Ok, ok, ok, so you want to be appreciated. You say your writing means something and that it is a true expression of yourself. Probably painstaking in your methods to perfection.
The fallacy is that writing begins with the reader. Readers usually aren’t concerned with questions of structure, and style. They either read the book or they don’t, maybe enjoy it or not, and might be affected by it. If the reader is affected by it he/she feels emotionally attached to both the writer and the work.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Chrono Trigger
About a week ago I started using this Super Nintendo Emulator for my mac. Couldn’t believe what I had discovered, the chance to play all those games a grew up with, again. Just when you thought you escaped those damn video games they go and do something like this.
Problem isn’t that it’s so easy to install, rather that its free. All of it. Available on the internet for the low, low price of nothing. And they’re small, Super Nintendo games rarely go beyond a megabyte and to think they were housed in cartridges the size of betamax tapes. Really puts everything in perspective.
Things aren’t what they seem.
Problem isn’t that it’s so easy to install, rather that its free. All of it. Available on the internet for the low, low price of nothing. And they’re small, Super Nintendo games rarely go beyond a megabyte and to think they were housed in cartridges the size of betamax tapes. Really puts everything in perspective.
Things aren’t what they seem.
Kambas ng Lipunan
The video reminded me of something I wrote awhile back.
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The Children
At night, or even only during the day, you can see them. As you drive by, in your car from wherever, listening to whomever on your radio, you will take notice. And as much as you wish it weren’t true, they exist, and they’re right next to you. They knock on your window, and you keep your hands at ten and two, or on the shift, and you pretend they’re not there with their necklaces of flowers. These children, you say to yourself, they aren’t real.
Though you wish it was a different story, economically, the Sampaguita doesn’t bring in much revenue. Those rings, the necklaces, that they sell on the street, those are usually their only source of livelihood. These children they have no real home. Those kids smiling at each other, they do not even know how much money you’ve given them. The children, they’re lucky enough not to be sold off to some pimp and put up for child prostitution. And so there they are, selling a different sort of flower, worn on a different sort of neck.
Inside your car, you’re warm, or you’re cool. Inside your car, you are anything they are not. They aren’t cool, they aren’t clean. Not warm, not able to eat, they are. They are not literate. They are not clothed properly. They are not worrying about their homework, or office work. Even bills they aren’t thinking about. What they are is probably innocent. What they are is probably content, and you aren’t.
It’s a custom, when you arrive, they all come and greet you. With smiles and waving arms, they call you out. They say in unison: Mabuhay. Give you hugs. Give you shakes in hand. They may even give you fruit. But, usually they give you a white flower necklace. They give you this small wreathe of Sampaguitas, rope it around your neck, chanting Mabuhay.
And there they are, in groups, in packs. Always more than just one of them they wait for your light to turn red, they attack. They’ll howl, please sir, buy these from me. They’ll growl, have some mercy, please, even just one. And they’ll bark, I haven’t eaten in days, please have mercy on me. And usually you just turn away, let them go on with their lives. Hoping they will live long.
What Mabuhay means is a number of different things. It means, hello, or greetings. Goodbye, see you soon, it could mean. But what it really means, the true root of the word is life. Live long, or live now, is what it truly says. Carpe diem.
Outside your window, it could be raining and they’re still there. A storm could be raging, and they’re dancing happy to take a shower. The sky is pouring and they are all smiles, welcoming the rain, celebrating what is being left behind.
Mabuhay.
The Sampaguita, it is the country’s foremost flower. Because of it’s colour, it represents purity. Because of it’s smell, it represents innocence. And its bud isn’t very big. Compared to the enormousness of a rose, probably only a tenth in size. It is small, and it is innocent, and it is pure, like a child. And they who make the necklaces, they string them along, the flowers, the buds, the children, and they have them sold.
Just remember, when these children come to you. When they sell you their necklaces of white flowers. When they try and bargain their sweet scents, with their drooping eyes and their dirty faces. Stand next to you and knock on your window, they will. Just remember, when they look directly in your eyes and chant life, they aren’t chanting for you, they’re chanting for themselves.
