having applied myself to two languages with different parameters of execution: writing in primarily in English, reading fiction and poetry primarily in English enabled me to gain strength in reading philosophy and conjuring up white-rabbits from a top-hat in Polnisch - i can't read philosophy in English - which explains why few interests in philosophy exist - the English have undermined the worth of philosophy, oh sure, David Hume is the rave in Scotland, because he's Scottish - but the English took to solely understanding the world via Darwinism - image deciphering accounts of how the natural order of things is attached to inanimate materials propelled by falling apples - the continental procedure is less concerning Darwinism and more akin to a mental fashion statement, as in: what's vogue these days? what's the cognitive vogue? the English "philosophers" with their rigid Darwinism are like priests - which is why they attracted biblical literal interpretation - the creationists - there's no other explanation why the creationists emerged - it was because of militant atheism, atheism without individual originality - invoked by a sense of herding the sheep to the grazing hills of nihilism - the pillar that became the crutch - of course i admire and know it's true - no Genesis story that's merely a p.s. in history is ever going to undermine the naturalist's fascination with the world in every minute detail - i'm not against that... but at this moment i was thinking of a cult idea for a naturalist - take a pornographic movie, and give it to a naturalist to assess - after all... we're just mammals - i think this could turn out to be a real daytrip for a naturalist - oh sure, it must be ease with organism that apparently do not derive any pleasure from procreation... give two beings that apparently do derive pleasure from procreation... to later debase it with the malignant forces at work in the Encyclopedia that's 120 days of *****... the naturalist narrating a pornographic scene would be bewildered as to why these highly evolved creatures are exponentially higher-up the tiers of evolution, needing so many complex adaptive techniques - boredom for one, people have created more distractions than they have created tools of necessity - but perhaps they're equal - our evolutionary drive? the thing that makes us tick is not necessarily physical discomfort - we exercise for the pleasure of physical discomfort - the drive is boredom, the fear of it drives us mad with constant ingenuity taking form - like a ballerina in a salsa bar... sadism in the aura of hot-sweat-and-coconut-***-shaking as if playing dice in Las Vegas... Don Quixote (the ballet on three days away)... we're done with the empirical satisfaction of Darwinism, we know it, we need a humanistic approach to it, something that goes against the English priesthood - Darwinism will never be vogue in continent Europe, continent Europeans just say: Egyptology is as far back as is necessary to go... our lives are more important and more complex than those of primates... our lives are more important and more complex than those of primates... we want to write history, not look at history as a burden and therefore try to erase it, placing ourselves in a garden of awe and glass; honestly? Darwinism is a bit like creationism - it all starts with a garden, awe, and the grand spectacle - only the other includes a need to procrastinate by doing some ritualistic mumble and Hosanna Hallelujah in the highest - and the other tries not to yawn.

