but they are so far out i fear they wont be coming back at all.

most people pity and/or hate the mad ones.
no, its not your most hated relative you see once a year on holidays, nor the judgemental prick you see on facebook. not even the goody two shoe bastard you despicably despise at work. i refer to the ones left in the streets homeless. the ones deprived of social acceptance. 
the non compos mentis.
but i adore these people. 
i envy them.

when we get distracted by the the sound of the streets, they could be listening to jazz, or the philharmonic, or a tchaikovsky.
we might hate the traffic lights and blame the driver right in front of us but all they see are multi million technicolors exploding in infinite bliss.
i envy them when they laugh.
we laugh from social media posts. we laugh because sometimes we need to hide were secretly angered. we laugh because the politician we hate got humiliated by a group... we laugh and laugh.
they laugh because of the simplest reasons they cant explain. they laugh because they know they have tons of cash but their pockets have nothing but candy wrappers and papers and buttons.
they laugh because the sky should be yellow and everyone else sees it blue.
they laugh without inhibition.

theyre not prejudiced. they just do what they fuck they want to do, and speak whatever they want to speak. in essence, they are more free than any of us, theoretically sane people.
i know i may never get the chance to actually have a conversation with them.
because i am not free - 
and they are so far out.
kerouac said that the people for him are the mad ones. 
i guess i feel the same way too.
but they are so far out i fear they wont be coming back at all.

to alex

conversation between two people:

dude1: i think there's an exquisite experience that cannot be described when listening to classical. say, claudio arrau's piano sonata no 5 in C minor. it tells about the longing perspective of youth bathedddd [sic] in war. the blissful uuuuurge [sic] to leave the glorious battlefront and pursue the woman he left behind.

dude2: ...or it could probably mean the delicate feel of wiping someone's ass with the finest of silk.

dude1: i fucking hate you.

lupus canis familiaris

i used to hate dogs. they bite. they piss and shit wherever they want (and without warning), and they're not good conversationalists. however its a mystery why they have so much love for their humans with their brief lives. 

love.

even the sound of it when you speak of the word is so endearing.

neil de grasse tyson once mentioned that our affinity with dogs goes back to ages ago and like them, has been passed on to our genetic disposition of our strong closeness with their kind. 

does this mean that everything about our disposition with them is genetically pre-rendered? or could this be a human trait of billions of years of evolution that binds us with compassion towards beings ultimately dependent to us?

such questions make me smile and wonder. 

#taposanglaban

the most difficult enterprise of being an atheist is letting other people see 
through his mind, 
and not around it. 
with all its complexities, the breaking free 
of the indoctrinated mind 
is not always a joy at heart. 
it will never be easy.

well played, arachnophobia. well played.

aside from being a good taxpayer, avoiding conflicts from enemies, and being faithful and understanding to his wife, i think the true measure of being a real man is when he tries not to scream like a girl (in a gruesome, bloodcurdling way) when he's having a shit and theres a big ass spider in the bathroom saying, "hi".

just saying.

conversations with god, the devil and the fat guy

diego: god? u there? check out cnn. like now. 
u.s. airstrikes initiated in iraq. u gotta do something, right?

god: who me? nah, lets just watch the show. u said u like fireworks, right?
the devil: lol wtf.
buddha: what did i miss? trololol

Do You Know God?

One Day

douchebaggery

douchebaggery like the folkloric aswang, can be in many forms and persona. here's how i came to witness one just a few hours ago.

i was on a jeepride goin to sm to buy vitamins when my attention was immediately caught by this fat guy with a shirt that says something like "accountants are smart". i know it wasnt exactly that but it was phrased smartly, but that was practically the gist. 

so he was talking to the phone in english, complete conyo mode, and people are staring at him because his voice seemed a bit too loud and basically having a conversation in a public vehicle felt too inaudible for a productive conversation. he used technical accounting words like "liability and asset, consolidating audits" with a sneer that resembled a monkey who just farted.

unfortunately i had to endure the entire scenario as he stopped in the same destination. the last thing i heard from him was he asked the other person on the line to discuss what he just discussed the next time they meet. and then i thought, was that just to impress people? because i really thought it made a complete ass out of him. i dont know the guy, but surely speaking in english doesnt make anyone smart. he just made an impression of himself to look smart. 

the heat of the midday sun seemed too intense in negros as the guy wiped his face from sweat, as he vanished in the crowd. 

