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Showing posts from April, 2012

An Attempt at Poetics

Why do we write what we write?

Such is a question that I imagine each writer finds necessary to pose to him or herself, yet at the same time, I believe, is one of the hardest to confront and give sufficient answers to at least without falling into platitude or lying. When I speak of the activity of writing here, I do not mean the writing of academic papers we are every now and then required to produce, nor is it the accomplishment of works for other ends than itself, such as, attaining some recompense or fame, or, as in the days of old, attaining immortality. What is missing, or at the very least hidden or lost, when writing is used as a means for other ends is the fundamental free movement of the pen.

Strictly speaking, no one really hasto write. We can imagine the child or the young adult preferring to play using his hands instead of wanting to be initiated into the craft of writing (what do they even mean to the child, words?). Come adulthood, especially in today's 'workad…

Ang Katangahan ng Pag-ibig

Chasing Pavements
Songwriters: Adkins, Adele; White, Francis Eg;

I've made up my mind, don't need to think it over
If I'm wrong I am right, don't need to look no further
This ain't lust, I know this is love

But if I tell the world, I'll never say enough
'Cause it was not said to you
And that's exactly what I need to do if I'd end up with you

Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?
Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place
Should I leave it there?
Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?

I build myself up and fly around in circles
Wait then as my heart drops and my back begins to tingle
Finally could this be it?

Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?
Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place
Should I leave it there?
Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?

*
When making a d…

35 Degrees

Finally, to sit.

A long, long stretch of activities and commitments on the homefront and in academics from both sides of the classroom have kept me from just stopping a while and attending to that urge within me to do nothing at all. After a short vacation cum visit to my sister, and passing three papers at the end of the semester just after beating deadlines to submit my own grades--here I am, slowly inserting activities I have missed since months ago. Big Bang Theory, some NBA 2K, going out for lunch by myself on Fridays, going back to exercising, a bit of online book shopping, and a solitary drink or two at night. These were what I would do before when I was off school for a year. And one more sweet nothing I'd like to do again while I can is to write.

I have a number of essays I'd at least like to try writing (essai, as Montaigne understood it, is to attempt or try something). I've put them off through the school year, just noting them down as they came to mind. Most …

Another Digression

A response for the meantime. Let me wonder first at what you said, think--and grin.





Hope sits on top of the world, supporting its weight and easing its difficulty (impossibility). Otherwise, "hope floats" and goes astray, having to fly without rest and direction. I do not know yet what that means, really.

But what is obvious is this: Hope is an activity which I choose to do. It is not passive (like expectation, waiting helplessly). Hope is to continue playing a harp which has only one string left. All the other strings have been broken. Life does that to you, you know. It breaks strings and tempts us into believing that it is useless when it is incomplete and almost destroyed. But precisely, these are the conditions of the possibility of truly hoping. We can most truly hope when it seems we can no longer go on and keep playing. To hope is to continue the music playing even when you find it difficult to hear any music. Yet you continue playing. You just have to listen, listen…

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