The palaces and gardens of the past

The monuments to man's vanities do not impress me...
as much as the secret gardens...
The staircases that lead...
...the cobbled stones, the abandoned rooms, the windows that look out into lonely courtyards. In their corners echo the stroies of generations that have passed. If they could only speak, they would have so much to say about what we deem as true today.

AN UNEXPECTED DELIGHT

The Vienna State Opera
I had come from a long walk around the ring-kai-ring when i decided to stop and see the performance schedules at the opera house. In Vienna, one simply must. Whilst trying to find an english version of the schedule, A woman approaches me and offers me a ticket for that night's performance of Manon Lescaut. Ok who the hell was Manon Lescaut? I really couldnt care after the woman had said that she was willing to give me the ticket for 10 euros! I grabbed it! With no time to go home and slip into a frock ;) I remained casual in my jeans and pullover looking extremely jologs amidst the glitter and glamor but nobody really cared. I was in for an evening of lovely images...


Now can somone tell me who the hell Manon Lescaut was? ;)

WHAT WAS VIENNA LIKE?

Vienna turned out to be a time to really kick back, have a glass of wine, read a good book, and be happy about life. No place to merely be a tourist. Nope, it's too elegant. This city is the epitome of understated elegance, subtle sophistication, and culture. I couldn't help but smile all the time.

A big smile and breakfast in ken's balcony

The morning after a night's stay at the Liechtenstein castle

The oriental room of the Liechtenstein castle

The walls behind me were part of a roman city the Austrians found under the city of Vienna when they were building the underground. Imagine layer upon layer of civilization...yes, relax and know...

Then again, there were the dinners with fine wine and excellent food. Converstaions with novelists, filmmakers, tenors, and pure intellectuals.


Thats Vienna for me, Food for the mind. nourishment for the soul.

BEING IN DISNEY

VIENNA OF PRINCES, PRINCESSES, AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS

The best of times are such.
When an occasional hit of weed and a fine brew brings forth the raw convivial self - Friends babble with intensity, cackle shamelessly and open their hearts to possibilities, fearing no judgment.
The best of times are such.
When princesses shed their vanities, abandoned soldiers forget their sorrows, Intellectuals listen, young men disregard their youth, Aristocrats kiss the earth, and I, a traveler, sit quietly, feeling at home…watching and absorbing every story told, capturing every glance, every smile.
The best of times are such.
Times when we would defensively claim, “I am not myself”,
But know in our hearts that that is indeed our truest selves.

Times when I just sit and wonder,
“Am I in Disney?”



Sebastian
Glances held some mysterious curiosity and smiles secretly slipped through the busy room.

I’m sorry that my hawk eyes kept on staring, but the arrows darted right through the barriers, piercing your supple flesh as well as mine. The pain was irresistible…

And I proceeded with quiet comfort...trying to pull out one arrow at a time, breaking the barriers, finding nothing but wounds that would not heal.



Lemi : The soldier of peace

With shoulders wide as Neptune’s, you stride with such ease.
Your pointed Nordic nose perches awkwardly between your soulful longing eyes.
You laugh sheepishly and drink merrily and somehow I hear the voice of a boy longing.

What is it that you long for soldier? Why does your handsome face beg?
Why behind that boyish grin, your soul cries for a need unknown?

A warm hug?
A lost brother?
Another soul to live for?
Or merely the love of the heart that’s abandoned you?

The longing is palpable.
It’s inescapable.
No te preocupes, It’s universal.

But you smile, you hug generously, you raise your glass and compliment sincerely,
As if life has always been too good to you.
Maybe it has been, in it’s own way.

Oh soldier of peace,
Your demeanor amazes me. For despite this longing that sits on the lap of your wounded soul, you find it in your heart to be sincerely warm, loving, and, yes, seemingly unaffected, like a true soldier of peace.



Kenneth : The man after life’s own heart

Old soul, my dear friend, you are a bundle of contradictions.
Believe me, that is a compliment.

Your heart basks in the city of your affections with its grand palaces and aristocracies but you cannot deny that your soul shall always lay in the hills and valleys of your own past.

You dine and cackle with kings and queens, princes and princesses but find it easy to speak gently to our countrymen who seek your help.

You fill your mind with so much knowledge but know that true wisdom is found in a searching heart.

You live to acquire but know how to give them all up.

You play to the edge
But you know in your soul of souls that you shall one day be answerable to the one who sent you.

You are a bundle of contradictions.

But, My friend, I too have been called a bundle of contradictions. I have embraced that label and ask these questions,

Have they, who judge, enjoyed an unbridled life as much as we have?
Have they learned the lessons we have learned painfully and deeply?
Have they embraced the forgiveness that heaven offers?

In this journey,

Give me a man who claims unfailing righteousness and I will shun him
For he is evil.

Give me a man who admits his struggle and I will follow him after life’s own heart.

DISCOVERING WHY I TRAVEL

En route to Vienna, I remembered something that Pierre had said earlier today, over espressos and cigarettes, about their upcoming 8-month trip to Asia. I don’t remember the exact words but he had said something about not merely jumping into a plane and traveling senselessly. That there be a philosophy behind the journey is vital. I pondered on the thought during pockets of silence in the airport and asked myself, “What is my philosophy in traveling?”

I was pleased that, almost instantly, I had answers…

I travel not just to do what the privileged do or acquire what others have. Too shallow a reason for something so costly.

I don’t do this to add feathers to my hat or make scarp books to show off. Such impressions pass too quickly through people’s minds and sometimes even leave a bitter jealousy in their hearts.

