Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
kwento ni pareng meow (oo yung nagbabandal ng mga pader sa metro manila)
Meow: ay pare may kwento ako
Marlowe: ano?
Meow: edi naghihintay nga ako
Meow: kanina sa parlor
Meow: may bata nagpapagupit cute
Meow: tapos may binubulong yung bakla sa kanya
Meow: sabi bigla nung bakla. "anong sinabi ko sayo?"
Meow: bata: dinilaan mo lang ako ehhh
Marlowe: ano?
Meow: edi naghihintay nga ako
Meow: kanina sa parlor
Meow: may bata nagpapagupit cute
Meow: tapos may binubulong yung bakla sa kanya
Meow: sabi bigla nung bakla. "anong sinabi ko sayo?"
Meow: bata: dinilaan mo lang ako ehhh
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Manuel L. Quezon on power and women
Setting: May 1939, a meeting with Nacionalista associates
Primary source: "Speech in honor of Floor Leader Quintin Paredes," (typescript) Malacañan, May 22, 1939. Manuel L. Quezon manuscripts. National Library, Ermita, Manila.
Here is what the greatest Filipino pimp of all time has to say about power and women:
"To tell the truth gentlemen, I should like to continue being President of the Philippines if I were sure I would live one hundred years. Have you ever known of anyone who has voluntarily renounced power unless it was for a lady that, in his, opinion, was more important than power itself, or because of the threatening attitude of the people? Everybody likes power. It is the greatest urge of human nature--power. I like to exercise power."
Word. haha.
Primary source: "Speech in honor of Floor Leader Quintin Paredes," (typescript) Malacañan, May 22, 1939. Manuel L. Quezon manuscripts. National Library, Ermita, Manila.
Here is what the greatest Filipino pimp of all time has to say about power and women:
"To tell the truth gentlemen, I should like to continue being President of the Philippines if I were sure I would live one hundred years. Have you ever known of anyone who has voluntarily renounced power unless it was for a lady that, in his, opinion, was more important than power itself, or because of the threatening attitude of the people? Everybody likes power. It is the greatest urge of human nature--power. I like to exercise power."
Word. haha.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Art of Knowing Numb
The Art of Knowing Numb
(For a friend who neither understood nor liked my poems)
Allow me, at the very least, to be
honest. I haven’t written
in a long while.
And if you query me for the reasons
as to why, maybe
I can propose
pretexts
I must believe in
for them to be true.
It could have been
the hesitation to commit
mistakes, the trepidation
involved in stark-naked
exposure to criticisms,
or even
something simple
like the absence
of a purpose
to write.
(god, it felt empty
like a word
that does not refer
to anything existent.
Is nothingness even a word?)
I recall when
there was still Magic
rather than conjuring tricks
and sleight-of-hand techniques
in my use of language, it was
easier for us to commune in unison
with the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Then, in my travels beyond
the dead end,
I found myself stumped
in a Limbo
of inebriated writers and failures, where
Jack Duluoz and Henry Chinaski
(both drowning in a cesspool of alcohol,
spit, punctured condoms, and vomit)
offered wise words of counsel
like a fictional Virgil’s verses to Dante.
But i was no journeyer,
just lost.
You never approved of my wordplay, tropes
and schemes. You thought
they were useless means
to express
what I should have whispered
in your ear
when we were both younger.
(For a friend who neither understood nor liked my poems)
Allow me, at the very least, to be
honest. I haven’t written
in a long while.
And if you query me for the reasons
as to why, maybe
I can propose
pretexts
I must believe in
for them to be true.
It could have been
the hesitation to commit
mistakes, the trepidation
involved in stark-naked
exposure to criticisms,
or even
something simple
like the absence
of a purpose
to write.
(god, it felt empty
like a word
that does not refer
to anything existent.
Is nothingness even a word?)
