Only Lyrically

Month: November, 2008

dedicatori

 

 

Hey Cherie.

 

 

 

Time

(written by Tom Waits; performed by Tori Amos for the David Letterman show, just a week after the 9/11 attacks)

the smart money’s on harlow
and the moon is in the street
and the shadow boys are breaking all the laws
you’re east of east st. louis
and the wind is making speeches
and the rain sounds like a round of applause
and napoleon is weeping in a carnival saloon
his invisible fiance is in the mirror
the band is going home
it’s raining hammers, it’s raining nails
it’s true, there’s nothing left for him down here

and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
that you love
and it’s time time time

well they all pretend they’re orphans
and their memory’s like a train
you can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
and the things you can’t rememeber
tell the things you can’t forget
that history puts a saint in every dream

well she said she’d stick around
until the bandages came off
but these mama boys just don’t know when to quit
matilda asks the sailors, are those dreams
or are those prayers
so just close your eyes, son
this won’t hurt a bit

and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
that you love
and it’s time time time

well, things are pretty lousy for a calendar girl
the boys just dive right off the cars
and splash into the street
and when they’re on a roll
she pulls a razor from her boot
and a thousand pigeons fall around her feet
so put a candle in the window
and a kiss upon his lips
as the dish outside the window fills with rain
just like a stranger with the weeds in your heart
and pay the fiddler off till i come back again

and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
that you love
and it’s time time time

it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time
that you love
and it’s time time…time

“One day you will open your eyes and see her.” – Neil Gaiman, for Strange Little Girls

See you Sunday, girl. 🙂

Another Week In Limbo (and it’s only Wednesday!)

 

 

Ditched the people of the Philippines versus the petty crooks again. Had to. It gets weirder and weirder there by the day. My desk has been turned into a kitchen lately. My typewriter Mr. Matura, the only real civil servant that I have known for the past ten years, is now side by side with the electric stove, the rice cooker, and other utensils. It’s okay. I get to pick on the food with my bare, carbon paper dirtied hands, when nobody’s looking.

Been enjoying writing for friends. I have two assignments pending. One on Lifehouse (God I so want to be a music journalist! Paging Pulp! Paging Rolling Stone! Yeah right, ehehehe), and one for Gospel Comics (God I so want to be a gospel writer! Paging Louie Jon Sanchez! Paging CFA! Yeah right, after I ditched the exam date).

Have been running out of printed resumes. Have to go to work tomorrow so I could print out more copies.

It will do, though the Supreme Court only issues dot matrix printers. The indomitable dot matrix printer! Astig!

Jesus Christ, wait… it’s only Tuesday!… Tuesday again?

That means it’s been a week since the first part of the exam in that Makati writing/research firm. No call backs yet. Would it be impolite to follow-up? I feel like making a follow up.

Tori has a song called Wednesday. It goes –

Nothing here to fear
I’m just sitting around
being foolish when there
is work to be done
Just a hang-up call
and the quiet breathing
of our Persian
we call Cajun on a Wednesday

so we go from year to year
with secrets we’ve been
keeping
Though you say you’re
not a Templar man

Seems as if we’re
circling for very
different reasons
But one day the Eagle
has to land

Out past the fountain
a left by the station
I start the day
in the usual way
Then think
— well why not —

and stop for a coffee
then begin to recall
things that you say

No one’s at the door
You suggest a ghost
perhaps a phantom
I agree with this in part
Something is with us
I can’t put my
finger on —
is Thumbalina size 10
on a Wednesday —

so we go from year to year
with secrets we’ve been
keeping
Though you say you’re
not a Templar man

Seems as if we’re
circling for very
different reasons
But one day the Eagle
has to land

Out past the fountain
a left by the station
I start the day
in the usual way
Then think — well why not —
and stop for a coffee
then begin to recall
things that you say
Pluck up the courage
and snap it’s gone again
I start humming “When Doves
Cry”

Can someone help me
I think that I’m
Lost here
Lost in a place
called
America

What could it mean when you are losing track of the days?

Jessie from Before Sunset says time is an illusion. T. S. Eliot wrote something about time too –

Because I know that time is always time

And place is always and only place

And what is actual is only actual for one time

And only for one place

I rejoice that things are as they are and

I renounce the blessed face

And renounce the voice

Because I cannot hope to turn again

Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something

Upon which to rejoice

That was part of his poem called Ash Wednesday.

The thing is during the past couple of days, I pissed off some friends in a major way. And I am running out of ideas on how to make amends.

Paging Susanna Heights!

I wish it’s Sunday already. Everything will be well come Sunday.

Wait, what day is it today, really?

It IS Wednesday! Jesus…

With A Heart That’s Full Up Like A Landfill

 

 

Right in the warm belly of our dirty, pretty city…

Rancid’s And Out Come The Wolves. Which means Nanay could now throw away my tape. But not the sleeves!

Coldplay’s Parachutes, X&Y (“still my heart and hold my tounge i feel my time my time is come let me in unlock the door i never felt this way before the wheels just keep on turning the drummer begins to drum i don’t know which way i’m goin’ i don’t know which way i’ve come hold my hand inside your hands i need someone who understands i need someone someone who hears for you i’ve waited all these years for you i’ll wait ’til kingdom come until my day my day is done and say you’ll come and set me free just say you’ll wait you’ll wait for me”… they sound like Johnny Cash!), and Viva La Vida or Death And All His Friends, and A Rush Of Blood To The Head.

Led Zepelin’s II, III, and Coda.

The Clash’s Sandinista.

Alice In Chain’s Jar Of Flies.

And I got Mga Gitarista (featuring Jun Lopito, Francis Reyes, Mike Elgar, Barbie Almalbis, etc.) and an Apo Hiking Society thing for my bro, who was with me by the way (he had to buy strings from Raon). Oh, and corn-on-the-cob! Munching on it while walking towards Espana.

But nothing beats the joy of seeing OK Computer at the shelf of M1 Glorietta last Thursday, after another exam. A heart that’s full up like a landfill. I guess I’m not that jinxed in Makati, afterall. I did spend my 30th birthday there, and singing The Rose. And with my dearest friends cheering me on and holding me close. Oh how quickly I forget!

That’s exactly why I need mister pen. He helps me remember. Like he just did, right now, here.

Thank you thank you thank you…