Silly Rants that Nobody Reads

WARNING: Severe preaching. Cuss words. Occasional crap scattered about. Watch your step.

Sigh. There's only so much one can rant about THE great blunder, Twilight and Co. As of the moment, I cannot think of more shit to dish on the cliche-turned-bestseller, not that it's due to lack of trying. There are just more pressing issues to vociferate on and on and on about. Take, for example, people who measure their self-worth with the pairs of shoes that they have, how much dough they trash on handbags, clothes, bling... ya know, all that shit that's supposed to make a woman's world go 'round.

Psh. What a load of bullcrap.

I don't really have a say with what you do with your parents' hard-earned cash, but I'm going to do it anyway, since this waste of virtual space is MY blog. *insert evil cackle here*

I've always wondered how you could sleep peacefully at night with this hanging over your head(if you do have a conscience, that is).

Wait. You probably don't sleep at all. And methinks it's not because of your conscience bothering you.

Tell me, what kind of perverse atonement do you derive from flaunting your plastic wares for all to see? And when questioned about your unorthodox garbage choices, why do you spout psychological, marketing balderdash that just makes you look more like a faker than you already are?

Rona: OUCH! Is that a burn or is that a burn?!

You might be thinking right now, Ooooooh, it's the ugly green monster rearing its head, poor widdle teenie who can't afford even a single handle of my LV handbag!

Believe it or believe it, it's not envy talking. It's actually my indignant, self-righteous bullshit that's talking. And I admit, it's worse than the green monster because this cannot be soothed by mere delusions of a panoramic grandeur. Whatever that is. And hey, this isn't about me. It's about YOU. For once, someone's giving you the spotlight without you having to hog it all to your selfish self. How good does that feel?!

You talk about how you deserve all this crap because of countless Herculean tasks (ooooh) that you have to endure every single day of your life, but you never did walk the talk. It's human nature, really, to amplify one's suffering for the justification of one's hankering for worldly goods, but YOU took it to the next level. Bravo. Not.

Believe it or not, there are more people out there who suffer more than you do. There are girls who are not only dumped by their boyfriends, but are also knocked up and left to rot in child support. There are students who do not even have to worry about what clothes they should wear to classes the next day, because they're not even sure if they could go to classes at all. There are wives who have more things to worry about than just their kids and their husbands. They have to think about how to hide that hideous bruise from that ugly row last night, how to deal with the whispers and knowing stares of neighbors who have nothing better to do with their lame lives, how to survive the day under the pressure of abuse.

You have it easy. And you're probably thinking, with the way your twisted mind works, Okay, sure, I know about those cases, but I can't save everyone. What do you want me to do? I'll just take all these precious BLESSINGS since I deserve them. GOD wouldn't give them to me if I didn't deserve them.

Oh, and I suppose your precious God thinks those penniless college kids deserve to be penniless, and those abused wives deserve the abuse?

Okay, I'm getting off-topic. Back on track.

Lookie here, I'm not expecting you to help everyone. No one can achieve that (well, except maybe for Bill Gates, Warren Buffett and Carlos Slim Helu combined, but that's beside the point). I'm just hanging on desperately to that slim chance that you'll realize the MASSIVE insignificance of your Nine West shit when you bite the dust. Permanently.

If you can't, then just keep your sinful (LOL. I said sinful! That sounds so...Pope-ish.) lust on the down low. You don't have to flaunt it in front of people who do not give a damn about your latest purchases. You're just making more enemies along the way.

On the other hand, you can flaunt all you want in front of me. It's so amusing to pretend that I'm sooooo interested in your latest designer piffle, while I'm really rolling on the floor guffawing. Figuratively, of course.

Sigh. I don't feel pity for people that often. You should be proud. :)

Merci beaucoup, mes amis :)

It's over.

Rona: Yeah. It is.

Tempus fugit. Freshman year had been a blur. Parang rumaragasang Porsche Carrera GT lang. Wooosh. Speed.

Should I recap the events, my (mis)adventures and frien(emies) that I made?

Blah. Wag na.

Ngayon nga lang, hirap na hirap ako magisip ng sasabihin. Siguro dahil sabaw pa ang utak ko dahil sa finals. Oh baka dahil talagang nagbakasyon ang utak ko, inunahan pa 'ko. Sana neither.

Nga pala, salamat kay Thea at Cheska sa masasayang pagkakataong sinipag akong umattend ng English 1. Wala tayong ginawa kundi magdaldalan sa likod (at kumain, courtesy of Cheska). Ang dami nga nating natutunan. Hindi nga lang galing kay Ma'am. :D

Salamat kina Morgan, Ivy, Kenji at Nikki na kasama kong kinabahan sa mga pamatay na graded recitations ni Ma'am Gripaldo sa Kas1. Mamimiss ko ang pagiging boy-crazy niyo, lalo na sina Ivy't Kenji. :D

Salamat kina Venice (seatmate!), Danielle at Roxie dahil nagenjoy ako sa pangbabalahura natin kay Ma'am at sa kanyang aversion to heat and ceiling fan noise. Pinapatay niya lagi yung ceiling fan kasi maingay daw, pero naiinitan naman siya. Ano daw? Pati na rin kina Harmond, Vic at Precious na talaga namang masayang kausap, salamat. Mamimiss ko ang ating English 12. Except kay Ma'am. At ang tendency ng kanyang mind to...wander to places we (the students) cannot reach. :D

Salamat kay Ate (!), Cheska (ulit) at Jomar dahil at least di ako nakatulog sa NatSci1 dahil sa kakornihan ni Dr. Abastillas. Pero aminin na natin na ang kanyang halakhak ay certified shock inducer haha.

