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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
Follow the Spy
Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
10:43 AM |
The Goodnight Princes
Sometimes, from every generation, there comes an actor of such intensity that he comes to embody the essence -- the beautiful volatility and the secret vulnerabilities -- of our youths. When they die quite young, we mourn for them and we mourn for us, because it is a sudden reminder that mortality knows no boundaries, even when there is so much promise from one so young. Which is why I understand that, more than half a century later, people are still mourning James Dean's sudden passing. I'm
still mourning
River Phoenix's death. His portrayals of youth in tentativeness and pain -- from
Running On Empty,
Stand By Me, and
My Own Private Idaho -- reflected the abyss I felt inside of me when I was growing up. And then to die like that... It gave me my first glimpse of mortality. Years later, and only a few weeks ago, Brad Renfro -- that embodiment of our id, from the protective rebel in
The Client to the young man getting a little too close to possibilities of evil in
Apt Pupil and
Bully --
follows River. And yesterday, Heath Ledger -- who was our romantic heel in
10 Things I Hate About You and our closeted mirror in
Brokeback Mountain --
follows suit. From our generation, only Leonardo DiCaprio, Keanu Reeves, and Ethan Hawke seem to have escaped into well-cushioned lives.
And so we mourn.
Labels: film, life, people
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