thewildeleven

[thewildeleven]

[rewatching Death Note]

Misa: Sweets make you fat, so I avoid them.

L: As long as you use your brain, eating even a ton of sweets won't make you fat.

Me: 😮 you didnt just

***Also, I couldn't care less about Light's vision of being a god who can change the world by making it "purer" after purging criminals -- it's a cringy edgekid's delusion at best -- but I realized now that Light is fucking disgusting for his treatment of Misa. I never noticed this as a kid watching this none other than it being an "exciting detective story," but viewing it with a more mature lens, I cannot believe how ridiculously abusive the Light-Misa dynamic was. My face was in a state of perpetual disgust, hearing and watching Light manipulate and gaslight this little girl to the extreme. He was 18 years old at the time. Fuck this guy.

#Death Note #anime

[thewildeleven]

I just finished watching D'Angelo Wallace's reaction-cum-review of BTS' latest single "Permission to Dance," and I found out that Ed Sheeran had a hand in writing it.

I personally didn't like the track. Wallace mentioned how the song made him want to click out halfway and just not finish listening to it (for various, and in my opinion valid, reasons). He didn't, of course, as he would need to listen all the way through to give an informed review. But I did.

Now, I liked some BTS songs, the more mainstream ones, at least ("Dynamite" and "Boy With Luv" come to mind). But it didn't surprise me that PTD didn't hook me the way those other songs did; it's not like I have high expectations from BTS' music in the first place anyway. It's bound to happen that they're going to release songs I wouldn't find good or interesting.

What's more fascinating to me is how bad Ed Sheeran is with songwriting now. He lost me as a fan when he released "Shape of You," a song which managed to be both self-indulgent and out of character for one of the fastest-rising singer-songwriters at the time. People... apparently liked it? I don't know, I found lyrics like "...push and pull like a magnet do" awkward to listen to, so maybe it simply wasn't for me.

Just thought that it all went downhill from there. When has Sheeran been musically relevant since "Thinking Out Loud," really? What happened to the genius behind the words in "The A Team," "Give Me Love," or "Lego House"? What happened to the clever use of repetition when he co-wrote "Everything Has Changed" with Taylor Swift? Even "Perfect" was wrought with pandering clichés and was written like a love letter to pop radio.

Of course, I never expected every Ed Sheeran song to be winners, but I also didn't expect it to be as bad as a bunch of Oh I Oh I Oh I Oh I's slapped over a repetitive and uninteresting beat. Or, you know, auto-tuned sets of da na na na na na na with a "hey" in between.

#music #Ed Sheeran #BTS #D'Angelo Wallace

[thewildeleven]

Serial Killer: Look around, look around...

Me: ...at how lucky we are to be alive right now

Me: goddamn it

#hamilton #musical #work #music

[thewildeleven]

I don't know exactly how it happened, but somehow, after years of watching videos and some algorithm magic I found myself deep into a fashion Youtube rabbit-hole. Which is funny because I am not even the least bit interested in anything fashion-related before this.

Okay, it's actually a rabbit-hole involving fashion history. And it's just one channel: Karolina Zebrowska. You know what, I actually do remember the moment, at least, when I got sucked into her channel. It was me clicking a video called "adventures of a dissatisfied Victorian time traveller." Best click this week.

I found it cute, so I checked to see if she has more content like it. little did I know that her channel was a treasure trove of historical fashion knowledge. Soon I found myself watching her rip apart Buzzfeed-like videos claiming to showcase "historically accurate" dresses through the centuries (in a nice way), lecturing me about the difference between stays and corsets, and debunking myths about how women lived their lives during different historical eras.

I'm not even the least bit interested in fashion, but there's something about this Polish woman nerding out about fashion *and* history that gets my eyes glued to the screen. And, okay, she's gorgeous, too.

Also, the sketch of her playing as Marie Curie answering autocomplete questions about herself ala-Wired is one of the funniest things I've seen recently.

#fashion #history #karolina zebrowska #youtube #meme mom

[thewildeleven]

I'm glad I have lot of appreciation for it now, but I still think it's sad that my interest in hip-hop was significantly stunted when I was in my elementary to high school days, developing my "taste" in music.

A major factor that contributed to that was my growing up in a small, relatively unknown, rural town. Here, the internet did not exist in the 90s. We never had the chance to listen to full album releases *the same hour they drop* the way Spotify enables us to nowadays. What new music we get, we get from local radio; most of the music would be from what my father would play from his tape deck anyway. This means a lot of Air Supply, Guns n Roses, The Beatles, et cetera. I've also been lucky to have become friends with metalheads who lived on the other side of town, who introduced me to Anthrax, Metallica, Pantera, all that jazz -- sorry -- metal. All good shit, but no hip-hop there.

But when hip-hop does reach our town's FM airwaves, it would be stuff from Salbakuta and Andrew E., and I remember this group called Urban Flow... stuff. Basically they're tracks that people would deem "baduy" -- and they are -- and you would be embarrassed listening to them. I wouldn't be caught dead listening to them. I thought it was just me being close-minded, being the typical teenage "rakista \m/" who worried about friends teasing you for not being a "real musican™" once you deviate from rock/metal, but thinking about it now... that brand of Pinoy hiphop truly was just garbage. Terrible music. Andrew E., what the fuck are you doin'?

Of course I am aware now that there are Filipino hiphop artists worth listening to (Kolateral is my all-time favorite album, I also like the people behind Ilustrado, Gloc-9, Shanti and Abra. Bite me). Thanks to the internet, there's also no shortage of amazing (🔥🔥🔥, as the kids would say) hiphop and rap tracks from all over the world.

I was just amazed at how in the hell all that shit Andrew E. and co. produced could fly as representative of Pinoy mainstream hiphop back in the day. Unbelievable.

#music #life #hiphop #Philippines #Filipino

[thewildeleven]

Following through on my ongoing fondness (read: fanboying) of Hamilton, I decided to look for video essays on YouTube that deal more with criticisms about the work because we are open-minded patrons of art like that (also, because I already probably watched every Tiktok compilation of Hamilton already, so I've nothing left to watch).

I picked two of these videos to watch, one from a channel called "Quinton Reviews" and another from "CJ The X." I was already expecting some mention of historical revisionism, how there's a lot of inaccuracies and misrepresentation, yada, yada, yada. But I was also expecting some criticism in musical composition, storytelling, maybe in narrative structure. I found none.

For sure I want to find criticism in those latter aspects I mentioned because I am an aspiring writer and musician, and discourse on how to make even a phenomenal hit such as Hamilton even better, musically and narratively, would help with improving my craft in turn. But finding no other criticism than "Hey, these guys... actually owned slaves, and they were bad people," makes me think... how stupid can Americans be, really, that they need twenty- to forty-minute videos for them to understand how the events were not historically accurate and the characters should not be overglorified?

And, don't get me wrong. That's important. It should be mentioned in every criticism of the musical, sure. But I felt cheated when I watched these overly long "critiques" that said nothing other than "bad, not historical" because, apparently, the only way Hamilton can be made better and "right" is to replace the proper names and make it competely fictional for other people's sensibilities. Let's see: it's set in 1776. Lezmerica is under Grimmish rule. An immigrant named Jalembander Cameltoe arrives in New Yolk and quickly rises to position as Borge Waterdown's secretary. He fights for freedom with his pals Jan Lowells, Marf Ayette, and Achilles Minuteman. There. I fixed it. It's an entirely new musical. Entirely fictional musical.

Now, I get that this may be a little bit a fault of the fandom as well (?), but I refuse to believe that the fans aren't aware of the historical inaccuracies of the show, or that they actively or deliberately promote misinformation and misrepresentation. Heck, they might even be the first people to tell you that it's inaccurate. No, they just... simply love the show for what it is. Again, how dumb can Americans be?

My one favorite comment that I saw while checking out these videos simply said: "I dont give a fuck about politics. The music just sucks." And I respect that. I can't imagine what music taste this person must have for them to think that the music in Hamilton simply sucks, but I respect it. It's more criticism in one line than forty minutes of American history lesson I didn't really need.

#hamilton #musical #art #film #criticism

[thewildeleven]

just finished watching Quentin Tarantino's "Once Upon a Time in Hollywood" and i dont even know what the fuck the movie's supposed to be about. i was just laughing my ass off near the end with brad pitt destroying faces and dicaprio with the flamethrower. i rarely curse but, shit, hahahahaha wtf did i just watch

#movies #quentin tarantino #once upon a time in hollywood #feet

[thewildeleven]

I've been reading "Letters to a Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke and found myself thinking that the art of letter-writing, or, at least sentimental letter-writing, has lost its place in a world of instant messaging and emojis and e-mail templates. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying that the advent of those things being commonplace is a bad thing.

But I imagine I'd love to receive letters, as much as I'd love writing them. Lengthy ones, ones in which every sentence was thoughtfully crafted and made full of heart. About things that you've always wanted to tell someone, although you're not quite sure who should hear it. Things you found fascinating and awe-inspiring but you're not sure if your friends and family would also find it so, that the closest thing to expressing the same fascination is either to write about it on a journal, a diary, or a random stranger on the internet; a non-entity that you hope in the same vein would find what you're saying rings true.

I think it's kind of magical, like the way "pen pals" found magic in the slow correspondence. The length of the wait between responses giving weight to each word and sentence, each paragraph working to build something more than the sum of its parts. And, if there was commitment, and joy in the commitment, it tends to stick, as opposed to fizzling out as quick as the tossing of short lines back and forth in succession.

This may be wishful thinking, and I will go to sleep not expecting a lot of replies. Maybe one, two... maybe even none at all. But on the off-chance that you're one of the people who thinks that this can be as beautiful as I thought it would be, consider this my first letter to you. You can write to me back via the messaging system in place, and I will respond in kind.

May this find you well.

#letters #correspondence #stories #chat #communication

[thewildeleven]

The Titan.

"I do not know why you bother to name them, if only to place heavier burdens upon your heart," the Titan said. He was sitting on his throne in the Great Hall of Olympus, said to be the highest peak in all of Greece. His wife sat beside him, her own seat carrying equal grandeur.