Salamat kina Carlito, Alvin, Pam, Alyssa, Noelle, Regine, Alyanna, Lord (tao ito), Hender, Rainbow, Eliza, Maricris at Angel dahil naging bongga ang French 10 at 11 ko dahil sa mga dynamic at kakaiba niyong personalities.

Salamat kina Jen, Andrew, Hazel, Ian Kim, Rosie, Claire at Chindie. Kayo ang mga kasama ko nang una kong maexperience ang ma-boycott ng isang propesor. You know what I'm talkin about. Enough said. :D

Salamat kina Morgan (ulit), Cheska (ULIT. haha) at Zy dahil sama-sama tayong nagrelax sa Bio1 natin kay Herrera. Uy ang taas ng grade ko dun, walang report-report yan. :P

Hindi ko maaaring makalimutan si Neil. Salamat sa 'yo. :)

Salamat kina Slegna, Martha, Miho, Lei, Kuya Justin, Armand at Lea. Masaya ang MS1. Si Ma'am, hindi.

Salamat kina Meilee, Ramil, Rea at Neil (ulit. *insert lovestruck sigh here*). Mabuhay si Ma'am Roderos. Pero ang mga exams niya, please lang. Kinailangan ko ng blood transfusion matapos lumabas sa classroom niya. (read: execution chamber). Kahit dugo ng manok pinatos ko na.

Salamat kina Trish, Faye, Aicel, Julie, Laura, Daryl, Melissa, Criselda, Nico, Jaimee, Abi, Ate Abi, Claire, Karla, Gorby, Philip, Angelica at Steff. Goodluck naman sa atin. Feeling ko probi ako. T___T

At syempre pa, hindi ko maaaring malimutan sina JIHAN, SARAH at ROSELLE na simula pa lang ay kasama ko na sa masalimuot na mundo ng EL. Mahal ko kayo, mga kaibigan. :D

Naging makabuluhan ba ang unang semestre?

Ikaw ang magsabi.

Coming Out the Closet

I am an atheist.

Whew. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Self, I beg to differ. I might as well have said that I am a lesbian (which I am not), and I would have received a much calmer, and certainly warmer, acceptance.

Scratch that, I wouldn’t have been accepted. Period.

That is not my melodramatic self talking, nor is it the manifestation of my tendency to exaggerate. We would have to accept (and admit) the fact that atheism in the Philippine setting is like trying to piece together wrong puzzle pieces. The Philippines is a widely Christian country and a Muslim minority where religion is an integral part of society and culture. Our history is heavily influenced by religion; though we cannot be certain whether the effects of which have done more good than harm, it has, nevertheless, augmented the growth of our country. Moreover, it is apparent in Philippine history that the Church has had an encompassing influence over the governance of provinces.

Having established that, I can reiterate that atheism does not have a place in Philippine society, considering the fact that its foundations are deeply entrenched in dogma. It cannot flourish as a justifiable substitute for those who are starting to question their beliefs and it certainly does not help that most theists’ reactions are those of disdain or even disgust when an individual divulges his being an atheist. It is treated like a disease; probably on a level of intolerance that homosexuality receives. This pushes most non-believers into “hiding”- choosing to remain silent and “in the closet”, instead of speaking up, lest they be treated differently by their peers and family.

http://s202.photobucket.com/albums/aa144/Primate_bucket/?action=view&current=cartoon20060222.gif

On a more personal note, when I expressed indifference about a Christian-themed T.V. series that a family member absolutely adores, she said things that bordered on bigotry and discrimination. Naturally, they hurt coming from a family member, yet no matter how I forced the thoughts away, I just couldn’t help but think, Wow, those are your so-called Christian virtues, huh?

I ended up trying to keep my mouth shut and taking all the things she said in stride. Had you heard the words, you would have thought that I was in a cult worshipping Satan and killing innocents as offerings. Yep. It was that bad. (I just want to clarify that I have nothing against Satanists; we all have our beliefs, anyway. Or in my case, non-belief.)

There. I have “come out of the proverbial closet”, so to speak. Now, I am only waiting for the raised eyebrows (best case scenario) and disownment (REALLY worst case scenario) that I might receive from certain people.

Plato help me.

Advertising for Twilight

*I apologize in advance to friends of mine who might be offended with this. But honestly, offended or not, you guys know it's true, right? :D

...And so, my friends, it is expected that with the mass-mania of Valentine's Day comes the biggest mistake of the human race since Demi Lovato. You know what I'm talking about right? Yeah. Twilight.

