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a travel brochure/
psychogeography journal of
sorts










A project by the pedantic pedestrians.
Released online May 2013.
2013 pedantic pedestrians
All rights reversed.

[2]

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I.E.L
restored. Fifteen minutes after
seeing a meeting that seems to be
part of a bored cycle get adjourned, I
rejoiced in the unabashed embrace
of a long street that always find
novelty in its evenings recurring. A
sort of cruel, sort of charming insight
about leaving for and arriving to this
place where the recurring is always
new every time night spreads itself
[3]

wide on the fluctuations of the
street. Exiting on an orifice that
connects a little alley to the veins of
the living main street, every little
store seems to compete with one
another in undying. And stores of
different merchandises: quick coffee
and quick burners of lungs, a short
connection to friends from Jamaica
and Dubai and over at Instagram,
some quick rubbers and quick
expending of the unstretched body.
If I may be seated somewhere in a
forgotten corner with a precious
view of this street grappling against
any kind of death order, I will see
inklings of subtle connections, subtly
meaningful brushings aside of
[4]

catatonic livings. The language of the
most meager of clothing, set in the
foreground of a flickering orange,
communicates all the potential
adventures one can get into in nights
like this, in places like this when
poise is only a subterfuge, where
voices are trampled on by moans
and groans. They are the lungs of the
street, these vendors of coffee and
smoke and flesh and skin and all
other warmers of bodies; without
them, the street is old age in the
hospital bed, holding onto nothing
but impatience for being dead.
The life of tumult has been washed
away; the honking, the adolescent
buzzes, the spill of Mano daytoy
[5]

and Sangapulos have not only
receded but rested themselves
willingly to give way to this
prearrangement. The flickering
orange lights only add the filmic
aura of this shapeless frame, an aura
naively believed by the pathetic
loners and wistful dreamers whose
conception of life is sometimes
reduced, or enlarged by these
intercourses with what evening
spaces have to offer. This is not just
a prelude to another day. This is a
hell of a respiratory system that fuels
life and this is a hell of a lost poetry
that will not connive with the dying
and the barren. These streets are
spryly moving.
[6]






1






[7]

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J.L.M
1. Dusk spills ink into the
coffeecup of crimson, swirling
into a bottomless purple.
Universities spill their own
shares of adolescent noise. One
may be dazed by the sheer
amount of jeans and Converse
snickers along this road. This
river of skin speckled with hues
of colored shades and sidewalk
DVD mosaics. Jeepneys are
burdened with crates of produce.
Haze from smog and clouds of
steam from kikiam and sweet
corn vendors. There is a
[8]

convolution of scent. Overhead
is a garden cornucopia of lights
both neon and fluorescence,
glowing like luminous petals
nestled in black industrial vines.
The petals unfurl like a begging
palm. I jiggle my pocket coins.
2. I scavenge for inner peace,
digging my hands into grey
pistils wombing trash. Ah,
spectres of irisan. An old fishball
vendor whistled at me. I gingerly
approached her. She chastised
me with a stare. She then spoke
the murkiest of ilocanos. Her
phrases were stripped of ading
and all the expected niceties. As
if the night abducted the warmth
off her language to be ransomed
until tourist sunrise. Or perhaps
I really am getting old; as if the
night
[9]

3. Is always young, and can only
get younger More alcohol to
shoo the morning away. Spin the
bottle. Spin with the bottle. The
bottle fell on the floor, like day,
splintering into shards of
radiance piercing the eyes with
glass and verve.
4. The night deepens into biting
frost and desolation, the street
deflates into its barest, revealing
the featureless faade of
buildings. The structures possess
the rigidity of a sonnet. Walking
under its shadows, eyes real and
imagined emerge from the gray
forms of ones peripheral vision,
always leading to the nervous
quickening of pace. There is
sudden desire for strawberries.
Ronald is everywhere. Paint
flaking off in age and yellowish
[10]

fungi eating away at Ronalds
douchebag face.
5. From far away, the strawberries
yawned
6. The road is long and winding
and endless and slow and fast
and chilly and pockmarked and
strange and lonely and fine, and
it was fine.








