The adventure continues ...

"Well, I'm just a modern guy
Of course, I've had it in my ear before
'Cause I've a lust for life
'Cause I've a lust for life."

-- Lust for Life by Iggy Pop


You may have already read about my suicide and how I've come to be resurrected the week after. The demons that used to coerce ^©^ ennui towards an Escape To Carpathia have found new adventures in a new blog address:

http://prothiadenadventure.blogspot.com



PS - To Carolvs, I'm adding you up in my blog list too Ü

Silly Selma ...

I need not post the new blog address. Apparently, it appears on my profile page. Silly me ... :P

"But don't ask me
What's gonna happen next
I know the future
I'd love to lead you the way
(Just to make it easier on you)
You are gonna have to find out for yourself ... "

-- Scatterheart by Bjork (Selma Songs)

Postscript

I just had the best week of my life the day after I died. I promised myself to keep this Promethean impetus for as long as I can hold on with both my hands. It's not perfect ... yet, but it's a different feeling now that I've shed my old skin. This 25-year old is gonna kick some existential ass!

Then comes the inevitable truth that this perhaps is the 2nd to the last entry to appear in this blog. I have already made a new one with a different address. I'll think about things thoroughly and maybe post the link here if I feel like it. I'm not sure when.

For those of you who've patiently read the sheight I wrote about, I sincerely hope you've learned a thing or two about cruelty and neglect. For others, thank you for your comments. Ü

When everything around you does not make sense anymore, the only thing left to do is to let go.

Dreams (1979 - 2004)

It is official. I am putting an end to my idealistic dreaming and I will start acting my age. I will treat myself like a responsible adult, one who is afraid of debt, not ghosts, who looks under the bed for his pair of slippers and not some boogeyman monster from the netherworld. I will start to dispose of all the stuff I've been keeping in my stale closet, and replace them with empty space. I will not cry for myself; I will learn to be more selfless.

I've always believed I would never have children or possibly have a family of my own, but that doesn't excuse me from my responsibilities as a son, as a brother, as someone who should be thankful for being born to a respectable family. I will never say this out loud, but I will have to force myself not to dream big anymore. I've always feared becoming jaded and calloused because I always treasured my so-called innocence and child-like curiosity about the world. That fear has to die. It will not take hold of me again, it will not cripple me like it has for the past 2 unproductive years of my life. I am 25, intelligent, energetic, and willing to learn. I am beautiful inside and out and no one can tell me otherwise. No one. It's high time I put myself out there and show some aggression. My maternal passiveness has to die.

And here I have discovered ... I do not hate my mother because of what she has not been. I hate MYSELF for having followed suit. I am the enemy and I killed myself today. Starting tomorrow, you'll be seeing a different person.

Tossing Salads

I just realized now while I was waiting for the awfully slow internet connection to load up the webpage, that I would not do good as a director. In fact, I would not do good in any field that would give me too much time to think and rethink, too much time to plan, too much freedom to decide. It would not be good, no, because I'm not skilled at planning efficiently and god knows how indecisive I am. I would need a regular office job, one that would force me to report everyday day at a specified time sched, finish all the work according to deadlines and enjoy the weekend like normal yuppies and corporate slaves do. I would need a certain someone, perhaps, to balance me out and keep me inspired when I can't seem to inspire myself. I would need those, yes, I would.

I'm banking on only 2 possible sources of employment at present, 1 offered by my alma mater's department chairperson, the other a PR writing stint referred to me by my wonderful friend Bismuth. Let's face it, I'm not at all prepared to deal with employment competition, not at this stage where I'm literally just starting out again (hopefully the last time I'll be back to square 1). I've accepted the fact that I'm a high-risk applicant, someone with all the necessary background but with no refined skills when it comes to occupational specificity. While all my relatives tell me to apply in multinational companies like Nestle and PNG, it would be like paper-cutting my own throat with somebody else's resume. They don't understand that it's not as easy as it seems even if I graduated with honors in a highly reputable university and I am fluent in English, with diction far better than most applicants who haven't worked in a call center. But the thing is, even if I'd have impressed them with my educational background, it wouldn't be so easy to speak my way to employment. Then again maybe it is. Maybe I didn't learn anything in college. I don't know. Maybe I just lack confidence in myself. Maybe my view of corporate reality is distorted and always negative. I really don't know.

