LIFE EVOLVES. It is not about us oldies anymore

LIFE EVOLVES. It is not about us oldies anymore. It's about the future of the young. Remember the days? A 17-year old hotshot smartass slugging out my dad's admonitions or grandma's reprimands: “I've been there and back! Listen to me, young man!” Well, I probably “listened” but off the “annoying” words exiting off my left ear soon after I stepped out of the house. Now, my own kids have grown and one is now a parent (so I am a grandpa). Now I talk like my dad. To my artist/filmmaker son: “I know art shouldn't be sold like a material bauble, but you gotta earn to pay bills, son.” To Law student daughter: “Rest up sometime, please. You can't solve all problems posed afront you. Relax.” To my middle daughter, a parent: “Yes, you have two kids at 23 but life isn't over yet. Dreams don't die. But kids are blessings.”         

          I heard those words over and over and over again in the past—from mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, aunt, uncle, mentors, and elderly who cared and loved me deeply although I always defined their generosity with the tone of their exasperated voice or pummeling ebb of their sentiment whenever they said those reminders. Perhaps, I allowed my youthful impatience to cloud the beauty of their heart. I listened alright but did I feel—beyond the harsh words and frustrated tears? I can only shake and bow my head in apology... Ah, the “cool” ones that I preferred to hang out with, soft voices and nice lessons, those who seldom disagreed, they were so “cool.” Yet they left when the tempest started shakin' and breakin'. And those that are left to bear with my flaws and faults, indiscretions and imperfections—are those whose words I now channel through my own “admonitions” and “reprimands” to my children. 

Our political lives and all that stuff

IF we dig deeper and try to get off the Hitler horror cloud a bit and figure out how come the dude was able to convince minions to gather on his beck and call, we can see a parallel in current times. People are disgruntled and frustrated mainly by virtue of the One Percent's (eg Corporate World) machinations in complicity with governments. That is the kind of sociopolitical environment that a quintessential demagogue thrives. A demagogue is a political leader who seeks support by appealing to popular desires and prejudices rather than by using rational argument. That is why elections are about winning and the best (or worst?) demagogues win. Many times strategists play around a certain effective rah-rah slogan that goes with charismatic leaders—and that spell victory.

          In the US, I believe that the ruckus that ensued between camps of polar extremes (Trump against Sanders mainly) reflect a painful truth. Americans are pissed. As per a recent Washington Post/ABC News poll, voter discontent has reached a fever pitch: 72 percent say their elected officials can’t be trusted, and two-thirds believe the nation’s political system is dysfunctional. Some 21 percent of people want the eventual president-elect to employ drastic makeover of government structures and start over from scratch. Such utter disillusionment mutates into two polar extremes that howl, “We need complete redress of the system!” which makes Republican frontrunner Mr Trump's “Bring back America to Americans!” battlecry and Democrat Bernie Sanders' “Power to the people!” chant seem very alluring and palpable—at least to the heart that bleeds.

          Many compare Donald Trump with The Fuhrer. True, The Donald's politics could be a bit blurry, uncontrollably assymmetrical mostly. He claims to run on a platform of populism, nativism, protectionism and authoritarianism—with strong opposition to immigration, free trade and military interventionism. Meantime, many detractors find his fiery espousals as white supremacist/racist and misogynistic—sending shivers of a Hitlerian blueprint.

          But then, remember, the Adolf fella gained popular support in 1924 by attacking the Treaty of Versailles and promoting Pan-Germanism, anti-Semitism, and anti-communism with charismatic oratory. He denounced international capitalism and communism as being part of a Jewish conspiracy. Hitler aimed to eliminate Jews from Germany and establish a New Order to counter what he saw as the injustice of the post-World War I international order dominated by Britain and France. The kicker was his first six years in power resulted in rapid economic recovery from the Great Depression. Hence, he lured back ethnic Germans to return to nativeland. Germany back to the Germans. And then he got really fucked up. Rest of horrible history.

         

Trump's glib albeit straight-through rhetoric infers that the ills of current America is ushered by an immigrant community in connivance with giant corporations. And when we talk about the American who lost a factory job to overseas outsourcing and then sees Chinese products flooding retail shelves then comes home to an injured soldier kin languishing in alcohol, what do we see? Then Trump promises, “I will give your life back.”

