finally, a candidate i can believe

...And I say Nicky Perlas is my president.
Qulifications: EXCELLENT (as to my personal evaluation)
I have no doubts.
Finally, a truly promising one appeared in the Pres. racetrack.
He's the candidate I'll be damned proud to push for.
And he's not a 'trapo'.
How about yours?

Visit www.nicanor-perlas.com

electoral deja vu

[Post for Bloggers Unite: New Hope on 2010 Philippine Election]

The few previous political reigns, particularly that in the presidential bowl, have been inglorious and stark, per se. To the voters who cast their hopes of national prosperity to their adored presidential candidate before, nothing much has been actually prosperous over the years. The statistics tells it all – the Philippines still underway in getting up from being a third world country, the deplorable economy, the luxurious rank of being one of the most corrupt country, the deficiency of jobs for the working population – you name it, there’s a lot more in the list.

In the coming 2010 presidential election, the chance to renew the country from its present state of affairs is on the run. Again, it’s up to the Filipino people, with their votes, to decide whether to change the country for the better or dig more depth to its current hole. But with the present electoral breeze, it seems that the time is being transported back years ago, to the realm of old politics, when the traditional politicians have been roaming the racetrack for the national posts.

In the mass media alone, I cannot help but wonder if the present time of the year is already the campaign period. It brings me disgust seeing the politicians’ advertisements and other propaganda of themselves implying their sense of charity or goodness or integrity or whatever qualifications they have come up with. First off, there are Senator Manny Villar’s ‘Galing sa mahirap, para sa mahirap’ and ‘Sipag at tiyaga’ famous punch lines in the television, and then there’s senator Mar Roxas’ version of the TV advertisement of his own. In Metro Manila, you will easily notice MMDA chairman Bayani Fernando’s smiling photo on different kinds of MMDA billboards and posters through almost every street and public places. These are only few of those politicians, and there’s a lot more. Out of nowhere, the faces of the presidentiables mysteriously come into sight to every corners of the country just, as these politician say, for no political reason at all. Really?

The world of old politics in the Philippines is the context on which the political arena functions under the way of thinking of the traditional politicians or “trapos” (dirty rags). For the “trapos”, their concept of “winnability” is to have, most importantly from the beginning, name recognition, political machinery, financial and other resources, and endorsements. This concept is very dangerous to the people for it lulls their sense of judgment from the true gauge of the viability of a candidate, which are supposed to be the qualifications, track record, good advocacy, leadership, etc. This “trapo” concept, apparently, is what the present electoral breeze has been blowing, like that of the old, old, political days.

As a citizen who had been under the reign of the same traditional politicians who have been lodging the posts for a couple of terms, I’ve already grown tired of blowing the same wishes for our country over and over. With the current electoral condition, I cannot help but worry with the outcome of the election. Obviously, the country does not want another set of “trapos” in its administrative post. The Philippines and its people have had enough, and a better change is a crucial need.

In the end, the successful product of the 2010 election eventually lies on the hands of the Filipinos themselves. If we understand and be able to see the emerging political déjà vu and be vigilant not to be deceived by its trick, that is, we put in mind that the true determinants of a viable candidate counts on her/his qualities and quality of her/his vision for the nation, not just on her/his elementary sense of “winnability” which is supposed to be only the minor enablers of the essential determinants, then the Philippines would have welcomed its glorious years.

the taradiddles of a homeless

The western country tunes of the 80’s were filling the early Sunday morning air. Here, at the only temporary refuge that I can afford, the place looks accommodating and kind, but almost desolating with the total absence of sunlight.

It’s 2 am. Yet I was alone, sitting at a small solitary table on a 24-hours establishment facing a sleepless street of Metro Davao. It’s cold out here, in the open air of Panadero bakeshop, but at least, this unfamiliar little place can cater me for three or four more hours until when the oriental dawn breaks in.

At the moment, I’m donning a cup of instant coffee and two pieces of a kind of cookie (I don’t know what it’s called), while I flip my pen, scribbling over my little notepad. I’ve just scrutinized its poor quality, the notepad I mean. Its thin and inadequately bleached pages are reasonably suited for its cheap price – this little pink rectangular stuff for only eight pesos. But I’m glad of its existence, especially at the moment, for it is doing its humble chore – to be blotted by the stream of the ink, through the steering of the hand, through the rhythm of the taradiddles spun by the writer – specifically a homeless writer at this case.

