He is James Franco & he will pelt the shit out of you

     I have just started reading James Franco's first work of fiction "Palo Alto". And may I just say (regardless of its bad reviews from Goodreads) that I am impressed! Though it centers mostly on teenage cynicism and nihilism , of lives wasted on alcohol, sex and drugs and the troublesome life it leads them to, I'd hold out the candle anytime for this actor, filmmaker, artist, writer with an enviable degree on Creative Writing at the UCLA when it comes to writing these stories that are troubling as they are dark, tragic and forces sympathy from its readers.  And he does this with perfect ease, sans the trouble of verbal wrangling as I find a fault on most writers (and he is the reason why I'm putting Lorrie Moore's "Anagrams" for now). He is also a sex symbol. If that doesn't impress you, I don't know what will.  I have at first been skeptical about this book written by a stud with a dorky smile and a blinding Hollywood fame but I gave it the benefit of the doubt. Turns out, he is as disarming of a writer as he is on the big screen. Here are some of what I think were "crowning points" or lines that had an effect of a nail hammered into my head, the ones that made me go OOOooo and Aaaahhh as I read each entry on the book.

****
"Ten years ago, my sophomore year in high school, I killed a woman on Halloween."


"I was racing on my anger. On the righteousness of catching Nick with her. I had no clear plan for what I would do when I arrived, but I could see my fist going toward Nick's face. I had glimpses of Hart's angry face; I'd probably have to reason with him after I kicked the shit out of Nick. I saw Susan's horrified reaction, and I felt buffeted on a hot wave of righteousness. The streets were fairly empty, and I accepted them as my personal roadway. My ordinary submission to traffic laws evaporated. I raced around corners without looking and shot through the phantom walls of the stoplights. The more recklessly I drove, the easier it was."

from Halloween 

****
"He was so. So dirty, and just moving in front of me, and cute.I was in love with him, especially because he was talking to me. " I bet you're smart," he said. I was the best moment of my life. Then this guy came up to him. He looked part Latino. "What's up, little bitch?" the Latino guy said to Ronny. Ronny was clam. He looked up at the Latino guy. This guy was older. "Fuck you," said Ronny, but softly. Then it seemed like the party got quieter."

from Lockheed


****
"Birds, and birds, and animals, and things; with slingshots, and BB guns, we killed 'em, and killed 'em. We killed so many. Every once in a while one of my friends would get a BB gun and we would go on a spree. We'd shoot anything that moved."

Saul said, "Ryan is stronger than he looks."
     Saul could beat everyone at arm wrestling. But it wasn't fair wrestling with him because he was so much bigger. His dick was seven inches. He showed us.
     I had no hair under my penis. At the beach, I held my arms down at my sides before I got in the water.
     I thought I had no hair because I masturbated so much. But I couldn't stop doing it.
At midnight the house was quiet. We quietly slid open the paneled glass door at the back and left. There was dew on the grass in the backyard, and the air moved slow and cold like a spirit. No one spoke, and it was very quiet. It felt like birth.

from Killing Animals


**** 


    "Pam came over. I got her into Jason's parents' bed. I got her naked. She wasn't even drinking. The guys lined up outside the bedroom. We went in, two and three at a time. Everyone fucked her. She got really messy. Some of the guys were so smelly. The room smelled like oysters. I kept going back in with everyone, like I was the party host. I didn't put my clothes on when I ushered people in. I was a wild monkey.
    Toward the end, I got some vegetables from the refrigerator. I had carrots, and cucumbers, and a squash. "

from Chinatown in Three Parts, Part II Headless


******


See? Don't you just feel like shoving this book right down your pants? 

The Renaissance man. 

A Certain Yearning

There are times when we feel like burying ourselves on other people's empty spots and just feel the warmth this certain nook has to offer. It can be a lover's hollow under arm, a mother's welcoming bosom, a sister's comforting lap or her assuring weight right next to us in bed. It can be, of course, a friend's relenting shoulder and their indiscriminating ears. But right at this moment, I don't have any of these close to me. These little comforts which I so relied on back when I was young - young and small enough to fit all of myself and worries into these "comfort zones". I am alone. Ah! This must be why God created the fetal position. The older you get, you must never be alone. 

January 29, 2012 














about the photo: that's the 5 year old me 

Parentheses

There is a certain kind of kindness in people that we sometimes mistook for hard-handedness. Those people whom we took for “villains” but are the ones who stay up late at night, worrying sick if you’d ever get home drunk again or that if you’re ever safe at all. They correct you in so many ways. The way you dress when church bound, the way you laugh in front of guests, the way you spoke or pronounced each word or structured your grammar, or the way you chew your food and how you are not supposed to loiter about while doing so. And you wonder why? And the wisdom you took upon your teachers “So that you may live a life somewhat different from theirs, somewhat better” only fell on cold shoulders and deaf ears. And instead, you wage on a war against them. Them, your own flesh and blood.

That though they knew of your rage that made you senseless, of how you purposely took for the wrong curve to make them feel the fault of being too much on their authority over you, of how you took up a vice only to hurt them, then hate it as you hate them. Yet still, they wait in silence for you to change your mind about everything, though it took you till you’re old enough to live on your own. Through the oppressive turns in life, they are still there with their cow-like eyes and wearied faces, mute with the unspeakable. All through the love, the longing and the lies you tell them, they are still there.

You are now at the prime of your life and you realize that it’s never too late to win them back, thinking how you lost them in the event of losing yourself on many Friday nights, over heartaches on men or women who would and could never love you back the way they do.

I know of a man who spoke highly of me in times of insobriety, when he took on the liquid for a legitimate courage yet spoke with me in his more coherent state in terse and dour words on how to set about my nights, to look after my belongings, to look after myself.

With him is a woman whom I took after many traits. The love for laughter and dancing, among many things.

I am their son, a mere anagram of themselves and probably of the food they ate.

They will forever be knotted into my life. They taught me how to make a person out of myself.

I have also learned that in every time they spoke to me with implied exclamation points; I shall answer back with a tamed full stop, or a word trailing off into silence, in ellipsis – nay, a meaningful parenthesis.

Photo: My beloved parents on their wedding on June 05, 1975
Agnes Vaño dela Serna, 16 & Danilo Mangubat Lanzaderas, 19