          I refuse to sweepingly judge those who gravitate to Trump as idiots or morons. These are disenfranchised citizenry relegated to the background of a largely elitist, politically-correct and educated social enclave. Their woes and hopes accentuate “popular desires and prejudices rather than rational arguments.” Bottomline, the people want change. And Trump minces no words in saying, yes he can. Do I like him? No. I am just pointing some factors why he seems so popular. We have to take note as well—elections aren't really about who is the most deserving, or right, or just candidate—it is all about winning, no matter what. It's all about numbers. Hence, the most popular ones, with the most formidable One Percent backer, win. How do the people conter that? Advocate to non-believers instead of pushing them away.

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APPARENTLY, the (political) system is flawed and needs to be amended. It worked in the past but it doesn't mean it will work in the present—due to obvious huge upheavals in the way Americans/people live or pursue their respective happiness... The world around us is also changing majorly. China isn't sleeping anymore as in the time of FDR's New Deal. Russia is the #1 producer of crude oil, not the US/UK-controlled Saudi Arabia. 
          Normally, as history attests, revolution spews out of huge frustration by the citizenry—but I don't think revolution is going to happen in the very near future in America. People are so into their own individual wants and needs, plus sectoral/gender politics/faith-based polarities etc, to care about old-school bonding as tactical alliance to bring down power (think Bolsheviks, French Revolution, coup de etats in Southeast Asia, Fidel/Che vs Batista, even Tiananmen Square Revolt). I mean, we will fight more about bathroom rights than employment opportunities.

          One semblance of revolutionary outburst was the Occupy Movement. Yet it was more of a leaderless rainbow gathering, a drum circle, a protest camp with abstract demands—that'll go pfft once snow comes in. I was in Zuccotti Park in Wall Street for a week. “Occupiers” didn't even groundwork residential or business supporters in re basic needs ex. bathroom exigencies. Piss on a side of a building, cops will pounce on you. Who made them exist till they gave up? MacDonald's across the street which opened 24/7 to attend to their needs. The One Percent. Zuccotti Park is owned by a One Percenter real estate company. Protesters were there till they get tired with the show. Is that revolution at all? It was a field trip.

          What people should do, given the flawed governmental workings, is to look beyond elections and don't stop lobbying, protesting, educating communities, nonstop—and then hope to influence committee hearings, city council rules and laws, get the activists to get off the cellphones and iPads and get out there and do something more tangible and real. Just be real and realistic. Educate the people on realistic terms. We are not in Nicaragua or Nigeria. We are in the US, the universe's most powerful nation where the global One Percent ensures as a playground and theater for all their domination designs. They're not going to budge just because a fraction of us want to.

          Yet I do believe that no matter how we think that we have installed a most deserving President, without utmost and vigilant support from his/her constituents, such an administration or government is still bound to fail. It's all about us, the people.

So another rock star passed away

SO another rock star passed away. Prince. We crowd our Wall with his music, images, and the good things that he was and he did. Each time a person that we so admire dies, we mourn like he/she's our next of kin, a close friend... Yet whenever this happens, a flipside of our humanity comes to the surface. One that is flawed yet human. We cuss and berate and lambast people who are not our idols like they are the darkest of knights, the coldest of nights. These people who happen to believe in a different faith, contrary politics, or even the way they live their life—we call them idiots, morons, dumb, douchebags etc etcetera.

          What if we say Prince the man, Prince Rogers Nelson, is actually a Jehovah's Witnesses devotee? Those dudes on white shirts and black ties that we usually eye with disdain as they approach our front porch with a Colgate smile on a weekend? Or do you know that Bono, the U2 frontman whose politics you may agree with, is a believer of Jesus Christ—and actually travels as an evangelical activist? Or how about Denzel Washington, the coolest dude, right? He doesn't approve of same sex marriage—and in fact hopes to be a preacher one day. We are nice to them because they are celebrities, larger than life—or maybe a notch different from the Baptist preacher that we always blame for all the bigotry in the world?

          People believe, people follow. People are different from us. There is a Universal Good and Evil. We know what is good and we know what is bad. So let us be kind and nice to one another—despite our differences. We are all trying to be good and be cool and co-exist under positive circumstances and peaceful wavelength.

          So as we end another day, as another cool human being passes away, let us take it easy and look within than without. Let us get off the frame of our personal prejudices and see only the good in the human heart. Anyone doesn't have to be a David Bowie or a Prince to deserve a little understanding and respect for what they are.

We are all equal

MAJOR reasons for individual animosities and global wars are kickstarted by polarities or non-compromises in the area of faith/religion (culture), politics and ideologies. When another energy or party bullies, imposes or forces its belief or stand over the other, it's going to be messy...

