There were plastic cups an antonym for an unsoiled head, population screeches through horizon gazing up towards the profundity and noons were subsequent. No drugs and no torture yet the music weren’t spanish but of the melody was smearing in my eyes. She’s a girl from a voodoo culture, her mother is white. I know it was the CIA or the KGB and maybe some mambos who likes nachos very much, or maybe some clerk of his over-weightness but not, instead it was a self realization. An uninterpreted japanese hymn in a circle of goons in a famine community. A joke without humor. Revolution for the rich. It was at the midday when cannabis sativa baptized it’s name when the honor was inflated to the merriment of the festivity of the concerts held from 1988 up to year 2000. I saw Joey Smith in 1999 in a gig and not mistrust him, his face was previous while he was the same – a sweeping revolutionarian theory that bridges some gaps of discrimination. Bizzare and righteous in his vanity professing ancient recognition, his willingness of linking unity to his crowd – some pack of circles. And some other elements got by through these chances others got some drinks and some were meditating to lord Shiva. It was amusing that a lot of people came to gather to the festivities. In 1988, hardcore band RDA was caught performing in a ghetto gig in R. Papa Metro Manila. A stunt hoaxing inquiry to by-standers or a band made out of fraud. Malolos completed “Violent Dispersals”. Intoxicatedly furious he was daft as agonizing that an excess baggage of liquor in his head. An afro hair for that look and some retribution from a past that wouldn’t happen. It was noon at that congregation of worshippers, flocking of the modern, it was 1988 and it was punkrock. On guitar was Arnel of Vex, and the tone were imprecise but vague, wearing 1982 Biltrite boots fit on the surface of his prime maturely estimated vogue. His fad of a marvelous honor stage alikes of a rendition of “Psycho-killer” for a jazz version.
3o days past and some gang again, snooping like delegates of moonies group, nosy of newly arrived materials, CDs, tapes or catalogues. Glad people here at that day. The people were very happy pretty much satisfied about the transformation they didn’t even noticed but some did, so as the Hare Krishna on the other hand trumpeted their perceptions. It was the mission of their ancestors. It was at the commencement of a sarcastic era when the americans invaded manila in the form of ultras, underground cultures, trends and other essentials. Foreign artists’ influenced the filipino people piercing through. The nazis surveys were fine with no mortgage. Only that but the skinheads were not that tough to educate my conflict – because everyday was war. And the big heavy-weight is dead, losing like cowards from defined defiance. Cops were familiarizing faces of the brood efforting to connect with the monks. And money for the poor. Aleluya!!! “Don was here, 1991” written on a cell wall packed inside with 3 others. He gag-out from excuses promising himself not to kiss a man again. He was cute, a man with honor and admiration, he’s reputation was famous with a lot of jokes. He got out from the cell 4 hours later, so the late magician atleast was being monitored by paparazzi after all those error decisions he concocted. He’s dead. ‘Killed himself.
1992 a radical band named “Septic Tank” raided Metro Manila with the conviction of crookedness. An ugly spoof for the old maids. A lampoon band on it’s political opinion at it’s mere experimentation, somehow practiced scientific method to understand the psychology of bacteria. Sub-commandante Marcos on TV, Tuesday of November, the girl from the voodoo culture hooking up with the junkies again and that she will be able to burn the speed. Hunting her species at the mid December with the graduality of the episodes of our souls. The ensembles from the state universities were present grouping the orchestration for the music performance as well as those who gate-crashed the fence. Given a postcard qoated: “Greetings From ABC”, and then ran to the backstage where the reek dashes the limp yard. Another psyche passed for a minute, a kind that is noxious, boring to the self. And then the cops again asking money from the poor. We eventually got out from the engagement so the rest were exhausted ready to walk off from the multi-part building. The complex was a big edifice with lots of neon lights, chairs arranged at the side, vendors spoken english and bigger than the malaysians. As we slowly saunters to the depth of the pathway and the hippies in the 90’s were psychosomatic, romantic. Me and my friend Christopher Sherman who’s a producer at that time elucidated something about an underground project. Other’s who approached us brought up some cults, yogas, gangsters, or even Gurudeva was rumored here at dinner. I saw him at the ceremony of a demi-god fest in northern Luzon. He was taller than 6’1, gawking over with some musicians and priests so as the home owners where decorum is good. One month later, in a music bar in Quezon City, music was the pride and alcohol here, the liquor was excellent – the drug addicts stalked the ghost, the cool accent here sounded a little bit of a French. A nausea album from Belgium. Or a pro-gay activist with stomach problem. Those days weren’t over yet, the dreams of god are significant to modern life.
