Scribbles

LoneWolf 1999

Im walking on a candlelit path, written with markings from the past.
I am but a grave overture shifting with sands this pure,
time stopping still at every gate; all called, perhaps tempting fate.
Yet this road, however peaceful it may seem, is filled with traps.
Obscure looking thornless roses are but signs of how unreal this world is.

The world, like a figurine ready to break, plays a crystal glass upon the creators --
gods of unseeming beauty.
I hold the world in my hand, for whatever I want to mean, speaks nothing
of the gods who watch.
They cry, for life stories that touch them.
Perhaps those life they made tragically horrible, sorrowful.
And sometimes, great ONES do appear in the grand theatre they created.
The ONES who change the world -- the gifted, the visionaries...

The world, teeming with people like these,
living their life in a corner,
all their talent wasted.
And all because they have grown cynical of this world.

"You see, this what life is all about," said they, referring to a shell.
And I'd look into the shell and see it empty.

The shell is empty because you choose it to be.
But a wise man would know, nothing can ever be empty.
For even in that emptiness, everything is filled.

Walk along with me on the beach.
Stand beside me, prismed in the sun's afterglow.
Aren't we but dreamers, dreaming of a life besides our own?
Time is continous,
life is monotonous.
The world, like a figurine ready to break,
is broken.
Play me for a violin.

For how long will you walk?
For how long will you sail?
For how long will you be?

Just be.
Not a name.

Lemons, and Women

Jao 2003

The smell of you makes me delirious

Why should i breathe when i'll go crazy?

I'll know nothing but the scent of you

And that makes me nothing

Not a flower, nor a breeze

Lemons and lilies float in my mind

And none of them even comes close

To what i smell in you

Heaven and paradise come in one

But why should i believe?

This sense of mine must lie
As all other senses do.

My eyes always deceive me
How many times have i fallen in pits,
As dark as blackness itself?
Because my eyes never told me
Look but don't leap

And words, why should i trust them?

When gods made hearing only for fools

And feeling for the blind.

So why should i listen to sweet music and coarse promises?

Language that never mesh.

So what about touch?
Ah, pleasure that gives me
Is nothing more but signals to the brain

But oh, they feel wonderful
When you kiss me, do i feel joy?
Not a whisper, nor a bird has moved

I am a prisoner, so shall i be happy?

Four senses, where is the fifth?

Ah, now we come to the last

Not the least i tell you

After all has been said and done
Then shall you taste a multitude of flavors, I do promise you
Bittersweet sadness and heavenly pain

But wait!
I wait for the lemons

When shall i taste them again?

Perhaps when i drive by that garden once more

And i shall say:
Lemons make me cry

But i am happy because of that.

Inheritance

Jao 2003

Will you be sad when i tell you
That one day i might leave?
Be gone not for hours, or minutes
But days without end.
Will you be teary-eyed when,
On the day i leave you nothing
But a fistful of memories
And one hell of a heartache?
Will you cry and be brave
After that and everything else?
Life still hold something dear
And i am but just a passing stranger then
Who gave you but a piece of himself
Will you be free when i let you go?
Or hold on dearly to what can't be?
I gave you nothing but mere choices
You chose not to,
I don't blame you
Will you be as i am
When all this had passed and i am gone?
And words and kisses are but a memory
That was you, this is me
But where are we?
This is my sadness.
Now it is yours.

The Black Diary

WolfPack22 September 19, 1999

The tide is now coming in, and the waves are getting bigger. The wind breaks into a run, and the heavens open up, wide and majestic. The stars above us shine. A falling star, swiftly passes, and then -- gone. All too briefly a moment. It was just a minute before that I could see no stars in sight...
But now I see them brightly, all full of luster. They blink at each other like eyes talking in a secret language. Dusts making them appear as though they are twinkling. In our human eye, an illusion of beauty.
Aah.
Dusts bring the illusion, but our eyes make it. It brings us this beauty, but it also stings our eyes with pain.

For the second time, I was brought back to my senses by the crashing of the waves, breaking like thunder upon the shore. The lapping water is more than soothing as the earth moving when it gently slaps into my bare feet, making me sink an inch lower into the sand.
I feel the earth all around me as I closed my eyes. The earth moved not when I first stirred my eyes, nor struck an angel when I first let out my cry. But did let one single tear fall as I let myself die...

The second star shot across the heavens, streaking a fine line of memories. We were best of friends then, but she was kind, and I full of pride. We were never near anywhere than any truth had been. But we were fine before, as now we are not.

Roses grow in my garden everyday, but none that I could give to her. Words just stem out from my thoughts everytime I think, but none that I could say to her. Tears fall into my lap every minute, but none that I could show to her. She is my last living refuge. The cure that I tried to seek, the part of me that I tried to deny. The friend for me that I tried -- did betray.

A crackle of thunder broke my reverie. Rain was now pouring hard. It was just then that I realized I was crying.
But what the hell? So was the heavens.

I looked up and saw the heavens closed. There were no more stars in sight, no more shooting stars falling.
Only the dark clouds moving in, and thunder streaking across the night sky.

I smiled as I remembered the time with them.

"Come on, let us make a wish!" her voice echoed in my memory. It was but a distant past.

I opened my mouth to catch a raindrop. But then thought better of it, and slammed it shut.

Cicumspect, Introspect, Tiny Lil Insects...

In the world of the jaded and the uninspired, we all feel like ants going through life like drones in a line. Money makes the world go round. Well, almost. But I'm still not over how I'm so fucking tied and dried. Remember that day? Remember that way? Yeah, go fuck n smoke.

A poker stick and a bit of coke, I used to read and live my life at the same time. I cried to God for a piece of that world I only read, and he gave me more, and took all in exchange. "Happy now, bum?" Was all he asked.

Will I ever?

When I was a kid, I had asthma and was friendless. Clumsy, uncoordinated, I was the picture of the perfect nerd. I prayed: I'll give half of this brain to gain some friends. And so they came. The musketeers and the wolves, and more. I felt I was happy. Well, I was. But teen years had different aims, and different wants. To guys, it was the boon and the kiss. And I was the Frog. Made excruciatingly worse that I was part of us "three." It was a film in my head: Two hunks and a Pimple. No need to ask whom was whom. So again, I prayed: a LOVE and a KISS, that's all I ask. In exchange, take all you've left in me: my luck, my words, my being ME.

And so she came. And she came. And she came. And boy, did I get what I was asking for, and more. I felt more than happy. Well, for the most part. But growing up had different needs, and wants. To men, it's called The Trinity. The pad, the carreer, and all the benefits that come with it. READ: women.

So again, I prayed: All my life, you gave me what I wanted in exchange for what I have. All my life I thought, what I wanted was what I didn't have. And all my life I yearned for that. Now give me this: My life as you think I should live it. Since you took all I have the last time, I have nothing more to give except what I'll earn in the future. So that I give you. My life as you will it.

Since then, I've been living life one day at a time. There's no need to rush. Me and my wife will get by. God has graced us with a blessing much more than what I promised Him in exchange. In a way, I feel like Faust. Only I made a deal with the right kind of DEALER.

I feel like God has taken everything from me, so that he can give the best of ONE thing to me. And it's just the essence of what He is: LOVE.

Happy hearts day to all. May you find the life I have and live it the way I do. As happy as I can ever be.

Heart

It's funny how last night, Kelly kept repeating a joke which I think no one got at all. And she never alluded to it; except to hope that those who has ears, be able to hear the message clear. I don't know if anyone ever did. Even I didn't get it till I got home.

Yeah, we are the Cuba Gooding's of the Call Center industry, all right. And we are the butt of her joke for not realizing that before Cuba Gooding was "shown the money," he showed his heart. A trip down memory lane might jog a few memories...

JERRY
     Look.  I'm happy to entertain you, as always, but I have a question for you.  Are we really "friends?"

TIDWELL
     Why not --

JERRY
     Well, friends can tell each other anything, right? If we have our "friends" hats on --

TIDWELL
     (wary)
     I think so.