          I always believe that all religions and cultures, political ideologies or party principles—are hinged or dovetailed on a good thing, for the common good of the people and communities that these human-designed norms and tenets are meant for. Christian or Pagan, Buddhist or Muslim, Republican or Democrat, Filipino or Somali, Communist or otherwise, black or white or yellow or brown and red—we are all here to enjoy Earth and Life under universal good. Universal Good is no-brainer. It doesn't have to be discussed all the time on TV talk shows, or hallowed halls of power, or neighborhood cafe. A socialist finds it hard to vibe with a capitalist—but maybe southern blues rock can; a Pagan may not be able to share thoughts over sun and moon with a Christian but a nice brewed cocoa may gather them again; a Republican or Democrat may debate over Obamacare but, hey—sometimes they agree on a March Madness Bracketology. Whatever it is that we believe in, we have to stick by it, because I reckon all these that we believe in were originally guided by a sweet hand of goodness. The Holy Bible, Quran, Bhagavad Gita, The Red Book, I-Ching, paella, and strawberry salad—are all good, great and holy. Be consistent, be staunch, be cool.

          What I don't dig are those who tread contradictions in favor of convenience. Che Guevara was a true revolutionary who dug in the wicked woods of his wars—he didn't purchase that beret on Amazon or I don't think he squirmed over “bizarre” food in the jungles of Bolivia. Whoever god or god/dess that we pay praises for—I bet that spiritual light didn't say I have white, immaculate skin of purity and yours is tangerine flesh of doom. Criticize me, I'll criticize you; smile at me, I'll smile back at you—the human logic is quite simple. But sharing the good stuff is always more pleasurable than the opposite. When food is served on the table, the cook didn't say this lasagna is for Republicans and that pot pie is for Democrats. Or snow didn't just fall for the Cherokee, and rain didn't just flood Indonesians. We are all equal under the blue, blue sky—and down there, is murk and mud. We are the same as stones and wildflowers—although I dig the Bee Gees more than my friend's Rage Against the Machine. No big deal. It's all good. We don't have to argue about it. Dig? 

MY LITTLE DRAMA. Pollen Allergy and Stuff

APOLOGIES for hyperventilating. This pollen allergy could be the most irksome physical aggravation (ailment?) that I ever had since my hospital visits in Manila in 1995 and New Jersey in 2000. I'd rather muster a bad flu than this irritation. I couldn't really sleep and I had to contain my asthma almost every 20 minutes (thanks to the nebulizer!) To make this more depressing, my fantastical superhero/superhomey pretensions are now crumbling to pieces that I'm even misunderstood or some people don't really believe that I am this “sick.” It's not like I am about to die—but it also doesn't mean that I have both physical and mental energy to go out at all. Days ago, I thought I was fine—so I accompanied Cindyrella to some errands (mostly I was in the car). But when I tried to walk inside the store, my faulty breathing scared me. Days ago, when I refused to see some friends to hang out, some thought I was making an alibi or “acting like a douchebag.” That it was my usual aloofness and indifference in meeting people. Not that, please.

          I must admit however that irrelevant of this allergy, I've cut my so-called social life a considerable lot. Those who know me are aware of how insanely relentless my community activities were (whether it was in the Philippines or in the US). I led a life that seemed to run between rains, a bullet train on hyperkick (sic). Hence the twin near-death trips to the ER (mentioned above) weren't so surprising. Those were all wear-and-tear exhaustion that I ignored or neglected till it almost put me away.

          These days, it's more age catching up on me. Man, I will be 56 in July! I might as well be 96. I am mentally tired and physically exhausted—yet I still got huge energy to focus inward. Write. Create art. Teach. Read. Enjoy family. I still do travel for “non-partying” leisure and to read in support of my book/s and come out to see a good show or have dinner with few close friends—but I am not The Madman anymore who used to supervise two club shows a week, two all-day park concerts a month, edit and layout a fortnightly newspaper, travel to New York and Baltimore monthly, perform almost weekly for years. I don't know. But I tend to plan out my (outside) energy and time more these days. I enjoy reconnecting with longtime friends and talking with family on Facebook. I also got more than two dozens of TV series and shows to follow, LOL! Honestly though, being with friends and family albeit online keeps my peace and quiet realizable, pacifies my homesickness funk.

          Meantime, I don't enjoy listening to advocacies and rants and ruminations anymore, philosophies and spiritualities that I sought out in four continents and many big city lights and small town barns and bars. It's not like I am ahead of others or I already “knew” too much. Not that. I just feel like I imbibed so much of life and the world that the only way to loosen up and calm down is to write them or translate all these into a more subdued flow (like being at home with the babedawg and koolcat or cooking for friends, gardening and doing housework, teaching younger people what I know about writing etc).