so onto my favourite topic... rich boy's slang -
do you really think a *prince of Egypt would speak
slave tongue Hebraic?
do you think **** & 'arry could speak Bulgarian
or Romanian? let me think... no.
they might speak French... maybe German...
but certainly not the eastern tongues -
now, whoever wrote that book wrote it in ancient
Egyptian, the chronologically speaking
yes, female genital mutilation was practised first
in Africa, notably Egypt, prior to male genital
mutilation being instigated by frustrated Abraham -
the collision was bound to happen -
see how pretty prince slang looks?
it's poetic - the rich boys call it poetry, the poor
boys call slang - which is why poor boy raps
and over uses rhyme - or perhaps rhyme is easier
to remember than free verse poetry -
rich boy brings a page on stage and recites because
he's too lazy or not bothered to memorise,
poor boy says yeah a lot in between his lyrics
without a page so he can the the bowling aisle
movement as if he's rolling in a convertible Cadillac -
sing ***! yo! ***! yo! so the chronology matches,
Eve first, Adam second - but not as in: they did it first -
later down the line they cut off the precious skin
and hence felt naked, they fell, they revised was not
to be revised - sure, the man got the favour right -
he was the winner - but at the same time, the loser -
hence the good & evil bit - we don't really know -
is it really necessary to have good *** to later have
a fickle partner and laws being in her favour via what's
called the missed prenup thought? to me it's just a literal
reading of the text - looking for laurel leaves to cover
the revision of the genitalia - not the actual genitalia per se,
just the revised versions - so if the female variation is
whatever it is - less pleasure from *** and what not,
for man that also means counting the stars and weeks
and having no pleasure from ******* when her period
arrives and you have to try a diet of **** or something -
well of course it's slightly uncomfortable with it -
but at the same time you increase your endurance with it -
a slight sadomasochism, no whips no ******* women,
no leather, no adventure, just raw meat and raw meat -
no fantasy no role play - just a little bit of skin making all
the difference - can you imagine Marquis de Sade writing
as frankly as this? well... every time i revise my thought
on the book of genesis, i obviously become a covert literal
reader of it, deciphering the eloquent slang of a prince of
Egypt would use on such "delicate" matters -
but with that being said: it becomes all the less fascinating
a myth-making engine, and given he was forced out of
his comfort zone (and i mean a comfort zone) he would
cite God as the word (reason), but by word alone and
the word only - the reasoning behind what entered the land
of Egypt as being the same as what entered the Garden
of Eden... and tempted... the temptation came with the pyramids -
oddly enough only the Eiffel Tower was higher than
the pyramids - look at the time it took man to become so bold again!
look at it! massive - and in some weird quantum physics
interpretation of the mythological past becoming the actual
future - the tower of Babel... and... yep, you guessed it:
the Burj Khalifa (or the Khalifa Tower) is its equivalent;
but ****, only the Eiffel Tower overshadowed the pyramids -
something must have happened back then then,
if man was so shy in rising his structures too far up into
the sky - but i guess the Enlightenment spurred him on...
later to crash back down with the atom phobia of the second
part of the 20th century, which in the 21st century morphed into:
well, how will wars be profitable if we drop a nuke?
e'oh! no, sorry, one nuke will make us bankrupt -
we need tanks, guns, bullets... huge bulks of them!
stockpiling nukes ended up a bit like stockpiling too much...
ah crap... don't have a good analogy - just started thinking
of a desert of sugar - sugar dunes... imagining a desert
like that... well, partially true - with the Arabs not drinking
alcohol and eating too many sweets, diabetic amputees throughout
the desert land.

You rode an airplane horse
Like Joan of Arc and her hope
With Princess Julia and Prince Justin,
Flew away from our bleak archipelago,
Across this continent of the smooth-skinned
To meet the King, your love,
For a quest to raise again our royal family,
And brought rain to Dubai.
You have rained on Dubai;
Brought the ocean to their deserts,
Watered their artificial plants,
Glistened their rough highways,
Bathed the Arabs,
Moisturized their dry skin,
And taught them to dance in the puddles.
You have rained on Dubai,
And took with you my Philippine sun.
Now I sit here in my desk;
A withered bud in the Land of the Orient Pearl,
Staring at this snow globe you left
With glitter orbiting the Burj Al Arab,
Watching over you from this crystal ball,
Waiting for you to leave the Gulf States,
And bring the rain back here.

Meeting a renowned Pinoy designer, Michael Cinco, was the highlight of my nth trip to Dubai last month. He is so unassuming that I almost forgot how famous he is. Some of his A-list Hollywood clientele include Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Jennifer Lopez, Kylie Minogue, Mila Kunis, Paris Hilton, Tyra Banks, Rihanna, Toni Braxton, Fergie, Nicole Scherzinger and Christina Aguilera.

Michael’s regular clients are Anne Curtis, Marian Rivera-Dantes, Kathryn

Bernardo, Liza Soberano, Ruffa Gutierrez and Bea Alonzo.