I don’t need to be seen in the shi-shiest of places. Who will see me anyway? The one who feeds me? The one who will deem me worthy in the end? If so, Will it matter?

I don’t need to prove to be an expert in the routes of cities that are not my own. I can only be an expert on my hometown.

Rather, I journey to seek my own peace,

To feel the earth around me and realize that we all live under the same sun,

To watch the world go by with its joys and sorrows painted on faces that are stored in my mind, my library of emotions.
I allow my mind to wander and my spirit to soar beyond the confines of my own realm. Somehow, It fulfills my need to understand things, people, phenomena…my need to hear their stories in order that I may learn not to judge.

I see far off lands, listen to foreign tongues, and gaze at writings I cannot comprehend. I observe, I write, I capture, I sense, I try to relate. Not for mere vanity but rather to sharpen the blade of my identity and return home with a deeper understanding of who I am, where I come from, and who I owe this all to.

LEAVING PARIS

Paris' sense of humor talaga! After making me fall in love, he sees me off with something funny to remember.

From where the taxi took me down, I clumsily negotiated the cobblestone sidewalks beside the Opera Garniere not caring who passed me by or what I was walking on. With a "whew", I boarded the roissybus. I noticed that everyone was looking at me strangely as I loaded my heavy luggage. Not caring and thinking it may be some racist shit, I just picked my window seat and put on my head phones. As I settled into my seat, ready to start my moment (this is the part when one looks out the window of a bus and looks back at the old familiar places with one tear falling on the left cheek). Just when I had worked up a tear, a waft of stink disturbs my moment! My tear retreats! Upset, I look around and realize that the crowd in the bus is still looking at me strangely! One English woman gestures to cover her nose looking at me! I slowly sink, I examine my whole situation, I rewind my mind, and almost instinctively lifted my leg to look at the underside of my sneakers. Great...I stepped on dog shit! A really huge one! Indescribably embarrassed, I hid my sneakers and my dignity under my seat hoping they would just cover their noses. At that moment , the bus was about to leave the city into the suburbs that led to the airport. I could hear Paris' hearty laughter. I sat back and smiled as his voice echoed in my mind, " A revoir!...mon ami!"

Paris has a beautiful church in almost every block. Architectural feats! But thats all they seem to be for many in this city, Just beautiful monuments...empty historical reminders, frequented only by those who realize that they are close to the reality of dealing with their faith.

Where has the faith gone?
What do other generations believe in?
What do they hold on to in the changing seasons?

DEBAUCHERY D'ORSAY

Meet Nero the host

and achilles, "No pictures please!"

Thats Jean Batiste scandalously shouting out to the heathen, "please pass the lube!"

Narcissus who needs to get to the top

...and this is Samson, The usual star of the occassion.
He likes to tie em up...
and spank em...
Yes, he does have an ego problem. Its bigger than his weapon.

feet anyone?

...and , oh yes, thats David in the corner. He always gets into these Post-orgasm guilt trips.

RANDOM AND ACCIDENTAL

et voila...

THAT WOMAN ON THE BRIDGE

I had been walking for hours just savoring all I could of a perfect afternoon in Paris, the romance was palpable . Crossing the bridge to the Iles St. Louis, I stopped to watch the Seine shimmering in the light of sunset and there she was. She stood still there for the longest time turning her head slightly from time to time, scanning the waters of the river. My presence did not move her. I could not see her face but somehow I felt her tears running down her cheeks. It seemed like forever, she just stared at the river in deep, very deep thought. I could feel her memories.

Is she regretting her life? Or is she thanking God for it? Had she lost her one and only love? Or does she grieve for having lost the opportunity to love? Is she contemplating death? Or is her heart finally at peace?

Life.

Love.

Death.

In the depth of our souls you find only these to contemplate on.

Semetiere Montmartre



I sit and contemplate on the puzzle of tombs beneath me,
allowing nothing about life to distract my thoughts.
I sit and attempt to feel the souls that surround me,
hoping they may whisper the answers that I seek.

Dalida-chanteuse
Edgar Degas-peintiere
Did they wonder as I wonder?


Jacques Offenbach-compositeur
Pierre Ponson du terrail-romancier
Did they question as I do?

Julius Slowacki-poete
Emile Zola-ecrivain
Did they believe till the end?


Francoise Truffaut-cineaste
Henri Georges Clouzot-cineaste
Do they still believe?

Where has their faith brought them?
How has their faith saved them?

Oh Death. He has always enthralled me.
He invites with a smile, becasue he knows he is the way.
The only way to that state where the truth I seek...

is clear.

OH TRUFFAUT

Oh Truffaut
I wonder before your solid grave

How must one think in order to produce greatness as you have?

I close my eyes praying that your soul might touch mine,
so I too may do what I have to do,
and live the way I am meant to live.

I reach out trying to imbibe even just a bit of you.
So I may not waste my mind, my eye, my heart...
so I may be able to leave, upon my own grave,
inspiration for generations...
as you have.

"French gay men...
When they look at you once, they're merely sizing you up.

A second look means they'interested.

A third means they want to get into your pants! badly!

But, they want you to come up to them. They'll neevah make the move.
Feeling.
Parang mga pinoy!"

Bogie Caoili
A pinoy gay man in Paris

A conversation over beer and peanuts at the Open cafe,
les Marais, Paris.

When taking unbeaten paths, Paris has what the Parisiennes call "little pockets of views" - places only they know of, cafes only they have sat in, corners, alleys, and courtyards only they have sulked in...Like little gems hidden in the folds of a velvet spread.