On the ABS-CBN Franchise Saga: What's the Real Story Morning Glory?

The process of getting a congressional franchise can be best described as like traveling through the South Luzon Expressway. There's a gatekeeper every stage of the way, all of them politicians. It starts from the Congress Secretariat (which receives the application), the Rules Committee (which sets it on the agenda for referral) to the Committee on Legislative Franchises (which discusses the bill), until it is passed by the House, then the Senate (where it goes through the counterpart committees), and sent to Malacanang for the signature of the President. 

The crucial part is with the Committee on Legislative Franchises, which is such a popular house committee, sometimes 2/3s of Congress comprise this singular committee. When I once worked on something like this for a client, we had to deal with 150 congressmen. Every one of them had the power to delay the proceedings of a franchise application by a mere oral motion to defer regardless of any reason. In my case, a congressman from NCR did it in the middle of a hearing, and my client had to maneuver to get him to retract his motion. In the case of ABS-CBN, you can imagine how congressmen, some of whom cheated their way to get there (just look at the number of election protests pending), would take this is as a political or business opportunity. But assuming it gets approved in the House, it has to hurdle the same process in the Senate. 

In my case, our application had an easier time with the Senate Committee on Legislative Franchises then under the late Senator Joker Arroyo, but when it was already before the Senate plenary, a senator from the south who was always absent in our morning hearings (the guy had trouble waking up early) wanted to insert something, and so it was recalled until his amendments could be put in. It had to be a late afternoon hearing to accommodate him. I really don’t mind, but it shows how important one Senate vote is in this process. 

After the franchise application is successfully passed in the Senate (this after, the Bicameral Committee has reconciled their versions), the bill is then sent to Malacanang. Usually, the President doesn't act on franchises, so they just lapse into law after thirty days. Of course, we all know how Duterte sort of insinuated that he was going to veto any such  ABS-CBN franchise if it ever gets to his office.

I think the real issue here is why do we ask our broadcasting companies to go through that hell? We all know how crucial a broadcasting company is to the political careers of our politicians. Asking our media companies to get the approval of politicians is like putting them at the mercy of the very people who can use them for their political ends. It makes broadcasting companies vulnerable, which may compromise their integrity. 

There is an untold story on this ABS-CBN saga and nobody is brave enough to tell it. But in any case, if any revolution is forthcoming (which I doubt), this provision of law asking broadcast companies to get a franchise from Congress should be deleted.

For Coach Jude Roque who asked.

Oldies But Goodies: Maikling Review ng Unang Solo Exhibit ni Alex Bugsy Sibug

Gateway Gallery
Araneta Center, Cubao, Quezon City
July 3 to 17, 2019

Ang gusto ko sa trabaho ni Alex Bugsy Sibug sa exhibit na ito ay nailagay niya ang isang eksena ng aking kabataan sa isang kahon. Pero hindi naman talaga kahon, dahil ito ay isang two-dimensional pastel painting na bunga na pagkabihasa  ni Alex sa mga klasikong technique ng trompe l 'oeil, nalilinlang ang mga mata at napapaniwalang ang mga bagay sa kanyang mga painting ay nahahawakan at nararamdaman, at tila nagbubukas ng pinto upang bumalik ang mga alaala.

Nung panahon ng dekada 70, ako ay nakatira kapiling ng aking mga Lola sa Pola, Oriental Mindoro, kung saan meron kaming sari-sari store. Madalas akong tumambay doon, kaya alam ko pa ang presyo ng mga candy. Halimbawa, ang White Rabbit ay tigdi-dyes. Pareho ng Viva Candy. Yung mga parang maliit na itlog na tsokolate na nakabalot sa palara na maraming kulay, dalawa beinte singko 'yun.  Yung Serge Chocolate bar? Mahal yun -- tigsi-singkwenta. Itong mga Oldies But Goodies, wika nga sa pamagat ni Alex sa isang painting niya, ay ang dahilan kung bakit madalas namamaga ang aking ngipin nung araw, subalit kung may bumabagabag sa akin, napapalakas ko ang aking loob sa pamamagitan ng candy.