          Yet still I can say, I really don't know when my chakras will run berserk again. I had a self-imposed two-year hibernation, dividing my time between Candler NC and Athens GA, hoping that I could easy-down my fire and churn out a number of writing projects. I did yet I am still struggling to focus (yes and no thanks to Facebook distraction!) As I said, I don't know. Those barbecue invites and gig hellos and partytime hugs will have to wait. For now, I gotta deal with this awful pollen (allergy) onslaught in my system. But I hope that some friends and relations will understand. This is not an alibi and I am not being a douchebag (I do hate that word). I am just indisposed as hell. Allergy is such a bitch!

I wanna write another poem...

(WRITTEN months ago)

I WOKE up at around 4:15, almost an hour ago. I glanced at my laptop clock, it says I slept for about six hours... I feel I had enough sleep already, my mind is awake. I let Andres Segovia, the great flamenco guitar maestro, play with my early-morn rumination... Too early for Bee Gees or Led Zeppelin, I guess?

          My immediate memory of hours gone by slides to Westville Pub in West Asheville early last night—when a young man approached me, soon after I settled on a booth. “Hey, Pasckie, man... I love your poems, man!” as he eagerly extends his hand to greet me. I don't know him but does that matter? He saw/heard me read few months ago in town and he remembered me for those poems... In my little town, or in those little towns in my huge journey, where I left a little imprint of myself—a poem, mostly—I receive blessings such as a sweet reminder that, “You are the poet.” That's enough to make my day—makes me feel I am alive, worthy of life.

          Years ago, one summer afternoon, as I nonchalantly walked on a Wilmington beach, a 7-year old girl stared at me with a smile and exclaimed, “You are the man me and my mom met in Asheville, you had dancing there at the park!” I smiled back, “Bonfires for Peace.” Those random moments when someone sits beside me on a park bench, or someone recognizes me on an Earth Fare queue, or someone offers me a beer in a downtown bar, or someone stops on a street as I walk, and say, “I love your poems!” or “You are the journalist!” or “The Indie!” or “When is the next bonfire dancing in the park?” In my little town or in any other little town where I find my little me find himself—and that “himself” feels so huge. I feel like a rock star in just those little, random moments—and I'm not even Barry Manilow! Yet that's enough to make me feel like I wanna write another poem, and then my life is alive again. Just like that. 

PRINCE (June 7, 1958 – April 21, 2016)

BORN, Prince Rogers Nelson in Minneapolis, Minnesota. My fondness for Prince started when I heard his first hit “I Want To Be Your Lover” (1979) in Casey Kasem's American Top 40 radio show. Right there, I wanted to visualize the intriguing singer (no google or YouTube that time), who kinda shares my tiny elfin height! No sooner, I got hooked to his work—a shrewd interface of funk, rock, R&B, soul, hip hop, disco, psychedelia, jazz, and pop. That fascination was coaxed by his outrageous yet colorful costumes and seminal funky fashion sense—which I always find mystifying in rock stars like David Bowie (Ziggy Stardust), Alice Cooper, Boy George, Kiss, even Jimmy Page's concert outfits. I love colorful clothes as you can see, LOL! Seriously though, Mr Nelson is the quintessential no-bullshit artist. In addition his flamboyant stage presence and wide vocal range (falsetto to baritone and rapid, seemingly effortless shifts), Prince was renowned as a multi-instrumentalist. He was considered a guitar virtuoso and a master of drums, percussion, bass, keyboards, and synthesizer. The precise number of instruments he was capable of playing remains obscure. On his debut album, he was credited with having played 27 instruments!

          Funny, that there was a time when—as I was reading my little kids “The Little Prince” I told them The Prince can also sing and dance and went on to play and lipsync “Kiss” to their delight. Oh well, Prince! A true Artist! I love musicians who give it all what they got until the limits of physicality give way. He passed away in the elevator of his studio in Chanhassen, few minutes after 10 AM today, April 21st, 2016. A week ago, the singer was hospitalized after his private plane made an emergency landing after a show in Moline, Illinois. Varying reports said he was suffering dehydration and was getting over the flu. He was released after three hours and flew to Minneapolis, where he was recovering at home.

          Today Doves are Crying for Prince. I am sure wherever he is, his show continues. So long, Little Big Dude!