Events and circumstances may conspire to dampen our spirits but they cannot suppress our optimism for a much better new year.
Here's to wishing A Blessed New Year to everyone! Cheers to a fantastic 2008!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Events and circumstances may conspire to dampen our spirits but they cannot suppress our optimism for a much better new year.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Androgenie, one of my poet demigods, was smugly right: Don't flatter yourself and put a final punctuation on your poems as you might reread them in the future and cringe. You might want to look at them as works in progress.
These statements finally hold graver truths when at three in the morning, catching a new strain of the Sleeplessness Flu, I reread the fiction I wrote many moons ago in another blog. Imagine my wincing face, at the same time I struggle to abort the rise of the chuckles.
In a blinding flash of realization I decided: I can somehow make it evolve. The revised version motivated me to create a new blog dedicated to the sophomoric attempt at writing fiction. The first installment is up, though I'll have to have another glance over later for grammatical lapses (any editors out there? :-) check that: any editors out there willing to make sense of my grammatically-fractured opus without hinting at proper remuneration? Haha).
post script : I have temporarily restricted the fiction page to give way to heavy editing. I am embarrassed to admit that after rereading the first fiction I have posted I have found traces of a Writing Hero's novel in it. This happened while organizing my books and I picked the novel up and sped-read my way through it. And there they were: sort of indirect re-appropriations. I am mortified. No wonder some of the lines rolls so easy on my tongue when I reread them, and there are fragments that make me suspect to be too familiar. My apologies. I didn't intend to plagiarize anyone's work so until I come up with something original I'd have the other page closed.
Posted by loudcloud at 3:24 AM
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Inconvenience often shapes our character and nothing made this realization more palpable than all the precariousness erupting like fireworks at work in the past month. Today was no mortal exception. In fact today’s events have shoved a rather unsympathetic perspective into full maturity. I have anticipated December with amplified optimism and enthusiasm only to have all the high hopes crushed into a slow smolder of disappointment and discontent. The gladiator in me refuses to be stared down but the more sensible nerves ground me with unshakeable confrontations of misplaced faith. This and the acrid acceptance of everyone’s portion in the communal frustration. People have flaws and characteristic bankruptcies and investing so much blind faith is prone to the most devastating disillusionment. Had these things happen during my selfish, younger years, the brat inside me would throw a raging fit. Now even in my own surprise I meet every adverse situation with steady shrug of objective composure. Adulthood is something to be feared. It’s a constant warfare mired with bittersweet awareness and sympathy for the shortcomings of others. It is a tough, sore street to trudge on. You hunch your shoulders in loss and cast the first step.
Posted by loudcloud at 12:34 AM
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Resourcefulness and some tipping towards the right direction by other people had me bumping into the name behind Cute Trumpet Player. (Non-gullibles can qualify it stalking, yeah. Haha.) As I was saying in the previous comments field, he's barely legal and a bona fide hetero so let's dismiss all these hysterical lusting over thoughts aside. And no, SomeMale Bee, I will not entertain further prying by intrimitido onlookers such as yourself. The Cutie has an equally cute girlfriend and unless they are in the mood for sordid threesome it's safe to assume that it was nothing more than a passing crush. Unless you have the thing for jailbaits then by all means, enjoy your statutory weekend!
Posted by loudcloud at 9:57 PM
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Wolfing my Teriyaki Boy Shake Don i got an SMS from Ian:
So did the Golden Compass reek with anti-Christian sentiment?
I mulled over tormenting him with loads of spoilers but the salmon’s far too good to dilute with crabby tirade.
I Dunno. I replied. I look at it at purely fantasy/adventure that it is. Only an idiot would lose faith over a fictional movie.
Only those with shaky faith need be concerned.
Posted by loudcloud at 8:50 PM
Standing there, I was struck, riveted, spasms of hormonal rush and envy pumping from my ventricles to my pubic region. I tried to dispel my escalating fascination by struggling not to stare but my neurotic impulse was already wheezing past my self control regulators and zipped past me like a Frisbee going berserk.
The object of this enraptured lusting? A cutie blowing his horn like there’s no tomorrow.
Listen. Before you reach for your scapulars and scribble your impassioned indignations on the comments field do me a favor: keep your lewd hyper-imaginations in check. I was talking about a trumpet player.
First, a digression: Like yesterday I woke up late. Office work be damned, stupor is the name of the game this holiday season. So I wandered aimlessly in Galleria for overdue lunch and finally settled in Teriyaki Boy for Shake Don (that’s salmon slab in sweet sauce topping steamed rice to you). Then I heard it. Brass, wind, standard, spliced in a hip pop mash up that is bop-ish, catchy and has that swinging vibe. It’s a free symphony performance by the central area of the mall. I wolfed my meal hurriedly and rushed to the scene.
Second digression: In the past I have repeatedly written about how two of my greatest frustrations were the inability to play the saxophone and the violin. I play the organ (the instrument, not the excitable appendage) but deep in me is a well of discontent that always rises over when I see someone playing the aforementioned instruments. For me, the saxophone is a feisty yet sexy instrument while the violin is the most passionate and sensual devil capable of stirring undiscovered emotions within someone who hears it. I almost had the chance to learn how to play the violin. Two years ago I met a retired Philharmonic Maestro and his gracious wife who both offered me tutorial classes so I can set my disgruntlement over this instrumental ineptitude. They even offered to lend me their personal violins, which was rather generous. I was then working in an international firm and merciless deadlines quashed all hopes to finally learn how to pluck strings.
I love jazz. I have hundreds and hundreds of CDs from the classic Coltranes and Goodmans to the more contemporary ones. My college best friend, she educated me more on the genre by opening her extensive jazz and standards library and I got hooked all the more. So when I heard the U.P. Jazz Ensemble skewering the mall with spirited renditions of jazz, standards, a swinging medley of Christmas tunes and movie themes I hurtled towards the lower section to have a closer look.
That’s when I saw him. Yes, him. Elfin meets anime hairstyle, boyish charms, and eyes that cackle of roguish waywardness and sexy mischief. He casts off an impression that he’s capable of chuckling like a kindergarten but his rocking hips will warn you he can break bedposts on a testosterone fit. Cute but stable, adorable with impish streaks. If you’re watching earlier and facing the stage he’s standing second to the last trumpet player on the right side and his body moves with the music, totally exuding that fluid jazz swagger that’s making my nipples assume the tautness of a Mongol Number2 eraser.
A coupe of instances I thought he caught me staring and I deflected meeting his eyes by looking at the guy playing the Electric guitar. Then the trombone players stood up and in the name of everything holy, rose another fuckable, talented dude! The saxophone row had another cutie and the girls are not bad looking at all! Is there anyone out there possessed of information on how to audition for this fantastic UP Jazz Ensemble? If I fail the audition given my ignorance on playing instruments, then stalking would be in order. Kidding.
So there I was, bobbing like a demented woodpecker, getting into the vibe of jazz while hormones spurt out of my pores. I’m trying to look cool but was actually struggling to contain the leakage of an idiotic dopey smile. While Cutie Trumpet Man-Boy blows his pipe, I register my appreciation and approval by clapping vigorously while in my head carnal imaginings swirl like tornadoes on a rampage. In my boorish mind I can see him puffing a flawless blow of Chuck Mangione’s Feel So Good while I’m puffing on something that will make him feel so good. And Vice Versa.
The gig ended to appreciative rounds of applause and I hurriedly slithered off the mall’s agoraphobic chaos. I should have stayed and introduced myself but preferred to go home and not ruin the mood. To bastardize Miss Saigon, I’d rather that in the movie in my mind, he’ll go on and on, the anonymous Trumpet Cutie, the object of my wildest wet jizz dreams.
Yeah, all that jazz.
Posted by loudcloud at 8:20 PM
Ordinarily Saturdays are spent drudging in the office but for some inexplicable reasons I slept. Listen, I'm as shocked as you are. Sleep is a concept I'm not quite familiar with since I leapfrogged to the new job. So it's quite a welcome development and a reason to have my paranoia meter go berserk. I woke up past three in the afternoon because my mobile phone shrieked. It's my friend's officemeate returning the suit he borrowed for their office Christmas party. Drat. I had plans of fine-tweaking second set of contact sheets from the previous folio shoot but thanks to this sudden bout with narcolepsia I was zonked out all day. I hurriedly wiped drool off my face, threw on a shirt and a baseball cap and rushed to the building's lobby to meet him. I dragged my sleepy carcass back to my flat, slumped in bed and abruptly felt sexually aroused. Odd. I was too dozy to do something about it. Late in the evening famishness jolted me out of unconsciousness. I hurtled towards the nearby mall for an overdue lunch, breakfast and dinner. The food tasted like osterized cardboard. To wipe off the nasty aftertaste I decided to watch a movie. It's a toss up between watching Elizabeth The Golden Age again and The Golden Compass. Chose the latter. The movie was adequate but it was the trailers that got me wired. James Marsden, Michelle Pfieffer and Christian Bale, how about an orgasmic foursome? Email me.