JERRY
     (intense)
     Airight.  Here's why you don't have your ten million dollars yet. You are a paycheck player.  You play with your head.  Not your heart.  In your personal life?
     (points)
     Heart. But when you get on the field -- Jerry (finger rises to Tidwell's head) -- you're a businessman.  It's wide-angle lenses and who fucked you over and who owes you for it. That's not what inspires people. I'm sorry, but that's the truth, can you handle it? Just a "question," Rod.  Between friends.

TIDWELL
     I don't want to be friends anymore.

JERRY
    Fine.

TIDWELL
    Beautiful.

JERRY
     (angry)
     We still having dinner in L.A.?

TIDWELL
     (anqry)
     Only 'cause my wife likes your wife!
                  

                    Jerry exits.  Tidwell is pissed.  And hurt.

TIDWELL (continuing)
     "No heart."  "No heart?"
     (yells after him)
     I'm all heart, motherfucker!

                         He gets on the bus. (end)

And so will I. Let the crybaby's of the world gripe about how they don't have their lovin' and their "respect." I'll earn it the old fashioned way.

No heart? Dig this for your heart: (an exposition too long...)

Death of a Cat (but he was more than just)

He was my furball, my cat in the hat, my puss in boots, my key to furry friends. He was my companion through my sloth and my joblesness, my playmate when I was bored, my guardian when I was all alone in the night, the feeling of loneliness esp exacerbated after watching a horrifying movie. I've always thought him to be a reincarnation of Lorien, his birthday being on the month Lorien was to be born. Though this thought I kept to myself, not wanting to remind Mamuy of Lorien's "wait."

Ming-ming was a royal cat in a lot of ways. Always watchful of his hygiene, Ming-ming was never dirty, except perhaps a few weeks before his death, the weeks I started working. He was, as I rightly thought, calling for attention, as he promptly started cleaning himself up after I started paying attention to him again. Always disciplined, Ming-ming never pooped nor peed anywhere else except where we trained him to poo or pee. He doesn't snitch food off the table, except at times when the smell of it is unbearably strong, as in the case of: F-I-S-H.

Ming-ming got so humanlike he's even in my friendster!

It was the 2nd day of our ABAY, what I call: hell's welcome for us newbies fresh from product training. I was stressed to death trying to catch up with my call per SR ratio when my cellphone started vibrating inside my pocket. I impatiently turned it off, thinking at first that Mamuy was just giving me a missed call, when it rang again. I went out of the floor to take the call when I heard Mamuy's sobs loudly through the other line. In that instant I thought something had happened to Mamuy. But what she said next shocked the daylights out of me.

I left home with our cat alive and seriously fat-assed and I came home never seeing him again.

Our neighbor's dogs mauled or frightened Ming-ming to death when he fell off the concrete fence bordering our window and the house nearby. Either way, I never saw Ming-ming again, the neighbor telling Mamuy they'd just bury him in their backyard. Although I wanted so much to ask for his body, where would we bury him in our four-walled room? All that came back of him was his collar and his tag, which we even had engraved with his name. The collar is still there on the cupboard, gathering dust. I don't want it washed, hoping that in the near-future, when I'm rich enough, I can have Ming-ming cloned.

When Meow was lost, Mamuy and I felt sad. Mamuy even more forlorn than I was, roaming the streets for a couple of days trying to search for Meow. I felt the same way when we got the news of Lorien. Something in the pit of my stomach seemed lost. And I'm not referring to food I've eaten then digested. Although in Meow's case, attachment made the lost more "real." As we had Meow with us for a couple of months. Meow also fell on that concrete fence where Ming-ming fell.

But back when we lost Meow, we never thought him to be dead, me being the more optimistic of the two of us, always telling Mamuy that Meow would someday come back to us when he's old enough to climb the fence. The news of Ming-ming's death shattered that hope. Then, surely as the sun rising East, I knew then that Meow never had a chance when he fell that fence. What happened to Ming-ming happened to him as well, and Meow being so small. My heart was crushed for poor Meow.

I've never experienced death in the family. Not so close, nor not so real. But three deaths in the span of one year -- I can hardly believe my luck is still holding. They were our budding family, me and Mamuy's. Whatever life throws at me next, I will always count my family that way.

On this day I remember them.

Lorien, first of my heart and Mamuy's. The unborn child of our dreams. She who waited for a breath of life and never got it.

Meow, our little warrior. The fierce kitten who wouldn't let us near him even when he was shivering and starving to death in front of Edsa Central Mall.

Ming-ming, the start of our "pet collecting." I don't know what made me urge Mamuy to pick him up that day we say him downstairs, at the garage of the compound where we were living, but I never regretted that day. I know now that what I felt for him was neither pity nor duty, but destiny.

Our lives are more intertwined than you can imagine. Somehow, my theory that Ming-ming was our dear Lorien reborn keeps on strengthening. Not a week after Ming-ming's death, Mamuy and I had this joyful news.

In the recess of my mind, I will never run out of names to give. I give our cats "unique" names, and I name our kids-to-be the way Ged was named. It is in the naming, Le Guin says, where all power resides, and it is in my names where I derive my faith in an all-encompassing fate. I am never more sure of my future than in this.

This will ring very eerie, but I will repeat it again: For every life, there is un-life. For every certainty, a certain randomness in our lives..

Die Ming-ming did. But wasn't he just reborn from Lorien? And isn't Harion now just Ming-ming's soul again? As Mamuy said: maybe he died to make way for Harion.

Or maybe he never died at all.

In my unpublished book, The Butterfly, the protagonist's mother dies but her soul is never gone but comes back where all life flows from: back to earth. To be the flowers, the grass, the soil beneath the protagonist's feet.

Life I said is beautiful. But never can we experience it more sweetly than when we are in pain. Thus, in Ming-ming's anguished cries before he died, I think upon this:

Isn't it just eerie I wrote all about this today?

As if..

I'm not like all those other writers out there who write for the sake of the "theme." I can't even force myself to write even when I want to. All I'm just saying is serendipity rules my life more fully than anyone can ever imagine.

I'm not even wondering anymore if my life is an unfinished chapter. I know with a certainty stronger than death that it is more than written. It is bound in leather, and gilded in chains, written by the master macabre writer of all time.

And hey, it isn't me!

I Am Jack

It has been two months now since I've started working in the "corporate world" for a "corporate account" in a call center hired by a "corporate client." In these two months that I've been living, working, and burning brows among the legion of the night, I have these experiences to thank for:

1. Having my first salary from a first "formal" job

2. Having my first payslip and looking glazedly at my name on it and the words saying: employee

3. Taking my first call and experiencing what they call "fright night." I am not boasting by any means when I say I am more than well versed in English, but when I took that first "live" call, all the English words in my vocabulary dried up and if I could've just said "habla español?" I would've.

4. Having that dreaded disease of ending phone conversations with: is there anything else that I can help you with?

5. Thumping myself on the head when I stupidly say to customers wanting to cancel their accounts: I'll be more than happy to assist you with that sir/mam! wtfbbq? Jao: inifinitely negative on retention phrases

6. Laughing to myself while forgetting that I haven't switched the mute button and then telling the customers when they asked: what? with: cough, cough. sorry sir/mam if you could hear my seatmate. mic's awfully sensitive.

7. Telling customer's who are impatiently waiting with these stupendically, idiotic words: thank you for patiently waiting sir/mam, please bear with me, I'm almost -- uhh -- almost -- there?!? duh!! Thank you Jao! Wham! Bam! Give me a tissue please!

8. Bearing with customers who belittle you the moment they notice you're not from their shores. Suddenly, the word "bigot" held a new meaning for me.

9. I watched Fight Club again, and suddenly I understood Edward Norton's character, the schizoprenic genius Jack/Tyler Durden's words: I Am Jack's Complete Lack of Surprise. I Am Jack's Smirking Revenge.  I Am Jack's Inflamed Sense of Rejection. You are not your job...you are not how much money you have in the bank...not the car you drive...not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Suddenly, I understood Jack's dead voice, mouthing over and over: we are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. And I have become one of them. Even cringing when I got absent for one day, on a day I most deservedly needed to be absent bec. I was sick. When back before, my classmates would've considered me to be sick if they see me present in class.