Rhea learned to keep her eyes down in the Titan's presence. She avoided his gaze, then feigned endearment by firmly leaning on his shoulder as she spoke. Her tresses adorned his bare chest, the golden curls complimenting his sculpted muscles.

"My dearest," Rhea said, her voice almost a whisper, "You are my Capitol. I know that you mean to preserve us. Forgive me when I show weakness, they remain flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones."

"I do allow you this folly," the Titan said. "And yet, is it not better comfort to leave them forgotten and unnamed? Why must you remember them so?"

In her mind, Rhea held each and every one of them close. Demeter with locks like endless wheat-fields. Hestia, of the burning eyes. The even-muscled Hera, whom she imagined must grow with a strength rivaling the strongest mortal men. Hades, the timid. Poseidon, the proud. She had visions of them, of what they could be; each one a worthy successor to the Titan's throne.

And yet Cronus would not allow any of his offspring to usurp him, so he ate all of them alive as soon as they were torn from Rhea's womb.

"No, you are right," she lied. "In my mind they must fade like mortal life. Like threads spun shortest by Fate. I must not care for them."

"Good," said the Titan as he stood and faced his wife. "Look: the prophecy, salt which my father has poured over my wounds with, had me perpetually undone. My dear Rhea, in time you will bear our sixth child, and whatever you must name the creature, name it quick, for after I devour him I shall place my desires under deep slumber.

"You understand that I desire to rule only with might and be just." he added. "I did not ask for these atrocities. I will not allow my immortal conscience to plague me any longer."

Rhea looked straight into his eyes, and with a piercing gaze asked: "Why not just kill me?"

"What did you say?"

Rhea avoided his eyes once more and brought her head down. "Nothing. Forgive my tongue if it went out of turn."

Like most things Cronus offered her in the past decade, the slap on her face came as an unwelcome surprise. She could tell that his husband restrained from giving the hit its full strength, yet it brought with it the ringing of a thousand thunders; it heralded a clouding in her mind, the rumble of a great storm brewing.

The Titan took his wife's face and forced her to face him, and for the first time since the devouring of Poseidon, she saw the Monster that the prophecy created. He regarded her like she was some animal. The judging, wide eyes. The perfect set of teeth revealed by the smug smile.

"Rhea, my dear Rhea," the Monster said. "I am doing this for us, I am sure you know. And I promise… I will stop once the sixth child has been taken. Do you understand?"

Rhea's lips, even backed by the body of an invincible titaness, were too frightened to speak.

"Do you understand?!" the monster growled.

"Yes, my love…" 

"Soon, this will be all over with, and both of us will live in eternal rule." He kissed her, his tongue tasting her tears. Rhea closed her eyes as the Titan undressed her.

***

Some months later, Rhea felt a familiar stirring within her belly. It brought a concoction of delight and dread upon her being.

She planned to hide the pregnancy for as long as possible, but she knew that the Titan would notice it eventually. She could have had a lot of help, yet decided against asking aid from Uranus, Gaia, or any other being whom she thought might have an interest in taking Olympus' throne for themselves. Her plan was to consult with the creatures of the Earth, and her eyes caught wonders in the heart of the forest nymph Adamanthea.

As the stirrings became more frequent, Rhea decided to appear in the nymph's grove at once. Not as the supreme being that she was, but as a mother seeking refuge for her unborn child.

"Surely all the Earth has heard of Cronus' atrocities," Rhea said.

"Bah!" the leaf-haired nymph replied, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearance of the woman in front of her. "If it were up to me I would put Cronus' neck on a noose that will never break. I will hang him from the Great Tree to watch his life draining away, never quite dying but in enough pain to regret his immortality. I would ask for the vultures to feast on his carcass while he can still feel! Well," she paused to smile. "You see, vultures do not really eat the flesh of those who are still alive, you know. Heh. They are scavengers, see, and they only go for helpless carcasses. They only eat dead ones, yep. In any case! I think if vultures should make an exception, it should be for Cronus! Because what he does is just disgusting and spells injustice for anyone! Except--"

"Calm down, sweet nymph," Rhea interrupted. "The Titan might hear you."

Adamanthea covered her lips. She widened her eyes and turned her head left and right. "You're right," she whispered. "Wait… who are you again?"

"My name is Rhea. I come to you now not as your sovereign, but as a mother desperate to save her yet unborn child. Will you help me?"

Adamanthea stepped back, her mouth open. "Are you serious? I mean, I DON'T not believe you! You're really Rhea, huh. Who else could appear out of thin air anyway, right? If there's anyone with some serious nature-defying abilities like that, it would be you guys up top. But hey, look at me! I'm a forest nymph! I haven't even learned how to craft a weedwhistle cord yet. I've been a bit negligent in my daily practice. Lazy. Heh. You know… butterflies to chase and petals to collect, and gazelles and fawns and hummingbirds to talk to. In any case! How could I even help?"

