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New Beg 4
i nn i n g s ABOUT THE COVER “Digital (C)age” explores how in our digital age, people hide behind virtual personas when on computers. These masks conceal the actual sentiments of the user, and the results are that they either convey messages that are exaggerations or understatements of the real reactions. This may prove useful to some, but it can also lead to violent outcomes. If unmonitored, these masks could slowly grow onto us, and it’s possible to lose our “real selves” to it. The consequences are very much real, and instead of being the masters of our masks, we become enslaved and caged by it. -Priyanka Jainani
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ALMPT ALMPT is derived from the Cebuano word “Alampat�, which means art. It also means awareness.
We at I AM AN ARTIST not only want to feature artists from CDO but their artworks as well. Little is known about the many talents in our city; they have gone unnoticed and unappreciated. This is our idea of sharing their world and talents as a way of thanking and appreciating them for their contribution to the world of art.
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2012 has finally come to an end and we’ve finally gone past that talk about the world’s imminent downfall. As artists, these are just few of the most important reasons why we should express ourselves more and create more. This first issue of ALMPT showcases artworks that would inspire us to start anew. Priyanka Jainani’s “Digital (C)age’ is on the cover.
It’s time for New Beginnings, artists! 7
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ARTISTS
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Angelo AguilorP H O T O G R A P H Y /James Asi単eroT R A D A R t / Michelle BacabacP H O T O G R A P H Y /BNPM U S I C /Dennis FloresS H R T S T O R Y / Stephanie GoP H O T O G R A P H Y + V I D E O /Priyanka JainaniD I G I A R T / Miguel Karlo MacariolaD I G I A R T /jamel Monta単oP O E T R Y / Elmo MonteronD I G I A R T /Jaymar Patana P H O T O G R A P H Y / Andrew ReyesP H O T O G R A P H Y /Gaps SabueroP H O T O G R A P H Y / Jonimel SarominesD I G I A R T /Jose Alfonso SendaydiegoV I D E O / Theories of SweetnessM U S I C /FRANZ TATADT R A D A R T / Mark Mungkey VicenteV I D E O /Zandy VillagraciaD I G I A R T /
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POETRY & SHORT STORIES SHORT STORY + POETRY
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SHORT STORY + POETRY
UNINSPIRED Jamel Montaño
There are those nights where I want to write I had the words but are disorganized I had titles but I can’t get it right Still I continued and finished this line. I was trying to compose again Finding a right way to write a beginning But every word makes no sense at all Then I thought: where is this leading? But these are poems, it’s not suppose to rhyme It is not the problem, I am uninspired I am tired and lost, clearly I am Missing the point to where did this began. I’m not inspired, I’m not driven I just want to let it out But it iss controling my feeling Should I start again and finish this thing? But it is done, now I’m back to the beginning.
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A Young Traveler’s Poem Jamel Montaño
Waves are too big I’m keeping up my balance I’m back on the sea Bound for another land In this boundless horizon And unknown space Imagination is what you hear And it speaks faith Just a stanza And I am waves away from home Bound for my future Travelling alone. Three hours after And I’m back on land It’s the second stanza While driving thru sands A road to my dreams Road to a new city The distance of my dreams Are half away from my reality I am at the back seat With these unknown people Long way to go The highway is my control.
I left the big city In this cold night I am docking with these people I am aligned The sea is dark The moon is the only light Off for that final city Third stanza I’m walking to my station Life jackets are everywhere And faith is my reaction. I woke up in this rented bed It’s freezing cold It bothers my head I walk thru hallways With my messy hair The sun has risen The beauty that it bears I have arrived to my reality The last stanza where I think I am free.