Posted by loudcloud at 12:37 AM
Friday, December 21, 2007
Moral of the story is: don’t ignite any form of friendships especially with those Chain Letter Happy variety if you care deeply about your well-being. This is my regret having added Ian in my blogroll. He should have been on the blogtroll list given his trigger-happy tendencies as far as memes are concerned. Now I got tagged. And I am required to answer dopey questions on things I have already repeatedly written about.
Ian, one of these days you’re going to pay.
I want your first-born.
How long have you been blogging?
This happened pre-livejournal days when diary-x and diaryland were the main bananas and the word blog is but an odd concept. So yeah, I’ve seen the Paleolithic age of journal writing and continues to thrive by migrating from one platform to another. I start a blog, write for a while then boredom hits me and I open another. This keeps my multiple personalities at play.
Tell me 3 things you LOVE about being online.
Tell me 3 things you STRUGGLE within the online world.
Since I’m a conceited blogger I resent the assumption that I’m struggling. Haha. Kidding!
Posted by loudcloud at 9:00 PM
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Redundancy. The Fear of it, to be precise, is Datu's recent entry. I don't subscribe to this bogus fear. If we cease repeating ourselves then we might as well not breath the next day.
As a modest birthday greeting for you Datu, I'd recycle what Bruce Mau Said in his Incomplete Manifesto For Growth:
Repeat yourself. If you like it, do it again. If you don’t like it, do it again.
There. Happy Birthday, Wilted Prune!
Posted by loudcloud at 12:12 AM
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
HeWhoIsNotToBeNamed(12/13/2007 11:37:13 PM): For your information, I was about to enter my first public comment regarding your last entry (ego pricking...) but I realized I had to have a user name, etc. Since I do not have the time nor the inclination to do that (despite my strong feeling to this latest entry), I will just do what I usually do and write you an offline message. I read the comments from datu and aceist. Between the two of us, I'd deny the accusation of sounding defensive but I'll take a portion of the pie and eat it and the rest I'd throw the critic's way. :)
HeWhoIsNotToBeNamed, pop in a couple of Valiums and stare at your fish tank. I am moved with your sympathy but like I have already responded to misterhubs' comment, it is just a review. Remember it's called I Will Fucking Tear You Apart and NOT I Will Give You A Head Job. It's all good ;-)
Posted by loudcloud at 3:42 PM
(* Sa mga nagbilin ng mensahe salamat sa inyong makabagbag damdaming simpatiya. Wag ng kumulo ang inyong dugo dun sa nagpatutsada dito sa mga sulat ko. Mayroon tayong paraan: sa pamamagitan ng Biro. Biro Lang Po Itong Sanaysay. Ang magpaliwanag nito sa salitang banyaga maipit sana ng pison. Di po, biro lang talaga. Tsinatsanel ko lang po si chiksilog. :) )
Tarantada yata itong nagsulat tungkol sa mga sinusulat ko rito. Mantakin mo naman seryosohin ba ang lahat ng mga kabaliwan ko rito? Halleer? Mukhang nakahithit ng katol! Ikliin ko raw yung mga sulat para magmukhang nakakaaliw ang bawat kabanata na aking sinusulat? Napag isip isip ko tuloy? Ano kaya sinalpak nya sa wetpaks niya, nagbabagang tubo?
Tapos ito pa ang kumento: wala daw akong sinusulat na kalaswaan. Uminom yata ang nanay niya ng lagundi nung siya ay ika-siyam na buwan sa kabuntisan kaya nalusaw ang utak at ipinanganak na hunghang.
Hindi kumporme nilagay ko sa pamagat ko rito na ako ay silahis hindi ibig sabihin nun na puro kantutan na ang dapat narito sa pahinang ito. At ito lang ang dapat ko'ng isipin palagi at isulat para hindi siya madismaya sa kanyang paghahalukay rito.
Eto pa. Mayabang daw ako. Eh malala na yata ang katarata sa mata. Marmol yata ang mata, di lang ako syur. Sinabi na nga sa kanang bahagi nitong pahina na ang tagasulat nitong mga sanaysay ay talagang baliw at talagang likas na mayabang at malalim talaga ang duda sa sariling pagpapahalaga.
Nakakatawa lang isipin kung ilang araw kaya siyang di natulog para isulat ang mga nagbabagang talumpati patungkol sa dapat umiwas sa pagbasa sa mga kabaliwan ko rito.
Sabi ko, ipabarang ko kaya para humatsing ng asido o magpurga ng alambre. Pero bat ko naman papatulan, nagmamagaling ang lola mo. Bongga siya. Panalo! Parang yung Reyna Elena Undas Tsapter ang taray. Para siyempre mas kahanga-hanga siya. Pero ayos lang po yun. Pagbigyan na natin. Kasalanan ko rin naman sabmit kasi ng sabmit sa mga katarantaduhan ng mga bangag.
Di ba siya pinagsabihan ng lelong niyang bulol na ang pumapatol sa baliw ay mas baliw?
O baka kulang lang siya sa dilig kaya naghahanap ng malalaswang babasahin para naman may iniimadyin siya habang nagpipinger? Ah ewan. Yoko ng isipin. Tinitigasan ako eh.
Mahaba na to'ng sulat ko. Tatapusin ko na lang ng walang pakundangan para maging kasing ikli ng kanyang katalinuhan. Saka, pakireper na rin ng inyong suking mambabarang baka may kilala kayo.
Tingnan ko lang pag hindi siya umihi ng tambtaks.
pe es lang po.
tagalog dapat ang kumento niyo rito para hindi mahalata. utakan lang yan, kala niya :-)
Posted by loudcloud at 4:18 AM
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Groucho Marx, in his warped brilliance, once declared, "I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member."
Conceit? Check. Assholeness. Check. Irony? Check? Perverted sense of humor? Hell, yes. Self-mockery? Absolutely. Truth? Arbitrary, depending which bracket of self-esteem you delude yourself to belong to.
This is why I have absolute addiction to I Will Fucking Tear You Apart.(From hereon shall be referred to as IWFTYA)
Let's run the checklist once more: Are they conceited? Yes. Assholes. Yes. Ironic? Yes. Warped Sense of Humor? Yes, although their brand of humor is so wry they end up wiping the smiles off deluded bloggers' faces as a matter of delicious habit.Which is a very welcome proposition. Self-mockery? Well, they don't seem to take themselves too seriously, so we can qualify it as a yes.
Truth? Can I spray-paint YES in neon tangerine across the blogosphere?
Long ago, in my anomalous pursuit for self-validation, I bumped into IWFTYA and since I am deeply masochistic I enthusiastically submitted my blog to be diced. (Impertinent sidenote: I also submitted my link to Berate My Blog and Review My Blog and got summarily ignored.) IWFTYA listed me in their long queue and, to some people's disappointment, they ceased ripping people's self-esteem by announcing that they will stop reviewing blogs. Imagine my genuine surprise when I was notified that they are back with much sharper scythes. (checkout their charming Grim Reaper mascot).
The charming mascot's scythe incised my merry neck, as expected. But what a riot!
(This entry is not written in self-defense. Methinks I made fair warning in my blog's "About Me" section as to what unsuspecting bloghoppers should expect.)
However I cannot agree more on what was written on the review: It's incisive, brutal, and goshdarn honest. If one has to squint a bit, the roughshod dissection of my blog even contains a crooked hilarity that often escapes the touchy-feely breed. Which brings me back to this entry's opening quote which is linked to my unpretentious regard of IWFTYA: I love that scythe-wielding site because they have imposed upon themselves not to dispense fawning, sophomoric reviews. I am all for democracy; and in a democracy I do not expect everyone to agree or become echo chambers of my neurotic, self-absorbed drivels. In fact I would be freaked out if they gushed like hormone-crazed schoolgirls in adoration to my disputable brilliance.
Which they didn't as expected.
However let me straighten out this bent bisexual's misperceived points. This is not to score reversal points or appeal for a rating repeal. Somehow for a western reviewer to fully understand the inner tweakings of a third-world mentality, the easiest route should have been to completely sidestep the local language entries, as it will only breed frustration.
Excessive verbiage and all those unnecessary textual embellishments are consciously done to annoy all the simplistic I-Only-Read-Blogs-That-Have-Less-Than-Two-Syllables blogfrogs. Least-common denominator way of blogging rampant in this side of the world. Of course my method is downright pretentious but it is also a weeding out device to keep those silly linkhunters to solicit elsewhere. This also proves the evident suspicion of many that I am a full-pledge twat. Several local bloggers view my blog as a prerequisite for nosebleed, which also feeds my deep well of conceit. But here's something I concur on but I do not necessarily practice: “Sometimes brevity really is the soul of wit.” I have had an herniating experience watching Dr. Zhivago and in that context I can fully agree that brevity is a virtue.