10. I watched Snatch again (before Fight Club) (and yeah, it was a movie marathon) when I felt what I've long felt before. I was born to do this. Screenplays. In my head, hundred of unwritten screenplays pile up, awesome shit that would've blown anyone away have they seen what was reeling on my mind. Whilst I was hearing Snatch's dialouge, I was like: fuck. This is the shit I live for. The words Replica and Desert Eagle point five-oh echoe in my mind. And I ask myself, how long will I stay with my "Replica" and pick up my "Desert Eagle point-five-oh?"

Only a friend can tell. And he has only till next year to do so. Wether or not I be great in my lifetime or not isn't a question. I will be great. Let my words judge me for what I am worth.

I am ready to be judged.

I am Jack's unfulfilled obssession. The all-sighing, all-dreaming, unacting schmuck of the world. And if there isn't anything else I can help you with today, thank you for ringing me up and giving me new light about America, have a very fucking wonderful weekend my dear readers!

I will never ever dial another toll-free number as long as I live.

Hans, and Beggars

I've been having weird dreams lately. And the usual nightmares, of course. First, this really fabulous story about me going back in time to save myself from a horrible death, only to find out I made a grave mistake in the process and set in motion events which actually erased my existence from the present. And the only way I could go back was to appear in dreams to those who knew me before I "erased" myself from their memories and try to make them remember me. Lolx. It would've kicked-ass if it actually had an ending. Sadly, that usual nightmare cropped up and interrupted that movie in my mind. So I guess I'll just have to content myself to imagining who among those whom I knew would've been able to save me. Last I remember, I was visiting some beggar from the streets, and it felt like he was my last hope and I was pinning everything on him. Was I that forgettable that it came to that? Hahaha. To plead to a beggar to remember someone whom he may have beg alms from sometime in his life, haha. Truly pathetic.

And then this dream that had Hans-Christan-Andersen's hands all over it. A story about a kleptomaniac prince who hides his true personality by acting "prim and proper" in front of eveyrone, and then stealing them blind when everyone's looking the other way. Enters our hero, moi, who not only catches him in the act, but shows him for what he truly is.

He had just stolen some really tasty treats (which was really rare. and for some reason, only I and the girl had it) from some girl in the party and was about to get away with his booty when I caught him and whispered to him.

"You could say sorry to the girl, return the candies, and I'll give you mine in turn. Or keep it and eat it. Though I warn you. Those candies have an enchantment. Stolen from the rightful owner, its insides become filled with poison. While if freely given to someone, becomes filled with chocolate that has healing powers. (err. this is a dream. it is corny, but I warned you -- it was all Hans' fault)

Well, what'd you expect a kleptomaniac to do? He swallowed the candies and then dropped dead. The party went into an uproar. Suddenly, guards where all around me. But who's staying for this party?

Not me. My usual nightmare just saved me again from a possible hanging.

So what is the moral of these two dreams?

Well one, that I should be kind to all beggars lest the affirmation of my existence falls to them, and two, that nightmares can actually save you from a much more horrible one, i.e. the cheekiest of the cheekiest.

Lucid dreaming days are here again.

Posts

My two posts from another forum:

Is English The Key To Being Globally Competitive?

To be "personally" "globally competitive" the answer is, yes, we need english. Those trying or are going to work abroad would definitely need english to be competitive with other nationals looking for the same work. But for our nation to be "globally competitive?" I don't think learning english alone can give us that. How long have we had a large percentage of our population able to speak or at least converse in english outranking other country's percentage of their population? And have we any to show for it?
Meanwhile the Japanese did it without even a hint of Ingrish in them. The Chinese and Koreans? Only now have they desired to learn the language, not to be globally competitive (coz they already have been globally competitive way before they decided to learn it) but bec. they don't want to be fooled/swindled when they deal in business transactions (that require English to be the medium of transaction) The Chinese even going further to impose their "ignorance" of English to others as to force the Americans to learn Mandarin.
Just look at that! If you can command that respect, you don't have to learn their language, they learn yours! Or they hire an interpreter. Either way, if you are in demand, language deficiency is not a problem but jz a bump in the road.
As some Chinoys say: if you want to be an employee anywhere in the world, go learn english. But if you want to go into international business and be the boss, go learn fookien and mandarin.

What we need is to learn to love ourselves first before we can even think of going global. It reeks of hypocrisy, wanting to learn a foreign language when you can barely speak fluently in your own tounge. (and jz look at me, more fluent in english than in tagalog. sheesh!)

Brain Drain, Hope Of The Phil's Economy?

Brain drain or service export?
Before, when medical professionals weren't leaving in droves yet, it was jz service export. Mga DH lng and blue-collar workers and umaalis. Then, it wasn't more of a "brain-drain" but more of a "brawn-drain." IMHO, although this exodus of Filipinos bring to us some "benefits" the over-all and long-term effects are far more harmful than good. In what way?
First: with breadwinners leaving their families (either Nanay or Tatay) the kids are left-alone (or with relatives) to fend for themselves. This creates a void in the family. Disciplining and teaching the kids proper values are left to others, or worse, are jz left alone to be influenced by television and radio. The family is the basic unit of society, and if that is wrecked, what can you expect of those who come from it?
Second: at the rate the exodus is going, it's not impossible that within 10 years, the Philippines will be reduced to a mass of dregs. (dregs- latak. tira-tira) with the better teachers going abroad, what can you expect but for the country's education standards to flunk further. Without abled teachers teaching would-be teachers, future teachers would be more and more inept at teaching. It's a vicious cycle. The product of those inept ones become further inept, and the products of their products becoming complete asses. Imagine that happening not jz to education majors but to every student in the Philippines.
Third: not all who leave the country will come back and invest here. Only a small percentage of them would feel patriotic and say: I will come back and help the motherland! A larger part of them would become immigrants and totally forget the place of their birth, taking their kids and every relative they can possibly take along with them. So aside from the OFW who left, another percentage of the Philippine's future is gone along with them.

At ang natira sa Pilipinas ay ang mga walang alam, ang walang kakayahang mangibang-bansa, ang mga korap, at ang mga kumikita sa koraptong bansang ito.

It is a vicious cycle. Like a man bleeding from a large wound, the heart pumps faster bec. the body needs more blood not knowing that in pumping faster it's making the body lose more blood.
Death would come, sooner than expected.

FATE: decoded

Einstein said God doesn't play dice. Well crunch this: for every reasoned, purposeful decision we make, one unreasonable, freak occurence results. For every person believing that they control their lives, there's one event lying in wait to prove them wrong. (and if that isn't so, then why does death get them everytime?) For every life, there is un-life. For every certainty, a certain randomness in our lives.

This then is the sum of our lives, computed based on unsound reasoning and proven facts:

Part 1

We control our life by only fifty percent. The other fifty percent is decided on by fate. This fate decides where our life will fork based on chaos calculations. For those not familiar with chaos theories, this is how it goes: the more random an event is, the more it means it is systematic. From more chaos forms more order.
That is why it is totally impossible to predict the future. Or determine our fate.

Part 2

This meager fifty percent control we have over our lives either increases or decreases depending on the amount of personality and determination we have. The stronger your personality is, and the stronger your determination is, the more likely it is that you will achieve what you set out to do. Such persons have appeared in history, having so strong personalities and such will that even other lives have changed.

Part 3

Whatever percentage of control you have over your life, you lose when you are one of those pieces whom I will call: inevitable pawns. These people are those whom fate has a set job to do. In this case, free will is voided. There will always be moments in our lives when all of us cannot choose. This is a certainty. Though fate is random, it is set on a guided structure. All these set jobs, and all those people born into it, leads into only one thing: the preservation of the universe as it is. So we are free in a sense, but kept on a very tight leash. Stray too far away from the safe structures that keep our universe functioning perfectly, and fate will rein you in.

Part 4

Illusion is delusion is confusion. Those who are realists and believe they are the gods of their own fate attracts less attention from random occurences but increases the chance of it being fatal by ninety percent. Those who are fatalists and resigned to whatever fate deals them attracts more of these freak occurences but decreases the chance of it being fatal. All random occurences can be life-changing or not.

Part 5

Once you take a fork, to actually put your foot forward on that path, the wheels of fate moves in motion and begins its calculations. You will now be struck by a fifty percent chance or more (depending on what you have from part 2) of success or failure.

