Activism
"Activism, in a general sense, can be described as intentional action to bring about social, political, economic, or environmental change. This action is in support of, or opposition to, one side of an often controversial argument.
The word "activism" is often used synonymously with protest or dissent, but activism can stem from any number of political orientations and take a wide range of forms from writing letters to newspapers or politicians, political campaigning, economic activism such as boycotts or preferentially patronizing businesses, rallies, street marches, strikes, both work stoppages and hunger strikes, or even guerrilla tactics."
(Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Activism)
Misconceptions
It has been said more than a few times that political activists are nothing but nuisance. ?some say they clog up the streets or that they were paid by a political rival to oppose another politician.
Well, let's clear that up. There are three kinds of activists, in my view, in the Philippine scene. One is "mobocracy" (in contrast to democracy, that the view of the majority, here it takes the view of the mob); the ones that blame a politician for their strife. They blame the person and only the person (even though it is the system that corrupts the person). They are the ones who usually pay people to join their rallies. They reach in great numbers but their purpose and/or principles are usually a blur, even to themselves. They are the ones that are closest to the word nuisance.
Second; there are the extremists. These are the ones who agitate the people for a revolution. They want a civil war yet their reason for it is not quite clear. They understand their purpose but fail to impart that view to the masses. These are the ones who either crave power or just wants to see the world burn.
And third; there are the activists who are filled with theories and applies those theories. They also impart those theories to the masses. They take these principles from philosopher-socialists who have proven themselves times over. These theories have been tested and proven all over the world; lessons learned from history are taken in part.
The third kind of activists arouse the masses political awareness, organize the masses to take action against oppression, corruption, destruction, injustice and mobilize them towards social, political, economic and environmental change.
(Let us call the third kind of activists "the movement" for this essay)
The movement teaches the masses all their views of a better world, all the theories and lessons how to get there in an alternative school they cal PaDePa or Pambasnsang Demokratikong Paaralan (National Democratic School). The movement is composed of freedom loving, democracy seeking and justice driven youths as a majority of their numbers. Making a living proof of Jose Rizal's statement that the youth is the hope of the motherland.
Yet some say that we are too young. Well, "say not 'I am too young.' to whomever I send you, you shall go; what ever I command you, you shall speak. Have no fear before them, because I am with you to deliver you says the Lord." (Jeremiah 1:7-8)
We should not leave the politics to the politicians. We are the future of this world and whatever they sow, The youth will reap. The youth, the movement should takes part on politics because if the youth does not then there will be no hope for the country.
The decaying system
The movement takes legal ways to bring forth change, yet the government ignores their petition and even discards them. Most of the government officials do not want change because the system feeds their greed for land, wealth and power (to the point that they oppress the poor). So the movement takes to the streets and filling it with their cries for social justice. "Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy." (Proverbs 31:8-9) Fighting for the rights of the oppressed. "Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed. Rescue the weak and needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked." (Psalm 82:3-4) To set the captives free "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, 19to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." (Luke 4:18-19) To free all from the oppressive and decaying system and oppressive government.
"Woe to the shepherds of Israel who only take care of themselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? You eat the curds, clothe yourselves with the wool and slaughter the choice animals, but you do not take care of the flock. You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill. They were scattered over the whole earth, and no one searched or looked for them.
" 'Therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the LORD : As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, because my flock lacks a shepherd and so has been plundered and has become food for all the wild animals, and because my shepherds did not search for my flock but cared for themselves rather than for my flock, therefore, O shepherds, hear the word of the LORD : This is what the Sovereign LORD says: I am against the shepherds and will hold them accountable for my flock. I will remove them from tending the flock so that the shepherds can no longer feed themselves. I will rescue my flock from their mouths, and it will no longer be food for them." (Ezekiel 34:2-10)
A system of the oppressive government filled with people of lies.
"This is what the LORD says:
"As for the prophets
who lead my people astray,
if one feeds them,
they proclaim 'peace';
if he does not,
they prepare to wage war against him.
"Therefore night will come over you, without visions,
and darkness, without divination.
The sun will set for the prophets,
and the day will go dark for them.
"The seers will be ashamed
and the diviners disgraced.
They will all cover their faces
because there is no answer from God."
"But as for me, I am filled with power,
with the Spirit of the LORD,
and with justice and might,
to declare to Jacob his transgression,
to Israel his sin.
"Hear this, you leaders of the house of Jacob,
you rulers of the house of Israel,
who despise justice
and distort all that is right;
"who build Zion with bloodshed,
and Jerusalem with wickedness.
"Her leaders judge for a bribe,
her priests teach for a price,
and her prophets tell fortunes for money.
Yet they lean upon the LORD and say,
"Is not the LORD among us?
No disaster will come upon us."
"Therefore because of you,
Zion will be plowed like a field,
Jerusalem will become a heap of rubble,
the temple hill a mound overgrown with thickets."
(Micah 3:5-12)
The Ideal System
The movement is Fighting the system. They aim to bring forth a new and better world.
"Behold, I will create
new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.
But be glad and rejoice forever
in what I will create,
for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight
and its people a joy.
I will rejoice over Jerusalem
and take delight in my people;
the sound of weeping and of crying
will be heard in it no more.
"Never again will there be in it
an infant who lives but a few days,
or an old man who does not live out his years;
he who dies at a hundred
will be thought a mere youth;
he who fails to reach [a] a hundred
will be considered accursed.
They will build houses and dwell in them;
they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
No longer will they build houses and others live in them,
or plant and others eat.
For as the days of a tree,
so will be the days of my people;
my chosen ones will long enjoy
the works of their hands.
They will not toil in vain
or bear children doomed to misfortune;
for they will be a people blessed by the LORD,
they and their descendants with them.
Before they call I will answer;
while they are still speaking I will hear.
The wolf and the lamb will feed together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox,
but dust will be the serpent's food.
They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,"
(Isaiah 65:17-25)
This new world where the system ends all misery.
"However, there should be no poor among you, for in the land the LORD your God is giving you to possess as your inheritance, he will richly bless you," (Deuteronomy 15:4)
They are the activists with integrity. putting the people [learn to do right!Seek justice, encourage the oppressed.Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.(Isaiah 1:17)] and the new world before themselves.
Being Passive
If you have seen what this decaying and oppressive system does to your fellow men, do not turn away. Yes, the Lord said turn the other cheek but not towards your neighbor. Do not think that the movement is fighting for themselves but rather for for your neighbors. Be the light of the world.
Showing posts with label Orville "chubby" Basas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Orville "chubby" Basas. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16
Friday, January 8
bagong taon: bagong rebolusyonaryo!
Bagong taon: bagong Pag-asa.
Ito ang madalas na bukambibigng mga tao. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pagsubok na dapat malampasan. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pag-asa at bagong pagkakataon.
Siguro nga may katotohanan sa mga sinasabi nila. Sa bagong taon ay lilitaw ang bagong suliranin. Ngunit kung titingnan natin ng maigi, kahit sa kalagitnaan ng taon ay may mga bagong pagsubok. Kahit nga noong patapos ang 2009 ay lumitaw ang bagong suliranin.
Ano ito..?
Ang walang awa at walang kabuluhang pagpaslang ng mga tao sa Maguindanao.
Atheto pa: ang paglilinlang ng gobyerno at pagpapabagal ng paghatid ng katarungan sa masaker sa Maguindanao.
At mas mahayop pa sa sahul: nagdeklara ng walang basehan at iligal na martial law ang pekeng presidente na si Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.
At ngayong bagong taon, Huwag tayong umasa na babago ang mga kabulukang ito. Totoo na maybagong suliranin na lilitaw pero lumang-luma na at nabubulok na nga ang ugat na pinanggagalingan nito: ang Sistemang mala-kolonyal at malapyudal na lipunan na pilit na pinananatili ng mga burokrata-Kapitalista at mga gahaman sa lupa at pera.
Lumang sistema ang sanhi ng matagalang pagkakalugmok natin sa kadiliman, karahasan at kahirapan.
Ngunit may bagong pag-asa.
Makakamit lang natin ang bago at masaganang pamumuhay kung matagumpay na mawasak natin ang kadenang nagtatali sa atin sa nabubulok nana sistema.
Pero ano nga ba ang bagong pag-asa?
Hindi 'ano' kundi 'SINO'.
Tayo!
Tayong KABATAAN ay dapat na pag-aralan ang lipunan, tukuyin ang sanhi ng mga paghihirap ng masa at gumawa ng mga tamang hakbang paramapalaya ang sambayanang Pilipino mula sa pang-aapi ng mga naghahring uri.
Tayong KABABAIHAN ay dapat baguhin ang tingin sa sarili at sa proseso ay mabago ang tingin ng iba sa atin. Tukuyin na ang ugat ng mababang pagtinginsa kababaihan ay ang sistemang nabubulok.
Tayong MANGGAGAWA ay dapat malaman ang tamang pamamalakad, tamang pangangalaga sa kapwa.Pag-aralan natin ang lipunan at maging hukbo na magpapalaya ngsambayanan at ng sangkatauhan.
Tayong MAGSASAKA ay dapat alamin ang karapatan, ipaglaban ang kabuhayan at bayan. Alamin na tayo ang puwersa na magpapalaya sa sarili at magbubukas ng isip ng tao sa bulokna lipunan.
Tayong MAG-AARAL ay dapat na matuto sa masa. Huwag tayong magsawang mag-aral ng lipunan, matuto sa masa at magturo ng tamang hakbang sa pagpapalaya ng bayan.
Buksan natin ang ating mga mata at isipan. Alamin natin ang kabulukan ng nag-iiral na sistema. wasakin natin ito at isulong ang bagong sistema na mag-aahon sa atin mula sa putik na ating kinaroroonan.
Ang bagong pag-asa ay: ang mulat; ang pagmulat sa mga nagbubulag-bulagan at nagbibingi-bingihan;
Pagmulat ng sangkatauhan.
At sa pagpula ng silangan, lalaya na ang sambayanan.
Ito ang madalas na bukambibigng mga tao. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pagsubok na dapat malampasan. Dala daw ng bagong taon ay bagong pag-asa at bagong pagkakataon.
Siguro nga may katotohanan sa mga sinasabi nila. Sa bagong taon ay lilitaw ang bagong suliranin. Ngunit kung titingnan natin ng maigi, kahit sa kalagitnaan ng taon ay may mga bagong pagsubok. Kahit nga noong patapos ang 2009 ay lumitaw ang bagong suliranin.
Ano ito..?
Ang walang awa at walang kabuluhang pagpaslang ng mga tao sa Maguindanao.
Atheto pa: ang paglilinlang ng gobyerno at pagpapabagal ng paghatid ng katarungan sa masaker sa Maguindanao.
At mas mahayop pa sa sahul: nagdeklara ng walang basehan at iligal na martial law ang pekeng presidente na si Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.
At ngayong bagong taon, Huwag tayong umasa na babago ang mga kabulukang ito. Totoo na maybagong suliranin na lilitaw pero lumang-luma na at nabubulok na nga ang ugat na pinanggagalingan nito: ang Sistemang mala-kolonyal at malapyudal na lipunan na pilit na pinananatili ng mga burokrata-Kapitalista at mga gahaman sa lupa at pera.
Lumang sistema ang sanhi ng matagalang pagkakalugmok natin sa kadiliman, karahasan at kahirapan.
Ngunit may bagong pag-asa.
Makakamit lang natin ang bago at masaganang pamumuhay kung matagumpay na mawasak natin ang kadenang nagtatali sa atin sa nabubulok nana sistema.
Pero ano nga ba ang bagong pag-asa?
Hindi 'ano' kundi 'SINO'.
Tayo!
Tayong KABATAAN ay dapat na pag-aralan ang lipunan, tukuyin ang sanhi ng mga paghihirap ng masa at gumawa ng mga tamang hakbang paramapalaya ang sambayanang Pilipino mula sa pang-aapi ng mga naghahring uri.
Tayong KABABAIHAN ay dapat baguhin ang tingin sa sarili at sa proseso ay mabago ang tingin ng iba sa atin. Tukuyin na ang ugat ng mababang pagtinginsa kababaihan ay ang sistemang nabubulok.
Tayong MANGGAGAWA ay dapat malaman ang tamang pamamalakad, tamang pangangalaga sa kapwa.Pag-aralan natin ang lipunan at maging hukbo na magpapalaya ngsambayanan at ng sangkatauhan.
Tayong MAGSASAKA ay dapat alamin ang karapatan, ipaglaban ang kabuhayan at bayan. Alamin na tayo ang puwersa na magpapalaya sa sarili at magbubukas ng isip ng tao sa bulokna lipunan.
Tayong MAG-AARAL ay dapat na matuto sa masa. Huwag tayong magsawang mag-aral ng lipunan, matuto sa masa at magturo ng tamang hakbang sa pagpapalaya ng bayan.
Buksan natin ang ating mga mata at isipan. Alamin natin ang kabulukan ng nag-iiral na sistema. wasakin natin ito at isulong ang bagong sistema na mag-aahon sa atin mula sa putik na ating kinaroroonan.