This is the reason why while I'm still in somewhat optimistic spirits about my future, I wanna be really gung-ho with my attempts. I pray to be fearless because I'm not so good in dealing with frustration anymore.

And this is where I came to thinking about getting a job as soon as possible. I'm starting to drench myself into overanalysis mode once again, now that the sobriety has sort of subsided and Bailey's Original Irish blend liqueur is just around the corner of my thoughts. I need a job that'll keep me busy. Something that'll add more meat into my skills market besides customer service. Of course, the conversational topic of coin. Me need moolah. I wanna shop til I drop with my "first" paycheck. I've deprived myself of so many material things, I need a break from my subversive anti-commercialist self and just enjoy having NEW! stuff.

It's realistic to think that my salary's not gonna be like Umberta's and I won't still be able to migrate into my own art-deco dream apartment, but I made it clear to m' Mum tonight how inconvenienced I am with people sharing my room, even if those people happen to share my blood. Blood curdles regardless of its origins. It is definitely time to move out, yes, it is.

And what about my dream job? It wil remain a dream, I guess. My transparent dangling carrot. Unless of course my carrot salad is tossed yet again and I have to make do with eating it without dressing. Who knows, it could be healthier in the longrun.

Blow Up Space

I need space!!! I can't breathe in this sh*t hole!!! The longer I stay here, I more I want to kill. Not myself though. With my newfound empowerment, I'm not gonna take this lying down. Everyone is so edgy, everyone so f*cking arrogant. I'm tired of absorbing all these hang-ups. Geeeez...

Coincidence Part Deux

I've checked the first few posts I made on this blog, particularly those in February. To my surprise, the article "Coincidences" will be 7 months old in 2 days. It doesn't really mean anything to anyone but me. After all, I'm the one who colors my perceptions regarding phenomena. For now, I consider myself truly on the road, sick of dwelling, sick of motion sickness, all too ready to reach the destination I promised myself I'd get to.

This is my second take on life and I won't lose grip on my passenger ticket again.

Infantile

"If living is seeing
I'm holding my breath
In wonder, I wonder
What happens next
A new world
A new day to see"

-- A New World by Bjork


It used to be cute, what people called me. I often thought it meant I looked younger than 16 and that wasn't such a bad thing. But as you grow older physically, though the heart remains a child, the mind finds the juvenile appeal more absurd than novel. In fact, at this moment, I'm downright resentful of that label. I want a change. A drastic change. And I want it soon.

Not that I'm not willing to work for it. I am. And with everything good that has been happening to me ever since I've sobered up from quitting a lucrative career in *ss-wiping, I feel that even if everything's still uncertain, in some cosmically impalpable way, I'm being tuned up towards a new world order. A new world OF order, i meant to say.

If Dan Brown was stating a mathematical fact with the number PHI as the key to universal proportionality, maybe I am about 1.618 units closer to enthalpy. Enough with Pi and the consequences of going around in circles. I mean, Da Vinci certainly made something of himself.


The question now, would it be in the PHIlippines or in PIlipinas?

A Closed Deal

And so I have concluded for myself what my friends have been telling me all this time -- I have a tendency to close the deal before it even begins. Theoretically commonly known as pessimism, but overshadowed by the feelings of denial that come when I convince myself that I have a bright outlook and I look at the glass as half full. As if there was a glass in the first place. Maybe I'm denying the glass' existence for myself so that I won't be expecting anything from it. Like what my soon-to-be lawyer friend tells me, it's a conspiracy to hoodwink us into believing there's something there that wasn't there before. What if the glass is actually a fruit? A banana perhaps, that however you look at it from many different angles, it'll remain a banana, only that it's given a variety of names depending on whatever a priori concepts you've inherited, a posteriori concepts you have imbibed post-natal. Then, the only logical thing expected of me to do is to eat the banana and hope that it's sweet, hope that it was worth it.

