Cine Chichirya - your bite-size film reviews+film school on air at DZUP

Just want to publicize [again] our Friday night radio talk show airing live over UP College of Mass Communication's radio station called DZUP 1602AM.

If you don't have access to an AM band-equipped radio, you can listen to us via live streaming over the internet at this DILC link.

This Friday, we'll be tackling EAT PRAY LOVE. Here's the radio show's blog entry snippet:


Is it truly eat, pray, love? Or ain’t it sample, ogle, exoticize?

This Friday, October 22, join your fabulously fun film faculty trio — Prof. Libay, Sir Cenon and Ms. Avie — for another entertaining yet educational episode as they tackle Hollywood’s western love affair with eastern elements through the dissection of EAT. PRAY. LOVE. the film starring Academy Award-winner Julia Roberts. The film is based on the autobiographical nonfiction New York Times bestseller book by Elizabeth Gilbert...

Read more here.

The show is hosted by three of your young faculty, professors of UP Film Institute Ms. Libay Linsangan Cantor, Ms. Avie Felix and Mr. Cenon Palomares.

Kagat na! Feedback and participation most welcome.

and this is how we know we are alive -- we post

It's been a while. I know. There are reasons. But before the year ends, I'll pick it up again, as usual. You know me.

In the meantime, an interim.



--------------


Dip

Shatter the inkwell
Called my heart
And you get poems
Words strung together
As if they were meant
For each other, for a lifetime
Like how you envisioned us to be
Together, forever, that’s how it should be
Like the song said
But we know that songs lie
Big time.

Fill up the fountain pen
Called my sorrow
And you get stories
Events stitched together
As if they were meant
To stay sturdy, all the time
Like how you foretold of our future
Inseparable, that’s how we’ll always be
Like the singer crooned
But we know that singers
Are liars, too
Big time.

We are rock stars
A poet friend once said
We tap into the well
Of our grief
Turn them into tangibles
Something to hold on to
Since promises have no form
Since happiness has no shape
Since love has no volume
Since contentment has no weight
Nothing.

That’s what we do, we writers we
We try to make sense of our abstractions
After we have dealt with the blows
Withstood the fury of the defeat
Consumed by the wrath in our veins
Escape, retreat, recharge, whatever you call it
Burned by the sensations
Instead of hurling back invectives
We write it all down.

Write it all down.

Moments pass
Melancholy lingers
Regret hovers just above
Recognize, then ignore
Pack up the luggage once felt
Throw it to the river
Bury it on the ground
The wind will blow off
The scalding from where it burned
And soon enough
Pain is just another design
Decorating the armor of anticipation
Of whatever comes next
Whether it’s war
Whether it’s peace
It all looks the same
From the perspective of hurt
It doesn’t matter anymore
As long as you felt it.
You felt.
And you will feel again.
Anew.

This is how we know we are alive—
We feel.
This is how we know we are human—
We grieve.
And this is how we breathe—
We create.



19oct2010 Tuesday