In the Dark Room

The last I watched a movie I was with someone I barely know. It was around a month ago, when I was in Dumaguete, on the first of two dates I've managed to mangle out of the city. The guy was okay, other than the silly hat he was wearing. But it was a failed date because there was simply nothing interesting happening between us. I would have responded if he held my hand when we were watching the movie. Or maybe if he placed his hand on my leg. He wasn't exactly a looker but he had a nice chest and the shirt he was wearing gave a nice view of it. Nice legs on him too. At the moment, I'm trying to recall his name. But I can't. Starts with a J? Or an A?

I've had lots of movie dates ever since I graduated from college and entered myself into the market. It's a safe thing to do when you're with a new guy. To pass the time if the date's not doing well. To fondle each other if the date's doing extremely well. And it's funny how some guys act differently when the lights go out. I remember my first date with this guy who works in the Palace. He looked so neat with his white long sleeves and crisp black pants. But he tried to slip his hand up my pants only a few minutes into the movie and almost forced me to kiss him then and there. He was really cute and I would have loved to ply my tongue on his but there were just too many people around. In the end we did kiss although I couldn't get comfy because you know, there are strangers two feet away from us. In all directions. We never dated again. But not because of that.

And there's this other guy who gave me a hand job while I struggled to shield my thing from prying eyes with my bag on my lap. It was good that the movie we were watching was an action movie, so any gasps and moans which might have escaped my lips can be interpreted as my surprised reactions on the film. It was still very risky though and as much as I would have wanted to spread my legs, fear and decency overcame me. Any minute I imagined security guards descending on us, flashlights quickly swerving on my exposed dick for everyone to see before it was unceremoniously kicked out of the doors with the rest of me. Which reminds me, is that a criminal offense? Will being caught in that appear in my records or something? I suppose I'm bound to find that out for myself anyway. Well, this happened every single time we had a movie date (we lasted weeks.) And it's funny because when we're alone in the room he isn't as horny. At least I was always hornier than he was.

And then there's this other guy who was a sex fiend and did me on the bus and other unlikely places and yet when we were in the movies he barely even looked at me. I kept running my hand on his arm and the most he would do was give my leg a squeeze. This time I wanted something. The movies are much more private than a bus zooming along Commonwealth. But nope, no can do for him.

But my dates with my boyfriends were always on the more serious and sweeter side of things. I don't know why, but somehow, I get this feeling a date's going to be great if the guy does not do anything fishy with me on the movies. My first boyfriend, I used to reach out for his hand in the movies when we were still new as a couple. And then after months, he began to reach for my hand too. And then our relationship became cold and we didn't hold hands anymore. Then we broke up and got back together again. And we came back to holding hands in the movies. When he's feeling cuddly he'd come rest his head on my shoulder sometimes. And I'd try not to move too much lest my sharp shoulder bones give him an injury.

My second boyfriend loved holding hands too. And we'll hold hands in the movie until they were decidedly warm and sweaty. And on choice parts, the tearjerkers mostly, we'd give each other's hands an extra squeeze until we're holding hands with increasing tightness as the movie ends. I'd find myself walking out of the cinema, working my hand and trying to get blood flowing back to it again. Hands severed due to fear of prying eyes around us.

My third boyfriend had no fear of prying eyes. Absolutely none. He'd kiss me in the lips in the middle of the mall. In its exact center, mind. And he'd hold my hand whenever and wherever he felt like it. We didn't last long but in the movies, I remember that at times he paid more attention to me than to what we're watching. He'd ask me if I'm cold. He'd check if I'm comfy. And when there's a hot guy on screen he'd get jealous and try to cover my eyes. Seriously. But that's him. That's his own brand of sweetness. No other guy paid as much attention to me as he did.

And of course, there's my dear Little Boy. We've watched quite a lot of movies when we were dating. To the point that we were counting the coin we have left between us just so we can watch this film on that night. Once, the attendants even asked us to leave less than 30 minutes into the animated film we were watching because apparently, the mall was on fire. Yeah. We had the tickets refunded the next week anyway and we watched the same movie and had a great time and I even cried.

