Dear Madam Vice President, I write from the mountains of Benguet, of the Ibaloi Tribe. I say this since: first, you won here big-time – 70% of total votes cast – so, far from being any attempt to roil any on-going political rifts, real or contrived, it’s a thinly-veiled crack at currying favor with you, …
Once, I thought and might have even argued, as fiery as any “feeling musician” or Rolling Stones mag critic, that no band could ever out-E-heads apo Eli Buendia et al. Sui generis is what they were. Simply, super cool. Might have even argued The Beatles could’ve been the E-heads of London if “Toyang” aired 31 …
In a mountain Kingdom nearest the moon, inside the King’s chambers, once upon a time. “Son…” the King rasped. “I go to my grave, buried with the burden of Kings before me…” “Father…” A gnarled hand, ashen and trembling, raised a hem from silken bed covers. “…while our Kingdom boasts of conquests…” the King rasped …
There’s nothing to like about death for the grief it brings. One death is one too many, said a Sage once. And no one, save the insufferable sociopath we’ve come to know, belies the saw. Yet the testimonies until dawn made it clear, there is no other exit – regardless of our stoicism or dislike. …
Of late, news of the deaths of two good friends, a mere fortnight apart, came via Messenger. Popo, 48, and Darwin, 36. Both were decent people, and so, are well-loved, and tears fell a mighty torrent at their wakes. Popo was a wonderful presence, a rock sundry folks held on to when swept into a …
After more than a decade, we’re back to writing a column. Now, this may all sound easy, this task of writing sensibly while making its message sing. But it isn’t, quite frankly, like riding a bike. Because it is a tough task, to write something that means. To give music and some measure of depth …