Huli kong nakita ang tindahan namin nung umuwi ako ng Mahal na Araw nung 1996 upang ipagdiwang kasama ng aking mga Lola ang aking pagpasa sa bar exams. Umalis ako ng Linggo ng Pasko ng Pagkabuhay  at di kalaunan ay nagkasakit na ang aking  Lolo, at sinara na ang tindahan. Nung Agosto ng taon ding yun, umuwi ako upang ilibing ang aking Lola, at ang tindahan ay wala na. Magmula noon, tuwing umuuwi ako sa amin, sinasabi ko sa sarili ko na hindi ako makapaniwalang wala na talaga ang aming tindahan. Ito ay parang kagat sa aking puso na aking dinadamdam hanggang ngayon.

Subalit nang makita ko ang painting ni Alex na tindahan ng mga candy para akong bumalik sa amin sa Pola. Tila ba binuksan ni Alex ang nakakandado kong mga alaala at muli ko itong nakikita sa harap ng aking mga mata. Sabi nila, ang mga alaala raw ay may bitbit na mga damdamin. At ang alaala na ito sa akin, lalo na ang  eskaparate ng mga candy, ay may dalang tuwa at ginhawa, na parang sinasabing, ano mang mga ligalig ang dumating sa buhay, maaayos din ang lahat.

Sabi ni Sir Herbert Read, isang magaling na kritiko ng sining at manunulat, only the artist has access to the deep intuitions of the mind and give them objective representation. These deep intuitions, neither rational or economic, exercise a changeless and eternal influence on successive generations of men. Ito ang ginawa ni Alex, sinaliksik niya ang mga alaala ng mga nawalang panahon at binigyang buhay sa harap ng aking mga mata. At sa pagtingin ko sa pangitaing ito, naibabahagi sa akin ang malalim na intuition na ito -- hindi ko alam ang tawag, ngunit sa aking hula ito ang intuition na biyaya ng pagasa.

At dahil diyan, kailangang magpasalamat kay Alex  sa pagbabalik sa akin ng aking alaala ng kabataan, alaala ng masayang buhay, alaala ng pagmamahal, at alaala ng pagasa. Sa panahon ngayon, maraming tao sa mundo ang nalulungkot at nadi-depress sa buhay. Ngunit tinataya ko na sinuman ang may malaking problema na papalaring makita ang kanyang mga obra ay tiyak na matutuwa at mabibigyan ng pagasa kahit isang saglit man lang. Walang gamot, gadget,  o anuman na naimbento na papantay sa pambihirang bisa nito kundi ang pastel at ang papel at ang mahusay na kamay ni Alex. Si Alex ay isang tunay na henyo ng ating lahi.

Ang Apo ni Tasyo ay Atorni

Marahil kung ipunin ang bawat
minutong aking ginugol kapag
naghihintay tawagin ang aking
kaso -- dati nga nakatitig lang
ako sa dingding, hanggang natuto
na akong makinig sa huwes, tapos
naging alalay sa mga kapwa
abogadong kapos sa palusot,
at sa labis na ngang kabagotan,
inisip ko na lang na kunwari
isa akong preso, nagnakaw ng
motorsiklo, carnapping ang kaso,
trip lang ng barkadang paglaruan
ang Shakey's delivery, eh hindi
pala ako marunong mag-motor,
kaya tinakbo ko na lang, ayun!
Nahuli tuloy. Ngayong umaga,
sesentensyahan na raw ako. At
nasa dulo kami ng listahan.
May abogado rito na gusot
mayaman ang Barong, siya ay ngiting
asong nakatitig. Kung sana ay
ako kaya ang abogado at
s'ya ang preso? -- Malamang may sagot
na akong naisip sa tanong ko,
ang paghahatol ba ay tulad ng
delubyo nang wasakin ang bayan
ng Sodom at Gomorrah ng apoy
at asupre, o di kaya naman
nang magwika ang bayang Judea
ipako'ng anak ng karpintero
sa krus dun sa bundok ng Kalbaryo?
Ay naku! Magkaiba ang sagot! Kung ako
ang abogadong taga-usig o
ako ang inuusig na preso!