About seven meters at my back, a dozen or so of habal-habal (motorcycle) and tricycle drivers were buzzing over some coin game of them (they call it taksi, I guess, as I heard one of them said in a conversation). They were on stand-by for early morning passengers, occupying themselves with their time killing amusement as they wait.

For every minute that passes as I sit here, the deeper the cold penetrates through the layers beneath my skin. Every van and truck and bus and car and jeepney that gets by fans in a wave of dust and smoke which adds the chill with an unpleasant smell of the damp street. I don’t know if I can last at least an hour longer, but I should have to; I need to. Just a little more time, I can get back to my den again, under the warm and comfortable sheets of my bed.

But apparently, the stretch of time I should endure wouldn’t come to conspire.

My cell phone clock displays 3:56 am. This time, I was sitting on the steps outside a 24-hours convenience store. It started drizzling about ten minutes earlier, so I decided to retreat to this fairly covered place.

Before I went here, about an hour earlier, I had managed to find an establishment that offers a public toilet. Fortunately I haven’t had to search the streets for so long to find one, but unfortunately, it happened to be a bar. As I waited for my order of second cup of coffee, the drunken man at the table adjacent to mine had his head swinging, swinging as he was brought in and out of his consciousness in every interval of three of four seconds. He had certainly drunk more than enough alcohol, as I perceive it. I looked at the empty bottles of liquor scattered on his table, and I counted, there were eight of them. Poor man, either I was sorry for him that perhaps he was an unhappy being that’s why he got so drank, or I was thinking of his deplorable liver, little by little spared by the ruinous liquid, he didn’t have an idea.

At quarter to four, the bar lady announced that they were closing. And so, I had no choice, I had to find another refuge. I wandered under the streetlights, and my feet finally brought me here. Davao Central Convenience Store, that’s the name of the place. On the front steps, beside the entrance door, I sit here, my back resting on the cold cement of the building. Imagining the scenery I was into, I made out a picture of an exhausted young lady, her arms folded tight against her chest, trying to fight the cold, trying to shield her skin off the curtain of drizzle.

And you may ask why. Why was she there, out in the streets, at this sober occasion of the night?

It’s simply because the gate of the boarding house I’m staying was locked, and I just cannot snatch the housekeeper from her dreamy sleep and probably bountiful snores. The battery-operated doorbell had nearly muted its tune as I had pressed its button over and over for almost an hour already. Feeling hopeless and harassed by the blood-hungry mosquitoes, I gave up the miserable device and wandered for shelter when I finally had enough nerves to face the stray dogs on the way.

And so I was here, tiredly gazing at the passing vehicles through the street, fairly aware that the security guard had been scrutinizing my unwanted presence at beside their store doorway. I wish he wouldn’t shove me away like dirt on their business; I don’t want to wander again to find another refuge. My body had long given up to exhaustion after hours of struggling to compose myself against the hard environment of the outside and fighting off falling asleep.

Poor being, she’s utterly homeless. I guess that’s what the passersby had had the impression on their minds. I was aware, surely aware that they stare at my spot, those store costumers, the people walking at the street, the street sweepers. But surprisingly, I hadn’t bothered; I simply cannot find myself to care. It was the dumbness perhaps, compiled by the situation and the inability of my psychological stimuli to operate, tampered by the numbness of my nerve endings due to the angry cold.

A glance at my cell phone clock tells that the sun won’t be out just yet.

Again, it’s cold out here.

Ahhh, way to go.

bloggers unite: art day

Beautiful Things and the Others

Art is an imagery of the mind
But not all artworks are beautiful
Perhaps like the one above

But does it matter?
Are all paintings supposed to be beautiful?
Does that painting above
Supposed to please you, the observing eye?

Art is an imagery of the mind
Not all imageries are beautiful
Like the one above

Yet it is art
Because the painter said so
Because there exists no standard
To demarcate which is, and which is not
Because whether it is beautiful or another
It is a product of the mind’s creativity
And so on and so forth

a song

The first time I heard this song, I instantly fell in love with its lines. Know why?

It poured me a pure joy within...