"Take more credit for yourself, for we always say that the resourcefulness of the forest nymphs knows no bounds," the titaness replied. "Now listen, Adamanthea. In a few hours I will bring out Zeus, my sixth child, out into this world. I only need some way to hide him until he is strong enough to stand up for himself."

The forest nymph went silent, her eyes blank and lost in thought. After a few moments, she said, "Right. You know what? You have come to the right creature.

"All my life I have listened to the whisperings of the rocks and the winds," the nymph added, "and I imagine the rest of my kin still do, as well. But I fear that they have been rather selective in what they hear. They listen to good tidings and disregard the bad ones… which I think is wrong. I do not like Cronus. Or rather, I don't like what he is doing. Is it too much to listen to what the rain clouds tell the raindrops, which the raindrops in turn tell the leaves? Perhaps. But it has been horrible up there, hasn't it?"

Rhea nodded.

"Your husband is a great ruler, you know. What with bringing all the wealth and liberation and agriculture and stuff. As humble as we are, I cannot figure out why he allows himself to succumb to a monster. I wonder why he allows himself to be a slave to some prophecy."

Rhea smiled. "You share my sentiments all too well, dear nymph."

"Do not worry. Stay until you bear your child, and I will help you hide him," the nymph said.

***

The opulence of the titans' dining hall was deceptive, for no glorious feast of honor was to be held there that night. Cronus, with his supremacy over land, sky, and sea, sensed Rhea had given birth and called for her immediately.

She emerged with the little one wrapped up in a white blanket, a lump about half the length of her arm.

"Why the blanket?" Cronus asked.

"Husband, this one turned out to be so hideous and so deformed! I would not dishonor your sight as to dare you look upon the monster," Rhea replied. "It might be best to end this usurper's life as quickly as you can." She sat beside him.

"I see. And have you named him?"

"I call him Zeus."

"A waste of a good name."

Cronus opened his mouth to swallow the child whole. A small portion of the blanket hung out from the corner of his lips as he began to chew.

Rhea stared at the ceiling as madness started to consume her child. She wanted to pray, but to whom do the gods pray to?

Cracking sounds echoed as the titan's teeth tried to crush bone. He licked his lips, pieces of raw meat clung to his tongue. "Zeus," he said while blood dripped from his mouth, "tastes really different. I do not like his form. He— uhm,"

Cartilage snapped like frail twigs. And in no time at all, the titan finished.

He used his finger to free a piece of flesh trapped between his teeth. "He may not have been a threat," he added.

The Titan licked his lips after what appeared to be a very satisfying meal. "Come, Rhea. Sit beside me."

She did, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"The prophecy says that I will be usurped by my own children," Cronus said. "You've seen my madness. I know that you see me as some kind of monster. I even find it laughable that while I have already exiled Uranus, I still act as if I am a slave to his words."

"I have no words," Rhea replied. "I only trust that as you say, this will be the last time."

"Ah, that. Not so."

Rhea's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"'I shall make my desire slumber,' I said. But love… you are my desire."

As she realized that she was no longer talking to her husband, but the Monster, the titaness pulled away. She looked and there it was: the insane smile and his dead, dark eyes. The Monster was there, clouding his judgment. Feeding on his falsely-perceived and misguided benevolence.

"My love, this is not you," Rhea pleaded. "How can you act as if you are cursed? When no curse should ever enter the House of Cronus!"

"BLAME MY FATHER FOR NOT ACCEPTING DEFEAT!" The halls of Olympus shook as the Monster bellowed. "Not content in ceding their power! Damning me with a prophecy—"

"The prophecy was no fault of theirs! It was the price you had to pay for your ambition!"

"Price?" the Monster laughed. "The 'price' of my ambition? What, the liberation of the lesser creatures from the dark clutches of tyrants? The wealth I have provided from the minerals of the soil; the… the science of organized harvestry that the once-starving mortals now benefit from?!  Tell me, Rhea, is this the ‘price’ I had to pay for wanting mankind to prosper?"

"No…. no, no…" the titaness wiped the tears from her eyes. "You could have accepted your fate gracefully… like an Immortal worthy of his throne."

"You are right, I could have. Yet the fact remains that I have done what I have done, and I must finish it now."

"Finish? Is it not already finished?"

"Dear," he took Rhea by the arm and pulled her closer to him. "You are my lone desire, and you are my weakness. You asked me once, why I should not kill you instead. Well, you made a compelling argument…"

"Let go of me, Cronus," the Titaness said.

The Monster responded by opening his mouth to take a bite off of Rhea's arm. In an instant she was dismembered, and the scream that followed was released for the entire World to hear.

"Without you," Cronus said as he chewed on Rhea's torn limb, "I would never have the urge to bear children again."

He grabbed her neck with one hand, while the other tore through her chest to take her still-beating heart. "Worry not," he said to her, "You will remain alive inside of me, just as your children are. It will be a family reunion of sorts."

Cronus held his wife's heart as he watched life leave her face. Rhea let out a final gasp and closed her eyes, and she was no more.