Eminently, life on earth is assumed noble. It is a substance for faith that people are desiring aspirations, pleasing each and everyone on independence day. Hoping for a new mayor when the city is exhausted or if the local police were invited at the dining table. A perfect life indeed in a world full of grunge, the sun is a drug for the amino acid drinkers while the gays were busy hoping for a derm agent to come. What would be more sadful than an insurance agent who couldn’t win the lottery and a former hiphop in the backstreets. A culture of the gloomy at the days of Black Flag and Circle Jerks, the middle fingers and the anxieties of the people who brawl the supple of their complaint and not meaningless. Not moaning as the years were adolescent, comforted by meanings from other countries. Letters from Sweden, US, Australia and Netherland made marks in the secret society – the anarchos came vegetarians at that time. Manila was gay in the flirting monster of deceit but beverages at the counter were germans, half naked at the general meeting. I saw Pepe Smith last year mocking the gays like cough-skinheads wearing wigs pretending as derm agents again getting along with fake bums. The police were the real gays when they call themselves “praling”. Notorious goons exit their way because the law enforcers were gorgeous with hairs on their chest and the goons weren’t handsome like that. The stunning sergeants, SPO4’s, and even the dazzling assets were blooming. Their wigs weren’t expensive like those of the sweet skins’, but even the commando gangs got sexy booty, nice legs. The delay of the days in the past was pausing a little more of a cerebral thing with elegies from stamps of the Americans and Europeans but the post office was opening the envelopes, money inside sometimes. This culture is satisfactory to the point where fare is obtained on daily basis. The ethnicity today of the refinement, or cultivation of freedom is current fresh of the soil to the vegetation of mankind.
In a period when people realizes their chance of life were at the middle of the future and the past, and when the time was weary or busy. Expect to hope for a better tomorrow so every Saturday your in 100 Club. Determination to pursue the ambitions was genuine, dreams were bordering to authenticity and watches the path of life as it goes mysterious or bright then people tend to bond as society. In the 90’s, contemporary societies were effective used as shields to protect people themselves from the norms.
The dear ones were still perky . The music energizes the arise of the dead and good to the ear. Reminiscing the future or the no future dulling the days which would slumber down the nap of a reverie. The expiry of the era from the oi, depicting the black & white picture and the non-distorted guitar of The Jam, diminutive in their pants as well the faces. The rain crashes down to my shirt as the sitting on the bench was a chill that the Dead Boys came downtown under the silhouette of swanking simile. Rain stopped then the comrades blazed up the pasture, some weeds for the dudes. And light my fire again and again and again… ‘till the rain stops and so as the chorus of the unpayable musicians and comedians… and wiggers, and the damned,…and the drifters, ridiculous, limps, pigs…. mothers….underarms…….
To the spirit of it, the generations were at the brink of an eye while it passes through the rectum of modifications and the slaughters were forgiven in hell but not. Sponsors like Ben Sherman and Fred Perry on the other hand were being advocated so the vogue of these genres were flowing to the right direction and that the products were essential to the concept of itself and to the sub-culture. It’s 2011, some underground congregations in the US and Europe as fractions of some political parties. Now their wearing extra brand of clothing and older too; more or less, these people consider themselves as readers or nazis but the accents from Europe and the memorabilias of the 80’s. The anti-cop sign, dread-locks and mohauks, and combat-boots like some remembrance from a past of confrontations, rejections, and molestation all of which were alibis from an argumentum of Bakunin and Karl Marx. It was the perfect days. . It’s depiction of uselessness like an old garage, skateboards or even an ear stitch as such as the former image of Valenzuela City. Eleventh-hour, saturday again and inhabitants were catering in the streets waiting for the ruffians to come by and had some drinks. Gangsters all over the avenue in quest of veracity, searching for their gurus. Some gangs from the other side threw few explosives to the street, a trick for a practical joke but intimidating. Others ran the area with in their mobile car with blasting hi-fi’s swifting 100 miles per hour, drunk and all that.It was the perfect days. Monarchy here as to consider yet it was sluggish before in the office. Chinese businessmen nearly at the bottom of the city holding many of the factories. The dawn at six, temperature was colder and foggy, flies and me face to face. Aspirations was splendid and pride for the matured citizens of Marulas for it was cultural that the ethnicity couldn’t be insulted. Millionaires were the neighbors here watching the voodoo hobos from a lense.
Liven up, graced by the sunlight in the morning before the banquet, a small feast for a mental patient wearing pathetic ramones shirt. Pleased with the bliss at the morning, a small joint and a cup of coffee. Ecstatic for a while proceeding to the exterior of the house and the relatives greeting merriments about also new bigger harvest of rice. Eventually the crops or other harvest like mango, corn, and pineapple all placed in brown baskets, delayed a little of a drawback while the truck was at the main road clutching grandmother’s crisis. Caucasians were at every house residing at the narrow perception of the small town.