Miriam Quiambao and I immensely enjoyed bonding with Michael. He treated us to an authentic Lebanese dinner at the resto below his plush condominium right across the world’s tallest building, Burj Khalifa. Kudos to Michael for being the only Filipino designer who was invited to present his collection at the Paris Haute Couture Fashion Week’s “Couturissimo,” held last July 3.

He’s world-class yet down-to-earth. That makes him all the more remarkable. Pinoy Pride is something Michael wears so well. CincOoh la la! (Visit michaelcinco.com.)

Here’s my chat (via Facebook) with Michael:

What was the Paris Fashion week experience like?

About 15 years ago I was strolling along the beautiful Jardin des Tuileries. I was so in love with the place that I had a vision and a dream… I said to myself, one of these days I’ll have my show in this stunning garden. So when Asian Couture Federation approached me to have a show in Paris, I immediately begged to hold it in Jardin des Tuileries. Showing my collection in Paris Haute Couture Fashion Week has always been my ultimate dream. Seeing your collection on the runway of your dream garden is one of the greatest achievements in my life.

Among local celebs, who are the five best-dressed on your list?

Marian Rivera, Anne Curtis, Cherie Gil, Kathryn Bernardo and Liza Soberano. They all wore my couture dresses and they all looked amazing.

Any memorable moment with the celebs?

To be honest, I never met any of them. I dressed up some of the most beautiful Filipino Celebrities and Hollywood celebrities wore my clothes on the red carpet and in their music videos. When the producers of the movie “Jupiter Ascending” asked me to go to London to meet Mila Kunis and Channing Tatum, I declined because I was too shy to meet them. The stylist of Jennifer Lopez asked me to meet her backstage. Also, the manager of Kylie Minogue asked me to go to her room for fitting but I just sent my assistant because I was scared and shy.

Who is the easiest celeb to dress up?

Most of them are easy to dress up because they all look fabulous in my couture dresses.

What are your three fashion do’s and don’t’s?

Do’s: Be yourself; create your own style; wear something that will make you feel confident.

Don’t’s: Don’t wear a dress two sizes smaller than your body; don’t follow someone else’s style; don’t try to achieve what you see in glossy magazines—they are all photoshopped!

If you were asked to design an outfit for President Duterte, what would it be like?

A bullet-proof couture barong.

What’s your advice to aspiring designers?

Young designers of today should realize that fashion is not all about glamour. The fashion world is very cruel. You will be judged, criticized and rejected.

It takes hard work, patience and strong determination to achieve your goals. Create clothes that people will wear. If you want to create art on clothes, make sure they will sell.

Lastly, be humble and never give up. Believe that anything in this world is possible. Believe in your dreams and if you have faith and confidence in God, all of your impalpable dreams will come true.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

the gloomy eye,
carved from
    within the fog;
high-brow culture,
met with
stern-brow
concentration...
better the world
not know me,
    and i,
   not know the world...
for the lives worth
a tomorrow;
of today?
   i am, standing still..
not, leisured,
   to encompass
a copper craft
worth of a statue...
     to take,
is not the same as
to grasp...
              i pity
the muslims...
        they have a library
with but one book...
the quran...
       one book constitutes
a "library"...
          and i am supposed
to fear, a man, with only
one book?!
      i pity him...
             because who wrote
the first surahs?!
    Khadija!
   surd the H, and twist the Jot
into a branching tree of Y -
         kādíyā(h) -
i thought that muhammad was
illiterate?!
           huh?!
      was i wrong?
               if ever shakespeare
were to be resurrected,
then came the play:
             the merchant of mecca.
i am to fear a man with
a library containing but one book?!
****... should have learned
to throw dice or
            play chess than
attempt to ever be pardoned with
an ability, to read.
           but sure as ****,
the illiterate prophet of islam
needed his first wife, khadija
to write the first surahs...
           since she was literate
and he wasn't,
and he wasn't,
        and he wasn't...
               because the story tells us
that he wasn't...
      believe the story of
"literacy" from an illiterate prophet...
only in arabia, with lawrence to boot...
i'm just gagging the laughter
in my grave, when the oil runs out.
look at my itchy fingers
pretending to wave:
                 itching a fizzling out
of vanity projects...
           they built
the burj khalifa...
                         i grew a beard.