Ang bagong pag-asa ay: ang mulat; ang pagmulat sa mga nagbubulag-bulagan at nagbibingi-bingihan;
Pagmulat ng sangkatauhan.
At sa pagpula ng silangan, lalaya na ang sambayanan.
sa mga kamag-aral ko sa paaralan ng buhay
Ikaw ba ay estudyante ng isang unibersidad? May kaya ba ang pamilya mo? Sapat ba ang baon mo sa pangaraw-araw?
Tumaas ang presyo ng langis.
Sino ba ang may kasalanan? Ang mga tsuper ba na may sariling anak na pinagpapaaral? Siyempre hindi. Si mamang tsuper ay nagtaas ng pamasahe dahil tumaas ang presyo ng langis. Eh sino ang may sala? Ang pump boy ba sa gasoline station? Mas lalong hinde, biktima din siya sa araw araw niyang pagcommute papunta ng pinagtratrabahuhan niya.
Ang totoong may sala ay ang gobyerno.
Bakit 'ka mo? Dati ay may kontrol ang gobyerno sa presyo ng langis. Kayang pigilan ng gobyerno kung hinihingi ng mga commuters na babaan ang langis. Eh putik pa sa putik, sira yata ulo ng gobyerno, nagpasa ng oil deregulation law. Patay si Juan. Ngayon kung gusto ng Petron, Shell at Caltex mag oil price hike eh 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno. Sa makatuwid, walang kwenta ang gobyerno! Inaalagaan nila ang mga dayuhang kumpanya ng langis at pinapahirapan ang mga mamamayan na dapat nilang inaalagaan.
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Araw-araw, mula lunes hanggang sabado me pasok eh. Kailangang magbyahe. Eh sa pagtaas ng langis tataas ang pamasahe. Therefore I conclude na apektadong apektado ang mga estudyante.
Education.
Sa mga private schools, colleges and universities ay nag baba ng deregulation law. Ibig sabihin ay 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno kung gusto ng unibersidad na magtaas ng tuition fee. O 'di naman kaya ay maningil ng walang kabuluhan na mga bayarin. Muli: Walang kwentang gobyerno!
Tulad ng oil companies, ang mga paaralang ito ay nasa loob ng Pilipinas. Napapasailalim ng pamahalaa ng Pilipinas. Bakit namang binigyan ng independence ang mga 'to? 'Di ba dapat hawak parin sila ng pamahalaan?
Sa buong systema ng edukasyon sa Pilipinas, may buget ang gobyerno para dito. Ang badyet na ito ay 'di umanong mula sa mga buwis na binabayaran ng lahat ng Pilipino. (take note: kahit 'di ka pa 18 at wala ka pang sedula, nagbabayad ka ng buwis sa oras na bumili ka ng kahit na ano, mapa McDo o sari-sari store.) Ang dapat na badyet ay 6 percent ng gross national income (correct me if I'm wrong) Ngunit binawasan ito at ginawang 2 percent. ang binawas ay gagamitin daw umano sa pagbayad ng mga utang ng Pilipinas. Sa dami-daming pera paroo't parito sa mga NBN-ZTE at fertilizer scam, may Euro generals pa, bakit ang edukasyon pa ang binawasan? Kung di ba naman ga*uhan 'to!
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Eh edukasyon ang pakay natin sa pag punta sa paaralan.
Sa pamumulita.
Sa korapsyon.
Sa divertion of funds.
Sa illigal abduction ng gobyerno.
Sa 1 milyong piso na hapunan.
Sa mga kabulastugan ng mga politiko.
Sa mga kasinungalingan ng pangulo.
Sa pamamaslang nga mga kabataan at mamamahayag.
Sa criminal neglect ng gobyerno sa mga nasalanta ng bagyo.
Sa mga manlolokong tatakbo bilang pangulo.
Ang bawat estudyante ng kahit na anung unibersidad ay dapat makialam sa mga issue ng Pilipinas.
Ito ang tahanan ng ating lahi, ang lupang sinilangan. Naging Pilipino tayo bago naging estudyante ng PCU. Naging mag-aaral tayo ng Pilipinas simula sa pagkabata hanggang sa huling hininga natin.
Kabataan!
Pag-aralan ninyo ang ating lipunan. Alamin ang tamang mga hakbang. Huwag matakot! Na sa MGA KAMAY NATIN ANG PAGLAYA NG BAYAN MULA SA BULOK NA SISTEMA NA GUSTONG IPANATILI NG MGA TUTANG POLIKO NG ESTADOS UNIDOS.
GUMISING KA KABATAAN!
Ika nga ni Rizal: "ang kabataan ay pag-asa ng bayan."
AT HINDI LALAYA ANG BAYAN KUNG ANG KABATAAN AY WALANG PAKI-ALAM, KIMI, PASIBO AT MAKASARILI!
KUNG WALANG PAKI-ALAM ANG KABATAAN, WALANG PAG-ASA ANG BAYAN!
Tumaas ang presyo ng langis.
Sino ba ang may kasalanan? Ang mga tsuper ba na may sariling anak na pinagpapaaral? Siyempre hindi. Si mamang tsuper ay nagtaas ng pamasahe dahil tumaas ang presyo ng langis. Eh sino ang may sala? Ang pump boy ba sa gasoline station? Mas lalong hinde, biktima din siya sa araw araw niyang pagcommute papunta ng pinagtratrabahuhan niya.
Ang totoong may sala ay ang gobyerno.
Bakit 'ka mo? Dati ay may kontrol ang gobyerno sa presyo ng langis. Kayang pigilan ng gobyerno kung hinihingi ng mga commuters na babaan ang langis. Eh putik pa sa putik, sira yata ulo ng gobyerno, nagpasa ng oil deregulation law. Patay si Juan. Ngayon kung gusto ng Petron, Shell at Caltex mag oil price hike eh 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno. Sa makatuwid, walang kwenta ang gobyerno! Inaalagaan nila ang mga dayuhang kumpanya ng langis at pinapahirapan ang mga mamamayan na dapat nilang inaalagaan.
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Araw-araw, mula lunes hanggang sabado me pasok eh. Kailangang magbyahe. Eh sa pagtaas ng langis tataas ang pamasahe. Therefore I conclude na apektadong apektado ang mga estudyante.
Education.
Sa mga private schools, colleges and universities ay nag baba ng deregulation law. Ibig sabihin ay 'di maka-ek ang gobyerno kung gusto ng unibersidad na magtaas ng tuition fee. O 'di naman kaya ay maningil ng walang kabuluhan na mga bayarin. Muli: Walang kwentang gobyerno!
Tulad ng oil companies, ang mga paaralang ito ay nasa loob ng Pilipinas. Napapasailalim ng pamahalaa ng Pilipinas. Bakit namang binigyan ng independence ang mga 'to? 'Di ba dapat hawak parin sila ng pamahalaan?
Sa buong systema ng edukasyon sa Pilipinas, may buget ang gobyerno para dito. Ang badyet na ito ay 'di umanong mula sa mga buwis na binabayaran ng lahat ng Pilipino. (take note: kahit 'di ka pa 18 at wala ka pang sedula, nagbabayad ka ng buwis sa oras na bumili ka ng kahit na ano, mapa McDo o sari-sari store.) Ang dapat na badyet ay 6 percent ng gross national income (correct me if I'm wrong) Ngunit binawasan ito at ginawang 2 percent. ang binawas ay gagamitin daw umano sa pagbayad ng mga utang ng Pilipinas. Sa dami-daming pera paroo't parito sa mga NBN-ZTE at fertilizer scam, may Euro generals pa, bakit ang edukasyon pa ang binawasan? Kung di ba naman ga*uhan 'to!
Sinabi ng isang kolehiyong manunulat sa akin noon, ang issue daw na ito ay 'di bagay sa Campus Publication dahil di naman apektado ang mga estudyante.
'Di nga ba tayo apektado? Eh edukasyon ang pakay natin sa pag punta sa paaralan.
Sa pamumulita.
Sa korapsyon.
Sa divertion of funds.
Sa illigal abduction ng gobyerno.
Sa 1 milyong piso na hapunan.
Sa mga kabulastugan ng mga politiko.
Sa mga kasinungalingan ng pangulo.
Sa pamamaslang nga mga kabataan at mamamahayag.
Sa criminal neglect ng gobyerno sa mga nasalanta ng bagyo.
Sa mga manlolokong tatakbo bilang pangulo.
Ang bawat estudyante ng kahit na anung unibersidad ay dapat makialam sa mga issue ng Pilipinas.
Ito ang tahanan ng ating lahi, ang lupang sinilangan. Naging Pilipino tayo bago naging estudyante ng PCU. Naging mag-aaral tayo ng Pilipinas simula sa pagkabata hanggang sa huling hininga natin.
Kabataan!
Pag-aralan ninyo ang ating lipunan. Alamin ang tamang mga hakbang. Huwag matakot! Na sa MGA KAMAY NATIN ANG PAGLAYA NG BAYAN MULA SA BULOK NA SISTEMA NA GUSTONG IPANATILI NG MGA TUTANG POLIKO NG ESTADOS UNIDOS.
GUMISING KA KABATAAN!
Ika nga ni Rizal: "ang kabataan ay pag-asa ng bayan."
AT HINDI LALAYA ANG BAYAN KUNG ANG KABATAAN AY WALANG PAKI-ALAM, KIMI, PASIBO AT MAKASARILI!
KUNG WALANG PAKI-ALAM ANG KABATAAN, WALANG PAG-ASA ANG BAYAN!
Wednesday, December 16
revolutionary
Homeward bound -- the student sighs
home at last to her brown eyes
He has learned society's lies
And filled the streets with his cries
But now it's home he longs for
Back to her whom he adores
To whom he started fighting for
Back to her whom he adores
His fist will be forever
Held high, held tight in the air
But he knows he would be never
Be complete without her stare
Complete he will never be
With one but not the other
Still he will fight to be free
For people; his wife; his daughter
He wishes for her to join him
In the fight and share his dream
But even though his fight's not hers
He's thankful for her unheard cheers
One day after all the these fights
He'll have her near all through the nights
And never will he let her go again
In the society for which he gave his pain
-Orville "chubby" Basas
home at last to her brown eyes
He has learned society's lies
And filled the streets with his cries
But now it's home he longs for
Back to her whom he adores
To whom he started fighting for
Back to her whom he adores
His fist will be forever
Held high, held tight in the air
But he knows he would be never
Be complete without her stare
Complete he will never be
With one but not the other
Still he will fight to be free
For people; his wife; his daughter
He wishes for her to join him
In the fight and share his dream
But even though his fight's not hers
He's thankful for her unheard cheers
One day after all the these fights
He'll have her near all through the nights
And never will he let her go again
In the society for which he gave his pain
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Ama; Ina; Anak
Anak:
Tanong ng isang bata: "Nasaan na si ama?
Iilang umaga na na hinahanap siya?"
Natututo na ako magsalita at maglaro
May nagawa ba ako kaya't iniwan tayo?
Ina:
Wala kang kasalanan at 'di tayo iniwan
Siya'y nasa mamamayan at tayo ay babalikan
kung ba't doon siya nagpunta ay matuto sa masa
at maglunsad ng digma para sa inang laya
Ama:
Nangungulilang puso sa sinta't anak ko
nananabik na ako na mayakap kayo
sa aking pagbabalik sa aking munting bayan
dala ay mga aral ng mapagpalayang mamamayan
Anak huwag kang magsawa na matuto sa mamamayan
At iyong pagaralan rebolusyon at lipunan
'Di ko man matamasa halik ng inang laya
Ang hiling ko na sana maihiga kayo sa duyan niya
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Tanong ng isang bata: "Nasaan na si ama?
Iilang umaga na na hinahanap siya?"
Natututo na ako magsalita at maglaro
May nagawa ba ako kaya't iniwan tayo?
Ina:
Wala kang kasalanan at 'di tayo iniwan
Siya'y nasa mamamayan at tayo ay babalikan
kung ba't doon siya nagpunta ay matuto sa masa
at maglunsad ng digma para sa inang laya
Ama:
Nangungulilang puso sa sinta't anak ko
nananabik na ako na mayakap kayo
sa aking pagbabalik sa aking munting bayan
dala ay mga aral ng mapagpalayang mamamayan
Anak huwag kang magsawa na matuto sa mamamayan
At iyong pagaralan rebolusyon at lipunan
'Di ko man matamasa halik ng inang laya
Ang hiling ko na sana maihiga kayo sa duyan niya
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Saturday, November 7
pages of a fantasy - dream catcher
Sarah is walking home, where she came from is not clear, even to her. A bit confused and a bit cold from the night air, but she's sure where she was headed. This wasn't her usual route home but she knows a place around the corner and a few more blocks and she's home.
The night air blows colder, she pulls her coat on tighter and she walks faster. A few more meters and she'll find a familiar place: the dwellings of a beautiful, tormented soul; a place of arts where she felt like home. But the closer she gets there, the colder she feels. She reaches for her coat again but touches nothing but her skin.
