Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince official trailer

I hope time fast forwards to November 21st.
I want to relax.

vendetta

the veins of my head throbs as my thoughts of the virus authors’ onanism float with the clouds of cigarette smoke in the office.

i never imagined the vanity of the virus makers to chain me in this sporadic headache attacks.

what could be the panacea for this?

if all anti-virus softwares and programs fail and give up on that single mutating virus, many would say it is time to re-format the system.

but how do you know if the virus can really be terminated?

right now, i am slowly tormenting all those faceless virus authors in my mind.

i know i can find a way to channel this pain to their vain hearts and minds.
someday they will scream in pain in the taste of their own vanity.

porn no more

people get sick not because their immune system is weak or that they do not take enough preventive measures to keep themselves from being sick;
people become sick because sometimes they are just bound to be sick.
they get sick because of the sick people around them.
they get sick because of the sick thoughts they have and and the sickness they develop in their societies.
they get sick because of the sick food they have been forced to eat by authorities.
they get sick because of the sick routines in their lives.
they have been sick since birth because the world itself is sick.
now i feel sick.

have you seen matthew?

matthew is the 3-year old kid abducted/kidnapped from festival mall alabang a few days ago. i just learned about his story early this morning while watching the news on tfc. the kid, who can barely talk straight is about to undergo a testicular operation when an obscure girl calls his attention and takes him away.



this is the blog entry from one of the relatives of matthew:

My pamangkin, Kuya Ken's son Matthew, where we took the other half of the business namesake was abducted last night at Festival Mall in Alabang.

Name: Matthew" Chu-chu" David Samudio
Age: 3 Years Old, Can barely speak straight.
Address: 16 guyabano st umali rd. summitville subdivision putatan muntinlupa city 1770

He was last seen at Tom's World Arcade in Festival Mall Alabang, around 8pm yesterday July 22, 2008 wearing Green Checkered Polo, Maong pants and Green Mr. Bean Slippers.

When we reviewed the surveillance camera in said mall, there was this chubby impoverished looking girl around 12-13 years old wearing a dirtied pink top with floral design and a reddish jogging pants who summoned my nephew and then whispered something to him, then my pamangkin who is very "bibo" readily took her hand as they went out of the said premises.

Guys, I need your help with this, if you know people in the media, police or government agency who might be able to HELP us locate my nephew, I'm begging you, please, please help us. Or at the very least, please pass this message to as many people as possible, who knows where the abductors might have taken him... Matthew is a very sickly kid, he rarely eats unless his yaya feeds him and he was about to have an operation for fluid in his right testis.

If there are any news or lead that can locate my nephew, please help us... Sobrang kawawa ang pamangkin ko, who knows how they are treating him...I dont want this thing happening to any kid so please help my nephew. PLEASE. You can contact my brother at 0923-638-4632.

Thank you so much and God Bless you!

**this entry and the picture above is lifted from: http://melquita.multiply.com/photos/album/348#

please do re-post this in your blogs and social networks to help spread the word and to help the family as well. thanks!

thank you sir cristopher nolan

thank you producers, musical director/s, actors, editors, staff and to everybody who brought the dark knight on screen, you all made a masterpiece that silenced the diverse race of kids screaming

“mommy! where is the batman?!”

“dad! when will the batman show up?”

“yay! yay! it’s batman!”

and tamed those movie goers that love to clap before and after the show.

you glued everyone to their seats, anticipating what will happen next; gasping, smiling, sighing, and silently screaming.

you brought the audience to the darker alleys of gotham, down to its press people, its politicians, its heroes, its anti-heroes, and its people. you have sustained the excitement, the adrenaline rush, the emotion, and the action up to the last frame of the movie.

the characters are deeper, the themes involved are darker, the screenplay is win!

i almost cried at the end of the film. i just felt it. maybe it was the conclusion of all the emotions and actions brought by the film. just, great. i am deeply overwhelmed.

dethrowned

http://www.sphitbhraht.multiply.com

insomniac

"fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck this day!"

he says as he walks back and forth in front of the marble seats at the bus stop.

that's how he greets the morning passers-by.

he wears a loose plain white shirt paired with faded checkered pants. on his left hand is a white bag filled with papers in chaos. he bores me, that grumpy old white man. he keeps on cussing and ranting about the day, the bus, the morning, the economy, and the people. he bores me. he's so white and plain.

as i try to recover from the feeling of haze that i get from a nap at the bus, i see a familiar purple figure peeking from the pieces of chaos inside the grumpy old white man's bag. it is tinky winky, the teletubby. that goddamn teletubby face seems to wink at me a couple of times as i wink back unconsciously to clear the blurring vision of my contact lenses. what the hell is tinky winky doing in that man's bag?