I liked him a lot and of course I tried holding his hand in the movies but he's really tough and he wouldn't give in. Not in the first movie. Not in the second. Not in the third. I'd ask if I can hold his hand and he'd always raise his eyebrow as if that was out of the question. Then one time we were in the movies, with my hand hanging about, I felt his hand touch mine. Not hold, really. No fingers entwined. But it was a touch. An unmistakeable one. And I rubbed my fingers on his and he didn't move them away. I looked at him, a bit puzzled, but he was engrossed in the movie and I just smiled. Oh how I smiled. But he's gone now too. Like the rest of them.

And still there were times when I'd watch movies alone. Just me and my faithful Jansport backpack on my lap but not hiding anything. People around me but no prying eyes on me because there's nothing unusual to see. My hands hanging out on both arms of my seat, safe from being touched because the seats beside me are empty. No heads on my shoulder. No sweaty palms. No hands covering my eyes. Just me watching the movie, hoping against hope it will make me feel something again. Until the next guy comes around.

Forever Young

I find it funny that I'm writing this in the wake of my attempt to sequester some poison from the laboratory. It was right there in my hands, a kilo of it, crystalline and white, and all I had to do was scoop less than a handful, stow it away in a vial in my pocket, and move away while no staff was looking. But in that moment, I was paralyzed. I was half-laughing with confusion, to be honest, holding that bottle with slightly trembling hands. I knew then that I would be sealing my fate if I went on with my plan. And I realized there in the laboratory storage room, under those tired-looking fluorescent lamps, that distinct lab odor of various chemicals and with only the whirring of the exhaust fans to break the silence, that I was not ready. That no matter how much I have contemplated of killing myself, I still haven't thought it out thoroughly enough. And this makes me ashamed of myself somewhat.

I learned that it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Hours before that, I realized that to commit suicide, you must turn off both your brain and your heart. You must not think. You must not feel. You must be a cold automaton to be successful. It must be a decision made in cold blood. And perhaps at that moment, I wasn't feeling numb enough. So I failed. Though I did note the exact shelf where that bottle of KCN lies for future reference.

I do not really understand why I get these urges. Sometimes at night, "I want to die" will suddenly play on repeatedly in my head. And it is all that I can do to keep myself on my bed, tossing and turning, knowing that the moment I got up and really did something about it, it might be my end. And it doesn't matter whether I had been particularly sad or happy that day. I could have had the worst day possible yet I wouldn't feel suicidal. There are triggers to it, that's true, but it isn't as obvious as "having problems" or "feeling sad". I've come to the conclusion that most likely, it is something in my genes which makes me have thoughts like these. In fact, I'm getting this feeling now that I've lived past my supposed death date. It's crazy I know, and I'm doing what I can, but I'm not sure whether trying to stop these urges will really help at all. It might be making it worse, for all I know.

The night before last I was making the artwork for this album. And I was browsing through my pictures, looking for suitable ones to be representative of what had gone on for the past four years and what I got from looking back at those events was amazement. From where I am now, I couldn't believe what I had accomplished just a couple of years ago. Look at those semender parties, for instance. I couldn't believe that I've really made them happen. Who I am now seemed but a faded relic of the storm I used to be. I made waves. I was a force. But now I've lost them all and I'm down in the dumps more often than not.

This album chronicles the best and the worst years of my life. And although it is mightily embarrassing to make a case study of oneself and promote it, I'm pushing through with this because like what I've said in a previous post, it is a life all the same. I might have been wishing for my own death for years now, but while I'm alive I'm really alive. And you can almost feel the passion oozing out of these songs. Think Tom Riddle's Diary. Really, these songs are my essence. It's Sir Bry 101.

I'm sharing this album for several reasons and to reiterate one of those, it is in the hope that you might learn something from what happened to me. We go crazy with books and movies, especially those that touch us so why don't we learn from the lives of our own real friends right? I can't make a book yet, much less a movie, but mixtapes are within my current capabilities so this is what I do. The songs might not be mine, but the way I compile them makes a work which is bigger than the sum of its parts.

