A Night at the LA Art Walk
Going to the LA Art Walk on a Thursday the 13th is like going to a food fair.
But unlike a food fair, it’s a food trucks fair where you can find all kinds of people.
It
is a novel idea of a dead downtown to keep itself and rejuvenate
itself. An opportunity to give a night life to a mass of people (
mostly middle class and the upper strata of the working class )
during hard times. So the authorities came out with an idea to call it
an Art Walk.
Besides giving the middle class to walk and
conglomerate, ,meet friends and try to entice people to see the art
galleries, trendy things and the like, it’s a good scheme to give
people an excuse to spend money not on art but on food and drinks.
We
entered several art galleries to oogle at supposed to be art exhibits.
A springkling of paintings, bodies of work that is up to anybody's
interpretations. For them maybe, the more you cant understand it-
that’s art!
A friend who was with me said:” It’s just a walk, never mind the art.”
Going
at my first time, I was surprised to learn it was side by side with
State federal building where the office of the governor was. It says
much at the time the state is set to institute cuts, after cuts after
cuts while giving the rich people and the ongoing war in Afghahistan
more money and more body to die and maim.
The only saving
grace for the night was the time spend in a place called “Harlem’s
Place” in LA. I was told that it was a place called formerly as “Lost
Souls Café.” And it lived up to its name because it was lost and the
café has another name. Still its called Harlem Place in LA?
Well I can say, I enjoy the songs. the singers and the Ube Shake provided by a friend.
And
also two photographs on display by an AFFIRM activist. Maybe the only
thing I enjoy most of the night and the company of KMBers, youngsters
whose youthful vigor infects and inspires my empty night of
introspection.
A good night, an excuse to greet a fellow
activist a happy birthday with a tight hug. Yah a good walk for a cold
night with the mass.
A good walk and really a good night.
About the art? Oh come on forget it!
27.1.11
“ Your Secret Is Safe With Me “
Essay
“ Your Secret Is Safe With Me “
I had a lady friend who once told me, “ You will never know my secrets. I have a way of telling it to strangers. They will know yet they will never know me. So my secrets will be safe with them.”
I just smiled because that means, for the long years we have been friend, she never knew me. Like other people who used to say they knew me. I am happy say: “No you don’t.”
Yes people say they know me. But they really don't know me.
My real friends really knew me. For they tell me their secrets and their secrets stay with me.
They trust me, and why should I betray that trust?
It reminds me of Harry Potter series. If there were real magic and we can preserve our memories, then how fine and good it would be. We can just revisit our memories and tell them, over and over again.
We just look at the bowl of memories, get it and then, we can see what happened in the past. But the problem, it is only in the J.K. Rowling's book.
Maybe that is the reason why people write journals , diaries or books. Good or bad .
They have to preserve their memories and their sanity.
I had this habit of writing in a diary since I was in high school. But when I became an activists, I stopped it. I don’t want to write because it might incriminate others.
I might incriminate myself. I don’t want my writings to be used against me or the people and with and the movement. Besides if it fall into the enemies hand, I am a goner!
So I enjoyed the oral traditions of the peasants and the minorities. Some of their stories have been a thousand times told but even so I really enjoyed it. It maybe because there are different people who tell the stories. And each person has a way of telling it.
Some stories are tall stories. You might not believe it Yet it happened.
I really love, love stories and war stories and even horror stories. And believe it or not even bible stories because they have stories and lessons to tell.
Coming back to secrets. Different people have secrets. Some secrets they take to the grave and yet they leave it to somebody for safekeeping.
It is like a heirloom, a treasure that you cannot take with you to death.
A friend said to me: “ the reason they invented the priest is for somebody to hear and keep other secrets. In a capitalist system, they invented the therapist or the psychiatrist so you can tell and pay somebody that keep your secrets.”
That might be true, But the hardest thing to be a keeper of secret. Because you have take the secret with you to the grave.
And that is a mark of a true friend.
******
“ Your Secret Is Safe With Me “
I had a lady friend who once told me, “ You will never know my secrets. I have a way of telling it to strangers. They will know yet they will never know me. So my secrets will be safe with them.”
