Where do I even put this post?

A random thing to give my day a kick in the gonads. Btw, I am stumped with a speech I'm supposed to write. You have to swallow the fact that things don't always go straight as you'd want them to. Hehe, swallow, funny. Anyhow..

see how it Lands

I'm downhill. And rolling never felt so good. Currently playing: Johnny Cash's "At Folsom Prison" album, and he's in there, serenading the inmates and laughing with his fellow jailbirds. It's the start of a long session of missed chances to write more pages and do so effectively. Though, this start has an abrupt end, premature and sudden.


So, here it goes. This is not a class in philosophy nor a therapy session transcript. This is just an attempt to speak (or write for y'all nitpicking bastards out there) what is currently in the buzz. Somehow, I see things as rolling in their own courses, being pushed by ripples or repercussions of their own making. That what we do create disturbances in an otherwise stagnant and still world. We are rabble rousers, earth shakers. Some are greater than others, some are louder than the jeepney you rode to work that Monday morning while some enjoy the thump they create only for their own.

McCarthy-ing

To start off, I think this is a sad post. Sad, in terms that I could not fully comprehend and grasp. Sad that I should be working with something right now but I am not, but not entirely that I would have a breakdown and curl up in a fetal position on our office's waxed faux wood floor.


So, here it goes. I've been reading Cormac McCarthy lately, watched his works on screen too, and I can't help but admire his level of thinking and writing voice in his books. Yeah, them books again creeping up my consciousness like a damn cold gust creating tremors of giggles or just plain short creepiness. Anyhow, his words and politics are one and the same. You could clearly see what his writing about, whether the fall of man and the salvation he seeks in futility or the hard realities that shape life itself, or rather let itself be withered by life on the reflection.

A Letter to the Things I Like

Dear Books,

Please let yourselves be known to me. For I am currently looking for good reads that can staple my brains to the roof of my skull like a bad hangover and make me want to drink more for another binge session. Please be affordable and make yourselves known to other people I know, too. Make them (us) your disciples so we could carry the good news and eradicate the zombie plague of smart phones, twitter and possibly (genius but definitely soul-eating) 9gag.

Dear Alcohol,
Keep it coming. Thanks.
P.S.
Don't mind my tolerance, he is a flirt drunk.

Dear Smokes,

You are a deathbringer. But I loved you, still.

Dear Motorcycles,
Please become more affordable so I could buy another one and change the parts to begin my career in fabrications, customization and overall bike-building. I promise you, it won't hurt to put out just a wee bit. You selfish beauty, you.

Dear Life,
Please continue on doing your thing you do so well: teach mofos, like me, stuff that mofos would need to get on and actually be out there in the world. Regardless of dusty roads, splintered hands and trench foot, you have been the greatest teacher in anything that is contained in this universe. Having an alternate reality would be fun, until nuclear rain wipes out the entire population and replaces it with gummy candy creatures. They'd be fun to eat but no one will be left to do that.

Dear Boots,
Why are you just so handsome?

Dear Motivation to Write,
Why are you so elusive? Have I done you wrong? We were good friends. It was fun while it lasted.

Dear Paper,
Don't worry what the Internet says or does. It cannot replace you. I'd still choose you over PDF or ePub books. Plus, people can't roll joints with internet pages. Bobby Sands have had good use of you as cigs back in his day.

Dear Reader,
Thank you. I like you even if we'll never meet. Or we already have and you wouldn't be caught dead in reading this post it note.

Dear Son,
You are not a thing but I'll put you in this list. Using Cormac McCarthy's words, "you are my god" and everything I do right now is rooted in hopes of giving you exactly what a deity deems fitting for his existence. I hope to be religious enough to do things I have to on your stake. And please, try not to be your old man.

Ang Kwento ng Anito Apple

I asked my father why he got a tattoo of a tiger on his left thigh. He said it was for me, to remember me every time he'd have a look at it. It is a face of a tiger, full colored, rather roughly drawn and inked on his skin. Above the face is something that read "HONG" punctured in green ink skittering on the sides.

Then I asked my uncle about the history of his tatts. I asked him what was the apple on his left chest meant, he said "Anito, yan." Not knowing what he meant, I shrugged my shoulders and with a smirk, continued the inquiry. Pointing to his green skull face on his right forearm, I asked him and he said "Wala, nakuha ko sa magazine. Buong piece sana yan pero yan lang pinagawa ko." Knowing my uncle would not give me a serious enough answer to my questions, I let it pass by. I ended my inquiry with "Masakit ba yan?" He answered no, adding that the pain is tolerable if you really wanted to.