The Monster then consumed his wife's lifeless body starting with the toes and the feet, moving upward. He knew that she was alive, somehow, just as he knew his six children were alive, for their kin are immortal. But it did not matter; he only needed them contained inside him and he would have accomplished his end.

What he did not know was that Zeus, his sixth child, was alive not inside him, but far away from Olympus. The "child" that Rhea presented that night was not a child at all, but a newborn goat of Adamanthea's offering.

***

In Adamanthea's grove, there was an oak tree from which hung a cradle that was suspended by cords of cotton. The suspension was necessary, because the one who slept within needed to be hidden from the ruler of sky, land, and sea.

Adamanthea approached the cradle and saw the child Zeus asleep. "Hello, little boy," she whispered. "Presently your father longs for you, but not in the way fathers usually long for their children! He wants to eat you!" She poked his nose. "But don't worry. Your mother and I will protect you—"

The nymph's words were cut short by a blood-curdling scream that echoed, unmistakably, from the heights of Olympus. 

The child in the cradle stirred and opened his eyes to stare at the nymph. He did not cry, nor wail, as infants are wont to do. The boy simply stared at the nymph with its cold, piercing eyes.

"Sleep for now, and don't worry. One day, you shall banish your father and rule us all," she said.

A sudden flash lit up the grove, followed by another, and another. The bright knives sliced at the night sky and broke it into a hundred pieces. Soon, the evening was filled by a lightning storm.

Zeus smiled.

It was as if the bolts were giving their Master a warm welcome.

#fiction #mythology #retelling #short story #greek mythology

[thewildeleven]

Demon Slayer is overrated. The first episode is a snoozefest. What happens is, the protagonist's family gets brutally massacred by a demon. What's a demon, you ask? It's a creature with amazing strength and agility, and loves to feed on human flesh. They do not discriminate. They will kill and feed when they're hungry. How do I know this? The show shoves these facts in my face everytime it gets a chance, like an atheist fresh out of high school screaming "hey im an atheist" to any one of his college classmates who would listen (so cool).

Oh, but hey, his sister survives. She becomes a demon, though. And she tries to eat our protagonist, oh no! But wait, what if we ignore all of that worldbuilding we did a few minutes earlier and have demon sister and delicious human brother team up to fight mean grown-up guy instead? How do we do that? Why, by of the power of love of course! (Also, protagonist brother cries and begs really, really hard not to be eaten).

And so hey, welcome to episode 2! Everything is cool. We make a basket for sister to get cozy in. Never mind that she already spent enormous amounts of energy and she should be having no other thoughts than to feed right now, if all that worldbuillding is to be believed. But hey. Look. Cute basket. Anime good, right?

In all seriousness, okay, I will admit that Nezuko is one of the best-designed characters I've seen in anime recently. Good soundtrack. ufotable as always, does superb with the animation and production quality. But this opening is making me question this rabid fandom's tastes for storytelling.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #anime #animation #japanese

[thewildeleven]

rewatched Hamilton again today, on a big screen, max volume, and I cannot get over how cleverly written every piece is The internal references, every reprise driving a kind of leitmotif, how a single line can call out an entire scene to memory ("Look around, look around..."; "It will be enough..." "You will never be satisfied..."; "Why do you write like you're running out of time...?"; "I wanna be in the room where it happens..." "I am NOT throwin' away my shot..." ah, you get the point, there are a lot of these!)... everything just works! I am in awe and am moved and inspired everytime.

I know elements like these are a staple in musicals and plays, but I personally think what sets Hamilton apart from, say, The Phantom... or Les Miserables is simply its inclusion and wonderful use of hip hop. They had damn good rappers on there, man, and those beats are just sick. The way the production juxtaposed those verses against the more melodic and grand emotional numbers just appeals to me in a way no other musical could.

Or maybe it's just King George.

Okay, now that I think about it, it's def just King George

#hamilton #musicals #theater #lin manuel miranda

[thewildeleven]

This was written sometime around 2015. While there may still be solid advice on here, I have to admit there are some parts I would've written differently. I am posting it "as-is," with the original text preserved, because it might help some people pero tinatamad na ako mag-edit.

"Any advice you can give to get better at poetry?"

This question has been asked of me a handful of times (most recently on tumblr), and while I never really answered it in-depth, I thought I would write something about it, once and for all. I'm not an authority on the subject, but I like to think that I write decent poems. So this will just cover some basics, which I think will help those who want to get into writing poetry and actually get shit done.

1. Avoid cliché like the plague--

First off, let me start by saying that I believe avoiding cliché is one of the best ways that you can watch your writing stand out and grow. I also think avoiding it is like any other skill in that one needs practice to be good at it.

Of course, to avoid this pitfall, you will need to know what a cliché is. "My heart is full of love that it might burst" -- that's a cliché. "Your smile is calm; it brightens up my day" -- cliché. "I would give anything just to hold your hand," -- cliché. Hell, even the title of this item, "Avoid cliché like the plague," is a cliché. Basically any line, phrase, or thought that has the air of being overused is a cliché.