over the hills and far away, teletubbies come to play

the bus arrives and my ass gets lucky to have a seat next to an african-american lady in a semi-formal brown business attire. she wears a thin coat, a pearl of huge round earrings, her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, and her ears covered by her ipod's earphones.

i think about tinky winky and what ill-fate had got him inside that grumpy old white man's bag of papers in chaos. i wonder where the hell are the other teletubbies; dipsy, lala, and po. they could have suffered the same fate as tinky winky or they could have bene dumped into a garbage truck, or abducted by serial killers, or raped by perverts. poor creatures. my cousin used to go crazy over them before. she collects every teletubby item she can get. she even has the talking toys in various sizes displayed in their house. freaky!

as i think more about tinky winky, i slowly find myself walking in the green pastures of the teletubby land. the crazy baby smiling sun peeking and making fun at me as i walk around, the huge flowers that can eat you alive, the clouds that appear like cotton candies, all greet me the teletubby way as i walk farther and farther. i am looking for tinky winky. maybe he is in their house of somewhere in the hills playing with lala and po. i have this gut feeling that tinky winky can solve our financial problems. tinky winky can help solve my recent insomnia, tinky winky can give me a more exciting sex life, tinky winky, the purple teletubby, can make answer my questions about life and the meaning of my existence. oh yes, in case you do not know, tinky winky is the symbol of the ideal society. the inverted triangle on its head presents the ideal society where the poor, the masses, the less privileged, are on top.

"eh-ohhh"

oh that voice. what a lullaby. it rather hear it than the grumpy old white man's rant

"fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck this day!"

after roaming the teletubby land for hours, i feel my tired muscles gives up on me, forcing me to sit down and rest.

then the baby-faced sun sleeps and hides among the clouds. no, i did not find dipsy or any of the teletubbies. maybe they are dead. or maybe they are just horsinga round, hiding. whatever.

the sun is setting in the sky, teletubbies say goodbye

"excuse me?!" says the african-american lady as i nearly rest my head on her shoulders.

i instantly tell her my apologies with a quick smile to ease her irritation. she is nice. she really didn't get that angry after all. i look around the other passengers in the bus. tinky winky and the grumpy old white man is out of the bus.

bnw

“but of course, black and white always makes things timeless, a classic.”

she remarks as i praise her black and white photo.

i love it. i really do. there is something mystical in the image. sophisticated. classic. indeed, it can surpass time. all the fashion trends, the fads, the whatnots, everything. black and white pictures can witness and survive the adversities of time without losing its beauty and its spirit.

what if everything in this world is in black and white? can things become timeless then? the memories, the experiences, the emotions, the good ones, the self-gratifying feelings, can they also become timeless if they are in black and white?

black and white.
no gray area. just black and white. binary opposition.

yin and yang.

there is conflict, you say, but there is also harmony.

what about the colors? all the colors are in black. that’s what they say. at least, that’s what i recall from what i’ve learned from school.

and white? just a blank slate? can be. but science proves that white light, when refracted in a prism, yields a wide array of colors. so there are also colors in white.

a black and white world could mean a simpler world.

yes or no.

left and right.

easier, better world? i really don’t know.
say, one day, the world becomes black and white. everything.
in just pure black and white. e v e r y t h i n g.

i bet after some bah-zillion years of tolerance form the timelessness of a black and white world, people will get bored, extract the colors from the black, and harness all the colors they can get from the white. human insatiability. the world be a colorful place again. a myriad of colors will dominate the world, the senses, your perspective, your judgment.

i guess a black and white world is such a far-fetched idea.
the world is not a picture, it is neither timeless nor classic.

but hey, i still love her black and white photo. i really do.

satire much?

The cover of the new New Yorker magazine depicts a caricature of Sen. Barack Obama as Muslim, standing in the Oval Office with a flag burning in the fireplace and a painting of Osama bin Laden hanging on the wall. He gives a fist bump to his wife, Michelle Obama, who is pictured wearing military fatigues and an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder

The Obama campaign, as well as the campaign of Republican rival John McCain, slammed the cover as offensive:

"The New Yorker may think, as one of their staff explained to us, that their cover is a satirical lampoon of the caricature Sen. Obama's right-wing critics have tried to create," Obama spokesman Bill Burton said in a statement, reported by Politico. "But most readers will see it as tasteless and offensive. And we agree."

