Still Life with Woodpekpek

Yum – it’s a fucking love story

Still Life with Woodpecker is not just “a sort of a love story” as suggested by its writer, Tom Robbins. It is a love story through and through as it threads the overflowing love of individuals expressing and experiencing it in different ways and in different circumstances.

The story revolves around two characters that came from opposite sides of the life spectrum in almost all aspects of their mortal life and the itsy bitsy idiosyncrasies of freaky individual characters in the sidelines of their world stage.

Leigh Cheri Furstenberg-Barcelona, a princess whose exiled parents, King Max and Queen Tilli, does not give her much choice but adapt to the American way of life. Leigh Cheri, the exiled princess who learned her life lessons quite early experiencing two abortions and being kicked out from school that led her to a celibate life and offered her service to help mankind through alternative lifestyle and being a future Ralph Nader groupie. (I have always been fascinated with Ralph Nader, the forever alternative candidate for the U.S. presidency. Last time I saw his shit was on MTV typing in an old school typewriter.)

Then there is Bernard Micky Wrangle, a.k.a The Woodpecker. The all-black clad Bomb expert. Anarchist. Outlaw extraordinaire. Lover of life and what ever it has to offer. The two met in Hawaii when Leigh Cheri’s lady-in-waiting Guiletta saw Bernard a.k.a the Woodpecker lit the dynamite fuse that wrecked a portion of the place where they were to attend a hippie cum new age type of conference. It was there where love struck them both melting their cold articulation of what love is into a “Love Kills” segue that made Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen get-off their fucked up world.

The Woodpecker sharply articulates his anarchist view of causing incidents, explosive most of the time, literally, to forward his protest against anything that has to do with what is happening in the world. His dynamite talks and the woodpecker walks. That’s what made Leigh Cheri unlock her chastity belt and offer everything she can offer the outlaw.

The outlaw can light his dynamite stick, shove it up his ass for show, but not to out mind his heart over what he felt and what he wanted, and that is not just Leigh Cheri’s ass, but her heart as well. He pursued her, just as she wanted him to be beside her all the time that led to his arrest. Wanted by the pigs, Bernard wanting to make love stay brought him to the pigsty.

It was during the times when Bernard was in the lam that made Leigh Cheri discover her potential for thinking freaky thoughts and theories by her meditating on a pack of Camel cigarettes. As a sign of her truthful love to the outlaw, she carbon copied her outlawed lover’s jail cell and lived just like a convict inside a cell, not going out, not going in, not going anywhere except inside her mind, and heart.

Just as Princess Leigh Cheri was planning to save Bernard the outlaw, she received a letter from the motherfucker spouting shit on her alleging that she capitalized on their love relationship as love struck people would also lock themselves up in clear imitation of what Leigh Cheri, the heir to the throne of the Furstenberg-Barcelona royalty, did for the sake of love.

A pissed Princess can do crazy stuff and that she did. She went out for her billionaire admirer and asked that a pyramid be made in honor of her before she weds him. Of course it was not a platonic relationship, dimwit. She learned to use her beauty and sex machination to maintain the steady flow of money, and liquid sex juice she deeply yearn to cum from the woodpecker. She was able to separate sex from what love really should be until she learned the death of the woodpecker that was able to leave prison by virtue of her lady-in-waiting Guiletta’s whim to release him. Guiletta by twist of fate was actually the next-in-line to the throne of the small kingdom! She is the older daughter of the King from his chambermaid or something. Anyway, Woodpecker was apparently killed somewhere in Algeria when he tried to follow Leigh-Cheri and rescue her from her vicious tragedy.

But it was not the case. By some dumb luck, the Woodpecker was actually alive and even met Princess inside the deepest chamber of the Pyramid on the eve of her wedding. No shit! Of course they tried to argue about the letter, about the camel pack, about the pyramid, but love, ah, love made them see through each others’ bullshit and made them hug. Then the jilted Arab saw them, and locked them inside the pyramid. They escaped in the end. Thanks to the ever present dynamite the outlaw carries almost wherever he goes.