I may haven’t yet born during the late president Cory Aquino’s humble reign in the Philippines, but as to what I’ve read and learned, she really was a loving servant to the people. And though it seems I’m a couple of days late [as ever]… to the crème de la crème, I pay my most sincere respect, and…

et ceteras

Etc #1

I’m currently working on a research paper these days. And my topic? You can check out that garbage below…

Or just skip it since it’s not that interesting anyway. Hehehe.



Etc #2

I have two Bloggers Unite Events to watch out this August. Here they go…
ART DAY

Objective:
International holiday for artists of all kinds.

It started out as a simple idea for people the world over to set aside a day for appreciating artists and for enjoying the kind of art they like. And it has now turned into a debate, not dissimilar to the conflicted international views about whether the arts deserve funding and where the arts fit into a technologically advancing culture.

2010 PHILIPPINE ELECTION NEW HOPE

Objective:
Mobilize filipino bloggers /interested parties join/ come out with blogs crystallizing a progressive election result for the Philippines

On August 31, bloggers will unite and come up with blogs , text , images , videos all relating to a progressive result of the coming May 10, 2010 national and local election in the Philippines.

But a comment from the admin in here had seized me for a little while.

rod4dphil has posted a new message to your shoutbox:

"Hello taong gubat , i hope you’re not on the jungle as what your name says. But you’re a conscious taong gubat ready to explode our mission to our native pinoys. Thanks for joining…"

O yeah, I’m starting to believe that I’m getting pretty much conscious about society issues these days, but what had suddenly got me more conscious was my pseudonym. Why in the world have I chosen taong gubat anyway?

Actually, I can’t think of anything why. Gotta think about it later, and blog it soon. Watch out.

taong-gubat with 'Bloggers Unite for Human Rights'

I was supposed to publish this post last July 17 as my activity pledge for ‘Bloggers Unite For Human Rights’, but as you can see, I’m almost 2-week late here. I just can’t clearly explain what made the fuss of not complying with the deadline. I was too busy, perhaps. Or it’s just that I’m an expert procrastinator, as ever, and I was just exercising my master skill for the last two weeks. [Possibly the latter one.]

So without any further yadda yadda’s, here is my statement…

A Penning For Human Rights
I really can’t find any specific piece of stored knowledge in my brain that directly speaks of human rights. But as I contemplate its definition - (law) any basic right or freedom to which all human beings are entitled – I immediately thought of circles; on how these circles draw innumerable consequences in the issue of human rights.

Recalling what I’ve read years ago, there exists a lot of attachments or sentiments that bombards every individual in the society. Geo-sentiment and socio-sentiment comprises the major kind of these sentiments in the roster.

Geo-sentiment is born from love for the indigenous land. Originating from this geo-sentiment, many other sentiments arise, such as geo-patriotism, geo-politics, geo-economy and many other geo-centered sentiments, including geo-religion. This geo-sentiment tries to confine humanity to a limited part of the world. It says, “This is my land and I will give my life for its development, for the happiness of all who live within its borders.” This sentiment is very dangerous in that it leads to being unconcerned with the lives of people in other lands.

Socio-sentiment differs from geo-sentiment in such a way that it does not confine people to a particular territory, but rather it extends to an entire community. This means that instead of thinking of the well-being of a geographical area, people think more of the well-being of a particular community, even excluding all other communities in this process. Thus, while they worry about the interest of a certain community, they do not hesitate to violate the interests and the natural growth of other communities.

And so, from these sentiments appears the construct of circles. We draw narrow circles around those and ourselves who are similar to us with their configuration of existence and lower minds. We separate ourselves to the totality of our fellow human beings and create social barriers to demarcate our sense of social separation – walls of sentiments that supposed to be aimed for the common good. We say to others: “Get out! You do not belong to our circle! You do not belong to our family, gender circle, religion, land, church, social status, etc.!”.

This false sense of identification with our lower selves has created endless conflicts in the history of the earth. And so had incurred significant damage in the aspect of human rights. If we will not be able to recognize the approach of these sentiments and let them grow to their destructive stage and devour our sense of goodness, directly or indirectly, consciously or unconsciously, we ourselves may deprive others of their entitled rights. A human society that we pursue to establish with peace and harmony may not be able to take its final form.


Uhhh, I was really sad while writing this post. Sigh.