"We completely agree with the Obama campaign, it's tasteless and offensive," McCain spokesman Tucker Bounds said in a statement.

source:

here

bookgasm

in the absence of a sensible two-way or one-way companion in the bus and in the train, these books will suffice as great substitutes:

edward albee’s who’s afraid of virginia wolf?, athol fugard’s statements, italo calvino’s if on a winter’s night, a traveler, david mitchell’s ghostwritten, samuel beckett’s waiting for godot, salman rushdie’s satanic verses, and the original illustrated sherlock holmes by arthur conan doyle.

gone are the days when i read texts in handouts photocopied in faded ink. back in college i rarely read the assigned novels because i find it hard to summon the passion to read the photocopied texts. now, what used to be hard and expensive books can be found at the nearest bookstores around our area in a more affordable price. if the title you want is out of the shelf, online reservation and ordering makes things easier. for instance, i’ve been looking for athol fugard’s play entitled sizwe bansi is dead for a long time, and then i found the book, statements, online. i placed a special order then got my book in less than a week. sweet.

dear samantha,

see, most things in this world expire.

your attention span expires in minutes, a traveler’s visa expires, my favorite angus third pounder burger expires in 24 hours.

stars die.

if store your cup of yoghurt in the fridge for days, the resident bacteria of yoghurt will start to create an ecosystem in the cup.

your prepaid cellphone credits expire, your favorite vanilla ice cream expires, batteries retire after a couple of hours, your favorite goya and lindt chocolates also have expiry dates stamped on their labels, most fresh milk expires in two weeks, emotions fade, fresh pineapple juce expires and turn into a nasty concentrate, those rare fleeting moments of perfection that we have expires, even your hi-resolution images here in multiply will expire soon (if you don’t upgrade to premium).

the universe will soon expire.

the sun will expand and engulf mercury, venus, earth, mars and then eat up the whole solar system and blow into a massive mass of energy in the galaxy. then all the stars, the neighboring galaxies and the parallel universe will expire and retire into a vacuum of oblivion.

nada.

but despite all the expiration labels around you, that most of the time stirs your emotions and simmers up depression or anger, there are ways that we can do to preserve things.

as he zhiwu (cop 223 from chungking express) wonders,

” if memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates? if so, i hope they last for centuries.”

i believe that we should use our resources (technology, media, education, social relations) to preserve the memories of our experiences, our lessons and our feelings with people.

i know you know that people change a lot. we all know that.

the heart is as fickle as the mind. when you make a decision, your previous state expires. every second, whenever something happens, something expires.

i will not go all crazy about the philosophy of life, your life, our life, and everybody’s life, being constantly changing and all that.

i just want you to know that you have been preserved in a place within the vaults of my memory. your memory, together with all the other memories that i choose to keep, will remain in there, and will always be there until who know when. i will not say until i die because i still do not know if you can carry memories in the afterlife.
but i know, somehow there is a way.

if people can still see the light of dead stars millions of light years away from earth, then it may also be possible to carry the light of memories to any place and dimension despite the distance, the time, the universe, and the expiry date.
my food health and nutrition professor back in college once said that expiry dates of foods do not always mean their end. foods can still be edible one week after the stamped expiration date (i am not that sure, and besides it depend on the food and its unique chemical composition).

will our lives become better if we all wear labels of the expiry dates of the various aspects of our lives?

crush will expire next month.

friendship will expire in one week.

enthusiasm over work expires in 24 hours.

will lose focus in 1 hour.

appetite will expire in 20 minutes.

libido will expire in a second.

nah.

let’s just live life and veer away from the labels.

smile often, will you?

in that way, you can leave them a memory of a happy person with a good heart.
memories don’t just die in a snap.

they last for centuries like the stars. and if they do die, people can still notice them and see them blinking at them through the horizon of people, writings, pictures and legacies that you leave.



all the best,

irvin mclovin

bus stop

unlike some other african-american that i encounter everyday at downtown, he neither scream nor cuss at people. he was loud, alright, but he never forces anyone to hear him. (i have seen some people drag or force another person to listen to whatever he/she is saying)

i hear his voice coming from the other side of the street. he stands on the northbound edge of the side street, waving his arms left and right in enthusiasm as he speaks about the beast and the harlot in revelations. he wears a plain white t-shirt with a pair of baggy jeans. i try my best to hear his entire speech but the passing cars and busses cut the airwaves from his side of the street. all i get to hear are the words god, jesus, limbs, beast and harlots.

people racing against the morning clock pass by him as if he never exists on the sidewalk. they could have heard him, they could pretend they don’t. i don’t know. i, myself do not comprehend the idea of his speech. i give it a shot. i try to listen to him, thinking that he could be saying something relevant and important to mankind and i don’t want to miss his point. what if he is the modern noah calling the people to build an ark to save themselves? what if he’s the modern john the baptist announcing the second coming of the messiah? what if he’s another mentally challenged individual preaching the hell out his brains just for the heck of it? i don’t know.

i try to comprehend his speech for a couple of minutes.

then he says something about love.

the bus arrives at the stop.
i totally miss his point.