BLUE MEN SMOKING

BLUE MEN SMOKING
18” x 24”
acrylic on canvas


He walks past him, gives him a stare, and beckons him more with his lips that slightly curl into a smile. The other guy stares back and stops in his tracks. He looks around trying to see if there are other men along that narrow, cold, dark hallway that smells of old, damp carpets and cheap air freshener. He could have been wrong in thinking that this guy was actually looking at him and not at another.

“The reason men go into bathhouses is for sex, nothing more”, Bobby announced.

The guy comes close, but stops just a foot away from him. He glances back looking at the big white clock hanging on the wall - 11:35 pm. He leans back on the wall of the dark hallway, placing his arms to his sides. Then he turns around to him, gives him a hard lustful stare and slowly inch-by-inch reaches his hand to touch the other’s thigh beneath the wrapped towel. Cold, sweaty palms touched his skin. It sends a ripple of pleasure into his body.

“Marami dito mga may-asawa tulad ko. Alam mo na, ito lang naman ang safe na lugar para sa ganito eh (Many of us here are married just like me. This is the only safe place for something like this)”, Carl Arvin quipped while staring into the ceiling of that windowless room.

“You have a room?” he whispers into the other guy’s ear. The other guy shows him his key and moves his brow to follow him. They follow each other down a maze of dark, narrow hallways punctuated on each side by small numbered doors. Into one of these doors, the other guy slips a key in and it opens to a small windowless room with one cot, one drawer, one exhaust fan and one hook to hang clothes. It has one small blue bulb that spreads its light like ink into all corners of the room. The moment the other guy locks the door, he grabs hold of his towel, pulls it off and buries his face into the other guy’s thighs.

“I have never been into one. What does it look like? Are the men who go there gorgeous? I am scared with what might happen inside and yet at the same time I am excited. Is it clean? Do you think we could go there one time now that I am free from my lover? Let’s check it out”, Tristan told me on yahoo messenger with the eagerness one has for ice cream.

They both fell on the bed, both sweat-stained on their brows. A few seconds passes by and they could only hear their hard, heavy breathing slowly calming down. “I have to go now and clean up,” said the other guy as he was sitting up and reaching for his towel. “Okay,” whispers the guy lying on the bed, “I have some cigarettes and I’ll smoke for a while”. The other guy turns around and asks, “Is it okay if I can have a stick?” “Sure,” says the guys lying on the bed. He stands up and takes a pack of marlboro lights from his pants hanging on the hook. He gives the other guy a stick and lights it with his black zippo. He takes one for himself and inhaled deeply. They sit there on the small bed in the blue light that envelopes them. Naked, they let the smoke rise from their cigarettes not uttering nor exchanging any words between them.

“You know what the strange part is when you have been into that place? You always end up feeling more alone than before”, Edwin remarked in between puffs of his cigarette.

__________

Author’s note: I live just a few meters away from the country’s oldest standing bathhouse. It has been in operation for more than 25 years. It’s like Eat Bulaga. But unlike that show, it isn’t as well-known from Aparri to Jolo.

BALUT AT YOSI

BALUT AT YOSI
13” x 9.5”
pen and ink on paper



1:15 a.m.

“Magkano po ang balot?,” asked a scraggly teenager.

“Magkano ba ang bili mo ng balut?,” I asked him.

“Ha? Ah eh, di ko po alam. Kaya nga po ako nagtatanong eh” he retorted.

“Okay na ba sa iyo ang sampung piso?”

“Sige po. Isa lang po.”

And that night I made my first sale of balut.



2:25 a.m.

“Manong pabili ng isang Champion,” a young female with very tight white shorts clinging to her privates like camel toes squealed in her high-pitched voice as she handed me her two pesos.

“Heto oh,” said I as I handed her cigarette.

“Sukli ko po.”

“Magkano ba?”

“1.25 lang po benta ni manang nito eh.”

“Heto oh, sensya na. Iniwan niya lang sa akin itong paninda niya eh.”

I wonder what’s taking Manang too long. She said that she’ll just check on her nephew who’s been making a lot of drunken noise. It’s been more than an hour and it’s starting to feel like ages sitting here at this street corner selling her eggs and cigarettes. I have already gone through four baluts (one more and I think I’ll feel a shooting pain up the back of my head from too much cholesterol from these eggs) and enough exhaust fumes from the passing jeeps that can guarantee my much earlier entrance into that world beyond.


2:42 am.

“Hoy, putangina mo bakla. Nakakita ka lang ng lalaki bibilhin mo na agad ang itlog niya. Magkano balut mo kuya?”, chirped the oldest of the two transvestites standing before me.

“Saan na si Manang? At kelan pa siya nagkaron ng maton na tindero? Ay, ang dakota naman ng mga batu-bato mo papa,” the younger of the two flashed her (or his) curled lashes as I handed them their balut. “Baka kailangan mo ng babae sa buhay mo eh libreng-libre ako. Pwede mo akong gamitin kasama ng mga balut mo.”

“Hoy gaga. Heto na ang jeep pa-Malibay. Sakay na tayo. Daliii!,” shouted the other to her companion and pulled her by the arm towards the waiting jeep.

“Bye papa. Bukas ha? Bibili ulit ako ng balut mo. Hihihi…” she waved and I waved back.

2:51 a.m.

“Salamat sa pagbantay ng tinda ko ha? Sensya na rin at pinauwi ko na lang si Junee at lasing na lasing na eh. Baka kung ano pa ang gawin ng batang yun”, says Manang as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Okay lang Manang. Dyan na rin ho yung nabenta kanina. Kumuha na rin ako ng balut at yosi. Heto ho ang bayad” I offered her my payment for the eggs and cigarettes I took.