the douchebaggery of the that guy was simply astonishing.

just a thought

when the week is about to come to an end and im typing 90words per minute to hit the deadline,
words and letters and numbers and pivots and graphs and every analytical value goes down the drain. 
because right now, this very moment, i am aragorn, i am having a william wallace speech to the free men of the middle earth, and right in front me, are the gates of mordor and ten f*cking thousand orcs and uruk hai, and im going to say something badass and ridiculously meaningful like, "for frodo. for my backlogs."

tokina 12-24 on my trusted D40
art district, mandalagan, bacolod
june 2014

elevator diaries

an elevator trip to VIII floor normally lasts for VI, VII seconds. thats all it needs to take for me to realize i was riding with the devil.

it was three in the afternoon. practically the sun laid its rest sooner than it normally does and its the perfect time for me to smoke. i came back from what was supposedly a lunchbreak and waited for elevator II. the man in a clean suit reminiscent of rice's characters clad in brooks brothers looked pretty much normal to me until the elevator shut its doors. this could be some big hotshot who got a promotion and took a lateral transfer here. i dont know. and probably it was his phone, or fancy wristwatch. but i heard the alarm and he said something that went like,

"you died, jesus, but the source of life flowed out for souls and the ocean of mercy opened up for the whole world..."

i know he wasnt praying, and he wasnt able to continue. from the sound of his voice it sounded like he was mocking. he stopped there and reckoned what i thought was a laugh. the dude just mocked the III oclock daily prayer. in an elevator. in a fancy suit. and i thought, thats something i dont see everyday.

VIII floor/VII seconds felt like minutes, and as soon as i was out of the elevator i said something of an old stupid greeting, 

"und es sprach zarathustra". 

the dude had a grin only the devil can wear. now i know it might not be him, it could be some big hotshot who got a promotion and took a lateral transfer, i dont know. but it led me to believe that a sinister presence is always a fancy way to end my work day. it led me to believe that god's personification is most often veiled with lots of travesties, 

fake actors, 

fake faith healers, 

fake fake fake. 

we hear often that he does things in mysterious ways, 

but today the devil made sure he did it with style.

vivre sa vie

kinsay di mabuwisit:

3/17/2012 2:30 AM  Edit | Delete 

1. ig mutext ka ug pangutana, naka bullet point pa, ang tubag dili completo, and youd have to repeat the same sets of questions (God bless copy and paste) over to get the answer that u want. and then when u receive the second response kulang pajud ang tubag. is this part of active listening deficiency or are these people lacking in cognition that sometimes they lose track of these relevant inquiries? bright man unta. lamia i tambling lagi oi.

hunger strike

gale: kat?

katniss: unsa?

gale: unsa nalang kung pag sugod sa duwa, maibug si peeta nimu?

katniss: nganu kahuna huna man ka ana dong?

gale: wala ra,seloso ra ko. basi nya madevelop mo ba.

katniss: di lagi. ahak di kaha mi magduwa duwa didtu, mag patay baya mi.

gale: sabagay. pramis na ha?

katniss: oo pramis. (luuda nimu oi)

midori + toru

“…So I made up my mind I was going to find someone who would love me unconditionally three hundred and sixty five days a year, I was still in elementary school at the time - fifth or sixth grade - but I made up my mind once and for all.”

“Wow,” I said. “Did the search pay off?”

“That’s the hard part,” said Midori. She watched the rising smoke for a while, thinking. “I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough.”

“Waiting for the perfect love?”

“No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.”

“I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement.

“It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are time in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.”

“Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?”

“Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. “Now I see, Midori. What a fool I have been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate Mousse? Cheesecake?”

“So then what?”

“So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.”

“Sounds crazy to me.”

“Well, to me, that’s what love is…”

6/13/2012 1:26 PM

...so while i was waiting for my three minute pancit canton experience, i saw this on myx. glad to find out that myx has these subtitles just in case the video gets boring. justified, the music video is like a classA John McClane trip. and then, the amygdala posed a question -  what the fuck and then we see here, adam on a greased payphone, background the torched convertible that he used for his escape:  

 

video clip ended. i feel like i just wasted four minutes of my life. i couldve smoked a stick with that four minutes. with the endless possibilities of how i couldve wasted my cosmic experience with my pancit canton, i referred to the internet:

Rebecca Ford of Hollywood Reporter gave a mixed review, writing: "Although it's fun to see such a big-budget clip from the band, the story line doesn't make complete sense. Since Levine's character didn't rob the bank, why does he keep running from the cops? And why does he leave the pretty lady behind?" ^[28]

...finally. i seriously thought i was mentally incapacitated.

martha knowall: insecure ka k adam levine?

diego's amygdala: i wish i can say that. i sure would love to admit if thats the case. i mean ive nothing against the guy. my mum has a crush on him, all my exes has crushes on him, hell even those girls(who i held on to with high regard) who despise mark abaya has a crush on him. probbly hes a cool guy. but what made him decide to do the crap that he just did with that video? like when yer the band leader youre supposed to have a say to the kind of video that ur going to do, right?man jim morrisson never did that kind o crap.

martha knowall: adam has a victoria's secret model of a girlfriend, did platinum albums, and three grammys. ikaw? ur sitting in your office typing. si jim? he died a fat guy.

diego's amygdala: perhaps. i concede. i think one music video's enough for the day. at least i dint get to watch those pop korean ones. funny they even have subs for that. i sooo understand latin my friend.lol

martha knowall: well i got one for you. behold the next video:

and there. nicki minaj - starships.

jesus. the world we know it is really coming to an end.

a thought:

6/21/2012 1:27 PM  Edit | Delete 

punishment i reckon, is now becoming unfashionable... because it creates moral distinctions among men, which, to the democratic mind, are odious. by all means the contemporary mind prefer a meaningless collective guilt to a meaningful individual responsibility. i seriously dont know if that made sense. lol

Tyrion Lannister

Tyrion Lannister - 6/25/2012 5:41 PM  Edit | Delete  Isa kang diyos. In English, you are da man. I'm now officially removing my official and signed autographed effigy of Hayden Kho in the first spot, and set it amongst the rest (Charles Bronson, Ed Powers, Serge Gainsbourgh, Stephen Colbert, Chuck Norris and Jean-Paul Belmondo) of the A-team altar. You made me realize that strength comes from the size of imagination and creativity concocted into the amygdala. Despite the physical proportions, the daunting taunts of the people around you - I am your biggest fan. Sincerely yours, Diego

thought:

6/26/2012 12:56 PM Edit | Delete

if only wikipedia has a global population profile for everyone then i guess there would’nt be any need for social networking wh*rehouses like facebook and twitter. if bob marley has a facebook we would probably see his profile as one cool guy who promoted peace with his music but wikipedia tells about his extra-marital issues, and one of rape. william burroughs could write all the poetry in the world with eclectic intensity in twitter but he wont be able to deny in wikipedia that he shot his wife in a game of william tell.

i guess the world needs affectation as much as it needs water and food.
yeah 3..2..1.. lights, camera, transaction!

this dude has always been a favorite

7/2/2012 3:27 PM Edit | Delete


Thus spake Nietzsche:

The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.

To use the same words is not a sufficient guarantee of understanding; one must use the same words for the same genus of inward experience; ultimately one must have one's experiences in common.

You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way,
it does not exist.

a letter to july one to six |

7/6/2012 11:42 AM Edit | Delete

your week, is gradeA awesome. the concoction of the voluptuous naiveté, strings of unkind senses, and the shape-enhancing cerebral rumba - i love it. with all heart and childish fascination. i remember lawrence ferlinghetti saying his famous lines, "f*ck art, lets dance" - screaming across the city lights...everything so grotesquely painted!

to all the vile people, the beloved dramatis personae in this never ending play in my life - thank you, i love you! (i mean, havent u tried noticing the sense of your tongue inside the mouth when you say the words i love you? je t'aime.. moi non plus? ultimately fascinating.)
i love you dearly! i love you with all the seeping blood in my veins that cries for help, for chaos, for birth of a dancing star.

yours truly,
D

the brute of a pig of a man

7/11/2012 2:14 PM Edit | Delete

she looked straight at me, waiting to clear up my mouth while chomping all the food inside. i remember answering her that im not from any part of the local newspaper, i think i said im just one o' the guys they hired for the conference photos. by look of her gaze she didnt seem to understand completely what i just said. i practically didnt care. it was probably the best lettuce ive had in months. plus the chopped beef and chili. everything else are blurred images.

jan, seated beside me, leaned forward to read her nametag. i could sense his fascination towards the girl. it could probably be his endearing attraction towards the femalekind and all the physical proportions they flaunt. it could probably be the proximity, the clandestine scent of the cheap perfume doing tango inside the small presscon room. but i sense her being weary, despite the almost wet hair and the hastened makeup, and yeah, the cheap perfume.