But hey! This is not just the usual, asscrack shit that Twilight never fails to be. It's actually worse! Aside from t-shirts, hoodies, TRACK SUITS and bags, there are actually Twilight-themed Valentine's Day Cards! How utterly deranged is that? Capitalism has never made a bigger blunder, but let's face it, it hasn't made a bigger profit before this, either. I've seen multitudes of this zoophilia-craze worshippers sport "Mrs. Cullen" , "Team Cullen" , "Bite Me" and "Do I Dazzle You?" statement shirts that project no statement at all besides "Me: Stupid", but Valentine's Day cards? You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.

A Twilighter-friend of mine told me about these...things. She's actually planning to order some online and even told me about this site where one could buy all Twilight-related crappola..I mean...stuff. Here is something that gave me helpless LOLs:

Did you know that Bella Swan is into necrophilia? Given that she let Edward Cullen's bee partake nectar from her (formerly) virginal flower of forbidden pollen in Breaking Dawn, technically, she's a necrophile. And now you're all jumping into the bandwagon? Being a necrophile means you're messed up in the head, people. Wanting a dead, sexually-deprived, teenage-boy-poser ancient man pop your forbidden cherry isn't awesome. It's a massively epic mistake. Tsk, tsk.

This is the card that I was talking about. Well, this and a lot more. "The outside world holds nothing for me without you." Apparently, Meyer must have dreamt of a guy saying that to her, but it didn't happen so she poured out her mushy, school-girl necrophilic sicko fantasies into the greatest shit* that ever hit the shelves. Wow, I am finally a Twilighter.

NOT.

If you want to waste cash and get a hold of these things, I got them here.

And the craptaker's verdict on this perfect crap? A shining, shimmering, sparkling 10 for necrophilia and bestiality.

(*Hey. At least I wrote "greatest" shit. That must count for something.)

The (Non)existence of traffic laws. really.

You get used to the heavy traffic and smoke-belching after a while, especially if you brave Metro Manila's streets everyday. The trip to and from the university won't be complete without jeepney drivers spitting fire at each other, shady guys hitching free rides and unruly kids thrusting dirty envelopes at you even after you say "No". Yeah. I got used to it after a couple of months.

But there are some things that you just can't get used to, tulad ng garapalang pangongotong ng mga traffic enforcers. Just take my trip home this afternoon as an example. I was in a jeepney, and we were somewhere in the Luzon area when the driver pulled over and scrambled out of his seat. I thought something was wrong with the engine and we had to transfer to another jeepney, but then more PUJs and PUVs pulled over and I had an inkling of what was happening when I saw a man in uniform (wearing a, probably, fake Ray-Ban). He didn't have a beer belly, which was unexpected, and he was smiling and being an all-around nice guy, which was also unexpected. What I expected was bravado that came in raging bouts and a holier-than-thou attitude.

I would have fallen for his act had I not seen drivers "surreptitiously" hand over what seemed to be rolled-up wads of money. And the smile of Manong Pulis grew even wider, and his pockets fuller.

Heh. I should have known. Tiba-tiba si Manong. Bumabawi sa gastos nung bakasyon. *rolls eyes* Kaya pala parang namatayan si Manong Drayber when he went back in the jeep. Baka pinatos na lahat ng gahamang pulis.

Hmm, I guess I shouldn't put the blame on traffic enforcers alone, huh? Drivers are to be blamed as much as the street demi-gods. Just a couple of weeks ago on my way to class, the driver of the jeepney I was in pretty much ignored the turn signal of a freaking Mazda6 ahead of him, stepped on the accelerator and sped ahead of the probably pissed driver.

All I thought was, bastos 'tong si Manong. Unahan ba naman ang Mazda6. Ambisyoso.

And the craptaker's verdict on Philippine traffic law enforcement? Or just plain Philippine traffic?

A highly disappointing 9.5 on the Crap-O-Meter. T___T

Nothing Else Matters

I got this from Ia-chan, who got this from Lea. Seems fun, so I tried it. :P

RULES:
1. Put your MP3 player, iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4. Tag at least 10 friends (this is not necessary, I think) :P
5. Everyone has to do the same thing.6. Have Fun!

IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY' YOU SAY?
Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone..

Okay..emo much? LOL.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Fences by Paramore

And it's obvious that you're dying, dying
Just living proof that the camera's lying

So...so. This is wholly inaccurate, I assure you.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers

First born unicorn
Hard core, soft porn
Dream of californication

...I am getting freaked out.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
We Are Broken by Paramore

Cause we are broken
What must we do to restore..
Our innocence
Give us life again, cause we just want to be whole

Again, highly inaccurate. My "emo" phase has long been done. Puhlease.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
This is How I Disappear by My Chemical Romance

No. I swear I am not suicidal. LOL.

WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?
Minsan by Eraserheads

Ngunit ngayon, kay bilis maglaho ng kahapon.
Sana'y wag kalimutan ang ating mga pinagsamahan.
at kung sakaling gipitin ay
laging iisipin na
minsan tayo ay naging tunay na magkaibigan.

I miss my friends.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Teenagers by My Chemical Romance

I am getting sick of MCR.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Wow. My parents are cool.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Maselang Bahaghari by Eraserheads

If you've been my friend since high school, then you'll know that this is so accurate, even from the title. Damn. I am freaked out. LOL

WHAT IS 2 + 2?
Alive by Pearl Jam

...