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SHORT STORY + POETRY
JINNI Dennis Flores
As if those have anything to teach the people, Iñel thought as he opened the wooden door of his new home. It was funny that he actually took this house just for the sake of its legend. But of course, he didn’t believe in ghost stories. The neighbors—if they could be called that—said that a young woman had killed herself out of grief after she was left at the altar by her fiancé. They said that the tanod found the cold body seated in the sala grasping the photograph of the man who left her. Iñel wondered if the mahogany bench was the very same one the woman had sat on when he passed by the living room as he was climbing the stairs to check his room.
He stood across the street where an old Hispanic mansion stood alone in Clara Rosita, a quaint suburban area just seventeen kilometers away from Cagayan de Oro City. No house could be seen anywhere near until one turns a corner from the street where his cab came in. He sighed and shook his head for the probability of what the other inhabitants of Clara Rosita have been warning him about. But he was too much of an agnostic to learn to doubt anything that was said to be unbelievable. Daniel Ignacio Herman was on the verge of getting on top of his career as a novelist until the publishing company he signed his contract with got shut down due to unpaid loans and unsuccessful promotional stints. His debut novel never made it out. Iñel, as he was more known, set out to look for better shelter but no publisher would want him. Especially with the fact that most of his novels dealt with political conspiracies and moralistic paradigms regarding the drastic change the young generation of society was getting into. Nobody wanted his works to get published; they didn’t want to see the truths, for they were more into the cheesy love stories for the masa.
The second storey had five rooms. One door was seen instantly once one reached the top of the staircase.Two doors followed to the right and two more doors to the left, thus signifying the number of rooms. What Iñel found very interesting was that the second storey was not completely covered. The floor he meant. The staircase was the central focal point of the house as its rails continued to circle the second storey, giving it a terrace on the inside. One can literally see the living room and the door to the kitchen from the ground floor. Only odd thing was there was no chandelier hanging down.
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Iñel decided not to take the room facing the staircase as it seriously ruffed up some old superstitions his yaya told him when he was a child. Bad feng shui she kept saying. Then he realized feng shui was not a superstitious belief but a practice by his Sino-Hispanic relatives. He took the second room in the right. After checking the room and its condition did he content himself to explore the house. He soon discovered that his room was adjacent to the veranda overlooking a dying meadow. And farther, he could see his neighbors’ houses.
and smiled. A gust of cold wind blew after the windows opened by themselves. He looked over his shoulder to check if there was a sudden storm, but it was only getting dark outside. Outside, he could see streetlamps coming to life and heard the distant singing of balut somewhere on the streets of Clara Rosita. The next morning Iñel woke up from his phone ringing nonstop. Impossible as it was, he thought, a publishing company wanted to have his novel printed. A hundred thousand copies to be sold in every National Bookstore around the Philippines. He couldn’t believe it! Weeks passed with him working hard with the Editor trying their best to finish the deadline. As soon as they did, Iñel Herman became a household name for generations because of his books. Canker Chores became the number one bestseller nationwide, followed by Palanca Award-winning novels Manong Minero, The Preamble, Senatora Bunganga, and the most controversial book about the Philippine National Heroes, Filipino Gods, which garnered him international acclaims. And that all happened in just two years.
The whole scale of Clara Rosita could be viewed from this place and the sun was already setting. Wind tore at his clothes, bringing with it the saline smell of the sea. He couldn’t be more contented. This was a new start for him. A starting point to correct his mistakes from the past, especially in the three areas he seriously neglected: family, career, and self. And by self he meant, love life. Remembering, he went back to his room and opened his bags, arranging them in the old dusty wardrobe. General cleaning can wait. He noticed a wooden box inside the wardrobe, not a curious thing at all. He placed it on top of his bed and opened it. Three things were left inside: a wooden photograph frame containing a little portrait of a pretty—not beautiful for his taste—woman perhaps in her mid-twenties, an old black book with no title, and a bracelet. Of all the things, it was the picture that drew him. Could this be the woman? But since he couldn’t confirm it he just closed the box and transferred it to the next room. Perhaps he could ask his neighbors about the girl some time and show them the photograph.