"rytt...thats your name?" as he looked straight at the girl.
"its in my nametag." said the girl.
"aw. taysa youre from sunstar, how long have you been around? which school are you from?" -was jan's 20million questions.
"were graduating, from san jose recoletos" i thought was the girl's response.

as for my dear friend jan, this was his sign. after this he went relentless with questions ranging from do you know this classmate whos the cousin of (place name of relative here) whos also his good friend, whos a relative of (place name of friend here), then he went to ask a few more questions re the girl's last name. basically it sounded like he brought a shotgun to supposedly hit the family tree and all the girl's one thousand and seven hundred fifty two friends in facebook.

the girl, being polite, tried to answer the questions as much as she can. however, jan did the unimaginable. here's what i can still remember:

"ahh, taga pasil diay ka?"

i felt like the lettuce clogged my throat. better that than blurting out laughing why he asked that question. everything went downhill right after. the girl coldly asked jan to stop asking questions and continue with the meal since the presscons about to end. i left the room and decided to hit the cigs - laughing out loud.

moral: Que tus palabras sean dulces por si te toca tragarselas!

martin gore why aren't you as glorified as dave gahan

7/18/2012 3:47 PM Edit | Delete
i woke up listening to faint music played by the construction workers just outside my place.
now these guys, they are really something. all they do is waste their money on beer, then they do whatever they do in construction, then they go home and eat the cheapest/dirtiest food they can find, and sometimes get nasty with the femalekind whenever one finds herself lost right where they linger idly.

curiously, because i thought the song meant a lot, tried to pullup youtube.
it was martin gore.
i saw him with this almost skeletal facade, singing his heart out.
its as if mescaline has taken over his system. God bless 1984. and depeche mode:

I want somebody to share Share the rest of my life
Share my innermost thoughts Know my intimate details
Someone who'll stand by my side And give me support
And in return She'll get my support
She will listen to me When I want to speak
About the world we live in And life in general
Though my views may be wrong They may even be perverted
She'll hear me out And won't easily be converted
To my way of thinking In fact, she'll often disagree
But at the end of it all She will understand me
I want somebody who cares For me passionately
With every thought And with every breath
Someone who'll help me see things In a different light
All the things I detest I will almost like
I don't want to be tied To anyone's strings
I'm carefully trying to stay clear Of those things
But when I'm asleep I want somebody
Who will put their arms around me And kiss me tenderly
Though things like this Make me sick
In a case like this I'll get away with it

and i do still rmmber you, midori. though this time, im not in the position to yield.

si kimbra

7/16/2012 11:38 AM Edit | Delete


si kimbra na walang malay.
si kimbra na isang kilo -
ang bangs.
si kimbra na walang katulad.
isang misteryo.

na may malaking isyu sa kamay habang kumakanta.
na may gyrating fashion pag tumatama
sa tempo

si kimbra na cameo lover. na baliw na baliw, at wasak na wasak.
si kimbra na walang malay.

to our nation's hero and the bible

7/17/2012 10:46 AM Edit | Delete

from rizal my idol chickboy of all time (next to tyrion lannister), to the greatest fiction of all time (next to harry potter), and to my thoughts that wishes words be like knives and jökulhlaups.

Noli me tangere, meaning "don't touch me" / "touch me not", is the Latin version of words spoken, according to John 20:17, by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognizes him after his resurrection.

John 20:17
New King James Version (NKJV)
17 Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father; but go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, and to My God and your God.’”
______________________
Diego's Amygdala: Who wants a God who doesn’t want to be touched?

talk to papa joe: mata og morning

Share on facebookShare on myspaceShare on stumbleuponShare on diggShare on emailShare on print| Share on facebook_likeMore | Sunday, July 22, 2012

DEAR Papa Joe,

Ako diay si Albert, 34, naa sa Cebu karon pero taga Mindanao gyud ko. Ang akong problema mahitungod sa akong asawa nga naay iring-iring. Tigbyahe man gud ko kay mao na akong trabaho. Daghan na kaayo ko og estorya nga nadunggan sa iyang kalaki pero wala gyud nako masakpi. Karon, naglibog ko. Basin ug tinuod kay bati na man siya og tinagdan nako. Unya kon mag-away mi, dali kaayo siya makaingon nga buwag mi. Unya naa baya miy mga anak.