In my case maybe, I see the banana, I think it's an altogether different fruit, like a papaya or a stinky durian. Then I figure the only way to eat such a fruit is to crack it open by throwing it to the ground and gather all the broken pieces on the floor with my bare hands. That's fine I guess, but I'd also have to consider my survival. I would probably need to plant the papaya or durian seeds in loam soil and wait till my next feeding. By harvest time, there would have been at least 10 times more fruit than before. It would be difficult to crack the fruits open, but at least 1 out of 10 would probably be sweet had the tree enough water and sunlight during the course of the year. If I calculate the growth potentials and seasonal changes correctly, I would have at least 1 fruit per meal and I would never go hungry again even if the papaya weren't sweet. (Hey, this metaphor is starting to make some sense about my reality ...)

I spoke too soon. From the part of doing the expected, I'd probably overanalyze and conclude that I won't be satisfied with just a banana, and how it takes bananas forever to grow, how I'd eventually get sick of eating them without something so much as peanut butter, how the tree would eventually die ahead of me. I'd get depressed and then I'd think I wouldn't choke on the banana even if I tried. The sun would cast its heavy light on me and I'd have realize the banana would be my last meal. If I finish eating the whole thing, I wouldn't have anything to plant. If I decide to plant it, I'd die waiting for the tree to grow. There would be no compromise. It would be a closed deal.

And then I'd prove to myself time and time again, I'm not the type of person who'd see the glass in any other way. There is no water. Water is what I was looking for in the first place.

Frivolité

Yesterday I had a sort of quasi-dilemma regarding the path to career kingdom. I was debating whether to take on an office job type of career or a more frivolous yet potentially creative job which I feel would not be boring. Like I told my friend ABS, for me boredom's bad. In a work setting, I'd rather be busy than bored, disappointed than bored, underpaid than bored. To me, boredom is death, yet in French, it has the sweetest sound to it ... ennui. But don't be deceived with boredom! One can be bored even when busy, bored even when disppointed, the kind of boredom that stems from an excruciatingly dull existence. We'll steer clear of this ... for heaven's sake.

I sent an sms to my rational advice giver friend Risso and he told me exactly what I needed to hear. Going for a creative job, or more specifically, going for the career of your passion, is very risky. It may be fun for the first 2 years, but then after, it'll become like any normal office job and the thrill of creativity may wear itself out eventually. I had to agree. It's like this film thing. It takes on the role of a drug. When I first started out conceptualizing the storylines and scenes in my head, it was an inexplicable rush! All those ideas came flooding out. The only thing that held the waters within control were the floodgates of budget. Otherwise, I could've done something in the tradition of Spike Jonze or the Kauffman Brothers with the story. The possibilities were endless. And once again, I felt very much alive.

But we're talking about addictions. Mine wore off gradually and the need for that emotional high begged to be satisfied yet again, so I unintentionally looked for loopholes in the 1st storyline, probably just so I can find a valid reason to create a 2nd one. And when the 2nd high wore off again, I came up with a 3rd. If it weren't for the deadline (and my impending indecisiveness) I could've gone on and on creating new storylines, new problems, new excuses. Up until I submitted the synopsis, I was still thinking of ways to improve the story.

I admit I do have some sort of addictive tendency. Like what ABS told me, it's a subversive type of addiction. Nothing people see from the outside. And I'm good at hiding ... until I start losing it and everything just gushes out like floodwaters of good and bad ideas, positive and negative options, excuses and benevolence. Maybe there's nothing wrong with settling for an office job, Monday to Friday (or Saturday too), 9am-6pm, unpaid overtimes, leave credits, losing holidays.

Maybe it's much better than settling for ennui.

In the Mood for Movies

POTANGINAH!!!! I found the one and only copy of Wong Kar Wai's In the Mood for Love dvd that has deleted scenes!!! I'm so fucking delirious in movie heaven right now and I can't believe I'm wasting my time typing this blog down when I could be in front of the tv set with my earphones, ponderously watching those scenes and finally linking the broken pieces together. Of course, I owe it to my "fans" who read me up during their free time, the knowledge of this important bootleg discovery.

I mentioned the other night how I'd be writing on Prescriptive Pile 3 & 4, but I'm just too darn lazy for that now. One thing I discovered in Quiapo is that the place is about to explode. It's not just the building that's overflowing with converts and Muslim smokers, the area has been invaded steadily in the many months since a major raid was last executed. The streets litter with pirated movies and audio cds, vcds and vendors selling barbecue. It's arguably a virtual paradise for movie enthusiasts, the penny-pinching proletariat, and the people who get to earn from all the illegal hoopla including cops and robbers.

