Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Anime Review: Mind Game(2004)

It is easy to mash colors together and call it "art". It is also easy to mash words and scenes together and call it a "story" or a "film". Mind Game if anything is an art film, an art anime. I won't stop there. For while it is too easy to call anything art, it is not too easy to answer the question of technique and craft and more importantly the experience.

How was this mashing up done? How was the experience?

Mind Game is both a feast for the mind, the eye and ear. It will leave you wondering: what is happening? What happened? What am I looking at? and yet it is like a painting that though challenges your imagination, does not go overboard, it still leaves room for meaning. It is like a song, a beat, that while you might never get the true meaning(if there is) leaves you dancing.

Most Anime offer epic battles, epic love stories, weird characters and their counterparts, all of which depend on the advancing of the plot, or the series of connected scenes. And you will judge the whole film on how a clear scene transpired. You will watch most anime/films to know what happened, what will happen.

Mind Game is different. Yes, it has a love story(between the loser and the  usual big boobed girl), it has the adventure narrative, it has car chases, but it is different. Trying to describe the film now is hard. Which means that no words can describe the experience of watching a series of scenes that at first might appear unconnected, but in time appear to be or not? The experience of watching scenes that play out like an MTV. Or of how fantasies/myths and beliefs are squashed together to portray what is possible, how narrative time is bent, is this a flashback? A future event? An imagined event? A dream? Or what?

Sit back, allow the sounds and colors to take care of the rest.


I admit that the movie might just be noise for the casual viewer, the story might prove too simplistic (un lang?) too chaotic (ewan?) but art is the excuse, technique is the reason and experience is the pleasure.

AND if you can watch and appreciate Adventure Time and Spirited Away(said to be the best animated film) then Mind Game should be on your watch list.

It doesn't hurt that the film has a wickedly fine sense of humor.

Some Awards(from wiki): Best Director, Best Film, Best Script and "Visual Accomplishment" (Fantasia Festival Canada)
Further viewing: Spirited Away(2001), Adventure Time(TV Series), Mirror Mask


-Has the best portrayal of what could be God.

-Imagine dying by having a gun blast on your butt with the bullet passing thru your rectum until said bullet exits thru your head blasting away your brain.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

I MAKE my own Destiny and I AM the Master of my own Universe...

By Karlo Weygan Kokoi Ravanera

I MAKE my own Destiny and I AM the Master of my own Universe...

I AM...

I am Destiny
I am Universe...






National Destination
Universal Verse...


I MAKE my own Destiny and I AM the Master of my own Universe...

I AM...

I make Destiny
I am Universe...

I AM...

I make Destiny
I am Universe...

I AM...



Karlo dG. Weygan
13 March 2014

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Marco 485

7 year old Marco woke up hard at breath. His unschooled mind did not yet know if he woke up from a terrible nightmare, a pointless dream, or if he ever dreamed at all. He woke when he heard from inside his own ear- his heavy breathing"huffff.. hufff".  He woke, when in the silence of his room, the brown door opened with a "crriiik", the kind of sound heavy doors often make "criik" and closed. He woke, when in the absence of siblings and he was the only child at home, he heard his name being called "Mac, mac, mac" must be from his mother... she always gets up early to cook.

That was the first time he woke up.

Marco, age 7, woke up perspiring. His kid's mind did not yet know if he woke up from a terrible nightmare or a pointless dream... BUT he was asleep awhile ago, this he knew. He was sweating, and his face was wet.. tears and sweat.  Wet was his shirt, wet underneath and even his pillows were soaked. As if the bed was turning into a large sponge. And Marco ,like water, was being sucked deeper and deeper.

That was the second time Marco woke up.

In a lamp lit room, a 7 year-old boy is sleeping. The sound of a doorknob turning. A large and heavy door opening. And then "Marco... mac... mac..." coming from outside . The boy opens his eyes, breaths heavily,  reaches for his mother at his side(absent), gets up, looks at door that just opened...expects his Mama, but sees only hair...leaving the room.

Hair..long black hair.. just like his mom's hair...
Must be her. It is her.

Third time.

Marco, in all his innocence did not know that he was NOT yet awake. But he got up from his bed, noticed the absence of his Mother's side, he got up still groggy, wet  and found himself turning the doorknob to open the door-the heavy wooden brown Narra door. "Criiik" (Thought he saw it open).

He saw nothing. Not even the sala which should have been there.

He stood a moment when the voice resumed.. "Marco..mac..mac" this time the voice did not come from  outside of his room but inside.. inside his room - he turned to see someone asleep on the bed...someone with long black hair.

Now he remembers the absence, he remembers asking his grandfather where his mother is. And Marco is elated, he rushes to "her" side.

"your mother went to see saint peter" says his grandfather
"I want to follow her"
"you can't follow her, and she is not coming back, she will be happy there as you will be in here"
"where is the house of saint peter? I will go there
I will
go there"

Perhaps there is a shaver in that "house" for it is a wonder how Saint Peter judges stories cut too short.

