Predator on Crack

TO BE CONTINUED

2009-02-02T01:41:00.000+08:00

I HATE FRIENDS

2008-11-06T18:47:00.000+08:00

"It's true! My invisible bunny friend told me so!"

"Oh that's impossible my dear."

"What? Invisible bunnies?"

"That you have friends."

*******

I don't need you. I don't need your twisted wisdom. I don't need to consult you for anything technical. I have never asked you for anything that I have to work at repaying you back for. What have I ever needed from you? I feel I can really live without you and I have lived without you. But you keep coming back, and well just get me upset with your inane stories and your childish tantrums and your uncouth opinions and your insults. Then when I begin to move away because I have been sick of all your bullshit all these years, you run after me and is suddenly all sorry-like.

You make up for your stupidity with apologies and explanations, which I don't really care for. But because I am by nature "a nice guy," I let you hang around me again. After all, even if you don't realize it, and nor will you admit. YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS LEFT. YOU ARE ALONE.

There lies the reason why you keep coming to me and cling. I can handle being alone. I have been alone so much in my life that being lonely is my status quo. Having to deal with other human beings is a chore for me at times when all I want is to be left alone.

My mother will attest to the truth that the only reason I am a very social person is I studied how to be. Naturally, I am a loner. I'm okay with being alone. You? You can't handle being alone. And, you can't handle treating people right either. I mean if you did something pretty substantial for me, I would remember it right?

Nope. Nothing there. Just annoyance, insults, tantrums, bullying. That must be it. You are a bully, a bully that can't handle being one, so you use arguments, being a brat, running roughshod as your means of keeping relationships. You thrive in the arguments, the conflicts. You are an anger-whore. A hate-eater.

Maybe as a child you were dropped, and when you came to, you decided that to get your way, to get your parent's attention you had to be a screamer, a bully, an emotional blackmailer.

That has been your favorite pastime recently. Blackmailing me with emotions. And honestly, I'm a little sick of it. But I can't tell you directly how I feel either. All you would do is thrive in the resulting argument, throw a tantrum and then blackmail me all over again.

I can't walk away either, because you won't let me. You will track me down all over again and stick like a bad rash. Blackmailing me all along the way.

In short, I am trapped. I know I am, but I think it's time I told you what the hell you have been doing to me. The least you can do is offer me your younger sister as a sex slave as partial payment for services rendered.

Friendship? Bull. This is an act of terror.

ONCE YOU GO BLACK...

2008-11-06T18:33:00.000+08:00

Congrats Obama. I keep telling people that you are not black. You are the first colored president that America has ever had.

You see in my opinion, Americans use the descriptive "Black" to refer to the African Americans who are decendants of the slaves their forefathers had.

You are not descended from slaves. You are descended from an African man, but one who is educated and is well-off. Not one who came from slavery. You are thus, colored in my eyes. Brown specifically, just like me.

You grew up in Indonesia and in Hawaii further making you not "Black" You were exposed to a very culturally diverse culture in your youth. Your foster father is an Asian, and that would have given you an insight into the milleniums worth of wisdom that Asia has.

Hawaii is also a great place to grow up in. Hawaiians in my opinion are some of the least racist and prejudiced people in the world. I mean they call everyone cousin! And being an islander myself. I know they mean it when they say that. So again, you are not "Black" in my opinion, you are colored.

As Americas first colored president, there is no one better than you. I say this with no rancor toward the others who have tried. But you fit the bill. No pun intended.

I mean, here you are. Colored, but not "Black" thus you do not carry a grudge for being a slave. You know of conflict but is not scarred by war. You know how to deal with Asians from childhood experience. The Africans consider you a true brother, and for sure the islanders consider you a cousin. You just fit. A world president if I have ever seen one. Sorry Dubya, no offense.

Yet I also feel you are not weak. No one who has survived an Asian school, or surfing in Hawaii can be considered weak. You are also a father. A good one who knows values because your mother would have shamed them into you, and your Asian father would have pounded them into you.

You know of God. Not just the Christian God, but the polytheism that lies in all the other cultures in the rest of the world.

I know you will do good. I've been okay with you since I heard you were the one chosen. I was actually for you, but not Hillary.

True, my opinions don't matter, after all I cannot vote in America, and I would never wish to. But if I had to, I would have voted for you.

I'm not being so arrogant as to say I give you the go signal to do your work. You are after all your own man, not some puppet.

Here is to your win. Here is to your promise of Hope. Which in this Pilipino's opinion you have already fulfilled by simply winning.

Here's my two cents worth. America is colored. It has always been. It's about time that it was once again ruled by the colored. Not by the whites, and not by the blacks either. The conquered when seeking revenge is usually worse than the conqueror.

Let's compare: When a white president wins, the whites celebrate. When you won, the Africans celebrated, the whites celebrated, the Asians celebrated, the islanders celebrated. The blacks celebrated too because you indirectly are theirs also.

All you missed were the Chinese and the Indians! Don't worry about the Arabs and the Jews. There is just no pleasing those snobs sometimes.

Now hopefully you won't be assasinated or impeached or anything like that.

Mabuhay ka!

WHAT IS THE QUANTUM OF SOLACE?

2008-11-04T19:37:00.001+08:00

I haven't seen the movie yet, and don't worry, there isn't a spoiler here. Because my source is the printed story. So do read on. I haven't really read anything on the new Bond Movie yet, but I did some research and found in my wife's family's extensive library a copy of "The Quantum of Solace" as written by Ian Fleming. Real books, not online.

Surprisingly enough it wasn't a full size short story like "A View To A Kill" or "For Your Eyes Only" and it is nowhere as long as the "Goldfinger" Novel that I found the book with. The "book" was a tattered, heavily aged fragment of its former self. A compilation it seems of the short stories by Ian Fleming which had "Quantum of Solace" right before "Risico" which I read right after "Quantum of Solace" because it was so short.

Well here is an explanation of what "Quantum of Solace" means according to the short story. The scene is the Governor of Nassau is talking to Bond over a few drinks right after a party hosted by the Governor. They were simply talking about a person that the Governor met during his career that had an interesting marriage. Bond was sitting on a chair across the Governor who was sitting on a low chintz couch. Between them is a coffee table filled with glasses and cups from the other guests who have already left. Both are enjoying Whisky Sour. The Governor is enjoying a cigar while the bored Bond has just sat a little straighter. His interest in the story piqued.

Here is the excerpt:

The Governor paused and looked reflectively over at Bond. He said, "You're not married, but I think it's the same with all relationships between a man and a woman. They can survive anything so long as some kind of basic humanity exists between the two people. When all kindness has gone, when one person obviously and sincerely doesn't care if the other is alive or dead, then it's just no good. That particular insult unto the ego--worse, to the instinct of self-preservation--can never be forgiven. I've noticed this in hundreds of marriages. I've seen flagrant infidelities patched up, I've seen crimes and even murder forgiven by the other party, let alone bankruptcy and every other form of social crime. Incurable disease, blindness, disaster-all these can be overcome. But never the death of common humanity in one of the partners. I've thought about this and I have invented a rather high sounding title for this basic factor in human relations. I've called it the Law of the Quantum of Solace."

Bond said, "That's a splendid name for it. It's certainly impressive enough. And of course I see what you mean. I should say you are absolutely right. Quantum of Solace - the amount of comfort. Yes, I suppose you can say that all love and friendship is based in the end on that. Human beings are very insecure. When the other person not only makes you feel insecure but actually seems to want to destroy you, it's obviously the end. When the Quantum of Solace stands at zero. You've got to get away to save yourself."

*****

How is your Quantum of Solace?

GOODBYE ANTONIO

2008-10-21T18:48:00.000+08:00

I just found out earlier that Antonio is dead. Antonio is one of the "pseudo-cousins" of my wife's family. According to initial reports, he got a heart attack and a stroke. That's what biologically killed him. But after talking to him the last time, I think I knew what really killed him. Him not being able to do what he loved.

He lost the use of his left arm in a motorcycle accident not too many months ago. He has been undergoing treatment for it thence, and has resorted to acupuncture to bring the arm back to life. Before that, he was, according to what little he was able to talk to me about, a piano man, a tinkerer, a percussionist, an anarchist, an audiophile. And having to live with the pain of an arm gone wrong was what might have done him in. I know that if I was in his shoes, that would kill me.

We shared breakfast the last time I spoke to him, I made him coffee and a sandwich while we talked about the merits of magnetic versus optical music storage. He also told me how his arm got to be what it was. He spoke to me about music, and his eyes lit up from the usual dull depressed look of the deformed that they usually had when I told him about my passions in music. He was even kind enough to tune the kids' guitar, with one hand, by ear.

I remember asking him, guitar in hand that day: "Hey piano man! Can you tune a guitar?" "Of course!" And he proceeded to do what I thought would have had to be a two man operation. He can't make a sandwich for himself, but he tuned that guitar in minutes, all the while giving me pointers about it.

That day, he inspired me in a way that I was not able to really tell him. He became what he wanted to be. He did what he wanted. He lived life. Broken, battered, and bruised; but unbowed. Thank you Antonio. Wherever you may be doing lounge right now, break a leg.

PRETTY SUICIDE

2008-10-21T18:43:00.000+08:00

One of the pseudo-cousins came by today and related by way of conversation that their neighbor's pretty, hot and tempting daughter hung herself by the neck till dead when she found out that her parents were getting an annulment of their marriage.

Of course I knew she was a hot thing because the cousin, who is very knowledgeable about girls in a sense said that she was in the local colloquialism artistahin (can become a TV/Movie actor). Well pedophilia and necrophilia aside, the issue here is not the girl being "p.h.a.t." nor the sudden end of her entertainment career, but her demise by her own hands via a hemp necktie.

First of all, it's a shame that such a young, and according to the story, a very possible fine piece of ass had been taken away so suddenly. As the cousin said, she had everything, and still, she did what she did. I guess the problem is that kids always blame themselves when the relationship of their parents fail. So to prevent any more future babes from being Satan's concubine, I would like the kids who are reading this to pay full attention and read slowly, because I will say this one time only: IF YOUR PARENTS FIGHT ITS THEIR FAULT, NOT YOURS. EVER. DON'T FEEL GUILTY FOR THINKING IT WAS YOURS. YOU CAN'T HELP IT THAT YOU ARE STUPID. JUST LOOK AT THE TWO NUMBSKULLS YOU CAME FROM. NO SURPRISE THERE. IF YOU WANT TO STOP YOUR PARENTS FROM FIGHTING, STOP TALKING TO THEM FOR A WHOLE DAY EVERYTIME THEY TUSSLE. IF THEY ASK WHAT YOU'RE DOING, HAND THEM A NOTE WITH THIS MESSAGE OR SOMETHING LIKE IT: "I'M LETTING YOU FEEL WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU KEEP FIGHTING, ONE DAY YOU WILL TRY TO TALK TO ME, BUT I WILL BE GONE. I WILL EITHER BE WITH THE OTHER PARENT, A LOST RUNAWAY, OUT WITH BAD COMPANY, HELD BY SOCIAL SERVICES, OR DEAD BY SUICIDE. I'M HOPING YOU REALIZE BEFORE ITS TOO LATE THAT YOU ARE DAMAGING ME. NOW EITHER ADAPT TO ONE ANOTHER OR GET THE DIVORCE PAPERS NOW AND LET'S KILL THIS FAMILY."

I remember as a teen that when I heard my parents fighting for the first time in my life, on an issue that surely could result in an annulment, I was distraught, I cried, I got drunk. I ended up in a cheap girlie bar watching very ugly, very cheap whores dancing to a red light bulb. Very badly dancing to a red light bulb.

Let's just say that after that horrid experience, the next time I heard my parents fight, I just stuck with being distraught and I always went outside so I wouldn't end up throwing up because of the sight of ugly whores. But eventually I confronted them and told them that I would rather have them beat me physically than the hurt they were giving me inside, I reasoned that at least bruises heal. They stopped.

What our pretty suicide could have done, rest her soul by the way, was to not take it so hard. Maybe that's what happens when kids are sheltered too much, too dependent on their parents. I don't know.

At least now, those two idiots who were thinking of getting an annulment now don't have to worry who gets to keep the daughter. Plus the father won't ever have to worry trying to explain to her daughter someday why her ex-classmate is now her "Tita Mommy." Or the mom would not have to explain why they have a young strapping new driver, who ogles her by the way when mommy is not around, even though they don't own a car.

WHEN YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WRITE

2008-10-21T18:33:00.000+08:00

The one thing I hate about blogging is the need to come up with something to write every now and then. I guess the topic of the blog, if your blog had a singular topic, say a blog on tropical cacti would be easy to maintain, you speak about the topic at hand and that would be that. But having a rant column like this one is at best a lesson in futility. Trying to keep up with it and not being able to. Choosing a topic to speak about, and eventually not being able to post something because its just so personal.

In local terms: "Sabog" roughly translatable to calling something as scattershot. You just don't know what it is about and what point it is driving at. Like this blog. After awhile I find myself irritated by it as it seems all I do is speak about nothing and vague references to events in my life. Well, that is what this blog is about in the beginning anyway: things that happened in my life that I wanted to share with the internet. Not really having a point about it because this is my personal rant page. But truth be told, I want to change things about this blog because of what has happened in my world in the last month.

I find myself at a crossroads once more, because I have once again managed to somehow become unemployed. The fates like toying with me for some reason. I feel I am being readied for something in the future. I am not sure what it is yet, but I am sure that I will either end up as some hybrid erudite or a cosmic platypus. Sigh.

BLINDSIDED

2008-10-21T18:29:00.000+08:00

It was a Thursday, not a Tuesday, but yes, it was around four P.M., so I guess Baz Luhrman was right (Did I speel that right?). Your choices are half chance. I'm trying not to berate myself with what happened, nor am I trying to congratulate myself for it. A rebel being punished for rebellion is like a bird being awarded for flying.

But the fact is that, as my friend Aivie said, I should acknowledge that what happened hurt me. Yes it did. I don't want to mull over it though, because there is a part of me that loves lashing out whenever I get hurt. I guess everyone has something like that too. A need for vengeance, a need for the redress of wrongs, real or imagined. Thus I don't want to mull over it too much, lest it affect my judgment in the next few weeks.

But mull over it I do, and what comes to me is a simple fact. Patience is dependent on the intelligence of a person, the more intelligent a person, the more patient he is. The more wise a person, the more patient a person. The more deformed a person, the more impatient a person is. The more miserable a person is with their life, the more impatient a person is. Misery is a friend of fear, thus, whoever is impatient is afraid. Afraid of being expendable, in due time.

Of course, this is all the opinion of someone who is mulling. So pay me no heed. I on the other hand, am patient. I wait. Wait with a patience that reflects my intellect.

JEREMY SPOKE IN CLASS TODAY

2008-10-21T18:25:00.000+08:00

Angst, and the grunge movement of the nineties. What do we remember from them? the proliferation of anti-depressants? The two faces of madness in pop culture: cobain and axl rose? the redemption that music brings to an individual as proven by eddie vedder and his grammys? or is it the fact that madonna went through all of it with michael jackson not far behind?

life and music has always been two sides it seems. One side is the angry "i wanna die coz im so sad about something" side and the "damn im a giddy happy hoppy tripped up elf" side.

either of which just manages to do for us what we currently need, as the mood suits. there really is always a song for how you exactly feel, or maybe close enough give or take a few stanzas.

it was in the late eighties that i became aware of my love for music, when i first glued my ears to FM radio and it was in the nineties that i grew musically expanding up from the hardcore new wave / post punk that i ended up in after my early experimentations with pop music.

it was then that i learned of the early rock masters and the balladeers. the acid rock movements that i was exposed to as a child but never truly understood, the hip-hop scene, and rap thar i still have a soft spot for.

my only regret with music is that for all my love for it, i cannot play a single instrument decently of or sing as well as i would like. i love music, music scorns me with mere toleration. for all my talent with writing and poetry i have yet to really feel the muse of music in me.

but i am not bitter, i know that she is the most demanding of all the muses. and i have to be worthy of her attention by providing discipline in exchange for her.

consolation is that as i watch the music evolution and help guide my kids in their own foray into music i am reminded of my journey and it still is magical. truly, music is art, music is life.

what do i remember of the nineties music scene the most: king jeremy the wicked ruled his world.

I REMEMBER YOU

2008-10-21T17:49:00.000+08:00

Two years ago, you texted me a question: Will you tell me why no one can love me the way you do?
I think I answered because no one can. Because no one saw you the way i saw you. Because they didn't worship you, or accept you for what you really are, for these never saw what you can be. What you could have been, could still be. Because unlike these men who loved you because they needed love themselves, I love you because you were worth the love. They loved you, I believed in you. I had faith in you. I worshiped you. And as every woman from Eve the snakeslave of Lilith to your own daughter will tell you. A woman will choose worship over love. I let myself be kept around, I had nothing better to do anyway. But you thought that wasn't going anywhere. You were wrong. Very wrong. Because someone saw the way I worshiped you and wanted it for herself. She made ways to take it, and took it she did. Then you were left with nothing but the pawings of your suitors and lovers, but the worship was gone. And your life became empty. We had almost everything when we were together. The only thing missing was your affirmation. But then again, I never asked for it. I didn't want to lose you, but I know anyone who tried to keep you, lost you. You will not be reined. Mine was the softest leash you ever had. You were my most beloved pet. The one I had the longest but couldn't keep. Ours was a hidden, fierce, unspeakable love. As complicated and unbidden and crazy as all kinds of love should be. Unthiking, brutal, feverish. But to speak of it, to hint of it, to even slightly touch its gossamer wings would destroy it. And that is what we did when we did. Now you are ashamed of it. you are troubled by its memory. I remember it. I remember you. Why no one can love you the way I do? Because I can, and I choose to do so. Something the cowards who you call your men can't because they can't bring themselves to worship something else aside from themselves. Worship to ruin.

predator on crack - CROSSROADS II

2008-09-16T17:39:00.000+08:00

I could easily be childish and petty. Cry and hold a tantrum because their toys are better than mine. But then I would just be doing what I have been doing all my life if I did. I grew up in privilege, but not priveleged enough by my standards. I thought I was rich because I was surrounded by so much squalor. Then I come to the world and see how poor I really was. I thought I had everything, when I realised that whatever toys I held previous and used to create envy in my playmates was but trash to my friends. What I kept precious they threw to the dogs whenever they felt it. In their eyes, i was the poor one. Maybe that is why I always tried to compensate. Whenever I could, I provided whatever I could. Bought for them whenever I could. Anything. But I knew in the end, the money would run out. Because my resources were limited and theirs was deep by comparison. I always had nothing compared to them. I am not ashamed to admit it, because it is the truth. No matter how much it hurts or how petty and shallow it sounds, it is the truth, and I cannot should not deny it.

Maybe that is always why I tried so hard to fit in, to do my best by them, to be allowed to be used by them, because I wanted to fit in. But I didn't i may have for fleeting moments, but even though my friends accept me for who I am, it is a matter of fact that I was always the sore thumb. Trying so hard to fit in. Trying too hard. Sacrificing my happiness, my time, my talents, my pride just to be accepted. But now, I fell so drained. I gave so much and I look at them in their success and I know that I helped them achieve it, that they are there because I helped them. I got my thanks, no need to worry about that. But now what? They are successful. And I am fighting so hard to not be bitter about it.

CHRISTMAS IN AYALA

2008-09-07T15:41:00.002+08:00

Last mid August I was walking home from the office when I noticed a work crew with a crane in the middle of Ayala Avenue, first thing that came to mind was simple street light maintenance. When I got to take a closer look, I noticed that they were hanging something large and white on the post. It was the Christmas decor for the coming season.

It was then I realized that, oh, its that time of the year again. I thought to myself...now what? I mean its once again, another Christmas, another year end. All I could think of was, "By the gods! It's time to get depressed again! Break out the booze. Sigh."

Why is it that this product of Western marketing is the current evolution of what is supposed to be the very solemn and culturally rich celebration of Jesus Christ's birthday? Another evidence of the continuous decay of our Kayumanggi culture. Maybe it's time all of us rethought how we celebrate Christmas. Give everything you will spend, that includes the rest of you politicos, to charitable institutions. Real charity, not those morons you bribe with charity to vote for you every three years. Then maybe, just maybe you won't join me in hell someday.

This year I will not celebrate Christmas the way I always used to or tried to. This year, I will celebrate it like Christ did the day he invented it. Lying still in a simple abode with those closest to him, with angels singing to him, magi acknowledging him, and the simple folk thankful for him.

Mind you, I'm not trying to bribe heaven to save me from my damnation. I'm just trying to pass through this world with as little harm as possible. I know where I'm going, do you?

Merry Christmas.

INERTIA

2008-05-07T23:36:00.001+08:00

The difficult part of what I am doing is the fact that I am really, alone. There is no none around to act as the focus of my ire or my anger. There really is no one to compete with, and being the predator that I am, I find myself unmoved to perfection. The craft itself has never ever been the reason for me writing for perfection. It has always just been the craft. No more, no less.

Now I am moved by the need to smite, as it always is the case when faced with idiocy and stupidity. There really isn’t a lot of people who get my goat, but those who pretend to know what power is, and pretend to know everything, and even then, try and promote themselves as greater than other people, do tend to get my goat. So much so that I feel it is a form of social service to stab these people in the chest with a decently sharp implement. There is no place for ego in a world that is spinning slowly into madness. It only helps fuel the inertia.