After the "artistic" rush (and 4 hours of semi-salivating later), I decided to walk my way home, not because I didn't have money left, but because again, I chose an alternative form of exercise besides the gastronomic/hibernative varieties. It took me 25 minutes of fast-paced ambulation to get home. I was exhausted and my underwear was totally riding my butt crack.

For that one dvd though, it's all worth it.

Queer Invasion

Last Sunday I visited my good friend ABS, at long last after a string of invitations from him that I cancelled because of my lazy self in the mornings. We were supposed to meet Saturday, but he was in the office and I fell asleep while waiting for him to call up and confirm. he he he

He had me listen to a lot of stuff, re-introducing me to the pop scene, as well as those non-mainstream finds, and had me read on 2 blogsites that cater to tv shows and the UK music scene -- popjustice.com and televisionwithoutpity.com. I forget most of the names of those musicmakers we listened to. It was all a breeze really. I remember Rez, who kinda sounds like a funkier Erykah Badu, Danni Minogue (Kylie's Oz sister) and her "Into the Groove" dance remix, ex-Steps Lisa Scott Lee, All Saints' Shaznay Lewis, Aurora, an alternative to Dido or Bjork, Girls Aloud and Bellefire (need I say more about these girly groups?), that transvestite duo in the Eurovision contest, that new replacement to Steps, Ace of Base's new album unreleased in the Philippines, the talented Madonna of Japan, Ayumi Hamasaki, Emma Bunton's new album also unreleased here, Tuesday Vargas (*gasp* *cough* *pant*) .... among a bevy from his sprawling collection.

After snacking with his rentals, we proceeded to watch recordings of Tyra's show America's Next Top Model, and 2 recordings of QEFTSG (Queer Eye for the Straight Guy). Sheesh... I never knew what the hrrrrnnnnk hell I was missing! hahahaha It's such a drag not having cable tv at home and now I'm starting to hate my free dial-up simply because I can only access it at night. And it's freakin' SLOW (Chemical Brothers remix a al QEFTSG OST). The other night, I was able to download Season 1 episode 10 featuring the 40-something married guy having his family over with a potential date. It was interesting how the fab five (the way they're called in the website) just picked everything up and threw everything away! Maybe I should do the same to my room if and when I have the money to squander. Just yesterday though, I started ransacking my drawers (cabinet drawers that is...) and picked out clothes I've never worn in years. I took out those ill-fitting pleated pants and misleading size L (like ludicrous) polo shirts that are actually size S (as in shit) for me and threw them all on the bed for disposal. Maybe I can have them consigned to a UK-UK store or something. LOL If my soon-to-be-lawyer friend is earning from refurbished used bags, why can't I sell pseudo-refurbished clothes? ha ha ha Honestly, there were some clothes I've NEVER used. Around 4 or 5 articles I think. A pity really.

In ABS' house, we were able to watch the QEFTSG episodes about the stage musical guy wanting a push in his career. They did a great job with his little apartment. Then the other was about this scruffy-looking guy in gasoline station uniform wanting to find the perfect time to propose to his Polish lolita girlfriend of 5 years. They made his room into this fabulous "boom-boom" retro lounge. Funtastastick! My eyes welled-up when I saw his girlfriend's reaction to his proposal by the staircase behind Caroline's standup comic bar. She was soooo happy. Awwww.... sniff sniff

I rode the cab home. He toured me around Manila, that jerk. I told him to go straight ahead but he turned right and brought me somewhere unfamiliar so I didn't have much to contribute regarding directions. I could've used up a whole vial of pepperspray on his face if I had one.

Last night I planned to download another episode of QEFTSG but after sorting out clothes the whole afternoon, compounded by post-dinner carb loading, I fell asleep at 10pm after talking to my nursing classmate Twee-tay. She was asking for help about her Ethics homework regarding homosexuality, which I now realize, has been the topic of coin the past 2 days. She said she needed help with her English so I told her a simple trick would be to write the essay in Filipino first, and then transliterate. She said she was nearly done, just having trouble rewording her sentences to make them sound correct. They were given 2 questions: 1) Are you sure about your sexuality? and 2) What are your opinions regarding homosexuality? I told her the first question was rather "bent" on suggesting homosexuals aren't sure of their sexuality. To influence her into the proper politically & culturally sensitive way of thinking, I asked her the same questions and asked her how our good friend Btrfly would answer these. That kinda gave her something to think about. Bwahahaha-ha-ha

Thank god I'm not in that school anymore. Just helping her out with her assignment gave me a headache on how professors still miseducate their students unintentionally. I will not have survived Nursing school even if they gave me a million for a make-over. The problem lies with the educational system, not anything else. My problem, on the other hand, is I can't be put anywhere that makes me complain too much. I will never be quiet.


