P250/issue + shipping. The first issue is out now. Second issue in November, third issue in January, and fourth issue in March. Subscriptions are available. Email saffron.safin@gmail.com or DM @jessicazafrascats.
We donate part of the proceeds to the UP Ikot and Toki drivers, whose livelihood has been affected by the pandemic.
We’re told that Rizal and the ilustrados lived in Paris in the 1880s. What if one of the ilustrados was a woman? An independent woman who wore men’s suits, knew all the interesting characters of the day, and did whatever she wanted? She didn’t exist, so I made her up.
Who could draw a later George Sand, early Marlene Dietrich, proto-Madonna…why, Madonna’s ambassador to earth himself, Ricky Villabona. Spot the maps of France and the Philippines.
Presenting our latest zine: The Dream of Reason Produces Monsters, Volume 1, No. 1. First of a 4-part series. On sale August 31. P250. Email saffron.safin@gmail.com to pre-order, or message me @jessicazafrascats.
Heard about the Giordano Bruno series from S.J. Parris’s guest shot on the Art Detective podcast. Now reading the Elizabethan-era mystery thrillers. Knew very little about Giordano Bruno apart from the manner of his death (burned at the stake at Campo dei Fiori, as stated in the wonderful poem by Czeslaw Milosz). I did some reading, and learned that one of the Vatican inquisitors who condemned Bruno to his horrific death was St. Robert Bellarmine, the same Jesuit theologian for whom the Ateneo de Manila building which houses my publisher is named. Bellarmine was also involved in the trial of Galileo.
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Slept through an earthquake.
The mosquito zapper was delivered yesterday. Whenever a mosquito commits suicide by dive-bombing the blue light, I rejoice.
Today’s book: The Secrets We Kept by Lara Prescott, a fictionalized account of the hell that Boris Pasternak and his partner Olga Ivinskaya went through during the writing and publication of Dr. Zhivago, and the stories of the women of the CIA who worked to smuggle the banned novel into the Soviet Union. It’s a Cold War thriller about the power of secrets, as told by multiple narrators in different locations and time periods. It is a riveting read, and I would be surprised if it’s not adapted into a TV series.
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You can still watch the movie and discussion online, and please donate what you can to the film workers—electricians, carpenters, PAs, utility men and others—who cannot work during quarantine.
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With so many people vying for the top prize in the Ultimate Douchebag Reality Show, how can we keep track of all the aspirants? Today I was reminded that in our current reality one need not be a politician, businessman, or famous person to be a purulent hemorrhoid: within your own small circle, you, too, can be a blight on humanity!
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On our way to Divisoria, my friend Tracy, Mother of Cats, took me to see her grandfather’s house on Arlegui Street in Quiapo. The house, built at the turn of the 20th century, sits like a time machine (a very elegant TARDIS) on a crowded street. “Crowded” as in “the Coco Martin TV series Ang Probinsyano is filmed at the back of the compound,” so the scene is one of organized chaos. In the main house, though, it is still the early 1900s.
The entresuelo, a room under the stairs. Look up the old term “mestizo de entresuelo.” In colonial times the illegitimate children of the house were confined to such quarters.
The massive wooden staircase polished to a high gloss leads to
the living room with its antique furniture and Art Deco accents.
Despite the hubbub outside it was so quiet you could almost hear the murmuring of the ghosts who lived there, imagine the old piano playing while the guests exchanged news. I kept hoping some of them would turn up in these photos.
A courting chair?
Tracy remembers Sunday lunches in the 1970s, when her grandmother still lived there. In the kitchen:
From the balcony, a view of the 21st century.
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>More