This is not an attempt to glorify myself even if it does seem that way for those people who don't know me well. I keep putting my images on my albums simply because I do not want to be forgotten. If you doubt me, then let's have a chat about it. I can't explain further here. The universe knows I have had enough of unwanted attention.

I'm going to claim that "Forever Young", personal bias included, is my best album. And it should be, given that it's a compilation of the best songs I've found for the last four years. My first 4-year greatest hits album "Dusk at Red Island" (released last May 2009) focused more on love and my tumultuous relationships. And it's interesting that here in "Forever Young", my paradigm has shifted to more meaningful things. How I've established my identity. How I've started to make a change. Much deeper musings on love, life, and death. Others may claim that their best achievement for the past years had been graduating from grad school, getting this house or car, or finding the love of their lives. But for me, this album is all I have to show. It is the wisdom gained. The experience. The lovers. The friends. All here in this 80-minute album.

May you have an enjoyable ride through time with me while listening to the music here. This is my life I'm sharing here with you, and from a fellow human being, you couldn't ask for more.


Love,
Bry

Here is the link:
Download "Forever Young" HERE

I've fixed the link above. It now links to Hotfile. :)

Nu Porn

I'm tired of that same old porn. I'm tired of steamy bodies fucking each other senseless. I'm tired of pecs and abs and sculpted thighs, arms, and feet. Tired of dicks and balls and assholes and cum shooting all over the place. I'm tired of the sweat and the saliva, the moans and the lapping sounds. They're all very attractive to watch, when you're in that mood. But I'm old and I've been there and I'm telling you it's not as great as it looks. At least for me it isn't.

During my younger years I've wondered whether there was some kind of acting involved in porn. And I don't mean those posing as amateur or voyeur videos. That lust I see on their eyes - is that real? The way they kiss and devour each other - do they really mean it? I've always wanted to be considered cool and being cool, in my book, includes sleeping around and having sex left and right but I've never made myself act like what they do in those porn movies. Some porn movies attempt to inject some semblance of a story in their plot but in the end it boils down to stranger meets stranger, then they fuck. Well, I've been there, and I've fucked with strangers but somehow, I've never managed to match that level of raunchiness those porn stars display.

Everyone needs some sex, sooner or later, unless one is a virgin, asexual, or a plant. Those who are claiming otherwise are either hypocrites or are talented enough to completely curb their basal instincts. And I've met men and women who are prudish on the outside but go on like rabbits when the lights are off. I suppose that for such people, porn movies seem real to them. When you've been bottling up your lust for other people to see, once you let go, I suppose you just kinda explode and you become this animal on the bed. I think I envy those people. Because even if their lives are twisted in this manner, at least they get to feel white hot. Me, I can only manage a yellow flame these days. It leaves me dirty. Sooty. I want to feel white hot too just because I want to feel it all. I want it all.

Not having a boyfriend means resorting to casual sex when you're lucky. If you're not, then it's just you and your hand. But since I'm adept enough when it comes to these things, I've somehow managed to have sex with men hotter than I am. And when you've been there and you've had those men, those porn movies somehow lose their potency. It's like watching a romantic movie when your own love story is so much better. They lose their sense of fantasy, and that takes out much of their vile charm. At times, I wish I hadn't sought after and scored with those men. Maybe I'd still have something to look forward to.

But of course, I still watch porn. Sex is a need as much as hunger or thirst is. You won't be satiated for long. But the kind of porn I like now are those where men kiss like they're really a couple. Like they're in love. The way they look at each other sends me jitters down my spine. The way they smile and hold hands. The way they embrace each other. The way they make love. And I... I miss those days when I'm being intimate with someone I have an affection for. This new kind of porn - it's not sexual porn. It's emotional porn. And unlike the former, this is much harder to find in real life. You can have sex with a hot guy as long as you're persistent enough. But love? This is much harder to find and maintain. And I think that for me, this will remain to be a fantasy.

For now, at least.