There are flashes of cleverness: "I was swiftly sucked into a time-warp. High school! Haha! Zits! Rampaging hormones! Circle jerks! Kidding, again." (Although methinks he's not kidding.) And if he'd stick with more of that and less wry pomposity, I'd be more inclined to read. Maybe. I was really kidding. If I had circle jerks in high school I think I would have grown up happier and blogged along the tone of Mary Poppins instead of a crabby prick who sometimes prefer pricks.
My initial intent was to write sordid details about my online exploits. To recount all the tacky orgasmic details and the souvenir tales that go with such shameless exercise. It was meant that way until I realized that gazillions of sexually bents in this side of the blogosphere are embracing this type of blogging prototype that it can be safely considered to be a bona fide mental disorder. Why would I contribute to the flood of breathy porking articulations when every other link I chance upon are already overripe with erection-inducing narratives of sexual exploits? Which of course brings me to my glaring fault: I should change the sub-head of my blog's title because, as the review pointed out it can get misleading. Maybe I would. Maybe I won't. See, I'm a stubborn freak, if that wasn't apparent yet.
Tell me something real. Why are you blogging? Just to trot out your blasé musings? Again I'd conveniently point my snout to the right hand corner of the blog. Zoom past the convuluted “puffed up verbiage ” and pin your eyes on that punctuating line that I'd like to pass off as 'real': He blogs to authenticate his deep insecurities.It's all there is. A validation of insecurities coated with conceit and verbal puffery. And, of course, an egotistical awareness, that this is a blog and not a possible short list material for the Booker Prize.
Do you have relationships with people beyond superficial snarkage? If so, that might be interesting to know. And maybe it's there but I can't get past the self-satisfied smirk and frothy text to find it. Somewhere in the grand mess of this blog I have repeatedly conveyed about writing multiple blogs detailing my other 'serious' relationships outside the domain of snarky remarks, as the entry would put it. This blog is exclusively for the bent bisexual angle, which is remiss on the sexual entries category, yes, but I'd like to believe that regardless of the nature of this blog I'd like to flatter myself into thinking I am not a complete walking mass of cynicism. Or hideousness. Hey, Even Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini have had bestfriends.
I maybe delusional but I don't flinch in the face of scathing truth.
That's why I honestly welcome the ego-curdling review. In fact IWFTYA reviewers are the types I'd want to have double vodka tonics with on a Saturday night. But I'm not positive they'd find the idea of a languid self-possessed asshole inviting them for a drink.
Which is just fine. I'll have more time to ponder the secrets of the universe. Then I'd have more reasons to believe that everything is absurd, and boring, and idiotic.
I am a brilliant philosopher. And Groucho need not apply in my club.
There's not enough room for my overblown ego.
Posted by loudcloud at 5:22 AM
Monday, December 3, 2007
Dispensing sensible advice is not my barrel of beer. Despite this glaring handicap people still insist on hurling their troubled selves on my demented couch, with the misguided impression that I can be of any help. The fools. Consider the following YahooChat transcript which underscores my shameless lack of skill in helping a friend in the grips of emotional and moral dilemma. Yet another proof that if Psychiatry is up to me, humanity is beyond help.
Some Male Bee: The One I'm Dating
Some Male Bee: *sigh*
loud cloud: what's wrong with the one you're dating?
Some Male Bee: well... he drinks and smokes a tad too much
Some Male Bee: kaya kong sakyan initially
Some Male Bee: pero it seems... just too much
Some Male Bee: tapos parang wala kaming in common
Some Male Bee: hindi nya masyado nasi-stimulate utak ko
Some Male Bee: i mean, i'm reduced to staring at him
Some Male Bee: initially in sheer admiration
Some Male Bee: then later... parang... ho-hum conversations na lang about himself...
Some Male Bee: i tried i think
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: i listened to music he liked
loud cloud: wjich is?
Some Male Bee: read books he liked
Some Male Bee: (cynthia alexander nga)
Some Male Bee: tapos yung medyo big deal talaga sa akin is
Some Male Bee: he doesn't go to church
Some Male Bee: parang sa akin, non-negotiable yun
loud cloud: why?
Some Male Bee: but i tried for at least a month
Some Male Bee: gusto ko yung partner ko
Some Male Bee: can share in the joys of my life in Christ
Some Male Bee: i'd like to journey with him to heaven
Some Male Bee: ganung tipo
loud cloud: arent u imposing too much?
Some Male Bee: hence my dilemma
loud cloud: isnt he free to choose his religious preference in as much as you are free to remain a faithful catholic?
Some Male Bee: it's like you, enjoying your life in the city
Some Male Bee: tapos you try to make it work with someone who prefers batanes
loud cloud: LOL
Some Male Bee: parang ganun ka disparate (is there a word?)
loud cloud: i think so
loud cloud: i didnt work it out with anyone who prefers batanes
loud cloud: *smileyface*
loud cloud: my choice is urban life
loud cloud: thats it
loud cloud: anyone is free to explore somewhere else
loud cloud: i dont impose my beliefs and life choices on others
loud cloud: in the same way i expect others to respect my choices
Some Male Bee: it's not that i'm imposing it
Some Male Bee: i tested the waters kung kaya ko ipag-work
Some Male Bee: apparently i'm not cool with it- that he sees church as a superfluous activity
loud cloud: whoa
Some Male Bee: is there a word
Some Male Bee: you know- the usual comment- God is everywhere so i dont need no church or priest to minister to me and mediate between me and my God
loud cloud: that is his belief
Some Male Bee: and i have my own
loud cloud: if you don't agree with it, you either gently educate him or ditcvh him
Some Male Bee: and hindi ko masakyan yun
Some Male Bee: ayun na nga
Some Male Bee: plus di ko ma-take yung drinking and smoking
Some Male Bee: i'm no clean-living person myself
Some Male Bee: pero... he would ask permission if he can smoke
Some Male Bee: if i say no, he'd smoke anyway
Some Male Bee: one time we declared a no-smoking day
Some Male Bee: before i knew it, pugon na sila ng mga kaibigan nya
Some Male Bee: the worse thing is, i even broke my own don't smoke and don't drink and drive rule
Some Male Bee: haaaaay
Some Male Bee: God, He threw me another curve-ball haha
loud cloud: is it a test?
Some Male Bee: sorry?
loud cloud: i mean is he meant to be a test?
Some Male Bee: mmm
Some Male Bee: i don't think so
Some Male Bee: i prayed for him in earnest, i think
loud cloud: you get frustrated because you're inclined to change him
loud cloud: people dont want to change especially if they are told so
loud cloud: they change at their own volition
Some Male Bee: i'm frustrated because i thought he'd be better
loud cloud: or when they see a valid point in another's arguments
Some Male Bee: i mean, he seemed better
loud cloud: you're judging him
Some Male Bee: better than others
Some Male Bee: waaaaaaa
Some Male Bee: i dunno
loud cloud: people have flaws no matter how better they seem
Some Male Bee: oo naman @ flaws
loud cloud: besides he may be thinking that you're a fundamentalist religious nut
loud cloud: but he deals with it
loud cloud: how come you cant return the courtesy?
Some Male Bee: (now YOU're judging me)
loud cloud: i am not
loud cloud: its a likelihood
Some Male Bee: mmm
Some Male Bee: let's just say
Some Male Bee: i have preferences
Some Male Bee: and he doesn't have them
Some Male Bee: i tried to deal with the absence
Some Male Bee: but i'm not happy
loud cloud: well what's the point then?
loud cloud: its either you want it or not
Some Male Bee: you know you try to make lists of qualities you want in a person
loud cloud: no point hanging on to something that makes you miserable
Some Male Bee: but you end up somehow choosing the one without any
Some Male Bee: i tried
Some Male Bee: haaay
loud cloud: you know you try to make lists of qualities "you want" in a person
loud cloud: you see
loud cloud: you want him to be someone else he's not
loud cloud: he cannot change merely to satisfy your expectations
Some Male Bee: no... there's no aim to change him
Some Male Bee: there's an initial list
Some Male Bee: at least i do
Some Male Bee: i don't go into relationships feeling all pygmaliony
loud cloud: maybe he's a challenge for you and you're looking at him like a burden
loud cloud: hehe
Some Male Bee: i'm old, *insert my first name's initial here*
loud cloud: so?
loud cloud: everyone's old
loud cloud: regardless of age
loud cloud: it's people who choose to be childish
loud cloud: or child-like
loud cloud: there's a huge difference
loud cloud: you always put that nonsense pressure upon yourself
loud cloud: 'im getting old, i gotta move fast'
loud cloud: and then end up frustrated
Some Male Bee: it's not the speed
Some Male Bee: it's more of... quality?
Some Male Bee: but yeah
Some Male Bee: in my haste
Some Male Bee: i may be
loud cloud: dont be
loud cloud: despair will lead you to muddied choices
Some Male Bee: gloog gloog gloog
loud cloud: see people insane choices because they have this odd thing that without anyone they're incomplete
loud cloud: it's always nice to have someone
loud cloud: but being with someone and be miserable is nothing much different than being alone and miserable
loud cloud: so why add up to the headaches
loud cloud: and all the bullshit
Some Male Bee: i know!