Realizing this, she hastens her pace slowly breaking in to a jog.
"Just around the corner" she tolls herself.
Before she gets to that corner, she notice something absurd -- snow.
"Snow? In this city?"
But when one of the failing specks touches her skin, it wasn't snow. It was ash. But it feels so cold.
As she rounds the corner, she sees it -- a towering inferno.
She runs toward the burning art shop. As she gets closer to the fire, she feels colder. And as she stands across the street, staring at the flames, she sees it. A wave of panic, pain and fear hits her.
The artist; the beautiful, tormented soul, was burning with his art.
She runs towards the burning building with intents to save her artist. But it seems like she never even took a step. She notices someone beside her. His hand clasped on her wrist.
She turns to face the stranger.
She sees the fire in his eyes, and as if she is under a spell, she loses her thought of her artist. The stranger gives her his brown leather jacket to keep her warm. As the stranger lead her away, she steals a look back. Now, it's only a pile of charred wood and ash. And a whisper leaves her lips -- Khael.
.................................................................................................................................................................
It has been two years since Khael burned his own shop, with him along with it but the dreams keep haunting Sarah. It feels so real to her that she thinks she might actually have been there when it all happened.
But She could not have been there. It could not have happened that way, in her dream. She remembers that night well, she was woken up from her nap on a pile of her textbooks by the wailing sirens from the fire trucks. But even before the fire truck got there, the shop was already burning to a crisp.
But her dreams feels so real that she's not sure anymore.
But the biggest question on her mind was: "who was that stranger?"
She memorized the stranger's face now. Every crease, every frown line and those fiery sad eyes.
She knew the stranger's face so well that she draws it besides Khael's face every time she gets bored. And another thing she remembers is the brown leather jacket, the warmth it offered and the words or verses written all over it. And like every part of the dream, it felt so real.
Sarah still lives in the same apartment building a few blocks away from Khael's art shop. from her window, she can see the seven eleven outlet that now occupies what used to be Khael's art shop. She catches herself once in a while, staring at the store reminiscing on what it used to look like and how it used to draw her near every day as if the art shop was calling her to come home to it. But, now, staring at the seven eleven, it doesn't feel the same.
Or maybe it was Khael that she felt at home with.
One night, after waking up from the same dream, she stares out the window, looking at the store. And just as her head was beginning to clear from the dreams, she spots a kid wearing a brown leather jacket and the same messed up hair as stranger from her dream.
driven by curiosity and partly because she haven't felt the night air since she started having the dream and she missed it. She grabs her coat and her keys and still in her pajamas, runs to the store.
The air was cool but not biting. There was a light breeze blowing from the west, but Sarah barely notices it. She had her mind set on catching up to the kid and see if he was the stranger.
She bursts through the convenience store's double doors and starts looking around in every isle. The Kid was no longer there. Quite disappointed, Sarah steps out of the store with her head down and not even looking where she was headed.
She was four blocks away when she noticed that she wasn't walking towards her apartment. She chuckled at her absent mindedness and turned around and started her way back to her apartment.
When she got to the corner of the convenience store, she spotted the kid from the corner of her eye.
When she turned, the same wave of panic,pain and fear that she felt in her dreams swept over her.
"It's You!" She says out loud.
She stepped towards the stranger never pulling her eyes from the stranger's fiery eyes. Surprisingly enough, the stranger didn't look confused. Instead, he looked at her as if he knew her.
As she got closer to the stranger, she asked tactlessly: "Who are you? Do you know Khael?"
"My name is Michael, and I've talked with Khael once or twice." The stranger took a deep breath just as Sarah started to feel the biting cold.
"Why?" The only word uttered by Sarah as a reply.
"Stop chasing shadows, Sarah. Khael did it to himself. Don't get obsessed like he is." Michael said in a calm and steady tone.
"What? You said 'is'. Where is he?" Now, Sarah's voice was shaking from the cold.
"Don't Sarah. I'm trying to Keep you away from the shadows. Stop chasing them."
"Shadows?! I just want to know if he's alright."
"He's dead, Sarah. You saw him burn."
"No! No, I did not! And reports said the body was too burned to be recognized. They just assumed it was him." Sarah's voice now growing louder.
"He's gone, Sarah. So, just wake up." Michael said keeping a calm and steady tone.
"NO! You know where he is, don't you?"
"Look, Sarah, Khael is no more. You can't keep on chasing him."
"Take me to him, please."
"Sarah--" Michael's words trailed off as his finally let go of its hold on Sarah's.
Michael was now staring at someone behind Sarah. Following Michael's gaze, Sarah turns around and finds Khael behind her.
"No, Khael!" Michael grabs Sarah by the wrist to stop her from walking Khael. "Sarah, Khael's dead. Wake up."
Sarah, not even taking her eyes of Khael, says; "He's not dead. He's Right here."
"I'm right here, Sarah." Khael assures her.
"Khael, please, don't do this." Michael begs as he lets go of Sarah's wrist.
"C'mon, Sarah. I'll walk you home." Khael takes Sarah in his arm and started away from Michael.
Michael calls out to Sarah but, Sarah, now felt at home and no longer cared for anything else.
.................................................................................................................................................................
SPO1 Badua:Sorry I'm late. I was in the bathroom when you called. What do we have?
SPO1 Suarez:25 years old, female, goes by the name of Sarah. Land lady said she heard screaming from the apartment. we found our Sarah dead and her apartment door open.
Badua:So, what you think killed her?
Suarez: I can't say. No bruises, no wounds. Just died.
Badua: I don't think she just died, may. It has to have a reason.
Suarez: Whatever. But check out her sketch pad on the table.
Badua: What about it? Did she happen to sketch her killer's face? (chuckle)
Suarez: Nope. Not exactly. Look.
Badua:Huh. Looks like Rodriguez's son and that arson kid.
Suarez:Rodriguez died Six years ago. two years before Sarah here moved to this region. And Rodriguez lived in the next city.
Badua: What are you saying, May?
Suarez: It's just weird. She never could have known Rodriguez.
Badua: Maybe it's not Rodriguez. Maybe it's some kid who looks like him.
Suarez: A kid that looked like Rodriguez's son with a jacket with Rodriguez badge number?
Badua: No shit?
Suarez: No shit.
The night air blows colder, she pulls her coat on tighter and she walks faster. A few more meters and she'll find a familiar place: the dwellings of a beautiful, tormented soul; a place of arts where she felt like home. But the closer she gets there, the colder she feels. She reaches for her coat again but touches nothing but her skin.
Realizing this, she hastens her pace slowly breaking in to a jog.
"Just around the corner" she tolls herself.
Before she gets to that corner, she notice something absurd -- snow.
"Snow? In this city?"
But when one of the failing specks touches her skin, it wasn't snow. It was ash. But it feels so cold.
As she rounds the corner, she sees it -- a towering inferno.
She runs toward the burning art shop. As she gets closer to the fire, she feels colder. And as she stands across the street, staring at the flames, she sees it. A wave of panic, pain and fear hits her.
The artist; the beautiful, tormented soul, was burning with his art.
She runs towards the burning building with intents to save her artist. But it seems like she never even took a step. She notices someone beside her. His hand clasped on her wrist.
She turns to face the stranger.
She sees the fire in his eyes, and as if she is under a spell, she loses her thought of her artist. The stranger gives her his brown leather jacket to keep her warm. As the stranger lead her away, she steals a look back. Now, it's only a pile of charred wood and ash. And a whisper leaves her lips -- Khael.
.................................................................................................................................................................
It has been two years since Khael burned his own shop, with him along with it but the dreams keep haunting Sarah. It feels so real to her that she thinks she might actually have been there when it all happened.
But She could not have been there. It could not have happened that way, in her dream. She remembers that night well, she was woken up from her nap on a pile of her textbooks by the wailing sirens from the fire trucks. But even before the fire truck got there, the shop was already burning to a crisp.
But her dreams feels so real that she's not sure anymore.
But the biggest question on her mind was: "who was that stranger?"
She memorized the stranger's face now. Every crease, every frown line and those fiery sad eyes.
She knew the stranger's face so well that she draws it besides Khael's face every time she gets bored. And another thing she remembers is the brown leather jacket, the warmth it offered and the words or verses written all over it. And like every part of the dream, it felt so real.
Sarah still lives in the same apartment building a few blocks away from Khael's art shop. from her window, she can see the seven eleven outlet that now occupies what used to be Khael's art shop. She catches herself once in a while, staring at the store reminiscing on what it used to look like and how it used to draw her near every day as if the art shop was calling her to come home to it. But, now, staring at the seven eleven, it doesn't feel the same.
Or maybe it was Khael that she felt at home with.
One night, after waking up from the same dream, she stares out the window, looking at the store. And just as her head was beginning to clear from the dreams, she spots a kid wearing a brown leather jacket and the same messed up hair as stranger from her dream.
driven by curiosity and partly because she haven't felt the night air since she started having the dream and she missed it. She grabs her coat and her keys and still in her pajamas, runs to the store.
The air was cool but not biting. There was a light breeze blowing from the west, but Sarah barely notices it. She had her mind set on catching up to the kid and see if he was the stranger.
She bursts through the convenience store's double doors and starts looking around in every isle. The Kid was no longer there. Quite disappointed, Sarah steps out of the store with her head down and not even looking where she was headed.
She was four blocks away when she noticed that she wasn't walking towards her apartment. She chuckled at her absent mindedness and turned around and started her way back to her apartment.
When she got to the corner of the convenience store, she spotted the kid from the corner of her eye.
When she turned, the same wave of panic,pain and fear that she felt in her dreams swept over her.
"It's You!" She says out loud.
She stepped towards the stranger never pulling her eyes from the stranger's fiery eyes. Surprisingly enough, the stranger didn't look confused. Instead, he looked at her as if he knew her.
As she got closer to the stranger, she asked tactlessly: "Who are you? Do you know Khael?"
"My name is Michael, and I've talked with Khael once or twice." The stranger took a deep breath just as Sarah started to feel the biting cold.
"Why?" The only word uttered by Sarah as a reply.
"Stop chasing shadows, Sarah. Khael did it to himself. Don't get obsessed like he is." Michael said in a calm and steady tone.
"What? You said 'is'. Where is he?" Now, Sarah's voice was shaking from the cold.
"Don't Sarah. I'm trying to Keep you away from the shadows. Stop chasing them."
"Shadows?! I just want to know if he's alright."
"He's dead, Sarah. You saw him burn."
"No! No, I did not! And reports said the body was too burned to be recognized. They just assumed it was him." Sarah's voice now growing louder.
"He's gone, Sarah. So, just wake up." Michael said keeping a calm and steady tone.
"NO! You know where he is, don't you?"
"Look, Sarah, Khael is no more. You can't keep on chasing him."
"Take me to him, please."
"Sarah--" Michael's words trailed off as his finally let go of its hold on Sarah's.
Michael was now staring at someone behind Sarah. Following Michael's gaze, Sarah turns around and finds Khael behind her.
"No, Khael!" Michael grabs Sarah by the wrist to stop her from walking Khael. "Sarah, Khael's dead. Wake up."
Sarah, not even taking her eyes of Khael, says; "He's not dead. He's Right here."
"I'm right here, Sarah." Khael assures her.
"Khael, please, don't do this." Michael begs as he lets go of Sarah's wrist.
"C'mon, Sarah. I'll walk you home." Khael takes Sarah in his arm and started away from Michael.
Michael calls out to Sarah but, Sarah, now felt at home and no longer cared for anything else.
.................................................................................................................................................................
SPO1 Badua:Sorry I'm late. I was in the bathroom when you called. What do we have?
SPO1 Suarez:25 years old, female, goes by the name of Sarah. Land lady said she heard screaming from the apartment. we found our Sarah dead and her apartment door open.
Badua:So, what you think killed her?
Suarez: I can't say. No bruises, no wounds. Just died.
Badua: I don't think she just died, may. It has to have a reason.
Suarez: Whatever. But check out her sketch pad on the table.
Badua: What about it? Did she happen to sketch her killer's face? (chuckle)
Suarez: Nope. Not exactly. Look.
Badua:Huh. Looks like Rodriguez's son and that arson kid.
Suarez:Rodriguez died Six years ago. two years before Sarah here moved to this region. And Rodriguez lived in the next city.
Badua: What are you saying, May?
Suarez: It's just weird. She never could have known Rodriguez.
Badua: Maybe it's not Rodriguez. Maybe it's some kid who looks like him.
Suarez: A kid that looked like Rodriguez's son with a jacket with Rodriguez badge number?
Badua: No shit?
Suarez: No shit.
Monday, September 14
bayang api
Ang tinatahak nating daang luntian;
Ang inaakalang ligtas na lansangan;
Ang mundo na ating ginagalawan:
Ay puno ng halimaw at taong gahaman.
