Thursday, February 28, 2008

If I Were Kris

March twenty three two thousand and six at about four minutes past ten I wrote this lampoon in another blog which I cannot resist recycling here. Kris Aquino fans, put your machetes aside. Please.

Omigosh! What is wrong with [name of site] ba?!! I cannot for the life of me understand this site ha! So full of dyologs and baho-looking people they cannot type correct sentences pa!!! Kadiri kaya this site and if it were up to me dapat we eliminate na people with low IQ no! Dapat meron second genetic cleansing initiative tapos we make una into the gas chambers those who type journal entries like as if nagtatype ng cellphone txt to make tago the fact that they cannot spell to save their souls no! Bah! As if we don't know better! How pathetic some ignorant folks can be! Hayyyy! How sad!

I am not bitching, FYI lang ha. It just annoys me that people don't respect na nga good manners and right conduct so bastos pa their words! Like they made aral in some kanto in Payatas or some remote Mangyan rural town no! Yuck to the hilt talaga! My God, if ganito, we shall forever remain a third world! Not good for my image kaya to be dwelling in a country worse than Botswana no! We can only blame our corrupt educational system and the fact that there are so dami pobre people in this country they can't afford to buy na nga proper education and nutrition and feed Promil to their kids into being summa cum laude they make anak pa like rabbits! Helloooooooooo, people! Pa li-gate kaya or vasectomy or use Frenzy no! Or eat more papaya para to lower down the libido level!!! Dagdag pa our bulok teachers who dress like they are spokespersons of the salvation army!!! Buti na lang I can afford to prance around in Gucci and Prada! Kaya die na lang sila sa inggit! Ahihihihihi!!!!!

And what's ba with all these [name of site] people na pa-angst ha! They try and make everything so deep and, like, so philosphical as if we won't grasp their artistic thought patterns. Helloooooo! I made aral in the Assumption kaya! We have so many liberal arts and we are so in touch with the common people by making eat fishball like them, you know for social understanding and world peace! Hay naku, so hirap talaga in the third world! If you don't eat kanto food people will make accuse you of being elitist! Hulloooooo! I can be down-to-earth like an ordinary Maria rin kaya! I can pull it off by wearing (ugh!) Bench!!!!! Di ba so masa kaya yun! Further proof, I endorsed the crappy-beyond-belief Leonardo Bags kaya!!!! Of course Im not mentioning it in my TV show that I gagged and retched for hours after shooting the blasted commercial but they paid me bazillion pesos, so, carry na yun! I am so well compensated I can now afford the Python Prince Bag from Louis Vuitton and Three custom-made Birkin bags from Hermes! Hihihihi! Iba talaga pag wise and bankable endorser! Kahit San-San mo tingnan, winner pa ren!!!!

Ay wait muna, I am digressing kaya! Ahihihihi!

So yun di ba, I was saying how kadiri kaya some people here in [name of site]!!!! The kajologan is on an all-time high! So dami the bobo people who have no purpose but fish for sex! Like they are libog incarnate! Helloooo! Kadiri kaya! Why not make saboy asido na lang kaya into your organs para make tanggal the kati than inflict your kahornihan in public no! I used to suffer dry spells but thankfully andito na si James so I won't have to be desperate and post here in [name of site] my cellphone number for a quickie!!! Hekhekhekhek! Ayyyyy I am so blushing crimson na! Tama na nga the balahura talk and face the pressing issues of [name of site]!!!!

I am making tawag to all idiotic [name of site]ers to be conscientious online citizens kaya! How are we going to achieve a decent community? Simple lang noh, if you just crack your thick skull and let some fresh intelligence waft through you're mildewed brains! So make listen and pay attention! I am not making ulit these tips if you act tanga like my P.A. My God, she's so tanga she thinks Juicy Couture ay gawa ng Tang! Grabeh! I'm thinking na nga of firing her but she's the only one who is willing to be enslaved for a dismal salary so I'm making tiis na lang with her! Pero talaga there are days when I wanna just throw my Blahniks at her!

Going back to [name of site], please lang no! Ayaw ni Papa Jesus your bastos pictures and postings! And what ba with all these vulgar nicknames?!!! Lalabasan_na_ako, Tayong_tayo, Hard_and_ready!!! My gosh! So indecent ha!!!!! So Baboy talaga some people! many are soliciting pa for sex trips and orgies!!! Then there are those who post explicit sex stories! Very perverted sha, My God! Is there no end to the Gommorah acts here in [name of site]?!!!! Papa Jesus will be so angry you'll be turned into pillars of salt, I swear!!!!!

Tama na this kabaliwan! Stop na the insanity!

I am so sick of this na! I'm deleting na my account! For Good!

My gosh! I am so shuddering at the thought of being here! Sheeeeetttt, what will my fashionista friends think if they find out?! My spine is shivering like hell thinking about it!

If I am made buking I will deny it no! I'll just say it's some vicious toad named LoudCloud who has been spoofing me kaya!

They will believe me, I am sure like hell of it!!!! Otherwise, If I am not credible I won't be able to convince women to use Pantene shampoo no! Kaya to those inggetera na walang magawa, You're just jealous. I only have one word for you:


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Wednesday, February 27, 2008

I’d Explain But Your Idle Skull Would Explode

Cute Beyond Belief People here’s a friendly disclaimer: If you are expecting politeness get the Fuck off my blog!

Ok, that wasn’t exactly Mary Poppins style but you get my drift.The trigger? “Nosebleed”

Let me register my absolute disdain towards people who think it is my duty to simplify myself so they would get what I'm usually rambling about. I have whined about this in the past and at risk of redundancy let me rant over the fact that I have no allocated patience for dweebs whose mental circuits begin to explode upon seeing a word exceeding one syllable.

For one, mediocrity bores me to bits. Secondly, I find it annoying that very lazy twats cite the Least Common Denominator Mentality to conceal their glaring lack of effort at self-improvement. Here’s a hint: open a freaking thesaurus and no, it's not a prehistoric animal.

Don't make me apologize for your complacency.

Also, don't give me that look. It is not my fucking obligation to be sensitive towards your touchy-feely idleness. You should have read enough to discover additional words or consulted trusty Webster to learn words and do the universe a great service by not inflicting the rest of the free world of your blatant ignorance. Your lack of resolve to be word-savvy isn't due to the fact that others are using “big words.” It's because you have decided to become allergic to anything that has more than three syllables. Fucking grow up. And oh, don't give me the shitty “concern” that “most people might not understand.”

Weird. Who are most people? And why would I seek to be understood when I have repeatedly wailed even to those who refuse to listen that I am an altar boy in the house of chaos? Not only am I fascinated with irony and contradictions but I find a certain bizarre romance in something I cannot understand. That makes me think. That warps me out of complacency to challenge myself and the limitation of my understanding.

There. I'm raving like a full-blown maniac. The topic I want to ramble about melted from the flares spurting out of my nostrils. I am however aware that I sound like a snooty jerk. So do me a favor. Don't stand there, wringing your hands shiftlessly, puppy-eyed and such.

Go find a fucking dictionary and find out the definition of vicious.

The word probably was invented to define me.

I have no trouble with that, either.

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Tuesday, February 26, 2008


Old entry from an old blog which will once again serve as convenient filler.

Listen closely, gentle [name of website] boys and girls--and pay attention else Uncle LoudCloud smack your soft pink heinies with a snappy ruler!

Don’t get alarmed, Uncle LoudCloud is kidding! He’s not that violent.

There is another very vital issue Uncle LoudCloud wanna discuss. It concerns networking etiquette for dummies, dweebs and dorks. Netiquette to attenuate it accordingly. Uncle Loudcloud, for some time now have experienced (and no doubt, so have you) a few episodes concerning fellow [name of website] citizens. It goes like this: you log in and you're met with five trillion complete strangers awaiting authorization to be your buddy. Naturally the self-centered Narcissist in you is flattered to no end that random strangers actually bothered to add you up. So you check their profile. And get the letdown of your life: majority of these buddies-in-waiting are either bonafide losers or plainly gung-ho megalomania just waiting for a trigger to start open-firing in the neighborhood starbucks. (Now wait a minute, that sounds like a good idea, but don’t try it at home, kids! Seriously!) Before we proceed further let’s identify our suspects:

  • 1. the linkslut [linkus maximus] This species calls to mind a frantic bingo player who has way too many cards to dot. He goes on a link spree like a panic-buying fit after it’s announced by your perkily inaccurate weatherman that apocalypse is going to happen in the next three hours. Numbers is what matters for this species. He doesn’t care that he practically has no idea who he linked with as long as he can keep his list growing; that in terms of buddy asset he’s borderline Warren Buffet. What makes this species annoying is that he will do everything including begging, emotional blackmail, or have your pet salamander hostage if you don’t link him up. Since he does the linking of your profile without as much as ‘hello, i added you up/hi can i add you up’ he puts you in a very awkward position: if you add him up because you’re embarrassed to deny him your buddy list will become incubator of mutants; denying his request will instantly make you a snooty asshole; pretending you don’t know he added you up will make you one insensitive clod. Whichever way, you lose. Unless of course the website creates subcategories in the buddy/friends list: “Approved with a grudge,” “added out of guilt,” “i’m actually more embarrassed to deny the buddy aspirant,” “he knows voodoo/he is related to the Corliones AND the Sopranos.”
  • 2. the impressionista [flaterrisimus malnourisus] Usually this kind is the slightly higher in the annoyance scale than the linkslut. After he has you in his buddy list he would bother you to no end. He’ll bug you until you start screaming and do random homicidal acts. This is most aggravating. Firstly, you have no idea who this dweeb is, so you’re not a credible authority to give a sincere testimonial of his sanctity or brilliance. Secondly, impression/testimonials stem from familiarity ergo the word testimonial; you have known the subject or have established a tie or acquaintance and anything less than that is shameless flattery or gratuitous fabrication. Well, for some clever citizens, just to have the impressionista shut up, do laconic human reviews like “this dude is cute,” or “cool guy”. Strangely enough nobody wrote “i have no fucking idea who this freak is but my ears are bleeding from constant impression harassment so i cave in and wrote this mindless personality review.” Or maybe “having added this dweeb is my biggest mistake and i live to regret and be haunted of it till the rest of my life.”
  • 3. the commentfreak [freakazoidarie commentare] Almost similar to the impressionista in nature but is more cunning and crafty. He would write bad journal entries and declare it a monumental opus. Then he would hound everyone by rabidly soliciting for comments. He would infect the chatroom and send gazillion private messages asking for glowing feedback on his opus. If you happen to write a disapproving comment this species will froth in the mouth and slap you with nicknames that will make the cast of The Osbournes blush. Aside from being touchy-feely this type is highly opinionated and generous with senseless, outrageously hilarious points of view. It is not enough to refute this type with ‘this sucks’. You have to be very creative. Try it Shakespeare style: “You have not much brain as you have earwax!” or “You’re the part of a candle which is better put out.” When that fails say something romantic like “had your mom foreseen you’d turn out to be a vicious retard she should have drank Liquid Sosa to abort you.” The reverse of this type is not the solicitor but the giver of disgracefully side-splitting comments in your entries. He doesn’t have one smidgen, shitty comprehension on what you just wrote but is compelled to leave a comment so you’ll be impressed by his utter cluelessness. This one is forgiven for his candor and entertainment value.
  • 4. the floodwhore [torrentis extremis] Having this kind around is the torture equivalent of volunteering to have your balls pulled out with rusty, red-hot pliers. He would flood your bulletin board, chatroom or inbox to announce something remotely interesting. This species calls to mind an overeager kindergarten kid raising both hands in a desperate attempt for a bathroom pass. (Usually before he reaches the bathroom it’s too late, thereby forever tarnishing his reputation. Even if he becomes the supreme chancellor of the universe or a United Nations Secretary General, the minute he shows up to the class reunion his classmates faces would gleefully light up and yell: Hey it’s Mr. Pooped Pants!)
  • 5. the show-offphrenic [flauntium braggerensia] Usually this type has deep seated inferiority complex being disguised by close up shot of his abs, his speedo stuffed with baby cucumber, or on extreme cases an uncovered crotch. Worse, the picture is lifted from a porn site. [Girls, we do admire the close up shot of cleavages so deep we are reminded of the Panama Canal!] There is nothing wrong with flaunting one’s asset, in fact that gives a lot of people something to co-star with their most mindblowing wet dreams. It would only matter if his/her IQ and personality factor is exceeded by her bust size or his dick length by 35 points.

So you see, gentle [name of website] boys and girls, we have identified just a fraction of the annoying species that we coexist with here in this beautiful community of ours. We cannot simply dismiss them—we endure them with a mix of annoyance and amusement. But such is life. Having written this mocking piece I now expect violent reactions and foul oaths from the identified genus. While they howl indignance and hatred and plot for my immediate demise I am rolling my eyeballs and singing Nine Inch Nails songs in my head.

And oh, gentle [name of website] boys and girls, this time bring Uncle LoudCloud a couple shots of Vodka.

Don’t forget the garnish while you’re at it.

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Saturday, February 23, 2008


Valentines is over and now that dusts of mass hysteria and communal delusions have settled I'll enumerate a few uncharacteristic insinuations of the L word. Forget the violins, time freezing, and all those mush fabricated by Hollywood. I do not subscribe to the tired, saleable blueprint of romance. If I wanted to hurl I would have stocked on Mills & Boons. Yes, I am a cynic but that doesn’t mean I am immune to the L word’s virulence.

Candle lit dinner, driving towards the sunset and blanket of stars and all the dreamy shebang aside, love arrives in different guises. Here are a few I know of.

  • 01. A rain soaked Dad bringing his little monster lunch in school.
  • 02. Those bleary-eyed people doing silent vigil in hospital waiting rooms.
  • 03. The look racing across the face of your pet dog when he sees you approaching home.
  • 04. The often unappreciated person who takes troubles cooking for all single friends who have nowhere to go on Christmas, New Year and Valentines Day.
  • 05. The silence when blame is appropriate.
  • 06. Telling people they stink minus the judgment.
  • 07. Camping beside the muted phone in aching hopefulness for it to ring.
  • 08. Enormously missing the schoolyard playmate who often makes you cry.
  • 09. A wordless, unexpected touch in the face.
  • 10. Discarding your stubbornness not because you are made to, it’s because you want to.
  • 11. A name populating your waking hours.
  • 12. Effervescent letters written longhand.
  • 13. Not standing in anyone’s way of happiness.
  • 14. Losing your sense of self (the most unpleasant and deepest manifestation, so help us God.)
  • 15. Eating lousy scrambled eggs for breakfast just because she whipped it up. For three years. And you hate scrambled eggs. You want them poached.
  • 16. Watching reruns snuggly cramped together in the sofa, wisely avoiding a petty fight, just the flicker of the TV and the numbed patters of Saturday evening rain competing with soft steady breathings.
  • 17. Rolling over at three o’clock in the morning and finding someone there breathing next to you and you inch closer and drifting back to sleep, content, smiling.
  • 18. Discovering more than three ways to iron a linen skirt and equating detergent to pheromones.
  • 19. That light tingle, electricity rocketing across your brain when her light kiss touches your upper lip and your heart soar because no one has ever pulled the lightning rod lever up in you before.
  • 20. A bunch of fresh flowers next to a tombstone and it’s not All Souls day.

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Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Imp Patient

Impatience is something I am always trying to contain. I have low tolerance for idiots and I do not suffer stupidity lightly. What’s unnerving about the circumstances is that there are occasions when I end up doing stupid, idiotic things and become the butt of irony.

It would be simplistic to attribute my impatient disposition to the manic pace of my job. “You slack and you sink!” A mentor used to caution me. But I know this is not so. Things conspire to make me even more intolerant these days. Significant projects are hanging in suspended state, my affections wandering in limbo, and to top it off my college ex is in town with her husband and would want to have dinner with me.

Mulling over the invitation splits me two ways. A huge part of me just wants to be gracious and courteous about it and my inner imp just want to manipulate the situation to drive my conceited point.

I’ll figure it out. I’m waiting for her call.

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Monday, February 18, 2008

Crimson X Marks The Spot

Ridiculously delayed by a few days but the thought remains.


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Thursday, February 14, 2008


Ponder on it as an ailment. A sovereign sickness, a plague that elects unpredicted moments to bloom. It springs at its own chosen time and arrives like a vengeance from a hidden space where no one can describe nor visit even in his wildest imaginings. Love. The most exhausted word in the glossary of humanity’s communal emotions. Analogous to the rising and falling of the seasons it revels in its proverbial mystic: so close like a whisper, so elusive like familiar ghosts. It is a deep well brimming with secrets and foolish mortals that we are, we drink in its effervescent cup and intoxicate ourselves with delusions of romance. It excuses nor sanctifies no one. It blankets every innocent dream like midnight.

We seek to cancel our emptiness in pursuit of a certain tenderness; there lies our private thirst: that another soul will retrieve us from unspeakable miseries of isolation. This is our obsession, our supreme hopefulness.

We fall in love, or rather, we delude ourselves with its manifestations. We translate its ambiguities with cliches of long-stemmed roses, sweet confections wrapped in pretty ribbons, we even barter verses inscribed in charming cards dreamed by poets who scribble in drunkenness of sadness.

We comb the cyberspace like navigators steered by constellations of criterion and wants. Like dreamers lured in the web of fairy tales we rummage around for sparks, even in the far flung corners of linkages and pages, our growing sadness humming along the steady streams of frustration and despair.

Yet we persist, because like an explorer burning with consuming flames of finding a desired closure we aspire that a complement tucked somewhere along a disordered trail is waiting to embrace and make us whole. We click through one more page, one more link, one more optimism in finding that fleeting longing for permanence. We become thralls of this covetousness and it is less difficult to plant another weary step forward than slide back into the lonely confinements of isolation.

Love’s sweet rewards come with thorns and deceits and only the enlightened, the jaded, the determined is courageous enough to cross this one-way alley. He is the wise one who knows and braces himself to the palpable possibilities of bruises and the most profound of hurts.

He knows. He surely knows. And in the dawdling blaze of wistfulness, melancholic longings and threats of grievances he chase after that smoldering fire. He is not a stranger; He is the familiar reflection staring back at store windows. You will find him past the hours of midnight, tossing and turning in bed, jealousy nibbling on his earlobes. He struggles to dissolve the injurious mental image of someone else's affectionate hand touching the skin of his loved one. He vigils like a devoted sentinel. glancing with pounding heartbeat for when the YahooMessenger will blink and the username of his desired will flick into a bold presence, announcing a much-yearned arrival. He agonizes over emails that fail to arrive, inventing possible excuses in defense for their delays. Two minute lapses in response to even the most inconsequential text messages drive him to indescribable anguish.

He is the one who swims in the fluctuating cadence of his expectancies and curse the slow orbit of the night under his breath. Dawn will come with a pledge that somewhere in its awakening minutes the beloved will arrive, radiant like a lucid epiphany.

Bear with his clouded judgment for he is the one who tiptoes around legitimacy of sound arguments, weathered wisdom, sufficient logic and sensible reasons and only the beloved's first innocuous hello can nullify his gaping hunger. Eventually he’ll wake up from this madness, but for now let sense and reason pursue their own truths. For now, let him sink in his famine—because he knows no other way how. And for now, just for now, that's all the reason there is.

~ ~ ~

Happy Valentines Everyone!

Most especially to you, the source of my spontaneous bursts of laughter, and the tender proof of my defeat.

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Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Yeah, It's That Time Of The Year

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Monday, February 11, 2008

Grand, Just Grand

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Sunday, February 10, 2008

Give Me Alaxxxan!

Driven by a friend's endless nagging and threats of bodily harm and mainly looking for steamy distraction from my insane life I went to see Roxxxane. The movie's poster/premise/trailer seemed promising. Given that it was done by notable auteur Jun Lana whose credentials include having penned Jose Rizal, Muro Ami, and Sa Pusod Ng Dagat I predicted another smart movie to challenge my perspectives (and biases) on human nature, social issues and possibly get out of the theater with a massive hard on.

But let's not get all too excited and dive right into the smut.

Roxxxane is a calamity not because the auteur found it proper to slap the title with two extra Xs. It is a disaster because he made the phenomenal Elizabeth Oropesa (one of the highly-capable thespians this side of the universe) talk like Janice Dickinson on amphetamines and perpetual dysmenorrhea.

The movie orbits around the lives of three mismatched protagonists: Marlon (Jay Aquitania), a closeted college student; his buddy and primary source of nocturnal emissions Jonas (Janvier Daily) and the eponymous Roxxxane (a nymphet who goes strictly on first name basis, Sheree.)

Given the sharp, perceptive capabilities of Lana, this movie strikes me as the probable effect of overdosing on Papaya when what you wanted was Viagra. This is mainly because the movie's actors have the same chemistry as putting together a doorstop, a parachute and a fork. The ensemble trounced what could have been a great script and a great opportunity to do a celluloid commentary dissecting the general populace's rampant appetite for sex scandals. It's not far from being invited to an orgy only to find yourself in the middle of a Prayer Meeting.

Marlon tosses his lines like a badly-dubbed anime character and at times he strikes me as someone on the grips of palpitations. Either that or he's fluctuating between a stutter and a hiccup. However his acting borders towards sincerity and can be affecting in his naïve lack of restraint. For a newbie he exhibits a promise which an unforgiving directing could have molded. Instead we get an erratic dose of earnestness and botchy dash towards finishing his scenes like a bored teenager in a rush to finish his homework for the neighborhood Dota tournament. But he has his moment: take for instant that scene where he shoved his head in the freezer to dispel his escalating erection. Classic. To convey the cryptic nature of his being closeted he keeps on constructing a huge MonaLisa puzzle. I am all for metaphor, but that particular bit didn't lead me into the mysterious depths of his sexuality; it tells me he has no social life.

Jonas wins hands down as the rightful heir to channel Ice Cube in Anaconda. He ambles all throughout the movie in that consistent facial expression: part incomprehension part constipation. I am unsure who is the target demographic he's supposed to appeal to but I can safely assume it's not women, gays or PLUs. For a supposed beefcake his body type can double as the USS Intrepid to launch warships in a Korean Peninsula. He makes you laugh in his most intense moment and for sheer entertainment you forgive him.

Sheree however is my ultimate favorite: she's the only talent I've known who can build an acting career out of an overbite. She delivers her dialogues in steady monotones like she's shoved into the screen by the facialists who formulated Botox. Her character is such a source of fun: she insists on being respected and hangs her panties as curtains substitute. And to reinforce her quest for neighborhood respect she cavorts with his hormone-crazed boyfriend usually right in front of wide-opened window.

If your nerves aren't shredded by the shrill nagging of Elizabeth Oropesa's character (Marlon's mother and Roxxxane's landlady) the movie's scene transitions will catapult you into that Tourette-inducing shakiness of The Blair Witch Project and most of the parts in Dancer In The Dark. I had the impression that the whole film is projected using the beta version of Powerpoint running on Pentium 1 and Windows 84 by a nervous movie projectionist struggling over an advance stage of Pasma and Tendinitis.

Roxxxane is the kind of movie that keeps you begging for more. You have high hopes for it to work and like most premature orgasms you end up in a letdown mood. However none could best essay the whole point of this provocative cinema verite than Marlon's random female fling who, in the throes of pumping an orgasm out of him in a steamy scene, moaned a sterile “Siggeee paaaaa, ayannn, may nararamdaman na akoooo.”

I still think of her and get scared of irreversible impotence.

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Saturday, February 9, 2008

Filler Alert Numero Uno

Hurray Mia! You aced the Filipino Blog Of The Week 94. Lotsa credits and sweet acts of gratefulness should be directed towards Toni/Nonblogger & Friends for the unwavering stream of votes and diligent campaigning!

Friends let's support Mia's bid for Hall Of Fame in the competition. Please continue voting for her for Week 95. Also, I am hurriedly posting this so please DON'T use the sidebar link because that's for week 94 and I don't have the luxury of time to alter the pollhost code.

You can vote at Talksmart's site.

Also, please use your heavenly coupons and pray for Joy-Joy . Her board exams is gonna happen very shortly. Gracie.

~ ~ ~

P.S. Talksmart I'll email tomorrow, Sunday, re the other project update. Please excuse my delayed response as I am furiously trying to meet two important deadlines at work.

~ ~ ~

P.P.S. Empress Godiva, sorry I missed the brunch thingy. Massive hangover from last night's carousing and mindless debauchery. All the best for you and Gonzo. And oh, spare me the brownies they taste like industrial grade asphalt. Kidding. Hehe.

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Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Dumber & Dumbest

Gagu ka LoudCloud. Di ka smart, naisahan ka eh. Let me know if you're done kicking yourself, I'll be right here carving a tattoo for your forehead that reads 'doofus.'

Yours truly, Joe Schmoe, one of your split personalities.

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Sleepwalking On Sedated Days

Tofu day is what I call it. A tofu day is bland, devoid of character, much like the acting aptitude of Angel Locsin.