Natives obtain the stereotypes getting along with the conversations and gagging very fine. The band played at the gig in a school crazed with celebrities and politicians. It’s the multitude at the crowd bopping up with joy all thirsty of cold drinks, as the choir set off the stage conceded to the decorousness of it’s culture
In the meantime we all grew together as we saw the WTC fell to the ground. It collided to the collapse of it’s power, an attack which hit the center of the target while humanity observes the world for every pause was a reality check and god. I saw Screwdriver last month in Cebu, dauntless and scared. I saw Pearl Jam last week, an excuse for a mental problem. And the people around who endeavors through seemed like wasting away like of those from the reggae café, some hoaxing to dearing the drama. All friends of Henry Rollins from different countries were coming here in Manila then enjoyed the excursions so every love was free.The night was easy hazing in the eyes by some traffic lights, or the wind was pliable as if it would supplement the soul of nirvana. A chorus played from the music room of the bar, a tango for the rotting hope. As people march to the horizon prospecting the scope of the future. Every prophet on the surface of the earth would promise an eternal life as the music continuous, as the song goes by like tango for the insane. Or a child without a mother, hopeless but suicidal at 2011 or a ruthless past fighting over delusions that never forfeit nor surrender for who ever killed stayed standing then the tango outroed the last sequence. It’s a perfect day to die.
1992 a radical band named “Septic Tank” raided Metro Manila with the conviction of crookedness. An ugly spoof for the old maids. A lampoon band on it’s political opinion at it’s mere experimentation, somehow practiced scientific method to understand the psychology of bacteria. Sub-commandante Marcos on TV, Tuesday of November, the girl from the voodoo culture hooking up with the junkies again and that she will be able to burn the speed. Hunting her species at the mid December with the graduality of the episodes of our souls. The ensembles from the state universities were present grouping the orchestration for the music performance as well as those who gate-crashed the fence. Given a postcard qoated: “Greetings From ABC”, and then ran to the backstage where the reek dashes the limp yard. Another psyche passed for a minute, a kind that is noxious, boring to the self. And then the cops again asking money from the poor. We eventually got out from the engagement so the rest were exhausted ready to walk off from the multi-part building. The complex was a big edifice with lots of neon lights, chairs arranged at the side, vendors spoken english and bigger than the malaysians. As we slowly saunters to the depth of the pathway and the hippies in the 90’s were psychosomatic, romantic. Me and my friend Christopher Sherman who’s a producer at that time elucidated something about an underground project. Other’s who approached us brought up some cults, yogas, gangsters, or even Gurudeva was rumored here at dinner. I saw him at the ceremony of a demi-god fest in northern Luzon. He was taller than 6’1, gawking over with some musicians and priests so as the home owners where decorum is good. One month later, in a music bar in Quezon City, music was the pride and alcohol here, the liquor was excellent – the drug addicts stalked the ghost, the cool accent here sounded a little bit of a French. A nausea album from Belgium. Or a pro-gay activist with stomach problem. Those days weren’t over yet, the dreams of god are significant to modern life.
Eminently, life on earth is assumed noble. It is a substance for faith that people are desiring aspirations, pleasing each and everyone on independence day. Hoping for a new mayor when the city is exhausted or if the local police were invited at the dining table. A perfect life indeed in a world full of grunge, the sun is a drug for the amino acid drinkers while the gays were busy hoping for a derm agent to come. What would be more sadful than an insurance agent who couldn’t win the lottery and a former hiphop in the backstreets. A culture of the gloomy at the days of Black Flag and Circle Jerks, the middle fingers and the anxieties of the people who brawl the supple of their complaint and not meaningless. Not moaning as the years were adolescent, comforted by meanings from other countries. Letters from Sweden, US, Australia and Netherland made marks in the secret society – the anarchos came vegetarians at that time. Manila was gay in the flirting monster of deceit but beverages at the counter were germans, half naked at the general meeting. I saw Pepe Smith last year mocking the gays like cough-skinheads wearing wigs pretending as derm agents again getting along with fake bums. The police were the real gays when they call themselves “praling”. Notorious goons exit their way because the law enforcers were gorgeous with hairs on their chest and the goons weren’t handsome like that. The stunning sergeants, SPO4’s, and even the dazzling assets were blooming. Their wigs weren’t expensive like those of the sweet skins’, but even the commando gangs got sexy booty, nice legs. The delay of the days in the past was pausing a little more of a cerebral thing with elegies from stamps of the Americans and Europeans but the post office was opening the envelopes, money inside sometimes. This culture is satisfactory to the point where fare is obtained on daily basis. The ethnicity today of the refinement, or cultivation of freedom is current fresh of the soil to the vegetation of mankind.