Uhaw sa kapangyarihan, pera’t dugo
Na kahit kailanmang hindi napupuno
Ang kanilang tasang kumakamkam ng ginto
Na ang pagkitil ng buhay ay tila isang laro—
Isang munting laro sa mga taong nakaupo
Kasama ang mga dayuhan ay nagpapakulo
Ng pagnanakaw sa bayan ng lakas at ginto
At ang bayan ngayon ay naghihingalo.
Kaya nga’t ang dukha ngayon ang kawawa
Ngunit iilan lang ang dilat ang mata
Sa katotohanang tila nakakalula—
Na pinapaslang na ang mulat na makhata—
Mas malala: may nagbubulag-bulagan
May nakakarinig at nagbibingi-bingihan
Habang ang bayan ay nilalapastangan
Saan ang mga bayani? Nasaan ang kalayaan?
Libu-libo nang ina at ama
Libung anak na nangungulila
Sa mga minamahal na nawala parang bula
Sa halu-halong ilog ng dugo at luha
Libong manggagawa, magsasaka at mga bata;
Ang bayang inapi, ninakawan at sinira
Mga taong trinaydor at inalila
Ay bukas na ang isip – mata’y mulat na
Mga kupas na bandila at ang kabataan
Ngayon ay nasa lansangan
Isinisigay ang singil ng katarungan
Nakataas kamao at lumalaban
Ngunit kalian nga ba makakamtan ;
Ang inaasam na katarungan;
Inaasam na tunay na kalayaan?
Wala mang katiyakan—tuloy ang aming laban.
Patuloy kaming magpupunyagi
Na ang tunay na demokrasya ang maghahari
Dugo ng mga bayani ay dadanak muli
Ang sambayanang Pilipino ang siyang magwawagi.
Isang araw ang kalayaan ay ‘di na mawawala
Isang araw ang magandang buhay ay matatamasa
Isang araw ang katarungan ay nasa tao na
Isang araw kung kami’y nakabaon na sa lupa.
Ngunit habang may oras pa: kami ay lalaban
Hanga’t ang tagumpay ay aming mahahagkan
Hangang masilayan ang kalayaan ng bayan
Kahit umabot man sa aming kamataya.
Ang inaakalang ligtas na lansangan;
Ang mundo na ating ginagalawan:
Ay puno ng halimaw at taong gahaman.
Uhaw sa kapangyarihan, pera’t dugo
Na kahit kailanmang hindi napupuno
Ang kanilang tasang kumakamkam ng ginto
Na ang pagkitil ng buhay ay tila isang laro—
Isang munting laro sa mga taong nakaupo
Kasama ang mga dayuhan ay nagpapakulo
Ng pagnanakaw sa bayan ng lakas at ginto
At ang bayan ngayon ay naghihingalo.
Kaya nga’t ang dukha ngayon ang kawawa
Ngunit iilan lang ang dilat ang mata
Sa katotohanang tila nakakalula—
Na pinapaslang na ang mulat na makhata—
Mas malala: may nagbubulag-bulagan
May nakakarinig at nagbibingi-bingihan
Habang ang bayan ay nilalapastangan
Saan ang mga bayani? Nasaan ang kalayaan?
Libu-libo nang ina at ama
Libung anak na nangungulila
Sa mga minamahal na nawala parang bula
Sa halu-halong ilog ng dugo at luha
Libong manggagawa, magsasaka at mga bata;
Ang bayang inapi, ninakawan at sinira
Mga taong trinaydor at inalila
Ay bukas na ang isip – mata’y mulat na
Mga kupas na bandila at ang kabataan
Ngayon ay nasa lansangan
Isinisigay ang singil ng katarungan
Nakataas kamao at lumalaban
Ngunit kalian nga ba makakamtan ;
Ang inaasam na katarungan;
Inaasam na tunay na kalayaan?
Wala mang katiyakan—tuloy ang aming laban.
Patuloy kaming magpupunyagi
Na ang tunay na demokrasya ang maghahari
Dugo ng mga bayani ay dadanak muli
Ang sambayanang Pilipino ang siyang magwawagi.
Isang araw ang kalayaan ay ‘di na mawawala
Isang araw ang magandang buhay ay matatamasa
Isang araw ang katarungan ay nasa tao na
Isang araw kung kami’y nakabaon na sa lupa.
Ngunit habang may oras pa: kami ay lalaban
Hanga’t ang tagumpay ay aming mahahagkan
Hangang masilayan ang kalayaan ng bayan
Kahit umabot man sa aming kamataya.
Wednesday, August 26
pages of a fantasy - charred
His name is Khael, Khael Reyes, a sophomore law student, the top and youngest in his class. He is 22 years old but has already seen the harshness of life. He goes through his day in gloom that one could not see a trace of emotion on his face. Not a smile or even a frown. But he wasn’t always like this.
Two years ago, on his graduation night, his mom called him. He could barely understand her through the sobbing. On that day, his sister was found drowned in her bathtub.
His sister: the only one who believed in him; who held him when his father felt violent; the one who took him in when their mother threw him out; the one he knew to be more of a mother to him than their own mother, was now gone. Just like that, he was alone. His mother too busy and his father still a vegetable on a hospital bed, he had no one to turn to but himself. That night, amidst the celebration, he swallowed himself whole. He decided never to betray any hint of emotion and in the process make himself numb.
True enough, he has not felt any emotion, nothing but the grief of loosing the only one who showed him affection; his shelter; his home.
Since then, he seemed invulnerable; a serious young man on a mission. Yet the mission was unclear and his goal was nothing. He became a puppet of the system. Top scholar, good in class but nothing inside: an empty shell. At least as how the world sees him.
Every day he starts with the same routine; work from 9 to 5, cross the street and study law. Come night time, his world thrives. Every night he toils seeking inspiration and models. But every night he finds none. He is a proper artist with his knife, a beautiful shredder of wood and ice. He walks the city streets looking for a familiar face, or rather a face to make him forget his home. Yet he never finds one. Instead he sees his sister. And every night he carves his sister’s soul on wood and burns it by the time he finishes.
If one could only behold his art, he would be hailed. If the world could only see his work the world will celebrate. And that is the very reason he dose not show it. He works all night to exalt his sister yet burns her memory before dawn. Every night he stages a reenactment of how life deprived him of his home. He deprives the world of his art.
On the night of his sister’s second death anniversary he tries a new medium for art: graphic skin art. He buys a machine and starts to scribble. A month later, his skin was an abstract mural in memory of his sister: the first mistake to his act of numbness.
His art was a wondrous display of shapes, shades and emotion and the world started to notice.
“Atty. canvassed skin” was what his employers called him. “Khael the brute” dubbed by his professors and “a beautiful, tormented soul” was what another student knew him as, even before he placed his art on his skin.
He thought of it as a good turn of events. “I will tear this beauty away from all as life tore me from my home.” That was the plan. He planned to end it all as soon as the world learned to love his art.
Khael started a new career. He opened up shop near his school and started to give the cheapest yet most beautiful art from sculpture to charcoal sketches and tattoos. Two months in the business, he quit his job as safety supervisor and poured his time to art and law. Unknowingly, he started to learn how to smile but he never did give one.
One summer evening, when he was alone in his shop ready to close up for the night and tend to his studies, some one came in the shop. Not even looking up to see who it was, he said “I’m about to close up but feel free to look around.” And he went on tidying up.
The visitor voice was unfamiliar to him but spoke as if he knew him. “Why just now that you graced the world of your art?” the visitor asked? “Excuse me?” he asked back. “From what I’ve seen from you, you are art’s child.” Khael turns to his visitor and says “no sir, you are mistaken.” “I am Khael Reyes, son of Dr. Susan Rodriguez and Engineer Karl Cunlo Reyes. I am not an artist’s son, nor was I born in art. I am but a victim of life as all men are evidently will be.” Khael’s visitor was a young man in his early 20’s, but what Khael noticed was the jacket he was wearing. The jacket was vintage brown leather, with words written all over it. It was obvious that the writings were not from the manufacturer and Khael figured his visitor was a poet or a writer of some sort.
“I am Michael” the visitor introduced himself and took out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I have here a design,” Michael started but Khael interrupted him. “I’m closed for the day.” Michael smiled and handed him the piece of paper. “I’m not asking you to do it for me; I’m asking you to study this design.” Khael was intrigued and took the piece of paper. Khael tried to examine the design but was distracted by the age of the paper. It seemed as though it was years old and was once submerged in water. The ring of his shop door took him from his revere and he was once again alone in his shop.
That evening, curious about the design, Khael rushed back to his shop after his classes. He hunched over the design on his well-lit working table to study it. Hours passed as he turned it over on its’ side and upside down but he couldn’t seem to understand the inspiration of the abstract design. Not wanting to give up on understanding this weird art, he fell asleep hunched over his table.
The next morning he wakes with someone knocking on his shop door. He opens his door and finds Sarah, his fellow law student, looking worried. “Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “Why would I not be okay?” he answers. “I saw you last night come in here and turn a light on and this morning, the same light was still on. I was just worried about you.”
Still not fully awake, Khael invites Sarah to come in and he washes his face on the sink. Sarah looks around and finds the design. “This is quite a beautiful impression of a girl,” she says picking up the piece of paper. Khael rushes to Sarah’s side to try and see what she sees. “How could that be a girl?” Khael asks. She points out to the jagged outline of the design and says, “it’s a charred image of a girl. As if her image was burned into wood or a sculpture saved from flames.” Khael peered closer and saw the image of her sister as if he carved it himself. “Oh. Now I see it.”
Much more to that, Khael also saw something that Sarah didn’t. He saw formations of words on the edges of the design. It read “I’m sorry for leaving, but I am happy now, Khael.”
What he read did nothing to appease his anger towards life, but only fed it. That night, as the world slept, Khael took his art from the world as life took his home from him. He burned all his art and his shop with him along with it.
-Orville “chubby” Basas-
Two years ago, on his graduation night, his mom called him. He could barely understand her through the sobbing. On that day, his sister was found drowned in her bathtub.
His sister: the only one who believed in him; who held him when his father felt violent; the one who took him in when their mother threw him out; the one he knew to be more of a mother to him than their own mother, was now gone. Just like that, he was alone. His mother too busy and his father still a vegetable on a hospital bed, he had no one to turn to but himself. That night, amidst the celebration, he swallowed himself whole. He decided never to betray any hint of emotion and in the process make himself numb.
True enough, he has not felt any emotion, nothing but the grief of loosing the only one who showed him affection; his shelter; his home.
Since then, he seemed invulnerable; a serious young man on a mission. Yet the mission was unclear and his goal was nothing. He became a puppet of the system. Top scholar, good in class but nothing inside: an empty shell. At least as how the world sees him.
Every day he starts with the same routine; work from 9 to 5, cross the street and study law. Come night time, his world thrives. Every night he toils seeking inspiration and models. But every night he finds none. He is a proper artist with his knife, a beautiful shredder of wood and ice. He walks the city streets looking for a familiar face, or rather a face to make him forget his home. Yet he never finds one. Instead he sees his sister. And every night he carves his sister’s soul on wood and burns it by the time he finishes.
If one could only behold his art, he would be hailed. If the world could only see his work the world will celebrate. And that is the very reason he dose not show it. He works all night to exalt his sister yet burns her memory before dawn. Every night he stages a reenactment of how life deprived him of his home. He deprives the world of his art.
On the night of his sister’s second death anniversary he tries a new medium for art: graphic skin art. He buys a machine and starts to scribble. A month later, his skin was an abstract mural in memory of his sister: the first mistake to his act of numbness.
His art was a wondrous display of shapes, shades and emotion and the world started to notice.
“Atty. canvassed skin” was what his employers called him. “Khael the brute” dubbed by his professors and “a beautiful, tormented soul” was what another student knew him as, even before he placed his art on his skin.
He thought of it as a good turn of events. “I will tear this beauty away from all as life tore me from my home.” That was the plan. He planned to end it all as soon as the world learned to love his art.
Khael started a new career. He opened up shop near his school and started to give the cheapest yet most beautiful art from sculpture to charcoal sketches and tattoos. Two months in the business, he quit his job as safety supervisor and poured his time to art and law. Unknowingly, he started to learn how to smile but he never did give one.
One summer evening, when he was alone in his shop ready to close up for the night and tend to his studies, some one came in the shop. Not even looking up to see who it was, he said “I’m about to close up but feel free to look around.” And he went on tidying up.
The visitor voice was unfamiliar to him but spoke as if he knew him. “Why just now that you graced the world of your art?” the visitor asked? “Excuse me?” he asked back. “From what I’ve seen from you, you are art’s child.” Khael turns to his visitor and says “no sir, you are mistaken.” “I am Khael Reyes, son of Dr. Susan Rodriguez and Engineer Karl Cunlo Reyes. I am not an artist’s son, nor was I born in art. I am but a victim of life as all men are evidently will be.” Khael’s visitor was a young man in his early 20’s, but what Khael noticed was the jacket he was wearing. The jacket was vintage brown leather, with words written all over it. It was obvious that the writings were not from the manufacturer and Khael figured his visitor was a poet or a writer of some sort.
