Black
Yellow
Green
Black
Purple
White?
No.
Perhaps, cream.
Is cream a color?
I don’t know.
But it looks like the color of a cream.
Nestle cream.
Fuck! Nestle products are great but the company is oppressive.
Imagine different colors of labor and other kinds of abuses.
Put colors to everything.
Pink for child labor.
Yellow for lack of benefits and privileges.
Black of the sweatshops.
Purple for underpayment.
Cream for environmental destruction.
Black for deception.
Purple for the abs of Tweety de Leon.
Black for Twitty de Leon.
Black for Nescafe.
Black for the boycott of Nescafe.
Black for the boycott of all Nestle products.
Cream for Coffeemate.
Cream for Bear Brand.
Cream for Nido.
Cream for Nestle Cream.
Green
Yellow
Pink
Yellow
Cream
Black
Pink
Yellow
Cream
Cream
Purple
Pink
Yellow
Yellow.
Maggi is yellow.
Black
Black is the color of poor working condition in Nestle plants all over the world
Purple for the discrimination against women
Purple for the lack of protective gears and safety clothing in sweatshops
Yellow for the Nestle’s 50 percent ownership of L’Oreal, which according to PeTA implements an animal testing policy.
Cream for Nestle’s breach of the 1981 World Health Organization’s Code Regulating the marketing of breast milk substitutes and for the company’s continued promotion of bottle feeding.
Black
Yellow
Black
Green
Cream




The cathartic pile of my floppies.

Reports from home were both enraging and instructive.

Enraging because I can’t still appreciate the art of dying senselessly, much more if death is spawned by someone I have been expecting to protect me—someone whose mouth I feed because of the tax I pay to the government.

Enraging because I cannot imagine dying from the hands of a proud and loutish military personnel whose existence depended on the fact that he gets a share of my salary.

Enraging because I didn’t expect somebody I know would find death for the simple reason that he wanted to curb the horniness of a military personnel by defending his friends.

Anton’s penchant of being violent was always hidden by his bubbly character bizarrely twisted by his being soft-spoken. Among friends, he was always known as one of those who will buy a friend’s fight, always willing to gamble just to protect a friend.

This he was able to prove right until Sunday night when he was felled to the ground by a military personnel’s gun who earlier wanted to “table” Ayee’s female cousin, Mutya, inside bar in Kidapawan City.

Like her gay cousin who has won several gay beauty contests, Mutya was also charming and beautiful. Their family belongs to one of the old rich clans in Kidapawan City.

Initial reports had it that the suspect also grabbed Ayee’s butt. The boorish character of the military personnel irked Anton who, with Ayee and Mutya, ganged up the military personnel until the latter was pinned down.

Because he could not contain the shame of being a loser, the military personnel fired his gun hitting Anton. Killing Anton.

Another gay friend, Rolly, described what happened very clearly in the vernacular—Mao nay kaso sa crime of pride. Army gikulata ug bayot, natandog ang pride…gipusil ang bayot.

But the report was also instructive. For one, it tells me to anticipate the possibility that, like Anton, I can also be killed by a military official whose family, the Filipinos feed.

And that it can be soon.

Anton’s death was instructive because it tells me to appreciate the darkness of irony.

How can't one person's early morning distress and tantrum be possibly pacified by a simple text message telling how inspired another person can be after reading a story that came out in the Philippine Daily Inquirer?

"Just got inspired today by Jepoi's story on Ovarian Chants, " read a text from Oibone, whose mother, I know, survived an ovarian cancer.

The story is about artist Ross Zerrudo's struggle, pain, angst, fear, and survival in the face of an ovarian problem. Oh well, IT IS an ovarian problem, hello.

Why I am writing this? Because I know Jepoi, I know Oibone, and I know Ross and I read the Philippine Daily Inquirer.

And like Oibone and everyone else in this doomed country, as pointed out by Joy, I am one soul who needs even just a small amount of inspiration.

Simple.

Caloi reports about the reign of despotism 34 years after Martial Law.

Ken Rudolph, a highly-experienced film critic and member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences since 1975, watched Mel Chionglo’s Twilight Dancers last September 11 in the 2006 Toronto International Film Festival.

And he has this to say:

I had my doubts whether to spend an early morning with straight Filipino macho dancers dancing and selling themselves in gay clubs. I’d seen at least 3 of the previous versions of this film; and only the first, by a different director, was actually special. However the films have held my interest in the past, so I gave this one a try. I’m sorry I did.

There was nothing original in this story of a young guy who, along with his older, over-the-hill mentor in the twilight of his dancer-prostitute career, got involved with a ruthless lady “business woman”, whose business was drugs and corruption. The previous macho dancer film was about AIDS; but this one was all about political corruption.

Unlike the previous films, it looked terrible: shot with inferior digital camerawork. And even the macho dancing was perfunctory and only used as throwaway sequences to separate the story sections. Apparently the film has been rated X by the Manila authorities, which means it is banned for everyone. Why is a good question. Maybe because it steps on crooked local politician’s toes; certainly not for any sexual titillation.

Quote--Apparently the film has been rated X by the Manila authorities, which means it is banned for everyone. Why is a good question. Maybe because it steps on crooked local politician’s toes; certainly not for any sexual titillation--unquote.

Exactly why Ken Rudolph didn't like the film was because it did not titillate his sexually-scarced life. His ranting stemmed from his curbed expectations for dicks to shoot out from the tight undies of the dancers. He would have given the film a nice review had it shown more flesh.

Sick!

I have not seen the movie yet but I would like to give it a try. I think I would go out of the movie house happy than frustrated. Well, Masahista was another story. I didn’t like it. There was nothing spectacular about it that I have immediately forgotten everything I watched the moment I stepped out of the movie house.

But as I have said, I want to give this one a try.

If it mirrored the current political crisis in the country, then Twilight Dancers must be over the top. This Rudolph cannot understand nor appreciate the movie because he doesn’t have the slightest idea about what’s happening in the country today.

Unfortunate for Rudolf because he watched the wrong movie and made another wrong move—to review it. I bet my ass on it, mga kapatid, he was there because he was horny but had a problem with how to sustain his hardness. Too bad because he thought the movie is good enough to help him with his dysfunctional sexual life.

Good for me because I don't need to be titillated in order to explode.