I recall when
there was still Magic
rather than conjuring tricks
and sleight-of-hand techniques
in my use of language, it was
easier for us to commune in unison
with the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Then, in my travels beyond
the dead end,
I found myself stumped
in a Limbo
of inebriated writers and failures, where
Jack Duluoz and Henry Chinaski
(both drowning in a cesspool of alcohol,
spit, punctured condoms, and vomit)
offered wise words of counsel
like a fictional Virgil’s verses to Dante.
But i was no journeyer,
just lost.
You never approved of my wordplay, tropes
and schemes. You thought
they were useless means
to express
what I should have whispered
in your ear
when we were both younger.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Good Friday
WHY? - Good Friday
haha
Some lines from the song:
blowing kisses to disinterested bitches
playing lead lay in a bad way on broadway
sending sexy smses to my exes new man cause i can
it feels exciting touching your handwriting
getting horny by reading it and repeating poor me
i'd rather be dead than call this song
how i lost your respect but god bless or get neglected
and i'll see you when the sun sets east, don't forget me
Ravenclaw
The sorting hat says that I belong in Ravenclaw!
<
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose intelligence is surest."
Ravenclaw students tend to be clever, witty, intelligent, and knowledgeable.
Notable residents include Cho Chang and Padma Patil (objects of Harry and Ron's affections), and Luna Lovegood (daughter of The Quibbler magazine's editor).
Take the most scientific Harry Potter
Quiz ever created.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
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Monday, January 19, 2009
Sonnet #2
Sonnet #2
For the crazy woman :)
She intoxicates the wine on her lips
She folds your sonnets to origami
She seals scars on stones with her fingertips
She dreams images stolen by Dali
She carves her signature into your spine
She stabs the navel of time with that smile
She outshines fireflies and celestial signs
She redefines the semantics of style
She treads on your dreams like a catwalk scene
She tattoos moon on the skin of the sun
She sips from the Fountain, stuck at sixteen
She leaves Nietzsches and Don Juans undone
She listens to a soundtrack of silence
and you're guilty by speaking the sentence.
For the crazy woman :)
She intoxicates the wine on her lips
She folds your sonnets to origami
She seals scars on stones with her fingertips
She dreams images stolen by Dali
She carves her signature into your spine
She stabs the navel of time with that smile
She outshines fireflies and celestial signs
She redefines the semantics of style
She treads on your dreams like a catwalk scene
She tattoos moon on the skin of the sun
She sips from the Fountain, stuck at sixteen
She leaves Nietzsches and Don Juans undone
She listens to a soundtrack of silence
and you're guilty by speaking the sentence.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
On blogging
The blogging phenomenon reflects three observable truths which can be proven through sociological observation and personal reflection. Given my current lethargic state, a condition permeating my sense and intellectual faculties on Sundays, for me to write a thorough treatise on the subject is not a possibility, let alone a plausibility. Nevertheless, allow me to throw the gauntlet and reveal these self-evident truths of which the insecure postmodernist theorist will inevitably find faults and the bored reader will apprehend at the very least a droplet of amusement.
First, man's nature compels him to communicate the incommunicable inner life to his fellow social animals. Of course, the scrutinizing mind could raise an interjection like "if the inner life is incommunicable, then man cannot communicate it." This is a valid argument IF only semantics and syntax are taken into account. However, language is not entirely literal but also figurative. The asserted truth here is what literary scholars, who by the way are failed creative writers, classify as a paradox. And this is a digression of my main point. But as you see, considering that "you" is a thinking being, the advent of the internet allows the contemporary subject to express his thoughts (mostly unworthy of readership), emotions ( the deluge of which is a proof of his crass barbarism), desires (obviously of the material kind), and experiences (mostly involves the romanticized nature escapades and the weekend gatherings filled with drugs, booze, cigarettes and sexual advances) to a wider audience. By means of the blog, man reveals his inner life, and this 'revelation' is indeed revealing at the conscious, sub-conscious, and the unconscious levels.