On a tofu day you drag your lethargic self out of bed; maintaining a vertical position summons tremendous willpower. Today will be much like the day before only you feel like brisk-walking in a sea of tapioca. You hazily amble for the bathroom and the only thing missing for you to be declared a zombie is a frothing mouth, a melting face and a disintegrating nose.

You carry on with your morning constitutional, inattentively switching hair gel for toothpaste and the only thing that reminds you that you are partially alive is the coldness of the shower.

Workplace becomes a deadening Beelzebub’s den with fluorescent lighting. People smile at you and you see jackals on post-coital trance.

You plod on through the day partially ignited by caffeine and deadlines.

Black holes swirl and congregate on your desk and you stare ahead, counting your emptiness like squadrons of sheep jumping off blurry fences.

A certain hunger for dusk creeps in.

Once more midnight will disembark, washing you away into streams of erratic dreams.

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Tuesday, February 5, 2008

A Suitcase Of Regrets

Dear A. Heading home last night I have realized how distant things seem to appear; it is as if I am squinting to see my former self standing in blurry dunes of a far-flung horizon. Sudden awareness descends upon my lightheaded state and a creeping sadness threatens to intrude.

Things are not very encouraging these days. Work is a constant alternating bout with creative rush and logistical nightmare. There are days when it’s complicated even to breathe, and at times I sink into the dreaded seabed of despair.

I think about you and how easy things would have been if you’re around. Yet you are dreaming in another world, and waking up in another reality. Fond memories of you are still remembered but they seem to have diminished into occasional translucent blinks. It stings me when I call to mind our escalating amusement over a messed up oatmeal fix in your little kitchen at three in the morning countless full moons past.

All at once, last night, I am led back into that tussle we’ve had for my tactlessness over your lifeless pet poodle. How I became the embodiment of callousness when I abruptly suggested to “Get a new one” when it was later clear to me that you were still mourning over the fondest affection; that you are emotionally shackled over something that matters the most. You have taught me a lesson that nothing will ever be discarded easily if you pour your heart into it. That exact same moment it dawned upon me why children cry over broken toys: it’s not about the loss of things that wounds but the irreparable deficiency of intimacy between partakers of that bond. I have grown up in a lot of ways, though it cannot be denied that in much more ways I am still a struggling infant in search of my own truths. But during moments of daunting ordeals I think of your beloved deceased pet and smarten up.

My thoughts are scattered these days. .I’d like to flatter myself into thinking I am falling for a good feeling but in equal breath apologize for personal inadequacies that paralyzes me with the fear: that I’ll never be good enough for the pursuit of that deep affection.

It’s like free-falling in a bottomless pit and at the recesses of my mind I think it would be a great relief to finally hear that deadened thud when my head hit the ground and punctuate the plunge.

Beleaguered with self-doubts, here I am seven years later, standing in tentative crossroads clutching a once padlocked suitcase of fond remembrances, exhaling a bruised sigh of remorse. Yours in remembrance, LoudCloud.

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Drunken Monster

Low moments at work beg for a tributary visit in the grand altar of San Miguel Super Dry. Like last night for instance. The entire creative mafia conspired to ditch all last minute considerations for a project in favor of rowdy inebriation.

“I’ll go ahead.” I said glancing at the watch sometime past one o’clock. “I’ll comb Burgos for a quick lay.”

Raucous burst of laughter.

I realized I was half-kidding.

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Friday, February 1, 2008


Trouble floats the moment you have difficulty speaking a name. It is as if you have infringed a sacred silence and you’re reduced to uttering the syllables in hushed reverential half-whispers. You scribble the letters in fogged up bathroom mirrors, draw a face in lakes in the sink. The name inhabit the drowsy seconds when your eyes flutter open in the morning and dwell in the softness of rapid blinks before you slide into the seduction of late evening sleep.

A smile follows your quickened steps, and your strides become springboards of giddy anticipations. Inside you shimmer, like the entire world is an endless street colonized with burning lampposts. It’s beguiling, not far from holding a jar of fireflies behind the blanket of midnight.

Then a primordial fear creeps in, shelling doubts and uncertainties, so determined to shake you down back into the stark embrace of cynicism.

Yet you are already consumed, ablaze in the promised exhilarations of lazy snuggles on rainy Sunday mornings.

You are gone. Drunkenly gone.

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