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? (this applies to my closest friends)
Forsaken by Dream Theater

...No! Definitely not!

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Before It's Too Late by Goo Goo Dolls

And hold on, before it's too late
Until we leave this behind
Don't fall, just be who you are
It's all that we need in our lives

Yes. I shall hold on. You can count on that. :)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Overdrive by Eraserheads

So...I'll be a driver? As long as the ride is a Lamborghini, then it's fine. :P

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park

and when you're feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
leave out all the rest

Kinda sad but...somehow it fits.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Misery Business by Paramore

This song is actually about prostitution, but whatever. Yeah, a wedding inspires misery. Fortunately for me, I don't believe in weddings. :P

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Let the Flames Begin by Paramore

So...this means that I'm going to burn in hell?

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
In the Presence of Enemies by Dream Theater

Yeah. I like bashing up things. And making enemies along the way. :P

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic by Paramore

I never wanted to say this
You never wanted to stay
I put my faith in you, so much faith
And then you just threw it away

I guess, in a way, we're all scared of rejection and abandonment.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Superproxy by Eraserheads

I don't even get this song that much.

WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?
Soul to Squeeze by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Oh yeah. I want a soul to squeeze. *insert evil snort here*

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Kamasupra by Eraserheads

mahal kita..pero miss na miss na miss ko na ang aking kama
at ang malupit kong unan
ba't di ka na lang sumama?
hihiga tayo at kakan...taaaa. :D

Strange. Everytime we drop by Ambida's house, we cluster around (and on) his bed and belt it out on his Magic Sing. Strangely accurate. LOL.

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Nothing Else Matters by Metallica
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Fun. And freaky how most songs seem to fit the questions. Try it out. ;)

Para Kay Petras

Have you ever felt that strange heaviness when something you never gave a damn about is suddenly, brutally snatched from your grasp? And because of that loss, you suddenly care. But you can't do anything about it, because the damage has been done and you can't take it back.


Earlier today, something horrible happened in my Panitikang Pilipino 12 class. My professor asked a question, something that we should have easily answered had we read the references, yet we didn't utter a single word. Not one of us said anything.


That triggered a series of unfortunate events where the professor scrapped the previous roll-call and instead based attendance on whether we brought our readings or not. It was a disaster because not even half the class brought theirs. So we received an earful- how he was so disappointed, how he cannot believe that we are students from UP...stuff that a teacher, who actually teaches, would say. Then he dropped the bomb. PanPil12 Section WFR1 would no longer hold classes and would meet only for exams and submission of papers. Then he dismissed us and walked out of the class.

He actually said more that cut us to the quick, but it's either I forgot them or I just can't bring myself to face them again. The turth hurts, huh.

I felt and still feel like crap. And believe me, it's a lot worse had you heard his words first-hand.

I need to cheer up. Maybe I should go bash Twilight. That never fails to give me the LOLs. :D

P.S. Hi to my PanPil12 classmate, Rosie! Check out her blog, Stercus Accidit (i.e. Shit Happens. You gotta love anyone with "shit" in their names/blognames/etc.) I finally got to visit your space. Loved it, mon amie.

Hiatus. Another seemingly endless bout of writer's block has hit me. Now I wish for those blissful days when hypergraphia would force me to regurgitate streams and streams of words that do or do not make sense. I had a release, at the very least. But now...

Can I rant? Just a little bit.

Okay here goes.

Goddammit, screw those blood-sucking bitches with doctorate degrees who can't do anything but torture dying students with fucked-up inane statements and force them to swallow their dignities like thick, white mancrap! Those motherfreakingfucker assholes should get a life before they bite the fucking dust! Get ya heads outta your loose fucked up posteriors, dammit!! God damn it.

Dammit. Dammit.

Just Setting the Record Straight

Do you say that bitter gourd ice cream tastes like shit just because you like vanilla ice cream? Do you say that Demi Lovato is a lame, Disney freeloader just because you like Vanessa Hudgens? Do you say that pork isn't good for the body just because you like chicken?

No, you don't. You say that bitter gourd ice cream tastes like shit because IT DOES taste like shit. You say that Demi Lovato is lame because SHE IS lame. You say that pork isn't good for the body because IT ISN'T good for the body.

Just like I say that Twilight is a pathetic excuse for a novel, not because I like Harry Potter, but because IT IS a pathetic excuse for a novel. Do you people get it now? Me liking (or loving) Harry Potter (the series, not the character) has nothing to do with me disliking Twilight.

Scratch that. I do not just dislike Twilight. I abhor it with every particle of my animus. And this is, predictably, because of rabid fangirls who just don't know when to stop, who just can't get it when their brainless comments are not wanted, and who just can't get a clue that their aggravating squeals are doing serious damage to my ears.

Those hellish things, I can endure. But when you say that Harry Potter is, and I quote, "a boring and sucky book COMPARED to Twilight," that's where I would have to draw the line. Heck, that's where most accomplished authors and literary circles who laud Harry Potter would have to draw the line.

You have your own opinions, yes, but nobody said that ludicrous statements such as those cannot be reprobated, no?

First of all, literature is literature because it is decided by certain authorities in the field. One cannot just say that a written work is a piece of literature just because it has a plot, characters, setting, etc. Being a bestseller doesn't cut it either, because what does sales mean when the very people who read the book in question have a lamentable taste and feel for literature? What do figures mean when the fans (most, not all, because I do not want to generalize) are anencephalic, shrieking hounds with little to no literary refinement? Nothing. Literature has to have a cultural impact, a lasting impression that would make that work immortal- alive through the years even after its maker has long been dead. Dickens, Dahl, King- those are just a few examples of what I'm talking about. Harry Potter certainly And Rowling sure had earned her rightful place among that level of genius.

Do you want me to prove to you why your statement IS anomalous and unfounded on all angles?

Here are a few evidences.

I apologize for the incomplete data on the awards and nominations of Harry Potter. It was quite taxing to hunt down each and every award that the series garnered. Thankfully, I couldn't say the same about Twilight.

And as for your laughable allegations that (heaven forbid!) Harry Potter is, I quote, 'boring", I can only think of one feasible justification. Your pitiable ability for apperception (read: your pathetic brain ) wasn't able to handle the presence of a plot, proper character development and lack of unnecessary adjectives, hence, you were bored.

It seems to me that Harry Potter will, and I quote Stephen King, "indeed stand time's test and wind up on a shelf where only the best are kept; I think Harry will take his place with Alice, Huck, Frodo, and Dorothy and this is one series not just for the decade, but for the ages."

With that, I rest my case, Your Honor.

P.S. Did you bimbos know that over 72 million copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows were sold worldwide in just 24 hours? This is according to TIME Almanac. How does that compare to your precious Twilight, hm? I didn't include this in my argument for the purpose of maintaining consistency. Just thought you wanted to know.

The Act of Crapping

Disclaimer: I take no credit for this image. All I take credit for is the very true crap I've written here.

WARNING: Humourless Twilight fangirls, proceed at your own caution. Intelligent Twilight fangirls (though I'm not really sure if there are such creatures because the statement is a fallacy), maybe we could have a mature debate on why Twilight is a shitbag vampire romance.

I don't know why, but it's just so FUN to make fun of Twilight. Probably because fangirls transform into werewolves at the slightest hint of anti-Twilight stuff. And don't forget their heartfelt declarations that Twilight and its sequels are the "best pieces of literature in the history of everything" (Dickens must be rolling in his grave). Please, people, I still have a tiny, teensy bit of hope left in the human race, and don't crush it by being gigglish dumbasses who have no taste whatsoever in literature. You have to realize that you need help, and quite a lot of people are more than willing to extend a helping hand.

Let's start with these few steps, shall we?

1. Go burn all your Twilight books and sequels. Gather the ashes and scatter them to the four winds.
2. Visit the nearest bookstore and purchase some books, preferably the works of Voltaire, Chinua Achebe, Mark Twain, etc.
3. If you really are a vampire lit fan, then there is still hope for you. Get the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice and indulge yourself in manly vampires. There are quite a lot, and not just one wussy, pasty douchebag like Edward.
4. Get rid of your downloaded/pirated Twilight movies/books.
5. Change your Edward desktop wallpaper into anything BUT Twilight-related shit.
6. Separate yourself from webgroups (read:cults) dedicated to worshipping Edward's skinny, undead self.
7. Stop dumbing yourself down just to be on the same wavelength as other fans. But if you really are that much of an airhead then I can't do shit about it.

Well, those are just some steps you gotta take. But I hate to tell you that some damages cannot be reversed, such as the death of some of your innocent brain cells or the sudden drop in your IQ. Treatment for these requires much patience and lots of reading books that are actually written by an author with a working, lucid brain.

---
This is a little something I've found on the Net, so I take no credit for it.

Quite a lot of lines cracked me up. One is "Twilight iz mature and sexier then HP!" - Sad. Just sad. I feel sorry for those fangirls whose lives revolve around trying to be Mary Sue and dreaming about Edward Cullen's sparkling balls.

Another is "You're just jealous cos you'll never get a hot guy like Edward!" - Oh, and you could? Not to mention that he's a 107-year old undead virgin, and guys like him exist, right? RIGHT? (yeah. RIGHT)...

And another.. "ur just jellus!!1!" - I am not even going to start about spelling...punctuation...

It's painfully obvious what kind of people Stephenie Meyer (bestselling author and comedienne) has for fans- utterly clueless preteen/hormonal/deprived girls who dream of having their anorexic cherry popped by Edward's pasty (yet sparkling), undead sausage. I would feel sorry for Meyer if only she didn't bring into the world the little piece of shit that started it all. But then again, if she didn't, I wouldn't have this much fun bashing up a book.

For the Rain

I expected to feel a shifting in the air, a sudden blast of light from the horizon, or even- well, I didn't really expect those, though subconsciously, I had been waiting for it to transpire.

New. It implies quite a lot if things. By "new", do we mean an overall, 360-degree change? A complete renaissance? Or do we mean the birth of something through the death of another? The decay of life that is to be replaced by feeble seedlings? Of life through death? Of joy through pain?

The new year that had everyone on their toes in giddy anticipation was dampened by the quite heavy drizzle and bitingly cold breeze. It had also- quite considerably, I might add- lessened the dark smoke that usually permeated the air every New Year's Eve. But I was rather pleased with the presence of the rain. It felt good, like it had fallen to purge all the atrocities, the mistakes, the pain. It felt like it was salvation. Or some shit that sounds like that.