Fade to Gray

I'm not really certain what other people make of me and my mania for making mixtapes. Not that I really care about what those other people think. I only want to know because I always want to assess myself and the things I do. I want to try and see it from the perspective of others so I'd have a more balanced view of me and the many silly things I do.

At the moment, I am listening to Youth Group's "Forever Young", the title track for my upcoming second 4-year greatest hits compilation to be released next month and with this song, somehow, I am given this overwhelming notion that making mixtapes and sharing them with others has been one of the most meaningful decisions I have made in my whole life. More than choosing to be an educator for instance. More than my passion to make a change in this world. Mixtapes might seem to be a very small thing compared to my other passions, but it is somewhat more intrinsic. That no matter what occupation I might find myself in, no matter what instruments might come into my hands to further my nonpersonal goals, this "art" will allow me to touch others in a way which few others can. Other factors in my life might have been incidental but this one, perhaps, I can claim to be truly mine. And don't mind Charlie because I did this first.

I had always been puzzled why others don't do this. Why others (seemingly) let their years wash by them without leaving a permanent mark. I wonder what they use to mark each year and all the experiences, thoughts, and memories which go with it. Pictures are all very well, and perhaps they might even be effective in some cases, especially if you're going to make albums out of them, but I think that's different from creating something out of your experiences. It's not really something you can share to strangers, especially if you're only taking pictures of yourself. Well, you can of course, if you're going to push it. But my point is what will I get out of looking at your pictures other than being happy for you? I want to be affected and moved. I want to get something out of your experience, and this something I hope I can find useful for my own life. I'm not sure about this, but I'm getting the sense that other people do not even have this need to learn from others in this way.

Another way to accomplish this would be by writing, and I'm thankful I'm connected to some friends who do just that. Those who write beyond making mere diary entries. Those who aim to impart something to their readers. It's just refreshing to be in some other people's shoes for a while. Refreshing to delve into their minds and immerse myself in how they think and interact. Again, this building frustration at why most people I know do not do this. I would have loved to be in your head for a while you know.

I don't know why others don't get this but despite the sheer effort I put into making each one of my compilations, at the end of the day it's all so overwhelmingly worth it. That even if no one gets to listen to my albums, the fact that I was able to make something out of these thoughts and emotions is so fucking worth it. And if I'm getting this gratification now, what more in the years to come? When I'm more worn and frayed, all I have to do is select an album and I'd be instantly transported to this particular phase of my life and I'd get this sense that what an amazing life mine had been. And what more if I play them consecutively? Before my time is up, I'd make certain I get the time to listen to all of my albums one last time.

It will be such a barrage of information though, if I do that. With each song playing, names and faces come cascading down on my head and I'm not sure I'd be able to handle them all at one go and I'm not certain now why I'm telling you these things because what I want to do is to convince you to start making mixtapes and telling you that these songs can make you cry might make you think otherwise. Really, reader, I wish you could feel what I feel right now. This sense of... I don't know. A sense of a life lived. Shared. And sometimes reader, I do question why my life should be shared. Though I'm certain that the emphasis is not on it being my life but just that it is a life all the same and we must make the most out of it and I can't understand why others don't get this.

I don't understand why others don't feel death breathing down our necks and that we must go now and do things and record things while we can because we may not all be given the chance to leave something behind for those who will come after us and though compiling songs might be such a silly thing this is still what I can do well and I'm certain someone somewhere will get me and will be affected by what I do.

I don't understand why most people are so selfish they focus instead on things which won't really last like money or jobs or material stuff. I don't understand why they can't see what I see and that I have to resort to blog things like this, explaining away the weird things I do when in a more advanced, a more ideal society things such as these would have been normal and self-explanatory and though I'm going to admit to you, reader, that I'm beginning to dislike where life is taking me because it is making me follow the rest of this blinded foolish society and the current is so strong I'm afraid it might wash away the things which make me me, including making these mixtapes, including blogging, and others might understand what I'm getting at but they will be helpless all the same and they'd leave me struggling to keep my identity because they were once like me but they've now faded into the gray.

Why have you let them do this to you? Was it worth it? Tell me. Was it worth it to lose who you really are just to go with their flow?