“I am Michael” the visitor introduced himself and took out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I have here a design,” Michael started but Khael interrupted him. “I’m closed for the day.” Michael smiled and handed him the piece of paper. “I’m not asking you to do it for me; I’m asking you to study this design.” Khael was intrigued and took the piece of paper. Khael tried to examine the design but was distracted by the age of the paper. It seemed as though it was years old and was once submerged in water. The ring of his shop door took him from his revere and he was once again alone in his shop.
That evening, curious about the design, Khael rushed back to his shop after his classes. He hunched over the design on his well-lit working table to study it. Hours passed as he turned it over on its’ side and upside down but he couldn’t seem to understand the inspiration of the abstract design. Not wanting to give up on understanding this weird art, he fell asleep hunched over his table.
The next morning he wakes with someone knocking on his shop door. He opens his door and finds Sarah, his fellow law student, looking worried. “Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “Why would I not be okay?” he answers. “I saw you last night come in here and turn a light on and this morning, the same light was still on. I was just worried about you.”
Still not fully awake, Khael invites Sarah to come in and he washes his face on the sink. Sarah looks around and finds the design. “This is quite a beautiful impression of a girl,” she says picking up the piece of paper. Khael rushes to Sarah’s side to try and see what she sees. “How could that be a girl?” Khael asks. She points out to the jagged outline of the design and says, “it’s a charred image of a girl. As if her image was burned into wood or a sculpture saved from flames.” Khael peered closer and saw the image of her sister as if he carved it himself. “Oh. Now I see it.”
Much more to that, Khael also saw something that Sarah didn’t. He saw formations of words on the edges of the design. It read “I’m sorry for leaving, but I am happy now, Khael.”
What he read did nothing to appease his anger towards life, but only fed it. That night, as the world slept, Khael took his art from the world as life took his home from him. He burned all his art and his shop with him along with it.
-Orville “chubby” Basas-
Saturday, February 14
pages of a fantasy - notepad
There is something different about her. I knew it from the first time I saw her. She is beautiful. I watch her go about her business at school. And, we share the same train home. I have been in love with her from the start.
One day, when we were going home, I mustered all the courage to sit beside her. She glanced my way. She saw me. She actually noticed me. Or at least saw me. Not every one does. But she did and smiled and let out a little chuckle.
We sat together for the next three stations. When it was her stop, I followed her off the train. I made sure I was cautious and quiet enough for her not to notice me. I followed her home to her studio apartment. I couldn't get in her apartment, I would not dare to. But I wanted to know her. I climbed up the fire escape and looked through her window.
I watched her do her business, watched her eat and get ready for bed, memorizing her routine. I watched her strip to her skin and slip between her sheets and fade to sleep. I watched her breath and smile at whatever it was she dreamed about. This went on for weeks. Every night I would watch her through the window and leave before dawn.
One night, as she slept in the night, she awoke in sudden. She looked around her as if searching. I feared she might have felt me watching her. I froze, thinking that my slightest movement would give me away. She shook her head with a chuckle and glanced out the window. When she stood up, I almost leaped off the fire escape. But she did not walk towards the window, instead, she sat by her bedside table and started writing. After a few moments, she went back to bed.
That morning, I waited for her to leave. I could not leave without satisfying my curiosity on what she wrote. After she left, I slipped in through the window and read what was written on the notepad.
“I do not know where you are.
Nor do I know who.
But I can feel you watching.
My name is Cherry.”
I read it over and over, not quite believing it. I picked up a pen and wrote her back:
“I'm sorry, I could not help it. I saw you on the train.
I was awed by your beauty and your sweet smile.
I just had to see you.
Anyways, my name is Michael. I hope you don't mind
me watching and admiring you this way.”
I then slipped out and went to school. Late as it was, I found her doing what she regularly does. And looking damn more beautiful at it.
By the end of the day, we again shared the same train. I sat far from her this time. Some of observing and some of fear that if she saw me she might shy away. So, I followed her home again, keeping my distance and being more cautious. When we got to the apartment building she took the main entrance and I took the fire escape.
Again I watched her do her routine. From making her dinner to giving herself a scrubbing with a washcloth. I watched her slip naked between her sheets, and before turning off her bedside lamp, she takes the note pad and reads my reply. My heart melt as she smiled and scribbled in her reply.
We began to have conversations on that notepad. Her, inside, and me, watching from the outside. I started to stop going to school, sometimes writing on that notepad, verses for her, telling her stories about myself and how I admired her. I ended up hanging around her apartment building, waiting for her to come home.
I told her that I watched her though the window but am too scared to meet her up front, that maybe she would not like how I look like. She wrote back:
“I have seen you.
Once on the train.
With your hair messed up and your brown leather jacket.
Which is a great statement by the way, with all the
writings all over it.
And you looked great...=)”
All feelings leaped inside me when I read that. I actually felt accepted. I started to do her chores for her when she left for school, that every night when she got home, her dinner was ready. I still stayed outside the window when she came home. And I wrote her more sonnets, poems and verses of what I felt about her. She found it a good choice to not pull me in from through the window, she said it felt like an angel watching over her.
Our conversations ran on and on on that notepad. Talking about her day and everything that went on under the sun while she was gone. A love affair on a notepad.
One night, six months after I stopped going to school, she came home late. She didn't even touch her dinner. She went straight to bed, she didn't even bother to scrub herself or read the notepad.
I mustered all the courage I had in me and went inside. I went to her side. I could smell her. She was dead drunk. So I thought she wouldn't mind. I took a washcloth and a basin and stripped her naked. I gave her a scrubbing and tucked her in between her sheets. I cleaned up her table putting everything in the fridge and gave her a goodnight kiss. She must have felt it through all the liqueur because she asked me to stay beside her. I did.
I left before dawn to take a walk and think. I was in love. When I got back to her apartment, she was gone. I looked at the notepad and there she wrote:
“Thank you, Michael, my angel.
Thanks for last night and the beautiful poem.”
So, I went back doing her chores for her, having a great feeling of being appreciated. I made her dinner after finding that she might have eaten last night's dinner for breakfast.
By the time she came home I was already outside the window, watching. She went straight to the window and for the first time, invited me in. We talked as she ate her dinner. We talked through the night. She invited me to take a warm bath with her, which later, she insisted. We took the bath, I, in silence, stroking her body and memorizing her every curve, absorbing her moans of pleasure.
We made love that night. She fell asleep in my arms, feeling her rhythmic breathing, stroking her light, jet-black hair.
She woke up as I was heating coffee, right before dawn. She said she didn't want to go to school that day. When I asked if she was feeling ill, she replied that she wanted to stay with me all day and that she felt rejuvenated.
We sat on that bed all day, enjoying every moment.
That night, we made love again and this time she didn't fall asleep. We talked the rest of the night, and she wanted to use the notepad again but this time our replies would be quicker. It went like this:
“I am Cherry Ann Reyes.
Eighteen. My mother is a pathologist.
And my father was/is a welder.”
“Why 'was/is?'”
“He fell from a building he was working on.
He didn't die.
He's in a comma.
And he likes to write poems and sonnets just like you.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's okay.
What about you?
What's your story?”
“My name is Michael Rodriguez.
My mother works for city hall.
At least she was the last time I saw her.
And my dad was a police officer.
He died a couple of years ago.”
“I'm sorry.
Do you want to stop?”
“No, it's okay.
Never really spent that much time with me.
I mostly spent my time with my brother who
died a few weeks before dad did.”
“Again, I'm sorry.
Do you want to talk about it?”
“would you care to listen?”
“Well, he was riding a train.
The same train we share.
And he just collapsed and never woke up.
Doctors say it was a mystery.
'He was in the peak of his health' they said.
I couldn't believe it.
He was as strong as an ox.
And he just left me and I don't even know
why or how.
He just left.”
“You want to stop this?”
“Oh, no.
It's your turn.
Tell me something weird.”
“Okay.
My cousin died mysteriously too.
He was older than me and taught me to play guitar
every weekend.
One day he just told me that he couldn't teach me
because he was writing a masterpiece.
The next morning, his mom found him dead.
Is that weird enough?”
“Nope.
Not enough. Not even mysterious.”
“Okay.
My mom is a pathologist and she conducted the autopsy.
And zero. Nothing.
He was as fit as a gymnast.”
“Oh.
Okay. Just like my brother.”
“Now it's your turn.”
“I have one weird story.
But I don't think you would like it."
"Oh, come on."
“I would write it down but it's a long story
so you would have to wait.”
“Okay.”
“Two years ago, a kid in my neighborhood
shot himself in the head twice.”
“Twice?
But that's not valid.
It has to be something that happened to someone
close to you.
And that's not even long.”
“Okay. About me then.
I once felt a really weird chill up my spine.
Everything and everyone I knew was gone.
All I heard were voices and howls and growls.
I was running all over the city.
I found refuge in an abandoned apartment building two
blocks from here and I started writing on my jacket
what I thought was happening.”
“What was happening?
Were you sleep walking?”
“This happened the day that kid shot himself.
He was sixteen and he went to our school.”
“Did you know him?
What was his name?”
“ Michael S. Rodriguez.”
(phone call)
Doctor Rodriguez?
I hate to be the barer of grave news
but we found your daughter, Cherry Ann,
drowned in her bath tub.
From the state of the body, it seems that
she have died maybe two nights ago.
And the neighbors claim to have heard moaning
from her room on the same night.
Does your daughter have a boyfriend?
Doctor Rodriguez?
Doctor Rodriguez, are you there?
Doctor...
-Orville “chubby” Basas
One day, when we were going home, I mustered all the courage to sit beside her. She glanced my way. She saw me. She actually noticed me. Or at least saw me. Not every one does. But she did and smiled and let out a little chuckle.
We sat together for the next three stations. When it was her stop, I followed her off the train. I made sure I was cautious and quiet enough for her not to notice me. I followed her home to her studio apartment. I couldn't get in her apartment, I would not dare to. But I wanted to know her. I climbed up the fire escape and looked through her window.
I watched her do her business, watched her eat and get ready for bed, memorizing her routine. I watched her strip to her skin and slip between her sheets and fade to sleep. I watched her breath and smile at whatever it was she dreamed about. This went on for weeks. Every night I would watch her through the window and leave before dawn.
One night, as she slept in the night, she awoke in sudden. She looked around her as if searching. I feared she might have felt me watching her. I froze, thinking that my slightest movement would give me away. She shook her head with a chuckle and glanced out the window. When she stood up, I almost leaped off the fire escape. But she did not walk towards the window, instead, she sat by her bedside table and started writing. After a few moments, she went back to bed.
That morning, I waited for her to leave. I could not leave without satisfying my curiosity on what she wrote. After she left, I slipped in through the window and read what was written on the notepad.
“I do not know where you are.
Nor do I know who.
But I can feel you watching.
My name is Cherry.”
I read it over and over, not quite believing it. I picked up a pen and wrote her back:
“I'm sorry, I could not help it. I saw you on the train.
I was awed by your beauty and your sweet smile.
I just had to see you.
Anyways, my name is Michael. I hope you don't mind
me watching and admiring you this way.”
I then slipped out and went to school. Late as it was, I found her doing what she regularly does. And looking damn more beautiful at it.
By the end of the day, we again shared the same train. I sat far from her this time. Some of observing and some of fear that if she saw me she might shy away. So, I followed her home again, keeping my distance and being more cautious. When we got to the apartment building she took the main entrance and I took the fire escape.
Again I watched her do her routine. From making her dinner to giving herself a scrubbing with a washcloth. I watched her slip naked between her sheets, and before turning off her bedside lamp, she takes the note pad and reads my reply. My heart melt as she smiled and scribbled in her reply.
We began to have conversations on that notepad. Her, inside, and me, watching from the outside. I started to stop going to school, sometimes writing on that notepad, verses for her, telling her stories about myself and how I admired her. I ended up hanging around her apartment building, waiting for her to come home.
I told her that I watched her though the window but am too scared to meet her up front, that maybe she would not like how I look like. She wrote back:
“I have seen you.
Once on the train.
With your hair messed up and your brown leather jacket.
Which is a great statement by the way, with all the
writings all over it.
And you looked great...=)”
All feelings leaped inside me when I read that. I actually felt accepted. I started to do her chores for her when she left for school, that every night when she got home, her dinner was ready. I still stayed outside the window when she came home. And I wrote her more sonnets, poems and verses of what I felt about her. She found it a good choice to not pull me in from through the window, she said it felt like an angel watching over her.
Our conversations ran on and on on that notepad. Talking about her day and everything that went on under the sun while she was gone. A love affair on a notepad.
One night, six months after I stopped going to school, she came home late. She didn't even touch her dinner. She went straight to bed, she didn't even bother to scrub herself or read the notepad.
I mustered all the courage I had in me and went inside. I went to her side. I could smell her. She was dead drunk. So I thought she wouldn't mind. I took a washcloth and a basin and stripped her naked. I gave her a scrubbing and tucked her in between her sheets. I cleaned up her table putting everything in the fridge and gave her a goodnight kiss. She must have felt it through all the liqueur because she asked me to stay beside her. I did.