Taong-gubat says:

It is not enough to just seek justice for the abused and find cure for the deprivations. In the fight for human rights, we must contemplate the factors – the dangerous sentiments – that manifest its cause and how they can be managed. Else, we might not be able to reach the finish line.

oh really?

This photo just so amazed me.

Although I can't find out if this was captured real.


Stumbled upon it through stumbleupon.com.

mooch a book

www.BookMooch.com

I happened to stumble upon this website last April while blog-hopping.

Hah! Since my mouth definitely waters down a river whenever I went prying over books, I immediately ravened this cake in no further ado. It’s like I was hearing a thousand tiny bells ringing around my head that moment, so tantalizing…
["what? get-books-you-want? books-i-want? heeey!"]

Oh, and take note: after having signed up, everything in this book business works so simple dude!

I had already mailed my copy of Bernhard Schlink’s ‘The Reader’ last May, and just yesterday, I received my first mooch – Jane Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Weeeeee!

And thanks to Patricia, the former owner of the book for being kind to let me mooch her copy.

So, do you plan to go bookmooching too? You can add me up to your boockmooch friends, or mooch some of my books if you like. [username is taonggubat]

habal-habal bloopers

I’ve just gotten off a jeepney from downtown-Davao after buying stuffs at a mall. The boarding house I’m staying at is only about more than a hundred-meter away from Mintal market. It follows then that from the highway, I needed to pass through the market road before I reach the B-house. Right now, I’m at the market road – the area that had always irritated my a** ever since I conceived the drab but fussy kolehiyala life at UP Mindanao.

And the reason…it goes this way:

[commotion through the habal-habal drivers (motorcycle drivers, a.k.a “H-H drivers” / ”Habal’ers” – courtesy of UPMin students) with their vehicles parked idly at all spaces of the sidewalk.]

Habal’er A: “Psst! Psssst…psssst!”

Habal’er B: “Asa ka, gah?” (Saan ka, ga?)

Krung: [umiiling ng ulo, diretso sa paglakad] Shet, eto na naman…

Habal’er C: “Oh UP, yupee! UP ka day?”

Habal’er D: “Asa ka, UP…dorm?” (Saan ka, UP-dorm?)

Habal’er E: “UP! UP?”

Krung: “Hindi. )<”

Habal’er F: “Gwapa, singgol ka?” [I don’t know if this supposed to mean “Gwapa, single ka?” (the marital status thing), or if I wanted to ride the single motorcycle.]

Krung: “Dili. ”

Habal’er F: [shouting at her back] “Ay, dili diay ka singgol?” (Ay, hindi ka pala single?)

Krung: [clutches her shoulder bag and strides quickly]

Habal’er G: “Idol, taga-asa ka Idol? Mag-habal mo?” (Idol, taga-saan ka Idol? Mag-motor ka?)

Krung: “Dili po. )>”

Habal’er G: “Libre lang po para sa imo Idol, tag-jis lang.” (Libre lang po para sa ‘yo Idol, tag-P10 lang.)

Krung: [faking a smile] “Sige lang kuya.”

Habal’er G: “Okey ate.” [clearing a wide, dirty grin]

Krung: [hissing while striding more quickly] “Bullshit you.”

Habal’er H: “Hi miss. Asa ka? ” (Hi miss. Saan ka?)

Krung: [sighing] “Secret.”

Habal’er H: “Asa gani yang secret ma’am?” (Saan na nga yang secret, ma’am?)

Krung: [sigh. Sigh. Sigh!]

Then again, life at Baranggay Mintal gets going…that very pleasing way.

the tale of kulog at kidlat

I am hearing a galore of thunder roars and slashes of lightning striking the ether while writing for this post. Since my pathetic ignorance is chewing me up again, as ever, I come to wonder – what the heck are those thunders and lightning cooking up there?

Well, according to my bubuwit, lightning induces thunder (strictly not the other way around). Lightning is an electric current (obviously). It’s the effect of high current produced by colliding frozen raindrops within the storm clouds. When a lightning bolt strikes from the cloud to the ground, it opens up a hole in the air. Once the hole collapses back, a sound wave is created that we hear as thunder. Actually, thunder and lightning occur almost at the same time. But since light travels about five times faster than sound, we see lighting first before we hear the roar of thunder.