Part 6

This fifty percent strike will further be altered by other people's actions and decisions. And your side of the percentage will also be altered by other people's actions and decisions. And their actions and decisions are altered also in the same way: by that fifty percent strike and your and other people's actions and decisions. And it goes on, and on, and on. The calculation never ends.

And that is the sum of our lives.

A random ripple effect bound by a structured universe. Cause a wave that destroys this randomness and you destroy the universe.

Haha. This reasoning must be caused by me playing too much calculation-based games (like DOTA).
But who's to say? Maybe we're all just part of a computer program built on mathematics such that we can never achieve a perfect world. Where everyone loves everyone, and where all dreams come true. And if that's the case, then our world's creators are such lousy program writers.

Remember, remember...

From the movie V for Vendetta: (I got ahold of the movie's entire script and it's jz too tempting not to post some of it here)

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the gunpowder treason and plot. I know of now reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot."
Those were almost the very first words he spoke to me and, in a way, that is where this story began, four hundred years ago, in a cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament.

-Evey's V.O at the start of the movie

"The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him. And fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore. Disdaining fortune with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution."

-V, saving a damsel in distress, Evey.

EVEY: Who -- Who are you?
V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both
victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere
veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished.
However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands
vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin
van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious
violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held
as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one
day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise
of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very
good honor to meet you and you may call me V.
V: And you would be?
EVEY: Evey.
V: Of course.

- haha. that scene's funny.

EVEY: V, v, v, v, v.
V: I hear your summons, my lady. And obey.
EVEY: Oh, V, you scared me. I was reading the inscription. What is it?
V: A Latin quotation. A motto. "Vi veri veniversum vivus vici." "By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe."
EVEY: Yes, I suppose you have. This place is the only universe I have right now.
V: Does that bother you?
EVEY: I don't know. I'm so grateful to you -- I just feel I should help you, you know, the way you're helping me. I mean, that's the deal, isn't it?
V: No deals, Evey. Not unless you want them.
EVEY: I think I do. Part of me wants to stay here forever and never have to face what's going on outside. But that's not right. Is it? That's not taking responsibility. Not conquering my universe. I want to help you.
V: I want to do something. Can we make a deal? Yes. I think we can make a deal if you like. I think I know a way you could help me very soon indeed.
EVEY: Good. That's that, then. V, you said that Latin thing was a quote. Who said it?
V: Nobody you'd have heard of. A German gentleman named Dr. John Faust. He made a deal too.

- V and Evey in V's lair

I was born in a rainy burg in Nottingham in 1975. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's grammar. I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. Her wrists. Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class staring at the pickled rabbit fetus while Mr. Herd said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn't. In 1994, I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I moved to London to go to college and study drama. My mother said I broke her heart. But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little but it's all we have left in this place...
It is the very last inch of us...

But within that inch we are free.

London. I was happy in London. I played Dandini in Cinderella. The world was strange and rustling with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 2006, I starred in "The Salt Flats." That's where I met Ruth. We fell in love. Every Valentine's Day she sent me roses and, oh god, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life. In 2010, they came. And after that there were no more roses...
Not for anybody.

After the takeover, they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her face with cigarettes and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her but I didn't blame her. But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh, Ruth. They came for me. They shaved off my hair. They held my head down a toilet and told lesbian jokes. They brought me here and pumped me full of chemicals. I can't feel my tongue. I can't speak. It is strange that my life should end in such a terrible place but for three years I had roses and apologized to nobody.
I shall die here. Every inch of me shall perish...

Except one.

An inch. It is small and fragile and it's the only thing in the world that's worth having. We must never lose it or sell it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. I don't know who you are but I hope you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and things get better and that one day people have roses again. I don't know who you are but I love you. I love you.

- Valerie's story

V: Welcome home, Evey.
EVEY: You. You did this... to me. You did this to me! You -- You hit me and -- and cut my hair. It was you. It was just you all this time. You tortured me. You tortured me -- Oh god, why?
V: Because I love you, Evey. Because I wanted to set you free.
EVEY: Love? Set me free? Don't you realize? Don't you realize what you did to me? You nearly drove me mad! I hate you. I hate you! Set me free? You put me in a prison to set me free?!
V: You were already in a prison. You've been in a prison all your life.
EVEY: Shut up! I don't want to hear it. I wasn't in a prison. I was happy! I was happy here --
V: Happiness is the most insidious prison of all, Evey.
EVEY: That's warped! That's evil and it's wrong! What gives you the right to judge? Who are you to say what's not good enough?!
V: You were born in a prison, Evey. I didn't put you there. I just showed you the bars. You've been in a prison so long, you no longer believe there's an outside world.
EVEY: Shut up! You're mad! I don't want to hear it!
V: That's because you're afraid, Evey. You're afraid because you can feel freedom closing in on you. You're afraid because freedom is terrifying.
EVEY: I can't feel anything! There's nothing left to feel! Don't you understand?
V: Don't back away from it, Evey. Part of you understands the truth even as part pretends not to. Woman, this is the most important moment in your life. Don't run from it.

- the "Revelation" as I like to call it. Hehe. Or the Liberation of Evey. Either way, it rocks.

haven't seen the movie yet? Do yourself a favor, and do.

Sanamagan!

I knew today wasn't just going to be my day when:

1. I woke up with a throbbing tootache and one hell of a nausea.

2. I found out the food I prepared for my Mamuy to take was left in the refrigerator, waiting for somebody to rescue it from leftover hell.

3. Even the note I left on the table (you know, the one telling her that I've cooked food for her and even included extras so she should just help herself and eat before she leaves 'coz I don't want her getting hungry while she's at work 'coz I love her so much?) was left unread.

4. On my way to the job interview (yes, improbable as it may seem, I had one!) the sole on my right shoe came undone. So I had to walk a little more careful or it might totally come off.

5. I was late as a result.

6. And because I was late, I was called last to be interviewed. Now, this would've been just fine by me, but when the airconditioning was at full-blast like it wanted to produce snow, I knew that I just had to tolerate all that numbness, shivering, and chattering of my teeth till the interview's over.

7. Right after the lunch break, (the battery of tests were stopped so that everyone could eat) I got a case of mild diarrhea, (from eating at that cheap, Cost-U-Less canteen) and had to rush inside the bathroom to take a dump. Thankfully, the bathroom was clean, had toilet paper, and had the soap dispenser full.

And the best of the worst things why I knew it wasn't going to be my day? (No, it wasn't the diarrhea)

7. I actually passed that interview that begs the question: why do you want to apply in a call center when the course you've finished is Physical Therapy? It turned out so well that the interviewer was so impressed with me he even gave me a chance when I didn't passed the listening exam (for the 2nd time!), and allowed me to take it for a third time.

Well, you ask, how does that translate into how I knew it was going to be "one of those days?"

Well, obviously, when your day isn't going that good, and suddenly something good happens, you know for a fact that you're fucked.

And like clockwork, calamity strikes when it's supposed to strike -- at the last hurdle of the job interview.

8. So there I was, sitting anxiously, waiting for the simulation call, (I've just passed all those grammar tests, iq tests, typing tests, and listening tests, all with flying colors; well with the exception for the last one) when the phone rang. So I pressed that button that they said I should press when the call comes in, delivered the spiel that was given in the manual, and spoke really well, until the "pretend" customer gave the reason why she was calling.

Now, understand, though I expected that the reason why the simulation call was done was to test the applicants on their ability to handle stress and pressure, I wasn't prepared for how I would actually react once the call was made. (I haven't really handled calls like that for long, so I really didn't know how I could've handled it properly. In fact, I haven't handled any calls like that since -- ever) I panicked, stammered, and basically made a fool out of myself.

So naturally, the one who tested me on that simulation call told me I don't have what it takes to be "one of them" yet. (she didn't really tell me in those exact words, but you know me, ever the sensitive guy, it just had to be EXACTLY what she meant) I persisted and asked to retake that simulation test, but she told me: sorry, but we don't do that. I even wanted to go so far as to pose an argument in my defense, but she never gave me that chance to cut in and speak as she just kept speaking and telling me that I should just wait till Monday, and that they'll probably call me if there's no one else left they could possibly hire, that I should just hope and cross my fingers and hope that one of the applicants have an accident, or contract some deadly disease out of South Africa, or God forbid, die, (don't raise your eyebrows! of course she didn't really tell me, again, in those same words. But you know me, guy with the ever active imagination...) and promptly stood up, indicating that her "precious time" talking to me, was up.