Tom Robbins’ novels always, always reminds me of Ely Buendia and the Eraserheads’ witticism in writing lyrics to their songs. Almost all the Eheads album had that hippie flair consistent with Tom Robbins’ books. Both Robbins and the Eheads’ playful psychedelic shit bring thoughts of mescaline peyote induced hallucinations. Even Ely Buendia changed his name to Dizzy Ventura for sometime, a very suitable name for a Tom Robbins book. But it’s not about the Eheads, or the music scene. I just don’t know how to end this spiel, so here it goes motherfuckers.

John Lennon Bio

Selling books can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

What is it with people declaring that the books I sell are expensive? Does it mean that those who bought from my collections are stupid enough not to know the real price of the books in the dog eat dog monopoly capitalist system in our country’s book world? Sure am sure those who bought from me are good intelligent readers and know what are good priced books.

It is a John Lennon biography book that the dumb buyer termed as expensive at P220. Puta eh si John Lennon yan eh! Buti kung biography ni April Boy Regino yan eh puta isaksak ko pa sa baga niya. But John Lennon? fuck…

There are times when I just do not want to sell certain books to certain people who I think does not deserve it. Call me elitist or downright farthead but so be it. You do not ask for a mark down price for a John Lennon book. Kung mahal man ang presyo, mahal talaga yan kasi mahal si John Lennon. Even that moron who shot him dead professed his deep reverence for the legend.

Where can you buy an Isabel Allende hardbound book for P250 or a Cornelia Funke book for P100? In the Booksale outlets? Of course not. It is fucking definitely cheaper at Booksale but I already bought it. Bwahaha! So bear with my slightly elevated pricing scheme (my small income goes to 1. charity, 2. diapers, 3. beer. Honestly.) or go to Booksale Kota Kinabalu branch. They might have good titles in stock.

Lost in the wide book yonder

Nakakaluga ang Manila International Book Fair 09! Putang ina ang daming libro! Just seeing millions and millions of books stockpiled in neat rows and creative presentations of different book dealers and publishers made my heart go fucking a fluttering, again.

The Adarna Publishing House booth brought me back when I tried storytelling for children. It was fun then seeing snotty-nosed children mesmerized by the story and hopefully not because of my fat face bouncing as I read to them the magical books. Andres and Ponso listened to the storyteller relate one of my all time favorites , the story of the gas guzzling, freak-out punk-assed Kas in “Ang Kaskaserong Bus.”

I also bought The Cat Painter by Becky Bravo for P50. A good P15 discount from the list price in bookstores. I first read the story when it was still in the drawing boards before the final printing as we tried reading it to our co-storytellers to check its impact and possible effect to the audience. It was hilarious seeing them laughing out loud as I read them the story.

At the UP Publishing booth, I curiously asked why a book I bought for P100 in the past book fair is now worth P400. Even Jun Cruz Reyes’ “Etsa Pwera” is sold at its original price when I got it at a bargain price two years ago. The bookseller said ‘some’ people complained of the low prices pegged on such books. I agreed slowly nodding my head and holding my chin in the most intellectual looking pose I can think of .

As I try my best to do my poser act as an intuitive and intellectual book freak, Andres and Ponso was trying the mind boggling science exhibit of Diwa Publishing House. They have a machine that can make your hair stand using some magical science shit that remains a mystery to me.

Then as Andres tried his hand on the laser harp, Ponso is nowhere to be seen. So I relaxed, calmed my nerves and acted like everything was normal as I scanned the place for the smart-assed three year old running around the exhibit area. After five minutes, and just standing in front of the UST Publishing House booth where Thelma was chatting with the Thomasians, I heard a loud bawl emanating from somewhere between the Diwa Science booth and the religious OMF Literature. It was Ponso carried by a barong clad security officer! He cried for a good 3 minutes as the security man interviewed us to check the veracity of our claim that Ponso, the smart-assed punk boy, was indeed our son. After 3 minutes, he went back to his devil may care running on empty in the corridors.

I went home with a good P200 worth of postcards and bargain books. Two hundred pesos worth of postcards and bargain books! From a once a year International Book Fair! Pathetic. . .