I just smiled because that means, for the long years we have been friend, she never knew me. Like other people who used to say they knew me. I am happy say: “No you don’t.”
Yes people say they know me. But they really don't know me.
My real friends really knew me. For they tell me their secrets and their secrets stay with me.
They trust me, and why should I betray that trust?
It reminds me of Harry Potter series. If there were real magic and we can preserve our memories, then how fine and good it would be. We can just revisit our memories and tell them, over and over again.
We just look at the bowl of memories, get it and then, we can see what happened in the past. But the problem, it is only in the J.K. Rowling's book.
Maybe that is the reason why people write journals , diaries or books. Good or bad .
They have to preserve their memories and their sanity.
I had this habit of writing in a diary since I was in high school. But when I became an activists, I stopped it. I don’t want to write because it might incriminate others.
I might incriminate myself. I don’t want my writings to be used against me or the people and with and the movement. Besides if it fall into the enemies hand, I am a goner!
So I enjoyed the oral traditions of the peasants and the minorities. Some of their stories have been a thousand times told but even so I really enjoyed it. It maybe because there are different people who tell the stories. And each person has a way of telling it.
Some stories are tall stories. You might not believe it Yet it happened.
I really love, love stories and war stories and even horror stories. And believe it or not even bible stories because they have stories and lessons to tell.
Coming back to secrets. Different people have secrets. Some secrets they take to the grave and yet they leave it to somebody for safekeeping.
It is like a heirloom, a treasure that you cannot take with you to death.
A friend said to me: “ the reason they invented the priest is for somebody to hear and keep other secrets. In a capitalist system, they invented the therapist or the psychiatrist so you can tell and pay somebody that keep your secrets.”
That might be true, But the hardest thing to be a keeper of secret. Because you have take the secret with you to the grave.
And that is a mark of a true friend.
******
Mang "Mad Max"
Essay
Mang "Mad Max"
I was watching Dante’s Peak on HBO, I remembered Mang Max when Mount Pinatubo volcano erupted in June 1991. It will be its 25th anniversary this year.
Mang Max went out of the house that afternoon, because it was dark. He even questioned why its dark because it should not be. It’s only early afternoon in Manila
“Bok, umuulan ng yelo, labas ka dito.” He told me.
When I went out it was not snow. It was dust. Dust from the volcano’s eruption.I opened the radio and the DZRH said, they were wondering what happened because it was dark in Quiapo and other places. Several minutes later they confirmed that the volcano in Central Luzon erupted.
The volcano’s eruption brought into attention the ineptness of the US-Aquino regime then. The only good thing that came out of it was the US bases (Clark and Subic) evacuated even before the eruption of the volcano. That made all Filipinos mad about the US bases because the Americans left without even telling the nation that the volcano was about to erupt. And it helped boot out the bases in 1992. Only to be restored by the VFA by another puppet president Joseph Estrada.
Mang Max and me were happy. Everybody were in medical mask. No need to wear good clothes. We were able to around the city with no hassle. For the dust is everywhere for several weeks.
He had fun with our daughter May. He sometimes ran out of breath running after my little girl . We were not able to go out for a week because of the eruption of the volcano when the dust clouds where still thick.
My friend Joe, where Max stayed for a long while in LA said: “God dammed Max, he does not know how to cook. When he is left at home we will always eat canned goods.”
I told him: “What can you expect, he is a war veteran.” Said with a hearty laugh. For I know Mang Max knows how to cook. He taught me how to cook some recipes while we were in Manila.
Again Joe remembers: “It’s Max again, he voted for Bush not for Clinton!” Max retorted: “He passed the law ( the naturalization law for the Filipino veterans in 1991) that made it possible for me to go to the US.” And they all laughed!
He also remembered the earthquake of 1994. " When my son and me looked back, Max was not there anymore. He ran as fast as he could and was already downstairs!" Joe recalled.
In birthday bash another friend remembered: “ He voted for Eliseo’s Mural not for Papo, ( Papo De Asis, an artist friend who died earlier than Mang Max) damn Mang Max.” We smiled, a very sad and not hearty smile over Kimchi and broiled pusit.