Second, man has an excess of vanity that overflows even to the sphere of the 1's and 0's. It is an undisputed fact (okay, the Nietzschean student can plagiarize with all his liberties his idol's claim that there are no facts but only interpretations) that the main reader of a blog is the writer himself. This vanity can put to shame Narcissus' chronic affectation of looking at his reflection from the lake. For Narcissus never made the lake and the reflection he sees are of a natural occurrence. On the other hand, the blog, the blog entries, and the blog site are creations of man, the blogger. He creates his own tool for the purpose of self-gratification through a skewed appreciation of the constructed self. It is pathetic really from a self-righteous point of view. But the "high" experienced in the sense-perception of his own blog justifies the repressed self-reproach of the blogger.
Third, man wastes too much time. The creation of a blog entry, which most of the time is senseless sputter of gibberish, wastes a lot of precious time. The reading of other people's blog entries is a waste of time. The navigating of other blog sites is a waste of time. But then again, the philosopher can contend that 'time' is nothing but a socially-constructed device made for the purpose of controlling the daily habits of the outdated modern man. And the philosopher may continue his argument by claiming that to 'waste' time is to manifest a non-conformist stance on social structures that curtail man's exercise of freedom. In other words, to 'waste' time through this blog phenomena is to go against the grain; thus transcending what is deemed as the flawed and obsolete state of humanity.
Truths make themselves evident by means of tangible realities. The blogging phenomenon shows to us with lsd-esque lucidity three self-evident truths that we have no choice but to accept inviolably. To quote the great gay British writer Oscar Wilde, who puts to shame any French gay with the possible exception of Michel Foucault, "arguments are to be avoided, they are always vulgar and often convincing".
With love,
Boredom
First, man's nature compels him to communicate the incommunicable inner life to his fellow social animals. Of course, the scrutinizing mind could raise an interjection like "if the inner life is incommunicable, then man cannot communicate it." This is a valid argument IF only semantics and syntax are taken into account. However, language is not entirely literal but also figurative. The asserted truth here is what literary scholars, who by the way are failed creative writers, classify as a paradox. And this is a digression of my main point. But as you see, considering that "you" is a thinking being, the advent of the internet allows the contemporary subject to express his thoughts (mostly unworthy of readership), emotions ( the deluge of which is a proof of his crass barbarism), desires (obviously of the material kind), and experiences (mostly involves the romanticized nature escapades and the weekend gatherings filled with drugs, booze, cigarettes and sexual advances) to a wider audience. By means of the blog, man reveals his inner life, and this 'revelation' is indeed revealing at the conscious, sub-conscious, and the unconscious levels.
Second, man has an excess of vanity that overflows even to the sphere of the 1's and 0's. It is an undisputed fact (okay, the Nietzschean student can plagiarize with all his liberties his idol's claim that there are no facts but only interpretations) that the main reader of a blog is the writer himself. This vanity can put to shame Narcissus' chronic affectation of looking at his reflection from the lake. For Narcissus never made the lake and the reflection he sees are of a natural occurrence. On the other hand, the blog, the blog entries, and the blog site are creations of man, the blogger. He creates his own tool for the purpose of self-gratification through a skewed appreciation of the constructed self. It is pathetic really from a self-righteous point of view. But the "high" experienced in the sense-perception of his own blog justifies the repressed self-reproach of the blogger.
Third, man wastes too much time. The creation of a blog entry, which most of the time is senseless sputter of gibberish, wastes a lot of precious time. The reading of other people's blog entries is a waste of time. The navigating of other blog sites is a waste of time. But then again, the philosopher can contend that 'time' is nothing but a socially-constructed device made for the purpose of controlling the daily habits of the outdated modern man. And the philosopher may continue his argument by claiming that to 'waste' time is to manifest a non-conformist stance on social structures that curtail man's exercise of freedom. In other words, to 'waste' time through this blog phenomena is to go against the grain; thus transcending what is deemed as the flawed and obsolete state of humanity.
Truths make themselves evident by means of tangible realities. The blogging phenomenon shows to us with lsd-esque lucidity three self-evident truths that we have no choice but to accept inviolably. To quote the great gay British writer Oscar Wilde, who puts to shame any French gay with the possible exception of Michel Foucault, "arguments are to be avoided, they are always vulgar and often convincing".
With love,
Boredom
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