I kept smiling, all the way out of the building, and kept asking myself: Why? Why? Why did I put myself again in such a situation wherein somebody will try and tell me I'm no good? Why would I get my lazy butt off my most comfortable bed, forego that maddening urge to start writing my "dream screenplay" (which had been nagging me for days), and waste my whole day on a job search I know I'll never get anyway. (when has fate smiled on me on this one?) (laughed maybe. even sniggered maybe. or cackled. or stomped its feet, rolled on the floor, wept in such mirth it fell dead once it stopped)

And the simple answer to that one is:

I wanted to measure up to Mamuy. I wanted to be other than what I am. A bum. And a house-husband. I wanted to give it a shot and never think back for a moment and say: what-if?

The larger part of the scheme, and what really gets me, is that even our cat agrees that what happened to me was exactly what I deserved.

As soon as I arrived, feeling all gloomy and trying to be upbeat anyway, I picked up Ming-ming, (yeah, we named him the most original name we could think of) put him on the table, and played the "asking game" with him. Now, if you've watched "A Very Long Engagement," you'd know what I mean, and if you're one of the millions who didn't, well here's how it goes. The "player" asks a question he or she would like to have an answer to, and poses a situation that might or might not happen, and say: if this happens, this is what'll be the answer to my question. Like: if she really loves me, the sky would fall down, the earth would shake, and the kingdom, would come!

Well, me and Mamuy sort of developed a deviation to this kind of "silly" game. (what am I saying? of course it's silly! it's a game seeking an answer to a question based on stupid things happening! of course it's silly. and fun. you should try it) Instead of posing a situation that might or might not happen, we just ask Ming-ming the question, and if he thinks the aswer to the question is yes, he'll bite our hands. (and boy, does this cat love to bite!) And if he really thinks the answer is an emphatic NO, he'll look at you and give you a stare that says: would you really wanna know, punk?

So I played the "asking game" with Ming-ming and asked him if I should still hope that I'll be getting a call-back this Monday, when he turned his back on me, twisted his head to one side, and gave me a squinting look that said: (well, just ride on with me, hypothetically, I heard him say it) What? After all that piece you said knowing how fate fucks up your life, how you knew it wasn't your day, how you even felt the interviewer told you: it's either an applicant dead or none, how could you expect me to answer that truthfully, say yes, and still be the cutest, darndest cat I can ever be? No sir. No siree. Ming-ming is not a cat to trifle with the mysteries of life. You're on your own with this one, P-U-N-K-!

Well, gee, who am I to argue with a cat, who does nothing all day but sleep, lounge, eat, pee and shit under our cabinet with nothing but the pitch that: Humans don't own cats, cats own humans? Well, I'm certainly not the one to try.

So I decided to just continue with the list of why this day is NOT my day.

9. I switched on the light in our room and -- nothing. The damn guys living in the other room where the cicuit breaker for the lights was located, had again switched it off.

10. The money I'm supposed to win in the Lotto, still hasn't arrived...

11. The board exam I'm supposed to pass, still hasn't been given...

12. The publisher who's going to make me a best-selling author, hasn't been born...

13. And the God or fate (whichever the case may be) who'll finally take pity on me and give me a break, still hasn't stopped enjoying the "asking game" wherein they ask: what if we did this to Jao, or this, or that? Wouldn't it be so much fun to just watch him flounder and wonder why he gets all these kind of breaks?

Well, wouldn't I just be the luckiest guy there ever was if that ever happened, don't you think, PUNK? (Ouch! Ming-ming stop biting me! You're not the one I'm calling "punk." Seriously feline punk, you're not! Ow! Ow! Ow!)

Me, French Fries

To escape reality, we often drown ourselves in things that would help us get our minds off the "real world" for awhile. For shopaholics, it maybe a trip to the mall; for film buffs, a movie or two; for intellectuals, reading their favorite book; still for others, gimmicking and guzzling booze does the trick for them.

For me, and for many other "addicts" like me, gaming is the way. It has often been said that gaming (arcade, video, online, pc) accomplishes no other purpose than these two: entertain, and waste time.

For a long time, I depended on this "alternate" reality to sustain me. The pains and heartbreaks of my past have led me to the point that I subsisted only to play. I was more than a potato lounging on a couch, I was amoeba germinating, I was a rock gathering moss.

What is bad about gaming as another form of entertainment is that unlike sports, reading, or watching movies, gaming has little to contribute in the way of intellectual and spiritual growth. For the many years that I've been playing, I can only attribute two things positive that gaming has taught me: more coordination (for pressing x & y buttons alternately, simultaneously, extraneously, and any other way posible that can be) and lots of patience (try playing any of the FF series and you'll know what I mean). Other gamers may argue. But what about strategy or RTS games? Don't these games exercise your analytical thinking and decision-making in pressured situations? They may well do, but the case is, often, the only things they exercise are the ones on your arms and wrists as more often than not, average gamers who play these games resort to pre-developed tactics by other "much better" players and do not really develop strategies of their own. These games also have a saturation rate on the amount of strategies that can be developed and learned, and when thus reached, stops being a thinking game but becomes an exercise in futility.

Role-playing games for me are much better in the brain-exercise category. By saying role-playing, I'm referring to those RPGs that are played offline, those RPGs that have deep storylines and complex character developments (like the FF series) In these kind of games, gamers are forced to use their imagination (an activity most kids nowadays do not do). Text-base RPGs are even better in this category! People who play these games use their imagination, create their own characters, choose their own attributes, in short, gives them a life of their own. Creation is the key word here. To create something out of nothing, that is imagination.

Going back to what I'm saying, the reason this whole monolouge started was because I, who have been for so long using games as anesthesia for my pain, suddenly woke up one day and realized that I no longer need this same anesthesia to dull my senses.

I woke up one day to realize that this same anesthesia, though materially important in saving my life post-trauma, have cease being useful to me, and have in fact, become the opposite.

My life as a wandering swordsman and a black hole unfilled is over. I find no more use to be numb to everything around me. It is this precisely that has led me to reject any, and all sorts of subtitutes for the reality that is my LIFE.

What used to sustain me, now kept me from living my life fully. Fantasies, games, and dreams are all so well, so long as they do not encroach on your ability to live your life well and productively.

I've realized that there is more to life than "just living."

There's also living with yourself, and living with those you love that makes life what it is. These are two things similar and intertwined. You can't live with those you love if you can't live with yourself. (for what you've done in your past)

It took me this long, and Mamuy that much patience, for me to see the light.

That is why, though Fate and God conspire against us together, I will never let my Mamuy go.

It is more than just love that's keeping us. It is something which I think is greater than love but has no word to define it.

How have old couples remained married to each other all through those years? Was it simple love? Yes, undeniably, there was of course love. Was it mere patience? Yes, that too, cannot be denied was present in their relationship. Was it just forbearance? Reasonably, that would be included as well. But the sum of all these things: love, patience, forbearance, faith, trust, hope, or whatever...

That -- that is what I'm referring to that me and Mamuy have. The sum of all things that keeps couples together.

It is what has woken me to the truth.

That I am more than just a couch potato in the eyes of my beloved.

I am french fries with thousand island dressing on the sides.

And I resolve to upgrade to a combo meal in a little more time.

So next time you see me, be prepared to see the super-sized new me.

A little thin on regrets, with double helpings of hope for better things to come.

Self-helping Yourself

For a couple of days now, I have been on an overdrive mode. Writing, writing, and writing. My despair inflamed the writer in me, and ever since, I’ve been chugging out compositions after compositions. My mood hasn’t affected the tone of my articles as I’ve even been able to write funny anecdotes.

When I write something good, I instantly know if it is good ‘coz I really feel good about myself; at how I made that composition turn out. It’s like I have this internal editor in me egging me on when I make one good piece, and slamming me when I write a bad one.