CROSSROADS

2007-10-30T01:48:00.000+08:00

I went to the birthday party of...Unsurprisingly, most everyone was there with a few new, unfamiliar faces. They talked about a lot of things, and as usual, I made my flurry of with jokes about it. I of course just wanted to have a good time at the party and not really make any more waves about anything that was happening with the lives of my friends. They were so engrossed with their new business. They shared the videos and photos to me and the guys, well, those of us in the writing group anyway. They later on brought out their guns and their equipment adn started shooting about and doing practices and what not, talking shop, and well, having a fun of it.

I didn't want to call it bragging, nor did I want to see it as showing me what I was missing. If I did not love them the way I did love them, then I might construe it that way. But I shouldn't. And at most I didn't. i saw it instead as the newest of crossroads and rifts that have criscrossed our friendships throughout the 15 or so years that we have known one another. This is what they do, this is what we do, and in the cause of celebration, we celebrate one another. But why did I get the feeling that they were celebrating more than we were, that we celebrated with them but they did not celebrate with us. It's sad how friends that I taught about guns and knives now tell me that they know more and relish the fact that they know more. I mean what do I know right? I don't know anything compared to what they know now with their toys and thier games. I'm proud of them, i am happy for them that they are doing what they like. I dearly love them. i just wish they would cut me some slack...asa.

BITTER IRONY

2007-10-27T06:23:00.000+08:00

I miss you but I know that in the bitter irony of this life, I too am now being punished with the same thing I did to those who were with you. I was the fly in my soup. Just like it is with them, the one I am stuck with has a fat friend. Call it jaded, but that is the fact of the universe, a yin and yang. Every beauty must be equalized with ugliness. It's just a law of the universe. And this is the curse i gave and this is the curse I got.

I miss you anyway. I miss the way you gyrated and even the way you pouted. I miss you, every miniscule part of you. Every fleck of skin you lose I would exchange my life for just to own. I obsess of you. I miss you with every piece of my shattered heart. I miss you. I wish I was yours. I wish you made me mine. I wish.

There are just some things that I guess should not be. One of those things is us. You were mine. I was yours. I dreamed it for what it wasn't. You denied its very existence. Now we are older and wiser and my lie is still there. A regret the size of my hate.

I have grown old beyond my years because of you, and my biological age is still hard at work trying to catch up. I died that day you told me you were pregnant. I will not deny that. I am well into lichdom after the subsequent pains. If a soul could only die.

MUSIC = TUGTOG

2007-08-10T04:29:00.000+08:00

Music in Tagalog is "tugtog" a symphony of sounds (which is "tunog" in Tagalog). Music drives my life. I actually have a soundtrack for my life that spans from when I was a kid to what I am now. I can imagine parts of my past and apply music to it, making them look like Music Videos. Sometimes I do things so that the MTV would actually look better in the movie in my mind.

I once handed a crush a single rose through her car window while wearing a faded dark trench coat, I told her "I love you. You don't have to say anything now. I just wanted you to know how I feel about you. Good night." and before she can answer, I walked away. It was raining! We just came from the prom and we had a fantastic time. I waved without looking back and walked the three blocks home in the rain. Now if that ain't MTV material, then I don't know what is!

Ofcourse I always edit out the part where her brother, who was with us because he was my classmate, and was acting as chaperone, screams out "Hoy gago! Umuulan! Sumakay ka na dito at baka magkasakit ka! Lagot ako kay Tita! Bahala ka! Sira!" (Hey jerk! It's raining! Get in the car before you catch something! Your mom will kill me! Your choice! Crazy...)

Eniwey, my taste in music is eclectic at worst. I have parts of my life that play on rap, rock, classic rock, hip-hop, romance, classical music, death metal, nu wave, etc. etc. Thus the confusion in my iPod and the almost 18 Gigabytes of MP3s that I own. I can't wait to get my own hard drive again so I can spend another month of my life trying to organize all of that. The death of my old hard drive wasted my last effort and good.

I can't sing; well, I can sing as well as any decent Filipino worth his bagoong* should be able to sing. I don't know any musical instruments though I can drum a little and can air guitar to save my life. But for all my love for music I really ain't into it enough. Though ask me about songs and titles and lyrics and well my library is right almost there with most critics. Not as good as the others, but eclectic enough to pass in most circles.

I love my music and I love my audio equipment. If anything, that is what I have always strived for: great audio equipment. I've heard the really bad ones and have been treated to some of the best ones in the industry. I'm proud of my tastes and pity anyone who locks themselves into one genre. Its like sticking to one kind of food all the time.

I mean rice can only get you so far. There are moments for Mozart,for the Michael, and Metallica. Yes, there are even moments for the Macarena. Just don't ever deny yourself the music. You don't know what you're missing.

*A very salty, pungent, pasty condiment made from the preserved corpses of thousands upon thousands of miniscule shrimp. A cure for anaphylactic shock brought about by allergic reaction to chitin by inducing instant death through asphyxiation instead. Perfect with green mangoes. Smells like pussy.

THE ECOLOGY OF ESCAPISM

2006-08-12T03:10:00.000+08:00

We are...why can't we be what we want to be? In our minds at least we can, thus we...escape. That is what escapism would be in my eyes. And I guess in my mind. This is what I am. I wake up to it, I sleep from it every day. Every friggin day. I press ESC in futility.

What do I want to be? Oh! Anything better please, anywhere but here. How can you escape if the universe is made by the same single sick deity? Hmmm? Its like in one fell swoop, from the darkness, comes the light...and the sound of it was..."Escape this!"

Thus we are all here...online...as far from reality as the ones and zeroes allow us, that light that travels in the wires that bring us together at this moment...in this illusionary world composed of pixels. Where for a brief moment...we are not quite who we are.

We escape. It might seem I am ranting here. If it does to you, then, please, move on. I wouldn't want to keep you from your fleeing. God knows I won't allow you to hinder mine.SO how does it begin? This after all is titled...the ecology of...simple enough really, we encounter something that either a) we cannot quite comprehend, or b) we do not want to comprehend. So, we escape, we stare into the blank, or pop in a pill, and voila! We are away. We think of other things, we wish for sterner stuff. We disbecome what we are in this world. Fleeting for some, longer for others, but all, from the sane to the nearly lost, wish it were permanent.

It is reason or vengeance that brings us back from wherever we get in that minisculenium. (Ha! copyright!) Because we still need to finish something, or because we need to finish someone. Anything can trigger it, you know, one of the senses being caressed by a familiar-ness is enough. The smell of roses and all that. Up to something as tragic as seeing your child raped and murdered in front of you.

Escapism is said by science as a way for the mind to cope from a violent blow, and it needs to re-order itself. I think its the way our mind turns away, jerks away from things we cannot handle. Much like how we involuntarily close our eyes when our lashes are touched.

Some force it..because the reality is just too much. Others who have a weak imagination use drugs to make it come forth longer and stronger. These people obviously do not know the innate power of the mind.

Some go to a happy place, others to a past memory. Unfortunately, the mind being such it is, is not as good as Google. It sometimes, inadvertently, or veered by the deep scars of memory, bring the happy thought careening into the muddy ditch of fragged up events in your past. Sort of like saying, "Hey, this is nothing! Remember when you shat your pants in second grade? Eeeeew!"

Problem is, like a living entity, Escapism grows in you. To the poin that it becomes annoying, cloying, like stuck, moist booger. In the time it took me to compose this, a plethora of memories has already assaulted me. Guess deep inside I pressed the ESC key and never quite let go.

DISBEGUN

2006-05-18T17:13:00.000+08:00

Why is it that when I dream of you, I feel disbegun afterwards. Disbegun: a feeling that an event in your life is slowly being erased from the beginning, until it feels like it never really came to be. But the most recent of memories are still fresh so you know it did happen. But your mind denies it, tearing you apart.

It's like an illusion. The what we had long ago. The aspirations and wishes that died with our ending. I don't know whether its because I am alone right now or because of the weather. Or because of the time that is spent being at work, away and disjointed from my family.

But a dream is a dream, and it is not content to allow schedule as to when it will come into play. One cannot choose what to dream. Sleep is a demon that has its own whims. Last night, its whim was of sadism.

I am pained by what i felt afterwards. I hated that feeling, the disbegun feeling. The wishing of the has been that never was. Its annoying, yet pleasurable to remember. Oh that kiss.

Oh that kiss. The suppleness of the flesh within the sands of sleep that we shared in my undigested piece of meat. It shreds me in the morning. How I wish I never awoke.

I can still feel it. Me in you. You clawing at me like you wanted me to enter my whole self into you. The scraping of wet flesh. The slick squishing between us. The pain in my hips contrasting the pleasure in my crotch.You mouthing obscenities that would have made your mother disown you.

Whore.

I write this now because I fear to sleep. I fear that once more, within that undigested world we shall once again sup of that which we were never served. Of that which is what I wish for with every breath. That life were kinder to me as it was to you.

Or was it unkind to us both?

Here come the maybes that eat at us both. May it choke on our flesh. May it too dream the horrid dreams that I am sure we both have. And awake disbegun.

How I wish our "maybes" was an Asian male. At least it will have a chance to die from acute pancreatitis when it sleeps after feasting on the flesh of our past. Die screaming in the arms of Orpheus. Then maybe, I, we, can sleep calmly, with no fear of awakening disbegun.

Ah, but do monstrous fiends like you even dream? If you can easily tear a heart out with nary a wince, what's a little nightmare of flesh?

A nightmare of flesh. Yes, its when you have wet dreams...that only pain you afterwards because its not about the one you love. But about the ones you hate...or worse, the ones you had loved. Those are the worst.

You have them, then wake up and look around and see it was a dream, because she is not beside you covered in your cum or bonded with your flesh at last blink. Its someone else, or worse, no one. Sometimes you just curse and go back to sleep. Sometimes you begin to cry, and even sleep has left you alone.

You get up and spend the rest of the day getting eaten by the maybes and what ifs. Chewn on all day. Sometimes a nibble, sometimes a rending chomp. You end the day gnawn. Like so much mulch--regurgitated and indescribable.

Sleep eventually comes. But a last whisper, even after prayers of "Watch over me." Please...no more. But deep inside, you know, its only a matter of time before your unconscious betrays you again.

Whimper as she comes...its all you can do.

THE NOTEBOOK

2006-01-02T20:03:00.000+08:00

A love story within a love story.

A flashback to when everything was still simple and a lot of things that happen now are unacceptable. How difficult it would have been then, how many regrets are there then, on relationships that didn't pan out because of things that get in the way. The same things that these days do not get in the way anymore.

Many people look for pure love or a true love. After watching The Notebook I can firmly say that it is not the first crush or the one you marry that matters it is that first reciprocated love, that innocent first try of that tremendous fire that burns between two passionate souls. What could be more ardent than the eldritch of that lightning bolt of love for the first time in your life.

Fantastically written as a period movie that plays on dementia and Americana and young love and old love it is a beautiful movie. It was moving in the least and really touched a spark within that I have buried so long ago. I guess in the end it is the words of poets and writers that really breathe in the truth about life.

WE WERE TOGETHER, I HAVE FORGOTTEN THE REST...
Walt Whitman...

How trivial it seems these things that encompass us in our day to day lives, how we have forgotten to just love. We haven't. No, we haven't.

Its not that I have regrets, its that I have memories. Memories that just won't die. I don't know why they keep cropping every now and then, but I guess all I can do is accept that these things happen, that we fall in love and we get hurt and we hate and in the end we are left with that simmering hatred deep within us that is fanned every now and then into a blazing anger once again until it self extinguishes under the tears of anguish that fall. Because sometimes, that same memory that sparks those embers of hate also spark off the embers that lie beside the hate, the embers of that dead love, a supposed dead love. Love never dies.

THE WISDOM OF ELVIS NO. 1

2005-08-28T19:16:00.000+08:00

little things i should have said and done...

i just never took the time...

you were always on my mind...

-elvis

DOING TIME

2005-08-11T22:09:00.000+08:00

Things you want to do are not always things that you can do. There are prerequisites that need to be taken care of often before anything can be done. Its sad but that is the truth nonetheless. Nothing gets done without a little bureaucracy.

HOW I WISH I WAS MADE YOURS

2005-07-30T21:17:00.000+08:00

Anger, misery, you'll suffer unto me.
~Hetfield

I sometimes wonder how it could have been...not that I long for it. God knows I'm happy right where I am now. Its just that I wonder. I am after all curious.

How do you treat them now? The trash that you used to call your boyfriends? Its the only way I can call them, like trash. Like the toilet paper you use to wipe their cum off your unquenched center.

Until one of them, got in deeper the rest, and not all the toilet paper in the world could get his seed out of you. It had to come out, sentient, on its own. And one before him learned the same trick: "promise you better" and he too got in as deep, again planted a seed.

It too became sentient.

You should have killed yourself then. You should have ended it all. You known it would never be better again. Their lies will hold, and you will forever be the fool.

Just like me. I couldn't save you, so I saved someone else. I should have killed you then myself then. If you couldn't be mine alive, then I can fuck you dead!

But I keep wondering why when I offered you forever then, the best of forever at that, you declined. We could have been also happy. But no, I was a turtle and they were full throttle intoxication bottled in flesh tubes unwrapped in latex. They were better and I damned.

How I wish I was made yours so I could have shown you better. In fact its funny, because what they promised and never gave was what I gave you everyday and scorned.

Its the giver not the gift. Immortality from the devil is different from immortality from heaven. But the prices are usually the same. In our case we're both damned now, me for wishing and loving and hoping, and you for being blind and shallow.

Blind men don't drown, the shallowest pools scare them, so they do not venture into the depths. I saw but kept what I saw within me, never telling you. So I dove for it, and was lost in the sea of love, when I should have been on the shore helping you drown deeper with me. I was impatient and went to take it and bring it back to you, someone fucked you in the ass and made you suck his cock clean afterwards while I was away. And you liked it more than the forever of worship offered.

Some people's priorities are just skewed.

Being a god is so hard, you want to destroy them all, you want to save them all, you want to fuck them all, you want to preserve them all.

COWBOY BADASS IN BLACK

2005-07-22T22:53:00.000+08:00

I believe I am a cowboy. In local colloquialism, a "koboy."

But according to astrology.com my past lives were mostly lived in medieval Europe. So I was a medieval cowboy. Okay, there were no cowboys then, guess I was a cowherder then. At worst I was a milkmaid, immune to small pox and harassed by the local boys.

My friend Aivie keeps insisting that I could not have been a lord of the land, or nobility because I am just too crass for that station in life. Okay...

Listening to Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones and remembering Tom Cruise in Interview with a Vampire, makes me think yeah. I don't have the mettle to be a member of nobility or the ruling class during my past lives. Nope.

I am never going to allow myself to have been a pansy dressed like a fop and all those frilly things. If I did, I'd invent a time machine so I can go back in time and kick my own teeth in!

I am a cowboy, fine! Not in Texas or Montana, I guess in Ireland then, or Scotland, or Shetland. But I am a cowboy! Salt of the land! Wearing the same set of dirty clothes throughout my whole life. Horrible dental hygeine and that, but I will not be a silly frilly-ass noble piece o crap. No sir.

No lace for me, unless its around that country lass' britches, and its rubbing me just right as I shag the wench for all her worth. Or its on that princess' sleeve as she asks her shepherd boy if this is the right way to hold a field staff.

I'm a cowboy. Ride 'em hard, ride 'em fast!

I STARE AT YOUR NAME ON YM

2005-07-12T21:09:00.000+08:00

I stare at your name at YM and wish to double click it.
I know i shouldn't annoy you.

You don't want to see me or hear of me.
Why should you want to chat.

Everytime we do i fall flat on my face,
I am a miserable wretch, anguished.

It haunts my thoughts, that little yellow smiley
It says c'mon i dare you!

Miserable wretch.
Horrid little yellow smiley.

LOSING MY LINGO

2005-07-06T19:47:00.000+08:00

I never thought that writing a column in the vernacular would cause a horrid deterioration of my writing and speaking skills in english. I mean, I'm supposed to be multilingual. That means I can write and speak in my two languages easy, with the use of one not causing a loss of ability with the other. The sad truth is that it is.

The same way that typing in the internet and in Microsoft Word deteriorates the use of the shift key. How many net users type their I like this: i when one should always refer to oneself in the capital, after all, one should speak and think highly of oneself! I tend to forget this, since I have been using Word since its early inceptions in Windows 3.11 version, which a lot of you kiddies might have never even seen.

Oh but truly I am aghast at this development. My father-in-law thus gave me great exercise, to stop this degradation. He told me, "After you write your column, translate it from the vernacular to english, or write something in english also. You might someday find your daughters speaking better in english than you."

Point taken. In fact, the best sample was the faux pas that I recently did when I heartily blurted out to my gaming group: "They said I was being fired because my tenses was bad." To which Corinna and Alma (Corinna under her breath, and Alma at the top of her lungs) retorted: "Were!"

Oh the shame. The shame.

better left to the past ex boyfriend

2005-06-18T21:01:00.000+08:00

that's me!

according to my unique ex-girlfriend anyway.

its annoying to actually only had one of everything in life. I mean
there are others out there who have had gazillions of exes or XSOs as
they're called. and here i am with a record of 1-1 for life. One
girlfriend, and the next one i married, which upgraded her to wife
instead of ex-girlfriend.

Well, actually she is my ex-girlfriend, because she is my wife now and
is no longer my girlfriend right? Semantics child, semantics.

So semantically my record is 2-1 two exes, one wife.

But anyway that's not the point. What is the right thing to do with
ex-boyfriends or ex girlfriends? aren't they really supposed to be in
the past? Isn't that why they are referred to as exes?

I'm confused. Are there reasons why exes are to be kept in your
present? Maybe if the break-up was actually a move to instigate a
moving into a deeper sense of relationship, okay, but the true exes,
those that are left behind so to say.

Don't they belong there? In the past, the pit of despair called young
adulthood or that charnal hole called teenage? Still, i think i never
kept her there. I always thought, we could be okay, friends-someday.
Or whatever you can call an ex transformed to a friend.

But I guess in a way I should be thankful that she put me there. That
in her world, I am nothing. There are some things that should not burn that bright, for they will leave a place too dark. Too dark. Even for the past.

THE VALUE OF FRIENDSTER TESTIMONIALS

2005-06-18T17:50:00.000+08:00

I guess the single most important thing that one can get from these testimonials is the fact that people are grateful for your existence. Grateful enough to pour their heart out in virtual public. Here one can see, if friends do have time for you. And if these friends actually can say something good about you.

There are three kinds of testimonialists: those who make a personalized testimonial for everyone who asks for one, those who just put generic images made from characters, reminiscent of the days of BASICA, and then there are the those who just don't.The key here is that one must ask for a testimonial.

Many people don't ask for a testimonial and feel bad if they don't get one. I say ask and you shall receive, your friends can't read your mind. After you do ask, please, learn to wait. Good things take time to build. If you want crappy testimonials, well then do go ahead and keep badgering!

Obviously, the best testimonials are those made uniquely for you. Ones that took thought and contemplation, reflection and remembrance to make. Fond memories and silly moments shared are seen in these testimonials. They make you warm inside and feel loved.

Then there are the others: The generic and the copy paste. The worst: those who don't make testimonials. You cannot even take fifteen seconds to write: S/he is a good friend. Not that you will find that posted and hear the end of it, but at least you took the time. Or copy paste! The small amount of time it actually takes to copy paste is in itself already a small act of caring. Obviously not everyone has the gift of gab and those who do not will choose to do a copy paste than actually write.

I give out testimonials in friendster sparingly. Not because I don't want to give time to my friends, but instead I want each testimonial to be a beautiful public display of affection to this person. But those who did get their testimonials are speechless afterwards, not because I am a wordsmith of some skill, but because they were filled with love.

I love my friends. Once I call you a friend, know that I will give my life for you. Which is why when I do get around to make a testimonial to a friend, people will understand my love for this person, how much love and devotion I willingly give to this person. It may take awhile, but I make sure that it will be worth it.

Just like real friendships.

KAYUMANGGI SUPREMACIST

2005-06-13T19:00:00.000+08:00

There are white supremacists, there are black supremacists. Their call: White/Black Power!

I think its about time that there be a Kayumanggi Supremacist. I call myself one and welcome others to be such also. Our call and our credo: Wala ka sa lolo ko!

For a long time, we filipinos have been put down. Five hundred years of slavery and colonial rule. How long have we been independent? But we survived, and here we are, a truly healhty democracy. A healthy thriving government where all can speak and all can say what they
want. Though others are sacrificed on the altar of truth for what they say, generally, truth is spoken and said.

Its about time we showed the rest of the world. Our ancestors are great! Greater than yours. We are a noble race, with magic in our blood. We are Bathala's children, the progeny of Poon. The land answers our call and the wind caresses us through our lives.

Know this pinoy. Bathala considers you perfect, for the white man was cooked too little and the black man cooked too much in our creation mythology, but we are all brothers under him.

Bathala na.

Dungeons and Dragons Again!

2005-06-13T18:41:00.000+08:00

Once more I am playing my one single hobby. Dungeons and Dragons.
Well, i know, i know, its juvenile, but its the one thing that i
really find that i do so well and i consider it so much fun even
though i get all tired from it.

But if it were not this, then what? Wood working? Cleaning a yard?
Burning leaves? Having the horrible fortune of living in the city, I
no longer have that luxury, and so I am left with this. Playing a
child's game with other people who wish to touch their imaginations.

Its not so bad when you think about it, true, it seems geeky, but,
heck, I am a geek am I not? So I play, with my wife and our friends.

May all of the worlds of fantasy shake in the cleaning of our stress and angst.

Malla lueth elgg.

Turning 30

2005-06-13T18:12:00.000+08:00

so finally thirty. hmmm...

i always thought that i would die by 56. my father, god bless his
resting soul died at 56.

after a life of happiness and friendship, my father passed away with
his dignity intact, unbowed.

someday, i wish to go that way too. no matter how bloodied i am.

invictus

just came from climbing fake rocks

2005-05-26T21:40:00.000+08:00

aaarrghh!

I never knew rock climbing could be so tiring. but then again, i am 220 pounds heaving up a 30 foot fake rock face.

now i understand why minger tried to have me rock climb all those years. its true, its just you and the rock, and everything she said about keeping close to the wall and using your legs instead of your arms was true. i climbed the wall with some form of ease that i never thought was possible.

i mean c'mon! i'm no andy leuterio right?! but there i was fast enough for my own right. i guess the closest you can get to golf is rock climbing. tis the same concept, you versus the earth, but unlike golf, well, people die in rock climbing. guess if i ever take up the sport, i'm going to stick to the indoor stuff. the outdoors is really not for me.

kudos to gertrude yap of ericsson philippines for sponsoring the event. and for mel dominguez of dominguez PR for setting it all up.

the rocks...i keep thinking back on how on the second wall i gave up half the way. it was because it was painful and hard and i had trouble getting up the wall. i knew that if i didn't conquer that wall, that would be the end of it. i would never climb another wall.the people at power-up, well, they were great motivators. they egged me on, gave me some more pointers and i went up that wall. almost to the top on my second try on that second wall, i was tired and exhausted and my arms ached and i was well on my way to giving up.

i thought, is this the way i am? or should i press on. ofcourse, i was just being dramatic because i knew i had to finish that wall. so i summoned what strength i had left, gave it a grunt and heaved on up to the top.

the exaltation i felt inside when i reached that top led me to an epiphany. just soldier on. soldier on, and nothing is impossible old chap.

keep on trudging. just keep on.

EAT THE RICH

2005-05-23T21:41:00.000+08:00

I heard on the news on the radio that some Sikhs are angry over a film being shown in India, that it is supposedly titled with a battlecry that is also a religious connotation of somesuch for them. It is sad to think that these Sikhs are so inclined to argue over a movie. Factioning and violence over a stupid movie. Sad. Art is making people want to kill other people. Its just art!

But unfortunately, there really are people out there who still are so close minded over such things as art and movies. Which brings me to the point of this little exercise in typing. My mother-in-law.

Its sad to think that someone with so much education and attention in her life could still be a bigot. How can you be a bigot when you are supposedly a professor of english? In these days to boot!I am a racist. Defined, a racist thinks low of other races compared to hers or his. Don't get me wrong because I used the R word. I'm more a supremacist you might say. I am a Kayumanggi Supremacist. I think Filipinos rock. Prove me wrong. Much like the white supremacists and Black Panthers out there. But i don't act it out by killing other
races, no, i am not a genocide-dist (Not yet, hehehehe.).

As i said, prove me wrong that we kayumanggis are not equal if not better than your race.Well enough of that for now, back to my point, my mother-in-law. I may say racist stuff, but you will not hear me seriously talk about the social disparity brought about by the inquities of wealth on this planet. I will not say the poor are worse because they are poor. But i will say the rich are pathetic because they are.The poor and downtrodden in this world get up everyday and fight for what little they can get from their menial jobs. The rich with all their resources still only manage to do so little in helping others. the poor take advantage of whatever they have and fly with it. The rich? Well, they stay rich.I am not generalizing here, but they, the rich, really can do so much more to help other people. I mean, what is wrong with them anyway? The poor insult the rich for their inactivity and inability to actually use what they have to effect change. The rich insult the poor because they are poor. in retrospect, when you think about it, the rich can eliminate all poverty in this world if they wanted to. But do they?

No, the rich like staying rich. Because they can, and not because they can make do with less.To boot, they like stating the obvious just to insult the great unwashed. Calling the poor, poor. Their defense, yeah, its the truth.

But this truth also exists: You insult human dignity, the one little thing that the poor have a lot of. And in some cases, the last thing that they do have. Taking that away by insulting them, degrades yourself too. So, why do the rich do it?The poor can be mean because they have to fight everyday for their very existence. The rich? They just feel like it.

That is why I hate my mother-in-law. Because she degrades all human society with but a few words of truth that she says to the poor she meets.The truth hurts. This sad truth, hurts us all.

ON LOVE

2005-05-23T20:29:00.000+08:00

Falling in Love
(from the book "Letters to my Son", by Kent Nerburn)

It is a mystery why we fall in love.
It is a mystery how it happens.
It is a mystery when it comes.
It is a mystery why some love grows and it is a mystery why some love fails.

You will never do anymore than take the life out of the experience. Just as life itself is more than the sum of the bones and muscles and electrical impulses in the body, love is more than the sum of the interests and attractions and commonalties that two people share. And just as life itself is a gift that comes and goes in its own time, so too, the coming and going of love must be taken as an unfathomable gift that cannot be questioned in its ways. Sometimes, hopefully at least once in your life - the gift of love will come to you in full flower, and you will take hold of it and celebrate it in all inexpressible beauty. This is a dream we all share. More often,it will come and take hold of you, celebrate you for a brief moment, then move on.

When this happens to young people, they too often try to grasp the love and hold it to them, refusing to see that it is a gift that is freely given and a gift that just as freely, moves away. When they fall out of love, or the person they love feels the spirit of love leaving,they try desperately to reclaim the love that is lost rather than accepting the gift for what it was, then moving on.

They want answers where there are no answers. They want to know what is wrong in them that makes the other person no longer love them, or they try to get their lover to change, thinking that if some small things were different, love would bloom again. They blame their circumstances and say that if they go far away and start a new life together, their love will grow. They try anything to give meaning to what has happened. But there is no meaning beyond the
love itself, and until they accept its own mysterious ways, they live in a sea of misery.

You need to know this about love, and to accept it. You need to treat what it brings you with kindness. If you find yourself in love with someone who does not love you, be gentle with yourself. There is nothing wrong with you. Love just didn't choose to rest in the other
person's heart.

If you find someone else in love with you and you don't love him, feel honoured that love came and called at your door, but gently refuse the gift you cannot return. Do not take advantage; do not cause pain. How you deal with love is how you deal with you, and all our hearts feel
the same pains and joys, even if our lives and ways are different.

If you fall in love with another, and he falls in love with you, and then love chooses to leave, do not try to reclaim it or to assess blame. Let it go. There is a reason and there is a meaning.
You will know in time.

Remember that you don't choose love. Love chooses you. All you can really do is accept it for all its mystery when it comes into your life. Feel the way it fills you to overflowing, then reach out and give it away. Give it back to the person who brought it alive in you. Give it to others who deem poor in spirit. Give it to the world around you in anyway you can.

This is where many lovers go wrong. Having been so long without love, they understand love only as a need. They see their hearts as empty places that will be filled by love, and they begin to look at love as something that flows to them rather than from them.

The first blush of new love is filled to overflowing, but as their love cools, they revert to seeing their love as a need. They cease to be someone who generates love and instead become someone who seeks love. hey forget that the secret of love is that it is a gift, and that it can be made to grow only by giving it away. Remember this, and keep it to your heart.

Love has its own time, its own seasons, and its own reason for coming and going. You cannot bribe it or coerce it, or reason it into staying. You can only embrace it when it arrives and give it away when it comes to you. But if it chooses to leave from your heart or from the heart of your lover, there is nothing you can do and there is nothing you should do.

Love always had been and always will be a mystery. Be glad that it came to live for a moment in your life. If you keep your heart open it will come again.

Mang Eddie my high school service driver

2005-05-23T19:42:00.001+08:00

oo rey. iisa lang ang mang-eddie na may jeep at
coaster. at oo iyung 8 track tapes na iyon eh malabo
mong maalala dahil itinigil na niya iyon nung bandang
HS kami nung 1989. at hindi bastos ang mga iyon. he
played hagibis, hotdogs and juan delacruz band. mga
rockers tayo noon ano. oh he also played a lot of tito
vic and joey. iyon iyung mga natatandaan ninyo na
bastos.

eight tracks rule pare!

ganoon naman dati eh, magkakapatid at magpipinsan
iyung mga nasa service, the agapay brothers, the
olivers, cobarrubias, kaming mga de guzman, etc. etc.
remember kada last day of school, tumitigil si mang
eddie kina josephine bakery sa may concepcion (near
7-11) at nagpapaicecream siya? at nung nagkaroon ng
jolibee ay ganoon din?

actually, i know a lot about him kasi, first kamaganak
ko si tito eddie and second, i rode with him all my
life in marist. marist would not be marist without the
experience i had going and coming from school. how
many times did we laugh and cry coming and going to
school. the heartbreaks, the small fights from
gradeschool about baon and cartoons to girls and
facial hair in high school.

what we must all realize as alumni is that everything
we are now, is because of what we experienced during
those formative years. college doesn't really count,
alam mo na and you wouldn't really get scarred that
way anymore. but how many of us still remember those
embarassing moments in grade school (ones we hopefully
want to forget) and those fantastic times of innocent
bliss and maybe getting those first twinges of a
crush. how many of us fell in love in those jeeps and
coasters.

i can proudly say that i am an alumnus of mang eddie's
service, because i learned a lot in that school also.
many things that i still use up to now. can't say the
same for the things i learned in marist.

huwag nating kalimutan iyung mga iba diyan na
sinervice ni bangus, ni mang tony, etc. etc.

On Episode III

2005-05-23T19:34:00.001+08:00

UUUUGHHH!!!

tama ka jing, those were pretty cheesy bad lines and stuff, but
remember, this is for kids supposedly, so...but still it was bad
writing. maybe they weren't putting too much weight on haydn
christensen's acting prowess so they kept it to mimicry. but
yeah...padme made me want to puke.

let us not forget the fact that jarjar binks, though shown twice in
the movie did not utter a single sound. thank the force for that. i
wanted to see an episode 2.5 that goes sommething like this:

on screen:

Long ago in a galaxy far far away...

opening music cue scrolling text

EPISODE 2.5
JARJAR BINKS MUST DIE

Darth Maul, due to insistent public demand has risen from the dead
for one final mission for the dark side! To kill the insanely
annoying JarJar Binks!

fade in jar jar binks standing in a common coruscant world room

jarjar: helo! misa jar....

BGSFX:(pssssh!psssh!)

pan left to darth maul with dual bladed lightsaber goes into a
spectacular attack combo at jarjar

SFX: (whang!whang!whang!whang!whang!)

jarjar: aaaaaaaaaaahhHH!!!!

jarjar is cut into little annoying wiggly pieces, darth maul poses
in clearly defiant yet satisfied sith way

darth maul sheathes lightsaber and walks away from annoying
quivering masses of jarjar flesh

SFX:(psssshpssshfft!)

jarjar: gurgle! gurgle! gurgle!

fade to black

enter EPISODE III

------------------

> and, i don't even remember R2D2 being that agile in episode 4 to
> 6! side booster rockets? kainlan pa? watch episode 5 and see how
> helpless R2 was at the dega ba system.

about R2D2's agility. episode 4 happened nearly 17 years later from
episode iii. by this time, R2 for a time has been with the JAWAs of
Tatooine and obviously has been cannibalized for parts, and any
fuel that has been in his rockets would have been used up. thus his
inability to fly in episode 4. if you remember, that electric
shocker he used was still around till episode 6. thus we come to
the problem at degoba. one could simply say, because he sank in the
water...yada yada yada. but its absence in his repertoire could be
much more simply be returned to the JAWAs of Tatooine who have
those said thrusters.

> also, erasing the memories of the two droids at the end of the
> movie was a clever trick of lucas to put the patches n the holes
> that has been bugging the entire star wars universe.

actually i think it was only C3PO's memory that was erased. R2D2
kept his i think. thus his importance during episode IV as leah's
personal assistant. i have to watch it again to be sure.

> breaking out from his clutches, newly appointed darth vader
> shouts "NAOOOOOOOHH!! - bad acting at it's best! har har har!!!

it would have been cooler if instead of breaking out of his bonds
like he was walking in mud with a hernia, he could have just
"forced" his way off then strode off and then screamed the
"Naooooooh!" as you quipped, without the stupid shoulder armor
getting in the way of his arms.

> natapos din thank god!

but you have to admit, that first breath of vader, and the scene
where sith master and apprentice were staring romantically side by
side watching the rising of the death star was pretty cool.

VADER: You are so beautiful!

PALPATINE: It's only because I'm so in love . . .

VADER: No, it's because I'm so in love with you.

PALPATINE: So love has blinded you?

VADER: Well, that's not exactly what I meant . . .

PALAPATINE: But it's probably true!

pan out and to right focus on new death star

INTRO BGM: Imperial March

FADE TO BLACK

what a fake!

2005-05-20T18:02:00.000+08:00

yeah right people actually have photo shoots in exotic beaches just to
have the product put on friendster...jeez.

aaaarrrghh! manhunting with aivie

2005-05-20T17:42:00.000+08:00

is there such a thing as gaelic baking while windsurfing? what do you
call a gay man baking gaelic bread? a gay gaelic bakerette?

damn.

still with/from aivie

2005-05-20T17:32:00.000+08:00

malaki birdie ni gregory...he's from brussels...does that make him a
brussel sprout?

with aivie

2005-05-20T17:19:00.000+08:00

i'm sitting with my buddy aivie here at netopia. lowenz is in the
cubicle 2 rows behind me. she's thinking of buying a computer. i'm
still wondering if i can buy that new P4 3.20 XE HT that i want for my
home gaming.

i hate swan songs. why me?

confusing

2005-05-20T16:23:00.000+08:00

nakakainis itong blog. nakakalito kung ano gagawin mo
pag bago ka! shet.

giving in to pressure

2005-05-19T21:58:00.000+08:00

its official. i'm a blogger. after holding out for so long i give in to the pressure. i mean its about time.

i've been hooked on the net for the past what? ten years now? i was surfing even before a lot of my countrymen even heard of computers.

come to think of it, even now, a lot of my countrymen still have not heard of a computer. even in this age of convergence and synergy, there are filipinos who have yet to click a mouse.

the pressure to blog came from a lot of of my colleagues in the business. the journalism business that is. i am a journalist. ten years running. i have been in countless magazines and have worked for two major dailies. this is now to be my voice on the net.

true, i have other more regular means of putting stuff out. but, these are different times. very different times.

INVICTUS

2005-05-19T20:15:00.000+08:00

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley