Friday, November 30, 2007

Potential Squared

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If I Were A Manila Peninsula Concierge

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.

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Saturday, November 24, 2007

The Decline Of Mankind

First you laugh. Then you cringe.

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Friday, November 16, 2007

The Attic

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.

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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.

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Saturday, November 3, 2007

Helloween Grouch Yanks The Recycling Plug

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.

flood flak
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.

regarding erato
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.

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Friday, November 2, 2007

Empty Streets & A Second Helping Of Recycled Non-Sequitors

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.

mental abortion
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.

farewell, firecracker

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.

sugar-coated bile
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.

fake f*ckers

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.

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Thursday, November 1, 2007

A Month Of Non-Sequitors

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.

pit stop
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 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.

foul redundancies
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.

comical wisdom
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.

shallow marshmallow
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.

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