My Mamuy and I have been talking about how I should go about fulfilling my dream to be a published writer. She said that all I had to do was believe in myself and everything would follow.

If it were only that easy.

We went to Powerbooks today and spent the afternoon there sitting at the coffee shop and reading/browsing some books. Actually, we went to the mall to meet my sisters, who texted me and told me that they’d be shopping there at Megamall and asked me if perhaps I’d like to meet them and at the same time, finally get the laptop I’ve been trying to borrow from them. The visit at Powerbooks was just a plus. (Ok, I’ll admit. It’s become routine for me to always visit Powerbooks whenever I go to Megamall)

I browsed some (actually, more than a few of them) self-help books on writing, and was frustrated to discover that Powerbooks doesn’t have anything that really had substance. I mean come on! Most of those books I saw were just of authors having an ego trip and boasting to readers how they got to were they where and all that. I only saw one book that really had some good advice, tips, and useful exercises which I could really make use of. And it was the cheapest lot of them!

I was frustrated ‘coz I wasn’t able to find a good screenwriting book. They only had two touching on that subject. Talk about being low on choices. And both of the books sucked! The one was locally published by a local author, written in Filipino, and the other one by an international shyster. (the locally published book was better than the internationally published one) I was pissed ‘coz they usually call them self-help or DIY books ‘coz their main purpose is to let the reader teach themselves! But how can you do that when all the book does is give motherhood statements, stories of successful people doing this and that, and telling readers commonsense stuff that really, they don’t need to be told, (like: hey you, to be a good fiction writer you need a good plot, strong characters, and memorable dialogues. I mean, c’mon mamon! What writer wouldn’t already know that?) and failing on the stuff that self-help books should give, which are: how to do it, how best to do it, what are examples of this stuff, and finally, a few exercises to get the reader going. Talk about pretentiousness.

Self-help books are a dime a dozen in the US, but only few have the quality enough to be really called “self-help.” For example, have you experienced that frustration when you bought a self-help book only to find out that the only persons helped by that book are the authors themselves? Yeah, they’re self-helping themselves to your money!

Well, I certainly felt like that when I read this book. (title was: PC Annoyances: How to kick them out of your lives forever; or something to that effect) The book had all the right PC annoyances identified. The problem was on the solutions they gave. Every one of them asked the reader to buy (or download) some 3^rd-party software which in one way or another, they’re bound to benefit from. Most of the software can be downloaded from their site, or if it was freeware or shareware, was ad-supported through them. The low-life bastards!

Well, anyway, I brought that precious find (entitled: The Word at Work) at the cashier and paid for it. I’ve read most of its contents back at the coffee shop, and had no fear that the book was a wrong purchase. I’ve already known (from browsing it) that it had what I was looking for, and I wasn’t disappointed when I came home and read it fully. Boy, and that book wasn’t even a quarter of the pages of those other pretentious books I saw, and thrice cheaper, too!

So a word of wisdom for people planning to buy one of them how-to, self-help, DIY books: Never buy one which you’ve never browsed beforehand. Go to bookstores that allow customers to read a few pages, or even better, one that actually allows you to read the whole thing! Powerbooks is one such bookstore. I don’t know about Fully Booked. Haven’t been there yet. The bookstore turns me off because from just passing by it, I get the impression that all their books are very pricey. Goodwill Bookstore and Book Sale are good places to get a really good bargain if you’re being thrifty. Though they don’t allow full-time reading, (like you reading the entire book) they do allow casual reading. As for National Bookstore, it depends on what branch you’re visiting. Some branches would allow you to rip-off the plastic (for those books that are wrapped up) and see what’s inside, while others wouldn’t. It usually depends on the kind of manager they have on that branch. Others understand that you’re the kind of customer who just wants to make sure you’re getting a good deal for your money, while others are so stuck-up the only thing they see is the rule book which says: No opening of packages please.

Bookstore owners should see it from the buyer’s point of view. You’re interested in this book they have on display. You’ve read what’s written at the back of it, and it sounded good. You want to see a full itemized list of what’s really inside the book as the book is kind of expensive (most of those wrapped-up books have prices ranging from Php700 up). You ask the saleslady or the person at the customer service counter if you could unwrap the book to see what’s inside. They look coldly at you, act all high and mighty and point at the sign which says: no personal reading please. You appeal to them that you’re not gonna read the whole thing (for Christ sakes, its hardbound, and more than a couple of hundred pages!) and just wanted to see the table of contents. They look at you like you’re some imbecile and smile condescendingly at you and say: sorry sir, pero bawal talaga eh.

Fine. Pakisabi na lang sa boss nyo na wala syang mabebentang libro sa ganyang paraan.

Wanna know what book I was trying to buy? A medical one! And all I wanted to do was see the table of contents (to make sure the topics I need to study are in the book) and see if the pictures and drawings in the book are adequate and clear enough for me to study! Buying a medical book is a considerable investment. It’s not like you’re just buying some romance novel at 50 or 100 pesos a pop. Medical books have prices starting from 1,000 and going up. I’d be fool enough to depend upon the writing at the back of the book, which I’m sure is self-serving anyway (considering it was the book’s own publishers who put it there in the first place), to be assured that my money would be well-spent.

I mean, I can’t get it while some bookstore owners do not realize that they won’t be losing money if they allow customers some personal reading. That’s even good as you’re making them addicted at reading. Yeah, I accept that most Filipinos are free-riders, and given the chance at buying or reading for free, most would choose the latter. But they have to understand that most of the buying-type customers aren’t the free-riding type. They have to realize that most of the buying-type customers are well-to-do and doesn’t really care if they’ve already read the book, (I for one still buy books which I’ve already read for the simple fact that I don’t own one yet) but only care about acquiring a book which they’ve really liked reading, and would want to read again and again. It’s not having read it already. It’s re-reading it that makes it for good buying. You see, those free-rider types aren’t the buying type. Whether they’re able to read the book or not, they’ll never buy it ‘coz: they’re free-riders for Christ sakes! Either they’ll just wait for a friend to buy one, or wait for an online copy of that book to proliferate.

Powerbooks is a good example. It has become a virtual haven for free-riding readers. But do you see them losing money? On the contrary, their business is even growing! They know that those free-riders, would sooner or later, get so addicted at reading, they’d become more than just mere book readers. They’d become book lovers. And those would become their most loyal customers.

A short differentiation between the two:

A book reader is one who reads a book for the simple sake of reading it. After finishing, the person puts the book away, throws it out, or gives it to someone else; in short, he doesn’t care what happens to the book next. He only wanted what was inside.

Book readers NEVER buy expensive books. Unless they’re ones needed in school, or in their jobs.

A book lover is someone who reads a book for the joy of it. After finishing, he carefully puts the book on his bookshelf, along with his other “favorites.” Some even wrap the book in plastic so as not to have their covers torn. He wanted not only what was inside, but the book itself.

Book lovers don’t care about the price tag. As long as they like the book, they’ll buy it. (they may not have enough money for it, but they’ll save for it)

So among the two, whom would you want as customers: the spenders or the misers?

Well, that’s a no-brainer for me, if you ask me.

Civil Disobedience?

I'm writing in reaction to Conrado de Quiros' commentary yesterday, Apr. 26 in the PDI, which advocated "civil disobedience" as the way to truly booting out the "pretender" from Malacanang. Here's a link to that commentary by de Quiros: Yet Again, Alternatives

de Quiros' call for civil disobedience reminded me of a story about a King who stoppped being a King when he lost all his followers. It goes like this:

Once there was a selfish king who lived and ruled in a faraway kingdom. He was very cruel with his subjects and imposed heavy taxes on them. He would order imprisonment or whiplashes for those who tried to disobey him. The citizenry, afraid and unable to do anything, suffered silently, while the king continued to rule foolishly.

One day, while the king was bathing, he called for his musicians to play him something. One of those musicians, having had little to eat, kept coughing. The king, irritated by this, ordered his guards to throw the musician in jail.