In a period when people realizes their chance of life were at the middle of the future and the past, and when the time was weary or busy. Expect to hope for a better tomorrow so every Saturday your in 100 Club. Determination to pursue the ambitions was genuine, dreams were bordering to authenticity and watches the path of life as it goes mysterious or bright then people tend to bond as society. In the 90’s, contemporary societies were effective used as shields to protect people themselves from the norms.
The dear ones were still perky . The music energizes the arise of the dead and good to the ear. Reminiscing the future or the no future dulling the days which would slumber down the nap of a reverie. The expiry of the era from the oi, depicting the black & white picture and the non-distorted guitar of The Jam, diminutive in their pants as well the faces. The rain crashes down to my shirt as the sitting on the bench was a chill that the Dead Boys came downtown under the silhouette of swanking simile. Rain stopped then the comrades blazed up the pasture, some weeds for the dudes. And light my fire again and again and again… ‘till the rain stops and so as the chorus of the unpayable musicians and comedians… and wiggers, and the damned,…and the drifters, ridiculous, limps, pigs…. mothers….underarms…….
To the spirit of it, the generations were at the brink of an eye while it passes through the rectum of modifications and the slaughters were forgiven in hell but not. Sponsors like Ben Sherman and Fred Perry on the other hand were being advocated so the vogue of these genres were flowing to the right direction and that the products were essential to the concept of itself and to the sub-culture. It’s 2011, some underground congregations in the US and Europe as fractions of some political parties. Now their wearing extra brand of clothing and older too; more or less, these people consider themselves as readers or nazis but the accents from Europe and the memorabilias of the 80’s. The anti-cop sign, dread-locks and mohauks, and combat-boots like some remembrance from a past of confrontations, rejections, and molestation all of which were alibis from an argumentum of Bakunin and Karl Marx. It was the perfect days. . It’s depiction of uselessness like an old garage, skateboards or even an ear stitch as such as the former image of Valenzuela City. Eleventh-hour, saturday again and inhabitants were catering in the streets waiting for the ruffians to come by and had some drinks. Gangsters all over the avenue in quest of veracity, searching for their gurus. Some gangs from the other side threw few explosives to the street, a trick for a practical joke but intimidating. Others ran the area with in their mobile car with blasting hi-fi’s swifting 100 miles per hour, drunk and all that.It was the perfect days. Monarchy here as to consider yet it was sluggish before in the office. Chinese businessmen nearly at the bottom of the city holding many of the factories. The dawn at six, temperature was colder and foggy, flies and me face to face. Aspirations was splendid and pride for the matured citizens of Marulas for it was cultural that the ethnicity couldn’t be insulted. Millionaires were the neighbors here watching the voodoo hobos from a lense.
Liven up, graced by the sunlight in the morning before the banquet, a small feast for a mental patient wearing pathetic ramones shirt. Pleased with the bliss at the morning, a small joint and a cup of coffee. Ecstatic for a while proceeding to the exterior of the house and the relatives greeting merriments about also new bigger harvest of rice. Eventually the crops or other harvest like mango, corn, and pineapple all placed in brown baskets, delayed a little of a drawback while the truck was at the main road clutching grandmother’s crisis. Caucasians were at every house residing at the narrow perception of the small town.
Natives obtain the stereotypes getting along with the conversations and gagging very fine. The band played at the gig in a school crazed with celebrities and politicians. It’s the multitude at the crowd bopping up with joy all thirsty of cold drinks, as the choir set off the stage conceded to the decorousness of it’s culture
In the meantime we all grew together as we saw the WTC fell to the ground. It collided to the collapse of it’s power, an attack which hit the center of the target while humanity observes the world for every pause was a reality check and god. I saw Screwdriver last month in Cebu, dauntless and scared. I saw Pearl Jam last week, an excuse for a mental problem. And the people around who endeavors through seemed like wasting away like of those from the reggae café, some hoaxing to dearing the drama. All friends of Henry Rollins from different countries were coming here in Manila then enjoyed the excursions so every love was free.The night was easy hazing in the eyes by some traffic lights, or the wind was pliable as if it would supplement the soul of nirvana. A chorus played from the music room of the bar, a tango for the rotting hope. As people march to the horizon prospecting the scope of the future. Every prophet on the surface of the earth would promise an eternal life as the music continuous, as the song goes by like tango for the insane. Or a child without a mother, hopeless but suicidal at 2011 or a ruthless past fighting over delusions that never forfeit nor surrender for who ever killed stayed standing then the tango outroed the last sequence. It’s a perfect day to die.
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