Dear Patti, we miss you
We miss you so much
That there is a gaping hole
Taller than the Burj Khalifa
Left by your absence
Not a soul can replace you
You were one of a kind

Dear Patti, we miss you
You were always there for us
Whether it be the immediate family
Whether it be close relatives
Whether it be friends
So much so
That your presence was taken for granted

Dear Patti, we miss you
From your words of wisdom
To your unconditional support
From your sheer optimism
To your never-say-die spirit
From your delicious meals
To your spooky tales
From your knowledge of various topics
Whether it be cricket
Whether it be politics
Whether it be trains
To your unwavering enthusiasm

Dear Patti, we miss you
I still remember the day
As though it were only yesterday
When my dear friend
Was hopelessly marooned in her hostel
During the peak of the Chennai floods
Along with her family
It was your unconditional love
That saved the day
And my friend and her family
Can never forget you
Not just because of your timely help
But also because, to you
They were also family

Dear Patti, we miss you
You left us so soon
That we had no time to say goodbye
But you should know this
You will always live in our hearts
As a grandmother
As a mother
As a wife
As a sister
As an aunt
As a dear friend
And finally
As a human being
A very beautiful human being

.i've written so much, i don't even remember when i begin posting repetitions, i sometimes spot myself "plagiarißing" myself, sure, a commonality feature to writing, the labyrinth effect, a "déjà vu"... ****, i've said this before, which is the key feature of: enjoying the silence... but, like "yesterday", i write on the basis of a graveyard shift, as w. h. auden would have said: little ****** is at it again (i.e. writing during the night)... no, no little ****** here, i just like the idea of writing while people around me are sleeping, i can become this Loki-esque drunkard snark dream-crawler... which brings me to the following observation... a liter of whiskey, that typically takes a few good hours to get through... and, in the end, the sun is up, it's 7am... so like "yesterday" i.e. today... i unfolded the sunday times, and put it on my head, to hide from the sun, kept drinking, and cursing the sun, now and again pointing the ******* at it... cursing: do i look like a ******* camel jockey to you, eh?! i'm not a camel jockey... i once suffered a heat-stroke, watering plants in a volunteering stint in a garden for the blind... no, literally... a garden customißed for blind people... with herbs, heavily scented flowers, notably pine trees... and my favorite... stachys byzantina... lamb's ears... so that blind people could feel it... but yeah... why am i not surprised that muslims glorify the moon? while the christians borrow from the north european pagan celebration of the sun? i became a quasi-muslim only "yesterday", i said a big ******* to the sun, summer is coming, and if it's going to be the sort of summer akin to last year, with me waking up on the floor, on a colder surface to a bed, moaning and groaning from the heat... oh yeah... climate change is not real, like all form of causality just went out of the window... there's no cause (burning ****) and there's no effect... always, all the time, like jean-paul sartre said, his major premise in being & nothingness was the pillar of negation, which spawned the pillar of bad faith. *******.


what's the difference between
a thief, and a magician?
probably
a c.c.t.v. camera footage...
and a... theater stage...
nothing more...
but of course...
      the latter is an example
of... authenticity...
proper... taxation...
a paradox of championed
individualism by western
academics...
   come to think of it...
both are quick...
then... i must have been
the most slothful thief
in the history of ali baba:
the way that i stole
that queens of the stone
age songs for the deaf
album, from a w. h. smith...
____

summer is coming,
that abhorrent season,
the season of mass ******
and a spike in the sales
of ice-cream...

the season where i begin
to pity the cosmipolitan youth,
basking in the cancer riddled
sideways march of the sun...
with the heat doubled
due to all the concrete and marble...