Electrique Unleashes Sexual Contagion With Its 30th Album, "Viral"

MANILA, Philippines - Electrique Music CEO, Mr. Aldasiel, has opened the gates for his 30th mixtape, "Viral" to pour all over the metro and beyond. On a press conference held last Monday at the launch party in Miggy's Penthouse in Manila, the CEO spoke more about the themes and difficulties related to this album.

Q: What is "Viral" all about?

A: "Viral" is about the intricacies of love and lust. For eight years, I've tackled all sorts of love in my albums but it is only this time that I chose to delve into the rather unspoken aspects of it. It will be hypocritical for most to claim that love, in the conventional sense, has absolutely nothing to do with lust. In "Viral", I've tried to untie that knot which keeps these hidden aspects a tangle.

Q: What is the inspiration behind this album?

A: Many times, I have found myself in some room - cold and lonely, no matter how many warm bodies I've tried to tap through. And in one of those moments, I wished I could somehow capture what I was feeling at the time. For the sake of those who are about to go through what I went through. For the sake of those who are curious. For those who just want to know what it is to sleep around and spread yourself thin over so many partners...

Q: What is the reason for the title?

A: Well, "Viral" is a word which has many layers imposed onto it. But mostly, it is about something contagious. Something which cunningly resists cure. From what I've learned, casual sex has that nature. You get hurt at first. Then, to feel better, you sleep around, possibly causing emotional pain to your partners when they learned that you were just using them for sex. And it goes on in a vicious chain reaction.

Q: How does this album sound?

A: This album is not as musically cohesive as "Electric Dreams" or "Head in the Clouds" although I did my best to make transitions seem seamless. There are actually two genres in here. It is electro rock through and through. Although it begins with more of the rock and it ends with more of the electro. This spectrum is essential to the plot of the album though, so I want my listeners to be aware that this was a deliberate act.

Q: How does it compare with your other albums?

A: I suppose it falls somewhere in between the synths of  "Drifter" and the glam rock of "Platinum Soul". It is on a class of its own, to be honest. Thematically, I haven't made an album like this. It's not so downtrodden and melancholic, but it's not so carefree either. It is just... real. It has attitude. And it is meaningful, even if the sexual theme might turn away my more conservative listeners. Trust me. I did not use a sexual theme just for its "tabloidal" effect. There is much more to this and by the end of the album, if you're listening carefully, you would have known what I wanted you to know. And you won't forget that. Ever.

Q: What response do you expect from this album?

A: To be frank, I am not expecting as great a response as I received from "Revelations", "Icarus", or even "Electric Dreams." The theme (which is rather advanced) may be lost upon my younger listeners. And this is no hit factory like "Revelations" or "Electric Dreams" were. The catchy songs may be few and far between but they are there. For "Viral", the message is more important than how catchy it sounds. There are only so many analogies I can use with the title, and catchiness may not be one of those.

Q: Any last messages to those who are thinking of downloading this album?

A: As with my other recent compilations, this is an experience. I'll take you to those damp, dark city alleys. I'll take you to those red-lit motel rooms. I'll take you there and you'll learn what that is like. You'll feel what that is like. Come on. Try.

You can now download "Viral" HERE.

On A Wednesday, In A Cafe

Of course I miss you.

Of course I miss those lazy afternoons with us idling around, just watching some random movie from HBO, drinking Coke and eating those Jalapeno Cheetos which you love. Eating ice cream. Trying to eat that durian I bought you just because you said you love durian and laughing at how that made the whole fridge smell funky. I remember how I'd try to touch you all the time and how you'd pull back more often than not, but when you put down your guard and you allow my hand to touch yours, it felt great all the same.

I remember that week when you were sick and I had to take care of you since no one was there for you. How I'd go to your place to bring you bananas and milk, melons and meds. I'd buy us some dinner and I'd text you, asking what you like and you'd say anything would be fine. Except that you don't like this or that. And I'll arrive at your house, arms loaded with brown paper bags and how we'd laugh about the situation - like I was the husband working his ass off bringing groceries home and you're the wife, staying at home doing chores and taking care of the dogs. And I'd pretend to complain, like husbands do, and you'd threaten me by saying "So you're complaining now?" and I'd just laugh because though it was stressful, traveling from Marikina to Las Pinas every night, it felt great taking care of you.

