Friday, June 29, 2007
Hooowaaahhhht?!!? Why do I have to always explain things that I shouldn’t in the first place? Enough of telling people around. Screw understanding. This just cements everything that I have come to believe about people and why they should quit telling they know what you feel and they understand. They don’t fucking understand you because they can never fit in your shoe. Bratty? What’s the fucking big deal about it? Bratty is for sissies and elitist dimwits who get what they want at the flick of their fingers. But the world doesn’t work like that man. Perhaps for all you self-deluded pricks and your thinly imagined world of banalities. Not for me and not for all those people who are going through a lot of shit.
Photocredit: Thanks to ka0rg for the caricature
Crash narrates the ultra-unique and violent adventures of then-TV scientist Vaughan and his avid friend-follower James. Vaughan believes that humanity's fate is in the fast lane and death ultimately is a malevolent but orchestra-ic concoction of car-crash and human carnage. Vaughan envisions his final death scene with Elizabeth Taylor, while experimenting on different variations of automobile collisions. Pretty grand, huh? It solders violent sex into the concept of orgasm and automobile crash as a perfect junction in achieving a different state of nirvana. In a dreamy scene inside a car, James watches Vaughan and his wife perform rigorous, mechanical sex while the automobile is car-washed. Some fetishistic sicko, huh? But no, like the 'underground literature' that it claims it is, the novel is uncompromising in its imagination, and for believing so much in the notion of Vaughan's obsession, this is a great diversion. The psychological exploration of man is just an after-taste. You should be entranced in the hallucinatory and hypnotic ride.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Sheila came over our place last Saturday night. The last time I saw her was five or six years ago. She used to work as a waitress cum GRO (not the GRO you’re thinking) when we still operated this videoke joint after father resigned from the company he’s working with. This forms part of the wrongful decisions that send us hurtling downhill until now, the resignation I mean not Sheila.
Anyway, going back to Sheila, I mentioned her because I couldn’t help but remember a very funny thing when I was in high school when we still had the videoke joint. She was actually visiting my stepmother and called us from inside the room to have a good look at me and my siblings. I guess she was surprised to see how much I’ve grown physically from the teenybopper she and the other girls used to poke fun with.
As part of the cost-cutting and as an easy means to earn 50 pesos a night, I operated the videoke machine which that time was merely a 3-disc player where I exchange a roster of CDs containing Tom Jones, Engelbert Humperdinck, Air Supply, Bee Gees, which is just about what people normally sing every night. Imagine my eardrums getting immune to such repetitions that sometimes I caught myself singing to Delilah. The horror of it all.
So I have this nook at the back and the girls would hand me these small pieces of paper containing the song numbers which I would tack in order. I’d be lucky if there are a few drunkards who would give me an earful because they want their song to be played right away. No can do, mister. So I usually hid my head.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Talk about too much love for the game. Found this one on Himantayon.com. They've got 'good pieces'. Boy, was I rolling on the floor.
Watching Game 2 of the NBA Finals at Tequila Joe’s, Ayala Center Cebu, 11 June 2007 10:17 AM.
Guy 1: Boanga, naunsa man pagkahitabo-a nga napildi man ang Pistons sa Cavaliers?
Guy 2: Maayo man gud ang Spurs.
Guy 1: Ha?
Girl 1: Taasa sa linya oi…
Girl 2: Lagi oi, maayo pa siya ay kay nauna na.
Girl 1: Alangan ningbayad man. Taymsa, asa man ta inig human kuha aning form?
Girl 2: Anha diha oh, mag fill-up ta sa form dayun magpa-finger.
Girl 1: Naa bayad magpa-finger diha?
Girl 2: 5 pesos man siguro.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
# 1 - Where are these Filipinos we’re talking about? The majority of the Filipinos being referred to in the statement have fled and flown to just about every city in whole wide world where their idealism, intelligence, talent and perseverance will be put to good use. Just exactly who are the ones left? Those who couldn’t care less.
# 2 – Statistically majority of the Filipinos are either dying from hunger or on the brink of poverty. And government phonies would try to lure you with figures and stats that’d suppose to tell you poverty has abated. But really who are they kidding? The homeless? The unemployed? The farmer who up to now tills land he does not own? When you’re hungry nobody gives a flying lemur about heroic deeds or love for country. One of my friends said she’d begged to steer away from my first premise and rather say that Filipinos found more than one reason to leave this country. Sad but true.
# 3 – Practically a number of negative traits have been coined referring to a particular Filipino character. Yes, there are whole bunch of talented and industrious people out there but there are a great number who are indolent and plain worthless. Paging crab mentality and a plethora of other bad behavior. To my mind, this doesn’t give us any positive identity rather it has work to the disadvantage of hard-working Filipinos both in and out of the country only to be discriminated against because their fellowmen are morons.
# 4 – If Ninoy was alive today, he’d shoot himself in the head if he was to work and be flanked by worthless bad-ass sonofabitches in practically every level of government. Think DOJ secretary Raul Gonzales whose etymological skill has entirely modified the meaning of vote-buying or Benjamin Abalos and the COMELEC aliens who sit in their prized thrones clad in robes watching the whole elections get rigged. A friend of mine said Ninoy would still probably shoot his head if he lives up to seeing her daughter's histrionics. Di nga kaya?)
# 5 – That GMA ad featuring a dispatser shouting Kalayaan is so striking for me. It’s not enough that people have lost touch with the essence of our independence. To further mis-educate the people, the government’s ability to swap relevant commemorations as if it were festivals has come to its fruition with this one.
There’d be more reasons out there I guess but that’s what I can think of and also based from those who have commented and validated.
So am I saying that every hero who has fought for our liberation died for naught? Am I unworthy? And those who still live up to the hope and ideals that this nation can still be great? Am I to be blamed for wanting a better life? Are those people who have put to good use their talents and those who have enslaved themselves to working for other countries be blamed because they did not espouse patriotism? Maybe yes? Maybe no?
These are just questions. But I hope and pray that I would be able to live up to a time that I shall know the answers.
Photo courtesy of www.apa.si.edu
Friday, June 08, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Which explains obscene spam subjects like Viagra, or Growing Erection. Or weird ones like Increased Metabolism, Physical Performance, Exquisite Replica, 4ever Young, even Chopard watches. Also, the list wouldn't be complete without the names of fuckin' people who probably don't even exist. This morning really did it. From: Fuck Hard, Subject: Oral Medications. Jeezers.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?