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It's been a long time since I saw that. So many things I could do to make it better. I guess you really do learn in time.
***************************************************************************************
The Children
At night, or even only during the day, you can see them. As you drive by, in your car from wherever, listening to whomever on your radio, you will take notice. And as much as you wish it weren’t true, they exist, and they’re right next to you. They knock on your window, and you keep your hands at ten and two, or on the shift, and you pretend they’re not there with their necklaces of flowers. These children, you say to yourself, they aren’t real.
Though you wish it was a different story, economically, the Sampaguita doesn’t bring in much revenue. Those rings, the necklaces, that they sell on the street, those are usually their only source of livelihood. These children they have no real home. Those kids smiling at each other, they do not even know how much money you’ve given them. The children, they’re lucky enough not to be sold off to some pimp and put up for child prostitution. And so there they are, selling a different sort of flower, worn on a different sort of neck.
Inside your car, you’re warm, or you’re cool. Inside your car, you are anything they are not. They aren’t cool, they aren’t clean. Not warm, not able to eat, they are. They are not literate. They are not clothed properly. They are not worrying about their homework, or office work. Even bills they aren’t thinking about. What they are is probably innocent. What they are is probably content, and you aren’t.
It’s a custom, when you arrive, they all come and greet you. With smiles and waving arms, they call you out. They say in unison: Mabuhay. Give you hugs. Give you shakes in hand. They may even give you fruit. But, usually they give you a white flower necklace. They give you this small wreathe of Sampaguitas, rope it around your neck, chanting Mabuhay.
And there they are, in groups, in packs. Always more than just one of them they wait for your light to turn red, they attack. They’ll howl, please sir, buy these from me. They’ll growl, have some mercy, please, even just one. And they’ll bark, I haven’t eaten in days, please have mercy on me. And usually you just turn away, let them go on with their lives. Hoping they will live long.
What Mabuhay means is a number of different things. It means, hello, or greetings. Goodbye, see you soon, it could mean. But what it really means, the true root of the word is life. Live long, or live now, is what it truly says. Carpe diem.
Outside your window, it could be raining and they’re still there. A storm could be raging, and they’re dancing happy to take a shower. The sky is pouring and they are all smiles, welcoming the rain, celebrating what is being left behind.
Mabuhay.
The Sampaguita, it is the country’s foremost flower. Because of it’s colour, it represents purity. Because of it’s smell, it represents innocence. And its bud isn’t very big. Compared to the enormousness of a rose, probably only a tenth in size. It is small, and it is innocent, and it is pure, like a child. And they who make the necklaces, they string them along, the flowers, the buds, the children, and they have them sold.
Just remember, when these children come to you. When they sell you their necklaces of white flowers. When they try and bargain their sweet scents, with their drooping eyes and their dirty faces. Stand next to you and knock on your window, they will. Just remember, when they look directly in your eyes and chant life, they aren’t chanting for you, they’re chanting for themselves.
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It's been a long time since I saw that. So many things I could do to make it better. I guess you really do learn in time.
The future.
It’s interesting to look at it and imagine how exactly it would be. For the most part, technology becomes the focal point of the imagery. For one reason or another an association between technology and the future has been made, and its difficult to escape it.
Where did the imagery come from though? The flying cars, robot help, the video phone, and the ever increasing need to have anything in an instant.
You can blame Assimov, you can blame The Jetsons. What becomes a struggle is that in a world where a button does it all, what’s the use of autonomy?
It’s interesting to look at it and imagine how exactly it would be. For the most part, technology becomes the focal point of the imagery. For one reason or another an association between technology and the future has been made, and its difficult to escape it.
Where did the imagery come from though? The flying cars, robot help, the video phone, and the ever increasing need to have anything in an instant.
You can blame Assimov, you can blame The Jetsons. What becomes a struggle is that in a world where a button does it all, what’s the use of autonomy?
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