  My EARS were FROZEN.  You see the thing is, I had never had my ears frozen before.  How was I supposed to know that sort of thing gives you a headache?

2.  Never fall on the snooo on your face--accidentally or otherwise (say for example you were curious etc)--take  note ice is a different thing, in which case it would be like ramming your face against concrete below freezing point.  It hurts like crazy, snooo, similar to being punched in the face by a really huge fist the size of your head.  Don't ask me how I know.  Let me just say I'm not curious anymore.

3.  When it's really cold, your face will lose most if not all of its tactile senses therefore making it possible for snot to do what snot usually does that is escape the confines of your nose and enjoy the fresh air without you knowing it.

4.  Walking in snow is no joke.  It's like ploughing through thick layers of snow.  Right.  It's bit difficult trying to explain this.  Imagine it like this, before when I saw scenes in movies set somewhere snowy (like Lord of the Rings the Fellowship of the Ring) and I saw people walking in say ankle deep snow, nothing really much registers but the fact that snow is white, powdery, and cold--the cold part more imagined than actual.  It's cold.  I put my hand in the frige, that's cold.  But that's just it, I take my hand away, of course, do you think I'm crazy to stick my hand in there for longer than a second?  Anyway, that's as far as my experience of cold went, but now... I know cold.  I look at the snowy scene and I shudder.

5.  Now it gets funny.  I've seen wintry settings so often I can honestly say I do not find its strange--but I have never FELT how it felt to be somewhere cold--now that is new.  The tactile part are all so peculiar, unfelt before, strange...  like cold feet.  The secret to keeping warm, I am told, is all in the feet.  I was wrapped up like lumpia once and I was still shaking to my bones.  I was barefoot.  What?  I thought it was all about the important organs, brain, heart, liver, kidneys... you know, the fleshy ones that always play key roles in drama being shot, stabbed, eaten, squished and squashed...

6.  The Sun.  It does not go up to the zenith--seriously, this is creepy.  I was taking a walk once thinking it was 4 pm and wondering what the hell I had doing all morning because obviously it was already half of the day and I had not only wasted half the day, I had no memory about how I wasted it at all--but alas!  It was 10 in the morning.  Tricky tricky.  I've a feeling a sun dial might be a little difficult to make here.

7.  Going out with wet hair.  I've never done this--some pretty good advice from my sister.

...and the list goes on... I just mentioned the more important ones.  Life lessons like how to detect a toddler fleeing the scene of a crime can be left unmentioned.

Have You Seen a Fat Vampire?

Have you?

Seriously.

Have you???

Diff Diff Sniff Sniff

Today I noticed my knuckles turning dark.  They started to form scales over the joints of my fingers.  When  I washed my hands they all stung--dry and scaly skin are friable.  I hope this word means what I think it means otherwise if it means close to how it sounds then it means my fingers are more or less fried.  That's how I remember new worlds, you know.  Some times it helps, some times it doesn't.  Like for example:

Ear = Ohr
Hair = Haar
Cup = Tasse (tasa, quite close to the Bisaya version).

...and when it doesn't help:

Bein = Leg
Leaf = Blatt
Tree = Bauch

But exercises like these make the day less cold:

B:  Ist Herr Janssen nicht hier?
A:  Nein, er kommt heute nicht.
B:  Ist etwas passiert?
A:  Ja, zwei Polizisten waren bei Herrn Janssen.  Sie haben geklingelt.
B:  Polizisten?  Was ist denn passiert?
A:  Na ja, er war nicht da.
B:  Ist es schlimm?
A:  Nein, das nicht.  Aber die Polizisten sind wieder gegangen.

B:  Hast du es schon gehoert?  Die Sache mit Herr Janssen?
C:  Nein, was denn?
B:  Zwei Polizisten waren bei Herrn Janssen.  Sie haben geklingelt.
C:  Mein Gott!  War es schlimm?
B:  Ja, die Polizisten sind eine halbe Stunde geblieben, dann gegangen.

C:  Haben Sie es schon gehoert?
D:  Nein!  Was denn?
C:  Zwei Polizisten waren bei Herrn Jansen.  Sie haben geklingelt.
D:  Was ist denn passiert?
C:  Die Polizisten haben Herrn Jansen mitgenommen.
D:  Das ist ja schrecklich!

Gossip.

I was feeling unusually buoyant Saturday as Leia and I had a walk [no no no no, I keep forgetting.  She had a seat and I had a vigorous walk].  I kept wondering what it was that set my spirits soaring, now I remember.  As I passed by one parked car, this man had his stereo on high volume and the song went...

Pretty woman, stop a while
Pretty woman, talk a while
Pretty woman, gave your smile to me...


Anyway, what I wanted to note was, before I forget, that I never saw anyone combing their hair, or fixing their hair for that matter, in public.  I've never seen anyone fixing themselves.  I've never even seen anyone run their HANDS in their hair either.  I mentioned this to Nils and he said I was right.  And I pointed out that you see people doing this all time in public in the Philippines, why not here?  All he said was 'it was not appropriate'.  I went away in a huff like I imagine Hufflepuff of the house of Hufflepuff would have huffed and puffed.


We do so many things that are inappropriate.  We bathe in the rain.  Half-naked.  As kids.  Adults run naked in the streets and call it Oblation Run.  Why cover the face, though?  Ah.  I've been reading this book and it's great.  Here's a taste:


"What we refer to as customs or culture is inscribed in our genes.  Cultural evolution began in prehistoric times.  That was when our mind was laid out.  Sure, these days we design aeroplanes, helicopter carriers and opera houses, but only to continue our primitive activities on a so-called civilised plane..."


I am not done reading it yet.  I will be soon.  That will make me really sad.


Yeah.  It's like a Greek Tragedy.


But seriously, Greek Tragedies do not compare to Norse Tragedies, they just didn't have Ovid or Homer to write theirs.  Take Signy and Sigurd.  Ah Signy.  Can Medea really compare to her?  Or Clytemnestra?  Sadly, I think not.


I had found this one single word that I thought perfectly described Terry Pratchett's novels, but I forgot it about 2 hours after having thought about it.  Then about after 1 day of obsessing about it, I remembered and I thought I'd never forget it again because I already had, but then, to my dismay, I did, I have, and until now it still eludes me.  Damn.