For the Sake of Travesty.

Summer Goals

2009-04-08T04:12:00.000-07:00

1. Gumawa ng film

2. Mag-aral mag-gitara (ulit)

3. Magsulat ulit.

4. Mag-overnight sa computer shop (experience)

5. Mag-edit.

6. Maglaro ulit sa Mcdo katips ng MacCube via wireless network. :D

7. Makapaginstall ng Windows XP kay Lucy.

8. Maglaro ng PSX kay Lucy gamit ang Windows XP via boot camp.

9. Mag-gym ulit.

10. Mag-effort sa subject for once.

11. Mag-ipon.

12. Gawing organized si Lucy.

at higit sa lahat...

13. Maging masaya (char)

***************************

Wala lang.:)

Blame the time.

2009-03-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

Thoughts

***********

I often wonder/wander

about/ along this moonlit/moonlight dream/shadow

Thinking of (the) existence/ontology

Of three (3) am thoughts.

Ideas that flutter/fly

Mocking/Teasing the fine threads of coherence.

Like a butterfly

That I just cannot chase/catch.

My garden/grove of thoughts/ideas silently

being devoured.

Pollinated.

Until, finally, it is no longer my own.

Stray thorns/flowers slowly

Entangling the patch.

Until nothing makes sense anymore.

Simply because of the desire to

wake up/ stay awake.

*********

Emo Rulezzz Hihihi

2009-03-30T08:52:00.000-07:00

Puyat (3:30 am) + Photobooth = EMO RULEZZZ

Alam mo yun?

2009-03-28T04:21:00.000-07:00

Alam mo yun? Alam mo yung di talaga gumagana utak mo?

Yung tipong nacoconfuse ka kung tama nga ba na double "L" ang Philippines?

Yung tipong napapaisip ka kung nakaligo ka na ba sa araw na yun?

Alam mo yun?

Yung sabog, yung wala sa ayos.

Yung, lutang.

Hindi dahil sa pagod. Hindi. Matagal ka naman nakapagpahinga. Mabigat lang talaga mata mo.

O baka, tinatamad ka lang. Pero, alam mo yun. Yung ganun.

Nalilito ka bakit may hawak kang bolpen eh nasa banyo ka.

Kakasend mo lang ng message sa taong mahal mo, saulo mo pa ang message. Saulo mo kung ilang ".." ang nilagay mo, Kung saan mo nilagay yung smiley para saktong ma-reflect ang nararamdaman mo. Tama lang ang bilang ng "Hmm.." na nalagay mo. Alam mo yun, saulo mo, Pero di mo maalala saan mo nalapag pagkatapos mo isend.

Yung nagpopost ka ng blog para ganahan ka na magtype ng papel.

Yung, alam mo yun? Ang mga iba mong kakilala wala nang ginagawa, naglalaro nalang. Tapos ikaw. Alam mo yun?

Yung, walang gana.

Premature sembreak-itis kumbaga.

Alam mo yun?

Sabaw

2009-03-12T16:07:00.000-07:00

Me: (sa tapat ng laptop) E. Coli is the most genetically engineered microorganism. It is used as an indicator of water safety. Only one strain is pathogenic, E Coli 0157:H7

Ryan (roommate): Did you know? E. Coli is the first organism to exist after the big bang.

Me: Ah talaga? Asteeeeeeg! Ang cool talaga ni E. Coli. Ang cute-cute pa.

Ryan: HA? At paano naging cute ang bacteria?

Me: Umm...Ewan. Basta cute siya. Kapag iniimagine ko, para siyang worm na malaki ulo at anlaki-laki ng mata! *with matching hand action* at nagwiwiggle! :)

Ryan: Whateveeeer.

Me: Tara pustahan tayo. Isearch ko sa google. May lalabas na cute na E.Coli! Sige nga.

Ryan: Ok game!

*******************************************
at eto ang resulta!

eeeeek ang cuuuuuuute. :}

"This is a cute post so read it" or "..."

2009-03-09T08:39:00.000-07:00

He was looking at her, all funny in the eye.

She said, "Come on. Tell me what you're thinking now.
Don't be shy."

He said, "Alright, I'll try."

"Well, the stars up in the sky and the leaves in the trees.
All the broken bits that make you trip up and the grassy bits in between.
All the matter in the world.

That is how much i like you."

She said, "What?"

He said, "You."

She said, "What are you talking about?"

He said, "Let me try and explain again."

"You know how birds can fly so high and they can shit on your head.
They can almost fly into your eye and make you feel so scared.

But when you look at them and you see that they are beautiful...

That is how I feel about you."

She said, "Thanks. I like you too."

He smiled, and said, "Cool."

Shout out to all Current, Former, and Pending UP Dormers

2009-02-26T01:57:00.000-08:00

Are you a current, pending or ex-UP DORMER?

Experienced the long lines just to pass dorm applications?

Have you ever experienced the agonizing waits just to see the Dormitory results?

Have you ever seen the result posters without your name?

...and then get accepted (or NOT!) three months after?

Do you want to show the world how much you love the OSH?:)

I am currently looking for videos and pictures of the NEW and *IMPROVED* Dormitory application process. If you have any, post the links here or contact me. Thanks! :D

Shout out to all Current, Former, and Pending UP Dormers

2009-02-26T01:54:00.000-08:00

sigh.

2009-02-24T14:36:00.000-08:00

maglaro nalang tayo ng wowowee.

naiinggit ako sa mga materyal na bagay.

sana umulan ng laptop.

Love letter

2009-02-17T13:51:00.000-08:00

Bonus part, FS 106 Lab Exam

*************

"Love from Counter # 2"

*************
My Dear Enteric Enzymatic Love,

Thy love is a microorganism
bathed but yet in secret invisibility
revealed not by the dim light of flames
awaiting nothing but the bright colors of your love.

Dear,
May thou stain my constitution that I may reveal
my positivity to your love
even though I am still...

...encapsulated by this dream.

Let us dip ourselves in our own bacterial world;
Let our bodies commence amid the psychedelic colors of the broths.
Let our inoculum be possessed between this loop of metal love.

And nay shall we be torn apart
your enzymatic pleasure shall test the limits of my
microbial faith.
And so I shall prove myself indeed worthy
that I indeed have the ability to ferment
that it is indeed possible that we will someday be together.

But that,
will still be 'then', dear. For now I am not yet ready.

It pains me, but I dwell but still the phase of lag, dreaming that
someday our test tube destinies shall be intertwined,
my wholeness inoculated into yours.

May the bunsen burner flames of aseptic not harm us, so that our
someday shall be lived and our forever bounded solely by this test tube,
contained still in
35-37 incubation.

Only I shall prove positive to your love.

Till our destinies convulge,

Unknown # 6

i want a mac

2009-02-06T03:04:00.000-08:00

i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac minsan lang ako magbirthday (three months nang nakalipas!) i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac gusto ko ng laptop na tatagal i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac mahirap maging dependent sa gamit ng ibang tao pag gumagawa ng report i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac SERIOUSLY i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac sigh i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac i want a mac sigh sigh sigh sighi want a mac

Gary Granada vs GMA Kapuso

2009-02-01T03:59:00.000-08:00

http://soundcloud.com/dosomethingworthwhile/gary-granada-vs-gma-kapuso

"...this country is going to the dogs anyway."

This is a link to a recording of Gary Granada, a FIlipino singer-songwriter. He claims he has been cheated by GMA Kapuso, and he gives a solid argument to prove it. His composition has allegedly been taken advantage of, giving him not the due credit he deserves.

He has been in the industry for thirty years, and to abuse him so is to blatantly disregard the credibility of the industry.

I've always been positive about our country, that maybe someday we'll wake up and say, "Yeah, life is good. Maunlad na tayo." Right now, I don't really know what must be changed. The government. The policies. The people. Whatever. The whole system for all it's worth.

It is ironic that the jingle is about hope (however riddled with advertising its entirety may be), whilst the blood, sweat and experience of a hard-working Filipino is undermined.

Maybe the question should be, what kind of dog?
Seriously.

********
i'm pissed.

death of the author

2009-01-31T03:15:00.000-08:00

marami akong gustong i-blog. mga personal na sikretong nais kong ibahagi sa buong blog universe, mga bagay na hinding hindi ko sasabihin kaninuman.

marami nga namang solusyon dito.
maaaring palitan ang mga pangalan ng mga katauhan sa kwento, pwedeng ibahin ang ilang mga detalye upang di masyadong halata.

at ikabit ang tatak na "non-fiction".

tulad ng marami (o baka ako lang), gusto ko ng confirmation na Oo, magaling nga ako magsulat, na may kakayahan din akong maging manunulat. pero ewan, ewan ko ba.

(pakiramdam ko naging meme na ang "pero ewan, ewan ko ba".)

gusto ko makapagsulat ng malaya, para hindi nakakabit sa katauhan ko ang aking mga pinagsusulat.

may kilala na akong gumawa/gumagawa ng blog na para sa ganun.

at baka sumunod na ako.

pero ewan, ewan ko ba.

Hearts are easy to draw, seriously.

2009-01-21T06:08:00.000-08:00

It is four in the morning (and I'm walking along) and I have yet to finish (read: finish not start) the genogram which is due technically tomorrow but logically today. A genogram is a sort-of genealogy, a family tree but more complex in the sense that location, occupation, diseases and much more need to be included.

I associate crayons with white. With huggable fluffiness.

And, yeah. As dictated by my oh-so-creative juices, I am using crayons to decorate the otherwise bland square meter of paper I wrote it on.

I bought these crayons just after the semestral break.
Drawing cards/ letters could be fun, sometimes.

My initial thought was to color the squares (males) blue and the circles (females) red. So that it would be easier to comprehend, since the professor would have to read/scan/look at say, 30 genograms?

That was one of the most difficult cards to write.
Seriously.

And then I noticed the red pen was missing. I am sure it is either no longer here or too blunt or short to use properly. Is pink a better choice?

I can't draw teddy bears, by the way.

****
wink wink

i will be socially relevant.

2009-01-18T04:45:00.000-08:00

for you are but a construct.

Smiley Faces

2009-01-13T02:26:00.000-08:00

If you could live forever, why the hell would you?

(cue: EDGAR CALEN PAREEEE!)

"You are so cool,
You look so good in this shirt."
-F

"...for the only one i know who could pull it off. haha. Love you, Carl!
-Louj

I rarely receive gifts from people I care about. Before I opened the box, I promised, with my right hand raised, that yes, of course, I promise to wear it (I even said I'll wear it the day after).

And yeah, few gifts make you say
"HOLY CRAP!" ten times in a row, followed by massive panic.

Fun.:) Thanks guys.

Question:

2009-01-08T12:58:00.000-08:00

What will be your reaction when you see a guy wearing a shirt saying:
"I GOT BITTEN BY EDWARD CULLEN"?

-hahaha. :D

Blame the time.

2009-01-03T21:38:00.000-08:00

Thoughts

***********

I often wonder/wander

about/ along this moonlit/moonlight dream/shadow

Thinking of (the) existence/ontology

Of three (3) am thoughts.

Ideas that flutter/fly

Mocking/Teasing the fine threads of coherence.

Like a butterfly

That I just cannot chase/catch.

My garden/grove of thoughts/ideas silently

being devoured.

Pollinated.

Until, finally, it is no longer my own.

Stray thorns/flowers slowly

Entangling the patch.

Until nothing makes sense anymore.

Simply because of the desire to

wake up/ stay awake.

*********

LCD Soundsystem - All My Friends

2009-01-02T23:40:00.000-08:00

I don't usually post lyrics of songs. But then again I don't usually post.
This was deemed one of the best records of 2007 (indie bloggers mostly). More than a year has passed, but I'm still hooked.
Linky linky

*****************

That's how it starts
We go back to your house
We check the charts
And start to figure it out

And if it's crowded, all the better
Because we know we're gonna be up late
But if you're worried about the weather
Then you picked the wrong place to stay
That's how it starts

And so it starts
You switch the engine on
We set controls for the heart of the sun
one of the ways we show our age

And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
And I still don't wanna stagger home
Then it's the memory of our betters
That are keeping us on our feet

You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan
And the next five years trying to be with your friends again

You're talking 45 turns just as fast as you can
Yeah, I know it gets tired, but it's better when we pretend

It comes apart
The way it does in bad films
Except in parts
When the moral kicks in

Though when we're running out of the drugs
And the conversation's winding away
I wouldn't trade one stupid decision
For another five years of lies

You drop the first ten years just as fast as you can
And the next ten people who are trying to be polite
When you're blowing eighty-five days in the middle of France
Yeah, I know it gets tired only where are your friends tonight?

And to tell the truth
Oh, this could be the last time
So here we go
Like a sales force into the night

And if I made a fool, if I made a fool, if I made a fool
on the road, there's always this
And if I'm sewn into submission
I can still come home to this

And with a face like a dad and a laughable stand
You can sleep on the plane or review what you said
When you're drunk and the kids leave impossible tasks
You think over and over, "hey, I'm finally dead."

Oh, if the trip and the plan come apart in your hand
You look contorted on yourself your ridiculous prop
You forgot what you meant when you read what you said
And you always knew you were tired, but then
Where are your friends tonight?

Introduction

2009-01-01T02:37:00.000-08:00

Not just once have I wished to delete this blog, to erase the vestiges of defeat and sadness that lace this portion of the blogosphere.

(My opening statement is soooo kewl)

I can't remember when I started this blog -- an empty mess for quite some time until I inherited the desire for comments and appreciation and shizz (typical to the internet) -- only when I cross-blogged this with my blogger did this page actually have any content. I have an inherent desire to not post any typical blogpost, which I tend to define by the following template.

"Vague yet catchy title"

"What happened today, I am sad, I am happy, etc etc"
"Rant rant rant rant rant"
"Gush gush gush gush gush"

Tags: HAPPY!, smile, etc etc etc

Well, something like that.
Probably.

I am an extremely prejudiced person, when I come to think about it. I am inflicted, I believe, with sporadic bursts of superiority complex. Perhaps spending three years in the University has much to do about it; it isn't difficult to believe, I'm afraid. Somewhere deep in the mazes of my brain's abyss lies the knowledge that I am indeed more intelligent than most. That I am cunning. That my laziness is key to my soul's equilibrium.

Well, something like that.
Probably.

So I turned all postmodern with my shizz and shazz. Of course, I admit it is indeed extremely difficult to understand my posts, most of them aimed to a target audience, target person, specific per post.
And then there were wastebasket posts, bangag thoughts, litters of ideas, scattered (in)coherences, 3am brainwaves, whatnots. Those, on the other hand, were for my enjoyment alone, an online trashcan for ideas that just deja vu into my morning walk to class or nightly trip to the shower.

Anyway, anyway.
Just saying.
And happy new year.