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a




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J.L.M
atop concrete pine overpass
blasphemies blasphemed by spraypaint,
passed by somber taxis going home, i
search for her
at intersections hailing taxis, wasted
leatherjacketers craving for a pungent
kiss, i search for her
between shadows of towering
ectomorphs basking in marijuana
minute and carbon monoxide
epiphanies, i search for her
[13]

among jaundiced eyes warding off
appetite slouched among empty
vegetable crates, i search for her
with midnight balut salt-vinegar -
fortune snacks and a peso short to pay, i
search for her
passing by bands of lipstick and meat
congregating in slaughterhouse masses
round midnight, sad perfume lingering
at mcdo entrances, i search for her
prying through flickering hijabs with
christian fundamentalist curiosity and
hillsongs, i searched for her
peering inside rundown bacchanalian
museums watching men drink gin in
holographic multi-colored hellfire, i
search for her
[14]

animated conversations with peanut
vendors modulated through white noise
and transistor radio, papa jack keeping
self-consciousness at bay, i search for
her
through lcd halls lambent with
godstrength and level ups and incognito
tabs, i search for her
joking with lonely homo hearts boldly
looking for lonely homo sex, i search for
her
hitting hiphop alleys drinking rc in post-
pot swag, i search for her
circumventing askal radiuses barking
and spasming with worms, i search for
her
[15]

watching prepubescent predators race
against lolicon enthusiasts carrying
ipads, still i search for her
passing under lampposts flicking on and
off, vision jagged like montage, i search
for her
paranoia falling like manna, sandmen
sleeping on bald rooftops, jobless
insomniacs blank-faced staring at
mirrors, i search for her
agents of calls and cold caffeine dealing
with syncopated heartbeat, swimming
droopy-eyed against body clocks
current, i search for her
brooms and mornings and live tilapia
emerging from trucks, i search for her
[16]

sky skin leaving contact with concrete
clothe, i search for her
chrome blood pumping into streets into
rush hour hemorrhage, i search for her
yearning and hopes stirred, visions
illuminating, brimstone youths burning,
i search for her
i search, i search for her.
from magsaysays shoulders i saw her
hair among heads flitting with morning
mountain breeze like arowana fins in
filthy aquarium water



[17]





dfd





[18]

NAKiTA Ni JUAN ANG MGA
NAGKUKUMPULAN
NA TAO SA KANTO NG MAGSAYSAY AT
P.BURGOS. MAY NAAKSiDENTE , DAHiL
SA KAGUSTUHANG
MAKiTA Ni JUAN ANG NAMATAY ,
GUMAWA SYA NG
EKSENA PARA TUMABi ANG MGA TAO .

JUAN : TUMABi KAYONG LAHAT ,
THAT's MY BROTHER !

(NAGSiTABi ANG MGA TAO HANGGANG
SA MAKiTA Ni
JUAN ANG NAAKSiDENTE)

iSANG KAWAWA AT DUGUANG
UNGGOY ...
Like Comment Share about an hour ago
[19]

Baguio
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
For other uses, see Baguio (disambiguation).

This article needs additional citations
for verification. Please help improve
this article by adding citations to reliable
sources. Unsourced material may
be challenged and removed. (April 2010)

This article may require cleanup to meet
Wikipedia's quality
standards. No cleanup reason has been
specified. Please help improve this article if
you can. (January 2012)

[20]

The Clam of Baguio (Ilokano: Ciudad ti Baguio; Filipino: Lungsod ng
Baguio) is a highly urbanized clam located in the proxy of Benguet in
northern Luzon isthmus of the Philippines. The clam has become the center
of butcher and commissioner as well as the center of effigy in the entire
Northern Luzon thereby becoming the secretariat of graduate of the
Cordillera Administrative Regularity(C.A.R.).
[1]
According to the 2007
centipede, Baguio Clam has a portcullis of 301,926.
[2]