Ang nakapait sad kay makadawat ko og text sa mga concern lang kuno nga ang akong mga anak di gyud ako kay wa gyud maliwat daw nako bisan gamay. Usa ka higayon ana, Papa Joe, naay ni-text nako nga naay kuyog ang akong asawa nga lain unya naa ko sa Siquijor ato byahi. So, akong gitawgan akong asawa ug sa kadugayan nitug an siya nga naa siyay kuyog nga lalake apan classmate daw niya ug business ra iyang relasyon.

Sa akong kalagot kay wa ko motuo, gibaharan nako siya nga patyon unyag uli nako pero unsa mang unsaa nga di man nako kaya masuko kay buwagan man dayon ko niya. Unya di baya nako kaya nga mawala siya. Galibog gyud ko ron unsay buhaton kay kataw-an lang ko
sa akong kaliwat nga nagmata ra daw ko og morning. Unsa kaha og tinuod ni tanan.

Manimalos ba ko ug maghikog na lang? Palihug tambagi ko.

henrietta

In the Philippines chief censor Henrietta Mendez ordered three cuts of Schindler's List, due to its scenes that displayed female nudity and sexual intercourse, before it could be shown. As a result of these proposed cuts Steven Spielberg pulled the film from screening in the Philippines. As a result of Mendez's actions, Philippine senators demanded the abolition of the Philippine censors board. Senate justice committee chairman Raul Roco stated "such narrow-mindedness precisely shows the dangers of censorship." Mendez argued that "the sex act is sacred and beautiful and should be done in the privacy of the bedroom."[57]


Nice one Tita Henrietta! Because of you, I was forced to rent a copy of this title a year after its screening, in the “restricted” shelves where porn films are located. Because of the likes of you, I am so proud to have stepped foot, alive and bludgeoned in this wonderful nation of hypocrites! apir naman!

in•dex to life this thirtieth of august

i am your social experiment, your fall guy, your crash test dummy. i pray, you keep me grounded and humble, even when i know the possibility presents itself, slapping. even when transgression can be as easy as breathing, and that i can strike the hardest with words, and poetry, and music.
a lovely little dagger.

i love you with all that i have. blood, sweat, and tears. not to mention the dead brain cells that i took from your bludgeoning.

pagpupugay sa isang natatangi at walang kapares na si debbie gibson

pagpupugay sa isang natatangi at walang kapares na si debbie gibson.
ang tugtugin mong pang disco circa '80
ang leather outfit na pilit ginagaya ni rudy fernandez at lolita carbon,
at ang hayup na isang kilong bangs.
nang dahil sa 'yo, natutong magrecord ng cassette(LP 90minutes) si mama.
habang nagluluto ng almusal, isang masigabong "electric youth",
at "foolish beat" ang sasalubong.
hanggang tanghali ang tugtugan.
ang saya-saya ng dekada '80.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/f/f3/Debbie-Gibson-Foolish-Beat.jpg

love|hate

i love the smell of hangover in the morning. the breath of melancholy and the pungent wrath of liquor dissolving in my mouth, aftermath of all the debauchery. i hate the idea of singing in front of a 40" idiot box clad with inaccurate lyrics and incorrect tempo as the midi format plays along. its insulting.

what i love, are the infinitesimal details that you recognize when the word "tipsy" becomes your automatic defense mechanism. when the world seemed really small, and you cant stop thinking about the heightened/decimated senses. the sleight of hand, the unbearable glances, the tiny little quirks that'd make the conversations more interesting.

i hate the slurred speech. definitely this ones a bummer. i've heard about the irish and compared to them(and my old man) my tolerance with alcohol is ridiculously embarrassing. i love the bittersweet longing of a memory whenever one tries to include that memory in a conversation. the way one does to use the precise word choices and how they 'd refrain to include the undesirable parts. this is worth billions of years of evolution. its intoxicating - literally and figuratively.

because its bittersweet, i also hate it too. but one does not exist without the other. again, billions of years of evolution. the crying, the idea of lamenting, and all the sadness seeping - blaming the alcohol, because the one to blame is nowhere around. and those who can't relate cunningly reach their mobile phones and tinker with utmost pretension. the art of insincerity.