"How dare he get sick in front of me!" the king fumed. "Doesn't he know it's unlawful to cough in front of the king?" At the thought of having the insolent musician now languishing in jail, the king's mood brightened up and he called for someone else to replace the musician. A little girl was brought forth. She was a singer, and was known for her lovely voice. Unknown to the king, the musician whom he had just had thrown in jail, was the girl's father. The girl, having heard of this, refused to sing for the king. The king was so angered by this that he ordered the harshest punishment he could think of for the girl. Torture.

So the girl was thrown in one of the castle's dungeons and was told to await her punishment come nightfall. The girl, though very afraid at the thought of being tortured, kept her courage up and sang to herself to make her fears go away.

When night came, a hooded man entered the cell. He had with him the tools of his trade. Without warning, the hooded man bellowed at the girl.

"Will you not change your mind and sing for the king? I can tell the king you changed your mind and we'd have none of this torture."

Though by this time, the girl's fear truly reached its height, the girl bravely answered, "I will not sing for the king. For he has thrown my father in jail when my father's only sin was to cough in front of him. My father, who got sick, because the king would not stop increasing the taxes he's asking from us. My father, who got sick because the king would hardly pay him enough to buy us food, and his medicines."

The hooded man knew the story of the girl and her father. Though he was sympathetic to their plight, he knew that if he wavered on his job, it would be him who would be tortured for failing to obey the king. So he implored the girl:

"Will you not at least ask forgiveness from the king and tell him you're sorry?"

at which the girl answered, "I cannot ask forgiveness for it was not I who have sinned."

at this, the man was truly amazed at the courage of the girl. It broke his heart that now he must torture this girl for no other crime than that she wanted to defend her father. He stepped forward, and took one of the whips off the table when he heard the girl speak.

"But if you want, I can sing for you."

And the girl sang. Her voice was so clear, and touched the man so, that he fell down on his knees crying. He let go of the whip he was holding, and told the girl

"I cannot hurt someone who can sing beautifully such as you. I would rather endure the king's wrath than flay a girl with a voice as yours."

And so the man left the girl alone. He went back to the king and told the king his decision. The king imediately had him thrown in the same cell as the girl, and ordered that both of them would now be tortured.

As what happened the first night, another hooded man came in, now to torture them both. But like the first night, the man heard the girl sing and was so moved by her singing, that he went back to the king same as the first one, and was thrown in the same cell.

Each night, a slew of men entered the cell, to torture the girl and all who came before them who failed, and came out refusing to do his job as well. The cell got so ridiculously crowded, that the king had to order his headsmen to kill some of the prisoners to free up some room. But by this time, the story of the girl and her would-be torturers had gotten around the palace, that the headsmen who were summoned rudely told the king: Up yours! threw down their axes, and left the king in shock.

The king was now truly in a rage. He ordered all his soldiers to capture and kill everyone who disobeyed him, and warned them that anyone who disobeys him further will have his life and their family's life as well, forfeited. But the soldiers knowing that the king had no headsman left to do his executions for him, laughed at the king and paid him no heed. They went further, and released all the prisoners inside the dungeons, the girl and her father along with them, and announced that they would be going back to their former lives as farmers, fishermen, bakers, and would not work for the king anymore.

This caused an avalanched of resignation at the palace that soon, the only followers the king had left were his advisers, and his royal sycophants.

The king was unperturbed, thinking that the people would soon realize their mistake and come back crying for forgiveness. At such thought, he happilly devised devious punishment for each one who disobeyed him.

"They need me," he thought. "I am the king. Who would rule over them if they have no king? Who would protect them but I?"

So the king went to sleep peacefully, expecting that the next morning would have him taking the people's apologies and handing out punishments just like before.

When he awoke, he bellowed for his maids to help him with his clothes. Instead of the maids coming, two of his advisers went inside his room instead.

"But sir, don't you recall? Everyone left yesterday. We, your advisers, and some of your allies, are the only ones left in the palace." one of the advisers reminded the king. And as if he had some further wisdom to impart, the other one quickly added, "But don't you worry my king, once the people realizes their mistake, we'd have all your servants back, and a few heads rolling as well. And then, you can reward us, your faithful servants, with the kingdom's wealth, just as we righfully deserve."

"Yes," the first one agreed. "This is what we advise you to do. Just wait for the people to realize their mistake."

The king was glad then, and ordered the two to come and break their fast with him. At this, the two advisers told the king that no food were prepared because even the royal cook had left the palace.

"No problem then!" the king said. "I'll just go to the royal orchard and pick some fruits."

But was told, that again, the people, in all their frenzy, had picked all the fruits in the orchard, and left none for them to pick.

"I'll go to the store room then. I know we have an abundance of milk, cheese, and wheat..."

But the two advisers shaked their head sadly and told him, that those too, were taken by the people.

"But what are we going to eat?" the king demanded.

"Well sir," one of the advisers volunteered. "I saw one of your cows grazing not far off. We can still make use of her for milk, cheese, and for meat later on, if the people still persists in their madness."

"Well, very good. Why don't you go to her and milk her then?"

"But sir, I am just your adviser. I know not how to milk a cow. I can give you advise on how to divide the kingdom's wealth, on whom to punish and why, but I can't give you advise on how to milk a cow."

and the other adviser, not to be outdone, added:

"Me neither sir. I did not study to become your adviser just to milk a cow. If you want, I can prepare a report for you of all the names of the people in the kingdom who can milk this cow for you."

I know that something similar to the story happening today is unrealistic. Our society has grown much more complex that a simple refusal of a few to obey the President would result in her being thrown out of power.

But the idea is there. Take away the country's workhorse, OFWs sending in their hard earned dollars through legal channels, honest civil servants working so hard for a system set against them, police and military personnel loyal to the country brainwashed into thinking that the state is the President, even small business entrepreneurs taxed so hard by this government while big businesses flourish at evading much larger taxes, take away all of these and the "Iron Queen" would be a queen of nothing but a bunch of legal-savvy monkeys and ill-bred sycophants.

Civil disobedience by not paying taxes won't work. Taxes are so ingrained in our everyday lives its hard to avoid them, even with us not paying our AITs, we inevitably pay them. When we order a Value Meal at McDo, when we purchase one bottle of Tempra, when we buy that package of baby diapers, every purchase that we make, is taxed by this undeserving government.

I say we go further than that. I say, instead of civil disobedience, we practive civil obedience. Obedience not to this President nor to this government, but obedience to this country's laws. God knows we have enough of them to make our country much better.

Why not start with obeying traffic rules? Lord knows much of our traffic woes are of our own making. Drivers and pedestrians alike. Imagine just a day wherein we can go back and forth the office without the headache given by stalled traffic because of counterflows and pedestrians crossing where they will. Imagine just a day wherein we refuse to bribe police officers when they apprehend us. Wow, an action that just maybe, could make that policeman proud enought to wear his uniform, and promise himself that he'll stop collecting his part in that jueteng operation.

For those in goverment employ, why not start with doing your jobs with a smile? We know none of you are ever compelled to give the best service since competition does not exist in your market, but perhaps, just the knowledge that you are doing your best will be enough for some of you. Just the thought that, though those in the higher-ups pay little heed to your own needs, you're getting back at them by actually performing better than them!

There's a lot of other things we can "obediently" do to actually make our country a better place to live in. I agree, God has made our work a lot harder by allowing leaders like GMA and de Venecia to perpetuate themselves in power in our country, but just think, God does not give us mountains which He doesn't think we can climb!

We may have lousy leaders, but they can't stop us from improving our lot in our own simple way, one day at a time. With little things, I'm sure people like them will slowly be gone. Just as sure as ticks falling off when we bathe our dog, those undeserving leaders would fall one by one, when we start showing them that we are a citizenry to be respected, by having respect in ourselves and refusing to be mired in hopelesness and mediocrity.

We are only so free, as our minds allow us to be.

We are only so wealthy, as our actions allow us to be.

The Filipino is a great being. We only have to highlight all that makes him great and strike down all that makes him evil.

It all starts with ourselves.

Refuse to be the typical "undisciplined" Filipino, and be the unusual "great" Filipino.

It all takes one, to change a whole.

About

Yeah, I'm in my nth time posting online. As you'll probably notice, I have a new link under my "clickies." It's a link to my other blog at livejournal. Please don't read so much into it and think that there's anything there other than what I really wrote.