I left before dawn to take a walk and think. I was in love. When I got back to her apartment, she was gone. I looked at the notepad and there she wrote:
“Thank you, Michael, my angel.
Thanks for last night and the beautiful poem.”
So, I went back doing her chores for her, having a great feeling of being appreciated. I made her dinner after finding that she might have eaten last night's dinner for breakfast.
By the time she came home I was already outside the window, watching. She went straight to the window and for the first time, invited me in. We talked as she ate her dinner. We talked through the night. She invited me to take a warm bath with her, which later, she insisted. We took the bath, I, in silence, stroking her body and memorizing her every curve, absorbing her moans of pleasure.
We made love that night. She fell asleep in my arms, feeling her rhythmic breathing, stroking her light, jet-black hair.
She woke up as I was heating coffee, right before dawn. She said she didn't want to go to school that day. When I asked if she was feeling ill, she replied that she wanted to stay with me all day and that she felt rejuvenated.
We sat on that bed all day, enjoying every moment.
That night, we made love again and this time she didn't fall asleep. We talked the rest of the night, and she wanted to use the notepad again but this time our replies would be quicker. It went like this:
“I am Cherry Ann Reyes.
Eighteen. My mother is a pathologist.
And my father was/is a welder.”
“Why 'was/is?'”
“He fell from a building he was working on.
He didn't die.
He's in a comma.
And he likes to write poems and sonnets just like you.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's okay.
What about you?
What's your story?”
“My name is Michael Rodriguez.
My mother works for city hall.
At least she was the last time I saw her.
And my dad was a police officer.
He died a couple of years ago.”
“I'm sorry.
Do you want to stop?”
“No, it's okay.
Never really spent that much time with me.
I mostly spent my time with my brother who
died a few weeks before dad did.”
“Again, I'm sorry.
Do you want to talk about it?”
“would you care to listen?”
"by all means."
“Well, he was riding a train.
The same train we share.
And he just collapsed and never woke up.
Doctors say it was a mystery.
'He was in the peak of his health' they said.
I couldn't believe it.
He was as strong as an ox.
And he just left me and I don't even know
why or how.
He just left.”
“You want to stop this?”
“Oh, no.
It's your turn.
Tell me something weird.”
“Okay.
My cousin died mysteriously too.
He was older than me and taught me to play guitar
every weekend.
One day he just told me that he couldn't teach me
because he was writing a masterpiece.
The next morning, his mom found him dead.
Is that weird enough?”
“Nope.
Not enough. Not even mysterious.”
“Okay.
My mom is a pathologist and she conducted the autopsy.
And zero. Nothing.
He was as fit as a gymnast.”
“Oh.
Okay. Just like my brother.”
“Now it's your turn.”
“I have one weird story.
But I don't think you would like it."
"Oh, come on."
“I would write it down but it's a long story
so you would have to wait.”
“Okay.”
“Two years ago, a kid in my neighborhood
shot himself in the head twice.”
“Twice?
But that's not valid.
It has to be something that happened to someone
close to you.
And that's not even long.”
“Okay. About me then.
I once felt a really weird chill up my spine.
Everything and everyone I knew was gone.
All I heard were voices and howls and growls.
I was running all over the city.
I found refuge in an abandoned apartment building two
blocks from here and I started writing on my jacket
what I thought was happening.”
“What was happening?
Were you sleep walking?”
“This happened the day that kid shot himself.
He was sixteen and he went to our school.”
“Did you know him?
What was his name?”
“ Michael S. Rodriguez.”
(phone call)
Doctor Rodriguez?
I hate to be the barer of grave news
but we found your daughter, Cherry Ann,
drowned in her bath tub.
From the state of the body, it seems that
she have died maybe two nights ago.
And the neighbors claim to have heard moaning
from her room on the same night.
Does your daughter have a boyfriend?
Doctor Rodriguez?
Doctor Rodriguez, are you there?
Doctor...
-Orville “chubby” Basas
Thursday, February 5
pages of a fantasy - words of the lost
...I sat there on my bed, waiting for that sound.
But the sound I heard was not what I expected.
I heard the hammer hit the firing pin. But then nothing happened.
I opened it and checked if it was a miss fire.
The bullet in the chamber was hit squarely in the center of its primer.
I shrugged it as a dud. So I tried it again with a new bullet.
I closed my eyes real tight and pulled the trigger.
"CLICK"
That was all I heard.
I opened my eyes and asked myself out loud,
"where's the bang?"
I sat there for a moment staring at the gun and savouring the taste of burnt powder,
brass, steel and a slight stinging from the cleaning agent dad used to clean the gun.
"Revolver' as he proudly called it.
I shook myself out of my reverie. I left the "revolver" on the bed and went out of my room.
The house was still quiet. I guess mom wasn't home yet and, well, dad died and was buried
a week ago.
I pulled out an old leather jacket from my dad's stuff in the closet and went out of the house
to find another way to end my misery. I was up a few blocks, walking, when I noticed it.
Silence.
This city couldn't keep silent in the middle of the night up to the wee hours of the morning.
Yet, it was silent now, between three and four in the afternoon.
I looked around me and saw no jeepneys. Some of the stores were open but there was no one
inside them.
No costumers, no clerks.
I looked around some more, no sea of people moving on the streets except maybe for a
few homeless people minding their own business.
I went inside the Internet cafe where I usually hang out. It was deserted, but the computers were still on and running.
A shiver wend down my spine as I felt a presence around me that I could not see.
I backed up out of the door, spinning around as I felt the breeze of the outside.
Still, I felt the presence all around me.
Panicked, I ran aimlessly, few of the homeless people staring at me and the neighborhood wacko screaming at me.
I found myself running towards my mother's office. This, too, was abandoned.
I started to look around and I calmed down when I saw a janitor doing his business with the floor. I approached him and asked him what was happening. He said nothing, like he didn't even hear me. If he did, he didn't show any sign of it.
I was starting to cry when I felt a shiver down my spine again.
I spun around to see if someone was behind me. Nothing, just the blank empty silence.
I turned to the janitor but he was no longer there. Not even the mop or the bucket or any sign of them.
I was scared now and ran out city hall.
I ran 'till I found myself in front of our house. I stepped in side hoping that it's familiar confines will keep me safe from what made everyone disappear.
But as I sank in the sofa, I started to hear voices. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I knew they were talking to each other.
Then I heard a howl of pain as if someone in great grief.
Then I felt the presence again. The presence of something I could not see and begin to understand. But I could now hear them and sense them.
Quietly, I sat still, observing as the howls turned into sobbing. Then the voices I've been hearing swelled, as if more and more voices came in o join them. And the presence grew stronger.
I felt the presence sink beside me on the sofa, sobbing and wheezing for air.
I was petrified when it called my name. As if calling out to me to come to it.
I started to run for the door but I couldn't go through it as fast as I planned.
As if there was a sea of people blocking the door was that I had to push my way through it.
I finally and started running. I don't know where, but it seemed like the best idea.
I kept running and running 'till I just dropped.
I sat down on the pavement and as I looked up, I was in front of an abandoned apartment building.
Then I felt the presence brushing against me, over and over.
I ran across the street to an open diner. There, I felt the presence stronger, the voices louder.
I ran out and tried the other open establishments, they were all the same.
I found myself running up the fire exit of the abandoned apartment building.
I climbed in through the window.
I curled up into a ball in one of the corners.
Waiting, observing If I felt any presence.
Hours later I decided it was safe in here.
I don't know what time it is now, I looked out the window and everything is closed now.
I here noises on the street, like roars, screams and voices but I don't see who or what they are.
It's already dark out side but some how I don't feel tired nor hungry. All I feel is fear.
I'm writing this so I could keep record of what is happening. All I had was this pen and no paper so I'm writing this on my dad's jacket.
I intend to find out what happened. Tomorrow, at first light, I'll go back out there again and ask the homeless people what they know. And if I never get back, I hope someone would find this jacket and look for my mom.
(TABLOID NEWS)
"...At around four thirty yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Rodriguez, a government employee, the widow of a police officer and a mother of a teenage boy, shook the city with her cries as police escorted her to her son's bedroom..."
"...The police received a call from neighbors saying they heard what sounded like gunshots. Police discovered the teenage Rodriguez dead on his bed with his fathers 38.mm. revolver. Although the scene suggested suicide and witnesses claim that they saw no one else with Rodriguez when he had come home and no one came out after the shots, Police are suspecting foul play..."
"...'If the boy shot himself, he could have never made the second shot,' police said. 'As the scene reveals two slugs with brain matter, two empty shells in the revolver and two exit wounds at the back of the boy's head going in different angles..."
"...the gun was still in the boy's hand when they found him but police still say it could have been planted..."
"...Michael Rodriguez was sixteen years old and a student of ...."
-Orville "chubby" Basas
But the sound I heard was not what I expected.
I heard the hammer hit the firing pin. But then nothing happened.
I opened it and checked if it was a miss fire.
The bullet in the chamber was hit squarely in the center of its primer.
I shrugged it as a dud. So I tried it again with a new bullet.
I closed my eyes real tight and pulled the trigger.
"CLICK"
That was all I heard.
I opened my eyes and asked myself out loud,
"where's the bang?"
I sat there for a moment staring at the gun and savouring the taste of burnt powder,
brass, steel and a slight stinging from the cleaning agent dad used to clean the gun.
"Revolver' as he proudly called it.
I shook myself out of my reverie. I left the "revolver" on the bed and went out of my room.
The house was still quiet. I guess mom wasn't home yet and, well, dad died and was buried
a week ago.
I pulled out an old leather jacket from my dad's stuff in the closet and went out of the house
to find another way to end my misery. I was up a few blocks, walking, when I noticed it.
Silence.
This city couldn't keep silent in the middle of the night up to the wee hours of the morning.
Yet, it was silent now, between three and four in the afternoon.
I looked around me and saw no jeepneys. Some of the stores were open but there was no one
inside them.
No costumers, no clerks.
I looked around some more, no sea of people moving on the streets except maybe for a
few homeless people minding their own business.
I went inside the Internet cafe where I usually hang out. It was deserted, but the computers were still on and running.
A shiver wend down my spine as I felt a presence around me that I could not see.
I backed up out of the door, spinning around as I felt the breeze of the outside.
Still, I felt the presence all around me.
Panicked, I ran aimlessly, few of the homeless people staring at me and the neighborhood wacko screaming at me.
I found myself running towards my mother's office. This, too, was abandoned.
I started to look around and I calmed down when I saw a janitor doing his business with the floor. I approached him and asked him what was happening. He said nothing, like he didn't even hear me. If he did, he didn't show any sign of it.
I was starting to cry when I felt a shiver down my spine again.
I spun around to see if someone was behind me. Nothing, just the blank empty silence.
I turned to the janitor but he was no longer there. Not even the mop or the bucket or any sign of them.
I was scared now and ran out city hall.
I ran 'till I found myself in front of our house. I stepped in side hoping that it's familiar confines will keep me safe from what made everyone disappear.
But as I sank in the sofa, I started to hear voices. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I knew they were talking to each other.
Then I heard a howl of pain as if someone in great grief.
Then I felt the presence again. The presence of something I could not see and begin to understand. But I could now hear them and sense them.
Quietly, I sat still, observing as the howls turned into sobbing. Then the voices I've been hearing swelled, as if more and more voices came in o join them. And the presence grew stronger.
I felt the presence sink beside me on the sofa, sobbing and wheezing for air.
I was petrified when it called my name. As if calling out to me to come to it.
I started to run for the door but I couldn't go through it as fast as I planned.
As if there was a sea of people blocking the door was that I had to push my way through it.
I finally and started running. I don't know where, but it seemed like the best idea.
I kept running and running 'till I just dropped.
I sat down on the pavement and as I looked up, I was in front of an abandoned apartment building.
Then I felt the presence brushing against me, over and over.
I ran across the street to an open diner. There, I felt the presence stronger, the voices louder.
I ran out and tried the other open establishments, they were all the same.
I found myself running up the fire exit of the abandoned apartment building.
I climbed in through the window.
I curled up into a ball in one of the corners.
Waiting, observing If I felt any presence.
Hours later I decided it was safe in here.
I don't know what time it is now, I looked out the window and everything is closed now.
I here noises on the street, like roars, screams and voices but I don't see who or what they are.
It's already dark out side but some how I don't feel tired nor hungry. All I feel is fear.
I'm writing this so I could keep record of what is happening. All I had was this pen and no paper so I'm writing this on my dad's jacket.
I intend to find out what happened. Tomorrow, at first light, I'll go back out there again and ask the homeless people what they know. And if I never get back, I hope someone would find this jacket and look for my mom.
(TABLOID NEWS)
"...At around four thirty yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Rodriguez, a government employee, the widow of a police officer and a mother of a teenage boy, shook the city with her cries as police escorted her to her son's bedroom..."