Some Male Bee: i've been perfectly fine for almost three years
loud cloud: then the 'im growing old' panic hits
Some Male Bee: i have so many things to juggle as it is
loud cloud: it's the quicksand thing
loud cloud: the more you struggle the more you sink
Some Male Bee: the more i flail...
loud cloud: float
loud cloud: free yourself of unwanted self-defeating baggages
loud cloud: so what if you're single
loud cloud: that gives you license to mess around without guilt
Some Male Bee: exactly! if you've read some past entries, ang motto ko ay SINGLE BUT NOT UNHAPPY
loud cloud: instead of feeling trapped all the time
Some Male Bee: lol@mess around
loud cloud: come on
loud cloud: you CAN mess around
loud cloud: you and your guilts
Some Male Bee: hahahahahahahahaha
loud cloud: you're being hard on yourself
loud cloud: God didnt annoint you to be a saint, so you might as well be human
loud cloud: failing gives him a chance to save you
Some Male Bee: (not yet anyway hahahahahaha)
loud cloud: lol
loud cloud: that's a warped dogma
loud cloud: ignore that one
loud cloud: hahahaha
Some Male Bee: well...
Some Male Bee: hahahaha
loud cloud: i mean come on
Some Male Bee: somebody read the Sunday school materials in a different light
loud cloud: your goal is holiness and you deny your humanity?
Some Male Bee: um, yes?
loud cloud: if God didn't want you to sin, he should have made you into a cactus
loud cloud: or a seaweed
Some Male Bee: who told you cacti dont sin
loud cloud: you are human, and you stumble
loud cloud: well no one asked the opinion of the cacti
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: (i jest, go on)
loud cloud: so i speak on cacti behalf
loud cloud: im the honorary cacti spokesperson
loud cloud: *insert wink emoticon*
Some Male Bee: rotlf
loud cloud: i mean come on
Some Male Bee: if that's not the height of arrogance, i dunno what is... speaking on behalf of another species... hahahahaha
Some Male Bee: hahahah shush. i dismissed the idea of 'the one' long ago.
loud cloud: the one is a concept that binds us to unthinkable grief
loud cloud: it's the 'as good as it gets' syndrome
loud cloud: you always have expectations and ideals, but what if the one who comes along is as good as it gets?
loud cloud: watch that movie again
loud cloud: it's finding romance in the most horrible circumstances and the most unlovable people
loud cloud: i better stop before i sound like i swallowed Dr Phil
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: man.
Some Male Bee: i hate you.
Some Male Bee: hahaha
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: especially when you seem correct
loud cloud: i am always correct, i know it
Some Male Bee: Sith Lord That You Are
loud cloud: "i used to be conceited, but now i'm perfect" remember?
loud cloud: LOL
Some Male Bee: and i'm down with the flu
Some Male Bee: dagnamit
loud cloud: now that's the greatest irony
loud cloud: a health buff getting ill
loud cloud: there is no god
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: is separation from him enough for me to get sick...
loud cloud: i'm kidding. notice that i spelled god with lowercase
loud cloud: "Some Male Bee: is separation from him enough for me to get sick..."<--God you're dripping with syrup
Some Male Bee: good. you still type. lightning hasnt struck
loud cloud: stop while youre ahead
loud cloud: God has a sense of humor
loud cloud: otherwise why did He create people with purple gums?
Some Male Bee: hahahaha
loud cloud: so i think He can handle a few wink wink nudge nudge jabs from pith humans
loud cloud: pithy
Some Male Bee: haaaaaaay Lord
loud cloud: did you tell him about your problem with his attitude?
Some Male Bee: uhm... not yet...
loud cloud: gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
loud cloud: and now you're whining in private
Some Male Bee: hyeah...
loud cloud: while he goes about with his merry habits ignorant of your utter exasperation
loud cloud: whose fault is that?
loud cloud: he's not a telepath you know
Some Male Bee: he believes he has the gift
loud cloud: yeah, and I'm the messiah
Some Male Bee: perish the thought
loud cloud: spoilsport
Some Male Bee: i'll talk to him...
loud cloud: you should
loud cloud: ugh
Some Male Bee: face to face?
Some Male Bee: or okay na sa phone?
Some Male Bee: or YM?
loud cloud: whichever as long as you tell him of your brewing annoyances
Some Male Bee: mas sanay akong dumpee kesa dumper haha
loud cloud: better in person
loud cloud: and do it with empathy and gentleness
loud cloud: youre good at it
loud cloud: im always straightforward so i'll never be a UN Secretary General anytime soon
Some Male Bee: ugh. you don't know me at all haha
loud cloud: which is good. i can judge you and cite ignorance
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: next world was averted! whew
Some Male Bee: war
loud cloud: yeah, wiseguy
loud cloud: there will be a war between you if you dont tell him off
loud cloud: he's merrily puffing camels while you punch atomic warheads in your head
loud cloud: and your head explodes
loud cloud: while he continue on smoking in peace
Some Male Bee: sige
Some Male Bee: ultimatum
Some Male Bee: if he doesnt get in touch with me
Some Male Bee: until wednesday
Some Male Bee: yun na
loud cloud: dont give threats!
loud cloud: ugh
loud cloud: the last thing people need is to be threatened
loud cloud: all the more they'd do contrary things out of spite
Some Male Bee: for my self lang yun
loud cloud: god
Some Male Bee: internal counter lang yun
loud cloud: you and your internal conflicts
Some Male Bee: kasi ikaw e. pinatulan mo pa hahaha
loud cloud: what you need is a good kick in the face
loud cloud: you are infuriating
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: maybe i do
Some Male Bee: haaaaaay
Some Male Bee: alam mo yun
Some Male Bee: pag nasa STATE na ito ako
loud cloud: maybe i should cut and paste this in the blog
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: nagugulo talaga yung mundo ko
Some Male Bee: lekat! leave my name out hahahahaha
Some Male Bee: the world is at peace, you are at war. with yourself
loud cloud: and you wanted him to be at war with you
loud cloud: so you'd have an excuse that you're being normal
loud cloud: nobody is normal
loud cloud: everyone's fucked
loud cloud: no matter how composed they seem
loud cloud: so lighten up and celebrate that crazy streak
loud cloud: and have fun
loud cloud: Ok, now i sound like i swallowed Oprah
loud cloud: AND martha stewart
loud cloud: im hopeless
Some Male Bee: wait sisinga lang ako
loud cloud: lol
loud cloud: too much info
Some Male Bee: hahahaha
loud cloud: especially now that im eating mango flavored selecta ice cream
loud cloud: yum
Some Male Bee: i think too much
Some Male Bee: i over-analyze things
loud cloud: you over process things
Some Male Bee: over-romaticized stuff
loud cloud: *rollseyes*
loud cloud: romance like time is relative
Some Male Bee: incestuous?
loud cloud: some people find masochism romantic
loud cloud: relative as in arbitrary!
loud cloud: your brains are getting corroded with all this romantic mush you're stuffing your head with
Some Male Bee: why can't i be lead-brained
Some Male Bee: why can't i be lead-hearted
Some Male Bee: an automaton
Some Male Bee: i-work-i-eat-i-sleep
loud cloud: why don't you just bang your head in asphalt and spare the world of these silly questions?
Some Male Bee: why do i look like *insert name of matinee idol here* in my mind's eye
loud cloud: (mental note: leave the *insert name of matinee idol here* giveaway clue in the blog posting)
Some Male Bee: shaddap
loud cloud: why do you strive to look like that boring twat?
loud cloud: ugh
Some Male Bee: OMG. i just saw beowulf...
loud cloud: where is your self-esteem?!
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: nanginig yung laman ko kay angelina jolie
loud cloud: she's wank material, yeah
Some Male Bee: she stirred long asleep feelings
Some Male Bee: aaaaaaaaaaargh
Some Male Bee: damn that woman hahahahahaha
loud cloud: oh god, here we go with horny sophomore talk
Some Male Bee: emerging from the frigging water... gold-tinged... bosoms to be smothered with... ayayayay
Some Male Bee: hahahahah
loud cloud: it's CGI
Some Male Bee: I LOVE CGIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
loud cloud: she never looked so three-dimensional since Girl, Interrupted
Some Male Bee: no wonder beowulf couldnt resist her hahahahaha
loud cloud: no wonder the movie made money. there are lotsa horny toads out there
Some Male Bee: sorry i'm so loopy
loud cloud: sorry i'm so crabby
loud cloud: lol
Some Male Bee: hop-hop-hop-hop
Some Male Bee: hahahaha
loud cloud: gotta go
loud cloud: you are boring me to bits
loud cloud: LOL
loud cloud: nah
loud cloud: you are not
Some Male Bee: haha
Some Male Bee: gnyt
loud cloud: i just said that to check on your self-esteem
loud cloud: and your touchy feely tendencies
Some Male Bee: gotta rest as well.