How would you?

Sunday, June 22, 2014


By Karlo Weygan Kokoi Ravanera

Through the iridescent lamppost-lined humid streets
Of what I now call home
And looking Life straight in the eye
Both beautiful and festering
I could not,
But have
This terrible
Terrible yearning…

To awake
To cold
Foggy mornings
With diamond-like dew drops
Sparkling lavishly on sayote leaves
Just outside my jalousied-window,
The fresh aromatic scent of pinewood sap
Tainting the cool breeze
With old woolen Navy Pea coat and faded blues—
Worn like second skin
For days on end…

Sidewalk beer and Ginebra binges right in front
Of La Azotea atop Session Road
Evening bonfires and barbecues right in your own
Backyard (or even, a friend’s)
Anytime you’d like,
Anytime you’d wish…

To rejuvenate spent mind and body on top of a mountain
With sleep—
So tranquil…
River flowing in your midst…

Why pack—
When you could stay?
Why go,
When Right Here is where
You could meditate and be away?
The (sick) desire for something Better?
Are you truly happy, or are you Bitter?

In a bizarre experiment in Living—
A revolting desire for the Good Life?
Want more?
What for?!?

Smoggy boulevards and busy avenues
Could not help but haze
From tears that’s yours—
And yours ALONE…

In this place I now call HOME
I walk,
Through the iridescent lamppost-lined humid
Uncaring streets—
FACELESS to the faceless people I pass
My window—
Still OPEN to their Closed Doors…

In this place I now call My Home
I walk…


26 April 2002

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Book Review: Anonymous Lawyer by Jeremy Blachman

Anonymous Lawyer by Jeremy Blachman

(from my goodreads review)
Featuring one of the best anti-heroes you might find yourself rooting for, the novel is written in the frame of blog entries and e-mails. As I find it always refreshing to read shifting viewpoints, much less shifting frames, I enjoyed and breezed thru this hilarious novel. More so since the focus of which is the sarcastic and nihilistic anonymous lawyer who does not fail in coming up with brutal ways to treat and talk about his colleagues in the anonymous firm. And yet this was done with enough humor and a dash of humanism which, makes you realize that this is a novel, and a damn funny one at that. I am not lawyer nor a student of law and yet this book made me laugh. I was able to relate.

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Solving Metamorphosis Chapter 2 (Prison E-mails of Juan Del Valle Juan et al. )

Linguistic and legal notes are available upon request.
18 years prior to the ODA interview of Inspector Javier T.
(1st of 4 compilations)

From Juan Del Valle Juan
To Pahn Tene

April 18, 2008

Pahn, My Love,

        These walls, these unpainted walls. And the silence. They're nothing. This cell, its emptiness, its exactitude(no escape) its solitude (no cell mate), It too is nothing. These are nothing I couldn't endure. BUT give me a second to realize your absence and I shudder. I struggle to endure, I do not know how long I can.  It's only been four days and as soon as I found I could (though I tried not too ), here I am writing to you.

              Pahn. I miss you. I really really miss you.

              There is no remorse for every pandesal I stole, no regret that I was captured by those Two Dozen Tanods, and no pain after they beat me up. Only after 42 fists did I fall and after 24 boot stomps I still rose. BUT this longing for you and this holding on to the memories of our stolen moments, bring me down faster and longer than the Two Dozen Tanods(with their 42 fists and 24 stomps). You are the only reason I regret my life as a Pandesal thief.

              Enough of pain.  Enough. I do not want you to worry, for it is not your worried look that I cherish the most, it is your dimpled smile.

              Let me tell you three things to smile about

            1. I am getting out of this prison, that much is certain.

            2.  This cylindrical prison is one of the three prisons of Bagu City,  It is called The Pit. It is built downwards much like a mine, each floor from the highest to the lowest segregates the criminals by how severe or light their crimes are. The lower the floor, the more heinous the crime.
           The first floor(the highest) houses common thieves and other thieves of higher profile.
       While indeed maintaining that they offer no special treatment, the wardens did want to maintain goodwill with big time prisoners (for the rich get out sooner or later). I believe that to solve this, they improved "accommodations" for the first two floors. So here I am with internet access (as is my right but with no social networking), with clean comfort rooms and balanced meals and pampered and physically safe co-prisoners.
         But people here are boring:  common thieves, guards, rich prisoners. They are all about status,  or money or property. Their fears and desires make them so predictable. I wonder if the people below my floor are more interesting.
        There is, however, one person here on my own floor who is different from the rest. And already I consider him a friend. He seems to want something else.
           3.  That person is not a fellow prisoner but a young officer about my age. He was assigned to this prison the same day that I "checked" in. And while our friendship is still limited to four conversations(during routine cell checks), I know he and I are going to be good friends. Already just awhile ago I started talking to him about you.  He is SPO1 Javier T.
            I will get out. Please smile for me Pahn, smile for us.
          Know that You Are My Dream, my panaginip when I sleep and my pangarap when I wake. I will serve my penance . I will get out of this prison. Wait for me Pahn, wait for me. I love you.