"...The police received a call from neighbors saying they heard what sounded like gunshots. Police discovered the teenage Rodriguez dead on his bed with his fathers 38.mm. revolver. Although the scene suggested suicide and witnesses claim that they saw no one else with Rodriguez when he had come home and no one came out after the shots, Police are suspecting foul play..."
"...'If the boy shot himself, he could have never made the second shot,' police said. 'As the scene reveals two slugs with brain matter, two empty shells in the revolver and two exit wounds at the back of the boy's head going in different angles..."
"...the gun was still in the boy's hand when they found him but police still say it could have been planted..."
"...Michael Rodriguez was sixteen years old and a student of ...."
-Orville "chubby" Basas
pages of a fantasy - RANDOM
Slowly, I'm regaining consciousness.
My mind is coming back ti it's focus.
DARKNESS...
Hollow darkness.
I'm opening my eyes but nothing. I'm still in darkness.
At least I think my eyes are open.
Nervous. I'll stay still. I have a feeling I'm not alone, like someone is watching me.
I'll lie still, observing, listening for any sound.
SOUND...
Nothing. Not even the chirping of insects or croaking of frogs I usually hear
when I wake up at night in the middle of a power outage.
I'll get up from my bed.
Nothing happened. I can't move!
PANIC!
KEEP STRUGGLING!
Still nothing is happening.
Calm down... relax.
Take a deep breath or two.
I can't smell the air.
I can't even smell the cigarette butts I leave in the ash tray that usually
stinks up my air conditioned room.
SHIT!
I think I am no longer safe, inside my apartment.
Someone must have taken me some place else.
But how?
When I was asleep?
No! That's impossible. Even the movement of my cat when she sleeps on
my bed wakes me up.
Unless I was drugged.
Again, struggle! Fight against the bonds you are in man!
...
What kind of bonds?
Straps?
Ropes?
I don't feel it...
What the-- I don't feel it?!
SHIT!
START MOVING YOUR TOES AND FINGERS MAN!
No response.
I got it. I'll scream and let my captors know I'm awake...
My scream...
I screamed! I screamed, I know I did.
Why didn't I hear it?
Not even my whimper.
I have to calm down.
Think, man think!
Where am I?
Hell, if I know!
Where was I last?
Sleeping--
Wait..
Now I remember.
I was at school in my political science class.
The class ended with the professor cancelling our next two meetings
with him because he had to go somewhere.
Then I got out of school, had a smoke and went up to the transit.
I was going home to my apartment. I even remember an old man picking his nose on the train. Then I got home--
I got...
I can't remember.
Am I still on the train?
Have I fallen asleep? But why can't I smell the other passenger's on the---
OUCH!
FUCK! THAT HURTS LIKE HELL!
FUCK! THAT'S TWICE ON BOTH SIDES OF MY CHEST!
WHAT THE FUCK IS---
MOTHER FUCKE---
Dr. Reyes' private notes on pathology:
the subject is male, Filipino, 5 feet 5 inches in height, approximately 60 kilograms, in his early twenties. He collapsed on a train on his way home. He was pronounced dead on arrival in (DELETED). When I got to working on his body, to try to find the cause of death, it was already going in to rigor mortis. I figured his blood would already be coagulated at this point but as I made the first two incisions, his blood was still fluid and warm. I checked his vital signs again, there was none. He was dead, I was sure of it. I continued the autopsy. to my surprise, there seems to be nothing in his blood stream that could be poisonous, let alone weaken him. His organs were all healthy, no swelling pancreas, no battered liver. Everything was clean except maybe for the lungs which had tar and nicotine, but by the amount of it could not even kill a five-year-old. The tests on his blood was clean, no poisons, no narcotics, not even a hint that used cannabis sativa. As I see it, he is as healthy as he could be. All his past medical records were all normal. Just a few scrapes and bruises when he fell of a tree when he was five and the common cold which his mother thought was dengue fever. Aside from that he was never hospitalized for any diseases.
How in the world could this young man have died?
No lacerations, no contusions, no bleeding, just die?
It's like he just seized to exist. This is the first case I encountered that had baffled me and my staff. A mystery beyond our grasp.
(END OF ENTRY)
-Orville "chubby" Basas
My mind is coming back ti it's focus.
DARKNESS...
Hollow darkness.
I'm opening my eyes but nothing. I'm still in darkness.
At least I think my eyes are open.
Nervous. I'll stay still. I have a feeling I'm not alone, like someone is watching me.
I'll lie still, observing, listening for any sound.
SOUND...
Nothing. Not even the chirping of insects or croaking of frogs I usually hear
when I wake up at night in the middle of a power outage.
I'll get up from my bed.
Nothing happened. I can't move!
PANIC!
KEEP STRUGGLING!
Still nothing is happening.
Calm down... relax.
Take a deep breath or two.
I can't smell the air.
I can't even smell the cigarette butts I leave in the ash tray that usually
stinks up my air conditioned room.
SHIT!
I think I am no longer safe, inside my apartment.
Someone must have taken me some place else.
But how?
When I was asleep?
No! That's impossible. Even the movement of my cat when she sleeps on
my bed wakes me up.
Unless I was drugged.
Again, struggle! Fight against the bonds you are in man!
...
What kind of bonds?
Straps?
Ropes?
I don't feel it...
What the-- I don't feel it?!
SHIT!
START MOVING YOUR TOES AND FINGERS MAN!
No response.
I got it. I'll scream and let my captors know I'm awake...
My scream...
I screamed! I screamed, I know I did.
Why didn't I hear it?
Not even my whimper.
I have to calm down.
Think, man think!
Where am I?
Hell, if I know!
Where was I last?
Sleeping--
Wait..
Now I remember.
I was at school in my political science class.
The class ended with the professor cancelling our next two meetings
with him because he had to go somewhere.
Then I got out of school, had a smoke and went up to the transit.
I was going home to my apartment. I even remember an old man picking his nose on the train. Then I got home--
I got...
I can't remember.
Am I still on the train?
Have I fallen asleep? But why can't I smell the other passenger's on the---
OUCH!
FUCK! THAT HURTS LIKE HELL!
FUCK! THAT'S TWICE ON BOTH SIDES OF MY CHEST!
WHAT THE FUCK IS---
MOTHER FUCKE---
Dr. Reyes' private notes on pathology:
the subject is male, Filipino, 5 feet 5 inches in height, approximately 60 kilograms, in his early twenties. He collapsed on a train on his way home. He was pronounced dead on arrival in (DELETED). When I got to working on his body, to try to find the cause of death, it was already going in to rigor mortis. I figured his blood would already be coagulated at this point but as I made the first two incisions, his blood was still fluid and warm. I checked his vital signs again, there was none. He was dead, I was sure of it. I continued the autopsy. to my surprise, there seems to be nothing in his blood stream that could be poisonous, let alone weaken him. His organs were all healthy, no swelling pancreas, no battered liver. Everything was clean except maybe for the lungs which had tar and nicotine, but by the amount of it could not even kill a five-year-old. The tests on his blood was clean, no poisons, no narcotics, not even a hint that used cannabis sativa. As I see it, he is as healthy as he could be. All his past medical records were all normal. Just a few scrapes and bruises when he fell of a tree when he was five and the common cold which his mother thought was dengue fever. Aside from that he was never hospitalized for any diseases.
How in the world could this young man have died?
No lacerations, no contusions, no bleeding, just die?
It's like he just seized to exist. This is the first case I encountered that had baffled me and my staff. A mystery beyond our grasp.
(END OF ENTRY)
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Friday, January 30
pages of a fantasy - Legends of The Cosmos
I am Machree.
A few years ago I was a nobody but now I have a feeling the world will know me.
I have been experimenting with a melody on my guitar. I wanted to create my own style. Something I will be remembered for long after I die. I started to write a piece on sheet music.A few years ago I was a nobody but now I have a feeling the world will know me.
I was sixteen when I started.
Every night I would stay up late with my guitar scribbling notes, replacing some, sustaining a few.
After I finished the first four riffs I noticed that it would be far too impossible for a boy of my speed and ability to pull it off, but I decided to give it a try.
I ended up missing a lot of the notes so I decided to ease up with the tempo.
One night, I was eighteen, I finished arranging the four riffs.
I had in my hands six pages of the greatest melody. I played it that night and I found myself floating in the cosmos.
The greatest high I ever felt.
But it was not enough. I decided to make it into a symphony. For four years I kept writing. Making riffs, setting tempos and putting down notes.
Come to think of it, I do not remember ever doing anything else.
I don't even remember ever eating nor going to the bathroom.
But, anyways, I now have a masterpiece. Twenty four sheets of a great melody that could bring the tone deaf to the dwindling heights of the cosmos.
This music will put my name on the walls of fame.
I will become a legend.
EULOGY:
Today is a sad and dark day for all of us.
And even more for the dear parents of Machree.
Today we will bury a young boy of eighteen.
A quiet and kind young man of great talent.
A dear friend, a strong spirit and a loving brother.
My brother, Machree, had dreams. Dreams to become a great musician.
Dreams of writing music that could change the world.
Dreams that may no longer come true.
May we remember him in our hearts as a masterpiece in himself.
And as we lay him down to his eternal bed, may his first and last song
be heard, reverberate and resound in the hearts of all who hears it.
By mother's request, Machree's original, his masterpiece;
"Legends of The Cosmos."
-Orville "chubby" Basas
pages of a fantasy - Stranded
I open my eyes in dreadful fright as I wake in grim of silence
I lay full length and regained my sight and felt woe in all excellence
Wires and hoses run all over me and movement I cannot muster
All I can see is this light 'round me but thoughts are getting clearer
I cannot speak and I cannot breath but why am I still the living
I cannot feel and I cannot feed, all I can do is but hearing
Hearing the world sustaining the dying and to preserve a worthless life
I curse you for calling this living, I curse life for being my strife
I cannot dream and I cannot sleep, I cannot wake up from this slumber
I cannot live and I cannot weep even death would seem much better
I lie awake each night and listen, hear the living talk about my state
And all the words that they have spoken were pointless to my nearing fate
Stranded between death and the living, an aimless thought of the undead
A voiceless voice of a soul pleading for death to come and take my head
I beg you please, take this life from me, take your machines and let me be
I beg you death, show me your beauty, come for me and set me free
Come, take me out of this misery, death take me to across the sea
death of life please show me your pity, take me out of my misery
I am not dead nor am I living, I cannot go back nor forward
No ounce of strength to me returning, fated to be a fate less bastard
I pray for death but death never comes to lay me my eternal bed
Tied to machines that gently hums. tied to machines that gives me dread
Pull the plug and give me liberty, please take this life away from me
Let me die in peace with dignity, please take my breath away from me
Angel of death do me your duty, please take my thoughts away from me
Give me death which I thirst for, Please take these dreams away from me
I beg you, stop this insanity, take this soul out from this body
I call your name, death, please hear my plea. put me out of my misery
-Orville "chubby" Basas
I lay full length and regained my sight and felt woe in all excellence
Wires and hoses run all over me and movement I cannot muster
All I can see is this light 'round me but thoughts are getting clearer
I cannot speak and I cannot breath but why am I still the living
I cannot feel and I cannot feed, all I can do is but hearing
Hearing the world sustaining the dying and to preserve a worthless life
I curse you for calling this living, I curse life for being my strife
I cannot dream and I cannot sleep, I cannot wake up from this slumber
I cannot live and I cannot weep even death would seem much better
I lie awake each night and listen, hear the living talk about my state
And all the words that they have spoken were pointless to my nearing fate
Stranded between death and the living, an aimless thought of the undead
A voiceless voice of a soul pleading for death to come and take my head
I beg you please, take this life from me, take your machines and let me be
I beg you death, show me your beauty, come for me and set me free
Come, take me out of this misery, death take me to across the sea
death of life please show me your pity, take me out of my misery
I am not dead nor am I living, I cannot go back nor forward
No ounce of strength to me returning, fated to be a fate less bastard
I pray for death but death never comes to lay me my eternal bed
Tied to machines that gently hums. tied to machines that gives me dread
Pull the plug and give me liberty, please take this life away from me
Let me die in peace with dignity, please take my breath away from me
Angel of death do me your duty, please take my thoughts away from me
Give me death which I thirst for, Please take these dreams away from me
I beg you, stop this insanity, take this soul out from this body
I call your name, death, please hear my plea. put me out of my misery
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Tuesday, January 27
pages of a fantasy - the mind
Come with me to the valley of the shadows
To the darkest pits of which no mortal knows
Where the howls of hell are heard as melody
Where our distorted views of life and beauty
Are burning tides for the heart of the many
Etched in every man's bleeding heart's fantasy
Where listening to the sound off tolling bells
Echoing with sorrow in the empty wells
Wakes us all from slumber in the depths of hell
And gives us more of those bleeding hearts to sell
Where we sit with the wolves, dine with the reaper
Where we lay with death, take joy in the fever
Where the pleasures of life that shadows cover
Will always be on the road to the never
Wine will flow to intoxicate your being
To distort you from the joy you are seeking
Food will run to corrupt you and your thinking
It will make you see what you are not seeing
Air will blend with sweetness intoxicating
The streams will merge with nectar so enlightening
You will see the great fragrance of the dying
How mountains would replenish the starving
You will see the wind's chill comfort the crying
You will witness the great arch angels falling
The rivers will love all those who are mourning
And it will turn them all to a reigning king
Come with me to a world of death surpassing
Where all creatures are equal, dead or dying
There your thoughts of anguish are celebrated
And melancholy becomes the artist's bed
There the malevolent and the demented
Are revered, honored, distinguished, clothed and fed
There the foul roam free, the utopia of dread
There strident, painful cries resound in your head
There the sighs of the singed pacify the meek
And the hunger for death gives strength to the weak
There the wise surrenders to nature's mystic
And the fallen angels would dare not speak
Come with me to the valley of the shadows
A wondrous place which all life and beauty shows
To the darkest deepest pits of which no mortal knows
A great white river of grim, anguish and woes
-Orville "chubby" Basas
To the darkest pits of which no mortal knows
Where the howls of hell are heard as melody
Where our distorted views of life and beauty
Are burning tides for the heart of the many
Etched in every man's bleeding heart's fantasy
Where listening to the sound off tolling bells
Echoing with sorrow in the empty wells
Wakes us all from slumber in the depths of hell
And gives us more of those bleeding hearts to sell
Where we sit with the wolves, dine with the reaper
Where we lay with death, take joy in the fever
Where the pleasures of life that shadows cover
Will always be on the road to the never
Wine will flow to intoxicate your being
To distort you from the joy you are seeking
Food will run to corrupt you and your thinking
It will make you see what you are not seeing
Air will blend with sweetness intoxicating
The streams will merge with nectar so enlightening
You will see the great fragrance of the dying
How mountains would replenish the starving
You will see the wind's chill comfort the crying
You will witness the great arch angels falling
The rivers will love all those who are mourning
And it will turn them all to a reigning king
Come with me to a world of death surpassing
Where all creatures are equal, dead or dying
There your thoughts of anguish are celebrated
And melancholy becomes the artist's bed
There the malevolent and the demented
Are revered, honored, distinguished, clothed and fed
There the foul roam free, the utopia of dread
There strident, painful cries resound in your head
There the sighs of the singed pacify the meek
And the hunger for death gives strength to the weak
There the wise surrenders to nature's mystic
And the fallen angels would dare not speak
Come with me to the valley of the shadows
A wondrous place which all life and beauty shows
To the darkest deepest pits of which no mortal knows
A great white river of grim, anguish and woes
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Monday, January 26
Beauty after the rain
LOVE: So beauty, child, it has been a long while
who do I give credit for that great smile
Never have I seen you radiantly glow
Curious as I am, would you let me know
BEAUTY: He has found me, Love, HE has held me tight
He has made everything feel oh so right
I want him, Love, to take me forever
I want his swear that no one could sunder
LOVE: Who?