The next issue of Prescriptive Pile will be talking more of this....heaven forbid...

Prescriptive Pile 1 & 2

I had a lengthy conversation with my good friend Jolens RN since the last time I saw her at Dôme early August. She's doing well I suppose despite the fact that she's knee-deep in academic and social work in Nursing Psychiatry. I don't know why but weirdly enough, I don't feel envious of her. I mean, Psychology has always been one of my first choices in a career, but lately (as I might have already mentioned) I'm not so sure anymore. Were my relatives right? Was I just in a common adolescent phase of self-exploration during college that I wanted to take up Psych for the sake of knowing myself better, rather than the notion that I wanted to make a career out of it? Again, I'm not sure anymore. Maybe it's like the story of my dreams, I've held on to them for so long with so many attempts denied, perhaps I simply gave up on ever achieving them then settled for something more within my reach. I think may have settled for a second-rate goal (or maybe I still have my goals intact but settled for a second-rate place to sink my knees deep into). Is this kind of inevitable compromise a bad thing? Or was it really ridiculous of me to want to have it all (because I felt I can)? And is this failure-slash-compromise the thing that really depressed me a couple of months ago? .... I can't help but wonder.

Anyway, after all that talk about stormy weather and bright skies and sh*t, I feel I'm in a better place right now. Not perfect or super-fantastic, just better. There was one night while I was staring out the window towards a wall with maya droppings on the window sill that I realized, maybe it IS all just a matter of perspective. Maybe it's true that all we need is to be flipped over from our bellies and we'd be able to breathe all right. I mean, it may be difficult to do that at the lowest point in your life, but maybe if one just hangs on and pulls through the trial by fire, just maybe, one would be able to see the light of day. Call me a hypocrite (or Jean D' Arc incarnate) and read me out my previous postings on death and existential chastisement, but this is how I feel right now. This gently appreciating my waking life did not happen overnight like the last time (when I posted that Bob Marley song and was all perky). This new found "sobriety" came to me gradually, like say, growing up. I had to deal with it somehow and tried to see everything the way it really was. It wasn't anything profound or earth-shattering a realization, more of simply stating out facts, wallowing in them a little bit (or maybe a lot), and then getting tired of these facts then continue on searching for the truth with renewed vigor. This I realized at a night when everything was so peaceful, so dark, that when I turned my head to look back inside my room, everything was undisturbed. Everything was a mess anyhow, but it was my mess and from now on, I made an informed decision to try to throw away the garbage I don't need, to try to eliminate the emotional luggage I keep holding on to. My room may be quaint and undisturbed at night, but I don't want to be trapped and undisturbed like that forever.
I cannot be as complacent as my parents. No, not at my age, 16.

Going Back

Hu hu hu I bought myself another SET of bootleg cds. Hu hu hu

Here they are in ascending order of popularity (somebody kill me now) :


1. Asia Lounge Flavoured Club Tunes, 2cd
2. Playboy Lounge, 2cd
3. Ministry of Sound Annual 2004, 2cd
4. Champs Elysees Cafe 2 - Finest Electro Tunes from Paris
5. Suite Royal Vol. 2
6. Fashion Beat, Music for Stylish People -- because I am a stylish person, period.
7. Rumors - Dance hits of the 80's - includes Propaganda's Heaven Give Me Words
8. Room 5 - with the hit Make Luv -- surprisingly good!
9. Moony's Life Stories - with the hits Acrobats and Dove -- surprisingly so-so
10. Alanis Morissette's So-Called Chaos - I have .ogg files but can't convert them to cd audio. This one's enhanced with an acoustic take on This Grudge and 2 videos from sessions@aol

The kind lady at University Mall let me have 4 free pirated cds. hehehehe Two mainstream compilations, 1 pop-rap cd and Julia Fordham's Masterpiece album. NOT BAD considering I'm already broke ;>

REM Cycle

Did I ever tell you the story about how I almost lost my head? Oh right, that happened today.

