Ninja

Nine Inch Nails. Jane’s Addiction. We’re In This Together Now. And All That Could Have Been. I have no money, of course, to fly to North America to watch them perform. If I have, damn the pandemic, I’ll go there even on short notice and before the drum loops in Somewhat Damaged tiptoe in disarray, or before the whispered novena in Three Days descend like metallic rain. I will not utter the F-word again.

Nine Inch Nails. Minus Jane’s Addiction. In Asian cities. Sounds a great deal. The horned icons from the barbecue pits have been accommodating of late. Happiness In Slavery. The Perfect Drug. The Day The World Went Away. Closer. A closed deal, sweet. I will not utter the F-word again.

8-12-09: NIN will be in Taipei.

8-12-07: I small-talked with Quentin Tarantino in a coffee shop in Gateway, hours before the maiden Philippine showing of Reservoir Dogs. He sat with me over coffee because all the kibitzers who approached him were either after his autograph or his awkward smile in some pa-picture poses. I happened to be at his side and I blurted: People, watch his movies, that’s the point. He patted me and addressed the milling gawkers: Oh, right, hey, how about if instead of autographs I’ll just shake your hands! People started to go away and some commented: Ang suplado pala, Kill Bill lang naman ang hit, akala mo mga Stallone nagawa niya, hmmpt. We proceeded to exchange notes for about 5 minutes, over bland coffee. That was two years ago. On my 3O plus birthday, I’ll spend all I’ve got; I’ll heed to Taipei and watch NIN. La Mer. Pilgrimage. I’m Looking Forward To See You Finally. I will not utter the F-word again.

I browsed the website to purchase my ticket. I saw it—the thing—staring back at me like Placido Domingo on acid:

08.05.09 manila, philippines araneta coliseum

Nuff said, no words can visualize, not even suggest, the string instruments in World War III and orchestral notes plastered a la Pollock welling from the great below. Araneta Coliseum, 30 fucking minutes from my shack! Mar-Korina, gamitan-wedding, who gives a rat's face. Seven days before my birthday, I’ll be in the stage-side, NIN will be my Pavarotti while Araneta Coliseum savors the sublime death rattle before the dome will be reduced to a linear note in a marriage in aid of election. Fucking awesome!