Home is not a place

Last night I dreamed I was back in Pola,

lying on the bed where I used to sleep,

in the old house made from trunks of Narra.

There were strangers who were welcoming me

“You’re finally home,” they said, “You’re the boy 

who was brought here when you were just three months

old.” Indeed, I recognized the same house 

by the sea, the sound my Grandma makes as 

she sweeps the street in the early morning,

the gentle rhythm that used to calm me.

But not last night in my dream as I was

restless. And I shouted at the strangers.

“Where is she? Take me to her! This is not

my home!” And I woke up and clutched your hand, 

thinking, my home is wherever you are.

Tango Celeste

You’d be surprised to know this tune

is about winning a horse race

Por Una Cabeza, which means

by a stallion’s head. It reminds

me how twenty one years after

we’re dancing to this beat, inspired

by Al Pacino. Taking turns

to lead and follow, trying not

to break the rhythm, laughing

”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”

and being laughed at the way that

we normally do, when someone

has taken a thing seriously

like me tonight, tipsy on gin,

dancing like a Japanese pug.

The night that I asked you to be 

my wife, I almost missed, because

a meeting took too long, traffic

got in the way, you’ve been waiting.

You left, your patience expired

I caught you not a second late, 

Por Una Cabeza, I could 

be singing this song instead, me

alone, guitar in hand, childless

”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”

”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”

were it not for a stallion’s head.

Holy Iron

I was a teen-ager when my Grandma 
took me to task for this ministry of 
well-pressed pants. Why should I dislike, she asked, 
the long preparation to gather the
leaves of bananas, light the coals, set them in
the flat iron? 

To patiently wait as I fan them ‘til 
the heat is right, ready for the smoothing?
And there is a method to this ritual, 
she said: You start with the pleats
and pockets 

and make your way to the cuffs.
Follow the 
rhythm as you hold the pants 
on the board  — 
fold, press, back  to the dock, fold
press, and back 
again. If you mind yourself 
long enough, 
it resembles the sound 
on Good Friday 

of penitents passing. There is a small 
pail of water to soften the textile, starched, stiffened, and baked.
You dip your fingers 
a bit and bless the  fabric. She had more things to say: the scent of burnt leaves
reminds her of monks praying. The clothes make 
the man, I know, but Grandma taught, the soul, 
vain, reckless, is mastered in the pressing.

Some deaths stay with us

Oh, I will never forget Palomo,

black-spotted Dalmatian who came every

now and then to bark and get some viand

leftovers before lunch as he goes to

market; he'd do a few tricks for us like

stand on his hind legs, pretend his human.

He's someone else's dog really but he

pays us a visit like the friend who comes

for coffee to share some thoughts on a bit

of politics, history,  relations,

except that he's a dog.  Until one day

somebody rushed to the house, "Palomo's

been poisoned!" Palomo walked to our yard,

he's making strange noises, his mouth dripping

with bubbles, and he looked at us as if

begging us to do something. Someone said 

make him drink Coke with sugar. My Grandpa

obliged, held Palomo by his neck and

poured the concoction on his mouth, but poor 

Palomo laid down sideways on the ground.

My Grandpa wept as he held Palomo,

who took his last breathe shortly. I touched his

soft fur to say goodbye. Wet eyes staring

on blank space.  Ah, this happened 40 years

ago; I sob like t'was this afternoon.

Dose

Nung araw, nagtayo kami ng team

Iba’t-iba ang pinanggalingan:

Probinsyano, batang squatter, rich kids

Pandak, matangkad, payat, mataba

Problema lang, lahat kami point guard.

Pag-hawak ng bola, dribble, dribble, 

tuloy tira basta maka-shoot lang.

Ay! Walang panalo kahit isa.

Ngunit minsan dumating si Coach Jay.

Marami siyang itinuro sa’min.

Gumaling kami. Natatalo rin

pero iba. Kung baga sa pan de

sal, tinama niya ang mga sangkap

harina, tubig, pampaalsa at 

asin. Minasa ng katamtaman.

Kaya kami yumabong, nagbigay

ng lakas, ‘di lang sa amin mismo,

pati na rin sa mga kalaro.

Isang gabi bigla siyang hinuli 

ng mga sundalo, rebelde raw.

Isa sa aming dose rin pala

ang nagsumbong. Ang balita namin

pinatay siya sa bundok kasama

ng mga magnanakaw. Subali’t

anuman ang sabihin nila ay

pinagmamalaki namin siya at 

maski kailan ay hindi namin siya

malilimutan. Mula noon ay

palagi naming inaalala

sa kahit anong gawain, mapa-

laro, trabaho, o pagsasanay: 

Sino sa atin ang gaganap sa 

papel ng minamahal na Coach Jay?

Borong Borong

Let me tell you how I learned empathy.

I was probably three years old back then.

My parents were in Manila; I lived 

with my grandparents in Pola, small town,

by the bay, lush mountain, sweet bananas.

One day while playing on the street, I met

Borong Borong, a boy older than me 

by a few years. He had a scooter, which

was made of scrap wood and junk steel wheels,  which

he used to roam around town for errands.

Now, my Grandma asked him to come one day

To get some stuff from the market on his 

scooter; he asked me to come along with 

him. I gamely obliged riding on the

platform, while he stirred and pushed as we rolled.

So, Borong Borong got the stuff and we 

went back home to Grandma who was  waiting.

She was so happy when we arrived and 

she handed him a coin in gratitude. 

And I protested as she didn’t give me 

any, not even a poor “mamera.”

But Grandma told me Borong Borong was

an orphan, and the coin is for hot soup

for him when he gets hungry when there is 

no one to feed him and he misses his 

mommy. And I don’t know what hit me but

I cried so hard and pressed my face on the 

wall, surprised that Borong Borong, jolly 

fellow with the wooden scooter, had no

mommy or daddy. And until now I 

regret why I felt I wanted that coin.

Elegy

Almost done with breakfast,

got startled as you shreaked

begged me kill the cockroach

under the table please.

As I stood, knife in hand

searched for the intruder

Stepped on the evil thing

smashed, squished, and crackled so

the sound of frying egg

“I killed it with a knife.

That’s truthful, isn’t it?

Misleading, but valid.”

I saw the insect’s kin,

the corner of the room,

A whimper, “You humans!

Your words hide cowardice.

By an assassin's Crocs

My dear daddy is dead.

My mother will be shocked.”

Prelude to a Fight

Said the white rooster 

to the red

“Don’t you tire 

of this pecking? 

Our beaks are sharp

our necks strong and flexed,

are we meant

to serve 

a higher order?”

And the red replied,

“Impertinence!

Bury your claws on 

someone’s throat.

To perish with 

bloodied combs,

no reason 

can be as great.

And the white

turned away,

flapped, jumped

and crowed in 

memory of a love, 

who laid,

with ketchup 

by her side.

Plato in Boracay

Charming island 

blue sails

where coconuts

grow on sand;

warm afternoons

on your cold floor

lured everyone to come.

Athens of the east

to all who search

and the few who find.

With you the hemlock 

is sweet 

escape from 

sophist souls.

Die if we must here.

Kant is a moron.

The truth is cradled on

your shores.

Foucault gets drunk on Good Friday

What knowledge can be 

more powerful than 

knowing that You are

God?

A thousand different 

things I would do if 

I suppose I were 

You.

I snap my fingers

Calvary would have 

turned into a crois-

sant.

Your trick turning blood

into wine but I 

prefer a Pinot

Noir.