BEAUTY: An I think he loves me too
LOVE: You think?
BEAUTY: Oh, no. I feel it so
LOVE: What else do I don't know?
BEAUTY: We knew each other back when we were young
But our love song was never sung
He went away somewhere and stayed so long
But now he is back and we sang our song
He said Beauty's child is now a lady
I feel like fate has done so much for me
LOVE: Fate? I thought you did not believe in her
So I guess now you found your true lover
BEAUTY: Oh yes, Love, and this one is a keeper
I will not let him go now that he is here
LOVE: After that talk in the rain
After that fear and that pain
BEAUTY: Oh, Love, this is different
This is not your little game
LOVE: I know, I know, I have heard your song
I am confident it will last long
I am just saying after the rain
I hope that we would not do that again
I hope that you would really be happy
I hope he would love you true, dear Beauty
BEAUTY: I am confident he will, I feel him
Now I know it is he I've been missing
I felt it all last night when I held him
I want him to love me and me be loving
This heart is beating, I know it is he
After a long time I am happy
LOVE: That I can see, I am happy for you
Thank God someone has finally come through
So may you prosper and may your love grow
And may your radiant glow forever show
-Orville "chubby" Basas
who do I give credit for that great smile
Never have I seen you radiantly glow
Curious as I am, would you let me know
BEAUTY: He has found me, Love, HE has held me tight
He has made everything feel oh so right
I want him, Love, to take me forever
I want his swear that no one could sunder
LOVE: Who?
BEAUTY: An I think he loves me too
LOVE: You think?
BEAUTY: Oh, no. I feel it so
LOVE: What else do I don't know?
BEAUTY: We knew each other back when we were young
But our love song was never sung
He went away somewhere and stayed so long
But now he is back and we sang our song
He said Beauty's child is now a lady
I feel like fate has done so much for me
LOVE: Fate? I thought you did not believe in her
So I guess now you found your true lover
BEAUTY: Oh yes, Love, and this one is a keeper
I will not let him go now that he is here
LOVE: After that talk in the rain
After that fear and that pain
BEAUTY: Oh, Love, this is different
This is not your little game
LOVE: I know, I know, I have heard your song
I am confident it will last long
I am just saying after the rain
I hope that we would not do that again
I hope that you would really be happy
I hope he would love you true, dear Beauty
BEAUTY: I am confident he will, I feel him
Now I know it is he I've been missing
I felt it all last night when I held him
I want him to love me and me be loving
This heart is beating, I know it is he
After a long time I am happy
LOVE: That I can see, I am happy for you
Thank God someone has finally come through
So may you prosper and may your love grow
And may your radiant glow forever show
-Orville "chubby" Basas
the jar and the lid - a love song
R.J.:
It's been ten years since I saw you last
Ten pointless years of life living fast
Ten years since I lost the sight of you
Ten lost years of doing what I do
You were beauty's child and poetry
That child, that art is now a lady
Oh that radiant glow I saw in you
Now burns brighter, burns a brighter hue
Would you believe me if I told you
I have loved you since I first saw you
Would you believe that I say it true
Would you believe me and love me too
BEAUTY:
Oh, for so long I have been waiting
And for so long I have been waiting
To find that one that has been missing
To really be loved and be loving
This heart has been wandering too long
Too long have I waited for your song
Do you know that I loved yo then
But was too young to know way back when
So just take my hand and dance with me
Just hold me close and sway me gently
Just dance with me 'till the sun goes down
Just dance with me 'till all else are gone
-Orville "chubby" Basas
It's been ten years since I saw you last
Ten pointless years of life living fast
Ten years since I lost the sight of you
Ten lost years of doing what I do
You were beauty's child and poetry
That child, that art is now a lady
Oh that radiant glow I saw in you
Now burns brighter, burns a brighter hue
Would you believe me if I told you
I have loved you since I first saw you
Would you believe that I say it true
Would you believe me and love me too
BEAUTY:
Oh, for so long I have been waiting
And for so long I have been waiting
To find that one that has been missing
To really be loved and be loving
This heart has been wandering too long
Too long have I waited for your song
Do you know that I loved yo then
But was too young to know way back when
So just take my hand and dance with me
Just hold me close and sway me gently
Just dance with me 'till the sun goes down
Just dance with me 'till all else are gone
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Sunday, January 25
stealing sunset
Once under the gray twilight of a dawning light
Before her world would shine and make captive your sight
T'was a cold foggy morning to begin her day
And fate, with her, was already starting to play
By dawn, Beauty's eyes have seen radiance in a lad
He has seen radiance in the grace that beauty had
Yet not a word between them were spoken at all
Perhaps they were too young to know they were to fall
By morning Beauty's heart was exploring the world
Taking in lessons from the love songs she has heard
Yet no one else has seen her radiance and beauty
No one seeing the lady she can and will be
Come mid day she has learned to love another
Yet never seeing that radiance in a lover
She was loved yet fate knew she deserved much better
So she learned from what happened - getting much wiser
By that afternoon when it was time to come home
Tired and restless with no one to have but her own
The radiant lad too, had no one to call his own
Seeing each other and wanting to call it home
Before sunset they finally took time to dance
Giving credit to fate for all the pre-dawn glance
So they danced away waiting for the love to end
Yet sunset never came, nor waiting 'round the bend
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Before her world would shine and make captive your sight
T'was a cold foggy morning to begin her day
And fate, with her, was already starting to play
By dawn, Beauty's eyes have seen radiance in a lad
He has seen radiance in the grace that beauty had
Yet not a word between them were spoken at all
Perhaps they were too young to know they were to fall
By morning Beauty's heart was exploring the world
Taking in lessons from the love songs she has heard
Yet no one else has seen her radiance and beauty
No one seeing the lady she can and will be
Come mid day she has learned to love another
Yet never seeing that radiance in a lover
She was loved yet fate knew she deserved much better
So she learned from what happened - getting much wiser
By that afternoon when it was time to come home
Tired and restless with no one to have but her own
The radiant lad too, had no one to call his own
Seeing each other and wanting to call it home
Before sunset they finally took time to dance
Giving credit to fate for all the pre-dawn glance
So they danced away waiting for the love to end
Yet sunset never came, nor waiting 'round the bend
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Saturday, January 24
the honest liar
Eyes wide shut, I ran out in to the open air
Breathing in so the fresh air of lit cigerettes
Taking in the deafening silence of traffic
I bow down to see the the bright skies of burnt dark clouds
Open my eyes tight and bore what I can not bare
I burn myself on how ever cold this world gets
Chocking on the nothingness that makes this world sick
The world is winning on the basis of no grounds
Find myself in paradise of some painful stare
Of, undoubtably, untamable, curious pets
Shaking their fists in love of some dead politic
Who said he would build mountains and ended up with mounds
Where am I drifting to, where have I been sleeping
How has it been for you, is irony leaking
Greatly, I admire the dead, for they are certain
Certain of their every whim and every movement
As for me I am not sure how my life proceedes
Is it left, right or is it somewwhere in between
Am I part of this society's unspoken
Unspoken for out of every moment
Because, inside me, life already planted seeds
That tells me to fade into the background and grin
Anything getting through in this senseless ranting
Are remains of your soul still alive and kicking
-Orville "chubby" Basas
Breathing in so the fresh air of lit cigerettes
Taking in the deafening silence of traffic
I bow down to see the the bright skies of burnt dark clouds
Open my eyes tight and bore what I can not bare
I burn myself on how ever cold this world gets
Chocking on the nothingness that makes this world sick
The world is winning on the basis of no grounds
Find myself in paradise of some painful stare
Of, undoubtably, untamable, curious pets
Shaking their fists in love of some dead politic
Who said he would build mountains and ended up with mounds
Where am I drifting to, where have I been sleeping
How has it been for you, is irony leaking
Greatly, I admire the dead, for they are certain
Certain of their every whim and every movement
As for me I am not sure how my life proceedes
Is it left, right or is it somewwhere in between
Am I part of this society's unspoken
Unspoken for out of every moment
Because, inside me, life already planted seeds
That tells me to fade into the background and grin
Anything getting through in this senseless ranting
Are remains of your soul still alive and kicking
-Orville "chubby" Basas
all that jazz
Swoop me down with your guitar
And your subduing saxophone
Make me sway with those ivory
And bob my head to ebony
Make my heart pound with that soothing bass
Make me snap my fingers to that percussions
Make me tap my feet to that trumpet
take me high
Skad away, skad
Make me groove, make me move
Sing to me that melody
ring that beat so heavenly
Hit me with that beat
Hit me with music
-Orville "chubby" Basas
And your subduing saxophone
Make me sway with those ivory
And bob my head to ebony
Make my heart pound with that soothing bass
Make me snap my fingers to that percussions
Make me tap my feet to that trumpet
take me high
Skad away, skad
Make me groove, make me move
Sing to me that melody
ring that beat so heavenly
Hit me with that beat
Hit me with music
-Orville "chubby" Basas
CAPTIVE
Never have I seen so much radiance
And, oh, all else found in the heavens
That when I look at you watching me
Sorry for having caged your beauty
You tried to make me understand you
And be happy for all that you do
I could not be what you wanted me
Sorry for having caged your beauty
You are too much of a great goddess
To be tied up to someone useless
Sorry i could not make you happy
Sorry for having caged your beauty
Blame me not for I love you that much
So much to build my world by as such
Structures to keep you all for just me
Sorry for having caged your beauty
Denny me not my distorted views
Leave me the right to light my own fuse
Take the chance to find what you could be
I have no right to cage your beauty
-Orville "chubby" Basas
And, oh, all else found in the heavens
That when I look at you watching me
Sorry for having caged your beauty
You tried to make me understand you
And be happy for all that you do
I could not be what you wanted me
Sorry for having caged your beauty
You are too much of a great goddess
To be tied up to someone useless
Sorry i could not make you happy
Sorry for having caged your beauty
Blame me not for I love you that much
So much to build my world by as such
Structures to keep you all for just me
Sorry for having caged your beauty
Denny me not my distorted views
Leave me the right to light my own fuse
Take the chance to find what you could be
I have no right to cage your beauty
-Orville "chubby" Basas
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