The New Year festivities had never really held something of importance for me, which led to my conclusion that it is hugely overrated. Come to think of it, all festivities are overrated, because these things force you to share in that terribly overbearing feeling of camaraderie and joy despite the fact that the mask of the joker is slowly freezing, cracking under the pressure.

Though I have to admit that celebrating New Year is good for some things. There is just something about ushering in new year that makes people want to consider change. Change. Hence the New Year's resolutions.

Resolution. Do they even know what this entails? Resolution is determination- a strong will to achieve something and not mere promises and vows that should be thrown around thoughtlessly. Yet this is what we do, what most people do, because intent should be honored as justified once it is verbalized, is it not? Because weightless words should hold meaning when it is merely said? Utter rubbish. Crap.

Knowing this, I still find myself wanting that elusive ideal, that impossible change most people yearn for. Yet I want it without truly knowing what I want. I still walk in circles, I write in senselessness. A nomad- homeless and, under the erratic stream of pressure and bitter memories, dreamless.

There is only one thing that I truly wish to achieve this 2009. I hope to let go. Of what? Of everything that had taken hold of me and made me into this acerbic, vile person. It is easier said than done, and this is something I have come to realize very painfully. Yet I realize, and I know, that the person who started it all has moved on, has forgotten. I may be wrong in this assumption, I may be right, but it doesn't change the word abandonment. The act of forsaking. And you know what? Though thinking about it makes my chest hurt and my hands shake, I'll make sure that this year, nothing is all I'll feel. And when that happens, I have forgiven, but not forgotten. No, never forgotten.

"Di na kami kasama

sa mga pangarap

ni Rizal."

To the Hero with Rockets on His Feet

You don't say you want, only to take back the words later. You don't say you will, only to back out at the slightest hint of danger. You do not do any of these things, but you still do, you still did, because you're only human, are you not? Like a frightened animal, you bowed your once proud head and submissively retreated from the snarling creature who towered over you.

I know your story. You once loved that monster, though in your eyes it was never such. You saw it one day when life was at its liveliest, when things seem to be falling into place. You saw it, and hated it, very much like how you hated, at first sight, every one you meet. Because that's all you can do- hate first, love later.

But when you love, you fall endlessly, never mind the fact that anytime, you might hit rock bottom and barely survive. You fill the empty crystal glasses on your nightstand with tears without fail every night, before you let yourself fall into living oblivion. You were foolish, and brave, for daring to care for such a creature with the unfathomable eyes and leathery wings, but you were whole.

It seemed to me, that it was all that mattered. You were whole.

It didn't matter that you were ravaged, desecrated within an inch of your life for even stepping near the creature. It didn't matter that you returned with shreds of cloth barely hanging off your emaciated frame, with purplish bruises littering your alabaster skin. It didn't matter that there were dry tear tracks down your once-plump cheeks, didn't matter that your hair hung in greasy clumps around your tired face. It didn't matter that sorrow nearly killed you when the creature left.

You were whole. And it was all that mattered, because being whole allowed you to see yourself in the mirror and fool yourself into thinking that there are no cracks on the surface, that the mask of the joker remained as what it is- a visage with a painted-on smile.

I could only laugh at your demise. You were alive, yes, but barely. Seeing the creature in your memories and dreams could not sustain you for long, for you yearn to touch, to taste, to feel with your bare palms. Tangibility.

We do not know how much time had faded into waste. You went on hating, then loving, every person you meet down the path. We do not know how deep the lacerations had become, how large the gaping holes had grown, because you smothered them all with pretentious peace and silvery talc.

Until it returned. And the barriers you erected around yourself started to fall, one by one.

Until you were left as you were before the creature vanished.

Until you were nothing more than a bruised bag of bones.

Until nothing, save the creature, could liberate you from the prison you made for yourself.

Lies spewed from your mouth in endless streams. You no longer love the creature, you say?

I could do nothing but laugh. I laughed and watched your face crumple, watched as youth left your body through a rattling breath. I laughed and felt the disease consume her from the outside, eating away at her vitality, at her exuberance. I laughed at the absurdity of it all, that you loved and I hated, though we were trapped in the same shell.

See, we are one and the same. I always came first, so I hated. And you were a mere second, so you loved.

To the hero with rockets on his feet.

She never stopped, though you thought she did.

She never resented, though it appeared she did.

The only truth is that she loved.

She loves.

Of Inky Zeniths

I haven't raised the pen in so long. It might have become rusty with alienation, dry with abandonment, or useless with uncertainty. I haven't raised it in so long that the mere thought of having it in my grasp, while feeling its unfathomable power, makes me fear its existence.

Why have I forgotten it?

No. I have not forgotten it. It is a lie just a few steps from the truth, yet I cannot face it in love or remembrance. For brief moments in eternity, I had it. I loved it. It ran in my veins and was one with me for so long that parting was hell and heaven at the same time. I wielded a power so potent that for interminable moments, I was my own god. I was the essence of the universe. I created life, and took it back. Exhilarating, addicting. It is a power that very few could brandish and still retain their sanity. The screaming contrasts would overcome and consume. Its pliancy would seduce and beckon, and once you are in the power's grasp, it would, in turn, bend you to its will.