Pontius Pilate I 

would have turned him in

to crumbling cheese of

blue.

Yet two thousand years

ago, You knew that

the Word that made all

words 

possible will end,

life lived well will meet 

a staggered humble

death.

And I, contemplat-

ing this last bottle

shake my head as I

sleep.

Friday Night Rhapsody

What could be a better deal than this?

I give you my money

You give me in 

toxi

cation.

The spirit I can’t hear it.

No, I can’t see it. 

Only one way to do it

in

toxik

cayshen.

Smile when I smell it

Taste but no tether

it won’t give me in

tohksi

cayshen.

I gulp and I'm done

I'm done and I'm gone.

This is how we live today

distracted by the focus

focused on distraction.

In

tok

shi

kay

shen.

Impeaching Sereno is a giant step backwards

A couple of years ago, I posted here that the appointment of then Justice Sereno is the most important defining moment of the PNoy Presidency. She was the only nominee who was insulated from powerful interests and  with a reputation for academic excellence, and integrity. Further, being the youngest nominee,  she could ensure that the Supreme Court would be stirred towards independence beyond the terms of succeeding presidents. And she proved PNoy’s appointment motives right when she herself voted against the PNoy Administration’s pathetic defense of the infamous pork barrel scheme known as Disbursement Acceleration Program (DAP). 

Is it therefore any wonder that the agenda of the Duterte Administration is the impeachment of CJ Sereno? Duterte wants things done and the last thing he needs is an indepenent court run by an academic with an apolitical leaning. He and his people have said many times that the drug addicts are not human and they don’t deserve due process. In his first State of the Nation Address, he grumbled about human rights, in the process revealing his authoritarian leanings. Duterte and Sereno stand in opposite poles of the political spectrum, one a despot who fashions himself as a spartan; and the other, a religious libertarian free of Vatican dogma.

I’m afraid CJ Sereno’s ship, which once stood as formidable, has been found to have holes. Her issue with her Statement of Assets and Liabilities and Net Worth is not a magnet that could rally thousands to oust her; but, since her predecessor stumbled on the same thing, it’s a legal excuse that the Senate and Congress dogs of Duterte can use to impeach her. Never mind if it’s not even a high crime as required by the Constitution.

I’m looking at the Senate line up whose votes would determine CJ Sereno’s fate. What would be their gains in voting for CJ Sereno’s acquittal? It doesn’t look good. If only CJ Sereno can rally people to her side; yet her pedigree is anathema to the ways of the morally-compromised politician that sadly is the proto-type of a Filipino leader. The people should realize that the impeachment of CJ Sereno is a re-establishment of the old order, a return to the ways of the “bata-bata” system that made it possible for Ferdinand Marcos to legitimize his cling to power in 1972. But nobody cares at this point. Duterte has the nation bewitched with several narratives that cut across interweaving interests; the Chinese invasion of Philippine territories, the tax TRAIN, the drug menace, the roll-out of  infrastructure projects, and the Dengvaxia vaccine fiasco, among others. 

What depressingly interesting times we live in. 

#StandwithCJ

Day 79: How do you like to spend eternity hazing?

And so it comes to pass that our law students are going through the old and barbaric system of hazing again to initiate a member into fraternities. Hazing is an eternal recurrence — nobody knows who invented it, for what reason, and why people engage in it. It is probably as old and as returning as an army of soldiers assembled to defend a king. 

With the recurrence of this foolish practice, I am reminded of the Doctrine of Eternal Return. It is said that what you do on earth, you will do in eternity. It is the phenomenon that follows from the cyclical nature of time. Thus, every event in the universe, in all its details and in its whole cosmic context, will recur an infinite number of times in exactly the same way that it has already occurred an infinite number of times in the past. 

