Salgados: Human pieces

GIVE me the wooden pieces

Bad or good, with all the intricacies

Me can handle it just fine

Strings, snare, the keyboards

It can be tuned right anyway..however it goes

But... human pieces?

Nah, I can understand your headache

(Shirovsky/#34Stev Panaz)

I'm not the best chess player in town, far from it I can say it with all honesty. But like any creative dude around, I can shake your brain too and entertain -- modesty-aside.

Mess the hoops?

I can do any. Side-step, spin moves, tear drop (in your eyes), it's bloody killer man.

Oddly enough, I prefer instead to write a few carefully chosen words of the heart (some kind of lyrical) and love to put some melodies on it.

I mean, you craft hundred pages of words in a book then-out of the blue-- you hear John Lennon's Imagine and his powerful message to the world and.. that's the end ah, little boy.

But, hey, as what I've said in drunken sanity some creepy nights ago..we can handle it anyway.

You can play Sicilian defense in whatever variations that you like to crack your brains out. You can play the guitar in whatever chords progression you may like to satisfy your own melodic craving. Yes, you can weave the magic trick in everything your "hands of gold" may like to touch with. But not the human pieces!

If Frank Zappa is the mother of psychedelic rock inventions, the human pieces are the children of all great contradictions you will know (for better or worse) `till death do us part.

Pretty much obvious, you can't arrange or rearrange human pieces seamlessly according to your own imperfect will and pregnant desire.

"Son, I'm the captain of the ship but why you can't just simply take it and obey my command," it pains to hear one sailor man grumbling.

Babe, behave. Daughter, don't. Boyfriend please be good to me ..it's beyond control, we may all agree, as experiences would tell us in this journey called life.

Metaphor. Juxtaposition. Epiphany. Peripheral visionary. Psycho-acoustics. Oriental mysticism. Musical labyrinth. Emotional resonance.

Nah, just a play of words in the vignette of one mind's gymnasium that we can get by, though hard to fathom when fixated and associated with the most complicated thesis in the world: the human pieces.

Atop the 64-square-board, it's not surprising to hear one complaining it's really difficult to look for sound moves in chess. Though a chessic friend once blurted out it's even harder to find someone, love someone already put under lock and key.

"When we play chess, ang hirap maghanap ng good move, pero mas lalong mahirap magmahal sa s'yota ng iba," that was COA guy Atty. Achmad Tomambiling (don't know where he's on earth right now, God bless him always) I could only say Amen to his little prayers.

The lonely game we play is very much relatable to human pieces. And there's no escaping from it.

You fall in love with your ex-girlfriend and the next time around you're looking for understanding deeper beyond anyone could ever do.

Of course, we love Manny Pacquiao the boxer, but how about the "singer", the "preacher", the "PBA cager", the "action star" and the "politician" in him?

Like my "idol" Oscar Moreno as the mayor, basketball enthusiast and lover boy rolled into one. Like "Felix Leonardo Pacana Lafuente" as the all-time Hemingweed activist, musician, journalist, anti-EJK advocate and the likes.

And, of course, everyone's favorite hero in this dime-a-dozen-time --Rodrigo "Digong" Duterte as the foul-mouthed "messiah" who wants to rule and change, if not, exonerate the whole world of the universe with his bloody kind of anti-climactic governance.

Oh half of what I say is meaningless.

Maybe I'm just sad, horny and crazy, I don't know.

Maybe just maybe oh pretty little baby.

Ah...human pieces!

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