Disclaimer: as it is my blog, and my point of view, I am entitled to be a little biased, and free to tell the story, the way I went through it. Others (who are in it) may disagree, and they are very free to do so, but as I've said, not everything there is written the way it really happened, or exactly how it happened. It's only a distorted retelling of how I remember those events, how I wrote about it at that time, and how I interpreted them with the information I had at the time of my writing it.

As with my other written works, most of the driving force behind it are raw emotions, quite powerful and likely enough to evoke vivid images of it. I will not be liable for any cases of acquired insanity caused by reading my posts. I repeat: read at your own peril.

I will note in my posts if what I've written is a retelling of an actual event, a daydream wishing to be true, a letter I wrote a long time ago, or just something I plainly want to post. Poems are quite apparent and easy to spot, so you'll forgive me when I don't say: excuse me, but this is a poem, not a rant. (haha, 'coz you might think it's one depending on what poems I post there)

I all wish you a happy time clicking, and browsing your time away. Feel free to indulge in the most guilty pleasure of reading. That of reading other people's letters and talking back at them (or at your computer) for the stupid, silly, sappy  things they're writing.

These are some of my most private thoughts and experiences. Please don't debase it and post a comment like: you stupid negro! you inconsiderate prick! how could you do/say a thing like that? I know i'm probably most of those things, but if you really didn't like what I wrote, can you just at least say it in a nice way. Please do not curse or flame me. I'm really a sensitive guy underneath. I get hurt easily. (haha. naah. just playing wit' ya. wth? say whatever you wanna say and I'll probably retort something of the like to you)

And oh, Lestat wasn't my original favorite when I first watched "Interview." I fell in love with Louis' character more. It was only upon reading "Lestat" and "Memnoch" that I began to appreciate the depth of Lestat's character. Let's just say that there are pieces of each of their character which I can really connect with.

Louis is an immortal able to change with the times, while Lestat is an immortal both hating and loving his being one.

I'm not an immortal like them. But I feel the way they do. Cast away by God for being the way we are, which fate has gifted us anyway.

PS.

you have to read LIVE starting from the bottom going up

otherwise, you'll miss the most beautiful part of my stroytelling.

which is: fragmenting the whole to give a titilating view of a part.

Plus, you won't be able to follow the gist of my posts...

Being Lestat

I'ver read Anne Rice's "Interview..." and "Lestat" long before I realized I actually liked these romantic blood-suckers. My better-half drew out of me my interest in them. Like a lot of things I disliked before and now like, vampires for me has become something which I count as how much Mamuy has changed me.

I still remember how I felt after reading Lestat's story, how that brief glimpse in an immortal's life and psyche made me felt somehow -- connected.

I read "Lestat" long ago, yet it's only now that I truly understand what Lestat was griping about when he said that: the world is a savage garden. If I meet Lestat right now, I'd say to him: I feel you man. I understand why you hate God.

I mean for godssakes, he was given a gift/curse (depending on how you view it) which he did not want, and in which he was able to experience what many mortals were unable to experience. To view man's suffering in the flow of time, to be their predator and share their grief, to have lived a millenia and reached a point where he actually longed for death...

Truly who wouldn't cry out to heaven and say: you made the world a savage garden, for what purpose, you unfathomable prick?

Even Anne Rice's discourse on heaven and earth, the angels, and God's reason for creating man, in her other book "Memnoch," made me feel Lestat's pain more. And yet, when given that choice to either side with God or with Satan, Lestat chose God.

And this is how Lestat's savage garden truly comes full circle.

To have lived his life and know eternity and despair, seen in the eyes of an immortal, the view of the world can certainly one that can be called:  a savage garden. A garden where you can see the most beautiful roses, pick one up, and be pricked by its thorns.

It's the paradox of life. Pain makes life bloom unlike any other emotion we can experience.

---

To see the world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a wild flower

Fuck fate which isn't in your hand, and curse God and his damn power

Support CineMalaya and Junk MMFF Altogether

I don't understand what the fuss is all about this MMFF "rumor" of "undeserved winers" and "mafia-run" juries. Frankly, I don't give a fuck. MMFF for me has already been an institution beyond any salvation ever since Lolit committed that great scam in the 90's. Everyone knows that year after year, MMFF continues to patronize mediocre films just because they have:

a) big budgets

b)big-time producers or directors or

c) both

For an industry that's needing a much needed boost, it's a big relief that CineMalaya  came to life.

This is where the true salvation of Pinoy films lie. If only people would see that. Already, our indies are raking in international awards that our "big-time" directors can only gawk at. Shame. Just like our medical professionals, our indies are only appreciated "abroad."

Thankfully, with CineMalaya, great young talents are given the chance to show their creativity and be discovered in the process. Even the last placed film in this festival will pussy-whip any best picture the MMFF deems "best." What a sorry ass of mind MMFF judges must have when they'd rather have "Hula mo, Huli Ko" in the roster than "Magnifico."

So I don't understand what the hulabaloo is about. So you didn't win the prize, bohoo. Who cares? Your movie made money at the box-office (thanks to the brilliant idea of protectionism, which I think should be given to CineMalaya and not, pwe, MMFF, which incidentally kills all efforts at excellence and promotes a culture of mediocrity) (and by saying "mediocre" I'm saying MMFF has sunk even lower than that. Hello! Terrorist Hunter anyone?), your talents all earned fat paychecks, and you've just degraded Philippine Cinema to the coldest depths of hell.

Who cares if you never got that stinkin' trophy? It's a piece of trash anyway. MMFF has made sure of that.

TRUE filmmakers don't care about the awards they'll get. They care about the art. They know that recognition comes from the audience, not from a bunch of silly saps who think they know Bergman from Kubrick. Real filmmakers care not about prizes. What's important for them is expressing their creativity and showing people what LIFE is all about.

I agree with Zulueta. MMFF is not a festival. It's a carnival.

No I aint crazy -- yet. Still, aint I beautiful as I always am?

There is a beautiful line in the movie "Proof" that goes:

"Let X equal the quantity of all quantities of X. Let X equal the cold. It is cold in December. The months of cold equal November through February. There are four months of cold and four of heat, leaving four months of indeterminate temperature. In February. It snows. In March. The lake is a lake of ice. In September. The students come back and the bookstores are full. Let X equal the month of full bookstores. The number of books approaches infinity as the number of months of cold approaches four. I will never be as cold now as I will in the future. The future of cold is infinite. The future of heat is the future of cold. The bookstores are infinite and so are never full except in September."

It kind of sums up how I feel. It somehow sounds right to be crazy sometimes.

If that's what it means to be a brilliant mathematician, then I'm glad I suck at math!

It struck me how "Proof" ran so much like my theory on writers and authors. That: there's no such things as brilliant young authors, only old wise writers.

While the formula for greatness in math lies locked in numbers, ours in literature lies in surviving our experiences. It is no strange coincidence that great writers in literature's history produced their greatest work at the sunset of their lives.

I believe there are many young writers who are very promising, a diamond waiting to be cut -- yet only few proceed on to greatness. Why?

I believe the key lies in their struggles -- in the tragedies in their life.

There are those who succumb, those who try so hard to reproduce the "magic" of their "wonder years," and there are those who rise up, and goes on knowing in their hearts who they are.

It's funny. In retrospect, what I thought was "great work" in my HS days now reads like some writer just trying to sound wise. While I feel I know much better now, who's to say what I would think when I'm in my 40's? Perhaps I'd pick up this notebook, read it, and say to myself: Oh, Jao, you presumptous fool. That idea's an old wagon. It's been gotten on so many times that no one bothers to hail it anymore.

But what do I know? I'm just in my "declining years" as the movie happily points out. And why do I care? In my theory, my greatness hasn't even yet started. I haven't even begun to recite my prime numbers. I'm just beginning to learn how to count to ten.

I'll be 40 in about 15 years, maybe then you'll have heard of me -- or not.

Well, it depends on whether I survive whatever life throws at me during these next 15 years, or at least, that's how it goes in my theory. And in the movie, as well as in life, there's no easy way in proving one's theory. Only an easy way in disproving one.

Prove me wrong then, if you will.