Hear that? Ahh…

Perhaps some of you also may also share my sentiments. I bet you’re also ignorant about these, eh? Don’t you worry, we’re team!

Bloggers Unite for Human Rights 2009

Objective:

Unite for human rights and make a statement that all people are born with basic rights and freedoms - life, liberty, and justice!

On July 17 Bloggers Unite from around the globe will unite unite for human rights and make a statement that all people are born with basic rights and freedoms - life, liberty, and justice!

Let’s come together and all blog about Human Rights! There are dozens and dozens of human rights issues that you can write about.
Check out http://www.bloggersunite.org

major histocompatibility complex mismatch!

I recently came over this major-histocompatibility-complex-thing while reading Meg Cabot’s Princess Diaries series – Vol. 10: 'Princess Forever'. Quoting from the book…

“Major histocompatibility complex is the gene family found in most mammals that is responsible for reproductive success. These molecules, which are displayed on cell surfaces, control the immune system. They have the capacity to kill pathogens, or malfunctioning cells. In other words, MHC genes help the immune system to recognize and destroy invaders. This is especially useful in the selection of potential mates. MHC has recently been shown to play a crucial role, via olfaction (or sense of smell), in this capacity. It has been proven that the more diverse, or different, the MHC of the parent, the stronger the immune system of the child.”

[apologies for the long, eye-rolling definition]

“Interestingly, MHC-mate dissimilar selection tendencies have been categorically determined in humans. The more dissimilar a male’s MHC to a female (this was without deodorant or cologne), the “better” he tended to smell to her in clinical studies. These studies have been duplicated time and again, with the same results.”

And so I come to wonder…is he [that somebody, vampire, mr. X, @*!#%] my MHC mismatch?

Chuckle. Chuckle. Chuckle. Hah! Silly…0____<

of course i look okay

Nikki said my desktop background really looks haunting.

Do you agree?

Well, does that suppose to mean I look like a ghost?

It’s okay; I just made up myself to appear like that. Oh come on.

Anyway, my (lovely) eyes are back beneath the golden frame of my eyeglasses again. I’m taking four major computer science subject loads this semester (thankfully, my standing is still regular. Sigh.), so that meant a lot of hours in front of the computer, increased exposure to harsh radiation, and an added level of undergoing vision distressing procedures. I just wish I can still read a size eight font after this semester.

back to blogging business

It’s been a long while I’ve been out blogging. With that long interval of time, a lot had happened of course, and a myriad of interesting thoughts ought to be blotted had passed by. It’s just that my head had somewhat taken a lazy-break to initiate pennings for posts. But now, I’m back. Whatever with the blank postings for the past few months, people, what we have right now is worth an exclamation mark – blogger.com, I’m back!

To highlight this comeback (as if a number out there has really been nosing after this blog), I changed this blog’s title into “bits and pieces of this and that”. This is one crucial procedure I thought would possibly emphasize and give direction to what this blog is supposed to be swimming at. Oftentimes before, I confuse myself with what particular color of topics I should be posting. Since I do appreciate change if it’s for the better, here it goes right now. And I say it’s developmental change cooking in here this time.

So, what now?

Anyway, the pathetic blogger in here thinks that perhaps you may like reading some updates with her on-goings for the time being. If you’ve still got an ember of interest, you can read on…

She’s already on the third year of her undergraduate degree program, just stepped into legal adulthood last summer, and currently figuring out how to draw her life after her studies. In vain, she’s still waiting for her vampire to give her a venomous bite, transform her into one, and live with him through eternity (here goes her ‘Twilight’ fantasy again). Well, that’s all.

It just feels good sensing the spark of blotting the queue of objects inside my brain again…so invigorating.

aparador

I wonder what could be inside this wooden structure of a box.

Could it be mere pieces of tangible, wearisome, and lifeless entities, which for dumbness sake, clutch idly with the ground throughout the continuum of their existence?

Or they may be propelling animate creatures, effectuating alteration, sensing the ether . . . breathing.

But what if there's not an object inside, nor a living being?

A dwelling deity, yes. But not in virtual air.

A palpable one, possibly. But not wholly.

This is pestering, such a giddy big piece of a box!

Mute, shut, deep, eerie aparador.

let's try something new

a cubicle grudge



The surrounding air seems like a violent steam heating up my skin.