A year after Canker Chores was published Iñel received a surprising phone call from his mother. She sounded muffled, as if she was crying. “What’s the problem?” “It’s your father,” she said, sniffing. “Hijo, anak, your father…he’s dead. His heart gave up on him. We’re still in the hospital. Please come.” He was in his car the moment his mother said the word dead. He can’t be, he thought, I still need to talk to him. There were no tears in his eyes, only the fiery guilt one has when forgiveness was left unspoken. He pumped on the gas pedal, and reached the hospital.
Iñel posted on his mirror the three things he needed to get straight on. Written on the piece of paper was Get my novel published, Make peace with my father, and Find the perfect girl to be with forever. He stared at it for the moment
Silence. White. Grey. Black. Shades of death and loneliness. Iñel reached for his father’s hands.They were cold. “He forgives you, you know. Before he actually died, he said
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your name, he couldn’t stop saying. He says he’s sorry too. But don’t worry, he says, you’ll be a better man.” It wasn’t his mother’s voice or his sister’s. He turned to check if it was the nurse his mother hired, but nobody else was there besides him, his mother and his sister. “Did you say something, ma?” She didn’t answer.
a truck. If it weren’t for the headlights of the truck glaring at him pointblank, he would have missed to turn the wheels left. He arrived at the cemetery and looked for his father’s name.
Iñel left as soon as the funeral was over and continued on his work. Novel after novel after novel. And his hard work and dedication paid off as he received not only the Nobel Prize for Literature but also the Franz Kafka Award and Man Booker International Prize for his novel Filipino Gods on October 2013. He might be happy. But he was already living an unhealthy lifestyle of cigarettes and drugs just to help him out.
Iñel found it. And there he weeped.
Then, somebody touched him lightly by the shoulder.
“What do you want?” He did not look up.
“To bring you home.You’re a wreck.”
Iñel was still sobbing a little. But when he was done composing himself, he stood up and turned. It was her. And it was impossible. It was the girl in the photograph. The one he found years ago. But how could she be here? And how could she know him. Lots of questions popped into his head. He was silently walking with her. She pointed at a particular place just as they reached the gates of the cemetery. A gathering of people around a smoking truck could be seen not far from where they were standing. As realization came to Iñel, his surroundings slowly crumbled into white light. He stared at the girl with questioning brown eyes. She just gave him a piece of paper, the very same paper he held early that night.
He was alone in his room one night, typing rigidly into his laptop, a novel he loved to call Ang Buhay Artista ay Hindi Buhay Mayaman. “Unless you get paid for fucking around politicians,” he muttered to himself. He did not know why he gets so easily angry all the time. Even his editor had noticed the change in his writings. He was becoming too blinded by his beliefs that he couldn’t stop to take time to weigh them morally.Then suddenly, the windows to his room opened and a gust of wind blew by his bed. A piece of paper fell on top of his keyboard, making him stop. It was the piece of paper he wrote three, four years ago? Iñel wasn’t sure. When he read the second line there he realized what was wrong with him. He was blaming himself with what happened to his father. Remembering what he did during the funeral, walking out as soon as the priest finished his mass, tears fell down like rivers of regret. He took the car keys and drove out of Clara Rosita to visit his father’s grave. He was sobbing so much he did not notice he was driving on the wrong lane. He only realized it when he was almost hit by
Three checks were scribbled beside his wishes. He looked at the girl again.There was no need for a conversation. All the answers were clear as the morning sky.
“Forever, right?” The girl said, smiling.
Iñel smiled, grabbed her hand, and he let her lead him to their Hispanic Mansion, happy, and contented.
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TRADITIONAL ART
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James Asinero
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FRANZ TATAD
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DIGITAL ART
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ZANDY VILLAGRACIA
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PRIYANKA JAINANI
COVER
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JOMEL SAROMINES
Jonimel Saromines
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Miguel Karlo Macariola
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MIGUEL KARLO MACARIOLA
DIGITAL ART
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ELMO MONTERON
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PHOTOGRAPHY DIGITAL ART
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MICHELLE BACABAC
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JAYMAR PATANA
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JAYMAR PATANA
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ANDREW REYES
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STEPHANIE GO
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STEPHANIE GO
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ANGELO AGUILOR
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GAPS SABUERO
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MUSIC
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MUSIC
FIGHT BNP http://bnpcgy.com Listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLQrqWNc9oc
The caste of the champions, they ride for the suns The age of the dawn begins, where do we go hide? shelters and holes unknown, scorned like the earth The vampires they wait with armies untold The outlaws they hide as they turn round the tide Fight for the right Fly like you’re high Throw out everything inside Sing me a prayer Don’t you even dare Know that everything’s all fair A thousand and one returns A touch will suffice Bring me the liberation Set free your fears
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As bright as the sun As the moon falls behind I’ll cover my voice, my ears Then go blind Fight for the right Fly like you’re high Throw out everything inside Sing me a prayer Don’t you even dare Know that everything’s all fair Everything’s all fair...
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WE KNOW BNP http://bnpcgy.com Listen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOeFmm5t_1A
Verse II Save me, hold me Visions blinding from the light With no regrets i wont forget I know i’ll lose another bet Anticipating on this road that never ends I know that you know that we know
Verse1 All alone in the hall Whispers echo with a call I know this test I need a rest From all the things that we suggest Come with me, save the free Another story ends tonight
Chorus Take me to a place that we don’t know Time will break your hearts, spins round and round
Careless, but free I never knew that side of me Before this ends, take a breath I know you’re different from the rest But now its clear, please dont shed another tear I know that you know that we know.
Bridge Sail forward now To this place unknown Find my soul, believe That your the one that heeds.
Chorus Take me to a place that we don’t know Time will break your hearts, spins round and round
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MUSIC
S’il Vous Plait Theories of Sweetness http://theoriesofsweetness.bandcamp.com Listen: http://theoriesofsweetness.bandcamp.com/track/sil-vous-plait
Awake, I lie here in bed with you tonight Careful not to get swept away and hold you tight You take my hand and pull it away from you Never ones made for you to hold anyway Can I be blamed for wanting a real body to put my arms around? Without it I am cold But my arms are empty, my eyes are heavy, looking for your love But you were just standing with words aplenty, nothing for me, love Breathe in for a moment, warmth, from a cigarette A friend that is better than your love Shake off the ashes, withered as the time passes Things that have grown old and grey like your love But I can’t turn away Blasted chemistry in my brain Spinning me in circles Riding off in sunsets Like your love.
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Euphosphor Theories of Sweetness http://theoriesofsweetness.bandcamp.com Listen: http://theoriesofsweetness.bandcamp.com/track/euphosphor
Have you ever been at the point when you think you know what love is? Could it be that it’s real when you feel life’s acting like the movies? Why do people do the things they do when they’re in love? When they’re in love? Love in the air, maybe I’ll find it somewhere Do you think you’d know, when you’re hit with Cupid’s arrow? Have you ever been at the point when you think you know what love is? Could it be that it’s real when you feel life’s acting like the movies? Why do people do the things they do when they’re in love? When they’re in love? Love in the air, maybe I’ll find it somewhere Do you think you’d know, when you’re hit with Cupid’s arrow? I think someday that I’ll find you somewhere My heart can wait, I think I’ll leave it off to fate
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VIDEO
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UNSAID WORDS Stephanie Go
https://vimeo.com/24223970 31
BACKWASH
Jose Alfonso Sendaydiego 32
http://vimeo.com/35333975
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EPIMETHEUS
Mark Mungkey Vicente https://vimeo.com/37003419 33
THE UNKNOWN
Mark Mungkey Vicente 34
https://vimeo.com/22199751
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TRANSIENT
Mark Mungkey Vicente http://vimeo.com/51439363 35
This project is for you.
By the artists. For the artists.
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