 I’ve often used the Doctrine of Eternal Return as a tool for discerning my actions.  Before doing something, I simply ask myself — is this action something that I can do in all eternity? In the Philippines, I’ve heard declarations that mirror this Doctrine as, for example, the saying “Ang nabuhay sa baril, sa baril din mamatay.” (Live with the gun, die with the gun.) On a lighter note, I’ve heard men professing their love to maidens and say, “Pakakasalan kita sa lahat ng simbahan.” (I will marry you in all the churches.) 

But to go back to hazing, I ask each prospective neophyte and senior frat members to think about this before they find themselves in a hazing incident again. Is hazing something you are happy to do forever?  There is no escaping the curse of eternal return — it is as certain as the sunrise and the sunset — you will be the hazer or the hazed for all eternity. And each death that occurs in a hazing has and will be occuring in an infinite number of times. If you even try hazing with a promise that you will never do it again, you will be engaging in wishful thinking  — for like the others before and after you, hazing will forever be in your fate. It will haunt your dreams. The vision of this madness will be on endless repeat mode in the Youtube playlist in your minds. 

We are all on this earth only for finite number of years.  And whatever we do in these years we will do infinitely. Is hazing really worth doing forever?

Day 78: Hope

"Master, why do we repeat our mistakes?"

asked the pupil to the Master.

The Master shook his head.

"We're no different from a dog with a piano.

There is a chance

it can play Moonlight Sonata

even as it keeps pounding 

the same keys."

Day 77: Purpose

“Master,” the pupil asked,

”does anything happen by chance?”

And the Master made a frown,

“When the universe speaks to you,

it is never superfluous;

everything,

like the dirt in your dog’s paw,

is the message.”

Day 76. The Wisdom of a Rat

Asked the pupil to the Master,

"Master, why is life so difficult?"

The Master looked at him and smiled.

"Try asking that to a rat," the Master said.

"It would probably say it doesn't mind, 

but you with your big brain,

you pester yourself with silly questions."

Bar Boys is a topnotcher

The danger in having a lawyer watch a film about law school is he might see things in the movie that aren’t there. Going through the maze of more than a  hundred years of law and jurisprudence while honing the legal 4Rs — reading, recitation, (w)riting, and (a)rithmetic, and being constantly subjected to an ultimatum, law or videogame cohorts, law or your girlfriend, law or your sick parent,  is an experience a lawyer is not inclined to repeat. There is a possibility that a film about law school will generate ghostly apparitions in the lawyer who went through the hard years and came out scarred but alive.

But I’d like to think I managed well, as I sat through Bar Boys, a film supposedly premised on the ultimate horror experience of law school, letting images and scenes trigger memories from the period in my 47 years on earth which I often describe as  being “on leave” from everything else. I was both laughing and teary-eyed at the shock of recognition upon being shown images of bundles of photocopied cases, markers, heavy volumes of law books, and the law school characters: the arrogant professor with a twisted-tounge, the violence of the frats, and the esoteric but crucial difference between the curve and the cut-off grading system. Indeed, Bar Boys delivers the authentic law school life. I have to check myself now — yes, all of those things were in the film.

Bar Boys is a story well told. It got an “A” rating from the Film Ratings Board, because  it is not a strung up gag show about law students, but a solid and coherent film about four young adults going through law school hell. 

There are at least four stories here finely woven into an easy running time of 71 minutes. Christian is the rich Harvard-bound looker with a perfectionist father and a displeased girlfriend. Toran is the fratman who becomes part of a hazing session that shakes his moral compass. Eric is the struggling son of a security guard who experiences the ultimate test of emotions, taking the bar exams while grieving the death of his father. And Joshua is the one that did not make it to law school; he probably ended up us the client.

The film is an adventure to the sub-realm of the legal world. In the process, the characters experience the heartless system that separates the elite group who makes it to the other side of the bar and those who are left to stay in the same side as the masses. The characters hurdle their own tests, often less about the law but more about themselves, and their friendship itself is tested at the climax of the film.  

Joshua, the non-lawyer among the leads, judges his friends, “mga nilamon na ng systema” (those who have been eaten by the system), reflecting the idealist lamentation of our lost hopes that we put on our lawyers and the legal system.  But what is the alternative to the legal system that we often complain about but the reckless and brutal authoritarianism and lawlessness of dictatorship? Hobbes be damned. The legal system centered on due process as an absolute is a great system. Oops, that one did not come from the film. Yet, Bar Boys pulls out Ranier Maria Rilke from the Book of Images  as a professor consoles the bar flunker close to the end of the film,  “The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.” So, fine,  we’ve been eaten by the system, but it is a damn great one.

I hope Bar Boys generates enough interest to break ground on a new film genre about the Filipino experience of the law. It is only through stories like these, well-told and entertaining, that we can reconcile with the alienation that most of us feel with the law and its disciples.

Day 75

Asked the pupil to the Master,

Is it good if the evil man

is killed by evil means?

And the Master replied,

Careful with your words.

To the eagle killing a snake,

the snake is the evil one;

to the snake,

it is the eagle.

Day 74: Tanong

May pilosopo ba

sa langit?

Kung nakita na ang

katotohanan,

at ang diwa ng kataga ay

ngayon at magpakailanman pa man,

kung ang misteryo

ng pag-ibig at pagkasuklam,

ng tapang at takot,

ng meron o wala

ay nasagot na,

ano na ang gawain ng

dating pilosopo sa lupa?

Kung wala,

dito na lang ako.

Mas maligaya ako

sa tanong kaysa

sagot.

Day 73: The Face Bandit

She enters the room

silently as a cat does

and murmurs to me

the accomplice to this task

that she wants

Pares Sais.

In this place,

breakfast is our guise,

covert is our goal.

She finds a spot

in the corner,

her eyes on fire,

hunting her prey;

she unpacks 

the charcoal on the table.

A look to the left and

her victim she finds.

Without  noise 

nor haste, she scalps

the broad outlines

of his nape; in sharp glances 

she catches the meekness

in his eyes, the sparkle of light

that bounces off the 

bones on his cheeks.

As her meal arrives,

she munches a bit

and washes it down with 

tea, but her eyes never

leave him and follow

his every pace.

She worries that he does not sit;

rages when he stooped to pick

a wayward paper that he flicks

to the basket of waste.

Patiently, she watches 

as he finally settles on his desk;

she seizes the moment 

to mark the dots and lines 

on the space.

It seemed the paper 

always bore his face and 

needed only her hand to blacken off 

the excess light. 

Quick strokes here and there,  

then it is time.

I approach him 

like a game master at the conclusion of a show.

Poor guard about to end his shift.

Please come to her table, 

she has something for you.

He scratches his head, 

leaves his bag on his chair, 

and walks to her.

Meet Lecaroz, I say, 

thank you for being here.

The portrait is yours.

In a few years, you might become rich.

Who knows?

And she shakes his hand,

and they take a picture,

the artist, the subject, and her art,

little man in a little joint

caught by the face bandit

until she strikes again.

Day 72. From a Legal Memorandum

Respondent can find as a many contradictions as he pleases with the irrevocable special power of attorney and the Memorandum of Agreement, mostly imagined than real. As the philosopher Jacques Derrida said, there is never a moment in language where meaning is definite. Words, especially legal words, are subject to interpretations of subtexts and contexts. Even the meaning of social justice is essentially contested. Yet, Respondent by signing the Memorandum of Agreement is prohibited from exploiting this basic fragility of the legal language. He is in fact duty bound to try to supply these nuances and bridge the spaces where words fail. Yet, by insisting on not drafting the irrevocable special power of attorney himself and choosing to nitpick on why and which provision of the irrevocable power of attorney is inconsistent with the Memorandum of  Agreement, he has hostaged the Project. He has chosen to filibuster, and for that he is in bad faith. That should never be countenanced in any modern justice system. 

Day 71. Karma is a hoax

One of the most fascinating songs of the Beatles is "The End" from their last album Abbey Road. The song is the last in a medley of sorts and is preceded by the Ringo Starr drum solo before the harmonized vocals sing, "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." John Lennon was proud of it as a sort of the group's contribution to philosophy, which he described as a cosmic equation. 

When I was old enough to understand it (which was really old), I realized it was about karma; you reap what you sow as the cliche goes. If you've been bad, bad things happen to you. To put it in a positive sense, if you've been good, good things happen to you. As John Lennon puts it, it is the mathematical equation of the universe. 

But it is not so if you're a Christian. Why -- because we didn't bring anything to the table. It's not equal; it's all God. And even if we've been bad, good things will still happen to us. In the same way that bad things also happen to the good people. God's forgiveness transcends our sense of morality. This helps explain the Parable of the Prodigal Son, which is revolting to the good people. Karma seems to come too late to the bad people, if at all. 

It's Good Friday today, a day when we commemorate the day when men executed the Christ. I put the Jesus Christ Superstar album on repeat in my Spotify playlist. No Beatles paganism today. Come to think of it, the mystery of Good Friday is we got away with it. Two centuries since the killing of Jesus Christ, God's Son, and humanity has not been abolished and continues to flourish. Karma is a hoax. 

Day 70: Animal Talk

Is greed an emotion?

asked the bull to the monkey.

The monkey shook his head, saying

Why do you ask silly questions? 

The bull

munched on grass

and said, my apologies my friend,

I wanted to tame it

like my anger.

Day 69: Fashion Mishaps by Chuang Tzu

Well pressed shirt

with purple tie

dimpled at the

middle where

the knot is —

a perfection taking

years to master, then

your pen blots it all, 

a dark patch of ink

turning your outfit

no different from a rug.

Lesser men will have 

their hearts melted

But greater ones will call it 

unfortunate without stammer 

or hiccups in their voices.

Day 67/68 Nietzsche the Clerk

You should have 

told me a day before

yesterday

if it was due

yesterday.

Power is

you with the bottle

of Scotch as I

miss dinner, tv, and

sleep,

imposing on

my time

what you cannot

impose on

yours.

Day 64/65/66: I missed a poem

yesterday, as I hopped from isle to isle

first stop Bulalacao, darling town of Mindoro; 

a thrilling ride on the hills overlooking the sea 

to be at a nestled resort haven for the peace-hungry;

my father of seventy declared how blessed he was to have lived to see this day, and we feasted on roasted pork crabs, and noodles. I sang John and Paul’s In My Life on the karaoke and rode the ship for Caticlan, gateway to the famous Boracay. At one hour past midnight I waited for dawn for my flight, Visayan chill I savored over ginger tea. My plane left as I looked

at the white and silver sands.  One of these days said I, I’ll be back and do more than see. In Manila, I arrived and joined the clan of hundreds, listened to Great Aristeo speak of Nanay Irene and Mamay Isko with ten children they lived with unsurpassed unity. Misty-eyed all who heard him speak and happy they came to hear and see. And I, who pledged in January to write verse everyday, I failed; all energy spent, no sleep for hours, and worried silly.  No poem can be as good as this day of revelry.  Life happens and we know love matters more, yes love matters more than all the poems, all the poems, that could ever be.

Day 63: Coffee Talk

We entered the cafeteria

unwelcomed by that smell of cow 

innards stewed in ginger.

You asked —  is there a 

difference in the conversation

over instant coffee vis-a-vis

the kind priced astronomically 

prepared in a French press

and served in pin-lighted 

polished wood interiors 

with tall chairs?

I’ve always thought musings

over brewed coffee are superior, 

you said — they’re better, relaxed,  

if not philosophical, compared to the cheap

fuzz-free sugar, coffee, cream

3-in-1, tit for tat.

As we stood to leave the table

finishing the quick in and out talk

over our cups

getting the business done in 

what is called short term 

give and take

I was ready to agree with you,

save for the fact that we never 

had it this good

in a coffee chain or 

hotel lobby which disproves

everything so far said.