Your only one,

Juan Del Valle Juan

From Pahn Tene
to Juan Del Valle Juan
                                                                                                                                                April 18, 2008

My One and Only,

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Cogito Interruptus: An abSuRdisT? Essay?

"Mahal kita" that is how we say "I love you" in Tagalog. "Mahal" which means love comes first then "kita" encompassed in one word refers to a movement from me to you--- Really?

On the other hand, it is a fact that many Filipinos want to go abroad hoping to have a better life-to earn more.

What is the connection?

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Solving Metamorphosis part 1.5: The Interviewer's Intermission

Hope and fear.  I Hope that the inspector never finds out what I have been doing inside his spotlessly clean comfort room.  I fear what will happen to me if he does, when he does.

I Fear and I hope.  Fear that the interview will never be published. Hope that I won't care if it doesn't.

Like a cheating lover, I made this C.R. my phone booth, risking the skull under my thick and curly hair just so you and I could talk my dear reader - to listen to each other's stories-my story first.

I am a writer. I am married to the word and everybody else, including Inspector Javier T. is my mistress, my momentary muse, or my unwilling victim. No, my reader, you are an exception of course...

That is why (contrary to his command) those three Kape Barako breaks of the interview will never be off the record. For me, nothing is.

And if I die (I fear)  because I spoke. I will die in fashion (I hope) because I spoke. Remember that Words live longer than the ones who spoke them.

This is what happened:

Friday, October 4, 2013


I spoke to you, in the smoky room with the windows closed

And we could barely breathe but we were alive.

I looked in the mirror and saw someone that could be me

That I didn’t want to be me.

I’ve lived so long behind smokescreens and walls

They’re cold cocoon has become my comfort, my home.

Thursday, September 5, 2013


I. "him" (waiter) Expounds on The Absurd

“All we do is wait. In the morning we wait for a ride and in traffic, we wait to arrive. And so we wait for the text message to be sent and we wait for the reply, we wait for the pages to load then they ask us to wait as the photos upload,"

---uploading photos please wait--

Friday, June 21, 2013

Holy Serpent

Oh that venom that plants the seed
of sweet rotten fruits on the rich
soil of unsuspecting minds.

That serpent intends to live on that
tree of knowledge forever, For knowledge
is power, and power is everything.
It feeds on others' misfortunes and
feasts on their trespasses. It hisses
your sins and seals your fate.

Oh hail the judge of all transgressors.
Holy serpent, creature of God, pray
for us sinners now and at the hour
of our death. Amen!

Sunday, June 2, 2013


Since you’ve left, coffee tastes just like coffee; however I mask its taste with sugar and creamer.

Starbucks tastes no different, only a million times sadder.

I tried drinking coffee with pan de sal, but it only tasted a lot worse than it used to. It was like drinking coffee that tastes like tears.

I once had coffee with a stranger I met from god knows where and the coffee was as bland as the conversation. It got cold so fast.

Coffee may have lost its essence to me now.

I have been drinking coffee with you in the worst of times but it never tasted bad.

When you left, coffee has turned into cum—it just has to be ejected. That if from another, it’s something you want to taste but never want to swallow.

I still have not given up on brewing the best coffee. Tea is just too tiring and beer is just too, well, I like beer, but you don’t.

So, just please.


Make my coffee taste good again.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Into A Scar

Tonight, the red sun set on my face

and I sit here still, in the darkness

wondering why my need for light made no difference.

The bed lies smooth, untouched,

my mind is warped from lost slumber

brought by your punctuating absence

I eagerly await the end of this chapter

for the day when I fear twilight no more.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Solving Metamorphosis, an Interview (pt. 1)

How does Man transform into Phallus?(Dickhead) or Anus?(Asshole)and how does Woman become Cannis?(Bitch).  Unlocking the mystery of metamorphosis revealed more of the man who dared ask than of the mystery itself.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Rock 'n Roll Soul

I wait in anticipation.They nod at me, signaling they're ready.
I take a deep breath and stand up, knees shaking, my stomach in knots.
I feel hesitation,
Trepidation tries to tell my feet to run away.
They want to listen.

I step up on stage and turn towards the audience. 
The lights burn my eyes, I hear the noise in the room die down a little, anticipation buzzes in the room.

I turn around and nod at my drummer to signal that I'm ready,
he claps his sticks together:"1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4"
The instruments begin to play, a wave of energy envelopes me.
The sound pushes me into the air, I am transported into the sky, no one else is there, I am in my Happy Place.

I begin to sing.