from the memories of the Fragrance Headmistress
Once upon a time or so they say there was a cliché worth
loving.
The Sun King was in the midst of a fierce battle to win the
throne of the Kingdom of The Dying Light against self-proclaimed Emperor
Bloviathon. This lowly baron once challenged the might of the Fragrance Headmistress
of the Perfumed Nightmares. Emerging victory-less, he gathered his Armed Forces
of Charlatans to battle the stoic Sun King.
For the Uneventful Wars, the Sun King chose the Her
Stainfulness the Whore Fairy to ride with him to his anticipated victory. Troops and battalions of Charlatan warriors
threw a bevy of mud and hale against the Emerald Couple. Day and night, the Emerald Couple fought hard
but the Sun King noticed the Whore Fairy’s bruises. She was getting weaker and
weaker by the hour, draining the brilliance off her wings.
The Kingdom of the Dying Light was in greater danger as
Emperor Bloviathon and his Charlatan troops pounded on the Emerald Couple’s
entourage, pelting Whisper Cannons to the Whore Fairy’s carriage. This artillery
screeched the Whore Fairy’s secrets and the citizens were awakened with heralds
of the embarrassment she caused to the Disgraced Demigod, once the kingdom’s
grand vizier.
The Sun King could not feel more pity. Without the knowledge
of the entire kingdom, the Emerald Couple swore to love each other and fight
till the end.
As the war was drawing to its end, the Emperor Bloviathon
accepted his obvious defeat. He offered a peace accord with the Sun King: he
was willing to be a subservient devotee of the Fragrance Headmistress in
exchange for the Sun King’s denial of the Whore Fairy. With a bleeding heart,
the Sun King made a triumphal entry into the Kingdom of the Dying Light without
the Whore Fairy by his side.
He had to say his emotionless goodbyes and leave her at the outskirts
of the city, at one last effort he persuaded her to be his Alta Scriba but she
declined.
And so the Sun King never gained the smile he never had.
The Whore Fairy humbly went back to her old simple ways of
whoring.
How sad.
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the workshop virgin remembers
Last week, I had my first ever writers workshop. The
eleven-hour ride to Iligan had me going through layers of dust and even almost-zero
visibility due to the fog. Starving and haggard, I waited for three hours at
the MSU-IIT hostel only to find out it wasn’t our billeting venue. I almost
cried like a kindergarten tot, but who cares IT was my FIRST (my tears had to
make way for my grin of excitement). Dear old Ateneo did not have one (that’s
no surprise since it did not offer Creative Writing or AB Lit English as a
major). It has been almost five days, but I couldn’t thoroughly digest the fact
that I was part of it. It was a National Writers Workshop, mind you. For five
days, we dissected every fiber, every nerve and every marrow of poems and short
stories to extract its value and the process was heartbreaking for a “workshop
virgin” like me.
I
could not muster the strength of my larynx to utter a single word (for five
straight days!) not because the air-conditioning was a natural sadist but by
the fact that I do not know what to say. Really! What in the universe is
Formalism, metafiction or Nagmalitung
Yawa?! I’d rather keep my mouth shut than sound like a blabbering baboon.
Good thing, I reminded my self of a Miss Universe must –smile.
I
felt so small, like a solitary helium molecule in the atmosphere. My co-fellows
were carving their places in the sun, while I was searching for the sunshine
between nimbus clouds. Poor Oh Marion, the most virgin, wallowed in awe and
envy at the sight and sound of these pre-destined genetically-selected writers.
All these, while the gods (the sweet-tempered panelist) lash out at the mortals
who dare challenge their Palanca-given immortality. Que se vaya, basta yo hay merienda.
The succeeding parts will reveal the “fan” in me.
The
workshop also granted a rare opportunity (for someone who’s from La Isla
Bonita- Basilan) to work with two Iskolars ng Bayan. Fine, laugh, but I’m
just being honest. I have never worked with students from UP Diliman before. Sarah
and Erick –the best. period. (their pieces were praised as the workshop’s crown
jewels).
Sam
and Eva gave me insights on how is it to work with Summit Publications and the
Inquirer, making me daydream with pictures of Andrea and Miranda. (Sam used to have
a boss who was a rip-off) From Davao is friendly friend Kris, the teen-bopper
hard-drinker, who amazingly managed to maintain a hangover-less poise during
sessions. And our dear “workshop boys” –Yas, Phillip, John and JL, showed me
the inconvenient truth: this world is not safe for asthmatics. :p
I wished I didn’t find it awkward
to strike up with Leonilo, Leoncio, Niño and Elena.
The
LSS I’m suffering now from Ashlee Simpson’s Outta My Head (Ay Ya Ya) is Efmer’s
fault. Hmph.
I wrote this entry because I don’t have anyone
to share how I miss my co-fellows. Sheryl said it right, “the first cut’s the
deepest”.
“See you all soon. Hopefully.”
-Fred
Jordan Carnice
PS
I just quoted my crush. :p
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