Some Male Bee: lol@touchyfeely
Some Male Bee: I AM NOT
Some Male Bee: hahahahahahaha
loud cloud: huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
Some Male Bee: hahahahahahahahahaha
loud cloud: NOT my spleen
Some Male Bee: eh kasi na-feature ako sa *insert name of a broadsheet*- sinopla mo ko
loud cloud: anyway id post this in the blog
Some Male Bee: hahahahahaha
loud cloud: i'll put NOT Sam Milby as handle
loud cloud: LOL
Some Male Bee: Sam Maybe
loud cloud: better
Some Male Bee: i'd like to see my name as such
loud cloud: gross
Some Male Bee: and you'd be... Lolit Cloudit
Some Male Bee: or something
loud cloud: LOL
loud cloud: LOL
loud cloud: nasty name
loud cloud: i like it
loud cloud: i better go before i cough my pleura out
Some Male Bee: When Sam Maybe Meets Lolit Cloudit
loud cloud: aiiie
loud cloud: you are hideous
Some Male Bee: (of course that is NOT possible)
loud cloud: i gotta go before i get contaminated
Some Male Bee: oh why don't you smile my only star
Some Male Bee: 'shine on me
Some Male Bee: shine my only star
loud cloud: shaddap
loud cloud: bye
Some Male Bee: shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine my only star
Some Male Bee: babay
loud cloud: ill post this in a bit
Some Male Bee: guess who played doctor today? =]
loud cloud: bye
And guess who'll receive the exorbitant bill today?
Posted by loudcloud at 11:58 PM
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Frequently I am accused of being unpatriotic. That I do not do my share in hearting the motherland amidst the discouraging realities and all the rhetorical bullshit. I used to dismiss this accusation with a detached shrug of someone who couldn't be bothered.
I am not vocal about my fondness for this country, more so for this maddening city, but here's a fact: I left my lucrative expatriate post in another country and still refuses to show up at immigration counters for a reason. Amidst the face of disheartening adversities like idiotic uprisings and common national burdens, I'd like to believe that home is not a country but a feeling.
Which brings me to an old essay I wrote seven years ago for an online journal challenge: “Describe your world.”
Rereading it today it seems nothing much has changed. Sentiments included.
~ ~ ~
in an ideal world, i would be luxuriating in a private island, baking my buns under the tropical sun, sipping tropical daiquiris and getting soothing back rubs from babes whose vocabulary do not include commitment, relationships and marriage. in my most vivid daydreams, i visualize myself in this island, detached from the madness of urban life with steady supply of good books to read, excellent CDs to sing along to at the top of my lungs and endless stock of art materials. yes, pure escapism. but who isn’t prone to it especially if you consider how depressing the landscape of reality that i am besieged with.
for anyone unfamiliar with existentialism, i offer my world as a convenient road map. confusion clamps my mind the moment my eyes flutter into consciousness; the remnant of forgotten dreams leaves an acrid, stale taste in my tongue. for a brief disturbing silence i would be wondering if i woke up in a wrong dimension, displaced into another body with nothing but vague memory of who i am.
then my eyes would meet the mocking face of the clock, taunting me with declarations of time and the second existentialist premise, disorder, would jolt me into hysterical panic. i would snap out of semi-consciousness, spewing major expletives that would make the extremely pious faint at the potency of my language. i would hurtle towards accomplishing a morning constitutional, tacking myself together into something recognizably human. this should all be accomplished in a span of a couple of minutes, leaving an unflattering trail of mess behind. my mind would race into pressing concerns for the day; the word 'deadline' would pulsate in my head like amplified tickings of a bomb three point five seconds before detonation.
on my way to work i would be plagued by the next existentialist axiom: chaos. the soundtrack of screeching tires would blend with unsynchronized symphony of blasting horns. amidst the agitated clenching of palms and nervous taps of fingers on the steering wheels irate people would barter pungent oaths to each other and the two hour traffic jam would be reported by the traffic control helicopter hovering over the city as ‘moderate’. my stomach would clasp like an anxious fist, my lungs would inhale septic air, and my nerves would be grated like a rusty fork ripping its way across the blackboard. i would turn the radio on and get assaulted by hanson crooning the nerve-shredding mmmmmmmbop. as a reflex i would switch the dial to another station and would be greeted by celine dion, moaning like she just dislocated her vagina to her throat. another switch of the channel and the backstreet boys would educate me on the 'meaning of being lonely'. and it’s not noontime yet.
emerging from the chaos of the highways, i would negotiate the opulent lobby of a high rise, with it’s gleaming steel and glass structures that gloriously impaled themselves to the earth. the mammoth building, proud and tall, boasting in the skyscape of corporate wealth—a striking contrast to the shanties of the poor and underprivileged in a not so distant areas. in this corporate ghetto i would associate another existentialist manifesto: absurdity. this is the ghetto of greed, ambition, power and bold, cunning abilities. well dressed, sweet smelling rats would parade the hallways weaving dreams for the obsessed. these are highly-capable people seeing themselves wasted for the quest of personal dreams in the name of professional and intellectual whoring. among these rooms, the talented, the wicked, the bright and the jerk would scheme, collaborate, coexist into a common goal, which is to amass something more of what already is in excess.
this is my adopted world. an appalling domain so different from the pristine landscapes of my childhood. i become the embraced spawn of this city with it’s heavily desecrated air, it’s gaping manholes, it’s clogged sewers, it’s beaming commercial edifices. i am the child of this metropolis with it’s raging clashes between the gluttonous elite and the riotous poor. i stroll the dirty avenues and see diminishing traces of hope in the ignored faces who hug themselves on newspaper-matted pavements as they sleep in the bitter cold nights of homelessness. and my heart would bleed. occasionally i would stuck a few crumpled bills into the empty cans next to these people, walking away feeling depressed. i am a hapless pawn in this city surviving bombings of public places, natural catastrophe, bureaucratic and terroristic unrest and the shameless grandstanding of political sleazoids who would kiss asses on their way to public office only to be unmasked later as scumbags that they are.
some evenings i would commune with my favorite human beings into watering holes and places flooded by trendoids, wannabees, social climbers and the glamorous citizens whose eyes are as empty as their laughter. i would smile wryly at the absurdity of all these social pomposity, instantly slapping my forehead with a flashing neon sign that read 'cynic'.
from one madness to another, i would go home and be welcomed by familiarity of disorder left earlier. my eyes would feel the warmth of romantic pandemonium of littered books, disorganized CDs, unfinished canvasses, crumpled printouts of an optimistic attempt to writing a novel. on my way to the bathroom i would trip towards the hamper brimming with laundry, some of them developing an independent lifestyle by now, giving new definition to the word 'biohazard'. then i would start missing my mom. i would open the refrigerator and wolf on anything that isn’t two days past its labeled expiry date.
in this flat, i would slump into the couch and recall into mind everything that happen during the day. i would be once more reminded of assorted regrets, guilt, hope, fondness, frustration, anger and all things that lead me back into myself. in the moment of solitude i would realize that the real me is a big survivor in the world i cohabit with millions of people with other stories to tell. then i would realize the romance of this world — the dynamics of life seeking for itself in a maddening landscape that provides a challenging backdraft to one’s existence. at night i would sleep rocked by the clanking sounds of metals in nearby construction areas, the steady hum of a city catching it’s breath for the night or the melodramatic overtures of imported soap operas dubbed in local dialect emanating from neighborhood television sets.
proponents of the existentialist manifesto postulate that nothingness is a requisite for being. amongst the confusion , the chaos and the absurdity of it all you begin to be, to define yourself. out of nothingness you give meaning to your existence.
my world isn’t flattering in many respects, but i have found romance in it. i am one of the hopefuls in this wild metropolis. my real and ideal world is romantically bisected by the scorching dry and rainy seasons as i traverse the roads of dreamers and survivors.
held hostage in this quixotic hellhole, dreaming and hoping make this metropolitan abyss almost paradise.
Posted by loudcloud at 3:47 AM
Friday, November 30, 2007
Sensationalist reporter hyper-amplifies the drama of the Manila Pen presscon into a hysterical level of "anarchy." I rolled my eyeballs hearing the breathless narrative which if one is highly imaginative will give off mental images of the gasping reporter in the advance stage of cardiac arrest.
"Quick!" an annoying pseudofriend texted, "What would you say to incoming guests if you were the Pen's concierge?"
Without thinking twice I thumbed in "Welcome to Manila, Mr. Rockefeller. Our dumb, mutinous soldiers will escort you to your room! Stay indoors and watch CNN until the tear gas fumes subsides. Have a nice day!"
"Ass!" came the reply.
This is my thanks for being factual. PR people are an insane breed.
Posted by loudcloud at 2:27 AM
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Due to my inability to blog properly, and caving in on Ian's encouragement, I'd once more recycle an old entry from another abandoned site. Bloghoppers looking for fresh materials are discouraged to read further. This is my blog. Don't whine for fresh new entries. I can recycle all I want. Deal with it.
(I've just noticed typing this: how crabby I sounded. I've been in a foul mood in the past three weeks. Deal with it.)
~ ~ ~
give me an attic. i will fill it into bursting with dreams. varied hues of dreams. assortments, permutations, swatches and textures of dreams. childish dreams of cotton candy, marbled balloons and rubbery gums; dreams smudged with maternal agonies over domestic scatter of broken limbs of a tearful sister’s dolls, building blocks, toy guns, wooden ponies, dog eared storybooks and torn kites—yes, you have to remember those incredibly cheery kites; kites that can now only drift in pleasant daze, silently brimming with recollections of tangled flights. somewhere at the far corner i’ll stack the attic with habitual, chronic dreams: reveries of sand and water, aimless treks, procrastinated plans of horseback rides down a slope pillared with pines and crisp morning air. i'd summon the image of a teasing hammock under a fertile mango tree on blistering summer afternoons while vulnerably drowned in crude trappings of demanding paperclips, insolent keyboards, rebellious shredders, invasive phone shrieks and oppressive fluorescent flickers pouring from unsympathetic ceilings. the attic's walls will be papered with ambitious dreams: delusions and aspirations fermented by the most restless of imaginations. vision will be varnished across its swathed canvasses—they will be brave testaments of fertile creative impulses that shall transcend the trivialities of their passionate bearer. there will be unlocked chests on the left of the attic to store unpleasant dreams: aches, frustrations, disillusionments and the constant ally and shaper of wisdom and understanding: the state of brokenness. the keys of these trunks will not be thrown into rivers, lakes or ponds but best kept at hand, for when that throbbing moment beckons you to lift the lid and peek inside as if to greet a vaguely-familiar wounded friend. neatly piled near the sharp angle where two walls wed, allow me to assemble parched dreams and longings - a thirst for gentle geometries of tenderness: anchored arms orbiting a torso, legs twined around hips, gentle inching of skins to move closer or soft snuggles in the unholy hours between sunsets and dawn, buried for a moment in sheets and pillows, stirred only by sunken rhythms of breathing and discreet half-whispers piercing the elongations of downy sleep. the windowsills of the attic will be book-ended with unwelcome dreams: nightmares and melancholy, goodbyes lumped in throats, pickled emotions as stale as grandmother’s yellowed prescriptions, polite conversations and insufferable silences, watching misery flicker in the eye of someone who laughs the loudest. there will be no rugs in the attic; rugs hide the quivering hopefulness of the wooden floorboards. and it's nothing short of rude prejudice to shroud its modest dignity with shoddy linoleum. hopefulness is a dream, too and i would rather lay motionless on wooden ply, eyes blissfully closed, draining the coldness of timber that kiss the excitable contours at the back of my neck. wistfulness, wishful thinking - they will sit languidly on the spot of an absent couch. they will populate the orphaned space like twins forever ensnared in umbilical inheritance. they are bound by reciprocation and hereditary accidents. they are compulsory dreams, too. in their honor abundant beauty are created to be desired. this will be my shrouded attic, my private breathing space. i want it hidden for selfish reasons. once in a while, out of fondness, i’d invite another soul to lie down with me among its naked floors, to soak up the shivering radiance of its apologetic flaws. an invited guest's probable sweet lingering or impromptu departure from this attic is an equal measure of anticipation and regret. this makes its keeper guardedly ambivalent to fling the doors open and welcome outside intrusions that will possibly leave ghostly footprints smeared with mud and woes. a choice remains: let your dreams float in unlocked rooms and hazard a bruise. or in the private attic of sadness quietly spread your wings.
varied hues of dreams. assortments, permutations, swatches and textures of dreams. childish dreams of cotton candy, marbled balloons and rubbery gums; dreams smudged with maternal agonies over domestic scatter of broken limbs of a tearful sister’s dolls, building blocks, toy guns, wooden ponies, dog eared storybooks and torn kites—yes, you have to remember those incredibly cheery kites; kites that can now only drift in pleasant daze, silently brimming with recollections of tangled flights.
somewhere at the far corner i’ll stack the attic with habitual, chronic dreams: reveries of sand and water, aimless treks, procrastinated plans of horseback rides down a slope pillared with pines and crisp morning air. i'd summon the image of a teasing hammock under a fertile mango tree on blistering summer afternoons while vulnerably drowned in crude trappings of demanding paperclips, insolent keyboards, rebellious shredders, invasive phone shrieks and oppressive fluorescent flickers pouring from unsympathetic ceilings.
the attic's walls will be papered with ambitious dreams: delusions and aspirations fermented by the most restless of imaginations. vision will be varnished across its swathed canvasses—they will be brave testaments of fertile creative impulses that shall transcend the trivialities of their passionate bearer.
there will be unlocked chests on the left of the attic to store unpleasant dreams: aches, frustrations, disillusionments and the constant ally and shaper of wisdom and understanding: the state of brokenness. the keys of these trunks will not be thrown into rivers, lakes or ponds but best kept at hand, for when that throbbing moment beckons you to lift the lid and peek inside as if to greet a vaguely-familiar wounded friend.
neatly piled near the sharp angle where two walls wed, allow me to assemble parched dreams and longings - a thirst for gentle geometries of tenderness: anchored arms orbiting a torso, legs twined around hips, gentle inching of skins to move closer or soft snuggles in the unholy hours between sunsets and dawn, buried for a moment in sheets and pillows, stirred only by sunken rhythms of breathing and discreet half-whispers piercing the elongations of downy sleep.
the windowsills of the attic will be book-ended with unwelcome dreams: nightmares and melancholy, goodbyes lumped in throats, pickled emotions as stale as grandmother’s yellowed prescriptions, polite conversations and insufferable silences, watching misery flicker in the eye of someone who laughs the loudest.
there will be no rugs in the attic; rugs hide the quivering hopefulness of the wooden floorboards. and it's nothing short of rude prejudice to shroud its modest dignity with shoddy linoleum. hopefulness is a dream, too and i would rather lay motionless on wooden ply, eyes blissfully closed, draining the coldness of timber that kiss the excitable contours at the back of my neck.
wistfulness, wishful thinking - they will sit languidly on the spot of an absent couch. they will populate the orphaned space like twins forever ensnared in umbilical inheritance. they are bound by reciprocation and hereditary accidents. they are compulsory dreams, too. in their honor abundant beauty are created to be desired.
this will be my shrouded attic, my private breathing space. i want it hidden for selfish reasons. once in a while, out of fondness, i’d invite another soul to lie down with me among its naked floors, to soak up the shivering radiance of its apologetic flaws.
an invited guest's probable sweet lingering or impromptu departure from this attic is an equal measure of anticipation and regret. this makes its keeper guardedly ambivalent to fling the doors open and welcome outside intrusions that will possibly leave ghostly footprints smeared with mud and woes.
a choice remains: let your dreams float in unlocked rooms and hazard a bruise. or in the private attic of sadness quietly spread your wings.
Posted by loudcloud at 5:41 AM
Far from sounding fatalistic but frustration greets me at work everyday. There are times when I catch myself wondering why I put up with all the bullshit. If my faith is really that strong in a blinded pursuit of work I am deeply passionate about. It's not much different from having a stroll in a minefield. You are always aware that a bummer will explode in your face at a given moment. Yet you forge on. Persistence is a peculiar virtue. It connotes something positive when what you really are is nothing but a bundle of stubborn nerves.
~ ~ ~
Insomnia crept back into full swing. It's almost four, and despite my self-imposed laziness in blogging I somehow managed to remember the password of yet another short-lived blog. This particular blog is insanely high in cringe factor. In the breadth of five brief entries I was able to gush an assortment of dorkiness that made sense back then but as I sped-read through them now the lumps of skin at the back of my neck crawl.
(Created on: Aug 10 2004 @ 01:29 PM)
write what you know. that's what most journalism professors always say. it's hogwash. a lame excuse for mediocrity to go on. still i decided to write. in a new journal. mostly about things i do not know, which is an interesting and embarrassing thing to hurl upon the world: my ignorance. i might write about what i know from time to time. this might be risk boring random people to death. there will be times when i will not write anything, if i don't feel like it. but for now i will write. not because writing is therapy. because writing will convince me that i actually exist. plus i'm really bored and i'm running out of excuses.
The final entry, a shameless solicitation for a date don't just make me gag, it makes me want to relocate to Rwanda and run amok among vigilantes.
(Created on: May 10 2006 @ 01:14 PM)
you are out there. in fact you might even be reading this. you are either 20 or 31 years old. or comfortably old enough to fall in years between previously mentioned ages. you are good to look at. not so attractive to make me constantly insecure yet not bad looking enough to make me feel superior. i may not be good looking if your standard of beauty falls into the hollywood matinee types. (my friends tell me i'm not hideous looking, mainly because they have had four tequila shots.)
you are smart. you have many pursuits aside from random sex with strangers. you have interesting points of interest or have stimulating hobbies. you can converse and capable of decent or interesting opinions.
you must be educated enough to show some courtesy. must be not a leech and can hold up by yourself.
you know that sex can possibly be intimate, even with strangers, because it is not hurried but relished. you are not selfish and understands that to truly have the best out of sex you will be in tune with the pleasure of your partner. you know the pleasure points and have a sense of timing that will instinctively tell you when to move furiously and when to go very slow to heighten the sensation.
you know i'm talking to you. talk to me.
Though the entry managed to snag good responses from a few smart pencils in the blogging populace this is a shining proof that when it comes to selling myself my skills are outpaced by narcotized slugs.
Excuse me while I shudder.
Posted by loudcloud at 4:14 AM
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Except for choosing work over relishing the lengthy wave of consecutive holidays my first few November days are quite majestically blah. At least if I have to factor in gazillion admonitions of my pseudofriends to quit workaholism in lieu of old fashioned picnics or whatever idle preoccupations known to humankind. Thanks, but I'd rather be creative at work than hear crickets chirp. I am the helloween grump and I need no mask to make it apparent.
Just now it occurred to me that Halloween, All Fools Day AND Valentines Day are the same thing confused and celebrated on wrong months.
Last wave of recycling. At least for the moment. I swear.
Created on: Jan 20 2006 @ 12:47 PM
posting five entries in a row doesn't make me a prolific blogger. it only betrays my level of boredom.
if i'm not a lazy scum i would probably find more productive ways to pass the time.
then i figure cross stitching is for wimps, and playing trivia unmasks my embarrassing ignorance, and i would rather not disturb the silence than encourage a lengthy conversation with a silly chatter who is as dumb as a box of hair.
therefore writing pointless journal entries is justified.
Created on: Jan 22 2006 @ 12:26 PM
you are gracefulness. like lofty kites doing watery pirouettes yet bearably imperfect in an off-key kind of way. i wonder how many people are gifted that way. the way you string random words into profound patterns of thoughts that compels us mere mortals into enchantment. it is as if we are voyeurs, uninvited but welcomed to tag along an enthralling tour into the depths of your privacy. you give us something to be grateful, something to be thankful.
* (erato "the lovely" is the muse of love poetry and mimicry)
that fine thread dividing bliss and sadness
Created on: Jan 22 2006 @ 12:32 PM
why do we indulge in this cruel pastime? are we that self-hating? or are we that sad?
Created on: Jan 23 2006 @ 01:19 PM
this hunger cannot be canceled by carnal givings. it pounds on pavements like tremors. skins tremble, quaking fiercely as its roots seek deeper to where rivers cannot nullify its eternal thirst.
lower down the pulley, stranger. there's tenderness sleeping at the bottom of its quiet well.
truth or death
Created on: Jan 23 2006 @ 01:28 PM
fabricate a lie, it doesn't matter how thinly veiled, how shallow or how convincing. it's immaterial - it's still a lie. the world feeds upon it. it insist to have it's second, third, fourth helpings. it would be cruel to deny it with nourishment.
please don't be fiercely honest. it would make life unbearable.
such troubles with this nonexistent thing
Created on: Mar 05 2006 @ 11:18 AM
oftentimes i wonder if at all possible that people just stop caring and save each other all the grief. based on a twisted logic that when you begin to regard someone with affection you trigger an irreversible possibility at hurt. this is painful if you are the proponent; cruel if you're the benefactor. somewhere beyond comprehension the truth resides. foolish mortals that we are. so humbled and doomed in eternal search for answers, consuming lifetimes of what's within grasp but is never really there.
needful (among other) things
Created on: Mar 05 2006 @ 11:41 AM
one thing that amuses me: despite monumental advancements in science and psychology why hasn't anyone invented a cure to that common illness. why can't it be officially made that love be pharmacologically optional instead of its organic tendency of becoming a human obsession? are we that needy?
nostradamus in pink
Created on: Mar 05 2006 @ 12:00 PM
dispatches from the parallel universe:
Aquarius March 06, 2006. You've always been the objective type, far more prone toward facts and figures than anything that even remotely resembles nostalgia. At the moment, however, you're feeling like a regular tissue commercial -- and not at all shy about spouting phrases you would have made fun of not too long ago. It all comes down to just one thing: That love is, indeed, grand, and that you're not afraid to express it.
i'd buy the crap if i'm not a professional cynic. whoever wrote it hopefully isn't into banned substances. i'm afraid to imagine the one spinning the cosmos possessed of a grand zodiac typewriter.
too creepy for words.
Posted by loudcloud at 4:08 PM
Friday, November 2, 2007
Initially I planned blogging about how Ayala Avenue and Paseo de Roxas were practically a ghost town yesterday, an obvious fact given it being a holiday. While everyone packed their beer coolers, poker cards and mahjong tables and heed towards the cemeteries, I decided to be the lonesome ghoul working at the office. It was kind of freaky when it was so quiet you can practically hear yourself breathing. Add to the fact that the lousy building turned off all the hallway lights and a quick trip to the washroom suddenly have the atmosphere of a horror flick. But the entry didn't materialize because my mind staged an unscheduled blackout so as before, I'd resort to shameless recycling.
love in the time of soap opera
Created on: Jan 09 2006 @ 11:55 AM
another random browser pointed my obvious air of conceit (see previous post). i'm prone to agree if it means i'd get rid of touchy egos and unwanted over-sentimentality. life is peculiar as it is without having to add melodrama into one's existence. don't get me started on having to deal with excessive doses of other people's insecurities. it's staggering, the abundant supply of touchy-feely nancies.
please don't demand an apology from someone who can see through your deficiency.
sunny side pop
Created on: Jan 09 2006 @ 12:09 PM
contrary to popular disbelief i do have a disgusting sunny side. i laugh over silly cracks. i think [as opposed to what other folks consider to be ugly] bulldogs are cuter and much more charming than half of my cousins combined. as a grown man i don't cry in public and will never admit under threat of bodily harm that the movie e.t. had me crying, having watched it at the age twenty four. i do believe in the great hug therapy and considers casablanca and cinema paradiso to be shining examples of what great love is all about. neither will i be shaken off the resolution that humans of any age shouldn't outgrow pillow fights.
stop me before i turn into a quavering jell-o.
instant coffee mates
Created on: Jan 17 2006 @ 08:50 AM
since when did it become trendy to equalize familiarity with a brief encounter over a cup of coffee? i'm wondering because a lot of people seem to have this "getting to know you over a cuppa-o-latte" kind of thing going on. it's amazing. can really gauge a person's worth before the brew loses its heat? essentially, how much self-flattery or self-aggrandizement can you cram in said over-coffee conversation to create a great impression before one of you decides to have another cup to prolong the exchange or put the two-person acquaintance party into a grinding halt with a convenient excuse and leave?
it takes many people a lifetime to know another. so maybe our coffee culture is attempting a shortcut.
Created on: Jan 18 2006 @ 09:48 AM
all of a sudden my mind went blank.
when i went online my mind is whirling with countless ideas but they disappeared like fickle vapors the minute i logged on in (name of website). it's really irritating when that happens. it's like an interrupted orgasm. it's painful, and, understandably, leads you to a very foul mood.
now i'm staring at the blank word processor (not that i'm paranoid, but it's mocking me), absorbing the radioactive glare of my monitor, waiting for the end of the world as we know it.
contrary to the r.e.m song, i don't feel fine.
Created on: Jan 20 2006 @ 10:40 AM
work is a female dog. what makes it thankless sometimes is the fact that there are people who harp, whine and moan, making the whole experience less endurable. i am not aspiring to walk the easy street but this is becoming more disheartening everyday. it's steadily becoming a plateau of tedious tasks, a constant tiptoe in a volatile playground seeded with landmines of egos and insecurities.
this used to be fun.
Created on: Jan 20 2006 @ 11:03 AM
look here, i'm quoting a pessimistic royal: "you have too much sincerity; you must be an actress." so do me a favor. enough of the lip service. i am sick of fiction. for once it would be refreshing to see you steering away from this orbit and explode in less genuine places. it doesn't matter where. pick anywhere but here. find a calmness in the far corners to violate. i'll watch the distant flickers and think it's not firecrackers igniting but fireflies dancing.
Created on: Jan 20 2006 @ 11:38 AM
oftentimes you spend excessive whiles obsessing over something. be it a person, a token, a feeling, a dream, a thing, a possibility, a yearning. yes, you are aware of your dishonorable lapse in self-control, but you can't help it. it is as if you are hotwired into being drawn closer towards absolute self-humiliation. you are shamed by the fact that you have allowed yourself to loosen your grip of reality and decline towards helplessness. there is another name for such addiction. but you'd rather not bother finding out. the longer it remains nameless the more excusable the denials would be.
all you need is time. a precise moment to finally arriving at a point of being totally fed up and realize that it was nothing but sugar-coated bile.
if such time will come at all.
