Dibidi

July 22, 2010 at 12:50 pm Leave a comment

I used to despise Quiapo. I despised its stink of poverty and flagrant corruption. Never mind the fact that the Basilica Minore de Nazareno sits in its turf like a massive, tangible representation of piety. Abortionists with their poison syrups tend their stalls by the church doors.

Art school friends would insist on an afternoon photography trip in Quiapo during the weekends, courting crooks with big-ticket Canon EOSes. I would decline each time with a feigned toothache. Quiapo just wouldn’t do it for me.

But for a film enthusiast aching for a Brocka piece, a Gosiengfiao oddity, Quiapo is salvation. From its black and dark alleys, one would find rare films those illuminated video stores will never put up their shelves because comely John Lloyd screams more moolah than a young Boyet De Leon in cream bell bottoms. Thirty five pesos a piece, thirty if you are hoarding.

Now I find myself constantly in Quiapo’s piss-smelling mouth, haggling with underground movie hawkers, slippered feet dirt-soiled. And smiling, smiling, smiling.

Advertisements

Entry filed under: film, musings.

You know I’d like to keep my cheeks dry today Bipolar minds think alike

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Trackback this post  |  Subscribe to the comments via RSS Feed


Click to subscribe to Life Happens, Dude! and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 6 other followers

Posts

Lou Lou Tweets

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.


%d bloggers like this: