Now I am bringing them here, modas, the mushy sentiments, the sort of hardcore political commentaries, the sentimental poems, the unabashedly, blandly political poems – all comprising the mélange of myself and my connivances, disputes and struggles with the world and others.

For this blog, the intention was for it not to be a container of experiences, but of knowledge, and let us pretend first that there’s a clean gap between those two. Not for ramblings about the day or people whom I want to gaze at the moon with, but for reflections and observations and thoughts from everyday – films watched, people met, places traveled.

The problem for that paragraph is that the difference between the two elements being talked about is not clearly put, and to begin with, is not really clear-cut. But what I was trying to say is that this blog was not intended for mushiness, for the personal, or perhaps more aptly, the overly personal. This should be for the words coming from my more detached part, the thinker, the onlooker, the constantly attempting analyst, the stolid critique, political or cultural.

Another problem is that the “knowledge” and “experience” are not exactly poles apart from each other. The two overlap, but as I paraphrase a passage I read in a book on postmodernity, the more one knows, the less one experiences; and the more one experiences, the less one knows. However, what appears to be a simplistic proposition cannot be exempted from potential arguments. In the application of Dialectics in practical Marxism in the Philippines, this can be elucidated by changing the terminologies and show how the two elements are always related to each other. Knowledge is also “theory” while experience lies closer to “practice.” Within these terms, the relation can be located at the way by which one helps in the development of the other in continuous fashion. Theory is put into, tested, validated in practice; and then practice, with the aid of constant observation, reflection and evaluation can develop the theory further which in turn can result to more developed practices. The point perhaps is that there must be a certain balance that will keep us from being drawn too much on either knowledge or experiences, theory or practice, or following Philippines Marxism, dogmatism or empiricism, although those terms zero in on more specific situations.

So again, I am bringing them here now: the rides of the calendars, random musings and gorgeous thoughts emerging from the taciturn, the most taciturn violences of everyday — hopping tertiary publications for CEGP, meeting city mayors and municipal councilors for alliance works (hehe, usually through solicitations), slow talks with fast thinkers and unguarded poets, sighting despondencies in the city market, fake glamour in malls and high-end restaurants, Kristeva in the infants in the office, Butler in disco bars, Mao in regular meetings.

The personal is political, a cliché that could sum up the tracks laid in here. When I write too much about love, I meant the pop-sounding, cheesy love, perhaps I am reading too much Shakespeare and Carter and should retake my dose of MLM. When I keep on spouting about the pressing need to organize and immerse with the masses, perhaps I have recently been to Kalinga seeing peasants and their children brave the afternoon heat for the seedlings to be planted and spent a dinner or two sharing kangkong and tinapa with them and our difficult, but nonetheless cheerful conversations.

And I want to utilize this blog, to make my CEGP friends see that I am not all on hardcore politics, like Imperyalismo ibagsak or Penoy si Pinoy. In a sense, I am, I’d like to think, or, I want to believe. But I’m a juggler of forms and I might be shouting those lines boldly already without actually shouting them. Every time I accost them, I seldom balk because I think that they have that notion of me and that makes them uneasy or makes me an unwanted stimulus for them to respond to. So I am showing these other sides, altogether revealing the multiple facets. Like, I listen to Katy Perry and Miley Cyrus and Florence and the Machines and James Morrisson; I have hundreds of pens, all working, I read Shakespeare and Murakami the same way that I have Marx’s and Mao’s basic statements in memory, and I enjoy SM too, sometimes, and used to watch and rave at Pacquiao’s knockout wins.

No wonder why I am under humanities in college, and still more inclined to it now. Let us not lose our humanities in these times and age of simulacra, late capitalism, malakolonya at malapyudal na lipunan, suspicion to origins, new Millennium, plain retardation and end of history and new ideology.