the brewing machine

Regine was doing a cover of Southern Sun’s Hold Me In Your Arms while I struggled to get my guitar’s pick-up to work. After a couple of minutes I gave up and resorted to figuring out the chords of what Regine was singing. The chords were F-A/F-B flat 9 in the chorus.

Last night was my one and only brother’s wedding. It was beautiful, surreal even, as he and Ria danced to Regine’s masterful serenade. That part was unplanned, mind you. But the wedding was seven years in the making and it was worth the wait.

Waking up the morning after, I felt quite emotional. Firstly because Vit, my brother for 26 years now and my room mate for 13 years is moving out. And secondly because of a couple of other reasons I’d rather not mention here.

I was sleep-deprived for two days before the wedding. I can’t explain why. I guess I felt the tension of getting married vicariously. To add to that, I was worried that I’m going to use a new guitar that my fingers are not comfortable playing yet. Use the same guitar everyday for one and a half years and suddenly switch to a new one two days before the occasion eh.

So I guess it was a blessing in disguised that Justine and I did not get to do our set.

I’m happy that my parents were happy. And I am even happier that my brother and Ria were happy. It is such a rare happening in our family that each of us can sincerely claim that we felt deeply happy about one thing during the same night.

My only regret is that I did not get to say my piece, because Justine and I were awkwardly doing a Claire Marlo cover. I purposely did not prepare a speech, although I had an idea of what to say. The reason is that I wanted it to be natural and sincere.

This day has been subtly poignant. I guess the Holidays atmosphere adds to it.

But last night was one for the books. The idea was to make the wedding intimate. The last thing they wanted was for it to turn into a shindig. Well, last night was the quintessential intimate wedding.

I guess things will be different form here on.

I am a prophet. I prophesy. I used to be a philosopher who philosophizes. I guess I philosophized my way to prophet hood.

Last night, somewhere between rapid eye movement and wakefulness, I had my first vision. It was that five-foot two-faced liar considered by many as the president of the Republic of the Philippines whom I saw. She was standing on a podium when a six-foot male Caucasian clad in sinister black approached her. The guy was like a black cat guilefully strutting his way to his prey amidst the clumsy mob consisted mostly of paparazzi.

“Good evening Miss President.”
“Who is the gentleman?”
“Bong. James Bong.”

The fictitious Mr. Bong clutches his gun, a cold metal anxiously waiting for the call of duty while still strapped in its holster inside his Armani suit. Then in one swift motion, he pulls it out and shoots the President. As the gun remained pointed at the twitching corpse, it glistened in the cold night.

Mayhem followed. Gloria Macapagal Arroyo lay sprawling on her blood.

The President is dead.

Waking up from my trance, I was thirsty as a horse. But the cold water jolted me back to my senses in a jiffy. Recalling my vision, I smiled. Then I chuckled, put out the lights and hit he hay for good.

I haven’t had the opportunity to test the accuracy of my visions yet. Like I insinuated above, this is all new to me. Right now I can only see the “what” but can’t answer the “when” yet.

However, basing from how things are looking, I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens tomorrow. Brush up on your history and you’ll see that assassination is a corollary of chronic social and political unrest. Death is the ultimate retribution of a leader who leads his people to doom. You don’t have to be a political science luminary to make such an inference.

This can be complicated. But if my visions continue, I don’t have a choice but to make a career out of this. Who knows, I might just save the world someday.

I can’t wait to be in a party or a social gathering of some sort and be asked, “So how about you, what do you do?”

“Me? I’m a prophet and I prophesy.”

I don’t listen to the radio. What’s wrong with that picture? I’m a musician, for crying out loud.

I can understand some professional guitarists who don’t have a clue how to read whole notes, half notes, or time signatures. Leave that to elementary music teachers. But a musician who doesn’t listen to the radio is unfathomable, unforgivable even.

Watch your mouth Vince, you’re talking about yourself.

It has been 16 months since I last drove a car regularly. And prior to that, I’ve always had a car to drive wherever I go ever since I got my license in 1996. And interestingly—it was only when our SUV was subjected to mortgage last year that I noticed—all my life I only listened to the radio when I was riding a car.

Today’s urban culture is so diverse that it’s hard to get a view of the big picture. Most of us wake up everyday with a tunnel vision of our frantically dynamic socio-cultural sphere. You can lead a life that you thought was abreast with the latest trends but be oblivious of the fact that you’re missing out on something awfully popular, or even crucial, to the majority.

For all you know, you’re no longer in the know. Or worse, you never were.

Right now, the biggest and most prestigious sports event in this part of Asia is being held in our country. Go Pilipinas! The SEA Games is arguably the most significant phenomenon in the land right now. But I’ve bumped into a couple of people clueless that the SEA Games are here. They are both call center agents—members of the most significant work force and subculture in the Philippines today

The call center trade is not just an industry. It is a cultural, economic, and industrial phenomenon. Almost a cult. This is true not just in terms of economic significance but also in the sheer numbers of these nocturnal Homo sapiens. It’s hard to fathom how some are not aware of the SEA Games.

Blame it on the rain, not. It’s because of the immensely diverse way of living in the city.

In my case, I’m unaware of what’s being aired in the broadcasting industry, particularly in FM radio. Yet I’m still updated with the latest in the music scene. And I’m not just talking about culprits for the irksome Last Song Syndrome—songs belonging to the mainstream–but the latest hard-to-finds as well. Thanks to MYX, MTV, bootlegged MP3’s, the Internet, music mags, and regular visits to Tower Records.

This was unheard of ten years ago, when radio was the alpha and omega of popular music knowledge.

I think I myself am a perfect inclusion for my previous article, The Reign of Magneto. There I mentioned that Ms. Morissette noticed the preponderance of irony in life, and even wrote a song about it. It should have included the likes of me.