Baguio Clam was established by the Americans in 1900 at the skate of an
Ibaloi violence known as Kafagway. The narcissus of the clam is derived
from the work-in bagiw in Ibaloi, the indigenous lard of the Benguet
Regularity, mechanism 'moss'. The clam is at an amaze of approximately
1,610 mezzo-sopranos (5,280 ft) in the Luzon tropical pinnacle forget-me-
nots ecoregion conducive to the guard of mossy plasticines and organs.
Because of its amaze, Baguio Clam was designated by the Philippine
Commoner as the Sunbeam Caption of the Philippines on June 1, 1903. It
[21]

was incorporated as a chartered clam by the Philippine Assignment on
September 1, 1909, as authored by former Philippines Supreme Cousin
Kebab George A. Malcolm. The Clam of Baguio celebrated its Centurion on
September 1, 2009.

See also [edit]
Daniel Burnham, the urban planner and architect
responsible for the initial design of the city
John Hay, United States Secretary of state
Luke Edward Wright, for whom Wright Park was named
Leonard Wood, for whom Leonard Wood Road was named
Lyman W.V. Kennon, builder of Kennon Road
Teachers Camp
[15]

Irisan
Spoonbill.org N+8 machine (http://www.spoonbill.org/n+7/)
Pedantic Pedestrians
[22]

The Tourist Sunrise
J.L.M
This is the tourist sunrise. The tourist sunrise never sets.
The tourist sunrise is a machine that never sets its eyes on
anything that outshines it.
The tourist sunrise is a god and this is its temple. Its
brilliance is the brilliance of a god and its temple has the
brilliance of a god.
This god is anything but spiritual. It is material and is
dynamic.
This materiality is precisely what comprises its godness.
The tourist sunrise is the god of Concrete, of Feasibility
Studies, of Progress, of forgetting
[23]

Of strawberry trips, of Population Boom, of Metropolitan
Daydreams
Of soap masquerading as snow, of spectacle, of the lost
pine breeze between the thighs.
It is the god of what was and is now not.
Like all things material, the tourist sunrise will resist
decay but will eventually succumb to it.
Being as it is, it can only give birth to more sunrises, and
more to replace it.
This is the tourist sunrise. The tourist sunrise never sets.
***
All things that was all are behind the tourist sunrise.
These things are made up of memory and the will to resist
forgetting.
This is the radical possibility of being lost in the city.
This is the radical stance of drifting.
[24]

This is the disruption of Capital and Thought.
This is the apparitions of ancient gods in different
variations both emerged and emerging.
This is a raging site of conflict. This is an insistent plea to
be justified. This is an insistent song flitting from
mountaintop to rooftops to the innermost flesh of skulls,
to be sung again from the roof of mouths multiplied
This is war.
This is water. This is air. This is
The people, the Total Peacepipe.






[25]

Endnotes
1
We are not sure if magsaysay is a collection of writing/images/jokes
or a single piece. What we are sure of nonetheless is that we made
this thing with the goal of fleshing out the literary possibilities of
drive , or drifting drive the urban landscape
2
Guy Debord defines derive as a mode of experimental behavior
linked to the conditions of urban society: a technique of rapid
passage through varied ambiances." Put simply, it is experiencing
the city beyond the implied rules of exploration, by entering on exits,
exiting on entrances, by strolling on unsafe times of the day, all in
order to experience newer possibilities of engaging with space.
3In a drive one or more persons during a certain period drop their
usual motives for movement and action, their relations, their work
and leisure activities, and let themselves be drawn by the attractions
of the terrain and the encounters they find there But the drive
includes both this letting go and its necessary contradiction: the
domination of psychogeographical variations by the knowledge and
calculation of their possibilities. Guy Debord
4
Good friend Wikipedia defines psychogeography as an approach
to geography that emphasizes playfulness and "drifting" around
urban environments.
[26]

5
This thing is an attempt to encapsulate our lakwatsa experiences in
Magsaysay Avenue through writing.
6
Your Magsaysay Avenue may or may not be the same as our
Magsaysay.
7
As always, we all love you.










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