I thrived in it, in that intangible ambrosia that would soothe and burn. Burn. I burned with it, each lick of fire had left gaping yet impalpable wounds. They had never closed, never healed, and to this moment, I am left gasping for the hand that will never reach out. I am left longing for it, thirsting and wanting, until there is nothing more left of me.

I haven't raised the pen in so long. And I may never will, in this lifetime, and all the lifetimes that may come after.

Beautiful Riddles

Vol de la mort.

Flight of death.

A beautiful vision, is it not? To have the ability to evade death's playful arms paints a picture of utter purity. Flight...suggests freedom and brings to mind vivid pictures of immense meadows and endless blue skies. But we know better. I know better.

Voldemort is the picture of pure evil, of unadulterated sin that could not possibly exist in a human. Thirst for power, immortality and dominance. Greed. Utterly human. Well, Voldemort was human. He was human when he was still Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He's brilliant. Absolutely so. And beautiful, I must not forget that. A perfect mind in a perfect shell. Raven locks, alabaster-pale skin and unfathomable, cunning eyes that shone with pure artifice and ambition. A sculpted face hid the snake rearing just below the surface, and slender hands concealed spidery appendages. Such a perfect mask.

He had armies at his disposal before he even became Lord Voldemort. He had powerful families to command before he became a god.

Fear. They say that the icy, all-consuming hands of Fear would choke me, bleed me dry, once his blood eyes met mine. They say that I would feel the magic crackling in the air around him, that I would be on my knees without me knowing, that I would be kneeling before a mortal god.

I never felt fear. And I prostrated myself before him, as a Death Eater would, before he even became the serpentine deity. The ability to inspire love had never been one of his strongest points. No. That exquisite monster never knew love, and so he never gave it and believed in it. He had been denied the love of a mother and of friends. He never had the pure love of another soul. He condemns love. Yet we loved him- I loved him, like a child would love his mother, a follower to leader, lover to lover.

Tom Marvolo Riddle could have had the world to himself. He had us, he had me, at his fingertips. All he had to do was reach out, and grasp. But he suddenly walked down a path where no others dared to venture before, and sought immortality. His name could have been immortal, but he also wanted his form to persevere. And so he delved deep, much deeper than anyone has dared before, into the Dark Arts.

Commoners could not understand what became of him. They shirked from his snake-like visage, they feared his brimming power, they wondered at the sick perfection of it all. When commoners fail to understand, they choose to oppose. And that's what they did.

He thrived from the hate. He grew from the fear. Greedily, he drank and drank the viscous ambrosia that seemd to flow from the masses in endless rivulets. He would have not grown more formidable from any other substance. Not the Elixir of Life. Not unicorn blood. Not vampire blood. And not Harry Potter's blood.

When he became Lord Voldemort, he was still beautiful. Of course he was still brilliant. What changed was that his human nature, which was so entrenched in unspeakable evil, became the nature of a god, albeit an imperfect one.

Whoever said that gods should be perfect?

***

Mon ami, c'est pour toi.

I once saw an awkward boy who loved his books as much, or probably more so, as I loved mine. That was not enough for me, and so I did not befriend him. He was quiet, and I did not know much.

He loved machines. That was what I knew next. Nothing really significant. An awkward boy who loved books and computers. That was all. That was all.

I didn't know better.

I didn't know that he was a man, not a boy, in the more profound sense of the word. Yet his masculinity is different and far more alluring than that of commonplace egos and unwanted machismo. His strength lies in his enduring soul, in his precious ability to withstand all his pains and immortalize his rare joys. He does not feel the need to verbalize afflictions, and instead bears it alone to nurture his immense strength. His hands, rough from countless days of perfecting a warlike art, are the most striking of all. Pens are blessed when he uses them to weave words into splendor, words that rise from the superficial papyrus to form corporeality, words so vivid and compelling that they take a tangible form.

He is more than a man who loved his computers and his books. I know this now.

They could not see you. Commoners, the lot of them. Sadly, I was one of them, too, before I ever saw beyond the books, the computers, the strangeness. And, as pointless as this may be, I am sorry. I was a kid. That alone probably speaks for the blunder.

Flight. Go on, Loki, the Skywalker. Take to the air and shed your earthly form.

Ascend to the skies, and be. Be.

Starbucks: L'endroit de la pretentieux

Hindi ako regular sa Starbucks. Hindi ko rin yun second home. At lalong hindi kape at latte ang tubig ko. Mabibilang ko lang sa dalawang kamay ang mga pagkakataong tumambay ako dun. Kadalasan, mga barkada ang kasama ko, pero minsan nililibre din ako nila Kuya Ram at Ate Apol. (Tsk, when are they gonna get hitched?) Sa mga pagkakataong tumatambay ako dun eh talaga namang nakakaloka ang aking mga experience

Nangyari ito one week prior. Nilibre ako nila Ate Apol habang nasa grocery sila Nanay at Rjay. Eh di siyempre tatambay kami dun sa loob habang tinutungga-tungga ang pagkamahal-mahal na inumin (kapitalista!joke.) (strawberries and cream frappe ang pinili ko). So, with nothing else to do, I indulged in one of my favorite wala-akong-magawa-activities. People-watching.