Created on: Jan 20 2006 @ 12:27 PM
how to spot a fake in (name of website)? no rocket science is required if one is keen. for the slightly dense here's a few screaming clues:
1. in their profile/s they declare to have attended prestigious schools but their sentences have more grammatical fractures than a congressmen. a dead giveaway.
2. they claim to be straight but list queer eye, queer as folk, will and grace and the likes as favorite tv show. more so if all three appear in succession in their list.
3. state they're educated but can't spell for shit. state that they're literate but don't have more than five decent authors as favorites. state that they love rock/alternative music but later on tell you on-chat that they think britney spears is the bomb.
4. declare themselves straighter than an arrow but leave self-affirming, telltale comments on homoerotic journal postings of other (name of website) members.
5. write 'straight' in their profile. then amass a list of buddies whose primary profile pictures are an assortment of penile bulge/crotch shots, magnified abdominals, tight underwear shots, and attractive images of people who belong in the same gender.
6. if s/he uses a picture which is too attractive and polished-beyond-belief chances are those images were lifted from porn sites, stolen from modeling outtakes, or photoshopped like there's no tomorrow. bear in mind that only about 14% of the earth's population are qualified underwear endorsers. (consider yourself lucky if you discover few honest people who post their authentic attractive pictures; don't hope too much though)
7. they are quick to point out/broadcast the deficiencies and misleadings/deceits of others. this act is not really a public service; this is indiscretion. not a very attractive trait.
8. they tell people they are into long-term relationships. then flood the journal section with postings soliciting a quick f*ck.
9. they fill out their profile fields with entries saying they are not in here for sex/good looks/good time but most of their profile's buddies are of those pursuits. you kind of wonder what are they in here for: sharing the good news of salvation?
10. more than those who post images that are not their own, do watch out for those who tell you emphatically that they are very sincere and/or honest. probability is they are not.
Posted by loudcloud at 1:26 AM
Thursday, November 1, 2007
November officially arrives boiling over with promise of terrific possibilities. A hasty prediction of my work schedule tells me I won't be blogging rabidly as last month. During these update lapses I'd rummage through one of my early glorious failings at concise blogging. This is when I had a laughable idea that writing in lowercase is the coolest thing since sliced bread. I have forgotten about this alternate (writing) self and idleness prompted me to sift through its cobwebbed beams. All the entries are hysterically insane. And no, I wasn't inhaling prohibited substances at the time I wrote them. This will be a series of non-sequitor-like entries until I've exhausted all the long-forgotten blog. Recycling is not limited to the environment; in blogging it conceals your utter lack of nothing to say.
natural bummed rebel
Created on: Jan 01 2006 @ 11:04 AM
what's more unsettling than hellish boredom? bizarre horoscope predictions, that is. parking in (website name) and idly reading the inane exchanges ever known to online chat i half-consciously hit a link which led me to this odd snippet of astrological forecast:Aquarius. January 01, 2006 > Relationships are a wonderful surprise, whether they come along for platonic, professional or romantic reasons. Someone new, unusual and quite rebellious -- your absolute favorite -- is probably the type of person you should expect. As usual, by the way, running into this person under a highly unusual situation is also what you should expect -- and of course, this will make the encounter even more appealing to you. The heavens obviously arranged for you two to meet. i won't call it heavenly arrangement. i'd call it cosmic meddling.
Created on: Jan 01 2006 @ 11:22 AM
sometimes i wonder if there is an immediate cure for sudden inexplicable blues. you know you've hit the basement when nothing interests you enough to make an effort at rising from consentual lethargy. some cheerful-beyond-belief folks may helpfully offer a multiple option of porn, a high-calorie dessert, funny flicks or a warm fuzzy hug. thanks, but i'd take a practical fix: a quick slap.if life is a freaking bowl of cherries, can anyone explain what in hell are we doing in the pits?
brewing murder in our hearts
Created on: Jan 03 2006 @ 07:58 AM
it always happen. whenever i am lining up to pay for something, there's always someone ahead of me that triggers my homicidal tendencies.
this time it's a woman monopolizing the entire starbucks counter. the line behind her keeps getting longer but she couldn't possibly care because she didn't have the courtesy to glance back and check out if she's being an irresponsible wart.
every second seemed like it's high time for my long overdue violent public rampage.
first it took her fifty years to decide whether chocolote cake is good for her butt, which from an objective stand point, is already approaching planetary dimensions. then her semi-retarded son took another fifty fears to decide which flavor of frappuccino to slurp. people were groaning behind her and some were rolling their eyes, exchanging pained looks with each other.
our collective pain didn't end up yet. she rummaged inside her bag for the misplaced coupon stub to claim for her planner (twenty years), tried to locate her credit card (thirty years), decided to pay for cash instead and counted her folded/crumpled bills (100 years). at this point we all felt cannibalism would be appropriate.
just as the counterclerk was punching and totalling her order, three more kids rushed in and argued amongst themselves which item to add up. the whole process was repeated (one thousand years). aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!
people glared and fired death rays at her neck, which was useless because she didn't glance back to check if her butt grew another fifty pounds just by inhaling next to a doughnut. as the three hyperactive kids finally settled for an order, her daughter rushed in with an order for her dad and the nanny. we were telekenitically ordering the counterclerk to lace her drink with cyanide through telepathy. genocide's would have been more appropriate and i keep kicking myself for neglecting to bring my uzi.
the cure! the cure!
Created on: Jan 07 2006 @ 11:57 AM
this entry is another lame excuse to get past paralyzing boredom. i would have downloaded smut, but boredom shreds even the boorish interest in sleaze. come to think of it. there's cure to depression, tacky sex diseases, psychosis, but never boredom.maybe is hould start knitting sweatshirts out of dental floss.
willy wanka and the smut factory
Created on: Jan 07 2006 @ 12:14 PM
steamy classy nudes. literate hardcore sex stories. tease-to-the-hilt art direction. arena magazine's (back issue with ewan mcgreggor/hayden christensen alternate star wars covers) dirty thoughts supplement rocks! hard. literally and figuratively.
welcome to cynical county. population: me
Created on: Jan 08 2006 @ 10:38 AM
for one stunning moment i am rendered speechless. i know this is not quite a common condition for me. i always have reason to moan about. more so in the presence of disgusting cuteness, saccharine sentimentality, and perverse optimism. so it bothers me. it bothers me that i totally enjoyed the chronicles of narnia.it bothers me that i allow myself to be charmed out of my socks.on top of it it bothers me to realize there is such a thing as rare species of (website name population) who make sense. who can carry their end of the conversation.give me skepticism anyday and i'll be obliged to embody it. give me a radical twist from my expectations and i reel.give me a few moments to steady myself. it's a bit cold in here i need to adjust.
Created on: Jan 08 2006 @ 11:02 AM
given the rapid succession of disappointments it makes one wonder why human nature wouldn't just give up. see, sometimes, you allow yourself a little indulgence. a little hope, if you must. that daunting possibility that somewhere in the madness and boredom of daily struggles you'd fall into an accident that is something...nice. then you fall flat in your face. the embarrassment, the self-loathing, the assigning of blame, the humiliation, the excruciating stabs of hurt, the shame. then the rigorous process of self-inflicted torture commence before the numbness sets in.then you wake up the next day and follow the exact same routine.when or where do you stop?is stopping a form of wimping out?is quixotic pursuit a romantic thing and sensible walking out of the game a form of cruel self-sabotage?and how come, it all it takes is one gentle smile to wipe out all pain ever known?no one seems to have a presence of mind to do the accounting.there is no justice in the world.
Created on: Jan 08 2006 @ 11:10 AM
remember that calvin and hobbes strip? the one where the little raccoon died? it occured to me that even in the lowest moment there is humor.absurd but alarmingly true.
half a chance of a snowball in hell
Created on: Jan 09 2006 @ 11:17 AM
life has a nasty habit of shortchanging you. it has a wicked sense of humor. it will never be apologetic when toying with your grand aspirations. it is cruel. it is democratic.grit your teeth, heave a sigh of defeat. or opt to battle the hopeless odds with sisyphean determination. most annoying of all is a sure fact: when you're aggrieved there will be no open counter for reimbursements.
Created on: Jan 09 2006 @ 11:40 AM
someone pointed out that i'm quite intimidating. i'm prone to disagree but then again it would ruin the whole weeding out process. friendships are not measured in numbers. it is measured in laughter. there will be other required virtues, but i'd pick laughter as a comfortable point of reference.
Posted by loudcloud at 5:01 AM
Monday, October 29, 2007
Gone are the days when I won’t be subjected to the daily torments of hellish traffic en route to work. For a few blissful years our
Posted by loudcloud at 4:28 PM