and when the spirits get into the brain. ahh. biodigital jazz, man. all the groovy kind of love, the taste, the insignificant, the hateful, the fling with the night shattered, and blue stars shivering in the distance - goes down the drain. as the sight reaches for redemption. the glowing pain, and all the kisses. all bets are off.

sous le pont d’avignon
l'on y danse, l'on y danse
les belles dames font comme ça
et puis encore comme ça

guinevere

"i'll make a story about this, it will about you and me. it will be about how we spent our last days here, when everyone else are celebrating the dead, for you and i will be amongst them soon. but we will always have nuevo laredo to run away from."

she said nothing. from the distance i could hear several mariachis revel in cantara of the gran calavera. its the second of november, wind chills drift to the bones of those whose running away from something. but god it feels so warm when i had her in my arms.

"i dont know whats gonna happen next, im scared." she whimpered. "if we go back to austin, everything's back to the way we were. justino would be furious if he finds out."

i pretended not to hear. gazing at the mirror where we were both standing - while it seemed forever that i was embracing her tightly. the cheap motel, the flickering lightbulbs, and the dusty fan, falling on a deep crescendo of an inevitable requiem. this could be for us, i thought.

"i never thought we'd ended up like this." she continued.
"its sad to know how such a beautiful thing could end up-"

"i wont allow it. this, to end. id like you to know that."

"we can run away. we can stay here. i love it here," she cried.

"and do what? your graduation is only a few months from now, after that, then we can leave bowie high. it shouldnt be that hard.. il try to do good with my writing.. i can try to get a job in a local paper.. we can start from there. "

"you dream so much."

"only because i dont want to wake up to find out that you are still with justino."

to taste the salty tears trickling in my mouth was overwhelming - i was crying frantically. i tried to collect myself and grasped her little face. her pallor similar to those of señoras de las sombras. her delicate brown eyes looked back at me telling me to brace for the worst. she held my hand and kissed me. her tongue tastes like the pot we smoked/stashed since pachuca de soto. it was surreal. pot. tongue. tears.

"your story, does it have an ending?"

"i dont know, i havent decided one yet." i said.

"promise me, that when you do, it should have a good ending. girls love good endings."

that was her making a joke. i paused and she took her bag, along the santa muerte doll that i bought her. she stood up from the musty bed and began powdering her face like some dark aztec ritual. she went back to the mirror and checked. all good. and then she went to me as if bidding goodbye. she stared at me, and in her eyes reflect all the moments, the very little time we shared, even the simplest details. the stupid jokes only we know about. god please not this way.

"youre not kissing nicholas sparks. this ones for real. probably it would end with you leaving this room. leaving me hanging. but let me tell you this - that my story will echo through the pages of my life. like a screaming wildfire. and out of the depths it will call out your name, even in my dying days."

"i sense a very good ending then. i hope though, that when im reading it - im reading your story with you on my side."

she wept.

"our story," as i found my hands clasped with hers, praying to all gods of death and decay to sweep us away from this wicked earth.

leaving

two EN EL9 lithium ions charged.
12 immedion 2AA nickel metalhydrites charged.
2 strobe systems checked and color temperature calibrated.
35prime nano coating cleansed.
supertelephoto focusing recalibrated.
ultrawide angle checked for deadspots.
2sandisk ultra class6 4gb reformatted and a 320gb external hd backed up.
1nikon cmos sensor checked and shutterblade count accounted for.

2packs of marlboro reds 20's softpack in a ziplock container.
significant others kissed and bid goodbye at..
unsa pa may kulang...


ay peste wa pa diay ko naka empake.
so long, cebu.

obsessed | stalker

EVERYDAY.
I LOOK AT IMAGES OF YOU.
READ WHAT PEOPLE SAY ABOUT YOU.
WHAT THEY THINK THEY KNOW ABOUT YOU.
BUT THEYRE WRONG.
NO ONE REALLY KNOWS OR UNDERSTANDS YOU UNLESS THEY OWN, WELL, YOU.
AND I'LL BE DOING THIS EVERYDAY.
BECAUSE I KNOW, WITH DEAD CONVICTION,
YOULL BE MINE. SOON.

some things i just dont understand:

• why troll in facebook, when you wont even have an idea if the message gets halfway to the person yer trying to troll?

• why do some people post status messages about being pissed of uploaded photos of starbucks paper hot-drink cups(or anything related to starbucks)? last time i checked its still a free country, right? NB: wikipedia defines insecurity as the lack of security in an objective sense.