All of a sudden, the devilish high temperature seeped through the stiffening fibers of my muscles, and then cracked through the hard calcium beneath, and finally through the bone marrows inside.

My nerve impulses had already tensed up a second earlier, mounting the hammering on my stomach up to the spine, and to my brain, which rapped my stiffened jaw into an abrupt chattering.

"Bull shit", I hissed.

Counting in my head, almost a hundred and eighty seconds more had passed. But the inside of the cubicle isn't done yet.

In my thoughts, the furry reached to its climax.

My wildest and maddest imaginations swirled into my head.

I want to kick this cubicle door open, employing all the ravaging strength of my legs to bang it down. After that, I will slug the hateful creature inside, not giving her any second to rebuff and cease me.

Then I saw the blood oozing through her nose, slowly covering her face with a red mask. I heard the dripping of the shower above simultaneously spatting the marble floor with the trickles of blood from her anguished body.

The sweet sensation of my satisfaction little by little extinguished the fire burning inside my chest. For a while, I relished the taste of this gratification and drew on my face a thin smile.

I'm running out of time... I need to hurry; else I would be too late.

Softly, the door opened. The girl came out holding her bathroom things.

I composed my face a pout in front of her, stamped my way inside, and closed the door with a heavy clunk.

Damn her, of all the damnest people in this world.

Taking a bath for more than half of an hour, what the hell is that?


This composition does not necessarily reflect or manifest the literal dispositions of the author. Ang lahat ng ito ay pawang kathang-isip po lamang.

i need inspiration

math 28 exam tomorrow.

...of all the endless exams.

i need to study.

i need Leithold.

i've gotta devour Leithold's topics on Power Series, and Binomial Series, and all those bloody et cetera.

but the neurons on my brain won't give the command.

so i need inspiration.

inspiration to create the urge to study,

and to stay awake,

and to conquer another sleepless night.

dieting again - for blood

I’m into the custody of weight management these days.

But whoa, it’s not the usual slim dieting that’s in here this time! It’s weight gain dieting, dude.

I’m looking forward for donating blood for the Red Cross two weeks from now, and my target is 50 kilograms of mass.

Actually I’ve always wanted to finally make myself fit for a blood letting way back a couple of years when I discovered the humanitarian and health benefits of donating my blood. It’s just that my body mass won’t really cooperate by then.

So this time, knowing that my body mass is already close to the point, I’ll do my best to make headway.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/creinasilvestre/2277002533/

Blood, blood. Splat, splat. Bwahaha!

A page header, finally

See the new header?

Hey, that's a header! Trust me...

Okay, I'm just too conscious about this new header. It's my first-ever major page element here, you know. I'm not sure; maybe it looks like some kind of junky rectangular visual stuff bombarded with overloading crappy hokum or like it’s a data that shouldn't take up any space in the Internet at all.

Anyway, here's a point...I've been blogging since last year, but why in the world have I decided to put up a header just so lately?

Well, first off, I wasn't actually certain of maintaining a blog in the fist place. I believe (until now) that it would just snatch up time on my fussy studying agenda. I'm pretty convinced that my brain isn't in a sufficient composure for UP psyche standard, so I really do extra studying as much as I could (but unfortunately, I can only sense negligible progress yet, sigh). But at least, the 'singko' boxes on my class cards were still clean... no bombs yet.

What was more was that the wifi signals at our dormitory building were really so hostile of my wireless LAN card since I moved into a new room location this semester. The server antenna is too far from my room assignment, but I've got a theory that it's just my LAN card and my laptop that were the losers here, since I can't see any connection problems with my room neighbors.

Fine. But why is the world so cruel?

So much of the melodramatic lines...

Until now, I'm still on the stage of exploring and experimenting and adventuring with this blogging business yet. I ain't got a structured concept of my master plan for this blog actually. I just thought to keep updating posts a while more and eventually formulate the thing after some time.

As for my new header, I thought of experimenting a draft of it one night while scanning my image files and reminiscing the yet unpainted memories of my life (roll eyes...o.o).