I remember how Haggie would bark when we're watching "Ina, Kapatid, Anak" because there was poop in her cage and how you'd yell at her and when you're coughing I'd imitate your voice and I'd yell "Haggie!" to you too and inwardly, I'd laugh because it felt like a simple kind of life. Local TV, dogs, Xian Lim, and you. And me.

And I remember all those times we were simply lying there on your very comfy bed. The light from the windows dim and clothes hanging everywhere and Snow underfoot. And how I couldn't resist not hugging you or not kissing you or not undressing you and you'd get mad at me and you'd warn me with a pointed "Bry, what are you doing?" and I'd desist but then I'll start again and we'll end up wrestling each other on your bed. And of course, if it was Friday, I get to stay for the night and you let me wear one of your short shorts and I do not have to worry about the sound of cars approaching just in case it was your uncle. How I'd never forget that one night when you said you wish it was Friday so I could stay and that would make you really happy. I simply shrugged that off right then, but I'm telling you now that I never forgot that. Nor that time when you called me "Baby Bry" and I asked "So am I your boyfriend now?" and you said "No, not yet" and I did not feel as disappointed as I thought because I hadn't been expecting much in the first place.

And I remember that time when you'd leap into my arms without warning and I'd struggle to keep you up though my knees felt like they would buckle at any moment. And you'd ask me "Kaya mo ba ako?" teasingly and I'd boast and say yes because even if it was tough keeping you in my arms, I still want you to be there. It took all of my strength but then I gave up and now you're gone and of course I'd hurt you towards the end because what you said to me had been more hurtful. Of course I'd save myself because I couldn't withstand another fall. Because with you, I've already fallen.

And now when I play Taylor Swift's "Begin Again", I still remember that glorious Wednesday afternoon at Bag of Beans. With you sipping tea, the sunlight flitting through the screens and making patterns over your hair, and us talking about art installations. How I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. I still remember all those things but I don't feel sad anymore. I can't even afford to let myself feel that anymore.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know what's the use. But perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to admit that after all this time, your name still lingers over my head. That I still haven't erased your messages. That it is still you I couldn't help but remember when I'm texting someone new. because I think no one can beat the special moments that we've had. I couldn't help it but it is still you. It's still you.

Stay

It was a Valentine's Day, so many years ago, and we've just been to the UP Fair but I still didn't want to leave even though the vicinity was much too crowded already. We were sitting in front of the AS Steps, watching the fireworks display, and when it was over, I... I still did not want to go.

We went to Philcoa next and stood in front of McDonald's. You wanted to go home, but I didn't want you to. It was Valentine's Day, I said, and we should spend the night together. But where, you asked. Everywhere would be full, you said, let us just go home. But I was adamant and I still did not want you to go.

So we went to this motel, and as expected it was full. There were almost no seats left in the lobby, and when I asked the receptionist, she said it might take three hours or more before we can get a room. And so we stayed there, in the lobby. I was watching MTV and you were sleeping. Sometimes you lean your head on my shoulder, and I... I stole a glance at those around us because we've never been really public about such things. But then it was Valentine's. So I didn't care.

Finally, our number was called, and we both had to rouse ourselves. We went up to our room, and then down on the bed. But how we made love, I can't remember anymore. I've lost count of the many ways I've had you in my arms.

And yes, it was a Valentine's Day, and it has been so many years ago. But how we spent ours, I still can remember. Of all the guys and the girls. Of all the lovers and the strangers. How we spent ours was what comes to mind when I look back. And I don't know, Baby. I really don't know why. Of all the lovers and the strangers, it is still you that I want. After all these years, Baby, it is still you that I want.

Maybe someday, Baby, I will find someone to heal me. Maybe someday, that someone will come around and erase you from my memory. But until then, I am sure, that when this day comes around again, it will still be you I will be thinking of. It will be you. It will still be you.