the season of scythes
and tombstones
for the old and the asthmatic prone...
the season where i frown upon
the sun,
even at 9 thirty am,
and drink,
    and am rudely woken by
the heat...
  
  that time of year
where i think about looking
for old europe
in the vicinity of the faroe islands
or, iceland,
or greenland, even,

because i'm not some *******
camel-jockey type of
******* teen
importing cars, and self,
to london,
to race in a 30mph speed limit
just off of knightsbridge...

diesel heads of arabia...
    i'm siding with penguin kowalski...
i'm no camel jockey or
a ******* either...
      copper skinned mash-up
of Babel...
with a hard-on inferiority
complex in tune with
burj khalifa...

      yes... because who is... khalifa?
no, who's Khadija?
   the woman,
who... most likely...
wrote all the first sutras of
the quran...
after all... we are talking
about a prophet akin to
   charlamagne... someone who was:
illiterate...
sure sure...
        islam is the religion
of peace: when Khadija was writing
the script...
    but when she died...
and some ****** of a caliph took over...
then: as much peace
as... whatever equates to the funny
antonym comparison...

what was that book:
in praise of older women?
    stephen vizinczey:
ah... that story of muhammad no one focuses
on... i could focus on Aisha...
n'ah... i'm more interested in
Khadija... the older woman,
the first female arab entrepreneur,
businesswoman...

the woman who was both literate
and had mathematic acumen...
who took pity on the orphaned muhammad...
i want to speak to her...
she's my holy grail of conversation,
i can pretend to venerate the "******" mary...
but what i really want,
i want a word with Khadija...
KA DI YAH...

what's that islamic maxim?
fear the man who only possesses
one book...
   eh... you can also fear the man
who wants the afterlife to be composed
of a dialogue between himself
and only one other person,
beside his ancestors, beside a reunion,
paradise or valhalla...

are we done, "here"?
          i still have about 20cl of whiskey
left, and i rather much squirm
an evil eye at the sun,
regurgitating the fantasy
of finding 19th century european
climate in greenland,
if you don't mind.

Dirham comes from Greek coin, drachma
While the Abu Dhabi man hailed from Valderrama

I looked at the paper money you gave me
Its color, a mixture of green and earth

Reminding me of El Nido’s green waters
And the earth our bare feet walked

See the eagle, the mini- Burj Al Arab!
Eagle's the keeper, the other: glass of memories

Perhaps, ten dirhams were ten little Indians
Made of us -- six, three beds and a moon, gone.

i hate being rudely woken...
   esp. going to sleep at 5am
and then waking up at 8am...
screeching like a banshee...
   trying to find a shade,
having to explain...
as to why i'm halfway,
half asleep half aware / awake
into a starscream -
half bit aware -
never you mind
  die krupps' song, banned
from sietube...
    nazis, auf schpeed...
     i thought that ISIS warriors
were on the shame bollocking
of insomnia as the
    Luftwaffe?    huh?
               yeah: schpeed!
can't have a drink...
but will drip drip drop a few
amphetamines...
         good on 'ose boyos -
like an yo-yo trick...
   notably originating from
      Bagging a D(h)ad.
- did i really fall asleep listening
to the wrong music?
  the **** happened?
  i was supposed to wake up
at 3pm... in the afternoon...
now i'll have to drink in the morning
hours...
   to try, and chase the missing
hours of sleep...
   i even had to take the cat
from the house, and tell her:
this part the garden is cool...
   i just lay there,
      quasi ****-naked...
                  it's better than inside
the house... believe me...
i hate sleep thieves...
     perhaps i am to have a sole blame
origin:
  do i ******* look like an arab?!
that's reference to the current
Saharan heat import...
with Parisian pensioners...
dropping likes flies...
               me, i'm just waiting for
the palm trees on the Baltic coast...
but, by then?
          i hope i'm dead...
because all this middle-class
******* sycophancy?
               no... no no no no...
              i hope i have Nero's courage...
and stab myself in the throat;
cos, these, *****,
      simply, do, not, get, it!
Eskimo or Alzheimer's?
       why is it that the major diseases
spread when given enough heat?
as ever... i'd much prefer
the primitive injunction of "suffering"
ice...
              heat... always with the *******
heat...
    and sand...
               a Bangladeshi came up
with the term in a Catholic school -
and with good reason...
     sand *******...
            who? arabs... sand *******...
because you know who
actually built the burj khalifa?
the Bangladeshi...
          in that sort of heat?
    i'm not surprised they'd come up with
a deviation of sheik:
                       i.e. *******.

Blooming flowers in desert land
Stretching greenery in yellow sand

Camel, date and oil wells
It’s just a past that history tells

Today it marked proudly its name
On top of the world in progress and fame

Arts,science and modern education
Speedy growth in space mission

Different people from different region
Varied culture, diction and religion

Bedecking them on its forehead
Glittering all as bright as rubi red

Center of tourism and trade
Points of entertainment are great

Touching the sky , burj khalifa’s height
Simply amazing palm islands site

Law and orders, duties and rights
All are equal , no compromise

Integrity, vision and commitment
Strong Tools of a great government

Busy and lively roads
With safety and peace both

East and West mingle  nicely
Smiley faces twinkle brightly

Eid, onam , Diwali and Christmas
Melody of festivities bring happiness

Carving globally its place
We salute  Arab Emirates

“ Shabistan @

cognitive mash-up,
because why not?
in a world where sheiks are
using bangladeshi flesh
to craft
        burj khalifa
in honour of the first wife of
muhammad...
   hey! presto!
   it's a sunny day,
i'm drinking,
     it's too hot to be an arab,
or it is: having read
alberto camus' novel
and received a 1st in essay
form of criticism from
a northern irish beau....
titilating
the book of revelations'
women attired by the sun:
curly hair...
so it's a sunny day,
and only l.a. punk will
fix it...
      the offspring's:
                gotta get away...
walks around, mute,
stumbles like a hunchback...
back into the anti-narcissus
revision of the shadow:
hey hey 'ere we... dive!

ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, MY DARLING JER......

LOVE YOU MOM

Oh so scared I was, of how a MIL would be; & that too, after hearing stories weird, so many!

But our beautiful bond till you left for heaven, was so sweet, out of this world, rather uncanny!

Not just for Shez, even for Kayu, Shaunlet, Burj, Yazu n Burzee you were a wonderful Granny.

Your love so tender n genuine was; that even without saying, understood me, you !

Mom, here you were an angel without wings; but now a pair, surely, most definitely, have you;

Only thing is, now in them, I cannot see you; but you know, miss you immensely, I do !

May you to higher realms progress; n now that Vispi is there, you will be looking after him too.

Miss you all very much, I do; & awaiting I am eagerly, to join all of you.

Yours
Anar

The glide of a snail
up the majestic Burj Khalifa.
The count of every drop going
down the enormous Angel falls.
The cross of a canoe
over the vast Pacific Ocean
An elucidation of my love for you

Space from start to finish
Numbers from beginning to end
Melodies from genesis to limit
An account of my love for you.

The sight of sunset or lavender fields
The sound of laughter or swaying trees
The smell of Roses or a summer breeze
An illustration of my love for you

I wish I was a Tower
with a really pointy spire,
rising like the Burj Khalifa,
maybe even higher.

I would be so sharp
that all the burdens on my head
would fall apart, and fall away,
and leave me free of dread.

tall enough to rise above
my silly little fears,
hard enough and closed enough;
immune to shedding tears.

yes, I wish I was a Tower
so my soul would live
in something strong and permanent,
something resistive.

though it saddens me a lot,
sturdy Tower, I am not.

I'm more like something that the wind could carry as it went,
something small, and feeble, something like a Tent.