I found a picture of my legs from last December and one of my paintings from last semester break at a room in a boarding house near the university campus (the picture with a seated girl). The title of the painting is "October Solitude" because I was encaged in a subjugating solitude in that room for more than two weeks in October doing nothing but paint, read books, write my journals, sleep, eat twice a day, and talk to myself - totally deserted from the outside world.
(Roll eyes again...o.o)

For the design, I only used the PAINT.NET software since my computer memory and hard drive are literally so poor to afford the better Photoshops.

The words at the bottom part are, well, they're actually just some sort of adders, or fillers, I think. But I'm planning of doing many articles about Maharlika, PROUT, Neo-Humanism, and vegetarianism in my future postings. I think that they're really worthy topics to discuss, and I'd truly love to do such with this blog (I just wish that time and the Ethereal elements would at least conspire with me for this).

So much for the out-of-the-world terms, eh?

Okay, so perhaps I owe some explanation for those words at the header...

Well, I'm corroborating with "Maharlika Movement" for the nonce. Briefly, this movement embodies the principle of Progressive Utilization Theory (PROUT), a socio-economic theory laid out by Shrii Prabhat Rainjan Sarkar (a great Indian philosopher, author, and founder of Ananda Marga and Tantrik Yoga practices).

Being an advocate for animal rights with "People for Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA)", I drew up my leading from Neo-Humanism, a philosophical paradigm also set out by Sarkar as a vision for human progress based on universal values and ethical principles.

As much as my intuition could manage, I always keep my hands off from the dusts of dogmas and self-assertions in my 'search' for 'meaning' throughout my educational career. At the time being, these matters are the most sensible bodies of knowledge that I've settled down with and have planned to explore.

O yeah, I'm growing up!

And so, I now decide to put an end to the tale of my new header here, before my blabbing could lead me somewhere else far from the virtual realms.

(Hey, and I'm planning to write about aliens and 'super beings', too! Lol.)

Orange?

My friends say that orange is my favorite color.

Really, huh?
??????

And then I noticed the colors of my stuffs.

My water bottle is orange.

My backpack has orange on it.

My desk tray is orange.

My pen holder is orange.

My blog hearder's orange.

One of my sneakers is orange.

The cover of study desk is orange.

The skin of my cabinet, which is my painting, is orange.

Many of my artworks have significant areas of orange on them.

But are these enough to tell that orange is my favorite color?
Oh no, no, no.

Reward: 10,000 centavos

Don't fail me on this...
It would cost my life...
So please, help me find this vampire.

Hooked, Addicted, and Crazy

I’ve been enslaved under the impregnable spell of reading last month. In particular, I was bewitched by Stephenie Meyer’s livid Twilight Series to an extent that I once woke up one morning bearing a state of mind that I am living in a realm beyond the mundane normality where other unnatural beings coexist with me. That had stirred my sanity afterward, realizing that my mind had been unconsciously lured by Meyer’s tale to wander with vampires and werewolves. Then I chided to myself: Are you insane? Wake up!

And so, my reflex fixed me to watch my imagination not to cross the demarcation line and put myself sane. But then I wanted more of that realm beyond, I thought to myself. It was like a narcotic that activates the radical room in my brain and glands on my system that pull me into ecstasy. I knew at once that I couldn’t produce that enough grip to behave well, so I eventually decided to let myself drown with the ecstasy of the plot.

As I swam with the flow, I saw myself giggled with Bella’s tickle pink moments with Edward, exploded to angst and irritation when Jacob acted his role as a second party in line, laughed when Charlie talks with his daughter about sex, cried when Edward broke up with Bella after her tragic birthday, tensed up with the confrontation with the ancient Volturi’s, guffawed when Alice performed her silly mannerisms using her predicting talent, surprised when Jacob imprinted with the half human, half vampire baby, Reneesme, freaked out when the mad Volturi’s contended with the Cullens, and finally delighted when the series proceeded to a happy ending.


The crooked smile...

and the kiss to die for!

As I receded from wandering the supernatural realm with Edward, Bella, Jacob and the party, it gave my heart a squeezed feel of nostalgia as if I really had been through the story myself. No wonder I would miss those moments I unconsciously shared with them, and I’m extremely longing for a sequel, as if there could possibly be any. I don’t know when I would finally break away from this silly nostalgia, but for the time being, I would cherish this moment of being not totally exiled from my fantasy yet.

Okay, taong gubat is a freak, no wonder.