Siyempre, pasimple akesh sa pagpipeople-watching (anu daw!?), baka kasi isipin ng mga tao ay isa akong psychotic freak/stalker/moron. Sa table na katabi namin ay may isang grupo ng mga kababaihan na parang mga kolehiyala, pero hindi sila naka-uniform. Sigurado akong hindi sila taga-UP, kasi iba ang vibes nila. One thing I'm sure of is that they're high-class peeps. Kung paano ko na-draw ang conclusion na iyon ay hindi ko rin alam. Anyways, lakas ng tawanan ng mga girlash. Parang sila lang ang tao sa loob ng coffee shop. At dinig na dinig pa ang mga tsismisan nila. Dyosko! Kaloka.

Pero ayos lang yon. At least, they're not pretentious. Get real, ika nga. Mas ayos na iyon kesa dito sa next person na sumagi sa aking paningin.

Honestly, maganda naman talaga ang babaeng ito. She's got the complete, physical package that most guys would fall for (id est, hair, face, body, clothes). She was not worth observing, actually, but she did this little thing that made my eyebrows rise beyond my hair line.

To girls out there, I'm sure you know this. Most girls have done this to other people who have, in their opinion, questionable fashion sense/I.Q./etc. HECK. All girls have done this sometime in their lives. Admit it. Anyways, this woman, upon entering Starbucks, made a beeline for the counter. Since our table was located directly beside the counter, I was in her line of vision. Upon seeing me, she gave me a once-over: starting from my hair down to my flats. She had this nasty, little smirk on her face, and as she passed me, she flipped her long, shampoo-commercial-worthy hair and held her chin high.

Papalampasin ko na sana 'to kung hindi lang niya inulit. Susmariajosepidal! Inulit pa niya! She went back to the counter to get her drink, and repeated the bitchy process all over again. I wanted to do something, like, stretch my leg out and trip her, or splash her java-chip all over her preppy clothes, but I don't want to sink to her level. (Haha. How terribly cliche.)

Marami pang phonies dun. Some are, literally, fakes. Mga fake na babae, id est, gay men. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against homosexuals. In fact, I love them and their spontaneity! They are actually being real when they flaunt their gayness. It's when they become shiny, hard and pretentious plastics that they annoy me.

It was probably more than a couple of years ago that the Starbucks fad literally hit the country. If you want to get technical, it was approximately a decade ago when the country's first Starbucks Coffee retail location opened in Makati, Manila's leading financial district, on December 4, 1997. But I'm talking about how it became a fad, especially among the youth. (I define youth as individuals within the age range of 15-24, in accordance with the United Nations General Assembly)

Aminin na natin. The allure of Starbucks lies predominantly on its capacity to boost one's social status. Once you're seen hanging out in Starbucks, you're automatically regarded as rich and part of the high-society. Psh. Katarantaduhan. Your friends would not let themselves be left out of the loop, and would start hanging out at S-bucks as well. This process works like a water ripple, and would just get bigger and bigger until all "contaminate-able" parties are affected.

But let me give Starbucks some credit. I'm no expert on coffee, but they make their drinks with a distinct taste and smoothness that probably attracted the sensible individuals. Not to mention the fact that the ambience is conducive to getting our creative juices flowing. Er...well...this was before sosyaleras, sosyaleros and the conio race invaded the formerly laid-back atmosphere of Starbucks and polluted the air with their foolish chatter that's primarily composed of phrases that they ripped off from Kris Aquino.

Again, I have nothing against high-society peeps. In fact, one of my circles of friends is composed mainly of rich kids from UP (how anomalous is that? Rich kids from UP?!). What annoys me is the sort of people who are not really conio but they still force themselves to act in that way, and they buy fake Louis Vuittons and Havaianas (id est, Havana) just to fit in and they blow their allowance (their parents' hard-earned money) just to buy ridiculously-expensive coffee. And to top it all off, they try so goddamn hard to speak a la conio english, never mind the fact that they sound like complete morons.

Eto sample:

"Like, how kainis is that? I mean, like, they're not even sosyal like us! Like, they're poor, di ba?"

"I know, right?"

Haha. Hilarious. And pathetic, at the same time.

One of Countless Ramblings

"Forgive, O Lord, my little joke on Thee and I'll forgive Thy great big one on me." - Robert Frost. Funny, funny man.

I'm at a standstill. I find myself in an irredeemable situation where I lose on both choices. I find myself at crossroads where each one leads to rocky cliffs that would lead to certain death. The proverbial yellow brick-road crumbles into a dirt path where nothing is certain, and everything is a myriad of abstracts and non-existence. I want to cry out to the skies, but then I remember that I have no right. No right, no right- a fiend cast from the lofty realms.

But then again, on the plane in between, are beings higher than those above, and deeper than those below. I find myself among them, in the company of immortals who chose the void, of creatures who thrive in non-belief, of men who are their own gods. It was beautiful, so impure, that I found myself drawn to the dark allure.

I wake. It was not a mere dream.

And so the week-long hiatus becomes longer than a week.