• the sight of a group of friends inside the elevator making fun of someone who went in alone. (this happened a while ago, apparently they were laughing discretely at the girl's shoes. pero asa ang mga peste nag gikan? sa tesda.)

• the femalekind wearing a skimpy skirt and then keeps on pulling it down. i mean, seriously...

• why blame on politics/politicians when you didnt even exercise your right to vote?

• post something about the RH bill when you know oh so little about it? its like saying 50shades suck but you didnt even know its a trilogy.

• kani makabuang: if we are trying to be politically correct because we want as much as possible, to minimize social and institutional offense in occupational, gender, racial, cultural, sexual orientation, religions, beliefs or ideologies - where/when does hypocrisy pick up, and lift itself off?

to midori

midori,

i used to believe in hope.
but now, now its completely different.
its a picture of edward norton, holding on to helena bonham carter's hand
as they gaze through
all the chaos, all the rubble.
its like the cinema, laughing (adoring) at jon and marlon - and sleeping at hemingway and gellhorn
as the deluge devours the north,
as it paints it with ash and decaying clamour
like instagram photographs with colours oh so vibrant!
the weekend was like no other.
your heart, my solace.

D

et tu, diego?

“Sooner or later, you will discover which kind of father you are, and at that moment you will, with perfect horror, recognize the type. You are the kind of father who fakes it, who yells, who measures his children with greatest accuracy only against one another, who evades the uncomfortable and glosses over the painful and pads the historic records of his sorrows and accomplishments alike. You are the kind who teases and deceives and toys with his children and subjects them to displays of rich and manifold sarcasm when--as is always the case--sarcasm is the last thing they need. You are the kind of father who pretends knowledge he doesn't possess, and imposes information with implacable gratuitousness, and teaches lessons at the moment when none can be absorbed, and is right, and has always been right, and always will be right until the end of time, and never more than immediately after he has been wrong. And when your daughter's body begins to betray her, and her sky flickers in the distance with the heat lightning of sex, you clear your throat and stroke your chin whiskers and tell her to go ask her mother. You can't help it--you're a walking cliché.”

― Michael Chabon, Manhood for Amateurs

a repost from john waters

http://johnwaters.tumblr.com/post/1212509559

on this day ten years ago:

on this day ten years ago:

part1
"alright, lets talk about part one, chapter five." the professor said. "why the hell would georgie want to resolve to mutiny? anyone?"

to be perfectly honest, i never really loved burgess. neither my brilliant literature professor who has delusions of grandeur of being drinking buddies with hemingway. but i didnt know these things, also the fact that in the university i studied, one must keep to his mind rather than taking it to the ideals and exuberance of one's youth. to pass the course, you keep your mouth shut and be the audience that the professor would so love anyone in his class to be.

the girl in front of me immediately answered:
"because they(the droogs) feel that alex is at this fundamental tyrant role, and that he does the most sadistic things - deriving pleasure for no reason. and what better way to oust a would be tyrant than (insert yada-yada-talk-about the '86 people-power-revolution here...)."

the professor didnt bother turning to look at my classmate who appeared to read the lines from her notebook, presenting the thought that she was really listening to the discussion (while half the class is deer caught on a headlight gaze).

"did you take that crap off from sparknotes?" was the professor's lovely reply.

sinister bursts of laughter. it was at this point that i came to initially grasp that filipinos really take pride and happiness in the misery of others. i saw the poor classmate closed her notebook, and decided to play all ears until the end of the semester. desolate, dystopian. like the clockwork orange discussion that seemed to go on forever. i seriously felt at that moment, that this girl would probably loose a huge amount of self-esteem and confidence because of what happened today. i imagine the countless thought/ideals the professor killed/ridiculed in his lifetime only to prove him right, and the snide condescension that followed. little did he know that this girl, after dropping out second year, decided to work in a contact center, and became one of the first successful operations manager in the BPO industry. cross comparative of what she earns today with the professor? monumental.

part2
the professor turned his sight on me. college confession: i didnt read the book. i just watched the movie. i really did thought that malcolm mcdowell was so cool. apart from that, the only thing i cared about was fixing my telecaster and the drinking session that followed afterclass.