In a ride home a friend commented. “That’s Mang Max, nobody can tell what he should do, vote for or what he should do. He is a man of his own.”
Unlike other veterans, who brag about their war records, Max is quiet about it. He is just content on hearing while other tell stories in our HQ in Alvarado over a cup of copy. He will just wink at me.
At home, he has his own library and stocks of books. He will always tell me when I pay him a visit: “ Get anything book or VHS you want.” He has also a stock of VHS tapes. While in Manila, he was a constant companion when I watch movies.
I was not able to fulfill my promise to bring him to New York, because he just passed away. He really wants to go the East Coast. We made plans together, but now we cannot do it anymore.
But I was able to give him his certificate from the Philippine Government honoring him as a Filipino World War II veteran. Sadly I was able to give it to him at his bedside at his final moments.
As I went through my album I saw rare photographs with him from 1998 to the latest. He was alive and his eyes sparkled with that ready smile.
We love Mang Max, I salute him!
Mang "Mad Max"
I was watching Dante’s Peak on HBO, I remembered Mang Max when Mount Pinatubo volcano erupted in June 1991. It will be its 25th anniversary this year.
Mang Max went out of the house that afternoon, because it was dark. He even questioned why its dark because it should not be. It’s only early afternoon in Manila
“Bok, umuulan ng yelo, labas ka dito.” He told me.
When I went out it was not snow. It was dust. Dust from the volcano’s eruption.I opened the radio and the DZRH said, they were wondering what happened because it was dark in Quiapo and other places. Several minutes later they confirmed that the volcano in Central Luzon erupted.
The volcano’s eruption brought into attention the ineptness of the US-Aquino regime then. The only good thing that came out of it was the US bases (Clark and Subic) evacuated even before the eruption of the volcano. That made all Filipinos mad about the US bases because the Americans left without even telling the nation that the volcano was about to erupt. And it helped boot out the bases in 1992. Only to be restored by the VFA by another puppet president Joseph Estrada.
Mang Max and me were happy. Everybody were in medical mask. No need to wear good clothes. We were able to around the city with no hassle. For the dust is everywhere for several weeks.
He had fun with our daughter May. He sometimes ran out of breath running after my little girl . We were not able to go out for a week because of the eruption of the volcano when the dust clouds where still thick.
My friend Joe, where Max stayed for a long while in LA said: “God dammed Max, he does not know how to cook. When he is left at home we will always eat canned goods.”
I told him: “What can you expect, he is a war veteran.” Said with a hearty laugh. For I know Mang Max knows how to cook. He taught me how to cook some recipes while we were in Manila.
Again Joe remembers: “It’s Max again, he voted for Bush not for Clinton!” Max retorted: “He passed the law ( the naturalization law for the Filipino veterans in 1991) that made it possible for me to go to the US.” And they all laughed!
He also remembered the earthquake of 1994. " When my son and me looked back, Max was not there anymore. He ran as fast as he could and was already downstairs!" Joe recalled.
In birthday bash another friend remembered: “ He voted for Eliseo’s Mural not for Papo, ( Papo De Asis, an artist friend who died earlier than Mang Max) damn Mang Max.” We smiled, a very sad and not hearty smile over Kimchi and broiled pusit.
In a ride home a friend commented. “That’s Mang Max, nobody can tell what he should do, vote for or what he should do. He is a man of his own.”
Unlike other veterans, who brag about their war records, Max is quiet about it. He is just content on hearing while other tell stories in our HQ in Alvarado over a cup of copy. He will just wink at me.
At home, he has his own library and stocks of books. He will always tell me when I pay him a visit: “ Get anything book or VHS you want.” He has also a stock of VHS tapes. While in Manila, he was a constant companion when I watch movies.
I was not able to fulfill my promise to bring him to New York, because he just passed away. He really wants to go the East Coast. We made plans together, but now we cannot do it anymore.
But I was able to give him his certificate from the Philippine Government honoring him as a Filipino World War II veteran. Sadly I was able to give it to him at his bedside at his final moments.
As I went through my album I saw rare photographs with him from 1998 to the latest. He was alive and his eyes sparkled with that ready smile.
We love Mang Max, I salute him!
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