For those of you longing to indulge in poetry without the hassle of being chewed up by rabid critics, there exist alternative venues to indulge in your guilty pleasures.
I know some women who spend hours furiously scribbling on one of these things, in an attempt to articulate, actualize and expunge their deepest, most urgent... thoughts and feelings.
The power behind the Journal is that it's often a private affair. It's just you and the book, baby! No editing allowed except that which you can stomach and approve.
Unfortunately, its privacy (say it like the English for me: "PRIvasee!") will prevent your poetry from reaching a wider audience in any way you can control or approve of.
"It's just you and the book, baby!" --and maybe your best friend, who'll quote it to her other best friend and so on and so forth until everyone will "ridicule yo' eyass buhind yo' back" for writing such really bad junk.
You might as well set up...
Now EVERYONE can see your work. The professional critics won't, of course, as they're too busy flaying the Sanctum* regulars to bother with your blog.
But be warned: "everyone" includes people who quote Neruda or Shakespeare and pass them off as their own work when they try to impress girls. If you can live with this, then blog away.
Or you can meet your Muse in...
Along with "Out" and "Indisposed," the Bathroom remains a favorite haunt of women wishing to hide from their ardent male callers.
Its four walls often prove impenetrable to suitors deprived of a Sherman tank, x-ray vision and an intent to rape and murder indicative of a criminal psychosis. Depending on whether you live in a Makati condo with a booster pump or in some house in BF Homes Para�aque, the Bathroom will most likely have water, plumbing and other amenities that will allow said women to withstand an ardent siege for weeks.**
Lucky for the beginning poet, the Bathroom walls' acoustic properties allow him to "sound off," so to speak. He will hear and judge the quality of his modulated voice as it bounces off the nearest wall. He may then correct his diction, or tweak his voice so that it no longer irritates Girl From Para�aque the next time he decides to recite an ode to her undying beauty.
When one writes poetry, one often does not notice how one's writing falls on the ear like a pound of unwanted lard. The Bathroom will help you solve this problem. If the poem, as recited by you in the Bathroom, sounds nasty (say it like the bleck brothas fo' me: "ne-asty"), it's either you're a lousy troubador or your poem needs work, and lots of it.
Or you can go to Powerbooks along Arnaiz Street in Makati City and hang with the Powerpoets.
...at the appointed Saturday of every month. You can join with like-minded people from most walks of life --I have yet to encounter drug lords, rapists, neo-nazis, televangelists and politicians at the readings-- for a few hours of poetry reading bliss.
...which I missed last Saturday
No judgements, no strings, no criticism unless you ask for it. Stay or go as you please.
Here's the address:
Corporate Greed --I mean, Makati-- City
Sanctum --live poetry reading dive at Intramuros, Manila
Sadly, few bathrooms have decent soundproofing, so a sustained blast of low frequency and high frequency sound will break windows and rupture the pretty tiles of the bathroom's reinforced walls. Said sounds are also likely to affect the nervous systems of the besieged women, driving them out of their bathroom bomb shelters in their terry cloth bathrobes and cutesy widdle towels.
Happily, most stalkers, er, suitors, neither have the time to assemble the Sound Bombardment Device nor the money to hire some guys to play Trance and Techno 24/7 in front of their beloveds' houses.