Character

2008-12-03T04:57:00.000-08:00

[FIELDSET="Stuff"]I'm aiming more on character concept (as a person not a 'class') rather than technical stuff. This is the first time I'll actually stick to the character backstory for the feats and classes. I think that would make it more suitable to RPing.

Good luck to everyone of us. :)
Will edit this post for the application/edits.

[B]EDIT: This wasn't my original app. I hope you were able to read the previous one, since this is just a saved draft[/B].
Today, November 30, 4 pm, GMT +8, while saving the "final version", I encountered some sort of database error, and to my luck the application got erased. :emb
This version of the app is far from complete (and still contains lot of typos and lacks a lot of detail), but since the deadline is today... :(
I hope I get accepted, though.

EDIT2: Now it's finally done.[/FIELDSET]

[I]Abandon all preconceptions, forget all beliefs, and reject all assumptions if you wish to understand.[/I]
-Introduction of the Shadowcat

Name: Wulfric Kain
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Race: Catfolk (Natural Lycanthrope: Weretiger)
Classes: Weretiger 2 /Tiger Form 2 / Ranger 4
Desired Profession: Animal Trainer/ Assassin / Tracker

[SPOILERBUTTON=Introduction][FIELDSET="The Village of Shifting Shadow"]The wind whispers to my ear the many secrets and mysteries that have long pervaded my mind. I grasp my own whiskers, even as the dying moon maliciously invites himself to this splendid affair. Beyond us all, in the midst of a dozen cloaks, on top of a pillar lays a child, a mere infant by my regard. Lit by the dim beams of moonlight, the mark of the slash of a tiger's claws are seen etched on the back of the sacrifice. A flash of light, then darkness. An abyssal roar, and then an unmistakable cry of a young boy.

[I]Even weavers of tales have reasons to weep, my dear friend.[/I]

This is a tale fifteen summers past and sixteen winters done. It was the eve of a new moon, the final whispers before the habitual rest of the full moon. Lights flickered in the distance; moonlight pierced our surroundings. The harvest was bountiful. The children were few.

Ah but for now, a background. Our village is as any other village of our kind, though I must confess I do have my reservations regarding our village name. The Village of Leaping Paws or the Village of the Shadowing Tail could have tickled my fancy, without a doubt. We have wandered the land of Nozdraigh for a significant period of time, and nothing much has changed. The elders have been effective in keeping tradition, however primitive we might be seen by outsiders. It is, as they say, always best to keep out of any foreign meddling.

The village is subdivided into four families, of which the four Elders are chosen.

Every two hundred-and-fortieth rebirth of the moon, the fittest and most healthy village child is taken to be offered as sacrifice to our god. It is always regarded with great pride whenever a child of one’s clan is chosen for the ceremony. It has always been a tradition, and always shall be.

Well, enough of that.

Now, a repudiation! Much could be said about my sanity, or lack of it, as I write these passages. I am known as a weaver of tales, and not necessarily a historian. Have you ever heard of “The Shadowcat”? How about “The Tales of Uvotherin the Shallow”? My, my, perhaps my only comfort would lie in the fact that most, shall I use the term, myths, are in fact merely glorified history. I am highly doubtful the most respected of whiskers shall be pleased were they to read this. I am, however, as many writers of our time, deeply bound to tell the world our story. The edge of my Feline tongue itches whenever I restrain myself from uttering our own stories.
If you know what I mean.

Although, I hope I am able to remember everything.
Indeed, it was both a frightening and majestic sight to behold, that evening of the dying moon. I felt the wind tickle the tips of my ears, and surely that was a sign of good things to come. The three of us that night watched as the healthiest child of the village, a member of my own clan, was lifted up by the Elder Most High and placed on the pedestal shrine. As was tradition, we closed our eyes as he chanted the words to call our god.

Darkness.
An abyssal roar, then silence. The unmistakable sound of fangs.
The eerie music of trickling liquid. With our eyes closed, we were but blind witnesses.

And then, by the nine heavens’ wonderful mercy,
a miracle.
Amid the streaks of crimson, in that clearing in the middle of the forest,
cries echoed.

You could almost hear the fearful whispers of the trees.

Moans.
The bawls of a newborn.

The Elder held the child in his arms, blood splattered all over his face, dripping from his chin.

Children offered to our god never survived. This child with the mark of claws on his back, this mere boy now embellished by the scar of fangs,
[I]How could he be an exception?[/I]

The awful thing about it, if I may say so, is that we still had no idea what really happened. We were innocent, witnesses without question. Then and there, I should have known about Chief Merrsissius.

Now, with the knowledge of all the conspiracies that built our culture, our traditions, with all the lies now visible to me in static clarity, now I know why that was our last ceremony of its kind.

[B][first page of a letter addressed to “Valafar” from “[I]Merthas of the Kain[/I]” (no other page found)][/B].[/FIELDSET]
[/SPOILERBUTTON]

[spoilerbutton=Background][Fieldset=History]
[I]Illusions of magical monstrosities will always exist whenever there is an unexplainable confusion of sorts. Surely it is any being's instinct to blame the supernatural, to give a temporary meaning to an undefinable instance. To give an illusion of progress, it is always necessary to place at least a tag, a working definition to anything. It is only when something is attributed identity do allusions to development actually begin. [/I]

[I]And perhaps, that is their purpose.[/I]

Wulfric was born into the Village of Shifting Shadow, a small catfolk village located in a compartmentalized area between the plains and forests of Nozdraigh. His parents were expecting triplets during his birth. However, perhaps due to insanitation or just misfortune, he was the only child who survived. It was clearly an unproductive season for the village—only one other was born during that year.

Wulfric lived a fairly uneventful childhood. He was an odd child in many aspects, though in ways exceptionally keen in learning. His parents were always very protective of him, and he attributed this to the fact that he was their only child. He had few friends, and most of his childhood acquaintances he knew solely because of his parents. It was during his childhood that he met Sylvia, the only other with the same birthyear. She was the Family Elder Merthas's daughter; she was but a season older than him, and they got along as brother and sister.

He was told long before had the capacity to ask that the scar on his left arm was due to an accident during birth.
[I]Besides, what other reason could there be?[/I]

As he reached adulthood, the age of 12 as prescribed by the catfolk society, he was trained by his father, as many others, to be a scout and efficient hunter for the village. For a period of time, he held this position with much enthusiasm, his mind bounded by the simple economy of his home. He honed his skills, and he showed exceptional perception and wit in the field. He developed an intense love for nature, hunting animals only when necessary. As Wulfric learned the ways of the hunter, Sylvia learned the ways of druids and tale-weavers.

That was before the changes.

During the fourteenth summer of his life, merely two years after his coming of age, Wulfric began to neglect his hunting duties, to the expressed dismay of the community. He developed a gross pattern of mood swings, highlighted by monthly disappearances.

Every month, as the full moon rose over the sky, he unwillingly transformed into a tiger.
Every birth of the full moon gave him new life, life in the literal form of a creature, a life alone for three days each month, a life under the constant shadow of the invisible moon and the pale glare of the indifferent sun. He did not know why.

The markings on his body also changed significantly; the stripes on his body grew darker, more fierce. The mark of claws on his back increasingly became more defined. It was soon obvious to the members of the village that all was not well. Despite concern from the elders of the village, and constant interrogation by his parents, he told no one but Sylvia.

Even the Elder Most High--[I]no. especially the Elder Most High[/I]--voiced out his concern.
[COLOR=Green][I]Is there... something you want to tell me, Wulfric?[/I][/COLOR] asked Chief Merssissius one day, just as Wulfric returned from his monthly disappearance. It was twilight, and they talked alone under the shade of a large tree.
Without looking at the elder, he said, [COLOR=Red][I]I am sorry, and with all due respect, I cannot tell you.[/I] [/COLOR]
The Elder of Life looked at him fiercely, his eyes burning with frustration. [COLOR=Green][I]No, Wulfric. I am sure I will be able to help. Our god has blessed me with knowledge, and I believe that it his Will for me to help you. We both know of your past, Wulfric; you have been, shall we say, granted life by our god. You must not put that to waste.[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]Then maybe you would like to go first, Elder. It appears you already know what I am going through. Maybe if our god actually existed I would believe you.[/I][/COLOR] Wulfric looked at the elder's eyes, his intentions clear.
[COLOR=Green]
[I]And now you even question our god?! What insanity has manifested in you, boy?[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]I would hardly call this insanity. Please stop this nonsense, Chief Merssissius. You should know me well enough to not underestimate me. You have taken control of our village long enough, and I suggest you stop.
And yes,[/I] [/COLOR] said Wulfric, his hands slowly transforming into claws, his feline face now emblazoned with the features of a tiger, he said softly, [COLOR=Red][I]it does take one to know one.[/I][/COLOR]
The trace drops of moonlight lit the visage of the two tigers as they growled at each other. The smaller leapt, running towards the village.

Barely a year after the start of his transformations, Wulfric was charged with the murder of the second highest Elder of the village, the fierce huntress Nershrissa, family Elder of the Talon. Aside from this, numerous killings were reported in the surrounding villages in their land, and at that same time, Chief Merssissius disappeared without warning.

[I]Who was there to blame but the abomination? The creature whose mark of claws could easily be distinguished?[/I]

Fifteen years after the ritual, the sacrifice that lived was banished from the village. The two remaining elders argued, and at the end they made a terrible and difficult decision .
One of them could not withstand the irony.

The wise storyteller Merthas, the Kain family Elder, the Elder of Trade, told Wulfric to seek aid from the wisest healers of the continent. With his daughter Sylvia, Merthas accompanied Wulfric. They broke all ties with the village of Shifting Shadow.

They knew little beyond the simple trappings of their village, and as they were plotting their journey towards Gazria, the continent's capital, unbeknownst to them, Wulfric of the family Kain had become a wanted criminal. Bounties were put up for his head, and the three were forced to travel in hiding. With threats constant, Merthas had an inkling what to do.

Dire occurrences often permit dire consequences.

Due to what Merthas called necessity, Wulfric was soon drawn to the hands of the Scions of Valafar. Sylvia accompanied him. They were taken in, and Wulfric began his treatment.

Merthas disappeared soon afterwards.
[/FIELDSET][/SpoilerButton]

[Spoilerbutton=Personality]
Personality Domains: Chaos, Animal (and a dash of Trickery)
[Fieldset=Transformed]
[I]The path to understanding is often riddled with mazes of treachery. It is pitiful indeed that we are led to dismiss everything we undertake as necessary.[/I] -Uvotherin the Shallow

Wulfric, in Feline, means “reaching the heavens”. Kain means “to eat”. He still hasn't learned why he was called “He who devoured the high heavens”.

Wulfric is one who could be said to be grounded in his own beliefs. He has an intense desire to prove himself. He could be a charming person, quite attractive due to his racial features. He can be an eloquent speaker if he wishes; however, he doesn’t talk often unless it is required of him. If he just puts his heart into int, he may find it relatively easy to mold the minds of people to suit his desires.

Merely three years ago, he was but simple-minded, knowledgeable only about his own town. Nevertheless, spending three years in the capital made him aware of the rest of the world, and he absorbed every detail of it. More or less, the beliefs of the Scions of Valafar has been inscribed into his mind, albeit unwittingly.

Seriousness has always presided in his Wulfric's mind. The hastiness of catfolk has been lost on him. He is a man in search of meaning. He is conflicted about what is truly right and what is truly wrong. His goals are often conceited; he won’t mind helping others if it would benefit him. His personal relations are mostly about improving his image for the Order; it is his belief that if he acquires enough respect, he would be free to leave. He forces himself to believe that the Order has not affected his way of thinking, and that he still views the world in clarity.

He is motivated by the desire for power, not necessarily the power to control other people, but the power, the ability to make a name for himself. And perhaps, if given enough time, if he is permitted, with the assurance he shall never again lose control of his alternate form, he may clear his name and return to his hometown.

Only Sylvia understands him.

[FIELDSET=Stripes of Character: Three years ago]
[COLOR=Red][I]So... this is goodbye?[/I] [/COLOR]
He looked different that day. Perhaps it was the tears in his eyes or the black cloak draped over his body, I don't know. Silhouetted against the red and violet gaze of the dying sun, trodding over the pale to bright hues of green grass, Wulfric, the Exile of Kain spoke softly, whimpering even.
[COLOR=Red][I]Have we no other option?[/I] [/COLOR]
The strength of Wulfric seemed to have faded. He looked weak. He looked fearful.

Not looking at me, his eyes attached to the ground, he says,
[COLOR=Red][I]What do we know of the Scions anyway?[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]Of course not. Do not worry, Wulfric. A few years, and everything shall be alright.[/I] [/COLOR]
The sitting figure of my father Merthas sees me; he sits a few feet away from Wulfric.
Waving, he motions for me to come closer.
[COLOR=Blue][I]Sylvia[/I][/COLOR] , he says, and at that moment my father Merthas places his hand on my shoulder. Conjuring a flute, he makes music with such mastery that I'm brought to tears.
[COLOR=Blue][I]Accompany Wulfric. You both need each other. I, however, must leave. I still have tasks to accomplish.[/I] [/COLOR]

[/FIELDSET]

[FIELDSET=Spots of Character: A day ago]
[COLOR=Red][I]My father? What about my father? Worlds may pass before I see him again, and now you wish to speak about him?[/I] [/COLOR]
The Feline voice speaks harshly, offensive even.

[COLOR=Blue][I]Why, did you not have good relations with your father?[/I] [/COLOR]

I blink upon hearing the calm, soothing voice. Even behind the wooden door, perhaps even across the planes I could recognize that voice. I listen to the two voices. It seems they have been talking for hours, their voices tired and raspy. Wishing not to disturb, I press my ear against the door.

[COLOR=Red][I]As good as relations get, I'm afraid. Do not ask.[/I] [/COLOR]
The harsh voice replies coldly.

[COLOR=Blue][I]Do not misunderstand me. I only come bearing news.[/I] [/COLOR]
[COLOR=Red]
[I]I have no need for news, old friend. What is the purpose of knowledge if one cannot act upon it?[/I][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Blue][I]Can't? or won't, Wulfric. You know very well you could leave anytime.[/I] [/COLOR]

I hear the unmistakable sound of a fist against wood.
[COLOR=Red][I]Please watch your words, old man. I have spent years pondering my situation and dreaming of freedom; you need not tell me what do you. Clearly you've lost the need for logic.[/I][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Blue][I]You speak of logic, yet you know not the word.[/I] [/COLOR]
The voice of my father is now cold, a troubling addition to the eloquence of his voice. He speaks with such finality I am glued to the door in suspense.

Footsteps, the swish of a cape. The door opens and I am thrown to the ground.
[COLOR=Blue][I]I'm sorry, Sylvia. Please take care.[/I][/COLOR] Without looking at me, his face obscured by his cloak, he exits the shop.

Wulfric helps me up; he bites his lip, seemingly holding off any emotion.
He opens his lips as if to say something, then sighs. He holds me in his arms.
[/FIELDSET]

[/Fieldset][/Spoilerbutton]

[Spoilerbutton=Description][FIELDSET=Visage]
[I]The claws on my hands, the mark of claws on my back and the scar of fangs. How should they matter if one knows not their meaning?[/I]
Members of any family of the Village of Shifting Shadow have distinct markings on their backs. In the case of the Kain family, each newborn child is tattooed with the mark of a tiger's claws.
Wulfric lived up to his name; his height of five feet is impressive for his kind. His eyes are black, with just a hint of crimson echoing beneath the pupils. His eyes have the distinct shape of a cat’s, yet with the cold warmth of a human. His tan skin is laced with markings of catfolk; by his latest count, he has exactly twenty-three stripes on his whole body, including two harsh stripes on his face. His black hair laced with streaks of yellow is knotted in dreadlocks, with stray strands covering his ears and forehead.
He is slender as most of his kind, yet muscular and compact just like a hunter should be. His hands are lean and dexterous, with sharp claws at the end.
The scars of four fangs on his left shoulder are the part of his body he most reviles, and he does his best to conceal them. His usual outfit is a bronze-colored shirt with a black lefthand sleeve just long enough to conceal his scar.
[/FIELDSET][/SPOILERBUTTON]

[SPOILERBUTTON=Miscellaneous]
[FIELDSET=Unsent Letter]
[FONT=Palatino Linotype]Wulfric of the Family Kain is henceforth cleared from all crimes.

Former Elder Most High, Chief Merrsissius of the Family Hinga is convicted for the murder of Nershrissa, deceased Elder of the Talon.[/FONT]

[I]See, Wulfric, my son. You may come home now.[/I]

-Excerpt of an unsent letter found on top of the cupboard of the deceased Silvirius Kain. With attached Parchment clipping. Dated one year ago.
[/FIELDSET]
[FIELDSET=Recent History]
Kain has mastered his ability to transform into a tiger at will. Finesse aided by natural strength has given him many an advantage in every occasion. With his fighting proficiency, he is now a hunter worthy to be feared. The improvement, however, came with a price. He has been trained by the Order to be an assassin. With the ability to transform into an animal, he proved to be effective.

[I]Surely, no powerful man would fear a mere animal.[/I]

For three years he has been coaxed to make people disappear and never return.
Apparently, he was taken in by the Order just after the outbreak of the Antagonist War. Due to his uncontrollable condition, he was hidden from the public, trained secretly under the dark corners of the Dreaming Tower. He was given no information whatsoever regarding the war, and the obedient child he was, he asked no questions. His desire to be cured took precedence over any logic he should have employed. He was given tasks to terminate certain people, and he readily obliged. At first he was hesitant, but after being fed the knowledge that his transformation may take control of his body, he followed orders.

Everything is about choosing the lesser evil.

Now, three years after his inception, he works as an animal trainer for the Order under the animal master Brom Westwind. He earns his everyday living behind the counter of a simple pet shop in Gazria. Business could never be any worse, but what choice does he have? He lives with Sylvia, who thoroughly disapproves of his true line of work.

He is only starting to think about his situation. Interactions and the freedom of control does wonders, apparently.
[/FIELDSET]
[/SPOILERBUTTON]

Hindi

2008-11-15T23:46:00.000-08:00

Mga gusto ko sa birthday ko.

2008-11-15T22:58:00.000-08:00

Text secreted for selected contacts only.

this is taking such a long time

2008-11-13T02:48:00.000-08:00

note: editing past posts is fun, especially when people don't notice.

May naintindihan na ako

2008-11-12T20:39:00.000-08:00

Kagabi, habang naglalakad.
Habang naririnig ang mga yapak ng aking mga paa.
Habang ang tanging karamay ay ang mga taksil na punong humihikbi sa aking tabi.
Walang tala sa kalangitan, at ang buwan ay nagpapakipot ng ngiti, nagpaparamdam, nagtatago sa puting karagatan ng mga ulap, habang inaasam ko ang tamis na halik ng kanyang kabuoan.

Habang yakap ang hangin, may narealize ako.
Parang mga mahihinang mga pitik na unti-unting nagbukas ng aking isipan.
Napagtanto ko ang mga bagay-bagay, at may narealize ako.

Pero hindi ko sasabihin.
Tanungin mo ako. Bukas, mamaya, pag napusuhan mong tanungin nga ako.

Tungkol dito, tungkol sa a( )in.
At maaari, maaaring sagutin ko.
At maaaring hindi.

Depende.

An unfinished/unedited work of fiction

2008-11-07T06:18:00.000-08:00

A year has passed, and everything. Everything is so daintily the same. The same trees you have been passing by for less than half a decade are still the same trees I see now, only, more withered. Aged. Waves of leaves have fallen since then, and perhaps the very ground I'm treading has been waxed, sealed by the dictionaries of leaves that were shed.
The air still carries the odd, fruity smell that no one could describe; it is comparable to freshly cut grass, the soothing aroma of all things new. Although both of us know that time shall pass, and the odor will start to lash at our lungs, the pungent odor of spoiled fruit.
This is exactly the kind of day that I would call you up and tell you, yes, tell you, because it needn't be asked. I would tell you, while looking upwards, looking at the majestic trees that no one notices, looking at patterns, at possible symbols, at everything. Everything beautiful.
I would tell you, Isn't it beautiful outside?

*****

I told you this not just once before, and maybe you remember, maybe you don't. I told you, my greatest fear. I told you this with my lips curved in a grimace, definitely unsure what words to form. My eyes were squinted, squinted so I wouldn't look so sad. I said, My greatest fear, as of now, (as of then), is that after graduation, we'll...
I stuttered, I remember. I remembered the drink I had almost spilled, I remember your pink striped blouse, I remember the 205.00 bill on the lower part of our receipt, I even remember the number 8 and the number 6. I remember the sound of your voice, and how I felt hearing it.
I wish I could remember your face then.
...maybe we'll... fall apart...

*****

Of course you told me not to worry, because worrying will bring me nowhere, and that I should leave it up to fate. Or destiny. Or whatever.
I tried.
I tried to argue. Because, if we had the chance to poke a few needles into the threads of fate, why shouldn't we?
You shook your head.

*****

A year has passed, and nothing has changed. The same trees, the same buildings. The breath I draw now may have passed by you while you were still here. I miss you.

What is love?

2008-10-23T02:38:00.000-07:00

nalulungkot ako.

2008-10-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

oo. mali ang pag-aaral ko.
di sapat ang isang araw para maintindihan ang buong sem.

hindi.

wala akong masabi.
tipikal na emo blogpost to.
pero ayokong gawing ganun.

kaya tutula ako.

ay joke lang. wag nalang.

dahil ang buhay ay parang isang ice cream. tamis. asim.
konting kirot sa bawat hampas ng dila.
konting sakit sa sobrang lamig ng kagat.
pero di mo mapigilang hindi kumain. kasi masarap.
kain ka ng kain hanggang di mo namalayang wala nang ice cream.
ang natira na lang ay ang cone.
hindi matamis, hindi maasim. "lasa" lang.
hindi rin mainit. o malamig. "cone" lang.
at sa pagkagat, oo, iba.
wala nang laman, at wala nang saysay.

talino, henyo, et al.

2008-10-02T15:42:00.000-07:00

dahil laging may excuse na 'tamad lang ako'.

ika nga ng di ko kilalang nag-usap sa tabi ko habang nag-aabang ako ng Pantranco jeep, ang talino ay t = (time spent studying/exam grade) x (number of distractions)

ang formula ay maaaring magbago depende sa pagdenote ng "time (and/or quality) of studying" at minsan kailangan pang i-square ang number of distractions, depende sa distractions.

dahil nga naman.
laging pwedeng sabihin sa loob-looban na Oo, matalino ako, tamad lang.
At oo nga naman, di naman talaga tunay na batayan ng katalinuhan ang anumang exam. At tama din naman, di lahat ng mataas ang mga grado, tunay na magaling.

"Matiyaga lang."

excuses.

madali nga naman kasing iwasan ang dapat na tinatanong sa sarili.
"matalino nga ba ako?"
madaling gawan ng dahilan, na wala namang tunay na batayan ng talino, at maaari ngang sabihin na societal impositions (salita nga ba ito?) lang ang madaling natatanaw kung talino nga ang pinaguusapan.

pero hindi. hindi ko alam.
kadalasa'y ayokong isipin na may mga limitasyon ako. na dinidikta ng aking mga genes ang aking hangganan at kapalaran. gusto kong isipin na taglay ko ang kapangyarihang maging magaling sa lahat ng bagay, kung magtitiyaga lang ako.
pero dahil dito, bumubuo ito nga isang pesteng cycle, na punung-puno ng "di pa ako nag-aaral niyan ah" at "di naman kasi ako nag-aral."

dahil takot kang mapatunayang di ka nga talaga matalino kahit nag-aral ka nga.
parang ganun.

***************

pikit. kasabay ng balisang buntong-hininga.
palakpak.

Katulad ngayon

2008-10-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

Noon, hanggang ngayon, madalas, napagsasabihan ako ng mga linyang "magbihis ka muna!" o kaya'y "wala ka bang balak magdamit?".

Kasi naman, ayaw na ayaw ng aking ama na di kami magbihis (di ko alam bakit) agad pag galing kami sa kung anumang lakad. ang gusto niya, (sa tingin ko) ay magpalit agad kami ng pambahay pagkauwi.

Pero di ako ganun. Minsan ay inaabot ako ng umaga nang nakajeans o slacks (ah, highschool) pa. Di ko na maibilang ang mga pagkakataong nagising ako ng umagang suot pa ang mga damit pang-gala.

Isa pa, madalas ko ding nagagawang makipagkwentuhan, manood ng tv, gumamit ng PC at kung anu-ano pa kahit katatapos ko lang maligo. Kadalasan basa pa't tumutulo ang tubig mula sa buhok, nagagawa kong umupo lang nang ilang oras, at oo, di pa ako nagbibihis nun. At oo, tumatagal akong nakaganun lang. Nakakatapos na ako ng ilang dvd, at minsan nakakabasa ng buong libro, nang nakatuwalya lang.

Di ko alam bakit. Wala naman akong nakikitang masama dun. Maliban siguro sa mga nabasang sopa at mga naoffend na tao. Pero, di naman ata nakakaoffend yun. Sana.
Di ko alam anong espesyal na mapapala kapag nagbihis ng pambahay, kung may bahay-powers ba akong makukuha pag suot ko yun. Di ko talaga alam.
Ayoko lang talaga magbihis. O, mas maigi,
di pa naman kailangan.

Sa pagnood ng tv, sa pakipagusap, di naman kailangang magpalit para magawa ang mga yun. Di naman kailangang magbago dahil yun ang nakasanayan.
Kung kaya mo din namang mabuhay, makagalaw ng maayos, at maging masaya nang ganun ka pa rin naman, bakit hindi?
Hindi ba dapat, nasa sa iyo naman yun, kung kelan gusto mo nang magbago?

Di naman kailangang magbago para maging katanggap-tanggap. Katulad ng mga tatak na pilit dinadamit sa atin ng society. Dahil, oo nga naman, kung komportable ka naman sa kasalukuyang lagay mo, bakit.
Bakit ka pa magpapatatak.

Bakit pa kailangang may magbago.

*************************************

at, oo. hindi ito tungkol sa mga damit at tuwalya. :)

"angelic infirmary"

2008-07-11T03:43:00.000-07:00

i have no idea why i am so weird.

"you can't help being helpless."

"talkings keep on saying things like..."

indeed, i try to be funny. to make people laugh, to the extent of looking stupid..
why do i crack jokes the most inappropriate moments, during calm seriousness.

crap.

"sugar sugar sugar is just something to put in coffee..."

i stutter. i have bad English diction when unprepared. i have suckish taste in jokes.
i am awkward. always. i have this monster ego.

no, i don't think i'm smart.
but i'll rule the world.

crap.

"i can ride my bike with no handlebars..."

i can't stand personal talks. i fear i'll say something wrong. slash the awkward pause. slash the coughing laugh.

i think i take advantage of people. i ask for a whole lot of favors, hoping they'd ask favors back.

"...just like lovers ought to (echo 'ought to')"

i don't know how to react to compliments. how to maintain cool.
i get easily pissed off.

i abuse 'i'

damn it.

"la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la..."

i'm writing this to apologize to everyone i offended. somewhat.

something like that.
i dunno.

maybe.

angelic infirmary"

2008-07-11T03:39:00.000-07:00

i have no idea why i am so weird.

"you can't help being helpless."

"talkings keep on saying things like..."

indeed, i try to be funny. to make people laugh, to the extent of humiliating myself.
why do i crack jokes the most inappropriate moments, during calm silent silences.

crap.

"sugar sugar sugar is just something to put in coffee..."

i stutter. i have bad English diction when unprepared. i have suckish taste in jokes.
i am awkward. always. i have this monster ego.

no, i don't think i'm smart.
but i'll rule the world.

crap.

"i can ride my bike with no handlebars..."

i can't stand personal talks. i fear i'll say something wrong. slash the awkward pause. slash the coughing laugh.

i think i take advantage of people. i ask for a whole lot of favors, hoping they'd ask favors back.

"...just like lovers ought to (echo 'ought to')"

dahil alam kong walang makakaintindi.

2008-07-04T04:02:00.000-07:00

sa dinami-dami ng maaaring sabihin sa pahinang ito.
sa dinami-dami ng maaari kong makilala.

bakit ganun.

dahil alam kong walang makakaintindi.

sa pagkaripas ng bus, sa paglisan mula sa kalawakan ng aking panaginip.

dahil hindi ko alam ano na nga ba.

sa pagpares ng tadhana. sa pagtingin ng diretso. sa pag-unawa.
pag-unawang matindi.

sa pagpatak ng ikatlong taon. sa pagpili ng landas na tatahakin. sa paglunok ng kayabangan. sa hawak na inaasam.

lakarin natin ang puting kaputian ng aking kalawakan, hawakan mo ang aking kamay, at pakinggan natin ang kawalan. sa muling pagpatak ng mga luha sa aking balat, sagutin mo naman ang aking tanong. may dadaan na paru-paro, at sasakalin ko ito. hanggang matapik mo ako't muli tayong magtagpo. ngitian mo ako, sige na. dahil di ako marunong kumanta, sisipol ako, dahil alam mo na anong ibig sabihin nun. hawakan mo ang aking kamay, at gisingin mo ako.

sa kawalan. sa kawalan.
sa tanyag na bintang ng aking pag-aaya. kung may ibig mang sabihin yun.

dahil ngayong gabi, maisusulat ko ang mga pinakamalungkot na taludtod.

Clap.

2008-06-20T03:37:00.000-07:00

My life is a segway.
A mortal trek into a previously
known space. I am
the alpha test
before the expedition.
The ragged line before
the gunshot, the
sweat, and the finish line.
I am your stunt
double, the ass-mooning
choker. Guilty of
warm embraces, I tend to
abuse the first-person.
I am the antedecent
of myself.
I am a preview.

for Hawk without the Y.

2008-06-14T03:34:00.000-07:00

ilong, matangkad, Ga, I, Ka.

translated to English,
Nostalgic.

eherm.
korniness.
eherm.

i've just now browsed through my old write-ups still stored here in our computer.
dating to almost three years ago.
syet.
Third year na pala ako.

most of my entries surprised me. not only were they disgustingly ridden with typos, but they also were about stupid things.
things i wouldn't at present even think of writing about.
Kalai days.

puro mga pagkakamali.
puro mga napagtantong katangahan.

those were collections of words masquerading as write-ups masquerading as art.
God, i'll be laughing at this tomorrow.

i read them.
i am ashamed.

immediately afterwards, i sent some messages.
typed up some mobile texts.
and, yeah.

i'm sorry for a lot of things. for all the atrocious stupidities i've ever done or said. this is a very foolish way to say this, but.
i seek forgivessness for the cockiness i've ever showed just to alleviate my shame.
i can't bear to think about it.
scars are always left when knives of lies cut through a budding friendship.
and i accept that.

really, i'm sorry.

and i throw the ball to fate.
stumble and reach this page.
hopefully.

pesteng mga EMO!

2008-05-28T03:11:00.000-07:00

hindi. hindi yan ang topic ko.
madaling patamaan ang mga emo (pinoy ha.) kayat nakakatamad na pagtripan pa.
ang gusto ko talakayin ngayon ang pilipinas.

bakit ganun.
pakiramdam ko ilang taon nalang aabot na sa 100 ang gasolina.
sa singkwenta ang bigas.
sa bente ang pamasahe.
sa bente ang extra rice.

kapag nangyari yun, tatalon ako sa tuktok ng building na mataas-taas ang tuktok at magiging simbolo ng pilipinong mangmang na namulat sa kahirapan.

joke lang.

ewan ko.
marami akong pangarap noong elementarya palang ako. noong hayskul.
nakapulupot sa aking ideal na ako'y mananatili sa pilipinas, bilang mabuting manggagawa.
ako'y maglilingkod sa sambayanan ng buong puso, maiaangat rin naman ang ating ekonomya.

pesteng mga pangarap.
nahihirapan lang akong masikmura ang kahirapan ng bansa natin ngayon.

tinanggap ko na tumaas ang buwis ng matindi.
malay ko ba kasi gaano kataas talaga yun.

lumakas ang piso. yey. sabi ko, ayos.
cool.

yeah. right.

ngunit may krisis sa bigas, may krisis sa pera, at basta.
marami pa.
peste.
sa dami ng problema ng ating bansa, sa laganap na korupsyon. sa nakakaputakteng mga burgis na humahawak sa ekonomya ng bansa, sa komersiyalismong naninira ng hanapbuhay ng magsasaka, sa mga mabibigat na bulsa, dahil sa pesteng wagayway festival (pondo para sa piyesta. ehem ehem), dahil sa mga sakim, sa namamayagpag na kulturang emo.....

naitanong ko na ito sa iba kong mga kaibigan, habang ako'y inaantok at lulon sa ipinagbabawal na kabangagan. (bawal kasi wirdo ako pag bangag)

worth it pa ba sa 'pinas?

Maiksing maiksing kwento.

2008-05-17T04:53:00.000-07:00

Isang *title* na ipinasa ko sa MPs10.
unang draft niya to kasi di ko mahanap yung final.
isip nga kayo ng magandang titulo. sige na. hehe.

*********************************

Kinaway niya ang asul na kinang ng kanyang mga kuko.
Palapit, napansin kong may kulay-kandilang mantsa sa kanyang puting blazer.
Pulapalakpak ang high heels, ika niya, Kape.
Tumango ako.

Hindi ito ang unang pagkakataon.

Inabutan niya ako ng kendi. Mapait.
Sinubukan niya akong akbayan, at sabi, ang ganda ng buwan ngayon.
Ngumiti ako.
Parang ganun.
Hindi pa buo ang buwan, sabi ko. Parang tinapyasan ng purol na kutsilyo.
At kagat labi, niyakap niya ako.
Parang ganun.

Nilunok ko ang kending nasa bibig, at pumikit.
Hindi rin naman ito ang unang pagkakataon.

Hinawakan ko ang kamay niya, at naglakad na kami papaalis.

"sesquipedalian"

2008-05-16T05:09:00.000-07:00

comparable to being dependent on rice imports.

it is never encouraging when one just finished watching the end credits of Bubble Gang
and sees the news. people being killed, raped. gasolines prices reaching 52 php. celebrities cursing each other. archuleta having fans.
the likes.

life in the philippines is so riddled with ironies that i can't help but wonder if living here is still worth it. the constant people powers. the behemoth that is corruption.
lies. slanderings.
killing.

quite a few of us still have the ideal to stay in the philippines.
to be martyrs for our countries sake.

yeah.
right.

contemporary, modern and postmodern american literature is full of satire directed at their own country.
apparently, they find their country to be the worst in the world, the EPITOME OF HUMAN FUTILITY.

and while reading, clutching the tome with my Filipino hands, i have a divine idea what would transpire should our own printing industry be a little, you know, friendlier.

wink wink.

love.

2008-05-11T02:09:00.000-07:00

"the abused red buttprint of the lustful."

the odd part about growing up, in my opinion, is that even though I am completely aware of all the hormonal imbalances that beleaguer my body, i am still affected by angst.
why why why why why.

apparently, the wise thing to do is ignore the angst completely, being 'mature', "setting my sight on the long run", yada yada.
the societal coercion that is tradition.
authority.

and yet, it, somehow, feels good.
to ask.
to wonder.
to be, for lack of an appropriate word, 'emo'.
to be loaded with puberty stains of lack of self-confidence. to be laced with bullets of testosterone every now and then. to desire torrid kisses.
lust.

indeed, quite a few consequences are definitely appalling.
adding to the 'tisk tisk' echoes of life as is.

the old saying of 'at least trying'.
the writer's manifesto of being there.
trying that.

the advantage of being young is the perpetual 'foolishness' that is expected.
the mistakes.
the sins.
it is as if given the chance to actually do something wrong.
juvenile.

it may be a foolish, unwise way to spend our teenage years, but hey.

it's there.

may naisip ako.

2008-05-03T05:35:00.000-07:00

marami. marami akong naisip.
ilalagay ko sana lahat, pero baka i-plagiarize.
hahaha.
oo. wala akong magawa.
di ako matatulog
di ako makakain.
di ako makatawaaaaa..
oo, kanta yun. takte.
oo, natutuwa ako s 'takte'.
takte.

ang alam ko lang naman, sa bilyon-bilyong blog na maaaring basahin mo sa buong sansinukob ng internet, bakit pa ito ang iyong babasahin.
ewan ko. ewan.
takte.
bakit ganito ulit ako magpost. yung tipong walang makakaintindi.
yung feel ko na 'oo, mga henyo lang tulad ko makaka-gets!'
tapos kapag babasahin ko ulit ang post after a few days, di ko na maiintindihan.
takte.

ewan ko. ewan.
takte.

Kung ano man ang Tagalog ng "Parenthesis"

2008-04-26T03:11:00.000-07:00

matagal ko nang ninanais na isulat ang piyesang ito.

mula pa noong una kong nadiskubre ang asul at pilak niyang kinang. mula pa noong una kong nasilayan ang pagkaripas ng buong mundo habang lulan ka nito. ang agos ng dagitab na dumadaloy sa kanya. di na ako nagtataka, sapagkat matagal ko na siyang nakakasama, di na ako nagtataka sa tila hulog-langit na buhos ng kung anu-anong ideya sa aking utak tuwing siya'y aking kapiling. habang pinagmamasdan ang patuloy na pagkaripas, pagtakbo ng buong mundo. habang natatanaw ang agos ng taong pinipilit makapasok sa maliit na espasyong inilaan ng tadhana para sa kanila. habang naririnig ang kung anu-anong salita ng kung sinu-sinong tao. amoy ng kung sinu-sinong amoy.

sabi nga nila, pagpasok mo ng MRT, naligo ka man o hindi, tawas ka man o Hugo Boss, pare-pareho lang kayo paglabas.

sadyang natutuwa ako tuwing sumasakay ako sa MRT. (oo. parang preface yung kanina. eto, introduction. at ang kabuoan nito, synopsis lang ng nobela. (na first part ng trilogy) parang ganun.)
noong baguhan pa lamang ako sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas, Diliman (oo, kelangan pa talagang sabihin.), at noong panahong yun baguhan rin ako sa pagbiyahe sa Maynila, una kong natuklasan ang pagsakay sa Metro Rail Transit. ang una kong ikinatuwa ay yung pakiramdam kapag pasakay ka pa lang sa tren, nakatingin ka sa kabilang platform, kunyari malalim iniisip mo, hanggang sa marinig mo ang tunong ng riles ng tren at maramdaman ang hangin, hanggat sa tuluyang tumigil ang tren. ASTIG ang pakiramdam kapag nakatayming sa saktong pagtigil ng tren na i-fofocus ang mata mo sa bintana ng kabilang panig ng tren, hanggang sa makita mo ang reflection mo. (dahil doon, naiisip ko lagi na gumawa ng pelikula na kasama ang scene na ganun. oo. gusto ko gumawa ng pelikula para lang sa scene na yun. oo, kahit si Sam Milby pa ang gumanap, basta mailagay ang scene na yun.)
katulad rin nito yung sa pagbaba ng tren, tapos maglakad ka parallel sa tren sa tabi lang ng restricted yellow line, hanggat umandar uli ang tren, mauuna sayo. mabilis.
yung parang mai-coconnect mo sa naiiwanan ng panahon, atbp atbp. parang ganun.

ang isa ko pang ikinatutuwa sa MRT ay ang mga reaksyon ng mga tao sa sikip at init ng MRT. (pwede na ngang maging scene ng music video ng isang sikat na hip-hop dawg person) madalas naman kasi tuwing hapon, mga ala singko, ala sais, punuan talaga ang MRT. yung tipong pagkatapos mailabag na lahat ng karapatan mong pantao, di mo pa rin makamot ang makati parte ng tagiliran mo. samantalang ganun naman lagi ang nangyayari, may iilan pa rin na nagagalit pa rin tuwing napapasiksik sa tren. madalas ang mga ito ay ang mga matatandang mga manang na naka-backless, mga lalaking malalaki ang katawana't nakasando, at lalong lalo na ang mga bading na pesteng mga emo na mga hayskul. (di ako discriminating sa mga bading, o kahit na sa mga emo. ang kombinasyon lang kasi ng dalawa ay talaga namang sadyang nakakadisturb. no offense.)

at huli at pinakakinatutuwa ko sa MRT ay mga naiisip ko tuwing nakasakay ako rito. madalas kasi kapag umuuwi ako noon, galing pa lamang ng dormitoryo ay nakaplug na sa aking tainga ang mga earphones mula sa aking Music Player. pero mahina ang baterya nito, kaya kadalasan kalagitnaan palang ako ng biyahe sa MRT ay mikrobyo nalang ang lumalabas sa mga earphones. suot ang earphones, doon nagsimula ang aking habit na mag-obserba ng kung anu-ano sa loob ng MRT. doon ko napagtanto ang pagkakaiba ng mga taong nakasakay. may mga nakapolo't black shoes na sumasakay sa Ayala, mga ordinaryong (mukhang probinsyanong. (tsk. discrimination. tsk) ) manggagawang galing sa Cubao, mga maaangas at mayayabang na mga UP student na galing Q.Ave, at marami pang iba.
iilan sa mga napakinggan kong usapan ay mga usapang pangarap, mga estudyanteng nakasuot ng mga gusot na puting polo, naguusap tungkol sa pagaaral nila sa Cisco, sa mga kapatid nilang umaasa sa kanila. nakakita na rin ako ng isang lalaking kinakausap ang kanyang katabing lalaki rin, tanong ng tanong, hanggat sa hinawakan niya ang tuhod ng katabi niya. nakakita na ko ng dalawang maarteng transvestites na nagreklamo na mainit ang MRT; lahat ata ng lalaking sakay ng kompartamentong yun ay sinigawan sila. nakatabi ko na rin ang magsyotang naguusap, ang babae'y di kagandahan, ang lalaki hindi rin naman gwapo, at bungi pa siya sa ilang parte.
pero magkayakap sila. nagmamahalan.

(sa puntong ito, dalawa ang naisip kong Astig na ending ng piyesang ito)
ending 1:

nabanggit ko na ata kanina na pagpasok at paglabas mo sa MRT, magiging pareho lang ang amoy niyo ng lahat ng nakasakay sa MRT. ito'y maaaring mabuti o masama, depende kung naligo ka o hindi. pero tunay nga, kahit sino ka man, mahirap o mayaman, edukado o mangmang, lalaki ka man o emo poser, matalino o taga-UST (joke lang po. pwedeng i-edit para maging kolehiyong karibal ng kolehiyo mo.), pare-pareho lang tayo kapag nagkatabi kita sa MRT.

ending 2:

na-oobserbahan ko ang mga tao at naririnig ang kanilang pinag-uusapan sapagkat akala nila di ko sila naririnig dahil suot ko ang earphones. katulad rin ito ng tint ng sasakyan, katulad ng sunglasses, katulad ng isang veil. kadalasan ang mga bagay na ito'y ginagamit upang takpan ang sariling hitsura. ngunit sa aking palagay, dahit sa mga bagay na ito nagbubukas ang isang parte ng mundo na madalas ay hindi natin pinapansin. at sa muling pagbukas ng pintuan ng MRT, nais kong maubusan muli ng baterya ang aking Music Player.

(oo. mahilig ako mag-parenthesis)

sa pagpanaw ng buwan.

2008-04-25T17:04:00.000-07:00

basta.

by month's end

2008-04-20T05:53:00.000-07:00

the dark patchwork quilts that are our lives as we breathe in the putrid breath of the routine of the everyday. the faded photograph of our ideals as our neurons diminish. as candles exponentiate.

the leaky faucet of our brain tick-tick-ticking until it sounds. the whispers of dead artists coursing through the the grey copper. the agonizing din of the wet showers of our hopes. the slapping.

the confetti of dust slashing at our eyes. the cold hand and the lighter pocket. stepping down. the mastery of goodbyes and deceit.
coughing red. red and gold and golden.

the shaky arm and the red circles. the closing of one eye.
closing.
closing in.

the deep breath before the pulling of the trigger.
centered.

everything makes sense.

applaud, everyone, the comedy shall soon be over.

It's just a lyrical lie made up by my mind

2008-04-02T04:37:00.000-07:00

the ticking of the clock.

the minty-fresh rinsing.

beside the sink.

behind the mirror.

the open window.

the red Vios.

small talk.

the clasping of the throat.

clasping of everything else.

the pale glow under the fading lightbulb.

the waves over the sheets.

crossing fires over the rain.

meteors burning, clashing malevolences.

butterflies.

the deep pleasures of transparents.

the biological freeze-frame. flash. flash. flash.

the pale drops of crimson.

tears.

*************

oh my god cheesy love poem oh my god

2008-03-21T03:37:00.000-07:00

every night i transgress my sanity
i caress the pale glow of your skin
i wish to embalm the eclipse of your memory
as i kiss the empty whisper of your wind

i long for the pale embrace of your body
the black moons that are your eyes
i constantly dream for the pillow of your arms
the ubiquitous touch of your lips

every night i transgress my sanity
undermining the blatant excuse for logic
traversing the travesty of torturous thought
over the simple absence of your voice

every night i transgress my sanity
and every day i wait for night

and every night
i pray tonight shall be the last

Neruda et al.

2008-03-19T17:57:00.000-07:00

there are writers that affect me the same way house music does.

as if a sudden jolt of purple energy pinches me somewhere behind my neck, twitching inside me, a jagged surge of electric euphoria that curls, curling its way inside me, leaving my lungs dry and my eyes closed.

sort of like, you know, love.

making we want to hug and talk to poles, laugh at reflections, jump, and most of all, be very, very cheesy.

apparently this also happens even while i'm walking and especially when on the MRT.
apparently.

fun fun.

crunchy splat.

2008-03-16T00:42:00.000-07:00

Since I will be shifting to another yet unidentified major, I shall be delayed by one, two, or maybe three years.
And I used to laugh at 6th-years.

Of course, I'm still hoping I won't, though.

i've just noticed.

2008-03-01T03:10:00.000-08:00

indeed, my blog posts sound crazy.
hence the lack of comments? hm.

ever heard of the fratellis?

2008-03-01T01:14:00.000-08:00

they're a, you know, band. i wish i could say 'just listen to them.:D' or 'let them speak for themselves' but also, i wish i could upload their songs but the download-then-upload time is comparable to the time needed for the proletariat to be abolished.

(also comparable to the whole oust thing)

so, there. here's a link.
a link to the a link of a huge compilation of blogs that upload their songs.

i find them addictive/addicting.
i find/found them/myself entertaining/entertainment.

I thank Frances Sargett Osgood.

2008-02-25T02:32:00.000-08:00

Una sa lahat,

Mahirap mag-akda ng tulang 'di mais
lalo na kung bulok sa sa Filipino.
Sa English grabe ang ganda sana nito
k'tulad ng taong tinutulaan ko.
Makwento sana ang paminsang
saglit --
Mga sandaling tumitigil ang
oras
Cute na jests sa ngiting aking nasisipat
'sang tanong,
nagtanong na nga ba dapat?
Pagkat may
meaning
ang kabuoan nito --
Sa bawat kindat at pitik ng halakhak.
At kung anuman ang palitan sa
tatak,
Ako'y totally ZEN anumang magbago.

------------------------------------------------------------------
para sa isang project na alam ng kaunting tao.

hm.. thank you indeed Edgar Allan Poe.

i hope this works.

2008-02-03T01:27:00.000-08:00

...

nothing to write.

...

jeepney existentialism

2008-02-02T01:43:00.000-08:00

Wearing a torn white shirt, he tells her, he has no money.
Between the coins in my and and two-word conversations, this is the most contact I make with people.
She, though, with one hand in a sling, and a baby on top of the other, says, Ok then, sure.
Viewing everyone through a mirror, I wonder if there really is more out of life.
He says, Thanks. He winks.
With her, smiling, I tap my fingers.
With more and more people climbing up, I wonder, Do I even exist.
Someone starts to talk about Jesus.
I think, What's the point.
Wrong move, sister.
Someone holding up her hand, coughing loudly, I wonder if people even care.
Another someone saying something, I feels fingers tap-tap-tapping my back.
I wonder.
Someone, like, slaps me.
I wonder.
Between beer and drugs, this is the most high I get.
I raise both my arms and stretch my feet, especially my right, and then, as always, someone screams.
Viewing everyone through a mirror, I smile.

Curse you, Org.

2008-02-02T01:19:00.000-08:00

As we walk home, the spinning rifle of the rose still hurricanes through my mind.
Walking to another flower, her hands hold on tighter.
Perhaps I said something clever, 'cause now, she's laughing.
Clever.
Perhaps it is too heavy.
Maybe this too much.
The flash-flash-flash of the camera still frozen into my eye, i wonder if the bear's too pink.
Or maybe she's bluffing.
Swoosh swoosh swoosh.
Pity.
Thank you Edgar Allan Poe.
Something in my pants vibrating, I feel the sweat in my palms.
As fast as a raven, I read the message.
Flash.
Her laughing stops, and I smile.
Flash.
Closing my eyes for a second, I hold her hand.
Flash.
Oh. Yes. I forgot the rose.

freedom

2008-01-26T00:05:00.000-08:00

Though you I may not have known
Before he
held
you in grasp
I may not have seen
your crown
Before your fingers
had

clasped.

So rest
Be blessed

You're now
free
from sickness's test.

In memory of Abundio Valenzuela Celera, Sr.

love is..

2008-01-12T02:07:00.000-08:00

love is a half-pipe grinded by someone dressed in goth-metal black.

love is the perfect raid when suddenly the MT got DC and the MH went AFK.

love is a battlefield. you don't
die.
you just get impaled by a pike. (qc dot net)

love is the metro rail transit with no one. except yourself.
and nothing.

love is a treadmill.
or a bike.
or the lat pulldown.

love is the walk under the moon,
saying.
two am.

love is waking up.
wet.
he says, 'wretching.'

love is your lst txt.

love is the brown champorado after the long night.
beside the street.
under the roof.

love is the clockwise motion you have.
to run.

love is the clarity of muriatic acid.
poured onto a flesh-out live battery.
tossed, on the
stove.

love is a shoutout.

love is.
a many splendid thing.

love is a webcam.
bleeding.
under a strap of
clothes.

love is red,
red and red and
artificial.

love is a hurricane.
over the philippines.

love is excitement.
say 'yay'.

love is time.
moving.
moving,
fast.

love is a rose.
a teddy bear.
and a pillow.

love is a book.
a book
meant
to be read.

love is colorful.
colorful and round and
silent.

love is lipstick.
on
a collar.
he calls
her 'angel'.

love is the rain.
noisy and destructive.

love is a full moon.
in love and in love and in love.
and.
in love.
love is..
Hanners!

love is a demon cow.
named
after before the first behind the last again and again.

love is a burger.
every day.
day. day. day.

love is, again.
hanners.

love is Stun Stun Stun.
and then
not really.

love is 11:18.
right now.

love is today.
the day after yesterday.
before tomorrow.

love is
Oh.
what is love but a
feeling that
arrests the mind in the presence of whatever is
beautiful. then blank.

love is her.
saying,
oh.
saying,
ok.
saying,
ah..

love is an asterisk.
followed by a jbanpytnoayjhi.
then another asterisk.

love is not the above statement

bleagh.

2007-09-29T07:39:00.000-07:00

panis.
lata.
bulok.

tumatagak-tak-tak ang pawis.

sa lahat ng maaaring gawin, huwag sumuko.

tagak-tak.
tak-tak.

basura.
bulok.
bakit. pagod.
bakit.
pasok.
suko.

bulok.

Scream Coherence, oh yah.

2007-09-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

Maine pistol-grips the bloody hair of a teary-eyed Jack, and I am ecstatic.
He says, “Oh yah.”
I say, wow.
Nice work.
Really original. Clap. He deserves applause. Please.
I tell myself that maybe Maine just right now fulfills his action star dreams. Yeah, just give him just a little more time. If you squint just a little, you can see he is wearing a leather jacket. The biker kind of jacket, the kind with the premium holes and shock-burn bruises fit just right to tell all the other boys you are tougher than them. A chain is strapped above just above his beer belly. It is silver with specks of red.
And Maine says, “Talk.”
Another thing Maine is doing is holding a knife. No, not the Hannibal Lecter kind of knife you see him slice-slice-slice people’s heads off, just the knife you would usually see your mom use as she works in your completely perfect white kitchen, wearing a pink chicken-patterned apron that says in bold Comic Sans ‘LOVE IS MAY SPLENDID THINGS’ as she chop-chop-chops your butcher cow dinner over a new white cutting board. Well, that is if your mom wasn’t away or asleep or divorced or even dead.
I keep standing.
Maine says, “Speak.”
And the poor, weak, helpless victim in today’s deranged screenplay doesn’t even move. He just limps, arms dangling like a cockroach trapped in a spider web, strands of gray hair falling to just below Maine’s chain. He wears a long, silver cross, perhaps a rosary, and you could see all the red blotches of blood squelched all over his black shirt like a chess board stomped on by an menstruating elephant. His black pants, fit for corporate attire, are torn in most places, leaving car-crash legs over his black Havaianas.
And he doesn’t even swear.
Still, I watch. I stand still.
And Maine says to the bloody, gray-haired apostle of God, “Jack.”
One thing you need to really take note of is Maine’s hand. This could be award-winning, this kind of screenplay. You see, he has only four fingers in both his hands, which he claims is the new trend in evolution. The new giant leap for mankind. The next step to being God, or money. Or angels. He calls it…
The new pimple-eyes.
The new wart-ears.
And I say, “Wuh hey.”
Right now, I say to myself, I shall be the hero. Well, not really the princess kissy-kissy Charming type of hero, the Jack Bauer type of hero, the Jason Bourne, with no, no heart at all, maybe, really, just doing my job, what I can, whatever it takes.
Just to get the job done.
Because sometimes, doing is all we could do.

And all of this happens in a rusty, muddy, dirty two-bedroom apartment somewhere in backyard Makati. Located conveniently between the best malls and all your favorite call centers, this oh-so-secret retreat boasts long resident lifespan (1.25 times more than the average drug dealer!) and a door that really locks from the inside. And get this; it is only a phone call away! Choose from Coup d’ etat Getaway or Drug Party suite. Call within the next ten minutes and you get free media misinformation. Or a discount on your next purchase of quality pot.
So call now.
Now.
Now.
Just remember this isn’t toll-free.

This is just a sort of freeze moment between frames. For the message to sink in. For you to quit and start reading another story. For the subliminals to all turn to liminals, or whatever.
Writers call this a ‘plot device.’

And all is well until the door opens. Like every horror-ish type of story, it starts with a fraction of a secondth creak, then a bang. The superhero entrance.

This is the kind of moment every competent writer would write as time being stopped completely, perhaps just for a second, compelling my heart to jump, then stop, then freeze, echoing a moment that would last an eternity, ridding my soul of all knowledge, all wisdom. Yada yada.
But then again I am not most people. Not even competent.
I describe this moment like when you, oh, oh yeah, you are just about to, urgh, ohh, come sperm all over your men’s magazines or laptop monitor with your mouth open, your eyes dilated, your clean-cut shaved face leaning on the wall poster that says, ‘What would Jesus do?’, when someone suddenly opens your bedroom door.
Without knocking.
Turns on the lights.
Asks son, where, do you know where the remote is.
And you say, with your boiling dick aching and your insides just totally fucked up, No, I don’t know. No, idea.
Then the someone says Good Night,
Night, Son.

And everything just about now is just about ruined.
Totally.
Completely.

Tarararan-taran..
Tadaaa.

Maine would have said, “Oh yah.”
Me, I would say, “Wuh hey.”

Whole tons of meaning, senseless or enlightening, useless or Godly, packed up within two words. Makes you think of titles. Or ranks.

And, I recall. Jack really was the quiet type.

Where we were five hours ago was obviously not where we were one minute ago.

Where we were five hours ago was we were riding a jeepney. As usual.

This particular jeepney was emblazoned with a red Coca-Cola bottle on the roof, and inside, on various, random locations were twelve or eleven different first names:
Pedro. Juan. Thress. Quatroh. Etcetera, etcetera.
Just between the driver and Maine, above the dashboard, above the stacks of coins, were the usual stuffed ‘seven little dwarves,’ only there were twelve. Or eleven.

Well, even the driver couldn’t remember.
As usual.

You see, Maine owns a jeepney, drives one, too.

And because of that, blessed by Maine’s wink, Jack and I became extras in this fraternity of jeepney drivers, while Maine rode in the front seat, wearing his trademark sunglasses.
He called them ‘shades.’

‘Cause in the Philippines, we really do treasure such bonds. Such camaraderie.

By this time, someone faceless would sit beside me, and the jeepney is now full.

And, as usual, Jack fakes a cough.
Then runs his hand through his hair. Then snores.
To draw attention.
As if his existence wasn’t eye-catching enough.

This was my entrance.
This was my cue to take a call.

I say to my clenched fist, “Hello.”
One of my brows raise, and I say, “No. This is not God.”
This shall never, ever be God.

I must look angry. Or stupid.
Or handsome. Cause everyone inside is now looking right at me. Me and my empty clenched fist.

If I were God, I say.
If I were God, I wouldn’t have stopped SARS from reaching the Philippines. I wouldn’t have stopped Bird Flu from rearing its ugly wings and killing a few hundred, or thousand, or ten thousand, faceless individuals.
Maybe just one corrupt government official.
Then I smile.

Louder, I say, if I were God, I say, I would have stopped on the fifth day and rested already.

If I were God, “I would send even just a few of my precious angels and just, you know, help people speed up death.”
I would tell them with my booming, thunderous voice, destroy the vaccines.
Kill the antiviruses. Kill all the doctors.
No, not kill I mean, just, you know, deliver them to the departure area.
Then I grin.
“No, this is not God.”
If we were to continue saving ourselves like this, we would die by overpopulation anyway.

For in the beginning, I created the heavens and the earth.

And it is by this time the jeepney comes to an abrupt halt, then I hear the driver swear loudly, and then I would hear, “Sorry. Lost my balance.” It’s Maine’s voice.
It is then I return my fist to my pocket.
As usual.
Jack tap-tap-taps the ceiling.
Then we, all three of us, go down.

That I remember, I reminisce, as Jack bleeds to death while the light from the half-open door blinds us. Yes, this is still the time-freeze moment, the moment of suspense I shall slowly degrade until it doesn’t mean a thing.
This split-second permits me to catch Jack’s eyes, and yes, he is still breathing.
His single, colorless albino eye pierces my own, pleading. Begging.
Pleading.

The same single eye I once saw in a commuter bus, doing the same thing.
Begging.
Pleading.

Even then, he had only one eye. Sporting the same black collared shirt, the same black formal pants. Wearing the same expensive cross necklace. The same slippers. Flip-flops.
We watched him, Maine and me, as he climbed the stairs of the bus. He held a big battered book.
He held the railings above him for balance, and smiling widely to the driver, he said, Thanks.
God bless you.

Maine coughed, and the one-eyed albino began his speech.
“Brothers,” he said.
“My friends in Christ…”
Fellow sons of God, he said.
“Listen.”
He drawled. Imagine your local parish. Your old elementary school principal with his deep voice and calm, hesitant smile, as he delivers the opening remarks every day of your elementary life, saying how blessed kids today are, how everyone will turn out to be a genius and invent the cure of AIDS or create a machine that kills every corrupt government official. Same thing again and again.
“I come here today, in this commuter vehicle, to tell you all…”
Usually, this is the time I’d be humping some porn star in my sleep.
But this is no where near usual.
“… that all of you are just so fucked-up.”
Sometimes, it pays to listen.
Without changing tone, the albino man talked.
“You see people without even listening to them.”
He said, opening the Bible without even looking at it, “We are products of this indifferent society. Wastes of this culture that doesn’t even give a damn.”
And yes, he said, we call ourselves a Christian nation.
“But we are all atheists in our own way.”
I pretend not to listen. I pretend.
And, he said, our culture is devolving.
In this life, there are no givens.
Blessed are the evil, for they don’t fucking care.
Blessed are the weak, for they die easily.
Blessed are the transvestites and the butcher cows and the Hindu cattle, for they have found their purpose in life.
He spoke, without even changing tone.
And right now, I am Sinful.
I am Dark.
I am pretty much really, really stupid.
“And if God really did care, he would have given us the blessing to go on and kill ourselves.
Cause if we needed weeds, we wouldn’t have any.”
And he closed the Bible, smiling. Without flinching, as if he just read on and on.
He procured an empty tissue box from his pocket, and passed it to the nearest passenger.
Which was me.
The box label said, “scream coherence.”

And for the first time, Jack looked at me and winked.
For the first time, he smiled.

river of souls.

2007-09-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

the clock ticks.
tick.
tick.
tick.
tick.
tick.
and still i am here.

in front of a blinking screen,
faceless, secret.

i am another thumbnail,
an icon.

and people call this
"connecting."

think of words, think of pens.

imagine a new Ancient Philippines.
Uncolonized.

Imagine lack of words.
Imagine a new language.

Imagine the word "tiger."
Pair it with "economy."

silence uncleansed. words cease.
conflict unbecoming.
noise.
noise.
patience amid the darkness. darkness..
thorns crossed. bleeding.
love.
care.
mastery of the night.
flames of oblivion. arrows from everyone.
terror.
terror.
belief undying, soul clenched.
myself myself myself.
me.
torment unreal, untrue.
streaming, ideas.
streaming.
useless, typing of words, markers of the tongue.
makeshift.
unclean.
scream coherence.
scream now. now. now . now. now. now.
patience limited. face unseen.
love. love.
isnt'.
stalk. see. beauty.
condition, unpresent.
faceless.

and the .45 caliber pistol bleeding on my temple says nothing, for it is a .45 caliber pistol.

I am little pea.

2007-08-21T04:52:00.001-07:00

When you have two exams the next day, encoding meaningless data about early evening news shows doesn't really feel good.

In fact, it sucks.

Chikka. Oh yah.

one of those times i just have to write. with helluva lot of requirements under my belt. this doesn't really feel good. but then again. it never does.

2007-08-05T04:41:00.000-07:00

Summer 07 was my worst summer ever.
2.5 and 3.0
Days cooped behind a blinking screen.
Loneliness.
Hours warped inside a fictitious world.
Minutes soon forgotten.
Sweat.

Two classes.
2.5 and 3.0.

I took up Psychology 101 last summer.
For shifting. For knowledge.
I had no idea what i was getting in to.

Take up (insert very 'unoable' prof name here).
Don't take David.
"Terror yun."

"Pero astig."

So, stick to the 'astig' part.
Take his class.

Nah, this is just for shifting. Yeah.

Only in one's death do you realize one's influence. Power.
Think of 'mentor.'
Think of 'idol.'

Hard exams. Dopamine.

One in one's death does one realize how much time he has wasted, playing world of warcraft instead of talking. Listening.
For cellphones rob us of our inner voice. Our mind.

"For when I die, when I am ready to die... I wish for no trouble."

2 hours. Dreaded. For no goddamn reason.

10 hours per week.

"After one month, have you learned anything?"

No, maybe not.
After 16 years living, no, maybe i haven't learned anything.

"I would take a shovel, a radio, and, aha, a change of clothes, of course."

Stress. Learning.
Beneath the only neurological psychologist in the Philippines.
Under is the better word.

"And I would dig. For I want no one else to be troubled."

Dopamine. Competing with a stupid Rogue character for neurons, for ideas, for rationale.

"And then, I shall be ready to meet my Maker, Master if you wish, whoever, or whatever she is."

I was known only as "Mr. Celera."

Only in his death do I realize, maybe i wasted his time. Maybe I really haven't learned anything.
Maybe.

Phoenix?
Oh yeah.

Professor Fredegusto David, I hope i haven't wasted your time.
And I, if not we, miss you.

i rarely tell anyone i need to talk to them.

2007-07-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

drunks are the waste byproducts of our generation. the products of our indifference, our not caring. our blind ears. for we are forever improving. like the americans. oh yah.

i like you. not the romeo juliet like, but like the narrator marla like. you know, like. i know you feel the same. viva la "not me."

2007-07-28T04:57:00.002-07:00

tired of being waking everyday at 0645 without intending to.
tired of waking.
tired of trying so damn hard for one little thing.
tired of being pushed away.
tired of being so determined to be the best.
tired of being a shadow over the same.
tired of sleeping to the monotonous tone of my own voice, "this is the last time. this is the last time."
tired of cramming.
tired of not being wanted.
tired of writing.
tired of being so damn tired.
tired of caring too much.
tired of wasting too much time caring too much about being pulled by the monotonous tone of last week's homework.]
tired of writing.
tired of being so damn stupid.
tired of friendster.
tired of using internet as a medium for relationships.\
tired of being willingly dragged into a vacuum.
tired of being so stuck up.
tired of being.
tired of hating.
tired of caring.
tired of typing.
tyred of satyre.
terid of nsnoense.
tired of blogger.
tired of having to write everytime.
tired of needing catharsis.
tired of zuihitsu.
tired of being so very, very tired.
tired of not bathing every 0645.
tired of being late.
tired of being tired.
tired of long, long, long lists of some stupid random faceless inhumane assoholic fuckinated bloke who wants to tell the whole damn world about his goddamn problems in very, very, very vague, oh so vague blog posts.
tired.

"if a writer could express himself in any other way, he wouldn't be a writer, would he?"

oh yeah, tired of quotes.
so very, very tired.

so damn tired.

2007-07-28T04:57:00.001-07:00

start your own fight club.

2007-07-28T04:52:00.000-07:00

be your own robert paulson.
be your own tyler durden.
be yourself.
care not the fuck what happens.
the fuck what happens.
fuck what happens.
fuck what.
fuck.

viva la hemophilia.

http://www.friendster.com/someeideguy

2007-07-25T05:15:00.000-07:00

www.whatsanotherwordforparody.blogspot.com

ayan. pagdating ko sa computer shop, tinamad nakong magsulat.

buses, jeeps, and the mrt encourages philosophical thinking.

i'd love a girl who's smart enough to know i do not love her.
-some 'Eide' guy.

Ok. Wait. Wait.

Random thoughts are never random. They are stimulated by countless experiences that blah blah blah.

Think of the word "tweezer."

Imagine me on a vertical pole.
Top hat.
Cane.
Overcoat.
Pinstripes.
Baton.

Imagine pale skin.
Dark eyes.
Black hair.
Falling, oh, so perfectly on the eyes.

Imagine a tightrope.

Then fill in the blanks.

Imagine Illidan Stormrage.
Dead. Beaten. Looted.
Imagine a new ancient Philippines.
Think of the word "atheist."
Pair it with "society."

Pair it with "industrialized."

We are in no great plan.
We are in reality.
We just call it "destiny."

Count One,
Two.
Three..

Wait.
Wait for the happy ending.

Force yourself to believe you have a happy ending.
And force yourself hard.
Real hard.
if you can't have her, then write a story that you'll have her. Play an RPG. Listen to a song. Lie. Close your eyes. Drown yourself in detail. Lie. Dream. This is how i get by. --Some Eide guy

If only writing could make someone fall in love. If only words could charm. If only. Yeah. If only.

Get Code | Create Your Own!

The weather today is stupid. Really, really stupid. Think of the word "stupid." Pair with "stupid." Then think of someone stupid. Viva la stupid(ity)

2007-07-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

soldier. cunnilingus. strike. avenge. lacerate. compensate. sinuate. stig,
pawn. make. covenant. lacerate. tivo.

lalalalalallalaalalallalallaa.

craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.

oo. idaan nalang natin sa mga pacute na mga sinusulat na inaasahan nating basahin nila. oo, magaling! tas pag personal na, mangasar nalang tayo! cooL!

2007-07-24T05:18:00.000-07:00

magulo ang mundo. magulo ang ating mga utak. kung sana'y kaya natin maging (insert malalim na filipino word for transparent here), kung sana kaya natin maging bukas sa lahat.

walking.
scouting.
throb. throb.
cool.
you suddenly become aware of your breathing.
you forget the best joke you could ever say.
you sigh.
you laugh.
you tease.
you feel reeaally reeaally stupid.

viva la, uh, basta viva nalang.

djinn.

2007-07-17T23:09:00.000-07:00

tralalalallalalalalalalalallala. oooohhhh. oooohhhh. tralalalallaala.

picture this. picture that. picture something else.

2007-07-14T06:23:00.000-07:00

When someone uses your writing style, conscious or not, you should be flattered, i think. well, unless she insists its hers.
is chauvinist, yeah?
viva la feminista.
die author die.
kill the novel.
"the dawn of really tea tv"

Sin Sin.

2007-07-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

tangles.
incites.
creeps.
spawns.
hates.
rises.
falls.

well, this sucks.

boredom or dare or just trying to hit rock bottom to rise to fall again to rise again to help others rise to fall again and be reborn

2007-07-07T03:56:00.000-07:00

at tayo'y magmukmok at umiyak sa magpakailanmang pag-ahit ng ating mga buhok't bigote't balbas.

tayo'y magdusa sa pagsigaw, at matutong sumigaw.

tayo'y dumako sa isang pang talata ng ating buhay.

viva los rotc.

vice.

2007-07-05T18:08:00.000-07:00

as dragons damning their own lives for pleasure.
for finite joy.
as wolves hungered by blood.
devouring their own.

Off.

2007-06-30T05:19:00.000-07:00

Click.
Clickity-click-click.

Obsessive compulsion.
Doofus Exponential.

Vandalism. Penned by an author unknown.

Penned. by some another guy.

When nothing is ever original, defy. Defy definition.
Defy convention.

Learn to just damn learn.
We don't pay thousands for a piece of paper.

Click.
Phase shift.
Nothingness.

Draft

2007-06-12T04:58:00.000-07:00

If only writing could daze.
If only writing could seize the mind, arrest. Seize.
If only writing could prompt seizures. Seize.
If only. Yeah. If only.

If only writing could charm. Daze.
If only writing could do more than just bore. Seize.
If only writing could...
(kunyari na DC)

Youch.

2007-06-12T04:46:00.000-07:00

Ouch. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Ouch ulit.

Ang kasangkapan ng pitong kalangitang itim na tumatakbo sa dapithapon ng kaarawan ni BUddha.

2007-06-10T18:09:00.001-07:00

Ubo.
Ako ay umuubo.
Nagtatanong.
Naghihingalo.
Kumaripas ng takbo. Takbo lang.

Isa-isip ang kadiliman.
Kalangitan.
Umaapaw ng mga tala, tahimik.
O kay tahimik.

Isa-isip ang isang basahan, basa
At tumutulo.
Puno ng pawis, ng dugo.

Isa-isip ang tumatakbo.
Hubad.
Maitim.
Nag-iisa.
Isipin ang kalangitan.
Tahimik. O kay tahimik..

Sadyang masaklap ang kapalaran.

Isipin and salitang "May."

Ipares ito sa "Kapal."

Isipin si Bathala.
Isipin ang Diyos.

Isipin ang Kaniyang kamay na walang magawa.
Tak-tataktak-tak.
Isipin ang kanyang mga daliri. Nagsusulat.
Gumagawa.

Isipin ang salitang "martilyo".
Ipares sa "pako."

Isipin ang salitang "Paa, Mabigat."
Ipares sa "Langgam."
Ipares sa "Ipis."
Ipares sa "Bangkay."

Isipin ang kalangitan. Tahimik. O kay tahimik.

Maaaring ganito ang pagiging Diyos.
Maaaring "Ipis."

Ikaw ang husga.

My lips can't speak what the moonis trying to vanquicsh in the middle of the dark howling sky's moulin rouge.

2007-06-08T07:01:00.000-07:00

Fight Club all over again.

I want her.
She wants the other guy.
But, the other guy doesn't want me.
He wants her, too.

I think.

Asterisk space "CHOKING, VOMITING" space Asterisk

(In writing,) When you realize you've lost, or on your way to losingdom, don't bother with the plot. Bother with the characters, the "other guy."
Annoy.
Pest.
Make him insecure.
Make everyone else lose.

Besides, the only reason why we ask people about their problems is so we realize
1. how oh, so very pleasantly, happily, good. our lives are.
2. so we get comforted.

in this world, every man is for himself.
for his mouth.
for his you know what.
for his stomach.
his 'form.'

our own personal time capsule.
Oh yah. Very much Oh yah.

Imagine a thought bubble.
See yourself typing.

Wet hair falling oh, so perfectly above the eyes, dripping.
Eyes. Heavy. Transparent. Un-there.

There is a kind of light that makes dark men fair. And fair men perfect.

Hands. Scrammering. Elgapatating. Sinuing.
Meaninglessness. Vagueness.

This is how it must feel to be God.

This is writing. Without thinking.
Summarize whole lives in a book.
Simplify a whole day in a blog post.

Make the whole world a piece of paper.

Tra-la-la-lala-lala.. Ooohh.. Ooohh.
Tra-la-la-lala-laal.. Ooohh.. Oohhh.
Drum beat.
Fade. Fade.

sanitarium.

2007-06-08T00:55:00.000-07:00

Imagine a cow run over by a pedestal pierced by and infamous lesbian goat-deer hybrid.
THink of the word 'torrent.'

YEah.
INsanity irrElevant.

I am just bad news. And yes, I am a liar. Strike Four.

2007-06-06T02:27:00.000-07:00

I am simply a narrator.

You shall be my main character.
Force yourself to believe you are the main character.
And force yourself hard. Real hard.

Maybe this is what it feels like to be God.

This is how it feels to write.

My faith is wavering.

2007-06-04T01:52:00.000-07:00

Sadly, my sword has been crushed. My anthem has been silenced. My class has been dissolved.

We are born, when born is loosely used, we are born idealists.
Perfection.
Unique.
Ideal.

As we grow older, we learn how stupid we are. We realize how too much faith and love and care and hope is simply, and not just simply, stupid.
"Assoholic."

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Expect the damn worst. Not the damn 'worse.'

Do not assume.
In the words of Thomas Harris's Jack Crawford,
"When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME." and mostly, yourself.

You realize how, lost you are.
You comfort yourself by the thought someone cares for you.

Then you see her hands clenched. Eyes locked. Locked. Stunned. Incapacitated.

You then comfort yourself with how young you are.
"Age. Maturity. Life is a dream. Oh yah."

Then a sixteen-year old graduates summa cum laude.
three cheers for irony.

You then lose faith. Aww. How sad. Tragic, really.
But then again no one cares. Why should they?

Pull a lever. Push a button.
Everyone's too busy feeding themselves.

Zoom out. Fade to black. The counterstrike fade to black.
The one where you see your dead body. The victory spray paint. The blood. The stolen gun.
Ah. your very own emo video.

Have an epiphany. Realize how you so damn hate the damn word. Realize how you try to maintain the Godly image by only using damn. not fucking, not shitty, just damn.

Use the word realize again and again. For continuity. Whatever the hell it means.

This is not angst.
This is not pain.
This is reality. However angsty and painsy it sounds.
Hell do i care.

... in what the critics say

2007-05-20T23:54:00.002-07:00

Just for the record, the weather today is increasingly nervous with increasing tendencies of compulsive spending.

Yes. I can feel this.

And this sucks.

it isnt

2007-05-20T23:54:00.001-07:00

ayun.

2007-05-20T01:02:00.000-07:00

nakalimutan ko anong gusto kong isulat.^^

My computer has "crashed" but not really. My video card is sick and all my files, papers, Take Note: Papers, and files are there.

2007-05-14T04:35:00.000-07:00

marerecover pa yon. i am sure. yes. i shall force myself to believe it shall.

30 Minutes Before CW10 Passing Hour.

2007-05-12T10:20:00.000-07:00

Lovers’ Cancer

“I did not want this; why, do you think I do; but it’s not my fault; yes, it is; no, it isn’t; but you started it; and how did I do that?; I don’t know, but I know you did it; I did not; yes you did; ok maybe a little; aha, so you admit it; admit what?; uh, you know, that; what that; about the you know, thing; oh you mean the thing, what thing, which; ah, I hate you so much; oh, you forgot, didn’t you?; no, I didn’t, I just uh, don’t want to mention it; oh, you really forgot; no, I didn’t; forgetful; ok, so I did forget, why does it matter; then it means you love me again; no, I don’t; yes, you do; no, I don’t; it is just so obvious; hey, stop that; stop what; hey, that tickles; no, it doesn’t; hey, stop that, now; I don’t want to; ok, then don’t; sure I’ll stop; hey, don’t; we were having a talk, right; yes, but; let us continue the talk; fine, what do you have to say; I say we need to continue to pay for the car; huh, what car?; the car that we’re paying for; what car are we paying for?; the car I am buying; you are buying a car?; yes I am; since when?; yesterday; and when did we even talk about buying a car?; today; and why do we need a car, mister, you work at home; because you love me; yeah, right; yes, you do; and what does that have to do with a car; nothing; ok, so nothing; I love you; huh?; I said I love you; ok, so please don’t buy a car; why?; because you love me; what does that. . .; didn’t you say you loved me?; yes, but. . .; oh, I thought you loved me, I was wrong; that’s not true; you’ll not buy a car?; uhm, uhh...; you’ve changed; what?; you weren’t the man I fell in love with; hey, hey where are you getting at?; I forgot; hey, please; what was that? I seemed to have forgotten what I said; ok, I’m sorry, I’m sorry; you’ll no longer buy a car?; yes, I won’t, I won’t; that’s nice, dear, goodnight, (mwah); oh, hey. . . shit. . . not again. . .”

Well, something like this. This isn't exact. From Fight Club. One of the most romantic lines I've ever read.

2007-05-12T09:55:00.000-07:00

"i don't really love you. I sorta, like, just like you, too."

Shifting. part1. by parts due to laziness.

2007-05-12T09:40:00.000-07:00

There are ants crawling on the wall on my right. There is a large cockroach on the wall on my left. Perhaps a foot's length separates me from each of them, and i am on a staircase.

The sign outside says something like "PSY,,, something."
Walking.

Upstairs.
Tap. Tap. Tap.

Walking.

Another corridor. Stairs again.
Tappity-tap. Tap. Tap.

There is a faucet dripping, somewhere, above.
It grows louder. Tap. Tappity-tap-tap-tap-tap.
And i walk upstairs. Towards the faucet.

There is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Either that or you're just lucky. And right now I am. Though this is no tunnel. And that is no sun."

"Good evening. I presume you are, uh, Mr. Diaz."
Tap-tap-tap.

Yes, I am, I say, I believe so, but please correct me if i'm wrong.
I smile. I imagine my braces shine.

Fuck you.

"Very well, please come inside."
Jet black hair. A semi-crumpled shirt. Dark, fair face. Black eyes. A white band of skin just beneath the edge of the shirt's sleeve.

You bastard.

A desk. Two chairs. A secretary with messed-up hair. Good evening to you, too. Yes, nice day. Oh, so I'm the last one today, that's nice, too. Late, again. The bathroom faucet needs repairs, and so she's noticed. Wow, so coincidental. So unplanned.
Bitch.

"Mr. Diaz."

A revolving chair. Two couches. The one's you watch on your television where rich, a-little-crazy people lay down, while rubbing their foreheads, chins, or anything else for that matter, sporting overcoats, canes, and tophats. Beside is the lamp, the lamp as tall as you; it changes intensity if you tap it.

Tap-tap-tap.

And here I am, imagining myself in black slacks with accentuating, off-white, pinstripes. Whoa.

"So, what is your problem, today, Mr. Diaz. Wait, first of all, what do you want me to call you?"

Asshole. Fuckass. Stupid. You decide.

"Mr. Diaz, then."

I have earphones in my ears, and I am listening to nothing. Emptiness. And by the way, I feel empty. I lack something. I feel nothing. I am not numb, but I can't feel anything. Emotionally, I add, quickly. I sort of fear, i say, pain. Maybe, I say-- though perhaps would be better.

Tap-tap-tap.

"Pain makes us alive; it makes us human. Blood is our lifestream, the force that makes us feel--"

The ribbon on my wrist says 'Do not open before Christmas.'
Asshole.

"That's not what I meant. We need to stop fearing pain; that is the first step for our recovery. Perhaps your fear for pain causes this. The fear itself causes the numbness, the unfeeling that you say."

My earphones say nothing, but i hear everything, ringing. And i speak what they are whispering.

Tap-tap-tap.

Ok. Now I feel really better. It is now 'we' who has the problem, not 'i.' Real great.
Bastard.

"What you need to see, Mr. Diaz, is that problems can be cured, solved. They just need some--"

Well imagine, I sing, a high note, as i, my speech slows, changes, returns to normal, am in my childhood days. No permanent friends. No permanent school. Computers. Books. Pens. Nothingness.

"Oh, I see."

And remember the friends, I say, the friends we knew for about a year, then we'll move again. Remember, remember, i say.

-------

I know you'll read this.

2007-05-07T04:36:00.000-07:00

You need him.

I could be him.

Sure. "could have," then.

Friendster Profile Trash

2007-05-07T04:30:00.000-07:00

manhid ka ba talaga o sadyang may pagkatanga lang?

calling yourself smart just because you're from UP is a signal of insecurity. it breeds arrogance, and fosters contempt.

villains are the megaphones of the people who are sick and tired of life's unfairness. heroes are the off switches.

i realized. i am used to people turning their backs at me. i am used to not saying what i feel. i am used to emotional masochism. i am used to all the attention i do not have. i am used to being ugly. i am used to being weird. i am used to this society that has created me, molded me into what i am. i am used to being talked about behind my back. i am used to mutterings. i am used to not being noticed. i am used to not being the 'best' friend. i am used to fear. i am used to the stereotypes and standards that have been thrust upon me.

but what i am not used to is failing. and failing hard.

"force yourself to believe [insert belief here]. and force yourself hard. real hard."

i am not by any means 'emo.' if by some chance i am 'emo,' then i was 'emo' even before 'emo' existed.

oo nga naman. how can you miss someone you don't really see often?

After one year in college, or rather, sixteen years in life, I didn't really learn anything.
I just got tired.
i'm an addict for dramatics.
i confuse the two for love.

Age isn't the best measure of maturity. It's the easiest. The same goes for grades, for intelligence.

i should be happy for you, then.

Glass Slippers

2007-05-05T05:06:00.000-07:00

Well imagine...
Imagine... As I'm walking. Walking, simply walking. Walking just after waking. Waking after the train stopped. Stopped at Taft. Three o'clock. Then walking, walking with a 1-ton bag unbearably dragging my aching shoulders. Towards the escalator-- the broken escalator, the barricaded escalator.

Well, simply imagine how i must look. tired. sweaty. at least several layers of dirty, slimy oil cover my blotched, pimply face. Messy hair. Black, trying-hard shirt too large for my lean frame, few sheets of crumpled paper sticking out of my pants' pockets. Pungent smell from the pungent seatmate. Silver, twisted cords lead to my ears, surgically attached.

And here i am, walking. Walking through the crowd, the unburdened crowd. Oh. if only they knew my burden. this heavy weight drawing me to the earth. Oh, if they knew.

Somehow, i manage. I manage to walk past. The sound of the machine accepting my used-up card. The sounds of swearing men, the humble pleas of aged women trying, trying to walk past. And yet i manage. I shift the bag to my left. The sting of relief shivers over my right shoulder.

I walk forward. Then I walk down. Down, down towards the buses, the young children screaming for passengers, the aged, unwomanly women shouting for cabs and buses, hoping for mercy, for pity, for the equivalent of a few silver coins, and if they're lucky, a golden coin.

I wipe my grimy face. And i hope you imagine. Imagine my tired face, my dirty hair, my messy clothes. also, imagine my gigantic bag, and the pain it must bring to me, the uncomfort, the pain.

I continue walking. Now towards the non-existent pedestrian line, the dirt-ridden street, granite black, yet dirty. dirty, mosquito-filled puddles, scattered, torn plastics, crying street children.
At the division between the two sides of the street was an old lady, a vendor. sleeping. sleeping with the cement pedestal as her cold, uncaring pillow. her tray of sweet crystal candies, sultry cigarettes, and cheap chocolates laying on the ground before her.
I can imagine how easy it would be to simple reach down, snatch a few candies, and rob her of her living, rob her of her family's future, her children's next meal. I imagine how she must feel this very instant. Tired. Oh so very tired. Tired day after day. Tired of life. Tired of living. Tired of having to wake up every morning, needing to cook what she can of her children, her grandchildren, her nieces, her nephews. Tired of having to sit down under the sun's heat, cement as her only pillow, her sole comfort.

I hope my imagination is wrong.

And yet, still i walk. walk past. Onto the other side of the street. Past the shirtless jeepney drivers. Past the stalls of cheap, pornographic cds, past the bearded men, sporting sandos, their little sons with tails behind their hair. I approach my destination.

"Paliparan, po."

"Dito, dito Paliparan. Maluwag pa, yan. Konting usod lang po." A man with long, ragged hair points to a brown van. Heavily tinted. Seemingly dashed with uncomfort.

"Citta Italia lang po ako. Sa may pintuan na lang po ako."

He nods, and i open the van's door. Only a few inches of space separates a woman holding a child and the door. I smirk sarcastically. I feel my temples throbbing. The ragged man notices, and tells me it would be best to wait for the next van. He points at a gray van, windows not heavily tinted, but covered with basketball posters.

I notice yet the few people inside. I swear to God I won't regret this. I swear under my breath with all my might. I want to go home right now.

"Dun nalang po ako sasakay." I utter coldly, pointing at the next van syndicate, the next illegal station, a few meters ahead. I hate waiting. I hate having to carry this bag even for a few more minutes.

Besides, I never ride here. I dislike the crappy service. I force myself to believe i prefer the station a few meters further.

And so i walk toward it. Pride, ego glowing. I do not wait for anyone. I control my life, I am the captain of my fate.

I spot somewhat young man with a megaphone, a bandanna under his chin, sunglasses over his heavily-bagged eyes.

"Boss, Paliparan o."

"Citta Italia lang po ako. Dito nalang po ako sa may harapan."

"Sige, po, bossing. Basta ikaw."

I recognize the familiar Filipino tone. The semi-sarcastic, the semi-indifferent, partly kind voice. I argue with myself if i shall swear yet again. i don't.
Now i have to wait. No, no more walking, no more. No more burden to drag me to one side every time for every step i take. Relief, relief. home. I sit down on a a bench. Beside me was a trashcan.

No, nothing special.

The same litter: The Jollibee cups, the beer bottles, the stack of cigarette butts, the plastics, the wet spots of phlegm,

the three young children rummaging.

Two girls, one boy-- i couldn't tell the difference except perhaps by their voice. Shuddering, i remember my sister. They all perhaps had the same height, the same age, the same thin frame.

But my sister did not have the spots of grease that were covering their faces, the splash of phlegm thatt covered their cheeks, the giant, loose clothes they had on.
They didn't have the princess dresses, the books, the toys. The maid, ready to attend. A good life. A good family.

I couldn't help but listen, listen to their conversation. How many bottles did they already have.
How much more did they need.
Would tatay spank them if the came home right now.

I couldn't help but just listen. Passivity. How passive i am. How passive i shouldn't be.

Finally, they turn away, off to the next trashcan, off to their next meal. How innocent they were. How patient, how clueless. How obedient to their father's wishes. Oh if everyone were like them in that very way, and hopefully, only in that way. . .

"Boss, dito na ho o. Kayo nalang hinihintay." The barker calls.

Normally, i should be embarassed, ashamed. Ashamed of being waited upon, when even I hate waiting.

My bag feels light, undragging, unburdening.

As I enter the van, i dare not notice the warm drops of sweat profusely erupting from my scalp, onto my temples, my armpits. I dare not notice the tiny space i needed to snug in. The position i would have to be in, bearing my bag on my lap, either my arms stretched forward, or curled, with my elbows nudging my stomach. I dare not swear. I swear to God, I would not swear, and befoul this already foul earth.

A hand beats on the side of the van, near me. near my ear. Signals for the driver to back up, move, back up again, now to the right, then left. then forward.

I notice my bare wrist. and the lighter patch of skin.

I lost my watch the other day.

While i was eating-- fresh, good food, great even. Good ventilation. Good space. i forgot exactly how, and yet, now, i simply do not wish to remember. i do not deserve it.

The posts that i see through the window are tall, ever so tall. The buildings behind them are even larger, intimidating.

I see people walk, walk past the posts and buildings. Some frowning. Some smiling, hands clasped, together. Some sad, faces, eyes to the ground, some were happy, or pretending to be, crystal eyes, curved lips.
Some oblivious, caring only for themselves, their own well-being. Themselves. Caring only for the weight they carried. The temporal pain. The present.

Again i imagine. i remember. I again remember a day, not long ago, not so much pains and trials before, i remember that jeepney. Beside me were dormmates, sleeping, waiting amidst the traffic.

A family sat in front of me. Clearly i remember the woman wore a dress, patched by one side, mildly torn on the other. She looked old, but she probably wasn't. Poverty has a way of doing this people. she held hands with a young girl. six, or seven years old, i guess. The father sat beside the child, his face drooping. a crumpled polo shirt above a white, severely torn sando. he held a plastic bag, and i guessed a wallet was inside, or maybe only money. They paid the desperate minimum: twelve pesos for the two adults, the child could sit on the parent's lap.

With tears i couldn't let out, i saw the child was crying. crying. for that is what a child does. suddenly crying. crying, calling for, facing her mother.

she asked for food, for she was hungry, she said. her hands covered her face; i noticed she had a neat dress, clean. her slippers wasn't bad.

clearly her parents loved her.

"Wag ka mag-alala, anak. Hindi ka na magugutom ulit. Eto o.. Marami na tayong pagkain, kaya wag ka mag-alala."

with sad, understanding eyes, i saw what her mother held: a plastic: two turon, one siopao, a stick of bananacue. a lifetime of love.

as I sit here, eyes closed, fingers drawn. pockets heavy, a little bit too heavy. thumbs a little too calloused, hands just a little too smooth.

And i hope, I wish you imagine. And remember.

Oh, dear Manila,

Oh, beautiful, horrible Manila,

Your beguiling poetry, your fading dreams,

Our shared hopes. . .

Filipinas, has thou forsaken us?

Remember, and sing, sing until our lungs give out,

"Ang bayan kong Pilipinas,

lupain ng ginto't bulaklak..."

A pause, an epiphany, and yet,

When gold goes to fools,

And all the flowers that remain are for mourning,

We can't help but sigh,

And do we ask,

And do we wonder,

And as we desire,

And as we dream,

And can't help but wish,

And can't help but hope,

Because we need to keep living.

And sometimes,

This is all we can do.

i've noticed.

2007-05-04T08:45:00.000-07:00

my writing is too cramped. filled with double meanings. crude. how crude. i dislike formal writing. so this is how i write. confusing. comma-filled. romantic. hell.

epiphany. hm. i do not know why i hate this word but one thing that i do know, is that i make really long titles.

2007-05-04T06:19:00.000-07:00

some things we do are stupid. pointless. meaning, we try in vain to extract meaning, twists. we are fans of turnarounds-- intriguing, dramatic, sensual.. but most of the time, twists do not happen. and sometimes, when we least expect it, the worse happen.

still, we hope. pleading, crying for destiny. Luck. God. conscience, prayers, we plead, oh do we plead. we wish to change what has been done. we wish to have the best possible outcome. we have ideals. we have dreams. we have great ideas wishing, oh wishing to be screamed. spoken. written.
oftentimes, we hope in spite of all else, against reason, against logic. we pursue what we 'believe in,' and yet, in truth, only hope for.

we hope, for we are people.

we are people born with our own set of ideals.

we hope we never grow up. we accept. we absorb:
study well. study hard. get rich. richer than us. taller than me. be intelligent. excel. excel beyond your farthest dreams.

we readily absorb these ideals. we treat them, accept them, as facts of life. we treat them as sweet gifts of life's meaning, life's purpose. the victory road after the long, tiring journey. this rough caricature of a divine parody. travesty.

we grow older. we begin to doubt. we begin to, drift. we begin, we find ourselves. we achieve personal autonomy. we begin. we write.

we realize the pangs of reality. the guilts, the trials, the errors we must face. we hear the uncold, unwarm, child, your chest is bare tonight. slowly, we look into his eyes, teary inside, perhaps, and we, however painfully, oh how so painfully, smile. smile for all it's worth. smile for all the help it may bring. smile.

we smile. for it confuses people.
we write. for it is impersonal. untragic. fiction-- a ready excuse.

we decide to grow up, grow old. we decide to face the pangs, the fangs, the trials. we decide for our own. on our own. the golden clouds of shame and ego distract us. we lose sight of our ideals. grades do not measure intelligence. graduation is just a perk, rely on the 'form'. never forget the 'form.'
we rely on twists.

we toss a coin for the goblet. it beckons. we drink, we eat, we be merry. we feast. we raise our goblets, we light our pipes, and wave our pens. our coats dancing in the blissful wind, lights behind us-- making us tall-- darkly silhouetted. we value 'form.' we feast. we vainly feast.

slow. once in a while, the goblet breaks, the pipes run out, our pens strike the ground, and melt. they are no more. no more.

and yet we strive to gather the pieces. we hope. and oh. do we hope. everything shall be better. we write about it. we hope people read. and again we hope. for we are people, we hope.

having hope in spite of hopelessness and hate is like hearkening to sins, we heed holiness, we ask for coherence, and yet speak heresy. high nights. high crimes. holiness, sanctity. halos happily held high, hands holding, forcibly holding, bleeding, stinging horns, hard, hysterically we wave, hopelessly we wave, seeking heaven, hoping in spite of hopelessness and hate we hope. oh do we hope.

i am not saying that hoping is not good. i wouldn't even go saying it is bad. the fact is, hope, like lies, often, only delay.
the main difference is: lies prolong, and worsen.
while hope acts as a cushion, a cushion to break the fall, a cushion for the tears to back up, disappear. hoping is the pessimist's closest to optimism. it is the threshold of despair, the alternative for wishing.

so, shall i continue on hoping? the tears have already backed up. and have disappeared. they are still there, and yet i hold them back. blame stereotypes. blame hope.

and here i am, hoping, yet more properly, wishing, for
"all candor to leave me."
perhaps it shall. perhaps.

Check out this site! It has a real-time GPS phone tracker. Disturbingly accurate (and an invasion of privacy) but, wow.

2007-05-04T02:10:00.000-07:00

http://www.sat-gps-locate.com/english/index.html

forget it, dude

2007-05-03T00:15:00.000-07:00

tsk.

i don't know how i am going to post posts while in this computer shop. WoW is down.

2007-05-02T23:55:00.000-07:00

never expect, for you will be disappointed.

don't assume. you'll just be embarassed.

this sucks.

Irony

2007-05-02T22:56:00.000-07:00

Mahirap mag'blog sa computer shop.

It's funny how you can play around with words, letters even.

2007-04-28T07:31:00.000-07:00

Silence pounds on my ear through surgically-attached earphones. My fingers are punching the keys of a keyboard, slippery, moist, sticky even. Silent, oh so silent. I turn off the fan behind me, slowly, romantically, if you may. And my fingers slip, yet remain.

Remain, oh i hope you remain.

Remain. Remain. Sense eludes me, or does it? Dozens of, perhaps questions, answers, questions with answers. Answers of silent summer singing. Silent sins begets silent stutters. Mutterings. Anxieties. Shit society. Pounding on my ear. Words, wording, so am I haunted. or haunted? Pounding. Ever pounding. Silence.

We fear what we do not understand. And yet understanding makes us fear. Hear my words, and wording. Hear them if you will. Listen. We fear what we never will understand. What we could have understood. Stand up, and listen. The griping silence is sticky, moist even.

And now, the screen is blank, full of emptiness, nothingness, void.

Mistakes and sins are often confused for one another.

Unconsciously i hear beats of drums, pangs of strings, high-pitch. References to a Christian atheist.

And yet the silence remains, remains.

jhocnsoesaideoiilsLeuid.-- extra letters, maybe?

This ain't an intro, It's a goddamn typing contest.

2007-04-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

Boredom has forced me create a blog. Yep. Expect seemingly random, stupid posts. and when i say seemingly, i think i mean it. i think.

Why, yes. This is a post. No, it doesn't make any sense.

2007-04-28T07:02:00.000-07:00

“The Vertically Ungifted, almost Blood-Colored Head Covering Device of which the word ‘Riding’ is being used to modify,
and the stupid little girl who wore it”

An adequately past era of time before this, in an equally adequately distant space, there (of which there means both here and the location of where the story will take place) existed one in which the term “Little Red Riding Hood” shall be implied to from now on. ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ coexisted with a maternal being of which she (the exact gender is unknown) has been conceived upon. The second being asked (the word force is heavily discouraged) ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ (LRRH from now on since the writer is too lazy) to distribute an indefinite amount of edible matter among other group of beings we shall call ‘relatives’. This group ‘relatives’ was once a huge battalion of elite soldiers who fought for the sake of ‘good’, hence the name ‘good guys’ in a past era of time, but of course, the name was pirated, especially by the Justice League (stupid Superman, Grr...). But due to various kinds of STDs and other such diseases like ebola, their numerical value has declined greatly, leaving only one. We shall refer to that being as ‘her’ or ‘grandma’. So ‘LRRH’ has been asked to share edible matter with ‘grandma’, or as we call it, bring food to her hermit for a grandmother.
‘LRRH’ had to navigate through a scattered area of leafy, barky, and bushy material to get to ‘grandma’s house’, or location. During the said navigational trek, ‘LRRH’ had a confidential meeting with a being calling himself (the exact gender is unknown) ‘Big Bad Wolf’ of which we shall refer to as ‘BBW’ (I said I hate typing).
During the exchange of auditory-sensible material, they exchanged about politics and love and life. As they continued in the said manner, they came upon the topic of ‘grandma’, in the middle of which ‘BBW’ spawned up an imaginary glowing light bulb over his head and thought of countering ‘LRRH’s’ plan by capturing ‘grandma’ and forcing her into his mouth. ‘BBW’ made ‘LRRH’ lose her way by conjuring a cleverly disguised visual disorder infliction device, obviously known to normal, ordinary people as a smoke bomb, and reached ‘grandma’ safely.
Upon reaching the oh-so-secret location and breaching the ‘relative’s’ security, he moved into the room classified as ‘bedroom’ without being seen. As he reached the said room, he was filled with a seemingly happy sensation as he found ‘grandma’ asleep but still wearing her very conservative gown (this is a children’s story). Another light bulb appeared and levitated above ‘BBW’s’ head. He mysteriously forced ‘grandma’ into his stomach without destroying the gown, or any other article of clothing for that matter (I said this was a children’s story).
After he finished covering himself with the gown and lying on where ‘grandma’ laid previously, immediately and purely coincidentally ‘LRRH’ entered the ‘bedroom’.
What transpired was another exchange of auditory-sensible material. ‘LRRH’ felt an awed feeling of an aww-like manner (the feeling when you want to say AWW....). She inquired of the reason why the visual orbs of ‘grandma’ were greatly disproportioned. ‘BBW’ then stated that it was for her to transmit visual images to her brain better. The same question was asked for the lobes that hung on ‘grandma’s’ sides. The same reply was wrought, though now about the ears, duh.
Yet when ‘LRRH’ asked for the reason why her ‘grandma’s’ dental protrusions were incredibly, shall we say, different, not to mention extremely putrid, ‘grandma’, or better yet, ‘BBW’, couldn’t help but express his desire for ‘LRRH’s’ uh, belongings and in short, eat her. ‘LRRH’ was flattered, though she too had an earlier prepared course-of-action.
She whipped up a 1-meter shotgun and shot the brains out of the wolf. She then got a knife and cut the dead wolf’s stomach and took her grandma out (of course with clothes, this really is a children’s story) and then put some stones on the wolf’s stomach. She then resurrected big bad wolf by wickedly dark witchcraft, dug a hole on the ground, buried the unconscious beast alive, leaving only the head, cut his cheeks with the same stupid knife, and left the stupid beast to go and stupidly die.
A few days later, she committed hardcore suicide.

THE END

MORAL OF THE STORY: Avoid, or in most cases, never approve the exchange of linguistic material realizable in the auditory sense with other beings that your knowledge of is less that what defines a friend. And don’t do drugs, or something.

For the Sake of Travesty.

Summer Goals

Blame the time.

Emo Rulezzz Hihihi

Alam mo yun?

Sabaw

"This is a cute post so read it" or "..."

Shout out to all Current, Former, and Pending UP Dormers

Shout out to all Current, Former, and Pending UP Dormers

sigh.

Love letter

i want a mac

Gary Granada vs GMA Kapuso

death of the author

Hearts are easy to draw, seriously.

i will be socially relevant.

Smiley Faces

Question:

Blame the time.

LCD Soundsystem - All My Friends

Introduction

Character

Hindi

Mga gusto ko sa birthday ko.

this is taking such a long time

May naintindihan na ako

An unfinished/unedited work of fiction

What is love?

Tags

nalulungkot ako.

talino, henyo, et al.

Katulad ngayon

"angelic infirmary"

angelic infirmary"

dahil alam kong walang makakaintindi.

Clap.

for Hawk without the Y.

pesteng mga EMO!

Maiksing maiksing kwento.

"sesquipedalian"

love.

may naisip ako.

Kung ano man ang Tagalog ng "Parenthesis"

sa pagpanaw ng buwan.

by month's end

It's just a lyrical lie made up by my mind

*oh my god* cheesy love poem *oh my god*

Neruda et al.

crunchy splat.

i've just noticed.

ever heard of the fratellis?

I thank Frances Sargett Osgood.

i hope this works.

jeepney existentialism

Curse you, Org.

freedom

love is..

bleagh.

Scream Coherence, oh yah.

river of souls.

I am little pea.

one of those times i just have to write. with helluva lot of requirements under my belt. this doesn't really feel good. but then again. it never does.

i rarely tell anyone i need to talk to them.

i like you. not the romeo juliet like, but like the narrator marla like. you know, like. i know you feel the same. viva la "not me."

so damn tired.

start your own fight club.

http://www.friendster.com/someeideguy

The weather today is stupid. Really, really stupid. Think of the word "stupid." Pair with "stupid." Then think of someone stupid. Viva la stupid(ity)

oo. idaan nalang natin sa mga pacute na mga sinusulat na inaasahan nating basahin nila. oo, magaling! tas pag personal na, mangasar nalang tayo! cooL!

djinn.

picture this. picture that. picture something else.

Sin Sin.

boredom or dare or just trying to hit rock bottom to rise to fall again to rise again to help others rise to fall again and be reborn

vice.

Off.

Draft

Youch.

Ang kasangkapan ng pitong kalangitang itim na tumatakbo sa dapithapon ng kaarawan ni BUddha.

My lips can't speak what the moonis trying to vanquicsh in the middle of the dark howling sky's moulin rouge.

sanitarium.

oh my god cheesy love poem oh my god