As a testament to how hard this bastard is to avoid, even up to this day, I still suffer from using cliché to convey thought. I mean, who wouldn't, right? They're easily understandable, and easily-relatable. I read many people who wrote that their love is like that of the Sun and Moon, or that love is a tragedy worth dying for and everyone should be Jack and Rose and Romeo and Juliet. It's a quick way to "connect" to an audience and appeal to already-familiar feelings that reside in them. It's ready-made.

It also tends to make your poetry as stale as cold pandesal on a rainy day.

I don't know about you, but reading about how a heart was broken the same way for a hundred times over just doesn't do it for me any more. Maybe on the first read it will be nice, even cute. On the second it will still be sweet. By the tenth or fifteenth, going through a heartbreak poem littered with cliché is such a slog that reading becomes quite a burden. You may think that your poem is unique, as such that you wrote it in a room all alone with all the feelings and emotions of a heartbroken human being, but there are others who do that, too.

And I'm not saying your feelings are faked and your experience are the same as others -- they are not, and that's the point. I'm sure they are genuine, so you need a better way to express them and prove that they are unique to you, and you need to distinguish them from the common rabble.

So how do you do this? How do you avoid it?

You stop. 

No, really, I'm serious. You stop yourself from writing.

Once you recognize that your line is a cliché, you stop it before it takes root in the poem. You cut it out like the unwanted weed that it is.

Then, — here comes the harder part, the one that requires you to actually think — you plant a new one.

So when you write "Your smile is calm; it brightens up my day," you think, 'Stop. Cliché incoming.' This is where your imagination and creativity comes in (funny, I seem to remember poetry falls under "creative writing" huh). Perhaps this line could do better with something like,

"Your smile is the steady hovering of a blackbird's wing above aspen — an effortless glide, as reassuring as air."

I hope you agrre that this line already does a good job of expressing the calmness of the smile, how it affects the speaker, and all without that pesky cliché looming above one's writing!

2. Love concrete nouns, marry verbs, make friends with adjectives, and kill adverbs. (also, don't write riddles)--

So once you get the hang of dodging every cliché your brain throws at you, you will need to have a lot of new stock so that you can replace the unwanted ideas. It's like taking the garbage out. You. Will. Need. More. Nouns. And. Verbs. This cannot be understated.

[Okay, quick refresher: nouns are names of things, adjectives describe nouns, verbs are words that denote action, and adverbs (sort of) describe verbs.]

You need concrete nouns and verbs most because when I said that you need to express things in more unique ways, that doesn't necessarily mean that you need to be "deep" -- just varied ("the more, the merrier!"). It's actually better to keep your poetry as simple and as easy to understand, and what better way than to use concrete nouns and verbs?

Consider Margaret Atwood's "You Fit Into Me:"

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook

an open eye.

— Margaret Atwood, 1971

Atwood uses very simple words ("fit," "fish hook," "eye," "open" used as an adjective) to express the suffering of being in an unhealthy relationship; this imagery is what makes the poem powerful. They "fit" in such a hurtful, perhaps even sadistic way - who would want a fish hook in their open eye?

Now, if that poem was written like,

You said you love me / but I know this is not true / You always try to hurt me / Huhuhuhu

-- then I don't think it will be as popular as it is. I think the beauty of poetry is such that you're free to explore expression; that you can express yourself in ways you have never imagined before, and that discovery is pure joy.

Why concrete nouns and verbs, then? Because they are precise. Because they can easily evoke images and feelings as accurately as you want the poem to be. Remember how cliché are like that? Concrete nouns are easily relatable, too, without compromising the genuineness of your ideas. It also helps if you use more specific nouns. Don't write tree -- write "oak," or "linden." Don't say "flower,"-- say "carnation," or "chrysanthemum." Don't write "bird" -- write "robin," or "rook" (yay Sylvia Plath!). It adds more character and nuance.

Abstract nouns can be misinterpreted; when you write "love," or "sorrow," or "sadness," it means a lot of things to different people. But if you want to get your feelings across as precisely as you want, you use concrete nouns and verbs. When I write "Your love is a journey that always leaves me heavy," people can interpret it as a bunch of wildly different things. But when I write "Your love was such a journey, and I am the sleepless horse, dragging carriage," it gets a more specific point across. Everyone can imagine what a sleepless horse dragging a carriage feels like; you would not interpret the poem in any other way. Or, at least, not without the pitiful image of a very tired and thirsty horse -- which is how I, the writer, would like you to exactly imagine it (as such). Concrete nouns and verbs serve this purpose.

Why avoid adverbs? I won't ramble too long about this, as there are times that it really is unavoidable. I still use adverbs sometimes (can't help it if there's rhythm to consider).

Adverbs are words like "gently," "softly," "slowly" -- and to avoid them is just good practice in general, because adverbs are shortcuts. When I write "I wanted to touch her hair softly," I'm being lazy, shortcharging -- basically cheapening the experience. What the hell is "softly"? Readers need to know.

If you can, try weeding out adverbs in your writing. You'll find that you will stretch your mind in ways that can help you improve.

"My fingers shall be dandelions upon your hair, blooms caressing bright tresses worthy of such light and gentle innocence" -- that's how "softly" I wanted to touch her hair.

You may have noticed that in this part, I was all about getting your point across precisely. That's because most people, when new, think that poetry is all about being enigmatic. This is like me in the past, like using obscure words and writing "mysteriously" make for the best poems. No! It's actually the opposite-- it’s about letting your readers experience your emotions in a unique but very understandable way; it's a way of sharing with them the experience through phrases that would easily resonate with them!

Do not write like a riddle-maker -- if your reader scratches his head after reading your poem, then you have failed as an agent of expression.

Another point: does this mean that you have to expound and transform every single cliché and abstract idea into a concrete form that the reader can relate to? Maybe not entirely, but this decision I would leave to you as an artist — it's your call. This is poetry, after all, and you still have to consider rhythm and meter.

(I will not talk about meter and rhythm because those two are entirely different beasts and I can write volumes on them that won't fit with the general practical approach of this write-up. Although, one practical advice I could give is listen to a variety of music. Pop, hip-hop, waltz, jazz, ambient, and maybe even some metal -- those will help your head get a feel for rhythm).

3. Let it sit, and revise, revise, revise

By the time you think the poem is finished, you will get this uncontrollable urge to post it or publish it immediately (maybe in an online outlet like this one, Facebook). My advice is, don't. Just don't.

Let it sit for at least twenty-four hours, then read it again. I promise that you will see different patterns emerge; you'll find a better choice of words for a particular passage; better imagery; a better sequence; etc. Basically, you'll see your poem in a different light. Do not be afraid to experiment and revise!

You don't need to post them immediately; think of posting them in this barely new-born state as pre-maturity. They may be a bit okay, but you have to believe that they can still be better.

If at least twenty-four hours has passed and you really don't see anything you can change to make it better (of that, I'm highly doubtful), then that's the time you can say with confidence that the poem is done. You have said all you need to say. Nothing left out of that particular idea or theme anymore. Then okay, go. Post.

But like good food, poetry takes time. At least remember to let yours simmer. 

4. A change of environment or writing implements will do you good

A lot of people probably exclusively write with laptops and/or phones. Maybe they use paper and pencil, too, but never for creative work (academic stuff, etc). But try it -- I know it sounds like pseudoscience or overly-emotional bull, but there is a certain… sublimity in writing with paper. There was this poem that I wrote ("Aokigahara") that was written on paper first and then transferred on laptop. It looked like this incomprehensible ramble of shit when it was first conceived, but it turned out decently — thanks mainly to the writing being a different experience than usual. Similarly, if you're one who always writes with paper-and-pen(cil), try writing a poem exclusively on a phone or computer, too! See how it turns out.

Also, this advice I would give with such pain in my heart because I don't like going out of my room, but — GET OUT OF YOUR ROOM AND GET SOME FRESH AIR YOU MEME-INFESTED FHFJASGFKAHASAHJAH

There.

5. Read a lot of poetry

Kailangan pa bang i-memorize 'to? Read, read, read. Aside from learning a lot, you will find that voices matter, and everyone's voice will help you grow. Read the classics. Read contemporary. Read beatnik stuff. Cry to "Ang Huling Tula Na Isusulat Ko Para Sa'yo" for the last time, decide that while it is a good spoken word piece we should not all emulate it because that will make for a homogeneous poetry community and that will suck balls because everyone will be crying and everyone will want to die. Then watch  slam poetry. Admire people. Be inspired. Everyone's voice matters (except those who still cling to cliche because they neglected point number 1). Which brings me to my last point:

6. It is not a contest

If you feel bad when you think someone's writing is "better" than yours, or that you find yourself jealous at how some people use words better than you do, then you're not writing in the right attitude, (wo)man. It's that simple, you're simply not. I can't give further advice regarding this because a.) you will wallow in self-pity and self-deprecation no matter how much I tell you that this is not a contest and, b.) your poetry will always suck because they are written in the spirit of impressing other people and not entirely about expressing and creating stuff. You disgust me.

Heh, kidding aside, just get out of this hole. There's really not much I can say about it. Renew your mind. Transform your principles, change your attitude. Be inspired of others instead of being jealous. You'll find poetry to be one of the most sorrowful and the most joyful endeavor you will ever get into (not to mention the least expensive).

7.  ALSO SEVEN DAMN I ALMOST FORGOT PLEASE ACCEPT CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM YOU CRAPTARD DOLTS NO ONE IS PERFECT

Cheers~

#poetry #poem #advice

[thewildeleven]

Not sure if it's already the complete list, but the news just now did a feature on the first ever Tiktok PH awards, and, personally I felt it was pointless to have an awards show that nominated personalities who are already relatively well-known (like Awra, Maymay Entrata, and... Andrea Brillantes, seriously?).

I have nothing against these personalities and I'm sure they're talented creators in their own right. But I feel like TikTok, despite all the negative press it gets, is still a great platform for discovering previously unknown talent. It's kinda like Youtube, only for people with shorter attention spans. Having Goin' Bulilit and Pinoy Big Brother alums nominated alongside homegrown creators with their own brand of genius feels like hosting a singing awards show nominating Morissette Amon and KZ Tandingan alongside Daphne, my next-door neighbor who does excellent Maroon 5 covers. None of these people are bad singers, and I really, really love Morissette, too, but come on.

Now I have collectively watched an approximate two hundred minutes of TikTok content in my lifetime (and most of them via YouTube shorts... which is another very wtf thing happening right now but I digress), and I do not care much for the platform, but I do know that there are talented people there. Kinda sad that those slots taken up by the already-established could've been given to... anyone, just not another person who looks very good in slo-mo or someone who does more than take random songs and say "Hey, look my chest protrudes slightly forward every time the bass drum kicks in."

Or, hell, whatever do I know.

#TikTok #Philippines #internet #TikTok PH Awards #TikTok Awards PH

[thewildeleven]

I swear my sense of humor is equivalent to that of a 13-year-old. I'm not sure if the internet made me this way, or if it has always been like this and the internet is the perfect place to affirm and cultivate it.

Let me give you an example. I was binging video clips of John Mulaney stand-ups yesterday. That guy's good. His jokes, as with any good comic, manages to be pointed commentary on some social issue presented so cleverly as to not be offensive -- or at least more funny, than offensive. He made some good, "deep" points in his jokes. Like how he used to be a pushover and pretty much let anyone walk over him to the point that an airline company can abuse him and frame him for murder -- until he got into a relationship and was amazed at the way his girlfriend can stand up for him. Like how he refers to a fiancée as an "unsold cow" for a whole bit without somehow managing to be insulting. Like how, when the audience clapped and cheered at the fact that the government has finally legalized marijuana in some states, he quips, "AW no, don't clap. Marijuana has always been legal for white people, you silly billy."

Anyway, you get my point. Guy is great. I enjoyed Mulaney a lot... but do you know what bit made me laugh loudest out of all of them? It was when he made weird, funny noises while telling a story about how a doctor shoved a hand up his ass because he lied about urinating too much, because he was too embarrassed to ask about Xanax, which he thinks would help when he gets nervous during flights. And I'm like, what the hell, self. Commentary on internet robots asking humans to prove they're not robots, you giggle. But "wwooOooahhh" because hand-up-asshole, you lose it. Thirteen, I tell you.

#john mulaney #humor #comedy #stand up comedy

[thewildeleven]

Anyone listen to Taylor Swift's re-recording of the "Fearless" album yet? Listening to it rn and I can say this is one of the best ideas ever.

I can't imagine how much effort and money she had to spend to re-make the songs, much less the feeling of pain in losing the original masters of her own songs, but as a listener and a fan I think it's a net positive.

I am only on the seventh track now ("Breathe") and it's like I'm greeting an old friend that I've been close with for years. Only, except staying as a static collection of sounds for years as is the case of revisiting old albums, the new "Fearless" feels like it grew with me. So it's the same album I knew, only... with a fuller statement, built on a steadier foundation. And I'm not just speaking metaphorically, either: the bass sounds "rounder" somehow and sticks to the tracks and hugs them better, the kick drum has more punch (this is especially apparent in "Fearless" and the intro to "Hey Stephen," where it kind of emulates the rhythm of a slow heartbeat), the high end of the string instruments are clearer and crisper (hello, "You Belong With Me"), and Swift's voice no longer sings "Love Story" as if she believed it could happen to herself, but rather as a narrator reading a fairy tale she wrote long ago, to an audience that she knew had matured with her.

If you liked the old "Fearless," I urge you to listen to the re-recordings. I promise it's not nostalgia, rose-colored glasses, or some weird musical placebo that makes me hear things -- I genuinely believe the tracks here are going to be the better version of the songs.

#taylor swift #music #fearless

[thewildeleven]

i am today years old when i learned that the title of one of my favorite books, "1Q84," is a pun. "Q" is how the number nine is pronounced in Japanese (kyu) so... 1Q84, alright. it works.

learned this while listening to a headgum podcast featuring this Murakami masterpiece and my mind was blown

#haruki murakami #1Q84 #puns #books #fiction #novels #murakami

[thewildeleven]

I have this rule of thumb when having conversations with strangers on the internet: if it goes three sets of exchanges (or four, depending on how pretty they are) without them asking a thing about me (how I'm doing, etc.), then they are probably more interested in talking about themselves in that moment (as opposed to making conversation). At that point, I will stop replying. For example:

Them: hi

Me: Hello, good evening! How was your night?

Them: i am home alone and i am bored (1)

Me: I see. Did you have dinner already?

Them: my shower isnt working. is water supposed to be this cold when its in a pail?? (2)

Me: I'm not sure... depends on where you are?

Them: yknow sumtyms i mistake scented candles for candy and nibble at them (3)

...aaaand drop. That's a disaster not worth investing typing energy in. Really, it would save you a lot of time and frustration if you follow this, or a similar rule. Anyway, if they're really interested, they usually will come to their senses and send follow-up texts that will make you feel like they wanna include you in the conversation. But after you drop after the three-piece exchange and get nothing? That just proves the point.

#personal #conversations #internet #dating #friends