“Naku, huwag na. Neks taym ka lang magbayad. Ako nga dapat magpasalamat eh.”

“Oh sige po. Uwi na ako. Good night Manang”

“Gud Nayt.”

I looked to see if there were any oncoming jeeps and then crossed the street towards the gate of my apartment. I slipped my key, opened my gate and closed it behind me. As I was putting on the latch to secure it from the inside, I felt a slight tingling at the back of my neck. Damn, I knew it. I took one too many baluts sitting at that corner.

I think I’ll skip eating eggs for a while.

DRIVING WITH MY BROTHER

ROCKETMAN
pen and ink on paper
13" x 9.5"


Driving With My Brother

… 5:45 p.m.
… my brother’s car
… waiting for the traffic light to turn green at that new development called Serendra

““Im going to kill you! I swear I’m going to kill you!” you kept on saying when you were chasing me down the street back then”, my brother was reminding me of the time when I did chase him several blocks down the old neighborhood. “…and all that for a stupid slipper that we keep on confusing for the other.”

“Come to think of it, I never did care for those slippers. I walked barefoot inside our house anyway”, I admitted. “Pretty dumb things we did and say when we were kids huh?”

“But you’re dumber.”

“Nope you’re dumbest.”

Laughter.

“You remember those afternoons when we’d be stuck in the room doing nothing. Then I’d put you on my knees and you’d pretend like you’re on a rocket ship. You called yourself – The Rocketman”, I reminisced.

“Well I remember that big old closet with mom’s clothes in the bedroom. Kuya used to scare us with those monster-in-the-closet stories.”

“And we used to hide under the bedsheets and we’d fall asleep both scared. Hehehe… you were always snotty.”

“You snore like a horse.”

“You always kick me with your foot in your sleep. I’d wake up with it in my face every morning and it’s the most sour-smelling thing I’ve known. ”

“Your fart smells like a dead animal.”

Laughter.

“You remember those afternoons when we’d tie the bedsheets around our necks and pretend like they’re capes? We’d mess around with mother’s lipstick and I’d put on some red and pretend like I’m Dracula. You’d pretend like… well, I don’t want to go there.”, and he gave me that “eyebrows-are-raised” kind of look.

“I DID?? I was thinking of that when I was a kid and you knew?” my eyes were so wide I couldn’t believe what he said.

“Come on tol. You had that “I’m the Queen of Sheba” attitude with that red cape and lipstick”, he stifled a laugh while releasing the brakes when the light turned green.

“Those were the times huh?”

“Yeah, they sure were.”

…and we were silent in our own thoughts as the car turned into the parking lot.

MASAJE 2

MASAJE 2
48” x 48”
acrylic on canvas

This painting is the second version of a smaller piece of the same title. The first one is now hanging in the office of a podiatrist somewhere in Los Angeles.

__________

1. Sex as Politics

“Come on pare. How can it be political? It’s all about the sensuality of massage like what I did with the first one. It’s all about sex, sex, sex… or the prelude to it”, said I to Jun as he was staring into the finished piece during a hot and humid afternoon where you can easily fry an egg on the hood of car.

“You have a funny way of looking into what you yourself have done. It is political hiding behind the veneer of a sensual act”, quipped Jun.

“Political? The only thing political I can easily identify with are those candidates parading like circus freaks everyday along Libertad. Now THAT’S political – circus politics.”

“Hay naku pare, look. I like the way you positioned the two figures behind the one in the lower foreground. The woman holds the hand of the man as if signifying she holds more the third guy than the other man does. The other guy is groping his back trying to find a sensual spot to tickle him, to find his weakness which he’d later on use to his advantage.. And the way they look out of the canvas, it’s as if they’re saying, “we’re in this game - this game where I take something out of the other to feed my own interest”. And it’s the man on the lower bottom who seems to be the source of whatever the other two wants.”

“But it’s a threesome of naked individuals.”

“And sex IS politics. Women and men use it not just for pleasure or procreation. It is used as a tool to get something from another. It’s a power play. It is the same way you described the politicians parading as circus freaks. These politicians along your street do it to entertain the people. Once the people get entertained, the politicians are remembered and they get their votes. They give something (the parading politicians) and they get something in return (the votes). It’s the same thing with sex. You give something, you take something.”

“Hmm, that’s an interesting thought. Oh by the way, you should see it in the semi-darkness. The eyes glow. It freaks me out at night when I close the lights. It’s like having three pairs of eyes staring back at me, teasing.”


2. Tissue Paper

“Tito Dan, why didn’t they simply use the red towel”, I heard Wiggy ask from the other end of the room while I was busy looking for some money to buy Andok’s chicken for him and his brother Deus.

“Huh? What were you saying” I lifted my head to look at him.

“I said why didn’t they simply use the red towel?”

“Who are you referring to?” I asked a bit bewildered.

“This big painting here of the three naked people and the guy with the exposed toto”, he said while pointing his lips to Masaje. His arms akimbo like a seasoned art critic, it was only then I spotted him intently looking at the piece.

“Why, what do you think?”, I finally found some money and now had my attention towards him.

“Well, I think they’re wasting too much tissue paper. They should have simply used the red towel.”

And Deus piped-in while watching Nanny Mcphee, “Yeah, we have these big white towels we use after we take a bath. It’s stupid to use tissue paper instead of towels.”

It was only then that I realized that I can never get more biting criticisms than from my two small critics.

Note: the word “toto” is what my two nephews use to describe the penis. Their parents forbid the use of Tagalog words for genitalia in their household. But being as they are, the two boys have found creative substitutes.