Saturday, January 16, 2010

Hello, Arsonist II

Strange. Ego deserted me and I muddle about for sober words to explain this sudden, awakened fondness. I go about my hectic day distracted, trying to locate a proper drawer in which to confine this incomprehensible stirring. Your harmless smile was a constant ghost - unshakable, omniscient like blinking billboards growing in every vacant space. It lingers: merciless, relentless, confronting me in every turn, humiliating me into realization of my feared vulnerability.

Nothing quite prepared me for your unscheduled arrival. I was in my prime that day: competent, self-assured—cocky even—dispensing shallow anecdotes, second-hand philosophies and creative treatises to pass the time as we all wait for the scheduled creative session to commence. I was bantering animatedly with your colleagues feeling rather good about myself: Life is worth living again—a positive career detour, novel challenges and I am in a time and place where I am in my element, the very familiar neighborhood of my creative enthusiasms.

I should be untroubled of the fact that you seem conventional on the surface: calm, steady gaze, fairly beautiful in a nonthreatening way, a self-possessed smile that is equal parts shy and searching.

You eroded me on the spot.

My defenses would hastily, alarmingly remind me that there are far more overwhelmingly beautiful subjects around worthy of my obsessive pursuits. I deal with them on a regular basis, them being demigods and demigoddesses blessed with polished features, physical proportions and excessive charisma enough to weaken the uninitiated. They orbit my professional life as faces we employ to trigger desire in others. And I thought that I have set my feet firmly at a point in my life when I can capably boast to have seen a fair share of superior good looks enough to be immune and unflustered; that I am now accomplished in the art of not being easily awed; that I would know how to navigate my way in a crowd of loveliness unscathed; that you will be a commonplace comparison to the grand buffet of beauties out there.

I never realized the gross miscalculations of it all until you held my gaze and that blameless smile raced across your bright, disarming face.

I was this close to being gone.

So I might as well profess this disconcerting feeling and come out clean of this disorientation. I might as well commit these thoughts into writing in the great hope that seeing them take shape into characters, words and paragraphs the feeling would come off too ridiculous and restore my conviction; that this is mere delinquency, a passing weakness not unlike beholding and being smitten by a glossy spread in a magazine. That this stirring is naive, silly and eventually be regarded inconsequential, a future source of shudders, self-mockings and embarrassments. Yet it’s not as easy as it seems. There are no manuals and tonics that can be easily had for these anxieties. That being human is sometimes an agonizing and sudden roundabout route into defencelessness.

However—and contrary to all these self-abortive denials—allow me to come to terms with a great difficulty:

You have set my armor worthless and I gazed back at you that day quietly shaken, my thoughts racing.

I was wordless, my spirits ablaze.

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Friday, January 15, 2010

Hello, Arsonist

Confidence is an elected armor, isolating my helplessness and the arrows of your steady gaze. Look elsewhere because I am beginning to fumble for words.

I’m starting to feel naked.

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Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Give 'Em Hell, Osang!

Noontime television shows are a daily source of pure steaming shit. They keep on bastardizing the media’s powers and shred every remaining speck of intelligence of viewers. They keep on churning subhuman, formulaic, unwatchable idiocy and pander on the desperation of underprivileged populace and brand it entertainment and civil service.

And now it seems that the charming sparks at MTRCB, in a blinding flash of supergenius, are hell-bent in establishing a society of sedated woodpeckers of us.

MTRCB I have a branding slogan for you: "Thinkers Will Be Shot"

I applaud the balls of Ms. Roces—she’s been candid, brutally honest, yes, and speaking for what seems to be a fair assessment of majority of our educators isn’t about being insensitive: it is a glaring malaise that needs a sobering rethink. Our dank educational system has long ago gone to hell and when someone points it out she is vilified? People, you don’t need to oust a judge like that: you put her in charge of the government! You don't suspend a show not because you have an outspoken judge; you suspend it because its very existence is offensive to the basic dignity of humanity.

This is a democracy and a contrarian opinion should be encouraged, not subverted.

MTRCB is neither a voice of reason nor the guardian of morality. It’s an unwanted institution gloating in it's sparkling vision: zombify every citizen into a society of agreeable, slavering idiots.

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Hello, Dreamer

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Sunday, January 10, 2010

Hello, Truant

Dear LouCloud,

Skip the pleasantries and let’s zero in on the most raw of facts: you’re a negligent blockhead. You seem to have forgotten how to write a decent blog, and let’s not even get started on the sorry state with which you have abandoned TBAC.

What happened? Someone stole your thesaurus? Shift+F7 keys worn out from rampant abuse? Mental Herpes?

Frankly I am sorely disappointed. I have put up with your inadequate postings in 2009 and I will no longer tolerate the same dismal state in 2010.

I miss you and your many hideous tendencies. I miss us.

Where are you? Where were you? Have you allowed yourself to drown in the gutters of a good book and decided not to come back?

Will you come back?

If you ever did, will you have breathless stories to tell?

Will these stories rush on like rivers of running sentences drowning me, drowning cities?

Please write back. Meanwhile I am swimming in the rhythm of repeated glancing towards the driveway, anticipating your homecoming.


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