You can say I'm a typical procrastinator who seeks the challenge of postponing what I can do today when I can do it tomorrow. I believe this is what pseudo-philosophers mean by living on the edge.

Well, I got my taste of that aldosterone rush today, somewhat unintentionally I should say. The good news was that I'm pretty happy with the new working script and the storyline in general, maybe needing a little tweaking here and there. So I thought, how hard would it be to write a synopsis? Again, it wasn't intention to delay writing the synopsis down to the last possible minute, it was all rather consequential. Up until yesterday, I was waiting for my Mister Formico's opinion regarding the new script, but everytime I'd call him at home, he'd come in late and not return my calls. I'm quite embarrassed at having to disturb their household at 10 or 11 in the evening just to ask if he's already arrived from work. (His shift is 12nn to 8pm you see.) I tried calling him up on his celfone but he wouldn't answer or text back. Finally, he sent me an sms to push through with the story (I'm thinking that means the just-get-it-over-and-done-with-be-atch story) and make the synopsis on whatever. So this morning, I sent my 2 dear friends copies of the new script and then my synopsis around 10:30am. I got their replies around 12nn because they were busy at work. My first synopsis got rejected, editor-style. I have to admit, it was very dry. I just laid out the details of the story rousing the least bit of emotion from the reader. I was thinking kase how I didn't want to reveal too much in the summary, to make an underpromise-over deliver sorta thing. Up until this afternoon when I submitted the requirements, I didn't know that there were around 190 entries!!! Holy shimoli! Thank god I revised it at the very LAST minute. hehehe Version 2.0, as I called it, is much more thought-provoking I surmise. And as my now-employed friend mentioned, it was very "Hollywod-ish :)"

I took the train to Quirino then rode a cab to CCP. It was pretty quick. I calculated the time x distance ratio before hand. I had my stinky folder of requirements: application form, biodata (which I had to accomplish twice because I messed up with my signature -- it was absurd), 1-page synopsis, and my last minute 2x2 photos. Thank god for 20-minute developing technology. I would've settled for those 5-minute digital photo-copiers, but I don't have any existing pictures left to recopy. Kodak takes a WHOLE HOUR to redevlop the pictures, so I went to the other side of the street to do it the "instant" way, kinda like sodium-saturated Korean noodles -- more expensive, but definitely HOT! tee hee

CCP was very dark. It's got the mildew smell going on. I got lost. The application form said 4th floor, but the media arts office was in the third floor. Finally, after much milling about in my head, I was able to submit the stuff and decided to take a tour of the building. It was nice being alone there. After the brain-busting tension I had the whole afternoon, the walk was refreshing. It also helped that it was slightly drizzling outside. *sigh*

I rode the CCP Complex jitney going home, then I went to University Mall to check out cds. I actually had around 4 pieces I was supposed buy, then I remembered I didn't have any money. It was absurd. But being the collected person that I think I am, I kindly told the lady to reserve the cds so I can go back the next day and claim them. She was ok with that and put the cds in a thin, white plastic bag. After that, I rode the train home. Fell asleep around the last 4 stations ... standing up. You'd find it cute if you were my certain someone. tee hee

Oh did I mention the movie I saw last night? It was hilarious. Bridal Shower. Watch it. You'll pee in your pants laughing. pee hee

My soon-to-be-lawyer friend posted in the group today how there's this medical condition called Hypergrafia or something like that. Compulsively writing like someone in a trance. They claimed Dostoyevsky had it. I believe. Whoever can write that much and not feel bereft of vocabulary or a plot point must be more than just a literary genius. He must be a literary god. Korni ...

I don't think I'm Hypergraffic though. Maybe Victor Hugo or Cervantes or Merriam-Webster. I'm ... I'm ... porno-graffic.


If REM lost their religion, I've lost REM cycles.

Whereabouts

Where is everybody? I have been texting and calling people up but they're not home. It's a freakin' Tuesday night fer crissakes!

Oh right ... it's payday today. Sheeesh ....