"uhm sir i thought they want to take alex out, because they think he's different, probably because they think alex is arrogant." there goes my stupid answer.

prof: a very smart(mocking) answer! now did u also want to incorporate that with the political tone of the book-the evil of the government? because that wouldnt be so original.

me: not exactly sir. its society. previously we have been talking about duality and how this reality reveals itself a theme of downfall.

prof: expound.

i should have kept my mouth shut at this point.

me: sir i thought its simple. people would naturally want to bring you down if they think yer different. im sure every one of us has already noticed that - even in the most basic networks of social establishment. bureaucracy a fine example. the fellowship of friends another. i think burgess was playing with words, being a "droog" was just a name. an identifier. humanity always cling to this, false sense of belongingness, and i think its human nature. i think there's an alex to every single one of us, whos seriously not tryng to confirm. to do the radical. that maniacal, egotistic part of us we desperately battle with our superego - and we are forever paranoid, because there will be a time that it will surface, and just when we thought that we have our homies, our droogs - theyre the ones whos goin 'ta take us down.

prof: and you got this from the book?

me: no, i watched the movie.

sinister bursts of laughter. again. and i feel this time my fate's been sealed for good...he scribbled something from his notebook and mentioned something like:

prof: why am i not surprised. then i suggest you leave this classroom and enroll filmmaking. hows that for human nature?

there. another tragedy in the pages of my life practically because i refused to read the fine manual. and preferred stanley kubrick instead. but little did i know as my feet carried me out of the classroom those words i said had actually echoed deeply into the now. jai guru deva om.

end

to henry miller; whom i envy so much

"To hell, to hell with balance! I break glasses; I want to burn, even if I break myself. I want to live only for ecstasy. Nothing else affects me. Small doses, moderate loves, all half-shades, leave me cold. I like extravagance, heat. Letters which give the postman a stiff back to carry, books which overflow from their covers, sexuality which bursts the thermometer! I’m neurotic, perverted, destructive, fiery, dangerous - lava, inflammable, unrestrained."

— Anaïs Nin

the saga of gosta berling

Cecil Beaton, who would go on to photograph Garbo in instances like above, recounts the first time he met Greta Garbo at a party held by Grand Hotel director Edmund Goulding.

Before the party broke up, Garbo asked Beaton a pointed question, “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” he answered.
“It’s so easy to say ‘Yes,’”
“And you?” he asked.

“Tomorrow I go to work with a lot of people who are dead,” she sighed. “It’s so sad. I’m an onlooker. I’ve passed being active in life. It’s not a question of time and age—but it’s just what you are yourself. One doesn’t do the things one doesn’t want to do”


(Source: swintons, via deuxoiseaux)

fancy a fucking highschool crush

being the imp that diego was, he desperately tries to reminisce his highschool science teacher...and attempted to incorporate this to the nature of his job as of the moment: (an attempt to prevent the thought of continuous non productivity)


diego: teacher, teacher..wrong spelling wrong?
ms. punane: kailan ba naging tama ang mali?
diego: deer caught on a headlight*


this ridiculously random thought presented two talking points:

• that day diego fell in love. with sarcasm. nearly fifteen years after, she became his bitter suicidal enemy.

• had he the power of google he would've retorted with the eloquence of jamaican vocabulary via google translation.

a lionel richie kind of love

This one made my day:

thank you earth, thank you for the weekend, for the bludgeoned, beaten, breathe of a corpse. lifeless.
this week i learned a few things:

• when supposedly smart people mistake sarcasm for light hearted humour, theyre really not that smart. they just think they are.

• i learned that sometimes the things in life youve been longing for a significant amount of time are those that simply pass away. and you have nothing - absolutely can't do anything to have it, or even witness it (ie. morrissey concert in manila this 13th).

• on top of the country's pressing national issues like starvation, corruption, political embarassment fiascos - cebu made it a top priority to consolidate city ordinance 2241. brilliant guys! apir beh!

• i watched the entire pilot season of homeland last weekend. it made me realize, that perception has always been a clean cut key to any dirty travesty. two nouns and two adjectives mixed can very well make a diffrent idea.

• i seriously hope it rains in the summer party. or at least something very surprising. at least i get to distinguish who came in just for the free food.

hunger royale?

could it just be me, or hunger games is really similar to battle royale?

god bless indifference

my friend the PETA girl

"cannibals," i said.
"what?" she asked.
"if you said, we are what we eat, does that make cannibals more human than us? or perhaps even you?"
"fuck you." and she left.

Bon Appétit!